Frenchman's Creek Page 8

  "You astound me."

  "It is unpardonable, of course, and if our suspicions are verified they will all of them hang, as he will. The fact is we believe the Frenchman to have a hiding-place along the coast, and we believe one or two of the inhabitants must know of this, and are holding their tongues."

  "Have you not made a thorough search?"

  "My dear Lady St. Columb, we are forever combing the district. But, as you must have heard, the fellow is as slippery as an eel, like all Frenchmen, and he appears to know our coast better than we do ourselves. You have, I suppose, seen nothing of a suspicious nature around Navron?"

  "Nothing whatever."

  "The manor commands a view of the river, does it not?"

  "A most excellent view."

  "So that you would have seen any strange craft entering or leaving the estuary?"

  "Most assuredly."

  "I have no wish to alarm you, but it is possible, you know, that the Frenchman has used Helford in the past, and may yet do so again."

  "You terrify me."

  "And I must warn you that he is the type of man who would have little respect for your person."

  "You mean-he is quite unscrupulous?"

  "I fear so."

  "And his men are most desperate and savage?"

  "They are pirates, madam, and Frenchmen at that."

  "Then I will take the greatest possible care of my household. Are they, do you think, cannibals also? My baby son is not yet two."

  Lady Godolphin gave a little shriek of horror, and began fanning herself rapidly. Her husband clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  "Calm yourself, Lucy, Lady St. Columb was jesting, of course. I would assure you, though," he added, turning to Dona once again, "that the matter is not a trifling one, nor to be treated with levity. I feel myself responsible for the safety of the people in the district around, and as Harry is not with you at Navron I must admit that I am concerned about you."

  Dona rose to her feet, holding out her hand. "It is very good of you," she said, treating him to her special smile, the one she reserved for difficult occasions. "I shall not forget your kindness, but I assure you there is no need for anxiety. I can, if necessary, bar and bolt my house. And with neighbours such as yourselves"-she glanced from Godolphin to Eustick and to Penrose-"I am aware that no harm can come to me. You are all three so reliable, so stalwart, so very-if I may say so-English, in your ways."

  The three men bowed over her hand in turn, and she smiled at each of them. "Perhaps," she said, "the Frenchman has left our coasts for good, and you need concern yourselves no more about him."

  "I wish we could think so," said Eustick, "but we flatter ourselves we are beginning to know the scoundrel. He is always most dangerous when he is most quiet. We shall hear of him again, and that before very long."

  "And," added Penrose, "he will strike just where we least expect him, under our very noses. But it will be the last time."

  "It will be my very special pleasure," said Eustick slowly, "to hang him from the tallest tree in Godolphin's park, just before sundown. And I invite the company here present to attend the ceremony."

  "Sir, you are very bloodthirsty," said Dona.

  "So would you be, madam, if you had been robbed of your possessions. Pictures, silver, plate-all of considerable value."

  "But think what joy you will have replacing them!"

  "I fear I consider the matter in a very different light." He bowed, and turned away, his cheek flushing once again in annoyance.

  Godolphin accompanied Dona to her carriage. "Your remark was somewhat unfortunate," he said. "Eustick is very near with his money."

  "I am notorious," said Dona, "for making unfortunate remarks."

  "No doubt in London they are understood."

  "I think not. That was one of the reasons I came away from London."

  He stared at her without understanding, and handed her into her carriage, "Your coachman is competent?" he asked, glancing up at William, who alone, and unattended by a footman, held the reins in his hands. "Very competent," said Dona. "I would trust him with my life."

  "He has an obstinate face."

  "Yes-but so amusing, and I adore his mouth."

  Godolphin stiffened, and stepped away from the door of the carriage. "I am sending letters to town within the week," he said coldly, "have you any message for Harry?"

  "Only that I am well, and exceedingly happy."

  "I shall take it upon myself to tell him of my anxiety concerning you."

  "Please do not bother."

  "I consider it a duty. Also Harry's presence in the neighbourhood would be of enormous assistance."

  "I cannot believe it."

  "Eustick is apt to be obstructive, and Penrose dictatorial, I am constantly having to make the peace."

  "And you see Harry in the role of peacemaker?"

  "I see Harry wasting his time in London, when he should be looking after his property in Cornwall."

  "The property has looked after itself for a number of years."

  "That is beside the point. The fact of the matter is we need all the help we can get. And when Harry knows that piracy is rampant on the coast..."

  "I have already mentioned it to him."

  "But not with sufficient force, I am persuaded. If Harry thought for one moment that Navron House itself might be menaced, his possessions stolen, his wife threatened-he would hardly stay in town. Were I in his shoes..."

  "Yes, but you are not."

  "Were I in his shoes I would never have permitted you to travel west, alone. Women, without their husbands, have been known to lose their heads."

  "Only their heads?"

  "I repeat, they have been known to lose their heads in a moment of crisis. You think yourself brave enough now, no doubt, but if you came face to face with a pirate I dare swear you would shiver and swoon, like the rest of your sex."

  "I would certainly shiver."

  "I could not say much in front of my wife, her nerves are very bad at the moment, but one or two ugly rumours have come to my ears, and Eustick's also."

  "What sort of rumours?"

  "Women-er-distressed, and so on."

  "Distressed about what?"

  "The country people are dumb, they give nothing away. But it looks to us as if some of the women in the hamlets hereabouts have suffered at the hands of these damned scoundrels."

  "Is it not rather unwise to probe into the matter?"

  "Why so?"

  "You may find they did not suffer at all, but on the contrary, enjoyed themselves immensely. Drive on, will you, William?" And bowing and smiling from her open carriage the Lady St. Columb waved her gloved hand to Lord Godolphin.

  Down the long avenue they sped, past the peacocks on the smooth lawns, and the deer in the park, and so out on to the highway, and Dona, taking off her hat and fanning herself with it, glanced up at William's stiff back and laughed silently.

  "William, I have behaved very badly."

  "So I gathered, my lady."

  "It was exceedingly hot in Lord Godolphin's house, and his lady had all the windows shut."

  "Very trying, my lady."

  "And I found none of the company particularly to my taste."

  "No, my lady."

  "And for two pins I would have said something perfectly terrible."

  "Just as well you had no pins upon you, my lady."

  "There was a man called Eustick, and another called Penrose."

  "Yes, my lady."

  "I disliked both equally."

  "Yes, my lady."

  "The fact of the matter is, William, these people are beginning to wake up. There was much talk of piracy."

  "I overheard his lordship just now, my lady."

  "Talk also of plans of capture, of banding themselves together, of hangings from the tallest tree. And they have their suspicions of the river."

  "I knew it was only a matter of time, my lady."

  "Do you think your master is aware of the danger?"

  "I rather think so, my lady."

  "And yet he continues to anchor in the creek."

  "Yes, my lady."

  "He has been here nearly a month. Does he always stay as long as this?"

  "No, my lady."

  "What is his usual visit?"

  "Five or six days, my lady."

  "The time has gone very quickly. Possibly he does not realise he has been here so long."

  "Possibly not."

  "I am becoming quite knowledgeable about birds, William."

  "So I have noticed, my lady."

  "I am beginning to recognise the many differences in song, and the variations in flight, William."

  "Indeed, my lady."

  "Also I am quite an expert with rod and line."

  "That I have also observed, my lady."

  "Your master is an excellent instructor."

  "So it would appear, my lady,"

  "It is rather strange, is it not, William, that before I came to Navron I thought very little about birds, and even less of fishing?"

  "It is rather strange, my lady."

  "I suppose that-that the desire to know about these things was always present, but lying dormant, if you understand what I mean."

  "I understand your meaning perfectly, my lady."

  "It is difficult for a woman to acquire knowledge of birds and of fishing alone, don't you think?"

  "Almost impossible, my lady."

  "An instructor is really necessary."

  "Quite imperative, my lady."

  "But of course the instructor must be sympathetic."

  "That is important, my lady."

  "And fond of-imparting his knowledge to his pupil,"

  "That goes without saying, my lady."

  "And possibly, through the pupil, the instructor's own knowledge becomes more perfect. He gains something he did not have before. In a sense, they learn from one another."

  "You have put the matter in a nutshell, my lady."

  Dear William, he was most companionable. He always understood. It was like having a confessor who never reproved or condemned.

  "What story did you tell at Navron, William?"

  "I said that you were staying to dine at his lordship's, and would be late, my lady."

  "And where will you stable the horses?"

  "That is all arranged for. I have friends at Gweek, my lady."

  "To whom you have also spun a story?"

  "Yes, my lady."

  "And where shall I change my gown?"

  "I thought your ladyship would not be averse to changing behind a tree."

  "How very considerate of you, William. Have you chosen the tree?"

  "I have gone so far as to mark one down, my lady."

  The road turned sharply to the left, and they were beside the river once again. The gleam of water shimmered between the trees. William pulled the horses to a standstill. He paused a moment, then put his hand to his mouth and gave a sea-gull's cry. It was echoed immediately from the river bank, just out of sight, and the servant turned to his mistress.

  "He is waiting for you, my lady."

  Dona pulled out an old gown from behind the cushion in the carriage, and threw it over her arm. "Which is the tree you mean, William?"

  "The wide one, my lady, the oak with the spreading branches."

  "Do you think me mad, William?"

  "Shall we say-not entirely sane, my lady?"

  "It is rather a lovely feeling, William."

  "So I have always understood, my lady."

  "One is absurdly happy for no reason-rather like a butterfly."

  "Exactly, my lady."

  "What do you know of the habits of butterflies?"

  Dona turned, and William's master stood before her, his hands busy with a line which he was knotting, and which he slipped through the eye of a hook, breaking the loose end between his teeth.

  "You walk very silently," she said.

  "A habit of long practice."

  "I was merely making an observation to William."

  "About butterflies I gather. And what makes you so sure of their happiness?"

  "One has only to look at them."

  "Their fashion of dancing in the sun you mean?"

  "Yes."

  "And you feel like doing the same?"

  "Yes."

  "You had better change your gown then. Ladies of the manor who drink tea with Lord Godolphin know nothing of butterflies. I will wait for you in the boat. The river is alive with fish." He turned his back on her, and went off again to the river bank, and Dona, sheltered by the spreading oak, stripped herself of her silk gown, and put on the other, laughing to herself, while her ringlets escaped from the clasp that held them, and fell forward over her face. When she was ready she gave her silk gown to William, who was standing with face averted by his horses' heads.

  "We shall go down river with the tide, William, and I will walk up to Navron from the creek."

  "Very good, my lady."

  "I shall be in the avenue shortly after ten o'clock, William."

  "Yes, my lady."

  "And you can drive me to the house as though we were just returning from Lord Godolphin's."

  "Yes, my lady."

  "What are you smiling at?"

  "I was not aware, my lady, that my features were in any way relaxed."

  "You are a liar. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye, my lady."

  She lifted her old muslin gown above her ankles, tightening the sash at her waist to keep it in place, and then ran barefoot through the trees to the boat that was waiting beneath the bank.

  Chapter IX

  THE FRENCHMAN WAS fixing the worm onto the line, and looked up with a smile. "You have not been long."

  "I had no mirror to delay me."

  "You understand now," he said, "how simple life becomes when things like mirrors are forgotten." She stepped down into the boat beside him.

  "Let me fix the worm on the hook," she said.

  He gave her the line, and taking the long paddles he pushed down stream, watching her as she sat in the bows of the boat. She frowned, concentrating on her task, and because the worm wriggled she jabbed her fingers with the hook. She swore under her breath, and glancing up, saw that he was laughing at her.

  "I cannot do it," she said, angrily, "why must a woman be so useless at these things?"

  "I will do it for you directly," he said, "when we are farther down stream."

  "But that is beside the point," she said. "I wish to do it myself. I will not be beaten."

  He did not answer, but began whistling softly to himself, and because he took his eye from her, watching a bird flying overhead, saying nothing to her, she settled once again to her task, and presently cried out in triumph, "I have done it, look, I have done it," and held up her line for him to see.

  "Very good," he said, "you are making progress," and resting on the paddles, he let the boat drift with the tide.

  Presently, when they had gone some distance, he reached for a large stone under her feet, and fastening this to a long length of rope he threw it overboard, so that they came to anchors and they sat there together, she in the bows of the boat and he on the centre thwart, each with a fishing-line.

  There was a faint ripple on the water, and down with the ebbing tide came little wisps of grass, and a fallen leaf or two. It was very still. The thin wet line between Dona's fingers pulled gently with the tide, and now and again, from impatience, she pulled it in to examine the hook, but the worm remained untouched, save for a dark ribbon of seaweed that clung to the end of the line. "You are letting it touch the bottom," he said. She pulled in a length or so, watching him out of the tail of her eye, and when she saw that he did not criticise her method of fishing, or intrude upon her in any way, but continued with his own fishing, quietly content, she let the length of line slip once more between her fingers, and began to consider the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the shape of his hands. He had been drawing as usual, while he waited for her, she supposed, for in the stern of the boat, under some fishing tackle, was a sheet of paper, bedraggled now and wet, and a rough sketch of a flight of sanderling, rising from the mud.

  She thought of the drawing he had made of her, a day or so ago, and how different it was from that first one he had done, the one he had torn in fragments, for the new drawing had caught her in a laughing mood, leaning over the rail of the ship and watching the comic Pierre Blanc sing one of his outrageous songs, and later he had nailed it up on the bulkhead of his cabin, over the fireplace, scrawling the date at the bottom of the paper.

  "Why do you not tear it up, like you did the first?" she had asked.

  "Because this is the mood I would capture, and remember," he had said.

  "As being more fitting to a member of the crew of La Mouette?'

  "Perhaps," he answered, but he would say nothing more. And here he was now, forgetful of his drawing, intent only upon this business of fishing, while only a few miles away there were men who planned his capture, his death, and even at this moment possibly the servants of Eustick, and Penrose, and Godolphin were asking questions along the coast, and in the scattered hamlets of the countryside.

  "What is the matter?" he said quietly, breaking in upon her thoughts. "Do you not want to fish any more?"

  "I was thinking about this afternoon," she said.

  "Yes, I know, I could see that by your face. Tell me about it."

  "You should not stay here any more. They are beginning to suspect. They were all talking about it, gloating over the possibilities of your capture."

  "That does not worry me."

  "I believe them to be serious. Eustick had a hard, obstinate look about him. He is not a pompous dunderhead like Godolphin. He means to hang you from the tallest tree in Godolphin's park."

  "Which is something of a compliment after all."

  "Now you are laughing at me. You think that, like all women, I am afire with rumours and gossip."

  "Like all women you like to dramatise events."

  "And you to ignore them."

  "What would you have me do then?"

  "First I would beg you to be cautious. Eustick said that the country people know you have a hiding-place."

  "Very possibly."

  "And one day someone will betray you, and the creek will be surrounded."

  "I am quite prepared for that."

  "How are you prepared?"

  "Did Eustick and Godolphin tell you how they proposed to capture me?"

  "No."

  "Neither shall I tell you how I propose to evade them."

  "Do you think for one moment I should..."

  "I think nothing-but I believe you have a fish on your line."