MISSING
All this time the _Princess_, lying well outside the Luc rocks, was
getting up her steam. Before the waltz had ended a red light, hung from
the vessel’s bows, gave the signal for those on shore to hurry their
departure. There was a flutter of airy dresses as the English party
emerged from the ball-room into darkness, a ripple of talk as they
filed, Indian fashion, hand steadying hand, down the narrow path that
led from the casino to the little fishing slip or jetty.
And then unexpectedly came the first misadventure that had arisen to
mar this day of calm and sunshine. When the party had embarked in two
of the unwieldy flat-bottomed boats of the country, it occurred to Lord
Rex, as commander-in-chief, that their number should be counted. And
soon the cry arose that one was wanting! Seventeen human souls left
Guernsey that morning--on this point all were confident. Sixteen human
souls only were forthcoming now. And no efforts of memory, individual
or collective, could hit upon the defaulter’s name.
Mrs. Verschoyle exclaimed in a hollow voice that it was a most
uncomfortable omen. She would be sorry to depress the younger people’s
spirits, but, for her part, she would sooner set sail in the teeth of
a hurricane than have had this thing occur. ‘Let the counting be more
systematic,’ said the poor lady, jumping to her feet, and for once in
her life launching into independent action. ‘Let me repeat each name
slowly, beginning with the youngest of the gentlemen, and let each
person answer as he is called. Mr. Smith? Brown? Jones? Lord Rex? The
two Mr. Arbuthnots? Doctor Thorne?’
After Doctor Thorne’s name there was a moment’s silence. Then Linda,
tragic of accent, ejaculated, ‘Robbie! Of course!’ And then, I regret
to say, most of the younger people began to laugh. ‘But it may be a
matter of life and death,’ cried Mrs. Thorne. ‘If you please, Lord Rex,
I will go on shore at once. The _Princess_ may start, probably will
start, without me. My duty is to look for Robbie. Oh, I am most uneasy!
It is all my selfishness. Robbie ought never to have been brought on
such an expedition. I am certain something has happened to him! I shall
never forgive myself while I live.’
These amiable anxieties were the exact sentiments suited to the
occasion. Mrs. Thorne expressed them with agitated dignity, and, of
course, no one laughed again. Consolations, even, were forthcoming.
Dr. Thorne had been seen, in the flesh, outside Luc Casino; or, if
not the Doctor, some old gentleman exactly like him, with a puggaree,
sand-shoes, a white umbrella, and smoking an enormous cigar, just like
the cigar poor dear Doctor Thorne always used to smoke. It was the
prettiest, least wise, of the De Carteret sisters who offered this
bit of evidence. The gentleman was observed to look in for a while at
the dancing, and then to walk away in the direction, Ada de Carteret
believed, of the sea.
‘The sea! And who can tell that the sea has not surrounded him! In
out-of-the-way French places the tide always swells up with a circuit.’
Tears were in Linda’s voice as she proclaimed this maritime fact.
‘I am most uneasy.’ She adjusted her Indian shawl with grace round
her shoulders, then skipped lightly to land. ‘Robbie ought never to
have been brought--it was all my selfishness--I am torn in pieces by
remorse.’
The young ladies, with the exception of one flint soul, cried,
‘No, no,’ in chorus. Mrs. Thorne positively must not say these
dreadful things, when every one knew she had such a _character_ for
unselfishness! Mrs. Verschoyle felt for her smelling-salts, then
settled herself gloomily down, prepared for the worst. Mrs. Verschoyle
felt within her the courage of a prophet whose own dark sayings are on
the eve of fulfilment.
Gaston Arbuthnot, in his quiet, unmoved manner, rose. Stepping on
shore, Gaston volunteered to go in search of the missing Doctor.
These were just the scenes wherein Linda so infinitely diverted
him,--Frenchman as he was in three-fourths of his nature,--little
scenes in which, on the boards of domestic life, she played such
admirable farce without knowing it!
‘I shall walk straight back to Langrune, Mrs. Thorne. Notwithstanding
your solemn tone, in spite of Miss de Carteret’s evidence, I believe
the Doctor has never missed any of us, and at this moment is smoking
his cigar, possibly sipping his “little glass,” at the Hotel
Chateaubriand.’
‘Unless you are here in a quarter of an hour, sharp, we shall leave you
behind,’ called out Lord Rex, when Gaston had proceeded some paces on
his errand. ‘The _Princess_ is chartered until to-morrow only. Whatever
the rest of us do, the skipper will take care not to lose his tide.’
Linda Thorne, by this time, in her agitation, and her Indian shawl, was
at Gaston’s side. So the exordium might be taken as addressed to them
both.
‘All right,’ answered Mr. Arbuthnot leisurely. Langrune is not the end
of the earth. If by the time we secure the Doctor, the steamer has
weighed anchor, we must all get back to Guernsey _viâ_ Cherbourg. That
would fit in very well. The _Lady of the Isles_ crosses from Cherbourg
to-morrow,’ went on Gaston, raising his voice as he looked back over
his shoulder towards the boats. ‘We should just have time to visit the
dockyard before starting.’
And then the two figures sped onward, side by side. They were watched
with keen speculative interest by the occupants of the boats. No one,
save simple Mrs. Verschoyle, felt disturbed as to the Doctor’s ultimate
fate. Was an old gentleman who had taken admirable care of himself for
forty years in India a likely subject to be spirited away on the sands,
between Luc and Langrune? But the situation had a dramatic piquancy
that stirred even the unimaginative minds of the Miss de Carterets
and their attendant subalterns. For there was Dinah! Impossible to
forget that Mrs. Gaston Arbuthnot, that lowly-born young woman with the
beautiful eyes, and set, sad mouth, was also watching the two figures
as they disappeared in the darkness.
‘A quarter of an hour. By Jove! ten minutes of that quarter must be
nearly gone.’
And taking out his watch, Lord Rex struck a vesuvian in order to learn
the time. It was exactly eight minutes to nine, and at nine, sharp, the
_Princess_ was to weigh her anchor. The moment for action had come.
Now, what was the wisest thing to do? One point seemed certain--it
was useless for both boats to wait longer. Let the smaller boat, at
the head of the jetty, start for the steamer at once, let the captain
be told what had happened, and asked to put off his departure as long
as practicable. If Gaston Arbuthnot and the Thornes arrived in time,
the second boat would bring them off. If not--why, common sense could
really dictate no better plan than Gaston’s own. Langrune was not the
end of the world A railway to Cherbourg existed. The _Lady of the
Isles_ would no doubt bring the lost sheep comfortably back to their
respective folds to-morrow.
Dinah as it happened was, with Ada de Carteret and the elder ladies,
in the boat at the head of the jetty. And soon before Dinah’s eyes,
as before the eyes of one who dreams, the reflections of the Casino
lamps, the children’s Chinese lanterns, were dancing with fairy-like
brightness across the moving water. She realised that her day of
pleasure was over, that every one--yes, she could catch the voices of
Marjorie and of Geff, holding merry talk in the other boat--every one
took the adventure jestingly, and that her heart felt like lead, that
her hands were ice-cold, that each breath she drew was a conscious and
painful effort. Well--if she had enough bodily strength to act her part
out, she thought, say no word to betray her plebeian emotions, and so
bring down ridicule on her husband or herself, she must be content!
Once on board the steamer she could hide herself in the cabin, away
from sight, and there wait, until the comedy (or tragedy) had reached
its next act. This one wretched comfort remained to her. She would be
able to screen herself, for a while at least, from observation--to be
alone!
But a new and still more diverting incident was about to be woven into
the text of the play.
‘If I were not in such a nervous state,’ cried Mrs. Verschoyle, when
the boat was within three or four lengths of the _Princess_, ‘if I were
not so morally shaken that I distrust my own senses, I should say our
good Doctor was on board. There came a flash of light just now beside
the wheel, the lighting, perhaps, of a fusee, and for a second it
seemed to me that I saw Doctor Thorne’s figure distinctly. A pity some
reliable person was not looking!’
And Mrs. Verschoyle, to her own surprise, had seen correctly. The
Doctor it proved to be--the Doctor smoking one of the ship’s best
cheroots, and enjoying the summer night with unruffled innocence. He
advanced gallantly to assist the ladies in their embarkation, and heard
with gusto the story of his own supposed fate. Surrounded by the tide?
Tut, tut! Linda might have known, had she exercised her reason, whither
he had betaken himself. ‘Only you ladies never do reason,’ said the
Doctor, addressing Mrs. Verschoyle. ‘It was growing damp on shore--and
let me give you a bit of advice, my dear madam: whenever you feel that
clinging kind of chill, after gun-fire, get on board ship, if you have
the chance. Get an honest plank, instead of the abominable miasmal
emanations of Mother Earth, under your feet. Yes, yes,’ went on the
Doctor comfortably, ‘I hailed one of the _Princess’s_ boats and came on
board two hours ago, have drunk my cup of coffee, and beaten Ozanne at
his own game, cribbage.’
‘And your wife’s anxiety?’
‘My dear Mrs. Verschoyle, I am penitent! Only my wife, you see, might
have reasoned. It would have deprived you all, no doubt, of a harmless
excitement; but Linda, I think, might have reasoned. Any way, it is
better to be drowned by one’s friends’ imaginations than run the risk,
in earnest, of a pair of damp shoes.’
To this Mrs. Verschoyle gave a qualified assent. The mention of damp
shoes affected her. Still, she was not a little shocked at Doctor
Thorne’s levity--‘At his advanced age,’ thought poor Mrs. Verschoyle,
perturbedly, ‘and after the awful narrowness of his escape!’
‘The fear is, Doctor, that Mrs. Thorne will be left behind,’ cried Ada
de Carteret, with meaning. ‘At the first word of danger Linda started
off along the Langrune road to look for you.’
‘Linda ought to have reasoned----’
‘And Lord Rex declares the captain must weigh anchor at nine, sharp! It
is like a scene in a novel--the last scene but one, with everything in
a delicious tangle still. Why, Doctor, you are the hero of the day!’
‘I feel enormously flattered,’ said the old Doctor. ‘It is a very long
time since a charming young lady has said anything so pretty to me.’
‘But your wife, Doctor Thorne!’ expostulated Cassandra Tighe, who with
her nets and cases had been the last to leave the boat. ‘Do you realise
that if Ozanne saves his tide--if we return to Guernsey to-night--Mrs.
Thorne will remain in France?’
‘I cannot believe it. Ozanne would not surely be so ungallant. (Allow
me, Miss Tighe, to help you with a few of your packages.) No, no.
The skipper would not be so ungallant. And then my dear Linda is the
most famous traveller! Surely I have told you what wonderful presence
of mind she showed once in the Nilgiri Hills? Lost, actually lost,
for four entire days! If, by mischance, Linda should be left alone,
she will make her way home to-morrow, _viâ_ Cherbourg, and enjoy the
adventure.’
‘And Mrs. Thorne is not alone,’ cried Ada de Carteret, clapping
her hands, and no doubt feeling that the position grew more and
more deliciously tangled. ‘Mr. Arbuthnot is with her--not Marjorie
Bartrand’s coach, but the other one: the singing, flirting,
good-looking Mr. Arbuthnot,’ added this vivacious young lady,
profoundly forgetful that the good-looking Mr. Arbuthnot’s wife stood
within three yards of her elbow.
‘Then my fears are set at rest,’ observed the Doctor genially. ‘If
my friend Arbuthnot is there my fears are set thoroughly at rest.
Meanwhile, I may as well speak to the skipper. The tide, of course,
must be saved. Still, it would be only right to let Ozanne know how
affairs stand.’
And Dinah had listened to it all--youthful jest, aged philosophy, all!
And standing among the others, with a queer sensation that she had
suddenly oldened by a dozen years, some pallid ghost of a smile rose to
her lips. Here was a grand opportunity, verily, of learning a lesson at
first hand, a chance in a thousand for readjusting one’s standard, for
observing the nicer little shades of feeling and usage which prevail in
the world to which one would fain belong.
A smile, I say, rose to Dinah’s lips. Which of us does not remember
how, in sharp mental stress, he has found himself looking on at the
trivial accessories of his pain, as a stranger might, derisively! In
the poor girl’s heart was death.
She knew that for Gaston to have set at naught her pleadings, for
Gaston to have quitted her thus, might render to-night a bitter crisis
in the lives of both.