FROM OVER THE WATER
LUCILLE, turning to go, made a little sign to Roy to follow her. Ivor
opened the door, moving mechanically, as if his mind were far-away; and
Roy, with a show of reluctance, went in her rear.
"But, Mademoiselle, I want to know about them all at home. Molly most!
And Den can tell me."
"Yes; soon. But would you not leave Monsieur to read his letter in
peace? Would not that be kind?"
"Are you more sorry for Den than for the rest of us?" demanded Roy,
his frank grey eyes looking Lucille in the face somewhat laughingly.
The question took her by surprise; and afterwards she recurred to it,
wondering at the boy's unconscious penetration. At the moment she met
his glance readily enough.
"I do not know. I am sorry for you all. But Captain Ivor—yes, perhaps
most. He is more changed by his imprisonment than any. Cannot you
perceive? Mais non—you are a boy—you do not look."
"I do, though," protested the injured Roy. "But I can't see that Den is
changed—not a scrap. What do you mean? He's the best old fellow that
ever lived—just as he always was, you know."
"Old!" repeated Lucille, with a lifting of her eyebrows.
"O that's only—that means nothing. At least, it means that I like him
better than anybody else—except Molly. No, he isn't old really, of
course,—he was twenty-five last birthday." Roy laughed to himself.
"Something that you find amusing, Roy!"
"It's only the letter. Do you know, that's from the girl he is going to
marry some day. It's from Polly."
"Oui—" Lucille had already conjectured as much. "Mademoiselle Pol-ly!
C'est un peu drole, ce nom-là."
"But 'tis not Mademoiselle Po-lee. 'Tis just Polly. You do say names so
drolly—so French! Den says I'm not to cure you of talking as you do,
because 'tis pretty. But her name really and truly isn't Polly. She is
Mary Keene—only no one ever calls her Mary."
"Mademoiselle Marie Keene,—ah, oui. And is this Mademoiselle Keene
pretty—gentille?"
"I should just think she was. The prettiest girl that ever was,"
declared Roy. "Though I like Molly best, you know, and she's not
pretty. But Polly's nice too. May I go back now? Den has had lots of
time."
"I would wait—ten minutes—why not? You have not yet unpacked for
Monsieur."
Roy murmured one impatient "Bother!" and then his face cleared, and he
complied. Ivor did not know how much he owed to Lucille, in being thus
left to the undisturbed enjoyment of his letter.
He forgot all about both Lucille and Roy, when once he had it. The very
touch of that thick paper, with its red seals, did him good. As he
unfolded it, the weight on his brain lessened, and sight became more
clear.
There was one sheet, square-shaped, written well over. Polly's letter
came first, and another from somebody else followed it. Ivor did not
trouble himself as to the authorship of the second, till he had read
through the first. He scarcely vouchsafed it a glance.
The early part of Polly's effusion, which bore a date many weeks old,
was written in a strain of studied archness and badinage, such as in
those days was greatly affected by young ladies. Towards the end a
little peep into Polly's heart was permitted. She had apparently just
received one of Ivor's many epistles, the greater number of which never
reached their destination.
"Bath, November 7, 1803."
"MY DEAR CAPTAIN IVOR,—So you consider that I have been too slow in
writing to you, and you make complaint that I leave you too long
without letters. But how know you that I have not sent at least one for
every single one of yours to me? In truth, I cannot boast of any vast
Correspondence on your side, my dear Sir, since the letter which is
now arriv'd is but the second in—O in quite an interminable length of
time. And were it not that I have an exceeding Aversion to the writing
of Letters, as indeed you ought to be aware, since I am sure I have
told you as much, I might feel regrets at hearing so seldom—but that
it means the less toil on my part, you understand. If it were not that
in your last you give a delicate hint that Silence on my part might be
construed to mean something of the Nature of Indifference, why, even
now, I should be greatly disposed to indulge my Dislike to driving the
Quill, and wait till another day."
"But since doubtless you will expect to hear, and since we never
may know which letters have gone astray, I will so far overcome my
inclinations—or my disinclinations—as to sit down and endeavour to
entertain you with the best of the Bath News."
"My letter which was writ from Sandgate you have I trust already
received, and thus you know all about the scare which took place, when
the French Fleet was descried by somebody of not very good sight—or
so I suppose!—and when signals went wrong, and the Soldiers and
Sea-Fencibles and Volunteers were all called out, and when General
Moore galloped the whole distance from Dungeness Point to be in time,
and when Mrs. Bryce's heart failed her. But not Polly's, Captain
Ivor—of that you may be sure! For Polly is to be one day the wife of a
soldier! And also Polly knew that, if she were to be taken prisoner, as
Mrs. Bryce dolefully foretold, why—why—that might mean that she could
hope to be sent to where Somebody is, whom sloe would not be greatly
sorry to see once again."
"Mrs. Bryce insisted on coming hither in hot haste, lest Napoleon
should please to land at Sandgate, where General Moore waited to
receive him; and now she is in doubt what to do next, since some think
London is the safer place to be in. But General Moore does not now
think that Napoleon will make any effort till spring, since any day
winter storms in the Channel may begin; and Jack scorns the notion
that, when he does come, he will ever advance beyond the sea-beach.
'Tis said that, if Mr. Pitt comes into power again, he will speedily
start some new ideas for our Preservation; and my Grandmamma says,
therefore, that we may not start any new expenses till we know to what
length Taxation will allow us to run. But for which I wanted much a new
frock."
"Last week I was in Bristol for three days, with my Grandmother's old
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Graham. I was invited to a Dance with them, and
I went, but without the smallest idea of dancing, having been assured
that beaux were scarce, and strangers seldom asked. So I determined to
enjoy seeing others more fortunate, and to pass a quiet stupid evening,
meditating on an absent Somebody—can you by any possibility guess Whom,
my Dear Sir?"
"But matters turned out otherwise. I had entered the room only a few
minutes, when a most genteel handsome young Man advanced, and with
such sort of speeches as you all make solicited the honour of my hand.
To tell you the honest and plain truth, I had seen him before, and
I therefore graciously assented. I left the ladies that accompanied
me—Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Graham's sister—to look out for themselves;
and I began thereupon to enjoy myself. Now, if you want to know his
name, you must wait till I choose to tell you. He contributed to my
passing a very agreeable evening; and so far I am obliged to him; for
he knew many who were present, and he took good care that I should be
in no lack of partners; but whether I ever see him again does not seem
to be of any sort of consequence. Every one was astonished at my great
good luck in dancing; for the Gentlemen were, as usual, idle. There
were some sad Coxcombs present, I regret to say, who found it too much
exertion even to come forward and shawl a lady when she was departing.
But I forget—I am writing to one who knows not the meaning of the
word 'trouble,' and who would never leave any woman, not if she were
the least Bewitching of her Sex, to stand neglected, if he could put
matters right. So you see, my dear Sir, what my opinion of you is."
"Having related thus much, I really am bound to go further, and to
inform you that the young man's name was Albert Peirce, that he is a
nephew of the good Admiral, that he is an officer in His Majesty's
Army, and that I saw him at Sandgate, the evening before our great
scare about the Invasion. After all his civilities in the way of
getting me Partners, he also handed me down to the vastly elegant
Supper, which was provided; and by that time, there's no doubt, I
needed it."
"You may perhaps be thinking that I do very well without you, on the
whole; yet I cannot say that I do not miss my absent friend. Indeed I
do, and my Spirits are lower since you went away. 'Tis said too that
my Roses are much diminished, and that I must e'en take to the use
of Painting and Cosmetics, if I would preserve my Charms; but this,
I confess, I am loath to do. So come home, my dear Denham, I entreat
of you, as soon as ever you may, for in truth I am longing to see you
again. Is there no Exchange of Prisoners ever to be brought about by
the two Governments? The present state of things is sad and dolorous
for so many. I think of sending this letter to your old address in
Paris, in a cover addressed to M. de Bertrand, who so kindly took in
Roy when he had the smallpox. It appears that few letters which are
posted arrive safely; and 'tis at least worth while to try this mode.
And now I must write no more, for my Grandmother craves a part of
the sheet for a letter on her own behalf, that she may give suitable
particulars about Molly, who begs me to send her Duty to her parents,
and her Love to Roy. I have entreated only that the Letter may be writ
to yourself, that so the whole sheet may be yours. So at present no
more, from—"
"Yours faithfully and Till Death, POLLY KEENE."
Denham held the signature to his lips. Would he ever again be tempted
to doubt sweet Polly's constancy?
The letter following, on the last page, was shorter and different in
style. Mrs. Fairbank wrote:
"MY DEAR CAPTAIN IVOR,—I am desirous to let Colonel Baron and his
wife know that Molly is in good health, and behaves herself as she ought.
I have therefore requested the use of one page in Polly's letter, since
she assures me that she has nought to say that is of great Importance.
You will doubtless kindly give my message to Colonel and Mrs. Baron."
"I am greatly indebted to Colonel Baron for the money which has been
sent to me by his Bankers regularly, in conformity with his orders
given many months ago. Expenses are increasingly heavy, as Prices
continue steadily to arise, in consequence of the long-continued Wars;
and I shou'd find it truly difficult to manage, as things are now, but
for his seasonable and generous help. I am thankful to have it in my
power to do all that is needed for Molly, and the help to myself is not
small. Bread and every necessary are rising."
"Molly has a Governess who comes in every day; and I am pleased to be
able to report that she makes good advance in her Study's, as much as
one cou'd expect. The young Governess is of french Extraction, her
father having lost his life in the french Revolution, and her Mother
having fled with this daughter to England. She will therefore be able
to impart to Molly the correct Pronunciation of french terms, which
few Britishers manage to Acquire. Molly is growing fast; and though
she will never be handsome, she is gaining a Pleasing expression of
Countenance; her manners are Genteel; and she behaves with Candour
and Propriety."
"Serious fears have been Entertain'd of a french Invasion of this
Country, but I trust, thro' the Mercy of God, that the danger is
averted for this autumn. Mr. and Mrs. Bryce have fled to Bath for
greater safety, in accordance with my Advice; and indeed I was heartily
glad when Polly had left Sandgate. If the french Army shou'd land
and shou'd advance to Lonⁿ, God forbid they shou'd molest the good
Citizens, who I hope will be enabled to drive the french by thousands
into old Thames. People seem now, however, greatly to relax their
fears."
"You will dou'tless be glad to hear that Polly is well though she has
not quite her usual bloom. Indeed, I am convinc'd that she has suffered
greatly from your prolonged absence, although having a high spirit she
does not readily betray her feelings.—Believe me, my dear Sir,—"
"Yours sincerely, C. FAIRBANK."
"Den, is it from Polly?" cried Roy, bursting into the room.
"Yes. And Molly is quite well, and sends you her love. Come, we must
tell your mother that I have heard."
"I've done your unpacking. Mademoiselle kept me away. She said I must
let you read your letter in peace."
"Rather hard upon you, eh?" suggested Ivor. "Come along!" and Roy,
forgetting all else, sent a shout in advance to prepare his mother for
what was coming.
They had to make the most of this letter. None could guess how long a
time might pass before they would hear again. Every detail was eagerly
dwelt upon, and on the whole Polly's report was counted satisfactory.
Naturally it awoke fresh memories, fresh regrets, fresh longings; yet
Denham at least was the better for his "medicine." The look of weight
and strain was gone from his face next morning, and he seemed to be in
much his usual spirits when he proposed a walk with Roy to explore the
neighbourhood. He and the Colonel had just returned from appel, all
détenus and prisoners having at stated intervals to report themselves
at the maison de ville.
"Will you have to sign your names every day?" Mrs. Baron asked, on
hearing what they had done.
"At present, no. Den and I and a few others are excused from doing
so more often than once in five days. But the greater number have to
show themselves every day—unless they can send a medical certificate,
forbidding them to go out on account of illness."
"Remedy worse than disease," murmured Ivor.
"And if one stays away, without sending such a certificate, the
gendarmes promptly make their appearance, expecting a fee for the
trouble."
"How much?"
"Three francs,—so I am told."
"What a shame!"
"General Roussel does not seem to be a bad sort of fellow. Civil
enough. But they mean to be strict."
"Good many escapes of late, sir."
"Why, Den—escapes when they've given their parole!" cried Roy.
"No; only when they have not given their parole. That makes all the
difference."
"And may you go wherever you like?"
"Within stiff limits. Five miles from the town—no more without leave."
"I foresee that we shall have to pay pretty liberally for that leave,"
added the Colonel.