THE “PLYMOUTH CASTLE.”
Sheila stood with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair on the deck of a
great steamer that was slipping slowly down Southampton Water on a
bright October afternoon.
She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and, turning quickly round,
exclaimed delightedly—
“Oh, Miss Adene, you are really here! The stewardess said she knew you
were on board; but I was half afraid you were not. I did not catch a
glimpse of you anywhere.”
“I was below with my niece setting our cabins to rights, as travellers
like to do before getting out of smooth water. Well, little one, you
look very bright; but you are thinner than when I saw you last. I am
afraid you have had an anxious summer.”
“Yes, rather,” answered Sheila. “Poor Effie was ill for a long time,
and I don’t think all the doctors and specialists they called in did
her any good. They tried all sorts of things for her breathing, and
there was a sort of operation once, and I’m sure that did her harm. The
last man who saw her said, ‘Take her out of England for the winter.
Let her live out of doors and take no physic, and not see a doctor at
all unless there is real cause.’ That’s what I call being sensible;
and I remembered what you had said about Madeira and how delightful it
was there, and Effie set her heart upon going. So here we are. Uncle
and Aunt Cossart, and Effie and I and her maid. Oh, I think it will be
delightful! I have never been abroad. It will be charming to cross the
Atlantic and see beautiful new places!”
There was a laugh from behind, and Sheila turned to meet the sunny
glance from a pair of bright dark eyes, and Miss Adene said—
“Ah, here is my nephew (as he likes to be called) Ronald Dumaresq! Let
me introduce him, Sheila, my dear.”
The girl held out her hand with her pretty manner, half shy, half
frank, and Ronald shook it heartily, saying—
“I have heard a lot about you, Miss Cholmondeley, from my aunt. I know
all about that fire in which you played the part of heroine.”
“I!” cried Sheila, half indignant at the imputation. “I did nothing at
all but shiver and shake, and feel in a most fearful fright. I don’t
know if that’s what you call being heroic. I don’t.”
“Well, but you must have a spirit of your own, I am sure! Did I not
just hear you saying that crossing the Atlantic would be delightful?
Not many people share that opinion, I can tell you.”
“I mean it to be delightful. I don’t care if I am ill. It will be a new
experience. I like to try new things.”
“If you like sea-sickness you will be a remarkable being,” laughed
Ronald; “but perhaps you are a good sailor.”
“I think I shall be. I went yachting once all about the Hebrides, and
it was often pretty rough and choppy; but I did not mind. I don’t see
how one could be ill in a huge boat like this.”
Ronald laughed.
“Wait till you see what the Atlantic rollers are like. You will soon
learn what a cork even a big vessel like this can be. Wait till we get
to the Bay of Biscay O!”
Laughing and talking, with the quickly established good fellowship of
young folks, Sheila and Ronald paced up and down the deck. Sheila was
keenly interested in the big vessel and in the other ships they met
or passed as they glided along; and Ronald could answer most of her
questions, and was altogether a delightful companion. He had travelled
a good deal, though he had never before been to Madeira; and he told
her anecdotes of shipboard life and of his hunting adventures, time
slipping away so fast that the clatter of teacups and the movement of
some of the passengers towards the saloon quite surprised them.
It was not a full ship, being one of the “intermediate” boats popular
with Madeira passengers, who often find trouble in getting booked
for the regular Cape mails. Most of the passengers had cabins to
themselves—no small boon to bad sailors, and appreciated by all.
“We shall take about half a day, perhaps a whole one, longer than the
mail,” Ronald explained; “but it’s much jollier to have plenty of room
and a cabin of one’s own. But come along and have some tea! Where are
your people? You’ve got a delicate cousin, I know, and an aunt and
uncle. Anybody else?”
“No, I did want my brother to come; but it couldn’t be arranged. It
would have been quite perfect with him. Is this the way? How funny
everything is on shipboard! Oh, we are beginning to roll a little! I
suppose we are getting into the Channel?”
“Yes, just about. Do you mind?”
“Not a bit. I like it. There is Miss Adene! Who is the lovely lady she
is talking to? And, oh, what a darling little boy! Who is he?”
“Oh, that’s our young Rascal! The lady is my sister-in-law, you know.
Here, Rascal, come and see this lady! Here’s somebody new to make a
fuss of you!”
Sheila was devoted to babies and little children. She was on her knees
in a moment, and little Guy had his arms about her, making up his mind
in a moment that this was a friend, and laughing and chattering in the
most confidential way.
“Oh, isn’t he too perfectly sweet!” cried Sheila in an ecstasy, kissing
her hand as the nurse bore him off for his tea; and then she found
herself led up and presented to Lady Dumaresq, who was so gentle, and
beautiful, and sweet that Sheila fell in love with her at once.
Effie was not present, having been much tired by the railway journey,
so that the maid had got her to bed at once. Mr. and Mrs. Cossart came
into the saloon for some tea; but sat apart and looked rather forlorn.
Miss Adene went and spoke to them, but they did not seem happy, and
very soon went away again, so that Sheila was thankful to be able to
consort with the Dumaresq party, since all the other passengers were
strangers.
The vessel certainly pitched a good deal as they got farther out into
the Channel. Sheila did not mind it in the least; but she observed that
the saloon thinned considerably, and Ronald remarked with a laugh—
“I don’t think there will be many at dinner to-night.”
Sheila presently slipped away to take a peep at Effie, who was dozing
in her berth. She did not feel ill, she said, only tired and sleepy.
She was interested to hear about Miss Adene and the Dumaresqs. Miss
Adene had paid her more than one visit during her illness, and she had
grown fond of her, though she had not seen her now for a good while,
and she did not correspond with her as Sheila did.
Mr. and Mrs. Cossart had gone to bed too, the maid said with a smile.
They were both rather sea-sick, but were comfortable now. The maid was
an experienced traveller and an excellent sailor. She and Sheila and
the stewardess had a little laugh together over the unfortunates who
were so speedily bowled over.
“Poor things! It’s a dreadful sort of feeling; but they’ll be better
when we’re once through the Bay. We get into smooth water then very
often, especially this time of year, and they soon forget their
troubles.”
Ronald was right about the dinner. There were very few at table, and
the Captain was still on the bridge. He did not generally leave his
post there till the perils of the Channel were passed.
Sir Guy came up from his cabin looking thin and frail, but with a
sunburnt tint upon his face from the open-air life he had led all the
summer. Sheila thought him very handsome and very interesting. He and
Lady Dumaresq seemed surrounded by a halo of romance; they were so much
attached to each other, and were both so very handsome and attractive.
Indeed, Sheila thought that the voyage and the long stay in Madeira
with such nice people would be enchanting, and her bright spirits
bubbled over in little peals of happy laughter and merry repartee in
answer to Ronald’s chaff.
After dinner he took her for a prowl upon the deck. She would have
liked to wander up and down a long time; but the air blew chilly, so he
took her in to Miss Adene, who was now almost the sole occupant of the
drawing-room saloon, weariness or the motion of the boat having driven
others below.
“Have you seen May lately?” asked Miss Adene. “And what is the news
from Isingford?”
“May has been visiting a good deal this summer, so I only saw her now
and then,” answered Sheila; “and as for news, there is not so very
much. Perhaps you have heard that Lionel Benson is engaged to my cousin
Raby?”
“No; I had not heard that.”
“Yes. I rather think it was the fire that did it, though it wasn’t
given out till three months afterwards. I think they are all very
pleased, and she will be married soon, for he has plenty of money. He
is in the business, you know. It isn’t a very interesting engagement,
but Raby seems quite happy. I suppose it’s all right.”
“They are two handsome young people, and know each other well. It ought
to turn out happily, I think. And how about Cyril?” asked Miss Adene,
with a little quick glance, which Sheila met and answered by a flashing
smile.
“Oh, Cyril! Well, he is still idling about at home, talking of the
wonders he means to do some day, and they all believe in him as much as
ever, I think.”
A little smile curved Miss Adene’s lips.
“Don’t be merciless, little girl. Perhaps he may astonish the world
yet!”
“He astonished some of us the day of the fire. Miss Adene, I can speak
to you, because you’re not a relation whose feelings have to be spared.
But _do_ you believe that when he dashed off like that, fighting his
way out and knocking everybody down, he had the least intention of
going for help? You know he says he was going for the fire-escape, and
people believe it now. Lionel Benson won’t say it’s a lie because of
Raby, and though North always looks as grim as grim when the thing is
mentioned, he does not contradict. After all, Cyril is his brother. But
Oscar and I know that he rushed straight home. Of course, he _may_ have
seen somebody and sent a message, but somehow I can’t believe that he
was thinking of anything but saving his own precious skin. It makes me
so wild with Cyril. What do you think about it? You saw it all.”
“Well, Sheila, perhaps the best way is not to think too much about it.
We all have our faults and failings, and we must beware of judging
those of other people too harshly. The thing is over and done with now,
and we are not set as judges over each other. If Cyril is trying to
atone for an error in the past, it would be better to try and excuse
it, and not think too harshly of him.”
“I think he’s just as conceited as ever. I don’t think he’s a bit
ashamed. Miss Adene, do you know, I rather think he would like to marry
May. He is always going over there when she is at home. But he _will_
get a good snubbing if he tries. May would not touch him with a pair of
tongs!”
“My dear child!” said Miss Adene, laughing, and then she added, “I had
an idea that Cyril was attached to Effie.”
Sheila shrugged up her shoulders.
“I can’t quite make out about that. Sometimes I fancy it is so, and
then I don’t know what to think. But Effie has been ill all the summer,
and though Cyril used to go and see her pretty often, I could never
make out if they cared for one another. Effie’s never been allowed to
talk about the fire, so I don’t know if she saw or remembered what
Cyril did then. I don’t much believe that Cyril cares for anybody but
himself; only May is well born, and Effie is an heiress. It’s those
things he thinks about.”
“Sheila, Sheila, don’t be cynical!”
“Well, I’ve heard people say so. Even Ray said something very like
that. Ray is sensible; she doesn’t go down flat before the family idol.
She is fond of Cyril, but she sees his faults. She and North have
really much more in them than Raby and Cyril.”
Sheila enjoyed her little gossip with Miss Adene, and was almost
reluctant to go to bed. However, when once there she slept soundly, and
only awoke when the stewardess brought her a cup of morning tea.
“It’s pretty rough, miss, but fine and sunny. Not weather as sailors
call it, but a capful of wind right in our faces. If you feel like
getting up, I’ll bring you hot water; but most of the ladies are lying
still, even those that aren’t ill.”
But Sheila was all for getting up, though she staggered about her
narrow little cabin, and was glad to sit down as much as she could,
for the vessel pitched and lurched a good deal, and her hairpins went
flying over the floor, and her clothes swayed and flapped in a comic
manner.
But once up and out in the breezy sunshine, all the little dizziness of
getting up vanished. Ronald was on deck before her, and welcomed her
with a most friendly smile, and little Guy was trotting about, the pet
and plaything of the captain, who had found him a ship’s cap, vastly
too large for him, which was tied on his head by a broad ribbon.
Sheila was the only lady up at breakfast, and was made much of by the
captain and the other passengers. She was full of sparkle and fun, was
delighted to be taken to various mysterious portions of the boat where
passengers seldom ventured, and spent a perfectly delightful morning,
learning a vast deal of nautical lore, and winning the good-will of
everybody on board.
She flitted into the cabins where Effie and Miss Adene lay. Effie
was quite comfortable, but indisposed for the exertion of getting up
in such a rough-and-tumble sea. Miss Adene rose for lunch, but was a
little disinclined for talk, and Lady Dumaresq did not appear at all
that day.
But soon they passed through the troubled Bay; the water became calm
and smiling; one after another the passengers appeared; and Effie would
lie on her deck-chair all day, watching the indigo blue of the great
Atlantic rollers, which lifted them gently up and let them down, and
shone with rainbow tints when the sunlight caught their foam-flecked
crests.
Mr. and Mrs. Cossart appeared in due course to sit beside their darling
and watch how the fresh breeze brought some colour to her face. But
Sheila flitted about like a sprite, never still, always intent upon
some fresh fancy. Her merry laugh was one of the familiar sounds about
the deck, and she seemed always the centre of a group of admirers.
People were kind to Effie, and would come and chat to her; but the
mother began to look with rather jealous eyes upon the little court
that Sheila always had round her.
“I hope she is not going to be a little flirt,” she said once to her
husband. “She is certainly pretty, but I don’t know if I like that way
of hers. She attracts more notice than I think quite seemly.” And in
her heart she added, “I can’t have my Effie cut out and overshadowed by
that little chit!”
(_To be continued._)
THE PLEASURES OF BEE-KEEPING.
BY F. W. L. SLADEN.