At Sunwich Port, Part 4. - W.W. Jacobs
AT SUNWICH PORT
BY
W. W. JACOBS
Part 4.
ILLUSTRATIONS
From Drawings by Will Owen
CHAPTER XVI
The two ladies received Mr. Hardy's information with something akin to
consternation, the idea of the autocrat of Equator Lodge as a stowaway on
board the ship of his ancient enemy proving too serious for ordinary
comment. Mrs. Kingdom's usual expressions of surprise, "Well, I never
did!" and "Good gracious alive!" died on her lips, and she sat gazing
helpless and round-eyed at her niece.
"I wonder what he said," she gasped, at last.
Miss Nugent, who was trying to imagine her father in his new role aboard
the Conqueror, paid no heed. It was not a pleasant idea, and her eyes
flashed with temper as she thought of it. Sooner or later the whole
affair would be public property.
"I had an idea all along that he wasn't in London," murmured Mrs.
Kingdom. "Fancy that Nathan Smith standing in Sam's room telling us
falsehoods like that! He never even blushed."
"But you said that you kept picturing father walking about the streets of
London, wrestling with his pride and trying to make up his mind to come
home again," said her niece, maliciously.
Mrs. Kingdom fidgeted, but before she could think of a satisfactory reply
Bella came to the door and asked to speak to her for a moment. Profiting
by her absence, Mr. Hardy leaned towards Miss Nugent, and in a low voice
expressed his sorrow at the mishap to her father and his firm conviction
that everything that could be thought of for that unfortunate mariner's
comfort would be done. "Our fathers will probably come back good
friends," he concluded. "There is nothing would give me more pleasure
than that, and I think that we had better begin and set them a good
example."
"It is no good setting an example to people who are hundreds of miles
away," said the matter-of-fact Miss Nugent. "Besides, if they have made
friends, they don't want an example set them."
"But in that case they have set us an example which we ought to follow,"
urged Hardy.
Miss Nugent raised her eyes to his. "Why do you wish to be on friendly
terms?" she asked, with disconcerting composure.
[Illustration: "'Why do you wish to be on friendly terms?' she asked."]
"I should like to know your father," returned Hardy, with perfect
gravity; "and Mrs. Kingdom--and you."
He eyed her steadily as he spoke, and Miss Nugent, despite her utmost
efforts, realized with some indignation that a faint tinge of colour was
creeping into her cheeks. She remembered his covert challenge at their
last interview at Mr. Wilks's, and the necessity of reading this
persistent young man a stern lesson came to her with all the force of a
public duty.
"Why?" she inquired, softly, as she lowered her eyes and assumed a
pensive expression.
"I admire him, for one thing, as a fine seaman," said Hardy.
"Yes," said Miss Nugent, "and--"
"And I've always had a great liking for Mrs. Kingdom," he continued; "she
was very good-natured to me when I was a very small boy, I remember. She
is very kind and amiable."
The baffled Miss Nugent stole a glance at him. "And--" she said again,
very softly.
"And very motherly," said Hardy, without moving a muscle.
Miss Nugent pondered and stole another glance at him. The expression of
his face was ingenuous, not to say simple. She resolved to risk it. So
far he had always won in their brief encounters, and monotony was always
distasteful to her, especially monotony of that kind.
"And what about me?" she said, with a friendly smile.
"You," said Hardy, with a gravity of voice belied by the amusement in his
eye; "you are the daughter of the fine seaman and the niece of the
good-natured and motherly Mrs. Kingdom."
Miss Nugent looked down again hastily, and all the shrew within her
clamoured for vengeance. It was the same masterful Jem Hardy that had
forced his way into their seat at church as a boy. If he went on in
this way he would become unbearable; she resolved, at the cost of much
personal inconvenience, to give him a much-needed fall. But she realized
quite clearly that it would be a matter of time.
"Of course, you and Jack are already good friends?" she said, softly.
"Very," assented Hardy. "Such good friends that I have been devoting a
lot of time lately to considering ways and means of getting him out of
the snares of the Kybirds."
"I should have thought that that was his affair," said Miss Nugent,
haughtily.
"Mine, too," said Hardy. "I don't want him to marry Miss Kybird."
For the first time since the engagement Miss Nugent almost approved of
it. "Why not let him know your wishes?" she said, gently. "Surely that
would be sufficient."
"But you don't want them to marry?" said Hardy, ignoring the remark.
"I don't want my brother to do anything shabby," replied the girl; "but I
shouldn't be sorry, of course, if they did not."
"Very good," said Hardy. "Armed with your consent I shall leave no stone
unturned. Nugent was let in for this, and I am going to get him out if I
can. All's fair in love and war. You don't mind my doing anything
shabby?"
"Not in the least," replied Miss Nugent, promptly.
The reappearance of Mrs. Kingdom at this moment saved Mr. Hardy the
necessity of a reply.
Conversation reverted to the missing captain, and Hardy and Mrs. Kingdom
together drew such a picture of the two captains fraternizing that Miss
Nugent felt that the millennium itself could have no surprises for her.
"He has improved very much," said Mrs. Kingdom, after the door had closed
behind their visitor; "so thoughtful."
"He's thoughtful enough," agreed her niece.
"He is what I call extremely considerate," pursued the elder lady, "but
I'm afraid he is weak; anybody could turn him round their little finger."
"I believe they could," said Miss Nugent, gazing at her with admiration,
"if he wanted to be turned."
The ice thus broken, Mr. Hardy spent the following day or two in devising
plausible reasons for another visit. He found one in the person of Mr.
Wilks, who, having been unsuccessful in finding his beloved master at a
small tavern down by the London docks, had returned to Sunwich, by no
means benefited by his change of air, to learn the terrible truth as to
his disappearance from Hardy.
"I wish they'd Shanghaid me instead," he said to that sympathetic
listener, "or Mrs. Silk."
"Eh?" said the other, staring.
"Wot'll be the end of it I don't know," said Mr. Wilks, laying a hand,
which still trembled, on the other' knee. "It's got about that she saved
my life by 'er careful nussing, and the way she shakes 'er 'ead at me for
risking my valuable life, as she calls it, going up to London, gives me
the shivers."
"Nonsense," said Hardy; "she can't marry you against your will. Just be
distantly civil to her."
"'Ow can you be distantly civil when she lives just opposite?" inquired
the steward, querulously. "She sent Teddy over at ten o'clock last night
to rub my chest with a bottle o' liniment, and it's no good me saying I'm
all right when she's been spending eighteen-pence o' good money over the
stuff."
"She can't marry you unless you ask her," said the comforter.
Mr. Wilks shook his head. "People in the alley are beginning to talk,"
he said, dolefully. "Just as I came in this afternoon old George Lee
screwed up one eye at two or three women wot was gossiping near, and when
I asked 'im wot 'e'd got to wink about he said that a bit o' wedding-cake
'ad blowed in his eye as I passed. It sent them silly creeturs into fits
a'most."
[Illustration: "He said that a bit o' wedding-cake 'ad blowed in his
eye."]
"They'll soon get tired of it," said Hardy.
Mr. Wilks, still gloomy, ventured to doubt it, but cheered up and became
almost bright when his visitor announced his intention of trying to
smooth over matters for him at Equator Lodge. He became quite voluble in
his defence, and attached much importance to the fact that he had nursed
Miss Nugent when she was in long clothes and had taught her to whistle
like an angel at the age of five.
"I've felt being cut adrift by her more than anything," he said,
brokenly. "Nine-an'-twenty years I sailed with the cap'n and served 'im
faithful, and this is my reward."
Hardy pleaded his case next day. Miss Nugent was alone when he called,
and, moved by the vivid picture he drew of the old man's loneliness,
accorded her full forgiveness, and decided to pay him a visit at once.
The fact that Hardy had not been in the house five minutes she appeared
to have overlooked.
"I'll go upstairs and put my hat and jacket on and go now," she said,
brightly.
"That's very kind of you," said Hardy. His voice expressed admiring
gratitude; but he made no sign of leaving his seat.
"You don't mind?" said Miss Nugent, pausing in front of him and slightly
extending her hand.
"Not in the least," was the reply; "but I want to see Wilks myself.
Perhaps you'll let me walk down with you?"
The request was so unexpected that the girl had no refusal ready. She
hesitated and was lost. Finally, she expressed a fear that she might
keep him waiting too long while she got ready--a fear which he politely
declined to consider.
"Well, we'll see," said the marvelling Miss Nugent to herself as she went
slowly upstairs. "He's got impudence enough for forty."
She commenced her preparations for seeing Mr. Wilks by wrapping a shawl
round her shoulders and reclining in an easy-chair with a novel. It was
a good story, but the room was very cold, and even the pleasure of
snubbing an intrusive young man did not make amends for the lack of
warmth. She read and shivered for an hour, and then with chilled fingers
lit the gas and proceeded to array herself for the journey.
Her temper was not improved by seeing Mr. Hardy sitting in the dark over
a good fire when she got downstairs.
"I'm afraid I've kept you waiting," she said, crisply.
"Not at all," said Hardy. "I've been very comfortable."
Miss Nugent repressed a shiver and, crossing to the fire, thoughtlessly
extended her fingers over the blaze.
"I'm afraid you're cold," said Hardy.
The girl looked round sharply. His face, or as much of it as she could
see in the firelight, bore a look of honest concern somewhat at variance
with the quality of his voice. If it had not been for the absurdity of
altering her plans on his account she would have postponed her visit to
the steward until another day.
The walk to Fullalove Alley was all too short for Jem Hardy. Miss Nugent
stepped along with the air of a martyr anxious to get to the stake and
have it over, and she answered in monosyllables when her companion
pointed out the beauties of the night.
A bitter east wind blew up the road and set her yearning for the joys of
Mr. Wilks's best room. "It's very cold," she said, shivering.
Hardy assented, and reluctantly quickened his pace to keep step with
hers. Miss Nugent with her chin sunk in a fur boa looked neither to the
right nor the left, and turning briskly into the alley, turned the handle
of Mr. Wilks's door and walked in, leaving her companion to follow.
The steward, who was smoking a long pipe over the fire, looked round in
alarm. Then his expression changed, and he rose and stammered out a
welcome. Two minutes later Miss Nugent, enthroned in the best chair with
her toes on the fender, gave her faithful subject a free pardon and full
permission to make hot coffee.
"And don't you ever try and deceive me again, Sam," she said, as she
sipped the comforting beverage.
"No, miss," said the steward, humbly. "I've 'ad a lesson. I'll never
try and Shanghai anybody else agin as long as I live."
After this virtuous sentiment he sat and smoked placidly, with occasional
curious glances divided between his two visitors. An idle and ridiculous
idea, which occurred to him in connection with them, was dismissed at
once as too preposterous for a sensible steward to entertain.
"Mrs. Kingdom well?" he inquired.
"Quite well," said the girl. "If you take me home, Sam, you shall see
her, and be forgiven by her, too."
"Thankee, miss," said the gratified steward.
"And what about your foot, Wilks?" said Hardy, somewhat taken aback by
this arrangement.
"Foot, sir?" said the unconscious Mr. Wilks; "wot foot?"
"Why, the bad one," said Hardy, with a significant glance.
"Ho, that one?" said Mr. Wilks, beating time and waiting further
revelations.
"Do you think you ought to use it much?" inquired Hardy.
Mr. Wilks looked at it, or, to be more exact, looked at both of them, and
smiled weakly. His previous idea recurred to him with renewed force now,
and several things in the young man's behaviour, hitherto disregarded,
became suddenly charged with significance. Miss Nugent looked on with an
air of cynical interest.
"Better not run any risk," said Hardy, gravely. "I shall be very pleased
to see Miss Nugent home, if she will allow me."
"What is the matter with it?" inquired Miss Nugent, looking him full in
the face.
Hardy hesitated. Diplomacy, he told himself, was one thing; lying
another. He passed the question on to the rather badly used Mr. Wilks.
"Matter with it?" repeated that gentleman, glaring at him reproachfully.
"It's got shootin' pains right up it. I suppose it was walking miles and
miles every day in London, looking for the cap'n, was too much for it."
"Is it too bad for you to take me home, Sam?" inquired Miss Nugent,
softly.
The perturbed Mr. Wilks looked from one to the other. As a sportsman his
sympathies were with Hardy, but his duty lay with the girl.
"I'll do my best, miss," he said; and got up and limped, very well indeed
for a first attempt, round the room.
Then Miss Nugent did a thing which was a puzzle to herself for some time
afterwards. Having won the victory she deliberately threw away the
fruits of it, and declining to allow the steward to run any risks,
accepted Hardy's escort home. Mr. Wilks watched them from the door, and
with his head in a whirl caused by the night's proceedings mixed himself
a stiff glass of grog to set it right, and drank to the health of both of
them.
[Illustration: "Mr. Wilks drank to the health of both of them."]
The wind had abated somewhat in violence as they walked home, and,
moreover, they had their backs to it. The walk was slower and more
enjoyable in many respects than the walk out. In an unusually soft mood
she replied to his remarks and stole little critical glances up at him.
When they reached the house she stood a little while at the gate gazing
at the starry sky and listening to the crash of the sea on the beach.
"It is a fine night," she said, as she shook hands.
"The best I have ever known," said Hardy. "Good-bye."
CHAPTER XVII
The weeks passed all too quickly for James Hardy. He saw Kate Nugent at
her own home; met her, thanks to the able and hearty assistance of Mr.
Wilks, at Fullalove Alley, and on several occasions had the agreeable
task of escorting her back home.
He cabled to his father for news of the illustrious stowaway immediately
the _Conqueror_ was notified as having reached Port Elizabeth. The
reply--"Left ship"--confirmed his worst fears, but he cheerfully accepted
Mrs. Kingdom's view that the captain, in order to relieve the natural
anxiety of his family, had secured a passage on the first vessel homeward
bound.
Captain Hardy was the first to reach home. In the early hours of a fine
April morning the _Conqueror_ steamed slowly into Sunwich Harbour, and in
a very short time the town was revelling in a description of Captain
Nugent's first voyage before the mast from lips which were never tired of
repeating it. Down by the waterside Mr. Nathan Smith found that he had
suddenly attained the rank of a popular hero, and his modesty took alarm
at the publicity afforded to his action. It was extremely distasteful to
a man who ran a quiet business on old-fashioned lines and disbelieved in
advertisement. He lost three lodgers the same day.
[Illustration: "A popular hero."]
Jem Hardy was one of the few people in Sunwich for whom the joke had no
charms, and he betrayed such an utter lack of sympathy with his father's
recital that the latter accused him at last of wanting a sense of humour.
"I don't see anything amusing in it," said his son, stiffly.
Captain Hardy recapitulated one or two choice points, and was even at
some pains to explain them.
"I can't see any fun in it," repeated his son. "Your behaviour seems to
me to have been deplorable."
"What?" shouted the captain, hardly able to believe his ears.
"Captain Nugent was your guest," pursued the other; "he got on your ship
by accident, and he should have been treated decently as a saloon
passenger."
"And been apologized to for coming on board, I suppose?" suggested the
captain.
"It wouldn't have been amiss," was the reply.
The captain leaned back in his chair and regarded him thoughtfully.
"I can't think what's the matter with you, Jem," he said.
"Ordinary decent ideas, that's all," said his son, scathingly.
"There's something more in it than that," said the other, positively.
"I don't like to see this love-your-enemy business with you, Jem; it
ain't natural to you. Has your health been all right while I've been
away?"
"Of course it has," said his son, curtly. "If you didn't want Captain
Nugent aboard with you why didn't you put him ashore? It wouldn't have
delayed you long. Think of the worry and anxiety you've caused poor Mrs.
Kingdom."
"A holiday for her," growled the captain.
"It has affected her health," continued his son; "and besides, think of
his daughter. She's a high-spirited girl, and all Sunwich is laughing
over her father's mishap."
"Nugent fell into his own trap," exclaimed the captain, impatiently.
"And it won't do that girl of his any harm to be taken down a peg or two.
Do her good. Knock some of the nonsense out of her."
"That's not the way to speak of a lady," said Jem, hotly.
The offended captain regarded him somewhat sourly; then his face changed,
and he got up from his chair and stood before his son with consternation
depicted on every feature.
"You don't mean to tell me," he said, slowly; "you don't mean to tell me
that you're thinking anything of Kate Nugent?"
"Why not?" demanded the other, defiantly; "why shouldn't I?"
Captain Hardy, whistling softly, made no reply, but still stood eyeing
him.
"I thought there was some other reason for your consideration besides
'ordinary decent ideas,'" he said, at last. "When did it come on? How
long have you had it?"
Mr. Hardy, jun., in a studiously unfilial speech, intimated that these
pleasantries were not to his taste.
"No, of course not," said the captain, resuming his seat. "Well, I'm
sorry if it's serious, Jem, but I never dreamt you had any ideas in that
quarter. If I had I'd have given old Nugent the best bunk on the ship
and sung him to sleep myself. Has she given you any encouragement?"
"Don't know," said Jem, who found the conversation awkward.
"Extraordinary thing," said the captain, shaking his head,
"extraordinary. Like a play."
"Play?" said his son, sharply.
"Play," repeated his father, firmly. "What is the name of it? I saw it
once at Newcastle. The lovers take poison and die across each other's
chests because their people won't let 'em marry. And that reminds me.
I saw some phosphor-paste in the kitchen, Jem. Whose is it?"
"I'm glad to be the means of affording you amusement," said Jem, grinding
his teeth.
Captain Hardy regarded him affectionately. "Go easy, my lad," he said,
equably; "go easy. If I'd known it before, things would have been
different; as I didn't, we must make the best of it. She's a pretty
girl, and a good one, too, for all her airs, but I'm afraid she's too
fond of her father to overlook this."
"That's where you've made such a mess of things," broke in his son.
"Why on earth you two old men couldn't--"
"Easy," said the startled captain. "When you are in the early fifties,
my lad, your ideas about age will be more accurate. Besides, Nugent is
seven or eight years older than I am."
"What became of him?" inquired Jem.
"He was off the moment we berthed," said his father, suppressing a smile.
"I don't mean that he bolted--he'd got enough starch left in him not to
do that--but he didn't trespass on our hospitality a moment longer than
was necessary. I heard that he got a passage home on the Columbus. He
knew the master. She sailed some time before us for London. I thought
he'd have been home by this."
It was not until two days later, however, that the gossip in Sunwich
received a pleasant fillip by the arrival of the injured captain. He
came down from London by the midday train, and, disdaining the privacy
of a cab, prepared to run the gauntlet of his fellow-townsmen.
A weaker man would have made a detour, but he held a direct course, and
with a curt nod to acquaintances who would have stopped him walked
swiftly in the direction of home. Tradesmen ran to their shop-doors to
see him, and smoking amphibians lounging at street corners broke out into
sunny smiles as he passed. He met these annoyances with a set face and a
cold eye, but his views concerning children were not improved by the
crowd of small creatures which fluttered along the road ahead of him and,
hopeful of developments, clustered round the gate as he passed in.
[Illustration: "He met these annoyances with a set face."]
It is the pride and privilege of most returned wanderers to hold forth
at great length concerning their adventures, but Captain Nugent was
commendably brief. At first he could hardly be induced to speak of them
at all, but the necessity of contradicting stories which Bella had
gleaned for Mrs. Kingdom from friends in town proved too strong for him.
He ground his teeth with suppressed fury as he listened to some of them.
The truth was bad enough, and his daughter, sitting by his side with her
hand in his, was trembling with indignation.
"Poor father," she said, tenderly; "what a time you must have had."
"It won't bear thinking of," said Mrs. Kingdom, not to be outdone in
sympathy.
"He met these annoyances with a set face."
"Well, don't think of it," said the captain, shortly.
Mrs. Kingdom sighed as though to indicate that her feelings were not to
be suppressed in that simple fashion.
"The anxiety has been very great," she said, shaking her head, "but
everybody's been very kind. I'm sure all our friends have been most
sympathetic. I couldn't go outside the house without somebody stopping
me and asking whether there was any news of you. I'd no idea you were so
popular; even the milkman----"
"I'd like some tea," interrupted the captain, roughly; "that is, when you
have finished your very interesting information."
Mrs. Kingdom pursed her lips together to suppress the words she was
afraid to utter, and rang the bell.
"Your master would like some tea," she said, primly, as Bella appeared.
"He has had a long journey." The captain started and eyed her fiercely;
Mrs. Kingdom, her good temper quite restored by this little retort,
folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him with renewed sympathy.
"We all missed you very much," said Kate, softly. "But we had no fears
once we knew that you were at sea."
"And I suppose some of the sailors were kind to you?" suggested the
unfortunate Mrs. Kingdom. "They are rough fellows, but I suppose some of
them have got their hearts in the right place. I daresay they were sorry
to see you in such a position."
The captain's reply was of a nature known to Mrs. Kingdom and her circle
as "snapping one's head off." He drew his chair to the table as Bella
brought in the tray and, accepting a cup of tea, began to discuss with
his daughter the events which had transpired in his absence.
"There is no news," interposed Mrs. Kingdom, during an interval. Mr.
Hall's aunt died the other day."
"Never heard of her," said the captain. "Neither had I, till then," said
his sister. "What a lot of people there are one never hears of, John."
The captain stared at her offensively and went on with his meal. A long
silence ensued.
"I suppose you didn't get to hear of the cable that was sent?" said Mrs.
Kingdom, making another effort to arouse interest.
"What cable?" inquired her brother.
"The one Mr. Hardy sent to his father about you," replied Mrs. Kingdom.
The captain pushed his chair back and stared her full in the face. "What
do you mean?" he demanded.
His sister explained.
"Do you mean to tell me that you've been speaking to young Hardy?"
exclaimed the captain.
"I could hardly help doing so, when he came here," returned his sister,
with dignity. "He has been very anxious about you."
Captain Nugent rose and strode up and down the room. Then he stopped and
glanced sharply at his daughter.
"Were you here when he called?" he demanded.
"Yes," was the reply.
"And you--you spoke to him?" roared the captain.
"I had to be civil," said Miss Nugent, calmly; "I'm not a sea-captain."
Her father walked up and down the room again. Mrs. Kingdom, terrified at
the storm she had evoked, gazed helplessly at her niece.