‘Cut out this gentleman stuff, Philip, I’ve got no time for it. It’s not my way to joke about something of such deadly importance, you fool. I tell you I’ve been courtin’ that girl this last fortnight or so, an’ I mean to have her, whether you like it or not.’
Every vestige of colour drained from Philip’s face. He looked shrunken and wizened, like a fair rat. He clutched at the arm of the sofa, never taking his eyes off his brother’s.
‘Say that again.’
‘I say I’m goin’ to have that girl, an’ she’s promised herself to me. I’m very sorry to break up your happy schemes, old fellow, but I’d no idea that my Annie was your intended. If you’d only be a little more open, an’ not so mighty secretive about your affairs, there’d be none of this springin’ things on you now. I reckon there’s nothin’ more that I can say, except the position is an embarrassin’ one for both of us, an’ the sooner we put an end to it the better.’
Philip sat motionless on the sofa, then he began to speak slowly and softly.
‘You damned swine,’ he said. ‘So that was your idea, was it? To slink behind my back and make love to the woman I wanted for my wife; to deliberately steal her from me . . .’
‘Hold fast, brother,’ shouted Joseph. ‘I never knew until this mornin’ when you showed me her likeness that Annie was the girl you had a fancy for. Do I look like a thief?’
‘What difference does that make? All I know is that you’ve chosen to step between me and Annie Tabb, you, a middle-aged sailor with a grown-up family.’
‘Curse your insultin’ tongue. Bain’t ye only four years younger’n me, Philip? Where’s the difference, eh - show me the difference? You’ll not get Annie for all your flimsy fortune an’ your boastful talk. She’ll have none of you. Annie,’ he called, ‘Annie, come here an’ tell him so.’
‘Good God, you’ve had the impudence to bring her to this house?’
‘I have that.’
Annie appeared in the doorway, very flushed and confused.
‘Now, Annie,’ said Joseph, ‘I can’t get my brother to understand you refuse to marry him. Do you mind tellin’ him so yourself?’
‘Oh! dear - I don’t know - what can I say? - I never . . .’
Philip rose from his sofa and went towards her.
‘Miss Annie,’ he said, ‘this is perhaps the most important moment of your life, and you must think carefully. You have known me for some months, a great deal longer than you have known my brother Joseph. I have made no attempt to frighten you or to rush you into an engagement. I had decided to speak to you early next week, and ask you to be my wife. You would, by accepting me, hold a high position in Plyn, and I should be able to offer you anything you wanted. You would never regret taking such a step. And now you intend to throw this aside, with not so much as a thought, because my brother, a rough sailor, has chanced to throw his eye over you, and has amused himself by telling you things he will forget in a few weeks’ time.’
‘Pay no heed to his smooth words, Annie,’ said Joseph, seizing her hand.‘You’re too beautiful an’ too young to be content with the things he promises. I tell you they’re empty an’ cold, the gifts he’d fling on you, makin’ you a pretty stuffed doll for his own pleasure with no care for your natural feelin’s. You’m born for love, Annie, an’ beauty, an’ the blessed things of this earth. He’d sit you in a high chair with a jewel at your throat, and your body starvin’ the while; while I’ll give you no fancy trinkets but hold you in my arms next my heart. Come to me.’
‘Oh! deary, Oh! deary,’ cried Annie, ‘what can I say, when there’s none to counsel. It’s terrible hard for a girl, who’d no wish to be wed yet a while, to be plunged like this i’ the midst of trouble, till she’s nigh borne off her feet with the flurry o’ words.’
‘Think, child, think,’ said Philip. ‘I’ll not hasten you, nor worry you. I’ll make you one of the richest ladies in Plyn, which Joseph can never do, remember that.’
‘Don’t you want to be loved, Annie, don’t you, eh - don’t you?’ whispered Joseph.
‘Oh! please, please, let me think by myself,’ said the girl, with tears in her eyes. ‘I’m certain I do love you, Captain Joe, but I must think it out alone as Mr Philip says. Let me go now, an’ after the holiday I’ll give you my answer, I promise.’
‘Come, that’s fair enough, I reckon,’ laughed Joseph. He had no doubt that he could win her. ‘What do ye say, brother?’
Philip walked to the window, his hands behind his back.
‘I’ll break even with you, one day.This is something I won’t forget. Now go out of this house, and take her with you. I want to be alone.’
‘Good day, Philip,’ said Joseph, and he strode from the building with Annie following close behind him. ‘So you needs must think by yourself, my girl?’ he asked, frowning down on her. ‘Well, don’t you take too long over it, that’s all I plead. An’ one thing more.There’s no slippin’ away from me Monday night at the fair, eh? No more harsh words then, but a quick forgettin’ of all this business.’
So he turned on his heel and left her.
10
All day long the sun had shone on the merrymakers of Plyn, for it was Whit Monday, and a great holiday. The harbour had been alive with pleasure boats to watch the racing up the river and back.
At last evening was come, and many of the people pulled for home, but the younger and more restless ones made for the excitement and the crowds of the town quay, before the old ‘King William Inn’.
The fair had come to Plyn.
There were booths huddled close together on the cobbled square, there were coconut shies, and Aunt Sallies, and dart-throwing, and ‘Try your weight’, and numberless little stalls for sweets and refreshment.
The centre of the attraction was the merry-go-round. Here gathered the thickest of the crowd, sailors from off their ships, foreigners some of them, and boys and girls escaped from home, lovers making the most of their time. And the barrel organ squeaked out the rollicking popular tune, ‘Champagne Charlie is my Name’.
The night was dark and windy, loose clouds blew across the sky, hiding the stars. The lanterns flickered, and folk lost one another now and again amongst the throng. ‘Where are you, Nancy Penrose?’ ‘Has anyone seen my Jan?’
The air was filled with excitement and adventure, whispers in the dark, and the touch of hands.
Round and round staggered the painted horses, the wretched fellow sweating as he turned the handle.
Oh! you girls, you naughty young girls,
Why don’t you try to be good, be good?
Why will you flirt with so many young swells,
And not with the men you should, you should?
The barrel organ thumped and trilled, while folk rode the horses, swaying in time to the music.
Joseph sat astride his horse, with Annie propped up before him. Christopher was away the other side of the quay, flinging darts with a young Danish sailor.
So Joseph swayed to the lively tune with Annie’s hair blowing about his face, and his mouth nearly touching her mouth, and she half drunk with the night and the flaring lights, caring not at all what should become of her.
Round and round they went, laughing, singing, joining in the riotous clamour of sound.
Oh! you girls, you naughty young girls,
Why don’t you try to be good, be good?
Why do you flirt with so many young swells,
And not with the men you should, you should?
Joseph drew Annie closer to him, burying his face in her hair. ‘Sweetheart, I love you - I love you, come away now, now at once. I can’t wait for you no longer.’
‘No - Joe, I mustn’t. Oh! I can’t.’
‘Yes.’
‘No - don’t ask me.’
‘Yes - I say.’
‘Oh! Joe, how can we? Where would we go? We mustn’t.’
‘Yes - come away, now, over the water, to my ship. Darling, I can’t go on without you - come.’
br />
‘Joe, please . . .’
‘Annie, my beautiful Annie, I love you, quick, down into the boat waitin’ at the steps, and over to the ship.’
Protesting, half afraid, half excited, Annie allowed herself to be pulled away by Joseph from the thick pressing crowd, and handed into the little boat. The water was dark and rough, and the careless wind tossed at her hair and her skirts.
‘Joe, let’s go back.’
‘No, I say. Annie, it’s so wonderful, so wonderful.’
The boat shot away into the darkness, over the tumbled harbour water, towards the black ship anchored at the far buoy. Joseph pulled like a madman, his face wet with the spray, his heart thumping, his eyes shining.
The loose clouds blew away from the sky, showing a misty star. In the middle of the harbour the wind and the tide caught them, carrying them towards the ship as powerfully as a mill stream leads to a waiting weir.
Annie crouched in the stern, her hands and her eyes burning, her knees trembling. What was going to happen, why did she feel so weak and helpless, and yet seized with a queer excitement? Joseph did not care.
The lights of the quay faded away, the music sounded but faintly in the distance.
Oh! you girls, you naughty young girls,
Why don’t you try to be good, be good?
From his window Philip Coombe watched the crowd contemptuously. Once he had seen Joseph and Annie hand in hand, and then they had disappeared in the direction of the fair. He drew the curtains close and then went and sat alone by the empty fireplace, with only his thoughts for company.
The little boat in the harbour swung against the side of the ship, and two figures crept up the ladder that was hanging over the side.
‘Joe, what have I done - what have I done?’ whispered Annie.
Joseph took her face in his hands. The Janet Coombe was deserted save for them. High above his head swayed the riding light. Plyn lay away across the harbour.This was one of Joseph’s moments, splendid, triumphant.
He carried her away below to the silent cabin.
Some five days later they were married by licence at Sudmin.
The sudden marriage caused a great upheaval in the Captain’s home circle. Joseph moved into his old home, Ivy House, which had stood empty since Thomas’s death, for Mary had not wished to remain there alone, and she was now living with Samuel and his family. The services of his twin nieces were of course no longer required.
Christopher was deeply shocked at his father’s marriage. He took an instant dislike to Annie, he suspected that she was shallow and foolish for all her prettiness, and was convinced that she would never bring any permanent happiness to his father.
These ridiculous lovers at Ivy House made him feel hot and embarrassed. He spent all the time he could down at the yard pretending he liked his work, and privately determining that sooner or later he would leave Plyn, and seek his fortune elsewhere.
Albert, sick of waiting for the Janet Coombe to sail, shipped in another vessel, and left his father to his fate.
Charles wrote from Africa sending his respects to his stepmother - and Katherine was delighted to have a companion who was something nearer her own age.
Joseph was like one who walks with his head in the sun above the clouds; and his feet on the edge of a precipice.
For six weeks he lived, careless of time and money and everybody but himself and Annie. Ships left harbour and returned again, the full bloom of summer was upon Plyn, but still the Janet Coombe remained at her buoy, forlorn and deserted.
One day towards the beginning of July, Dick Coombe, now first mate of the family vessel, went up to supper at Ivy House, determined to speak tactfully to his uncle the skipper. He was unmarried himself, and slightly contemptuous of the way his uncle had fallen a victim, allowing himself to be ruled by a petticoat instead of acting Master of his ship.
It was a warm lovely evening, and he found Joseph and Annie seated in their garden.
‘Well, nephew, glad to see you,’ said Joseph, without looking up. ‘Nice sort o’ weather, isn’t it? Annie an’ I have been sittin’ here all day, that idle we’re almost ashamed of ourselves, ain’t we lovie?’
‘Oh! Joe, it’s been delicious, I’m sure I couldn’t have moved a step if I tried,’ said Annie, gazing at her husband with swollen eyes of devotion.
Joseph yawned and stretched himself. ‘Well, I’ve got indigestion, I know that. It’s a good twenty-mile walk I need, only I can’t make the effort. Sit down, Dick lad, an’ smoke, Annie doesn’t mind tobacco.’
His nephew obeyed, watching his uncle as he lit his pipe.
He decided at once that Joseph had put on weight; there was a certain loose flabbiness round his neck that had never been there before, and there were pouches under his eyes. His right eye, that Dick had sometimes suspected worried him on board ship, was bloodshot, and the pupil dilated.
‘The Mary Hawkins left this morning at 9 o’clock,’ he said quietly, ‘bound for the Mediterranean. Freights are firm at the moment, and the stuff’s waitin’ down there, rotting, for ships to take it away. Did you see her go? There was a fine breeze, I reckon she’ll make a quick passage.’
Joseph moved a little uneasily in his chair. ‘No,’ he said carelessly, ‘no, I wasn’t up. Matter of fact, I haven’t been down the harbour lately. Are the jetties filled?’
‘Aye, packed, every one.There’s vessels moored down opposite the town, waitin’ their turn. I saw Captain Salt s’mornin’. The Hannah Lee all but beat your record passage to Bristol, just over a week ago. They’re all talkin’ of it down in Plyn.’
He was a clever fellow, was Dick. Joseph roused himself at this bit of news, and looked at his nephew with interest.
‘The Hannah Lee?’ he said. ‘Well, I reckon she must have smartened up a deal since last we raced in company. D’you mind that time we left Plyn together? Why, we beat them five miles from the Deadman to the Lizard. Only a few weeks back, too.’
‘Gettin’ on for three months, sir,’ said Dick, calmly puffing at his pipe.
‘Three months,’ exclaimed Joseph, something bewildered. ‘Have I been married then over nine weeks? The devil indeed! How the time does fly. Why it seems only yesterday, Annie heart, don’t it?’ He reached out his hand to take hers.
‘Yes, my love,’ she replied.
‘Captain Salt sails again early i’ the week,’ went on Dick unperturbed. ‘His schooner is up at No. 2 now, taking in ball clay. She’s goin’ to Newcastle, an’ then out to St Michaels in ballast, to catch the trade. They all say she’ll be first home again.’
‘Ha!’ laughed Joseph scornfully.‘She wouldn’t stand a chance ’longside o’ my Janet Coombe. I s’pose Jimmie Salt knows that.’
‘Aye, I told him so. But he said he’d beat her fair an’ square, now Janet Coombe has nigh twelve weeks’ weed on her bottom. Offensive old fellow, is Cap’ain Salt. He said the Janet Coombe was gettin’ quite a landmark where she lay, an’ some stranger t’other day inquired if she were a relic o’ the French wars.’
‘Blarst his impudence,’ roared Joseph. ‘I’ll teach Jimmie Salt better manners, by thunder. Annie, treasure, did ye hear that?’
‘How shocking, deary me,’ said Annie, who hadn’t been listening, but was wondering if she ought to go in and see to the supper. She rose now and left them, while Joseph stamped up and down the garden path, calling Jimmie Salt every name under the sun.
During the days that followed Joseph’s manner changed. Worry had crept into his mind. He found himself wandering about Plyn and the harbour, catching snatches of conversation here and there, and fancying he heard insults directed at himself and his ship.
He would speak in the inn to skippers returned from St Michaels, boasting of their quick passages and favourable winds.
Then the weather changed, and there was a fortnight of fierce sou’westerly gales.The rain streamed in the little garden, and Joseph prowled about the kitchen and parlour.
The Julia Mos
s was lost off the Lizard, with all hands, and another brigantine put into Plyn with her bulwarks stove in, and under jury rig. Joseph thought of the battles in mid-ocean on the deck of his Janet Coombe, and how she had fought and withstood every gale, never drowning a man yet, bringing them all to safety.
And the old restless longing rose in Joseph, to depart once more with the wind and the sea, to the life he loved, and to which he belonged. Once more he must stand on the deck of his ship with Janet for company, and danger lurking near, with the water surging beneath him, a shout in his ears, and above his head a wild wet star.
Not even the clinging arms of Annie could keep him back.
So he put his wife from him with scarce a sigh, and with a light in his eyes Joseph weighed anchor once more on board the Janet Coombe, and on a summer’s evening, Master and ship went away down harbour, borne by the wind and the tide - outward bound.
11
Gradually Joseph slipped back into his old routine on board ship. Hours of energy and hours of peace.The companionship of men, the life they shared together, the sharp struggle against a sudden tearing gale ending in victory, the safe anchorage within a strange harbour, where the lights beckoned, and away again once more, to the infinite horizon.
The months sped on as they had always done, with never a regret for the vanished honeymoon, save a queer sensation that the tide of passion had run its course, and was now spent, inevitably. Thus reasoned Joseph in the back of his mind, and put his bride away from his thoughts, knowing she was possessed, certain of her.
When he returned, bronzed and weatherbeaten, he was a husband who claimed his wife, but no more than this.
In 1886 Annie’s baby was born, and died a few hours later.
Joseph himself was touched by his wife’s grief, but the loss meant little to him. He had already brought up one family, and the thought of a possible second brood was not to his fancy.
And now another trouble was creeping into his life. Joseph’s eyesight was failing him.