A HOPELESS QUEST
It was about a fortnight after their visit to Carne, and Jim, after
several hours' hard work outside, was bolting a hasty breakfast in his
quarters one morning, when his orderly came up to say that a man was
wanting to see him.
"What kind of a man, Joyce?"
"An elderly man, sir; looks to me like a sailor."
"A sailor? And he wants me?"
"Yes, sir; very important, he says, and private."
"Oh well, bring him up, and, Joyce--see to my things, will you? We
have an inspection at twelve. The Duke's coming down to see if we're
all in order."
"Right, sir!" And Joyce disappeared with a salute, and reappeared in a
moment with the fag end of it, as he ushered in--old Seth Rimmer.
"Why--Mr. Rimmer!" And Jim jumped up with outstretched hand. "Whatever
brings you so far away from home? Nothing wrong, is there?"--for the
old man's face was very grim and gray and hard-set, and he did not
take Jim's hand, but stood holding his hat in both his own.
"Yes, Mester Jim, there's wrong, great wrong, an' I cum to see if
yo'--if yo'--if---- Where's Kattie?"
"Kattie?" echoed Jim in vast astonishment.
"Ay--our Kattie! Where is she, I ask yo'. If yo'----" And he raised
one knotted, trembling hand in commination.
"But--Seth--I don't understand. Sit down and tell me quietly. I know
nothing of Kattie. You don't mean that she's gone away? You can't mean
that. Kattie!"
"Ay--gone away--day after you wur with her."
"Good God! Kattie! And you have thought---- Oh, Seth! you couldn't
think that of me?" And he sprang up and stood fronting him.
And the woeful soul, looking despairingly out of the weather-worn gray
eyes into the frank boyish face, saw the black eyes blur suddenly and
then blaze, and knew that its wild suspicions were unfounded.
"Ah dunnot know what to think," said the old man wearily. "Hoo's gone
an' nivver a track of her. An' yo' wur there last, and yo' wur aye
fond of her. An' so----"
"I would no more harm a hair of Kattie's head than I would Grace
Eager's, Seth. And you ought to have known that--you who have known us
all our lives."
"Ay--ah know! But hoo's gone, an' ah connot get a word of her,
an'----" And the tired old arms dropped on to the table, and the weary
old head dropped into them, and he sobbed with great heaves that
seemed like to burst the sturdy old chest.
Jim was terribly distressed. With the wisdom that comes of deepest
sympathy he rose quietly and left the old man to his grief. He found
Joyce down below, busily polishing and brushing, and sent him off to
procure some more breakfast, and, returning presently to his room,
found old Seth as he had left him, with his head in his arms, but
fallen fast asleep, and he knew that the outbreak and the rest would
do him good.
He sat over against him for close on an hour, cudgelling his brains
for some ray of light in this new cloud of darkness. And then, as his
time was getting short, he went quietly out again, and Joyce togged
him up in all his war-paint, and made him fully fit to meet the
critical eyes of all the royal dukes under the sun.
Old Seth was still sound asleep when he went into the room, but he
went quietly up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, and the old
man lifted his head and looked vaguely at the splendid apparition, and
then began to struggle to his feet.
"It's only me, Seth. Listen now! I've got to go out for an inspection,
and it may take a couple of hours or more, You are to stop here till I
come back, and then we'll see what is best to be done. Here is food.
Eat all you can, and then lie down on that sofa. You're done up. And
don't go out of this room till I come back. You understand?"
"Ay--yo're verra good. Ah con do wi' a rest, for ah walked aw the way
fro' Wynsloe."
"You must be nearly dead. Help yourself now, and I'll be back as soon
as I can." And he went clanking down the stairs and swung on to his
horse and away, with a dull sick feeling at the heart at thought of
Kattie.
Who could have done this thing? He remembered her expressed wish to
get to London, when they were walking down to the Mere that other day.
It was, perhaps, not quite so bad--as yet--as old Seth feared.
The girl's longing for what seemed to her the wider, brighter life
might have led her to risk her poor little fortune in the metropolis.
Or it might be that she had not come to London at all, but had gone
away with some village lover. But--on the whole--he was inclined to
think London her more likely aim. And as to whether she had come alone
he had nothing whatever to go upon.
It was long after midday before he got back to his quarters, but old
Seth had not found the time any too long, having been fast asleep ever
since he had eaten.
Jim got out of his trappings and lit a pipe, which he had taken to of
late as at once a promoter of thought and a soother of undue exertion
in that direction.
And after a time old Seth stretched himself and opened his eyes, and
then sat up.
"Ah've slep'," he said quietly. "But yo' towd me to."
"You'll feel all the better for it. Now, tell me all you can about
this matter, Seth, and we'll see if we can see through it. Where is
young Seth?"
"Hoo's away."
"And who have you left with Mrs. Rimmer?"
"Hoo's dead and buried." And the strong old voice came near to
breaking again.
"Dead!"
"Ay! It killed her. She wur not strong, as yo' know, and thought of it
wur too much for her. Hoo just fretted and died."
"Oh, Seth, I am sorry--sorrier than I can tell you. That's dreadful
for you."
"Ah dun' know. Mebbe it's best she's gone. Hoo'll fret no more, and
hoo suffered much."
"I am very, very sorry. What could have made you think I could do such
a thing, Seth? You know how we've always liked Kattie, all of us, and
how good Mrs. Rimmer always was to us. How could you think any of us
could do such a thing?"
"One gets moithered wi' grief, yo' know. An' that night after yo'd
gone she were talking o' nowt but Lunnon, Lunnon, Lunnon, till I got
sick on't. An' I towd her to shut up, and what was it had started her
o' that tack? An' she said it was seet o' yo', an' yo'd bin talking o'
it to her."
"As we went down to the boat she was saying how she would like to see
London, and I told her she was far better off where she was. I think
that was all I said, Seth."
"Ah believe yo'. She wur flighty at times, an' she got stowed o' th'
sand-hills an' th' sea. It wur a dull life for a young thing, I know,
but ah couldna mend it, wi' th' missus bad like that."
"It's a sad business, Seth," said Jim despondently. "And I don't know
what we can do about it. If she really did come to London you might
look for her here for the rest of your life and never find her."
"Ay, it's a mortal big place. The clatter an' the bustle mazes me till
my head spins round. But I conna go whoam till I've looked for her."
"I'll find you a room. My man Joyce is sure to know where to get one.
Have you enough money with you?"
"Ah havena much, but it mun do. When it's done ah'll go whoam."
"You must let me see to your board and lodging, at the very least,
Seth----"
"Ah con pay my way--for a time. It doan't cost me much to live."
"Whatever you say, I shall see to your board and lodging, Seth, so
don't make any trouble about it. I wonder now"--as a sudden idea
struck him.
"Han yo' thowt o' something?"--with a gleam of hope.
"There's an old friend of my father who has been very kind to me. I
was just wondering if he could help us at all."
The hope died out of Seth's eyes. From all he had ever heard of
Captain Denzil he did not place much faith in any friend of his
rendering any very reliable help in such a matter.
Nevertheless, it was a good thought on Jim's part.