THE WHITE BAY.
Penelope did not repeat her threat, but she watched Pauline. Miss
Tredgold also watched Pauline. Verena felt uncomfortable, without quite
knowing why. The keen vigor and joy of the first days at the seaside had
departed. Pauline became pale once more, and Miss Tredgold's anxieties
about her were revived. The Dales were a healthy race, but one or two of
the Tredgolds had died of consumption. Miss Tredgold remembered a
young--very young--sister of her own who had reached Pauline's age, and
then quite suddenly had become melancholy, and then slightly unwell, and
then more unwell, until the fell scourge had seized her as its prey. She
had died when between sixteen and seventeen. Miss Tredgold seemed to see
her sister's face in Pauline's. She did not for a single moment accuse
the child of any wrong-doing. She did not imagine that what ailed her
could have to do with the mind. Nevertheless she was anxious about her.
Miss Tredgold had a good deal of penetration, but she was not accustomed
to children. She thought that children of Pen's age were more little
animals than anything else. It did not occur to her that a small child
like Pen could have a mind of a very extraordinary order, and that the
mind of this child could work in a direction which might hurt others. She
did not suppose such a terrible child could exist.
Pauline was therefore more or less a prey to the naughtiness of Pen, who
used her as a weapon for her own enjoyment. Pen was quite determined to
enjoy herself at the seaside. She would have her bucket and spade and
make castles in the sand as long as ever she liked, and she would play
with other children, and would make acquaintance with them. She insisted
also on going very often to the shops to buy caramels or chocolates. In
short, she was determined that during her brief stay at Easterhaze she
would have as good a time as possible. It is quite on the cards that she
would not have had so good a time as she did but for the agency of
Pauline. Pauline, however, in spite of herself, sided with Pen. She
almost hated Pen, but she sided with her. She used to throw her voice
into the scale of Pen's desires, and Pen in consequence got pretty much
what she wanted.
There came a day when two children, a boy and a girl of the name of
Carver, ran up to Pen and asked her if she would join them in going round
the next promontory and gathering shells in a wide bay on the other side,
which was known as the White Bay. The way to this bay, except at
low-water, was not very safe, as during high-tide the sea was apt to come
up and cut off retreat. Pen, however, knew nothing about this. The moment
she was asked to go it occurred to her that there could be no such
delightful place as the White Bay anywhere else in the world. She knew
well, however, that Miss Tredgold never allowed her to go fifty yards
from the house on either side. She looked up. Pauline was walking along
the upper walk. She had a story-book in her hand. She meant to reach one
of the shelters and sit down there to read. Pen turned to the two Carvers
and said that she must ask permission, but she would be with them in a
minute. She then scrambled up the path and ran to Pauline's side.
"Pauline," she said, "I am going to the White Bay with the Carvers--those
two children there--that boy and girl; you see 'em. We are going at once.
They have got a basket of cakes, and we are going to gather shells and
have a jolly time. We won't be back till one o'clock."
"But you can't go," said Pauline. She did not know of any danger in
going; she only thought that Penelope meant to disobey Miss Tredgold.
"Aunt Sophy is out, and she has not given you leave," she said. "You must
stay where you are, Pen."
"But you can give me leave, Paulie, darling, can you not?"
"I can't do anything of the sort; you mustn't ask me."
Pen's eyes danced. The children on the sands called out to her.
"Be quick, little girl, or we'll be cotched. If nurse comes out she won't
let us go. We can go if we start at once."
"Well, I'm off. You must give me leave, Paulie. If you don't I will----"
"Don't!" said Pauline, backing away from her sister. She felt a sort of
terror when Penelope taunted her with her superior knowledge and the
cruel use she meant to put it to.
"Go if you like," she said, in a white heat of passion. "You are the
worry of my life."
Pen gave her a flashing, by no means good sort of glance, and then tore
down the winding path which led to the sands. Pauline got up; she left
her seat by the shore and went inland.
"I don't know how I am to bear it," she said to herself. "Pen has made me
so wretched. I was hoping that nothing would be known. I was trying to
forget, and I was making a lot of good resolves, and I am loving Aunt
Sophy more and more each day. Why have I got such a dreadful little
sister as Pen? She is like none of the rest. It seems almost incredible
that I should be in the power of such a small child. Nevertheless I am in
her power. I had no right to let her go to the White Bay; still, I told
her to go, for I couldn't bear the agonies I should have to go through if
I refused. Oh, I am wretched! Pen practically knows everything; so does
Patty, and so does Briar. But they're safe enough; they won't betray
me--they wouldn't for all the world. As to Pen, I don't know what she is
made of. She will be a terrible woman by-and-by."
Pauline walked on until she heard Verena's voice. She then turned back.
"Aunt Sophy said we were to go up to the town to meet her," said Verena.
"She's doing some shopping. She wants to get a new autumn hat for you,
and another for me. Come along, Paulie. We are to be at Murray's in the
High Street at eleven o'clock."
Pauline turned and walked soberly by her sister's side.
"Are you as tired as ever this morning, Paulie?" asked Verena.
"I am not tired at all," replied Pauline.
Verena considered for a minute.
"Aunt Sophy is often anxious about you," she said. "I can't imagine why,
but she is. She says that she doesn't think you are at all strong."
"Oh, I am!" interrupted Pauline. "I wish she wouldn't worry about me. I
wish you'd tell her not to worry. I am really as strong as any girl could
be. Do tell her not to fret about me any more."
"Where is Pen?" said Verena suddenly.
Pauline did not speak.
"I suppose she is down on the beach as usual," said Verena again in a
careless tone. "She's always down there. She is such a queer little
mite!"
"Don't let's talk about her," said Pauline almost crossly.
The girls turned their conversation to other matters, and when they
joined Miss Tredgold at Murray's shop they had both forgotten the
existence of their little sister Penelope.
Meanwhile that young person was having a good time. Having gained her
wish, she was in excellent spirits, and was determined to make herself
extremely agreeable to the Carvers. She thought them quite nice children.
They were different from the children at home. They had lived almost all
their lives in London. They told Pen a good many stories about London. It
was the only place worth living in, Harry Carver said. When you went out
there you always turned your steps in the direction of the Zoo. Pen asked
what the Zoo was. Harry Carver gave her a glance of amazement.
"Why, it's chock-full of wild beasts," he said.
Pen thought this a most exciting description. Her cheeks paled; her eyes
grew big. She clasped hold of Harry's arm and said in a trembling voice:
"Are you joking, or do you mean real lions and bears and tigers?"
"I mean real lions and bears and tigers," said Harry. "Oh, if you only
heard the lions roar! We see them fed, too. It is fun to hear them
growling when they get their meat; and the way they lick it--oh, it's
most exciting!"
"So it is," said Nellie Carver. "It's awful fun to go to the Zoo."
"You must be very courageous," said Pen, who did not know that the wild
beasts were confined in cages.
Neither Eleanor nor Harry Carver thought it worth while to enlighten Pen
with regard to this particular; on the contrary, they determined to keep
it to themselves. It was nice to have a little girl like Pen looking at
them with awe.
"It isn't everybody who can go to the Zoo," proceeded Harry. "There are
people that the wild beasts don't ever care to touch. Nellie and I are
that sort; we're made that way. We walk about amongst them; we stroke
them and pet them. I often sit on the neck of a lion, and quite enjoy
myself."
"My pet beast for a ride is a panther," said Nellie, her eyes sparkling
with fun at her own delicious ideas; "but most children can never ride on
lions and panthers."
"I don't believe you ride on them," said Pen. "You don't look half brave
enough for that."
"Why don't you think us brave?" asked Harry. "You are not a nice girl
when you talk in that way. You wouldn't even be brave enough to ride on
the elephants. Oh, it's very jolly for the real brave people when they go
to the Zoo."
"And is that the only place to go to in London?" asked Pen.
As she spoke she quickened her steps, for the children were now crossing
the extreme end of the promontory round which was the celebrated White
Bay.
"There are other places. There's the British Museum, full of books. There
are miles and miles of books in London, and miles and miles of pictures."
"What an awful place!" said Pen, who had no love for either books or
pictures. "Don't tell me any more about it. Go on ascribing the wild
animals. Is there serpents at the Zoo?"
"Tons of 'em. When they have gorged a rabbit or a lamb or a girl whole,
they lie down and sleep for about a week."
"They don't gorge girls!"
"They think nothing of it; that is, if the girl is the sort of child they
don't like."
"I won't go," said Pen. "I am not the sort of child the wild beasts would
love. I think maybe I might be crunched up by the lions. I shan't go."
"Well, no one asked you," said Harry. "You are quite certain to be eaten,
so you had best stay away."
"Why do you say that?"
Harry glanced at his sister. Nellie laughed. Harry laughed also.
"Why do you talk in that way, you horrid boy?" said Pen, stamping her
foot. "What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you, only you need not try to kill me with your eyes. The wild
beasts only like good uns. You ain't good. The wild beasts would soon
find that out."
For some extraordinary reason Pen found herself turning pale. She had a
moment of actual fear. At this instant she would have resigned the
thimble--the golden thimble, with its sapphire top and turquoise rim--to
the safe keeping of Pauline. For if Pauline had the thimble Pen would
have very little to say against her. As long as she possessed the thimble
she felt that Pauline was in her power. She liked the sensation, and she
was honest enough to own as much.
The conversation was now quickly turned. The children found plenty of
shells in the White Bay. Soon they were sitting on the sands picking them
up and enjoying themselves as only children can.
"So," said Pen, pushing back her hat and fixing her eyes on Harry's face,
"you comed here without leave?"
"Of course we did," said Harry. "Won't nurse be in a state when she finds
we've gone! She will rush up and down in front of the house and cry, for
father and mother have gone away for the whole day, and nurse is in sole
charge. Oh, won't she be in a state! She went off to walk with her young
man, and we thought we'd play a joke on her, for she's often told us not
to come here. 'If you go near that White Bay,' she said, 'you will be
drowned as sure as sure.' She daren't tell father and mother because of
her young man. Isn't it fun?"
"Yes," said Penelope, "it's prime fun; but isn't this fun, too? You won't
be able to go to that Zoo place any more."
"Now what do you mean?"
"Why, this: the animals will eat you up. You are bad, same as me. You two
won't be able to go to any more Zoos;" and Pen rolled round and round in
fiendish delight.
The other children looked at her with anything but approval.
"I don't like her," whispered Nellie to her brother.
"Of course you don't like bad little girls," replied Harry. "Let's run
away at once and leave her. Let's."
They scrambled to their feet. To love a new playmate and yet without an
instant's warning to desert her was quite in accordance with their
childish ideas. In a moment they were running as fast as their legs would
permit across the sands. The tide had been coming in fast for some time.
For a moment Pen sat almost petrified; then she rushed after them. She
was wild with passion; she had never been so angry in all her life. There
were many times when the other children at The Dales treated her with
scant courtesy, but to be suddenly deserted in this fashion by strange
children was more than she could endure.
"Oh, how bad you have got! You are so bad--so dreadfully, horribly
bad--that the tide is certain to come in and drown you up," she cried.
"You can't go away from me; you can't. Oh, see! it has comed;" and Pen
danced up and down and clapped her hands in triumph.
She was right. She had gained a complete victory. Just at the extreme end
of the promontory a gentle wave, peaceful, pretty, and graceful, curled
up against the solid rock. It had scarcely retired in bashful innocence
when another wave tumbled after it. They looked like charming
playfellows. Then came a third, then a fourth and a fifth. Faster and
faster they rolled in, flowing up the white sands and making a white foam
round the rock.
The little Carvers stood still, transfixed with a curious mingling of
delight, excitement, and horror. Pen ceased to jump up and down.
Presently she ceased to laugh. She was only a very small girl, and did
not in the least realize her danger; nevertheless, as she used her eyes
to good purpose, and as she quickly perceived that the opposite side of
the bay was now shut away by a great body of water, it did occur to her
that they would have to stay in their present shelter for some time.
Harry turned round slowly. Harry was ten years old, and he understood. He
had heard his father talk of the dangerous White Bay. He went straight up
to Pen, and, taking her hand, burst out crying.
"It don't matter," he said--"it don't matter whether we are good or
whether we are bad. We can none of us ever go to the Zoo again. Nellie
and I won't ever go any more, and you can never go at all."
"What do you mean?" asked Pen.
Her heart began to beat fast and loud.
"What do you mean? Oh, you dreadful bad----"
"Don't call names," said Harry. "You will be sorry by-and-by; and
by-and-by comes soon. We have got to be drowned, all three of us."