CHAPTER XXVIII
THE GOLDEN SHIP
Two minutes after Bishop had passed from sight, Henrietta rose from adip in the fern; in which she had lain all the time, as snugly hidden,though within eyeshot of him, as a hare in its form. She cast a waryglance round. Then she hastened to the gate, but did not pass throughit. She knew too much. She chose a weak place in the fence, scaled itwith care, and sprang lightly into the road. She glanced up and down,but no one was in sight, and pleased with her cleverness, she set offat a quick pace up the hill.
The sun lacked an hour of setting. She might count on two hours ofdaylight, and her spirits rose. As the emerald green of the lowerhills shone the brighter for the patches of snow, harbingers ofwinter, which flecked them, so her spirits rose the higher fortroubles overpast or to come. She felt no fear, no despondency, noneof the tremours with which she had entered on her night adventure. Agaiety of which she did not ask herself the cause, a heart as light asher feet and as blithe as the black-bird's note, carried her on. Shewho had awakened that morning in a prison could have sung and caroledas she walked. The beauty of the hills about her, of the lake belowher, blue here, there black, filled her with happiness.
And the cause? She did not seek for the cause. Certainly she did notfind it. It was enough for the moment that she had been prisoned andwas free; and that in an hour, or two hours at most, she would returnwith the child or with news. And then, the sweet vengeance of layingit in its father's arms! She whom he had insulted, whom he hadmishandled, whom he had treated so remorselessly--it would be from herhand that he would receive his treasure, the child whom he had toldher that she hated. He would have some cause then to talk of makingamends! And need to go about and about before he found a way to bequits with her!
She did not analyse beyond that point the feeling of gaiety and joyousanticipation which possessed her. She would put him in the wrong. Shewould heap coals of fire on his head. That sufficed. If there welledup within her heart another thought, if since morning she had afeeling and a hope that thrilled her and lent to all the world thissmiling guise, she was conscious of the effect, unconscious of thecause. The wrist which Clyne had twisted was still black and blue andtender to the touch. She blushed lest any eye fall on it, or any guesshow he had treated her. But--she blushed also, when she was alone, andher own eyes dwelt on it. And dwell on it sometimes they would; for,strange to say, the feeling of shame, if it was shame, was notunpleasant.
She met no one. She reached the gate of Starvecrow Farm, unseen as shebelieved. But heedful of the old saying, that fields have eyes andwoods have ears, she looked carefully round her before she laid herhand on the gate. Then, in a twinkling, she was round the house like alapwing and tapping at the door.
To her first summons she got no answer. And effacing herself as muchas possible, she cast a wary eye over the place. The garden was asragged and desolate, the house as bald and forbidding, the firs aboutit as gloomy, as when she had last seen them. But the view oversloping field and green meadow, wooded knoll and shining lake, made upfor all. And her only feeling as she tapped again and more loudly wasone of impatience. Even the memory of the squalid old man whom she hadonce seen there did not avail to alarm her in her buoyant mood.
This was well, perhaps. For when she knocked a third time, in alarmlest the person she sought should be gone, and her golden ship withhim, it was that very old man who opened the door. And, notunnaturally, it seemed to Henrietta that with its opening a shadowfell across the landscape and blurred the sunshine of the day. Theape-like creature who gaped at her, the cavern-like room behind him,the breath of the close air that came from him, inspired disgust, ifnot alarm, and checked the girl in the full current of content.
He did not speak. But he moved his toothless gums unpleasantly, anddanced up and down in an odd fashion from his knees, without movinghis feet. Meanwhile his reddened eyes thrust near to hers gleamed withsuspicion. On her side Henrietta was taken aback by his appearance,and for some moments she stared at him in consternation. What couldshe expect from such a creature?
At length, "I wish to see Walterson," she said; in a low tone--theremight be listeners in the house. "Do you understand? Do youunderstand?" she repeated more loudly.
He set his head, which was bald in patches, on one side; as if toindicate that he was deaf. And with his eyes on hers, he dropped hislower jaw and waited for her to repeat what she had said.
She saw nothing else for it, and she crushed down her repugnance.
"Let me come in," she said. "Do you hear? I want to talk to you. Letme come in."
To remain where she was, talking secrets to a deaf man, was to invitediscovery.
He understood her this time, and grudgingly he opened the door alittle wider. He stood aside and Henrietta entered. In the act shecast a backward look over her shoulder, and caught through the doorwaya last prospect of the hills and the mid-lake and the green islets offBowness--set like jewels on its gleaming breast--all clear-cut in thebrisk winter air. She felt the beauty of the scene, but she did notguess what things were to happen to her before she looked again uponits fellow.
Not that when the door was shut upon her, the room in which she foundherself did not something appal her. The fire had been allowed to sinklow, and the squalor and the chill, vapid air of the place wrapped herabout. But she was naturally fearless, and she cheered herself withthe thought that she was stronger than the grinning old man who stoodbefore her. She was sure that if he resorted to violence she couldmaster him. Still, she was in haste. She was anxious to do what shehad to do, and escape.
And: "I must see Walterson!" she told him loudly, looking down on him,and instinctively keeping her skirts clear of the unswept floor. "Hewas here, I know, some days ago," she continued sharply. "Don't sayyou don't understand, because you do! But fetch him, or tell me wherehe is. Do you hear?"
The old man moved his jaw to and fro. He grinned senilely.
"He was here, eh?" he drawled.
"Yes, he was here," Henrietta returned, taking a tone of authoritywith him. "And I must see him."
"Ay?"
"It is to do no harm to him," she explained. "Tell him Miss Damer ishere. Miss Damer, do you hear? He will see me, I am sure."
"Ay?" he said again in the same half-vacant tone. "Ay?"
But he did not go beyond that; nor did he make any movement to comply.And she was beginning to think him wholly imbecile when his eyes lefthers and fixed themselves on the front of her riding-coat. Then, aftera moment's silence, during which she patted the floor with her foot infierce impatience, he raised his claw-like hand and stretched itslowly towards her throat.
She stepped back, but as much in anger as in fear. Was the manimbecile, or very wicked?
"What do you want?" she asked sharply. "Don't you understand what Ihave said to you?"
For the moment he seemed to be disconcerted by her movement. He stoodin the same place, slowly blinking his weak eyes at her. Then heturned and moved in a slip-shod fashion to the hearth and threw on twoor three morsels of touch-wood, causing the fire to leap up and shoota flickering light into the darker corners of the room. The gleamdiscovered his dingy bed and dingier curtains, and the shadowyentrance to the staircase in which Henrietta had once seen Walterson.And it showed Henrietta herself, and awakened a spark in her angryeyes.
The old man, still stooping, looked round at her, his chin on hisshoulder. And slowly, with an odd crab-like movement, he edged his wayback to her. She watched his approach with a growing fear of thegloomy house and the silence and the dark staircase. She began tothink he was imbecile, or worse, and that nothing could be got fromhim. And she was in two minds about retreating--so powerfully dosilence and mystery tell on the nerves--when he paused in his advance,and, raising his lean, twitching hand, pointed to her neck.
"Give it me," he whimpered. "Give it me--and I'll see, maybe, where heis."
She frowned.
"What?" she ask
ed. "What do you want?"
"The gold!" he croaked. "The gold! At your neck, lass! That sparkles!Give it me!" opening and shutting his lean fingers. "And I'll--I'llsee what I can do."
She carried her fingers to the neck of her gown and touched the tinygold medal struck to celebrate the birth of the Princess Charlotte,which she wore as a clasp at her throat. And relieved to find that hemeant no worse, she smiled. The scarecrow before her was less of an"innocent" than she had judged him. It was so much the better for herpurpose.
"I cannot give you this," she said. "But I'll give you its value, ifyou will bring me to Walterson."
"No, no, give it me," he whimpered, grimacing at her and making feebleclutches in the air. "Give it me!"
"I cannot, I say," she repeated. "It was my mother's, and I cannotpart with it. But if," she continued patiently, "you will do what Iask I will give you its value, old man, another day."
"Give now!" he retorted. "Give now!" And leering with childishcunning, "Trust the day and greet the morrow! Groats in pouch ne'eryet brought sorrow! Na, na, Hinkson, old Hinkson trusts nobody. Giveit me now, lass! And I--I know what I know." And in a cracked andquavering voice, swaying himself to the measure,
"It is an old saying That few words are best, And he that says little Shall live most at rest. And I by my gossips Do find it right so, Therefore I'll spare speech, But--I know what I know.
I know what I know!" he repeated, blinking with doting astuteness,
"Therefore I'll spare speech, But--I know what I know!"
Henrietta stared. She would have given him the money, any money in herpower. But imprudently prudent, she had brought none with her.
"I can't give it you now," she said. "But I will give it you to-morrowif you will do what I ask. Otherwise I shall go and you will getnothing."
He did not reply, but he began to mumble with his jaws and dancehimself up and down from his knees, as at her first entrance; with hismonstrous head on one side and his red-lidded eyes peering at her. Inthe open, in the sunshine, she would not have feared him; she wouldhave thought him only grotesque in his anger. But shut up in thishideous den with him, in this atmosphere of dimly perceived danger,she felt her flesh creep. What if he struck her treacherously, or tookher by surprise? She had read of houses where the floors sank underdoomed strangers, or the testers of beds came down on them in theirsleep. He was capable, she was sure, of anything; even of murderingher for the sake of the two or three guineas' worth of gold which shewore at her neck. Yet she held her ground.
"Do you hear?" she said with spirit. "If you do not tell me, I shallgo. And you will get nothing!"
He nodded cunningly.
"Bide a bit!" he said in a different tone. "Sit ye down, lass, sit yedown! Bide a bit, and I'll see."
He slippered his way across the floor to get a stool for her. But whenhe had lifted the stool from the floor in his shaking hands, shemarked with a quick leap of the heart that he had put himself betweenher and the door, and that, with the possession of the stool, hislooks were altered. The heavy block wavered in his grasp and he seemedto pant and stagger under its weight. But there was an ugly light inhis eyes as he sidled nearer and nearer to her; a light that meantmurder. She was sure that he was going to leap upon her. And sheremembered that no one, no one knew where she was, no one had seen herenter the house. She had only her own strength to look to, only herown courage and coolness, if she would escape this creature.
"Put down that stool!" she said.
"Eh?"
"Put down that stool!" she repeated, firmly. And she kept her eyes onhim, resisting the fatal temptation to glance at door or window. "Doyou hear me? Put down that stool!"
He hesitated, but her glance never wavered. And slowly and unwillinglyhe obeyed. Shaking as with the palsy, and with his mouth fallenopen--so that he looked more imbecile and less human than ever--herelinquished the stool.
She drew a deep breath.
"Now," she said bravely, though she was conscious that theperspiration had broken out on her brow, "tell me at once where heis?"
But the old miser, though his will had yielded to hers, did notanswer. He seemed to be shaken by his defeat, and to be at once feebleand furious. Glaring askance at her, he tottered to the settle on thehearth and sat down on it, breathing heavily.
"Curse her! Curse her! Curse her!" he gibbered low, but audibly. Andhe licked his lips and gnashed his toothless gums at her in impotentrage. "Curse her! Curse her!" The firelight, now rising, now falling,showed him sitting there, mopping and mowing, like some uncleanEastern idol; or, again, masked his revolting ugliness.
The girl thought him horrible, thought it all horrible. She felt foran instant as if she were going to faint. But she had gained thevictory, she had mastered him, and she would make one last attempt toattain her object.
"You wicked old man," she said, "you would have hurt me! You wickedmonster! But I am stronger, much stronger than you, and I do not fearyou. Now I am going unless you tell me at once."
He ceased to gibber to her. He beckoned to her to approach him. Butshe shook her head. He no longer had the stool, but he might have someweapon hidden under the seat of the settle. She distrusted him.
"No," she said, "I am not coming near you. You are a villainous oldman, and I don't trust you."
"Have you no--no money?" he whimpered. "Nothing to give old Hinkson?Poor old Hinkson?" with a feeble movement of his fingers on his knees,as if he drew bed-clothes about him.
"Where is Walterson?" she repeated. "Tell me at once."
"How do I know?" he whined. "I don't know."
"He was here. You do know. Tell me."
He averted his eyes and held out a palsied hand.
"Give!" he answered. "Give!"
But she was relentless.
"Tell me," she rejoined, "or I go, and you get nothing." She was inearnest now, for she began to despair of drawing anything from him,and she saw nothing for it but to go and return another time. "Do youhear?" she continued. "If you do not speak for me, I--I shall go tothose who will know how to make you speak."
It was an idle threat; and one which she had no intention ofexecuting. But the rage into which it flung him--no rage is so fierceas that which is mingled with fear--fairly appalled her. "Eh? Eh?" hecried, his voice rising to an inarticulate scream. "Eh? You will, willyou?" And he rose to his feet and clawed the air as if, were shewithin reach, he would have torn her to pieces. "You devil, you witch,you besom! Go!" he cried. "I'll sort you! I'll sort you! I'll fetchone as shall--as shall dumb you!"
There was something so demoniacal in the old dotard's passion, in itsvery futility, in its very violence, that the girl shrank likeFrankenstein before the monster she had aroused. She turned to saveherself, for, weak as he was, he seemed to be about to fling himselfupon her; and she had no stomach for the contact. But as sheturned--with a backward glance at him, and an arm stretched toward thedoor to make sure of the latch--a shadow cast by a figure passingbefore the lattice flitted across the floor between them, and a handrested on the latch.