Meanwhile Tom and Mrs. Beauchamp had bought the sand-shoes and various
other little necessaries, had had tea in an Oriental coffee shop, and, as
the climax of a delightful afternoon, were coming home on the top of a
tram--a leisurely proceeding that gave plenty of time for enjoyment. The
weather had clouded over early in the afternoon, but they were halfway
home before a fine rain began to fall and to blot out the shimmering sea.
Just at sunset it cleared up for a little while, and a long path of gold
stretched straight away to the horizon, showing the rocks and the island
silhouetted very clear and black against a pale yellow sky.
"Mother," said Tom suddenly, "do the goats ever come down to drink?"
"What goats?"
"The goats on the island?"
"And do they drink what?"
"The sea."
"Oh dear no, Tom; they would not drink the sea-water--it is much too
salt. I expect they stay on the island all the summer and come home in
winter. I know their masters go and look after them at low tide."
"Well, is it low tide now?" persisted Tom.
Mrs. Beauchamp peered into the dusk.
"No; it is nearly high, I think. There is very little of the rocks to be
seen."
"Well, there is something scrambling about on the island, quite low down,
and it looks just like goats."
"Sea-birds, Tom?"
"They don't _scramble_," said Tom.
"Well, fishermen perhaps. Show me where you see them."
But the black dots had disappeared. The fine drizzling rain had come on
again, and the island was misty; heavy clouds were banked on the horizon,
and it had grown suddenly cold and dark.
"Come inside, Tom," said Mrs. Beauchamp; "hold on to the rail and don't
tumble off. Isn't it pleasant to think of the warm, cosy nursery and
supper?"
"Is it supper-time?" asked Tom, amazed.
"Well, it is past six, and we are a good way from home yet. I hope all
the family were safe under shelter before the rain came on. Do you see
the white horses dashing up the sides of the island? It looks very cold,
doesn't it?"
"I'm glad I'm not a goat," said Tom.
"So am I! See, there are the Parade lights. Get all the parcels together,
and be ready to jump off when we stop."
A shopping expedition alone with mother was always a great treat. There
was so much to tell afterwards--so many parcels to open and examine. Tom
scampered up the Parade in advance of Mrs. Beauchamp's soberer footsteps,
so it was he who first caught sight of nurse's face when the door was
opened to his clamorous knock.
"Go up to the nursery, Master Tom," she said.
Tom dashed on merrily, and a minute later he heard his mother's voice in
the hall, with a quick note of anxiety in it.
"What is it, nurse?"
"It's Miss Susie," said nurse, "and Master Dick."
Tom hung over the banisters to hear more.
"I left them out on the beach for a bit, whilst I came in to make the
tea; and they had my orders to come when I signalled, but they never took
no notice. So I ran down to the beach, and there wasn't a sign of them;
and there was nothing more that I could do till you came home."
"How long ago?" asked Mrs. Beauchamp.
All of a sudden the tired look had come back to her face. She was
anxious, but she was not frightened.
"It was about five I called to them, and it's past six now."
"Have you any idea where they are?"
"Well, I've heard Miss Susie speak of the town and buying sweets; and
she's that audacious by times she might have dragged the poor child off
without stopping to think--and it's a long three miles, and a regular
downpour coming on."
Simultaneously both mother and nurse turned back to the pavement and
looked critically at the sky and the sea. There was very little to be
seen but scurrying clouds and one or two misty stars, but the boom of the
waves on the shore was loud and importunate. Without a word they came in
and shut the door.
"I don't think they _can_ be on the beach," said their mother, as
cheerfully as she could, "but it is like looking for a needle in a
haystack. I will go and speak to the policeman and the fishermen."
She spoke wearily, and the anxious line deepened between her eyes, as she
stood irresolutely on the steps, looking into the darkness and feeling
the lashing of the fine rain against her face. A sickening wave of fear
rolled over her, but nurse could not tell it by her voice.
"No doubt they started for the town--Susie is thoughtless. Open my
umbrella, please, nurse, and keep their supper hot."
"I _do_ hope Master Dick don't get his nasty cough back," said nurse.
"Oh, I don't think he will," said Mrs. Beauchamp.
She ran down the steps, holding her umbrella firmly, and battling with
the gusts of wind that swept the Parade. The insistent thunder of the
waves sounded very dreary.
She ran over to the sea wall and down the wooden steps on to the beach.
Two or three fishermen were sheltering close under the cliff; the wind
was so loud that she had to shout at them to be heard.
"Have you been here long?" she said.
"Yes, most of the day." A short black pipe was removed to allow of the
remark.
"Have you seen some children playing about--a little girl in a red
jersey, a boy in a sailor suit?"
The answer was very deliberate. A great many boys and girls had been
playing on the sands--there always were a "rack" of them--the rain came
and swamped them. He hadn't noticed no red jersey in particular.
"Did you see any of them on the rocks?"
No; but then they might have been, for he hadn't been looking that way.
"But _some_ of you would have seen them," Mrs. Beauchamp urged. "If two
children had been scrambling on the rocks at sunset, some of you would
have noticed them?"
"Maybe, maybe not."
"Is it high tide?" she asked.
"In another hour." And some one added out of the darkness, "Don't you be
feared, ma'am; children and chickens come home to roost."
Mrs. Beauchamp thanked him gratefully and felt comforted.
Again she wearily climbed the steps, and flew rather than walked down the
long Parade. The flickering gas lamps showed between patches of darkness,
the rain drizzled on, and she felt helpless and bewildered, not knowing
where to turn next. Wherever Dickie was, bronchitis must be dogging his
footsteps, and all the time she seemed to hear Susie's voice appealing to
her. Poor Susie! who always came back to her best friend--who was always
so sorry afterwards!
She spoke to the policeman at the corner of the Parade, and he was very
determined. He would go to the police station and give notice, he said;
but there wasn't the least use in her wearing herself out by running on
into the town. He knew the young lady from No. 17 quite well by sight--a
very sensible young lady!--and he was as certain as that he stood there
that she had not passed him since five o'clock. She was on the beach then
with the little boy and some other young ladies and gentlemen; he had
seen them himself. They were playing and shouting, and having a fine
time. No, he was quite certain he wasn't making a mistake; he knew her by
her face, and her brown plaits, and her scarlet jersey. She certainly was
playing with other children.
Mrs. Beauchamp tried to push aside the urgent fear that was knocking at
her heart. If even the policeman had confidence in Susie, should her
mother be behindhand? She told the policeman, for his information and her
own comfort, that she was only frightened because the little boy had been
ill, and it was such a cold, wet night, but at the same time she thought
she would walk round to the town by the beach. "And you will go to the
police station? Some one may have seen them. I cannot feel satisfied
doing nothing."
"If you take my advice, lady," said the policeman, "you should go home
first. Perhaps they'll have got back, or perhaps the other young lady
could give you an idea. Children know a good deal of each other's ways."
The advice was sensible and practical, and Mrs. Beauchamp was relieved at
any definite suggestion. Amy might possibly know something about the
others which she had not confided to nurse. She caught at the hope, and
fought her way back before the wind, up the long, wet Parade, until she
stood, drenched and breathless, at the door.
Nurse opened it almost on her knock, and peered anxiously behind her into
the dark, but Mrs. Beauchamp shook her head.
"No, I have done nothing," she said, in a strained voice. "I can't think
what to do--no one has seen them, nurse."
Her voice trembled a little, but she tried to smile. She would not break
down.
"I want to speak to Amy, nurse, and Master Tom; but Amy is less
excitable. Send them to me on the stairs here; we must not wake baby."
"I've questioned them," said nurse, "but they don't seem to know
anything. They'll be ready enough to tell if they do; they are very
upset."
Mrs. Beauchamp sat upon the lowest stair, with her anxious eyes fixed on
the nursery door. They were curiously like Susie's eyes, but with a
sweeter expression. They were smiling still, but it was such a sad smile
that after one look Amy flew helter-skelter downstairs and flung herself
into the welcoming arms.
"Amy," said her mother gently, "don't cry now; I haven't time. I am
anxious about Dickie's bronchitis"--it was curious how she clung to the
belief that it was only the bronchitis that troubled her--"it is so rainy
and cold! Do you know where Susie has gone?"
"No, mother," said Amy. She knelt upon the stair with her pale little
face pressed against her mother's cheek.
"Think, Amy," Mrs. Beauchamp urged.
"I have thoughted and thoughted," said Amy, "and I can only remember that
once, a long time ago, the twins said--"
"What twins?"
"Oh, I forgot you didn't know. They are twins, and they are friends of
Susie's. They are very reckless on the rocks, and sometimes Susie went
too."
"But when, Amy?"
"I don't know," said Amy, with literal truthfulness. "They didn't tell
me; they said I was a baby." Amy's eyes filled. "I wish Susie could be
found," she said.
"But you are helping me to find her," said her mother. "Now I have
something to go on.--Did you know, Tom? Have you ever been on the rocks
with the twins?"
"They told me not to tell," said Tom sturdily.
"But, Tom, that does not matter; it is right to break such a promise."
"If you break your promise you go to hell," said Tom.
"No, no, Tom--not when it is a matter--a matter of life and death. Do you
think they went on the rocks to-night?"
"I will tell you if you want me to," said Tom, "but Susie will be angry.
I don't know if she went to-day; so there!"
"Did you ever go?"
"Heaps and heaps of times," said Tom.
"And who are the twins?"
"I don't know."
"But their _name_, Tom?" she urged.
"I truly don't know, mummy."
"O Tom!"
Tom too had broken down, and his arms were round her neck.
"O mother, Susie didn't mean to go. She often and often didn't want to.
Don't be angry with Susie. Nurse often said, 'I can't think where you get
your stockings in such a mess.' But the twins asked Susie, and she went;
often and often she didn't want to--"
"Poor Susie," said Mrs. Beauchamp.
"And you needn't think she's drowned," said Tom, "because Susie knows
quite well how to walk on seaweed. She wouldn't be such a silly as to be
drowned."
Tom's testimony and the policeman's! She alone--Susie's mother--had been
faithless and unbelieving. She began to regain her confidence in Susie.
She got up a minute later with a more hopeful smile. As she shook out her
wet umbrella she stooped to kiss Amy's eager face.
"It is so much easier to find four people than two," she said,
"particularly when two of them are twins, and one wears a scarlet jersey.
Some one must have seen such a noisy crew, and there is less chance of
their having disappeared."
"Susie isn't such a silly as all that," said Tom, with serene confidence.
Mrs. Beauchamp's eyes shone, and when Tom opened the door she looked out,
over his head, into the deepening night. A few stars had struggled
through the clouds, and the moon shone fitfully above the island. It
looked very big and black and peaceful, and Mrs. Beauchamp paused for a
moment and looked back at it.
"_If_," she said to herself, and then again "_if_" out loud.
But whatever the disturbing thought might be, she would not give it
entrance. She fixed her mind resolutely on the twins and the red jersey,
and pinned her hopes on the police inspector.