Produced by Steven Gibbs, Karen Dalrymple, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
WHERE
DEEP SEAS
MOAN.
BY
E. GALLIENNE-ROBIN
GUERNSEY:
FREDERICK CLARKE.
Printer and Publisher.
MCMVII.
"Where Deep Seas Moan."
CHAPTER I.
The autumn wind blew in great gusts over the rocky island of
Guernsey, and in the country parishes rushed up hill and down dale,
leaving not a lane undisturbed by its vagaries. It rattled the
leafless trees which grew at the back of Colomberie Farm, whose deep
brown-thatched roof rested against the lichened red tiles of the
barn adjoining. Surrounded on all sides by green fields outside its
charming garden, Colomberie looked the picture of comfort; and its
cheery interior laughed the wind to scorn as the curtains were drawn
across the kitchen window, and the _crasset_ was lit at the side of
the wide hearth. But the wind had its revenge, for it blew across
the country roads pretty young Blaisette, the daughter of
Colomberie, who was going out to spend the evening; and who
struggled with all her healthy vigour against the impertinent
buffetting of the bleak north-wester. When she disappeared into a
sheltered hollow, the wind, hushed and non-plussed for a minute,
paused to meditate further mischief; then, with regathered rage, it
tore across country, and boomed, with sullen roar, into a valley
shut in by brackened and heather-covered hills.
Here, a granite-built house, sheltered under the rocky cliff, had an
air of stern and unkempt loneliness; and there was something
sinister about the watermill, whose dingy wheel, green with disuse,
was close against the side of the building. Yet there was prosperity
to be read in the large open barn stacked high with corn and hay, in
the many cows that fed in the meadow below the hill, and in the
horses that stamped impatiently in the stable.
The master of Orvilliere Farm was Dominic Le Mierre, a bachelor, a
hard worker, and a more than respectable member of the parish of
Saint Pierre du Bois. It seemed that he did not mind the boisterous
wind this evening as he ate his supper hurriedly in the gloomy
kitchen, whose windows shook at every touch of the blast.
Over the hills, and once more across country, the howling wind made
its way, past the old church of Saint Pierre du Bois, past the lanes
to Torteval parish, and along the high road to Pleinmont, where it
had full play over a wide moorland district, dotted with low masses
of gorze and groups of boulders.
Here, too, was just one little cottage to shake and grip and freeze
with biting draughts. It stood in a slight hollow on the summit of a
cliff overlooking Rocquaine Bay. Its mossy thatched roof overhung
tiny latticed windows, whose panes were golden red from the light of
the fire of dried sea-weed and furze heaped up on the hearth of
stone raised above the earthen sanded floor.
Round the fire a group of girls was gathered; for the most part they
were just homely, pleasant creatures, but two stood out distinctly
from the rest; one, by reason of her beauty, the other, because of
her original and perhaps, forbidding, personality. The beautiful
one, Blaisette Simon, of Colomberie Farm, was small and plump and
very fair, with cheeks of a rosebud pink and lips full and ripe for
kisses. The round innocence of her blue eyes looked away all sense
from the men, so it was said, and she had lovers by the dozen. Added
to her beauty was the attraction of a very desirable little fortune
which she had already inherited from her mother, who was dead; and
by and bye, _Mess_' Simon would leave her the farm and all his
money, for she was an only child. She was disposed to be friendly
with Ellenor, again an only child, the one treasure of Jean and
Marie Cartier, of Les Casquets Cottage.
People wondered what Blaisette saw in the dark scowling girl, who
was reserved and offhand with people in general; and probably
Blaisette herself was puzzled as to _why_ she sought Ellenor so
constantly. The girls were a distinct contrast, not only in
character, but in appearance.
Ellenor was tall and angular, with a certain nobility and
haughtiness of carriage inherited from her fisherman father. Her
sallow skin, sombre grey eyes and heavy mouth, looked the
personification of night beside the sunny beauty of Blaisette's blue
eyes and yellow hair. The girl of the cottage was an excellent foil
to the girl of Colomberie Farm. Did Blaisette realize, all
unconsciously, the use of this to her as she went forward
triumphantly in her victorious path as the belle of two parishes?
But to return to the group round the fire.
All at once, by common consent, as it appeared, the girls rose and
crowded round the entrance. Ellenor lifted the latch, and, flinging
the door wide open, she stood on the threshold and looked out into
the inky blackness of the night. The wind howled and moaned as it
entered the kitchen; and a flash of lightning tore open, for one
second, the darkness of the sky. After the crash of thunder that
followed, Blaisette cried in an awestruck voice,
"Surely now, Ellenor, you will not go!"
"Not go!" echoed the girl of the cottage, "not go! but this is the
very weather to go in! Now, perhaps, you will all believe I fear
nothing! and if there was need for it I would go bareheaded to Saint
Peter Port in this deluge!" and she pointed to the sheets of rain
which swept over the moorland.
Then a small, insignificant voice, coming from a woman who sat in
the hearth corner, spoke irritably.
"You know, Ellenor, if your father was here, he would not let you
play such tricks!"
Ellenor faced her mother with rebellion in every feature of her
face.
"The girls have dared me to go to the Haunted House on this very
night, and I'll go, mother, if I have to face the devil himself."
Mrs. Cartier sighed.
"Well, you must do as you please, it seems you always do!"
Without further words, Ellenor coiled tighter the thick hair that
looked too heavy for her small head, stuck through it a dull gold
pin, and stepped out into the small garden.
"It has stopped raining," she said sarcastically, "so who will go a
little way, to see I don't cheat, but go, in reality, to the Haunted
House?"
After a minute's hesitation, two or three of the girls followed her,
but Blaisette, with a pretty pout, returned to the _jonquiere_ by
the hearth. Ellenor walked rapidly up the steep path to the summit
of the cliff, then plunged into the darkness of the moorland.
Winding in and out amongst gorze bushes, she reached at last a large
patch of grass. She turned round to the girls who were huddling
close to her.
"There! in two minutes I'll be to the Haunted House. Listen to the
sea! We're close to the edge of the cliffs. Come, quick, let's run,
who knows if I can burst open the door, if I won't see the devil. I
would wish it, for my part! There'd be a chance to tell him what one
thinks of him."
Her words wandered away into the night, for the girls, with cries of
horror, had fled as if evil spirits pursued them.
With a mocking laugh, Ellenor hurried on, then gradually she
slackened her pace. At last, she groped her way forward with
outstretched hands, for it was horribly dark. Presently she touched
the rough stone wall of some building and stopped and listened. Not
a sound but the wild roar of the waves below the cliffs and the
gradual lulling of the wind. She groped along the wall, till her
hands fell a little lower, to a different surface. It was a short
wooden door. She pushed against it, gently, but it did not yield.
She felt it across and up and down. There was no latch and she could
find no keyhole. Again she pushed, this time with all her strength.
Jerking suddenly, the door opened inwards, and Ellenor, leaning
against it, fell forward over the high threshold into pitch
darkness. She felt a blinding blow and a sickening pain, and then
she lost consciousness.
When she came to herself she was first aware of a heavily beamed
cobwebbed roof, of a dim lantern beside her, of the stifling
nearness of kegs and bales and boxes, and then of a very familiar
figure kneeling beside her on one knee.
The man's face that peered into hers was handsome in a heavy
undeveloped way. Eyes as grey as hers and as sombre scowled from
underneath dark brows and a dark thatch of hair. His sullen mouth,
set in a hard angry line, was the finest feature of a clean-shaven
face.
"You little fool!" he half whispered, "what on earth, or in hell,
has made you come meddling here, I'd like to know! I've nearly
killed you!"
With his coarse pocket handkerchief he mopped up the blood that was
flowing from a cut on her head.
"How did you nearly kill me?" she asked, "what harm have I done?"
"You've come sneaking in here, and in this darkness, and I hit you
when you banged open the door. It seems you were falling over the
doorstep. You're pretty pale, my girl, but I believe I know your
face. Aren't you from Les Casquets?"
"I'm Ellenor Cartier, yes. And you--you're Monsieur Le Mierre, from
Orvilliere."
He scowled and looked for a minute as if he meditated another
blow--then he swore roundly in the Norman-French that he and all the
islanders spoke.
"How the devil did you know me in this darkness! You're a witch, it
seems, and it isn't the first time I've thought it. You are not a
beauty, my girl. But come, tell me, how did you recognize me?"
"I've seen you to church, to St. Pierre du Bois, but you were all
dressed up then; and I've seen you driving to the market of a
Saturday morning sometimes."
He laughed and bent a little closer. Her eyes were like stars as
they were lifted to his face. And she did not appear to fear him in
the very least.
"Well, it's a joke, isn't it, the difference between Dominic Le
Mierre of a Sunday and Dominic Le Mierre in this place, my clothes
all wet with sea-water. And now, tell me, witch, why do you think
I'm here, in the Haunted House?"
"I couldn't say, I'm sure."
He was silent, staring hard into the candid, fearless eyes; then
impulsively he cried,
"I believe I can trust you! But, I warn you, if you let out why I'm
here, I'll kill you."
"You can trust me. I'd be killed before I'd let out."
A soft shadow darkened the clearness of her eyes: her long eyelashes
fell before his puzzled stare.
"But why, bah! it appears you're not afraid of me, then! Very well.
I'll tell you. It is the best way out of the difficulty. But sit up
against this barrel, and drink a little brandy. I've stopped the
bleeding in your head with a black enough cobweb."
Ellenor tried to raise herself up, but loss of blood had made her
giddy, and Dominic put his arm round her and steadied her roughly,
but not unkindly. Her dark head rested a second against his blue
jerseyed shoulder, and once more she lifted her eyes to his. With
brusque and evidently totally unpremeditated passion he kissed her
red lips.
"There! didn't I say you are a witch! I could laugh at myself for
this--I, Le Mierre, of one of the oldest families of St. Pierre du
Bois to be kissing a girl like you, a girl who carries fish to
market, tramp, tramp, all the way in the rain or in the sun! And,
moreover, I, Le Mierre, oh, so respectable and fine of a Sunday,
pulling a long face in my pew, and yet, behold, here I am a
smuggler, keeping guard over brandy and lace and silks! And why the
devil did I kiss you, for it isn't that you are a pretty girl or
enticing, eh?"
The girl trembled and turned away her head.
"Perhaps I am not pretty, but you've kissed me for all that, and
better still, you've told me your secret. I think it's a mean thing
to be a smuggler: but I'd die before I'd tell anyone _you_ was a
smuggler. That I promise you!"
"Good! And why are you ready to promise me so quick? I'm inclined to
be afraid you'll let out, after all. I've been a fool to trust you."
He grasped her arm roughly and knitting his brows was buried in
thought again. But she broke in on his silence, with blazing eyes of
such beauty that he understood why he had kissed her.
"Not a bit of it, Monsieur Le Mierre! A man is not a fool to trust a
girl who ... likes ... him!"
"But, that's all very well! How is it you like me? You've never
spoken to me before."
"I've seen you to church; and one can like people without speaking
to them."
He laughed. "Perhaps _you_ can, but I can't! Well, the job's done
now, so I suppose I'll have to trust you. Next time you see me to
church, you won't believe it's me you've really seen here. But you
must be off--or else the other chaps will catch you. Look here, I'm
sorry I've made your head bleed! and you'll have to tell a pack of
lies to explain why there's a cut under your hair. Are you afraid
to tell lies, eh?"
"Not to keep you safe."
"Well, you're no coward I must say. And now, stop a bit, how much
money do you expect me to give you to keep a still tongue in your
head?"
"Money! not a double!"
"Bah, I can't believe it, and if ever you need it to help your
father and mother, you come to me. But quick, you must go, it seems
to me I hear somebody coming. There, you're over the step, run,
quick, it _is_ the men, coming up the cliff!"
When she had disappeared into the darkness, Le Mierre muttered to
himself, "I'm _ensorcelai_, that's certain, for I've never found out
what brought the girl here at all!"