CHAPTER VII
FOREBODINGS OF GLADNESS
Molly de Savenaye in her improvised bedroom, wet as she was, couldhardly betake herself to disrobing, so amused was she in surveying thefresh and romantic oddity of her surroundings, with their mixture ofbarbarous rudeness and almost womanish refinement.
Old Margery's fumbling hands were not nimble either, and it was longsince she had acted as attendant upon one of her own sex. And so thematter progressed but slowly; but the speed of Margery's tongue wasapparently not affected by its length of service. It waggedceaselessly; the girl between her own moods of curious speculationvouchsafing an amused, half-contemptuous ear.
Presently, however, as the nurse's reminiscences wandered from theless interesting topic of her own vicissitudes, the children she hadreared or buried, and the marvellous ailments she had endured, to anaccount of those days when she had served the French Madam and herbabes, Molly, slowly peeling a clinging sleeve from her arm, turned amore eager and attentive face to her.
"Ah," quoth Margery, appraising her with blear eyes, "it's a queerthing how ye favour your mother, miss. She had just they beautifulshoulders and arms, as firm an' as white; but you're taller, I think,and may be so, to speak, a stouter make altogether. Eh, dear, you werealways a fine child and the poor lady set a deal of store on you, shedid. She took you with her and left your sister with my Sally, whenshe was trapesing up to London and back with Mester Adrian, ay, and mewith ye. And many the day that I wished myself safe at Pulwick! And Imind the day she took leave of you, I do that, well."
Here Dame Margery paused and shook her head solemnly, then pursued inanother key:
"See now, miss, dear, just step out of they wet things, will ye now,and let me put this hot sheet round ye?"
"But I want to hear about myself," said Molly, gratefully wrapping thehot linen round her young beauty, and beginning to rub her black locksenergetically. "Where was it my mother parted from me?"
"Why, I'll tell you, miss. When Madam--we allus used to call herMadam, ye know--was goin' her ways to the ship as was to take her toFrance, I took you after her mysel' down to the shore that she mighthave the very last of ye. Eh, I mind it as if it were yesterday.Mester Adrian was to go with her--Sir Adrian, I should say, but he wasbut Mester Adrian then--an' a two three more o' th' gentry as was allfur havin' a share o' th' fightin'. Sir Thomas himsel' was theer--Ilike as if I could see him now, poor owd gentleman, talkin' an'laughin' very hard an' jov'al, an' wipin' 's e'en when he thoughtnobody noticed. Eh, dear, yes! I could ha' cried mysel' to see th'bonny young lady goin' off fro' her bairns. An' to think she nivercame back to them no more. Well, well! An' Mester Adrian too--such afine well-set-up young gentleman as he were--and _he_ niver comed backfor ten year an' when he did, he was that warsened--" she stopped,shook her head and groaned.
"Well, but how about me, nurse," observed Molly, "what about _me_?"
"Miss, please it was this way. Madam was wantin' a last look at herbairn--eh, she did, poor thing! You was allus her favoryite, ye know,miss--our Sally was wet-nurse to Miss Maddyline, but Madam had youhersel'. Well, miss, I'd brought you well lapped up i' my shawl an'William Shearman--that was Thomas Shearman's son, feyther to Williaman' Tom as lives over yonder at Pulwick village--well, William wasstandin' in 's great sea-boots ready to carry her through th' surfinto the boat; an' Mester Adrian--Sir Adrian, I mean--stood it mightbe here, miss, an' there was Renny, an' yon were th' t'other gentry.Well, Madam stopped an' took you out o' my arms, an' hugged you to herbreast--an' then she geet agate o' kissin' you--your head an' yourlittle 'ands. An' you was jumpin' an' crowin' in her arms--the windhad blown your cap off, an' your little downy black hair was standingback. (Just let me get at your hair now, miss, please--Eh! it's cruelfull of sand, my word, it is.)"
"It's 'ard, when all's said an' done, to part wi' th' babe ye'vesuckled, an' Madam, though there was niver nought nesh about 'er sameas there is about most women, an' specially ladies--she 'ad th'mother's 'eart, she 'ad, miss, an when th' time coom for her to leaveth' little un, I could see, as it were, welly burstin'. There we stoodwi' th' wind blowin' our clothes an' our 'air, an' the waves roarin',an' one bigger nor th' t'others ran up till th' foam reached Madam'slittle feet, but she niver took no notice. Then all of a sudden shegets th' notion that she'd like to take you with 'er, an' she turnsan' tells Mester Adrian so. 'She shall come with me,' she says, quitesharp an' determined, an' makes a sign to William Shearman to carry'em both over. 'No, no,' says Mester Adrian, 'quite impossible,' sayshe, as wise as if he'd been an owd man i' stead o' nobbut a lad, yemight say. 'It would be madness both for you an' th' child. Now,' hesays, very quiet an' gentle, 'if I might advise, I should say stayhere with the child.' Eh, I couldn't tell ye all he said, an' then SirTummas coom bustlin' up, 'Do, now, my dear; think of it,' he says,pattin' her o' th' hand. 'Stay with us,' he says, 'ye'll be welcome asth' flowers in May!' An' there was Renny wi' 's 'at off, an' th' tearspourin' down his face, beggin' an' prayin' Madam to stop--at least, Ireckoned that was what he were sayin' for it was all in 's ownoutlandish gibberish. The poor lady! she'd look from one to th't'other an' a body a' must think she'd give in--an' then she'dunbethink hersel' again. An' Sir Thomas, he'd say, 'Do now, my dear,'an' then when she'd look at him that pitiful, he'd out wi' 's red'andkercher an' frown over at Mester Adrian, an', says he, 'I wonderye can ax her!' Well, all of a sudden off went th' big gun in th'ship--that was to let 'em know, miss, do ye see--an' up went Madam'shead, an' then th' wind fetched th' salt spray to her face, an' a kindo' change came over her. She looked at the child, then across at theship--an' then she fair tossed ye back to me. Big William catched herup in his arms just same as another bairn, an' carried her to theboat."
"Yes," said Molly, gazing into the burning logs with brilliant eyes,but speaking low, as if to herself, so that her attendant's deaf earsfailed to catch the meaning of the words. "Ah, that was life indeed!Happy mother to have seen such life--though she did die young."
"As ye say, miss," answered Margery, making a guess at the most likelycomment from a daughter's lips, "it was cruel hard--it was that.'Come, make haste!' cries the other young gentlemen: my word, theywere in a hurry lest Madam happen to change her mind. I could wellyhave laughed to see their faces when Mester Adrian were trying topersuade her to stop at Pulwick, and let the men go alone. 'T wern'tfor that they reckoned to go all that road to France, ye may think,miss. Well, miss, in a few minutes they was all out i' the boat wi'th' waves tossin' 'em--an' I stood watchin' with you i' my arms,cryin' and kickin' out wi' your little legs, an' hittin' of me wi'your little 'ands, same as if ye knowed summat o' what was agate, poorlamb, an' was angry wi' me for keepin' ye. Then in a little while thebig, white sails o' th' ship went swellin' out an' soon it was gone.An' that was th' last we saw o' Madam. A two-three year arter you an'Miss Maddyline was fetched away, to France, as I've been towd. I doubtyou didn't so much as think there was such a place as Pulwick, thoughmany a one there minds how they dandled and played wi' you when youwas a wee bairn, miss."
"Well, I am very glad to be back in England, anyhow," said Molly,nimbly slipping into bed. "Oh, Margery, what delicious warm sheets,and how good it is to be in bed alive, dry, and warm, after all!"
A new atmosphere pervaded Scarthey that night. The peaceful monotonyof years, since the master of Pulwick had migrated to his "ruins," wasbroken at last, and happily. A warm colour seemed to have crept uponthe hitherto dun and dull surroundings and brightened all theprospects.
At any rate Rene, over his busy work in the lantern, whistled andhummed snatches of song with unwonted blithesomeness, and, afterlighting the steady watch-light and securing all his paraphernaliawith extra care, dallied some time longer than usual on the outerplatform, striving to snatch through the driven wraith a glance of thedistant lights of Pulwick. For there, in the long distance, ensconcedamong the woods, stood a certain gate-lodge of greystone, much coveredwith ivy, which sheltered, among other inmates, the gatekeeper'sblue-eyed, ripe
and ruddy daughter--Dame Margery's pet grandchild.
The idea of ever leaving the master--even for the sake of thehappiness to be found over yonder--was not one to be entertained byRene. But what if dreams of a return to the life of the world shouldarise after to-day in the recluse's mind? Ah, the master's eyes hadbeen filled with light!... and had he not actually laughed?
Rene peered again through the wind, but nothing could be seen of theworld abroad, save grey, tumbling waters foaming at the foot of theislet; fretful waters coalescing all around with the driven, mistyair. A desolate view enough, had there been room for melancholythoughts in his heart.
Blithely did he descend the steep wooden stairs from the roaring,weather-beaten platform, to the more secure inhabited keep; and,humming a satisfied tune, he entered upon Margery in her flamingkitchen, to find the old lady intent on sorting out a heap of femininegarments and spreading them before the fire.
Rene took up a little shoe, sand-soiled and limp, and reverentiallyrubbed it on his sleeve.
"Well, mother," he said, cheerfully, "it is a long while since you hadto do with such pretty things. My faith, these are droll doings,ah--and good, too! You will see, Mother Margery, there will be goodout of all this."
But Margery invariably saw fit, on principle, to doubt all theopinions of her rival.
Eh, she didn't hold so much wi' wenches hersel', an' Mester Adrian,she reckoned, hadn't come to live here all by himsel' to have visitorsbreaking in on him that gate!
"There be visitors _and_ visitors, mother--I tell you, I who speak toyou, that his honour is happy."
Margery, with a mysterious air, smoothed out a long silk stocking andgave an additional impetus to the tremor Nature had already bestowedupon her aged head.
Well, it wasn't for her to say. She hoped and prayed there was nowtbad a coomin' on the family again; but sich likenesses as that of Missto her mother was not lucky, to her minding; it was not. Nowt good hadcome to Mester Adrian from the French Madam. Ah, Mester Adrian hadbeen happy like with her too, and she had taken him away from hishome, an' his people, an' sent him back wi'out 's soul in the end.
"And now her daughter has come to give it him back," retorted Rene,as he fell to, with a zest, on the savoury mess he had concocted forhis own supper.
"Eh, well, I hope nowt bad's i' the road," said Margery with senileiteration. "They do say no good ever comes o' saving bodies fromdrowning; not that one 'ud wish the poor Miss to have gone into thesands--an' she the babby I weaned too!"
Rene interrupted her with a hearty laugh. "Yes, every one knows itcarries misfortune to save people from the drowning, but there, yousee, her ladyship, she saved herself--so that ought to bring goodfortune. Good-night, Mother Margery, take good care of the lady....Ah, how I wish I had the care of her!" he added simply, and, seizinghis lantern, proceeded to ascend once more to his post aloft.
He paused once on his way, in the loud sighing stairs, struck with afresh aspect of the day's singular events--a quaint thought, born ofhis native religious faith: The Lady, the dear Mistress had justreached Heaven, no doubt, and had straightway sent them the young oneto console and comfort them. Eh bien! they had had their time ofPurgatory too, and now they might be happy.
Pleasant therefore were Rene's musings, up in the light watcher'sbunk, underneath the lantern, as, smoking a pipe of rest, he listenedcomplacently to the hissing storm around him.
And in the master's sleeping chamber beneath him, now so curiouslyturned into a feminine sanctum, pleasant thoughts too, if less formed,and less concerned with the future, lulled its dainty occupant torest.
Luxuriously stretched between the warm lavender-scented sheets,watching from her pillow the leaping fire on the hearth, Miss Mollywondered lazily at her own luck; at the many possible results of theday's escapade; wondered amusedly whether any poignant sorrow--except,indeed poor Madeleine's tears--for her supposed demise, reallydarkened the supper party at Pulwick this evening; wondered agreeablyhow the Lord of the Ruined Castle would meet her on the morrow, afterhis singular reception of her this day; how long she would remain inthese romantic surroundings and whether she would like them as well atthe end of the visitation.
And as the blast howled with increasing rage, and the cold night drewcloser on, and the great guns in the sea-cave boomed more angrily withthe risen tide, she dimly began to dwell upon the thought of poorLucifer being sucked deeper into his cold rapacious grave, whilst shewas held in the warm embrace of a man whose eyes were masterful andyet gentle, whose arm was strong, whose kisses were tender.
And in the delight of the contrast, Mademoiselle de Savenaye fell intothe profound slumber of the young and vigorous.