THE _ARUNDEL CASTLE_ SAILS
I cannot pretend that I was a happy man as I climbed the ladder of
the _Arundel Castle_ on the following morning. All my friends were
leaving, and the affection and admiration that I had for Edmond O’Shea
could not recompense me for their loss. My only consolation lay in the
knowledge that, unhonoured and unsung though I should be, yet, in a
modest way, I was doing my job of work toward saving Great Britain
from the Reds.
An inward-bound liner, by the time she makes Madeira, offers a ripe
crop of studies to the psychologist. The gay Conrads, who have learned
the truth of Leonard Merrick’s unmoral dictum, “a man is young as
often as he falls in love.” The anxious-eyed women who have lost what
their men have found. A score of flirtations and two or three
intrigues, followed with interest by the midnight watch and reported
in routine to the purser. The odd men out, too, are always rather
pathetic. It was wonderful how many lonely eyes lighted up when
Nanette stepped on to the deck. Even some of the Conrads prepared to
change their minds.
Baggage was missing, of course. Nanette’s mother had lost a wardrobe
trunk, nothing less.
“Don’t worry,” said Nanette’s father, in his imperturbable way. “It
will turn up.”
“It will be Nan’s turn to worry,” was the reply. “All her things are
in it!”
Nanette, the irresponsible, had disappeared with Jack in quest of her
new quarters. She professed to be the victim of a dreadful theory that
her stable companion was an elderly Boer lady with gout.
Coffee-coloured boys were diving off the boat-deck; vendors of lace
shouted themselves hoarse from a flotilla of small craft that clung to
the steamer like wasps to a honey-pot; Portuguese lightermen shrieked
amiable execrations at one another; nobody could find the missing
trunk, nobody could find Nanette; Nanette’s father said both would
turn up--and the Bay of Funchal embraced it all with peaceful beauty.
When the last shore-signal was sounded, I found Jack beside me. He was
plainly in a panic.
“Here, I say,” he exclaimed. “I thought Nanette was with you!”
“And I thought she was with you!”
“When did you see her last?”
“When she went to look for her cabin.”
“But she came back to fetch _you_!”
“She didn’t arrive.”
“Hurry up, please,” urged the officer on the gangway. “You’re last for
the shore, sir.”
Jack turned and ran in at the saloon entrance. I could see no one else
I knew; so there was nothing for it but to tumble down the ladder.
Reid’s launch had gone, and I took the boat in which some customs
people, office men, and others were going ashore.
They had turned steam on to the anchor and the ladder was swinging up
as we drew away. I stood in the boat, searching the decks far above
me, their rails lined with unfamiliar faces. From the white-capped,
gold-laced officers on the bridge, I worked down, deck by deck. I
caught a momentary glimpse of some folks I knew and waved
automatically; but of Nanette’s party I could see nothing.
Then sounded faintly a bell. Straggling boats seemed to be drawn
astern of the liner by some powerful current. There was movement in
the placid water; a swell rocked us. One could see the churning of the
screw in clear blue sea. Renewed waving--and the _Arundel Castle_ was
homeward bound for Southampton, with mails, mixed cargo, several
potential weddings, and a broken heart or so.
As I stepped from the boat on to the stone stairs and went up to the
jetty, I paused, looking back. I was shortly to meet Edmond O’Shea,
and the thought was pleasurable, but I would have given much to have
been aboard the liner now headed for the open sea.
I walked up the tree-lined street, sighing when I passed the shop
where Nanette had found that wonderful shawl. The square, you may
recall, is planted with those trees that flourish principally in South
Africa and bear a light blue blossom. In the sunshine of early morning
it seemed to me that all the streets were dim with an azure born of
the flowers.
Only two tables had been placed outside the Golden Gate. At one of
them a girl was seated, her elbows on the table, her chin propped upon
clenched hands. She stirred slightly, and I saw the sunlight gleaming
in her hair.…
I stood stock still. Then I began to run.
Nanette looked up.
She was pale. Her widely opened eyes were the colour of those
flowers--misty blue. And they said, “I am afraid. I am ashamed. Don’t
be angry with me.”
“Nanette!” I whispered.
She bit her lip and turned her head aside quickly; then:
“I was mad to do it,” she confessed. “I am sorry--now. Please send a
message to the ship. They will be frantic.”
“But--your things? You will have to wait for a whole week.”
“They are in the small wardrobe trunk. I bribed Pedro to leave it
behind. Oh, please, Mr. Decies!” She clutched my arm and I felt how
she trembled. “Look after me. I am so frightened.”