AT HIGH TIDE
Sowergate felt the full force of a south-westerly gale; sometimes heavy
seas would be washing right over the Promenade, flooding the road
beyond, and rendering it impassable.
It was great fun to go walking by the sea at such times. There was the
excitement of dodging the great waves as they broke over the broad
sea-wall, and there was the sense of adventure in braving the perils of
the road, which at such times was apt to be strewn with wreckage of all
sorts.
In the early part of February the weather was so stormy that for three
days the girls could not get out, their only exercise being the work in
the gymnasium. Of course this meant fresh air of a sort, since they had
the whole range of the landward windows open, and the breeze was enough
to turn a good-sized windmill. But it was not out of doors by any means,
and it was out of doors for which every one was pining.
On the fourth day the wind was still blowing big guns—indeed, it was
blowing more than it had been; but as it did not rain, the whole school
turned out to struggle along the Promenade. Miss Mordaunt, the
games-mistress, was for going up the hill to the church, and taking a
turn through the more sheltered lanes beyond. But the mud was deep in
that direction; moreover, every girl of them all was longing to see the
great waves at play: and, provided they kept a sharp look-out in passing
Sowergate Point, it was not likely they would get a drenching. So the
crocodile turned down the hill outside the school gates, and took its
way along the Promenade in the direction of Ilkestone.
There were very few people abroad this morning; the bus traffic had been
diverted during the heavy weather, and sent round by way of the camp.
The crocodile had the road to themselves, and great fun they found it.
It was quite impossible to walk on the Promenade, for it was continually
being swept by heavy seas. Even on the path at the far side of the road
they had to dodge the great wash of water from breaking waves. Then the
crocodile broke into little scurrying groups of girls, there were
shrieks and bubbling laughter, and every one declared it was lovely fun.
Miss Mordaunt was in front with the younger ones; it was very necessary
that a mistress should be there to pick the road, to hold them back when
a stream of water threatened them, and to choose when to make a rush to
avoid an incoming wave. Miss Groome was at the other end of the
crocodile, and those of the Sixth out walking that morning were with
her.
They had reached as far as the point where the flight of steps go up to
the Military Hospital, when a taxi came along the road at a great rate,
mounting the path here and there to avoid the holes in the road which
had been washed out by the battering of the sea-water.
Miss Mordaunt promptly herded the front half of the crocodile on to the
space which in normal times was a pleasant strip of garden ground. The
other half fell back in a confused group round Miss Groome, while the
taxi came on at a rate which made it look as if the driver were drunk or
demented.
The group squeezed themselves flat against the railings—time to run
away there was not. Indeed, to stand still seemed the safest way, as the
driver would at least have a better chance of avoiding them.
Suddenly they saw that there was purpose in his haste. A tremendous wave
was racing inshore, and he, poor puny human, was trying with all the
power of the machinery under his control to run away from it.
He might as well have tried to run away from the wind. With a swirling
rush the big wave struck the sea-wall, mounted in a towering column of
spray, and dashing on to the Promenade, struck one of the iron seats,
wrenched it from its fastenings, and hurled it across the road right on
to the bonnet of the taxi at the moment when it was passing the huddled
group of girls.
The wind screen was smashed, splinters of glass flying in all
directions. The driver hung on to his wheel in spite of the deluge of
broken glass; he put on the brakes. But before he could bring the car to
a stand the door was wrenched open, and a stout woman, shrieking
shrilly, had hurled herself from the car, falling in a heap among the
startled girls.
Dorothy was the first one to sense what was happening, and being quick
to act, had spread her arms, and so broken the fall of the screaming
woman. The force of the impact bowled her over; but as she fell against
the thickly-clustered group of girls, no great harm was done. The wind
was fairly knocked out of her, for the woman was bulky in size, and in
such a fearful state of agitation, too, that it was as if she had been
overwhelmed by an avalanche.
“Oh, oh, oh! What a truly awful experience, my dear! I should have been
killed outright if it had not been for you!” cried the poor lady; and
then, slipping her arms about Dorothy’s neck, she half-strangled her in
a frantic sort of embrace.
“It was surely a great risk for you to take, to jump in such a fashion,”
said Miss Groome severely. As she spoke she came close to the frightened
woman, who was still clinging fast to Dorothy.
“I had to jump—I was simply rained upon with splinters of broken glass.
See how I am bleeding,” said the unfortunate one, whose face was cut in
several places with broken glass. She was elderly, she was clad in
expensive furs, and was unmistakably a lady.
The taxi-driver reached them at this moment; his face was also cut and
bleeding. He reported that his car was so badly damaged that he would
not be able to continue his journey.
“Oh, I could not have gone any farther, even if the car had escaped
injury. I am almost too frightened to live,” moaned the poor lady, who
was trembling and hysterical.
The taxi-driver treated her with great deference and respect. Seeing how
shaken she was, he appealed to Miss Groome to know what was the best
thing to be done for the comfort of his hurt and badly frightened fare.
“Here is the police station; she could rest here while you find another
car to take her back to Ilkeston,” said Miss Groome.
“That will do very nicely, and thank you for being so kind,” said the
lady, who was still clinging fast to Dorothy. “I wonder if you would be
so kind as to permit this dear girl, who saved me from falling, to go
with me to my hotel? I am staying at the Grand, in Ilkestone. The car
that takes me there could bring her back. I feel too shaken to go
alone.”
“Dorothy could go, of course,” said Miss Groome. But her tone was
anxious; she did not like allowing even a grown-up girl of the Sixth to
go off with a complete stranger. “Would you not rather have some one a
little older to take care of you? Miss Mordaunt would go with you, or I
can hand the girls over to her, and go with you myself.”
“No, no, I would not permit such a thing!” exclaimed the lady, waving
away the suggestion with great energy and determination. “You have
duties to perform; your absence even for a couple of hours might mean
serious dislocation of machinery. But this dear girl—Dorothy, did you
call her?”
“My name is Dorothy Sedgewick,” said Dorothy, her voice having a muffled
sound by reason of one arm of the lady being still round her neck.
“Are you a daughter of Dr. Randolph Sedgewick of Farley in
Buckinghamshire?” demanded the lady in great excitement, giving Dorothy
a vigorous shake.
“Yes—that is my father.” Dorothy smiled happily into the face that was
so near to her own—it was so pleasant to encounter some one who knew
her father.
“My dear, your father is a very old friend of mine. I am Mrs. Peter
Wilson, of Fleetwood Park, near Sevenoaks. It is quite possible you may
not have heard him speak of me by my married name; but you have surely
heard him talk of Rosie O’Flynn?”
“That wild girl Rosie O’Flynn, is that the one you mean?” asked Dorothy,
smiling broadly at the recollection of some of the stories her father
had told of the madcap doings of the aforesaid Rosie.
“Yes, yes; but I have altered a good deal since those days,” said Mrs.
Wilson with a gasping sigh. “I should have welcomed an experience of
this sort then, but now it has shaken me up very badly indeed.”
“May I go with Mrs. Wilson to the Grand?” asked Dorothy, turning to Miss
Groome with entreaty in her eyes. What a wonderful sort of adventure
this was, that she should have had her father’s old friend flung
straight into her arms!
“Yes, certainly you may go,” said Miss Groome, who was decidedly
relieved at hearing of the social status of the lady. “But, Dorothy, you
must come back in the car that takes Mrs. Wilson to the Grand, for I am
sure you must be wet. It will be very unsafe for you to be long without
changing. Ah! here comes the driver, and he has another car coming along
after him; that is fortunate, because Mrs. Wilson will not have to
wait.”
“If I have to send Dorothy straight back to-day, may I have the pleasure
of her company to tea to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock?” asked Mrs.
Wilson, holding out her hand with such friendliness that Miss Groome at
once gave consent.
The driver had secured a taxi from the Crown Inn at Sowergate, and the
driver of the fresh car took his way with infinite care along the
wreckage-strewn road to Ilkestone.
Mrs. Wilson was fearfully nervous. She kept crying out; she would have
jumped out more than once during the journey if Dorothy had not held her
down by sheer force of arm, beseeching her to be calm, and promising
that no harm should come to her.
“Oh, I know that I am behaving like a silly baby; but, my dear, I have
no nerve left,” said the poor lady, who was almost hysterical with
agitation. “I am not very well—I ought to be in peace and quiet at
Fleetwood—but I had to come on rather unpleasant business about a
nephew of mine who is at the Gunnery School at Hayle. I suppose I shall
have to go back to Sevenoaks with the business undone, unless I can do
it from Ilkestone, for certainly I cannot make another journey along
that wreckage-strewn road beyond Sowergate. Oh! it was awful.”
“It was rather grand and terrible; I have never seen anything like it
before,” replied Dorothy, who had been really thrilled by the sight of
the tremendous seas.
“I can do without such sights; I would rather have things on a more
peaceful scale,” sighed Mrs. Wilson, whose face was mottled with little
purply patches from the shock of the accident.
Dorothy helped her out of the car when they reached the Grand. She went
up in the lift to the suite of rooms on the first floor which Mrs.
Wilson occupied. She handed the poor fluttered lady into the care of the
capable maid, and then came back to Sowergate in the car.