MR GREENWOOD.
He was one of those wonderful anomalies in coat and trousers, at which
we gaze curiously, as we speculate to which sex they belong. He had
light flaxen hair, perceptibly crimped with hot irons, pale blue eyes,
and small, dolly features. The suspicion of a whitey-brown moustache on
his upper lip was like the down on an apple-tart. His hands were fat,
and short, and white--almost dimpled--and laden with women’s rings.
He was dressed in a tight check suit, a brown felt hat, gaiters, and
patent-leather shoes. In his hand he carried a small Malacca cane,
which he usually swung backwards and forwards, while he stood with his
legs well apart; an eyeglass was stuck with so painful an effort into
his eye that it distorted his features; and he wore his hat a little to
one side, which was intended to give him a rakish appearance. A gold
chain of great length and thickness was stretched across his waistcoat.
At one end of it dangled his keys, at the other a button-hook. From his
breast-pocket peeped out a pink silk handkerchief, placed there for
ornament rather than use, and encircling his throat was a white collar,
so high and so well starched that he was frequently obliged to place
his fingers between the linen and the skin to prevent his throttling.
Vernon Blythe looked down at this mannikin with supreme contempt, not
unmixed with amusement.
‘I suppose you are an officer of the ship--eh?’ rejoined Mr Greenwood.
‘I suppose I am,’ said Jack coolly.
‘Well, when shall we sail--eh? Can you tell me that?’
‘By the first tide to-morrow morning.’
‘But when will the first tide be? I’m a passenger, you see, so I’ve a
right to know. Haven’t I--eh? My name is Greenwood--Harold Greenwood. I
have one of the deck cabins.’
‘Why don’t you go down to your dinner?’ asked Jack, ignoring his
queries.
‘Oh, because I dined before I came on board. Didn’t know what I might
get here, don’t you know? Had dinner with a friend, and a game at
billiards. Oh, by the way, have you a billiard-table on board? Awfully
jolly game billiards, don’t you know?’ and placing his hand upon the
pipe rail, whilst he used his cane for a cue, Mr Greenwood commenced
pushing away at an imaginary ball.
To this absurd question Jack Blythe again vouchsafed no answer.
‘I say, do you like waltzing?--awfully nice waltzing,’ resumed the
youth, commencing to whistle, and dance round in a circle with his cane
for a partner. ‘I suppose we shall have a dance every evening? I hear
there are some devilish pretty girls on board, and it will be our duty
to pay them some attention. We shall miss the rides in the Row, and the
shooting awfully, don’t you know?’ he went on, pretending his cane was
a gun, and levelling it at the main-topsail block; ‘but we must make
the best of it, and a bit of flirtation ain’t such bad fun on a long
voyage, don’t you know? It passes the time, and it pleases the girls,
and so it does good all round, eh?’
‘I should think _you_ would be sure to do them a lot of good. There’s
no doubt at all about that,’ replied Jack Blythe gruffly, as he turned
on his heel.
There could not have been a greater contrast than between these two
men. To see them side by side was to doubt the possibility of their
belonging to the same order of creation. Jack Blythe, strong, healthy,
and muscular, with arms and hands that had been developed by manual
labour, and a fresh skin, which had been bronzed by a tropical sun,
and washed and beaten by the salt sprays of the Atlantic--with manly
and practical ideas, and a wholesome horror of effeminacy and all
that pertains to a fop; and Harold Greenwood, with a milk-and-water
complexion and flabby muscles,--soft limbs, that stood on a par with
those of a woman, and a head crammed with superficial ideas, that
showed the narrowness of his nature and the absence of even an ordinary
amount of brain.
‘Awfully jolly weather this, isn’t it?’ continued Harold Greenwood, who
was too dense to take a rebuff unless it was administered in the shape
of a kick. ‘I say, what time do they call a fella here in the morning?
I should like to be up to see the ship start. Do you think the steward
will remember to wake me?’
‘I don’t know,’ returned Vernon brusquely. ‘You had better ask him
yourself. And I wish the d----l you wouldn’t whisk your stick about in
that absurd manner. You will put out my eye in another minute.’
This last request, which was delivered in a very angry tone of voice,
startled ‘Miss Nancy’ altogether, and with a muttered apology, and a
half-frightened look at the second officer, Mr Greenwood hurried down
the accommodation ladder, thinking what very rude men sailors seemed to
be, whilst Jack continued to keep his watch, and to smile to himself
whenever the sound of Alice’s ringing laughter was wafted upwards
through the open skylights of the saloon.
Meanwhile, in the second cabin some of the passengers had sat down
to tea, and were discussing in lubber-like terms the qualities and
accommodation of the vessel, whilst others were amusing themselves
by unpacking their chests and ranging the necessary articles for the
voyage in the places assigned to them. They were a large party, and
there was much fun and confusion amongst them, the dearth of space in
their sleeping cabins, and the difficulty of finding room for their
various belongings, seeming to provoke more laughter than vexation.
Will Farrell especially appeared to be enjoying himself. He was excited
at the idea of leaving England and commencing a new life in the bush,
and having the opportunity to shake off the suspicion which had been
wrongfully attached to him. He had already made fast friends with a man
called Bob Perry, and was sitting at the tea-table with him discussing
subjects of interest connected with New Zealand, with which Perry had
been for some years familiar. It was at this juncture that the second
officer, from his watch on the poop, saw a sailor run to the side
to help two more passengers over the gangway. They were both women.
The first one stumbled, and came head foremost upon deck, striking
the gallant seaman who waited to receive her a violent blow in the
chest, which he took with a roar of laughter, in which several of his
messmates joined. The mirth and confusion seemed to make the second
passenger timid, for as she stepped over the gangway she glanced in a
nervous manner from one end of the vessel to the other, and whispered
to her companion, who in her turn communicated her wishes in a very low
voice to the sailor.
‘Second cabin, miss,’ he replied aloud; ‘why, certainly. I’ll show
you the way. Round this here corner, that’s it, and down them stairs.
Take care. Turn round, miss, and go down back’ards, or you’ll come a
cropper. Now you’re safe, and the cabin’s just afore you. No thanks,
miss--no thanks,’ and the sailor went upon his own business.
Vernon, watching this little episode from the elevation of the poop,
could not help wondering for a moment who this second-class passenger
could be, who seemed so timid and shrinking, and unlike the company
in which she would find herself. She appeared to be a lady travelling
with her maid, but what gentlewoman who could afford to keep a servant
would go second class? The mystery, slight as it was, was sufficient
to puzzle him, and keep him thinking of the last arrivals until he was
relieved of his watch. Meanwhile Iris Harland and Maggie had found
their way into the second cabin, where all eyes greeted them with a
prolonged stare. Iris was terribly nervous--fearful in each face to
recognise that of her husband; and her companion was not much better.
However, there was no need for alarm, and after a minute or two, when
they saw they were in the midst of strangers, they recovered their
confidence. Maggie was the first to speak.
‘Can any of you gentlemen show us the way to cabin number twelve?’ she
asked, as, laden with parcels and band-boxes, she pushed her way to the
front.
Maggie was looking fresh and comely that evening. She wore her best
clothes, and she had ‘cleaned herself’ for the occasion. Her dark hair
and eyes formed a vivid contrast to her rosy cheeks; and her wide
mouth, with its strong white teeth, looked sweet and wholesome. Will
Farrell was the first man to answer her challenge.
‘_I_ will!’ he exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. ‘I sleep in number
eleven. Here it is, you see--next to mine.’
‘Thank you kindly. ’Tisn’t for me; it’s for this lady here. And now,
how are we to get our boxes down?’
‘Where are they?’ demanded Farrell.
‘On deck. There’s two of ’em. A black box, and a little blue one that’s
mine.’
‘If they’re not very large, I’ll bring them down for you.’
‘Oh! _you’d_ make nothing of them. I’d carry them myself, except for
those plaguey stairs.’
‘Maggie,’ remonstrated Iris, in a low voice, ‘we cannot trouble this
gentleman. Remember he is a stranger.’
‘Oh, no! he ain’t. Are you, sir? No one is strangers once they’re on
board ship together.’
‘Of course not,’ rejoined Farrell heartily, ‘and if it is the case, the
sooner we’re friends the better. But won’t you have a cup of tea first?
Shall I tell the steward to fetch you some? Your friend looks tired.’
‘She _is_ tired, poor dear!’ replied Maggie, who had been warned to
treat Iris as her equal during the voyage.
‘I’ll fetch it whilst you are taking off your things,’ replied Farrell,
hastening away.
‘Now, mistress, take off your hat and veil,’ whispered Maggie to Iris,
as he disappeared, ‘this place is stifling hot.’
‘Oh, Maggie! I feel as I should never dare to show my face in public.’
‘Oh, but that’s nonsense! Besides, there’s no fear. _He’ll_ be a deal
too grand to put his foot in the second cabin: you may take your oath
of that. And here comes back this good fellow with the tea.’
‘Really, sir, you’re very kind to us,’ said Maggie, as Farrell set two
cups of steaming tea before them, ‘but _I_ mustn’t drink any, you know.
_I_ ain’t a second classer. I’m only steerage, and I shouldn’t have
intruded myself here at all, except to see this lady safe to her cabin,
because she ain’t used to roughing it, as I am.’
‘There’s no harm in saying _that_,’ she continued, as a slight pinch
from Iris warned her not to go too far.
‘You are travelling in the steerage!’ exclaimed Will Farrell; ‘I _am_
sorry.’
‘Why so, sir? It’s good enough for me. I’m not a duchess.’
‘No! and I’m not a duke, and so I think we should have been good
company for each other on the voyage, Miss Maggie.’
‘Miss Greet, if you please, sir. I don’t hold to being called out of my
name.’
‘Miss Greet, then. However, the steerage is not far off, and so I shall
still hope we may see a good deal of each other.’
‘I don’t know about that, but if you’ll turn your attention to my
lady--I mean to my friend here--and help her instead of me, I should
be ever so much more obliged to you. I daresay I shall find plenty of
young men in the steerage--they ain’t a scarce commodity--but Mrs--I
mean Miss Douglas, don’t know a soul here, and you can be all the use
in the world to her.’
‘Hush! hush! Maggie,’ pleaded Iris.
‘You just keep quiet, my dear, and let me say what I choose.’
‘I shall be delighted to be of use to both of you,’ replied Farrell,
who had not failed to observe that Iris was a very pretty woman; ‘and
as an earnest of my goodwill, I will go and bring down these boxes at
once.’ And off he ran.
‘Now, ain’t that a good sort?’ cried Maggie admiringly.
‘He seems so,’ replied Iris. ‘But, Maggie, I think I shall go to my
berth at once. I shall never feel safe until we are well out to sea.’
‘All right, my dear. But here comes that chap with the boxes. Let me
just go and see where he puts mine first, and then I’ll come back, if
they’ll let me, and help you get to bed. Will you promise me to sit
here quiet till I come?’
‘Yes,’ said Iris mechanically, as she took up a newspaper, and
commenced to read.
Many eyes were turned towards her as she sat there, with her pale,
beautiful face half-shaded by the brim of her hat and the thick veil,
which was only partially withdrawn; and many conjectures were raised as
to why so young a creature was going out to the new country alone.
Perhaps it was the little drama he had seen enacted on her arrival
which induced Vernon Blythe to pay a visit to the second cabin that
evening. Perhaps it was the fate which stalks us all, and pulls the
strings of our lives as if we were so many puppets, bound to caper
at its will. Any way, when his watch was relieved, he bent his steps
there, instead of going down to the saloon. As he entered, Iris
Harland was sitting where Maggie had left her, at the end of the long
table furthest removed from the door; and Vernon Blythe stood on the
threshold, and regarded her for some minutes before she was even aware
of his presence. He had not caught a single glimpse of the face of
the lady who had arrived so late, he had scarcely seen the outlines
of her figure, and yet he felt sure that _that_ was she sitting under
the swinging lamp, with her graceful form bent forward, her eyes cast
down upon the paper, and one slim white hand resting on the table. How
strangely her appearance startled and affected him. He had never, to
his knowledge, seen her before, and yet his heart almost stood still to
look at her. Who was she? Where were her friends? What was she doing
here alone, in an atmosphere so evidently uncongenial to her? Jack
Blythe had not been so many years at sea without gaining a thorough
knowledge of the different classes of passengers a vessel is accustomed
to carry. And _this_ passenger, he could tell from merely looking at
her, was out of her class and her own sphere altogether. Could there be
any error in the matter? She seemed very shy, and inexperienced. Was it
possible she had got into the wrong cabin by mistake? Jack determined
to find out, and with that view walked up to the further end of the
table. As Iris perceived that some one was approaching her, she drew
the thick veil she wore right over her features, and pretended still to
be reading through it, although it was impossible she could decipher a
word. Jack threw himself into a seat near her, and whistled a few bars
of music carelessly, just to show that he was completely at his ease.
Then after the pause of a minute, he addressed her:--
‘I beg your pardon! I hope that you are comfortable, and have
everything you require. Things are apt to be a little confused on
starting, but I am one of the officers of the ship, and if there is
anything I can do for you, you have but to ask me.’
He paused for a reply, but it was long in coming. Iris’s thick veil did
not prevent her hearing, and the sound of his young manly voice had
struck on her heart like a knell. She recognised it at once, and even
through her veil she recognised him. She remembered distinctly when
she had heard that voice last,--its earnest, passionate tones,--the
strangled agony in it on her refusal to listen,--the sob with which he
had turned to leave her for ever! She had often thought of that scene,
and of her boyish lover since then,--had often asked herself whether
she had not been a blind fool to turn from his suit to listen to that
of Godfrey Harland,--had even wondered if she should ever meet Vernon
Blythe again, and tell him she regretted the pain which she had given
him. And here he was--in the very same ship with herself, and speaking
to her in that unforgotten voice. At the first blush, it seemed to Iris
Harland as if everything were lost. Her own voice shook so in answering
him that it would have been hard for any one to recognise it.
‘Thank you,’ she said, in the lowest possible tone, ‘but there is
nothing.’
‘Introductions are not supposed to be necessary aboard ship,’ continued
Jack, ‘so I hope you will not think me forward in asking your name.’
‘Miss Douglas.’
‘And mine is Vernon Blythe, at your service,’ he said, lifting his cap
and putting it on his head again. ‘Are you going out to Lyttleton?’
‘Yes.’
‘You have friends there, perhaps?’
‘No.’
This answer puzzled him. What on earth could so young a lady intend to
do in a strange country without friends? He hazarded another conjecture.
‘You know the country then?--you have been there before?’
‘No, never!’ replied Miss Douglas, in the same agitated tones.
After this, Jack felt that he must ask no more. She evidently did not
wish to be communicative, and further questioning would devolve into
impertinence. He was wondering if he dared speak to her again, when
Maggie Greet rushed back into the cabin, and up to her mistress’s side.
‘Now, my dear,’ she cried, ‘I’m going to put you to bed.’
‘Yes, yes!’ whispered Iris convulsively, clinging to her, ‘take me away
at once--take me to bed.’
Maggie saw she was on the point of breaking down, and looked round for
the cause. Her eyes fell on Vernon Blythe, sheepishly watching them
both.
‘What have _you_ been a-saying to her?’ she demanded curtly.
‘Nothing--nothing, Maggie!’ sobbed Iris.
‘I hope, indeed,’ said Vernon, ‘that I have not offended Miss Douglas
by my offers of assistance. They were made with the best intentions, I
can assure you.’
‘Yes, yes! I know--’ gasped Iris; ‘but I’m tired--and--and a little
faint, and I’d rather go to bed.’
‘She’s overdone--that’s where it is, sir,’ explained Maggie, as she
cuddled Iris’s head to her bosom, ‘and the sooner she’s asleep the
better. Come along, my pretty!’ and she half led, half dragged Iris
into No. 12.
She went without even bidding Jack a formal good-night. He felt a
little mortified when he thought of it, but, after all, what was
Miss Douglas to him? He rose up, and went whistling out of the cabin
as she disappeared; but he thought more than once of the mysterious
second-class passenger before they met again.
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