43. THE RAILWAY--THE SEA--THE SHORE BEYOND
By this time Sol and the Honourable Edgar Mountclere had gone far ontheir journey into Wessex. Enckworth Court, Mountclere's destination,though several miles from Knollsea, was most easily accessible by thesame route as that to the village, the latter being the place for whichSol was bound.
From the few words that passed between them on the way, Mountclere becamemore stubborn than ever in a belief that this was a carefully laid trapof the fair Ethelberta's to ensnare his brother without revealing to himher family ties, which it therefore behoved him to make clear, with theutmost force of representation, before the fatal union had beencontracted. Being himself the viscount's only remaining brother and nearrelative, the disinterestedness of his motives may be left toimagination; that there was much real excuse for his conduct must,however, be borne in mind. Whether his attempt would prevent the unionwas another question: he believed that, conjoined with his personalinfluence over the viscount, and the importation of Sol as a firebrand tothrow between the betrothed pair, it might do so.
About half-an-hour before sunset the two individuals, linked by theirdifferences, reached the point of railway at which the branch toSandbourne left the main line. They had taken tickets for Sandbourne,intending to go thence to Knollsea by the steamer that plied between thetwo places during the summer months--making this a short and directroute. But it occurred to Mountclere on the way that, summer being over,the steamer might possibly have left off running, the wind might be toohigh for a small boat, and no large one might be at hand for hire:therefore it would be safer to go by train to Anglebury, and theremaining sixteen miles by driving over the hills, even at a great lossof time.
Accident, however, determined otherwise. They were in the station at thejunction, inquiring of an official if the Speedwell had ceased to sail,when a countryman who had just come up from Sandbourne stated that,though the Speedwell had left off for the year, there was that dayanother steamer at Sandbourne. This steamer would of necessity return toKnollsea that evening, partly because several people from that place hadbeen on board, and also because the Knollsea folk were waiting forgroceries and draperies from London: there was not an ounce of tea or ahundredweight of coal in the village, owing to the recent winds, whichhad detained the provision parcels at Sandbourne, and kept the colliersup-channel until the change of weather this day. To introducenecessaries by a roundabout land journey was not easy when they had beenordered by the other and habitual route. The boat returned at sixo'clock.
So on they went to Sandbourne, driving off to the pier directly theyreached that place, for it was getting towards night. The steamer wasthere, as the man had told them, much to the relief of Sol, who, beingextremely anxious to enter Knollsea before a late hour, had known thatthis was the only way in which it could be done.
Some unforeseen incident delayed the boat, and they walked up and downthe pier to wait. The prospect was gloomy enough. The wind was north-east; the sea along shore was a chalky-green, though comparatively calm,this part of the coast forming a shelter from wind in its presentquarter. The clouds had different velocities, and some of them shonewith a coppery glare, produced by rays from the west which did not enterthe inferior atmosphere at all. It was reflected on the distant waves inpatches, with an effect as if the waters were at those particular spotsstained with blood. This departed, and what daylight was left to theearth came from strange and unusual quarters of the heavens. The zenithwould be bright, as if that were the place of the sun; then all overheadwould close, and a whiteness in the east would give the appearance ofmorning; while a bank as thick as a wall barricaded the west, whichlooked as if it had no acquaintance with sunsets, and would blush red nomore.
'Any other passengers?' shouted the master of the steamboat. 'We must beoff: it may be a dirty night.'
Sol and Mountclere went on board, and the pier receded in the dusk.
'Shall we have any difficulty in getting into Knollsea Bay?' saidMountclere.
'Not if the wind keeps where it is for another hour or two.'
'I fancy it is shifting to the east'ard,' said Sol.
The captain looked as if he had thought the same thing.
'I hope I shall be able to get home to-night,' said a Knollsea woman. 'Mylittle children be left alone. Your mis'ess is in a bad way, too--isn'tshe, skipper?'
'Yes.'
'And you've got the doctor from Sandbourne aboard, to tend her?'
'Yes.'
'Then you'll be sure to put into Knollsea, if you can?'
'Yes. Don't be alarmed, ma'am. We'll do what we can. But no one mustboast.'
The skipper's remark was the result of an observation that the wind hadat last flown to the east, the single point of the compass whence itcould affect Knollsea Bay. The result of this change was soonperceptible. About midway in their transit the land elbowed out to abold chalk promontory; beyond this stretched a vertical wall of the samecliff, in a line parallel with their course. In fair weather it waspossible and customary to steer close along under this hoary facade forthe distance of a mile, there being six fathoms of water within a fewboats' lengths of the precipice. But it was an ugly spot at the best oftimes, landward no less than seaward, the cliff rounding off at the topin vegetation, like a forehead with low-grown hair, no defined edge beingprovided as a warning to unwary pedestrians on the downs above.
As the wind sprung up stronger, white clots could be discerned at thewater level of the cliff, rising and falling against the black band ofshaggy weed that formed a sort of skirting to the base of the wall. Theywere the first-fruits of the new east blast, which shaved the face of thecliff like a razor--gatherings of foam in the shape of heads, shoulders,and arms of snowy whiteness, apparently struggling to rise from thedeeps, and ever sinking back to their old levels again. They reminded anobserver of a drowning scene in a picture of the Deluge. At some pointsthe face of rock was hollowed into gaping caverns, and the water began tothunder into these with a leap that was only topped by the reboundseaward again. The vessel's head was kept a little further to sea, butbeyond that everything went on as usual.
The precipice was still in view, and before it several huge columns ofrock appeared, detached from the mass behind. Two of these wereparticularly noticeable in the grey air--one vertical, stout and square;the other slender and tapering. They were individualized as husband andwife by the coast men. The waves leapt up their sides like a pack ofhounds; this, however, though fearful in its boisterousness, was nothingto the terrible games that sometimes went on round the knees of thosegiants in stone. Yet it was sufficient to cause the course of the frailsteamboat to be altered yet a little more--from south-west-by-south tosouth-by-west--to give the breakers a still wider berth.
'I wish we had gone by land, sir; 'twould have been surer play,' said Solto Mountclere, a cat-and-dog friendship having arisen between them.
'Yes,' said Mountclere. 'Knollsea is an abominable place to get intowith an east wind blowing, they say.'
Another circumstance conspired to make their landing more difficult,which Mountclere knew nothing of. With the wind easterly, the highestsea prevailed in Knollsea Bay from the slackening of flood-tide to thefirst hour of ebb. At that time the water outside stood without acurrent, and ridges and hollows chased each other towards the beachunchecked. When the tide was setting strong up or down Channel its flowacross the mouth of the bay thrust aside, to some extent, the landwardplunge of the waves.
We glance for a moment at the state of affairs on the land they werenearing.
This was the time of year to know the truth about the inner nature andcharacter of Knollsea; for to see Knollsea smiling to the summer sun wasto see a courtier before a king; Knollsea was not to be known by suchsimple means. The half-dozen detached villas used as lodging-houses inthe summer, standing aloof from the cots of the permanent race, rose inthe dusk of this gusty evening, empty, silent, damp, and dark as tombs.The gravel walks leading to them w
ere invaded by leaves and tufts ofgrass. As the darkness thickened the wind increased, and each blastraked the iron railings before the houses till they hummed as if in asong of derision. Certainly it seemed absurd at this time of year thathuman beings should expect comfort in a spot capable of such moods asthese.
However, one of the houses looked cheerful, and that was the dwelling towhich Ethelberta had gone. Its gay external colours might as well havebeen black for anything that could be seen of them now, but an unblindedwindow revealed inside it a room bright and warm. It was illuminated byfirelight only. Within, Ethelberta appeared against the curtains, closeto the glass. She was watching through a binocular a faint light whichhad become visible in the direction of the bluff far away over the bay.
'Here is the Spruce at last, I think,' she said to her sister, who was bythe fire. 'I hope they will be able to land the things I have ordered.They are on board I know.'
The wind continued to rise till at length something from the lungs of thegale alighted like a feather upon the pane, and remained there sticking.Seeing the substance, Ethelberta opened the window to secure it. Thefire roared and the pictures kicked the walls; she closed the sash, andbrought to the light a crisp fragment of foam.
'How suddenly the sea must have risen,' said Picotee.
The servant entered the room. 'Please, mis'ess says she is afraid youwon't have your things to-night, 'm. They say the steamer can't land,and mis'ess wants to know if she can do anything?'
'It is of no consequence,' said Ethelberta. 'They will come some time,unless they go to the bottom.'
The girl left the room. 'Shall we go down to the shore and see what thenight is like?' said Ethelberta. 'This is the last opportunity I shallhave.'
'Is it right for us to go, considering you are to be married to-morrow?'said Picotee, who had small affection for nature in this mood.
Her sister laughed. 'Let us put on our cloaks--nobody will know us. Iam sorry to leave this grim and primitive place, even for EnckworthCourt.'
They wrapped themselves up, and descended the hill.
On drawing near the battling line of breakers which marked the meeting ofsea and land they could perceive within the nearly invisible horizon anequilateral triangle of lights. It was formed of three stars, a red onthe one side, a green on the other, and a white on the summit. This,composed of mast-head and side lamps, was all that was visible of theSpruce, which now faced end-on about half-a-mile distant, and was stillnearing the pier. The girls went further, and stood on the foreshore,listening to the din. Seaward appeared nothing distinct save a blackhorizontal band embodying itself out of the grey water, strengthening itsblackness, and enlarging till it looked like a nearing wall. It was theconcave face of a coming wave. On its summit a white edging arose withthe aspect of a lace frill; it broadened, and fell over the front with aterrible concussion. Then all before them was a sheet of whiteness,which spread with amazing rapidity, till they found themselves standingin the midst of it, as in a field of snow. Both felt an insidious chillencircling their ankles, and they rapidly ran up the beach.
'You girls, come away there, or you'll be washed off: what need have yefor going so near?'
Ethelberta recognized the stentorian voice as that of Captain Flower,who, with a party of boatmen, was discovered to be standing near, underthe shelter of a wall. He did not know them in the gloom, and they tookcare that he should not. They retreated further up the beach, when thehissing fleece of froth slid again down the shingle, dragging the pebblesunder it with a rattle as of a beast gnawing bones.
The spot whereon the men stood was called 'Down-under-wall;' it was anook commanding a full view of the bay, and hither the nautical portionof the village unconsciously gravitated on windy afternoons and nights,to discuss past disasters in the reticent spirit induced by a sense thatthey might at any moment be repeated. The stranger who should walk theshore on roaring and sobbing November eves when there was not lightsufficient to guide his footsteps, and muse on the absoluteness of thesolitude, would be surprised by a smart 'Good-night' being returned fromthis corner in company with the echo of his tread. In summer the six oreight perennial figures stood on the breezy side of the wall--in winterand in rain to leeward; but no weather was known to dislodge them.
'I had no sooner come ashore than the wind began to fly round,' said theprevious speaker; 'and it must have been about the time they were off Old-Harry Point. "She'll put back for certain," I said; and I had no morethought o' seeing her than John's set-net that was carried round thepoint o' Monday.'
'Poor feller: his wife being in such a state makes him anxious to land if'a can: that's what 'tis, plain enough.'
'Why that?' said Flower.
'The doctor's aboard, 'a believe: "I'll have the most understanding manin Sandbourne, cost me little or much," he said.'
''Tis all over and she's better,' said the other. 'I called half-an-hourafore dark.'
Flower, being an experienced man, knew how the judgment of a ship'smaster was liable to be warped by family anxieties, many instances of thesame having occurred in the history of navigation. He felt uneasy, forhe knew the deceit and guile of this bay far better than did the masterof the Spruce, who, till within a few recent months, had been a strangerto the place. Indeed, it was the bay which had made Flower what he was,instead of a man in thriving retirement. The two great ventures of hislife had been blown ashore and broken up within that very semicircle. Thesturdy sailor now stood with his eyes fixed on the triangle of lightswhich showed that the steamer had not relinquished her intention ofbringing up inside the pier if possible; his right hand was in hispocket, where it played with a large key which lay there. It was the keyof the lifeboat shed, and Flower was coxswain. His musing was on thepossibility of a use for it this night.
It appeared that the captain of the Spruce was aiming to pass in underthe lee of the pier; but a strong current of four or five knots wasrunning between the piles, drifting the steamer away at every attempt assoon as she slowed. To come in on the other side was dangerous, the hullof the vessel being likely to crash against and overthrow the fragileerection, with damage to herself also. Flower, who had disappeared for afew minutes, now came back.
'It is just possible I can make 'em hear with the trumpet, now they be toleeward,' he said, and proceeded with two or three others to grope hisway out upon the pier, which consisted simply of a row of rotten pilescovered with rotten planking, no balustrade of any kind existing to keepthe unwary from tumbling off. At the water level the piles were eatenaway by the action of the sea to about the size of a man's wrist, and atevery fresh influx the whole structure trembled like a spider's web. Inthis lay the danger of making fast, for a strong pull from a headfastrope might drag the erection completely over. Flower arrived at the end,where a lantern hung.
'Spruce ahoy!' he blared through the speaking trumpet two or three times.
There seemed to be a reply of some sort from the steamer.
'Tuesday's gale hev loosened the pier, Cap'n Ounce; the bollards be tooweak to make fast to: must land in boats if ye will land, but dangerous;yer wife is out of danger, and 'tis a boy-y-y-y!'
Ethelberta and Picotee were at this time standing on the beach a hundredand fifty yards off. Whether or not the master of the steamer receivedthe information volunteered by Flower, the two girls saw the triangle oflamps get narrow at its base, reduce themselves to two in a verticalline, then to one, then to darkness. The Spruce had turned her head fromKnollsea.
'They have gone back, and I shall not have my wedding things after all!'said Ethelberta. 'Well, I must do without them.'
'You see, 'twas best to play sure,' said Flower to his comrades, in atone of complacency. 'They might have been able to do it, but 'twasrisky. The shop-folk be out of stock, I hear, and the visiting lady upthe hill is terribly in want of clothes, so 'tis said. But what's that?Ounce ought to have put back afore.'
Then the lantern which hung at the end of the jetty wa
s taken down, andthe darkness enfolded all around from view. The bay became nothing but avoice, the foam an occasional touch upon the face, the Spruce animagination, the pier a memory. Everything lessened upon the senses butone; that was the wind. It mauled their persons like a hand, and causedevery scrap of their raiment to tug westward. To stand with the face tosea brought semi-suffocation, from the intense pressure of air.
The boatmen retired to their position under the wall, to lounge again insilence. Conversation was not considered necessary: their sense of eachother's presence formed a kind of conversation. Meanwhile Picotee andEthelberta went up the hill.
'If your wedding were going to be a public one, what a misfortune thisdelay of the packages would be,' said Picotee.
'Yes,' replied the elder.
'I think the bracelet the prettiest of all the presents he brought to-day--do you?'
'It is the most valuable.'
'Lord Mountclere is very kind, is he not? I like him a great deal betterthan I did--do you, Berta?'
'Yes, very much better,' said Ethelberta, warming a little. 'If he werenot so suspicious at odd moments I should like him exceedingly. But Imust cure him of that by a regular course of treatment, and then he'll bevery nice.'
'For an old man. He likes you better than any young man would take thetrouble to do. I wish somebody else were old too.'
'He will be some day.'
'Yes, but--'
'Never mind: time will straighten many crooked things.'
'Do you think Lord Mountclere has reached home by this time?'
'I should think so: though I believe he had to call at the parsonagebefore leaving Knollsea.'
'Had he? What for?'
'Why, of course somebody must--'
'O yes. Do you think anybody in Knollsea knows it is going to be exceptus and the parson?'
'I suppose the clerk knows.'
'I wonder if a lord has ever been married so privately before.'
'Frequently: when he marries far beneath him, as in this case. But evenif I could have had it, I should not have liked a showy wedding. I havehad no experience as a bride except in the private form of the ceremony.'
'Berta, I am sometimes uneasy about you even now and I want to ask youone thing, if I may. Are you doing this for my sake? Would you havemarried Mr. Julian if it had not been for me?'
'It is difficult to say exactly. It is possible that if I had had norelations at all, I might have married him. And I might not.'
'I don't intend to marry.'
'In that case you will live with me at Enckworth. However, we will leavesuch details till the ground-work is confirmed. When we get indoors willyou see if the boxes have been properly corded, and are quite ready to besent for? Then come in and sit by the fire, and I'll sing some songs toyou.'
'Sad ones, you mean.'
'No, they shall not be sad.'
'Perhaps they may be the last you will ever sing to me.'
'They may be. Such a thing has occurred.'
'But we will not think so. We'll suppose you are to sing many to meyet.'
'Yes. There's good sense in that, Picotee. In a world where the blindonly are cheerful we should all do well to put out our eyes. There, Idid not mean to get into this state: forgive me, Picotee. It is becauseI have had a thought--why I cannot tell--that as much as this man bringsto me in rank and gifts he may take out of me in tears.'
'Berta!'
'But there's no reason in it--not any; for not in a single matter doeswhat has been supply us with any certain ground for knowing what will bein the world. I have seen marriages where happiness might have been saidto be ensured, and they have been all sadness afterwards; and I have seenthose in which the prospect was black as night, and they have led on to atime of sweetness and comfort. And I have seen marriages neither joyfulnor sorry, that have become either as accident forced them to become, thepersons having no voice in it at all. Well, then, why should I be afraidto make a plunge when chance is as trustworthy as calculation?'
'If you don't like him well enough, don't have him, Berta. There's timeenough to put it off even now.'
'O no. I would not upset a well-considered course on the haste of animpulse. Our will should withstand our misgivings. Now let us see ifall has been packed, and then we'll sing.'
That evening, while the wind was wheeling round and round the dwelling,and the calm eye of the lighthouse afar was the single speck perceptibleof the outside world from the door of Ethelberta's temporary home, themusic of songs mingled with the stroke of the wind across the ironrailings, and was swept on in the general tide of the gale, and the noiseof the rolling sea, till not the echo of a tone remained.
An hour before this singing, an old gentleman might have been seen toalight from a little one-horse brougham, and enter the door of Knollseaparsonage. He was bent upon obtaining an entrance to the vicar's studywithout giving his name.
But it happened that the vicar's wife was sitting in the front room,making a pillow-case for the children's bed out of an old surplice whichhad been excommunicated the previous Easter; she heard the newcomer'svoice through the partition, started, and went quickly to her husband,who was where he ought to have been, in his study. At her entry helooked up with an abstracted gaze, having been lost in meditation over alittle schooner which he was attempting to rig for their youngest boy. Ata word from his wife on the suspected name of the visitor, he resumed hisearlier occupation of inserting a few strong sentences, full of theobservation of maturer life, between the lines of a sermon written duringhis first years of ordination, in order to make it available for thecoming Sunday. His wife then vanished with the little ship in her hand,and the visitor appeared. A talk went on in low tones.
After a ten minutes' stay he departed as secretly as he had come. Hiserrand was the cause of much whispered discussion between the vicar andhis wife during the evening, but nothing was said concerning it to theoutside world.