WHISPERINGS
"For ebbing resolution ne'er returns,
But falls still further from its former shore."—HORNE.
"STOP! Stop! Put her about! Stop, I say!" roared Mr. Carden-Cox in a
state of desperation which rendered him almost incapable of speech. He
strode wildly about, while Anice and Rose continued to shriek, Daisy
seemed turned to stone, and Malcolm flung off his coat.
But the two heads almost instantly rose, and Nigel shouted, "All right."
"I'm coming," cried Malcolm.
"No, no—only a rope!"
"A rope—a rope—hoy! Hey!—A rope, I say!—Put her about—stop—a rope!"
spluttered Mr. Carden-Cox, seizing Malcolm's arm, and holding on like a
vice, not in the least aware of what he did.
"I say! Let me go," expostulated Malcolm; "She'll be too much for him."
In response to which Mr. Carden-Cox tightened his grasp, reiterating—
"A rope! A rope!—Hoy!—A rope, I say! Put her about! Stop!"
The engines had been at once reversed, but the boat was going up
stream, and some seconds had to elapse before actual movement in the
opposite direction could begin. The current was pretty strong, carrying
Nigel and his charge downward, despite his best efforts. Nigel was not
a little impeded by his clothes. He had not waited even to throw off
his coat; and Fulvia hung as a dead weight, seeming to be stunned by
the double shock.
Then sense returned, and in a moment she was clinging to him with a
convulsive grasp which threatened to sink them both.
"Let go, Fulvia!" He spoke in a sharp, clear voice. "Don't hold me!
I'll take care of you."
Fulvia gasped for breath. They were almost under water; and though for
an instant she obeyed, her hands clutched at him wildly again.
"Fulvie dear, you must not! Let go! You will drown us both. Keep still,
and trust me."
He had done the business now. She clenched her hands together, and left
herself to him like a log. That "Fulvie dear" settled the matter; yet
the words meant nothing. Nigel hardly even knew what he had said. It
was merely the instinctive recurrence at a critical moment to the old
childish terms. Fulvia had always been his sister, "every inch as much
as Anice or Daisy," he would have said. Nigel had never thought of her
in any other light. But Fulvia could not realise this; for she did not
think of Nigel as of a brother.
Nigel could keep himself afloat now, and hold up Fulvia, till the boat
steamed near, and a rope was flung. The open loop fell upon them, and
in another minute both were hauled in, and helped upward.
Fulvia; again scarcely conscious, was laid flat on the deck, streaming
with water, her face white, her hair loose in heavy dripping masses.
It had been much singed, and part of her skirt was reduced almost to
tinder, yet her skin had escaped marvellously. One hand and arm only
were scorched to any painful degree.
Her first words were a murmured, "It smarts so!" but the next moment
she added, "Never mind. I'm not really hurt."
"Thanks to this dear brave boy," Mr. Carden-Cox said huskily. "I
declare, I never saw anything finer."
"It was the natural thing to do," Nigel asserted.
A hurried consultation took place. They were more than two hours
distant by boat from Newton Bury; the steamer contained no change of
clothes; and the minute cabin afforded no facilities for drying. Five
minutes lower down the river lay a village, large enough to own a
good landing-place and a respectable inn; and Mrs. Duncan counselled
a stoppage there. Two or three hours in wet clothes on a November
afternoon were not to be thought of.
The suggestion was speedily carried out. Anice, crying helplessly
still, was left on board with the Brambles and Annibel; but Mrs. Duncan
and Mr. Carden-Cox, Daisy and Malcolm, accompanied the soaked pair.
Fulvia had by this time so far rallied that she insisted on walking
from the river-bank to the inn, a matter of two hundred yards; and she
even achieved two or three hysterical laughs by the way at her own
deplorable appearance. Nigel looked rather white round the lips, as if
chilled by his bath; but he seemed to have sprung suddenly into a fit
of high spirits, saying the most ridiculous things he could think of,
and sending Daisy into convulsions of laughter.
The inn reached, rooms were secured, big fires were ordered, and the
sympathies of the portly landlady, Mrs. Brice, were enlisted.
The good woman could only hold up her plump hands at first, with
dismayed utterances of—"My!" and "I never did!" But orders for hot
water and big fires received speedy attention.
Mrs. Brice's own clothes would, as Daisy said, have "folded twice round
Fulvia, with something to spare." She had, however, a daughter, and a
neat brown dress belonging to the latter was speedily produced, not
more than three inches too large at the waist.
Nigel fared equally well at the hands of the landlady's son. And while
these changes of apparel were taking place, Mr. Carden-Cox found
consolation in ordering a solid afternoon tea, inclusive of eggs and
meat.
"For they'll need to be warmed up after their ducking," he said, as
Daisy bounced in. "Everybody will be the better for something hot.
Well, child, how is Fulvie?"
"She is getting on—only feels shivery and queer; but I should think a
cup of coffee would put her right. Isn't it strange?—A lot of Fulvie's
hair is all frizzled up with the fire, and yet her face isn't touched;
not even the eyelashes burnt."
"Can't think how on earth the thing happened."
"Oh, it was Mr. Bramble, I know. I saw his cigar-end drop there, when
he threw it away; and then I forgot all about it, we were having such a
lot of fun. I wish I hadn't!"
Mr. Carden-Cox shook his head mutely. If any one but his favourite
Daisy had been speaking, he would have read her a homily on
thoughtlessness.
"Yes, I know—it was dreadfully stupid," Daisy said, her eyes filling.
"I can't think how I could. But when Mr. Bramble tried to make out that
it was a spark from the engine, I had to bite my lips not to speak.
Wasn't it horrid of him not to help, but only to stand staring? Of
course everybody couldn't jump into the river—needn't, at least—but he
might have wanted to help. Malcolm was only one second behind Nigel;
and he would have been in too, if you hadn't kept him back."
"I keep him back! Tut, tut, child! He didn't go in because it was not
necessary."
Daisy's brown eyes opened to their widest extent. "Oh, I say, how
unfair! Poor Malcolm! When you tugged at him with all your might and
main, and wouldn't let go."
A dim recollection of facts came across Mr. Carden-Cox. "Well, well—it
doesn't matter now," he said. "Malcolm would have acted if Nigel had
not."
"And Anice and Rose ran away. I think that was so cowardly," said
Daisy, with the stern condemnation of sixteen. "If I had been near, I
would have made Fulvie lie down, and have tried to put out the fire.
But the first thing I knew was the screaming, and then I saw the
blaze, and Nigel going across with such a leap. And I felt so odd—as
if somehow I couldn't stir for Just a moment—and then it was all done.
Shall I tell Fulvie to come before the tea gets cold?"
Mr. Carden-Cox offered no objection.
And outside the door Daisy was met by a subdued—"I say!"
"Nigel, how comical you do look!"
"Narrow as to the shoulders, and baggy as to the waist. Not quite a
perfect fit—but I'm glad to be dry again. I say, Daisy—"
"Fulvia's better, and we're all going to have lots of tea, and to be
jolly."
"So I hear. We ought to be back on the boat soon. It will get awfully
cold on the river for Anice. I say, Daisy—just listen one moment. I
want you to do something for me."
"Oh, what?"
"If I am asked to cut bread or carve meat, will you act the energetic
younger sister and do it instead? Mr. Carden-Cox means us to go in for
substantials."
"Yes, of course. But why? What do you mean? Are you tired?"
"No—only I managed to scorch my hands. Nothing of consequence—I'll
see to them by-and-by, but I don't want a fuss now. It would upset
Fulvie—don't you see?"
"Oh,—do show me!"
"No, nonsense—hands off, Daisy!" as she pulled in vain at his
coat-sleeve. "Don't!" and he spoke with unwonted sharpness, catching
his breath.
Daisy stared. "Did I hurt? Was it that?"
"Never mind—it is nothing to signify. I won't have a word said; only I
just want your help, like a good child, about the cutting and carving.
Malcolm knows; and you and he, between you, can keep it from Fulvie."
"I'll be sure," Daisy answered, a sound like a gulp accompanying the
words.
"That's right. You've been as plucky as possible, not giving in. Yes,
I saw, of course—didn't you think I should? It's so much more sensible
to take things cheerfully. What earthly good would it do, if we all sat
down and howled?"
Daisy gave his arm a great squeeze of assent, delighted to find her
efforts appreciated. She did not know what the squeeze meant to him,
and he forbore even to wince.
Somewhat later, Fulvia sat dreamily in an arm-chair, close to the
parlour fender. She could not get warm, despite a roaring fire and a
thick shawl. Icy chills chased one another persistently through her
frame, even to the extent of chattering teeth; and she was overpowered
by weakness. She could not for a moment shake off the remembrance of
that terrible tongue of flame wrapping itself round her, followed
by the plunge into cold water, the struggle for breath, the deadly
fright; then Nigel's face, as it had first come to her in the moment
of hopeless horror, and Nigel's voice as it had spoken a minute later,
"Fulvie dear! Fulvie dear!" Memory refused to carry her beyond those
two words.
Fulvia made an effort to lift her weighted eyelids that she might
glance towards Nigel. How sunshiny he looked, seated between Daisy
and Malcolm, merrily avowing himself "lazy," and letting Daisy cut
supplies of bread-and-butter for everybody, himself included! Was he so
bright because he had saved her life? Anybody might rejoice to save any
follow-creature from a terrible death; but was she no more than "any
fellow-creature" to him? And Ethel was not present. He had not seen
Ethel for hours. That look could not mean "Ethel"!
What had made him speak so in the water? "Fulvie dear" was not his
usual style. As a little boy he had been addicted to the mode of
address; but for years she had not heard the expression. Could it
be that the sudden peril to her had drawn his deeper feeling to the
surface?
Fulvia hardly shaped these questions into words. She felt them, rather
than said them even to herself, as she sat by the fire, apart from the
rest, silent and unable to enter into all that went on. The shock of
that moment's horror was on her still; and her faculties were benumbed.
She drank some hot tea, but could not eat; and she was unaware how
anxiously others watched.
Drowsiness presently had her in its grasp; not growing into actual
sleep, at least for a while, but slowly enchaining her as with weights
of lead. The sound of voices lessened till she could only hear an
occasional whisper. There was a barricade like a stone wall between her
and the outer world. Thought went on dimly within, uncontrollable by
any effort of her own; and more dimly still she was aware of movements
and utterances on the other side of the wall. Now and again a few words
were clear.
"I told you so! It is exhaustion. She must have her sleep out, poor
girl!"
Fulvia knew Mrs. Duncan's tones, and could have smiled to think that
she was not asleep, had not the exertion of a smile been too great. She
was capable only of passive endurance.
"Ethel—Nigel—my resolution." A voice within the enclosing walls said
this.
"Oh no—no—no!" sighed Fulvia; but the very sigh was internal. Outwardly
she seemed to be in profound slumber; and soon the seeming became
reality.
* * * * * * *
"Plucky! Yes." The words stole in upon Fulvia with a subtle power;
and she divined at once of whom they were spoken. "Never should have
guessed anything was wrong."
"But Daisy had found it out."
"No, he asked her to cut the loaf at tea—didn't want Fulvia to know.
Thoughtful of the lad! She was upset enough already, poor thing. I say,
Mrs. Duncan—" Mr. Carden-Cox lowered his voice to almost a whisper—"I
say, Mrs. Duncan, what do you think? Anything likely in that quarter?"
Fulvia heard a little snap of his fingers. The idea that she ought not
to listen never occurred to her. She was hardly out of dreamland yet;
and body and mind were so stupefied that movement seemed impossible.
"Nigel and Fulvia! No!"
"Why not?—eh?" with a sound of disappointment. "Why should they?"
"Why should they like one another? Nothing more natural. Always
together from childhood."
"That's the very thing! Intimacy doesn't end as a rule in a real
attachment. People get to know each other too well. Half the marriages
that take place never would take place if the husband and wife were
better acquainted beforehand. A hazy uncertainty is more favourable to
love-making."
"Nonsense!"
"It's sense, I am afraid. Intimacy is apt to do away with the poetical
glamour."
"Poetical rubbish!" in a whisper of high disdain. "I beg your pardon,
but really—! The fact is, his father wants this, and I want it. First
time Browning and I have ever wished the same thing. Couldn't be
anything more suitable from every point of view."
"Unless from Nigel's own. He will choose for himself, you may be sure?
If you had said 'Nigel and Ethel!'"
"Ethel Elvey! No, no. That won't do. Good girl, and immense favourite
of mine, but not a penny will come to her. No—no, that won't do at all."
"Nigel will hardly marry for money."
"Nobody ever does. He may chance to fall in love with the girl who has
money."
"I doubt it."
"Well, all I have to say is that Nigel will not marry Ethel Elvey!"
"Nobody can tell yet."
"He will not, my good lady!" Mr. Carden-Cox was always strengthened in
his opinion by opposition. "You mark my words! He may or may not marry
Fulvia. He will not marry Ethel."
Fulvia was wide awake now; stupefied no longer; her head burning, her
blood coursing wildly. She knew she ought to speak, but how could
she?—How betray that she had heard so much?
"However," pursued Mr. Carden-Cox, as if dismissing the subject,
"however, I was telling you about Nigel's hurts."
"Much burnt, you say?"
"Right palm a mass of blisters, chafed by the rope. Couldn't think what
made him sit through tea-time, doing nothing! Not like Nigel! Daisy
wouldn't have told—little monkey—but he betrayed himself getting on
board. Stumbled and grasped at something, and I saw his face. I should
never have guessed otherwise. Anice wailed, of course; and Daisy was
most womanful—actually had had the sense to take with her some rag and
linseed oil. She did up the hand as nattily as could be. There's some
stuff in that girl, I do believe. Hallo!"
For Fulvia sat up, asking, "Is Nigel hurt?"
"My dear, are you just awake?" said Mrs. Duncan, coming near. "Better
for the rest, I hope. You need not worry yourself about Nigel. He
scorched his hand; that is all. They have gone home in the boat, and we
are to follow in a fly as soon as you can start. Would you like to get
ready now?"
"The sooner the better! How lazy I have been!"