“Anny, are you gone to sleep yet?” Sue sat up in her bed and peered
through the darkness to where the other girl lay in a far corner. Her
hair was unbound and fell over her coarse night garment like a soft
black shawl as she leant forward, speaking almost in a whisper.
It was nearly a month since Dick had sailed away from the Island, and
the quiet country life had flowed peacefully on at the Ship without
interruption. But Sue had not forgotten the little Spaniard. It was a
continual source of amazement to her that she could have entertained a
liking for him or even a thought when big handsome Ezekiel French was
by, but she was not sure about Anny.
Sue had an observant eye, and she noticed that Hal and the girl were not
so often together as they had used to be, and she drew her own
conclusions. She had a kind heart, and she felt herself Anny’s guardian
in a sense.
Poor, quaint, foolish little Anny, she thought, so fond of admiration,
so willing to love and be loved, so pretty and so gentle; and then she
thought of the Spaniard, with his bright, devil-may-care eyes, and full
red lips, and she nodded her head into the darkness and leaned forward
again.
“Anny,” she said distinctly.
“Ay.” Anny’s voice came clearly out of the dark corner.
“Have you been asleep yet?” whispered Sue.
“Nay.” Anny turned over on her side.
“Did you not hear me speak before?” the other girl persisted.
Anny sighed and turned back again.
“Nay, I have lain long a-thinking,” she said.
Sue drew her knees up to her chin and clasped them with her arms before
she spoke again.
“Do you ever think of the Spaniard?” she said at last, and then added as
Anny vouchsafed no answer: “Black’erchief Dick?”
Anny moved in her bed.
“Oh, him!” she said with a note of contempt in her pretty childlike
voice. “Oh, nay!”
Sue sighed again, and when she spoke her tone had a certain tenderness
in it.
“Why do you lie to me, Anny Farran?” she said.
Anny sighed softly.
“Oh! Mistress Sue,” she said, “what would you have me tell you? How many
times he begged a kiss of me, or held my hand, or bore my onions with
his fair white hands?”
Sue flushed.
“Sure he never carried onions for thee!” she said.
“Marry! did he not?” said Anny quickly. “Ay, with his thin white
fingers cracking under their weight, and the muddied side o’ the skep
rubbing on his silken hose, did he carry onions for me, and I stumbling
along at his side for all the world like a Hythe oyster wench. Oh! Lord,
the tales he did tell,” and she broke off into a little chuckle, and Sue
frowned.
“I would speak seriously with you, Anny,” she began.
Anny sighed and tossed like a naughty child and then resigned herself to
the lecture she felt was coming.
“I am listening,” she said.
Sue spoke earnestly and sincerely.
“Methinks you care too much for the Spaniard, lass,” she said.
Anny gasped audibly but said nothing, and Sue, mistaking the sound for a
sigh of confession, went on:
“He is a dangerous man for a young wench to think on,” she said. “I
would not trust a man who looked so boldly at every smirking lass who
chanced to stand in his way as he walked from the yard to the brig. Ah!
you may laugh, but I know; I served in this inn long before you came,
and I’ve seen men and wenches, time and again. Remember what befell
Maria Turnby when her husband left for the Indies. There’s a thing for
him to hear when he comes back again, poor fellow--his own children left
to starve that sweetbreads may be served for another man’s brats. Oh,
Anny, lass,” Sue’s voice shook in its earnestness, “have a care, have a
care. Men be eels wi’ maids. And this Delfazio, as he is pleased to call
himself, is a deal more eel-like than many other menfish. What with his
soft laughter, and hands like white and polished bone, together with
black wanton eyes! Oh! have a care, I know tales of him; they say no one
ever dares to come between him and his wishes, and that never since he
was a squalling brat has he been stayed from getting what he wants.
Anny, perchance he wants you, and perchance you will be bewitched into
letting him get his way.”
Anny sat up on her straw mattress, her bright eyes glittering in the ray
of starlight which shone in through the uncurtained window, and her
little white teeth clenched.
“Methinks you wrong me, mistress,” she said, restraining her voice with
difficulty. “I have no love for any crawling foreigner. What if he do
eat and talk like the quality; I tell thee there are thirty other men I
would rather marry than a brown-skinned Spaniard.”
“Marry?” Sue laughed and Anny flushed.
“Methinks,” she went on, her voice becoming colder at every word, “that
not to me so much as to thee, Mistress Sue, should such talk be
addressed. Is your heart so free from thoughts of this same Dick that
you can hold him up to me as dangerous? What was it made thee lose thy
taste for Master French’s talk so suddenly? Oh! truth! you make me sick
to see you take me for so senseless a wench that you think I do not see
your cleverness. Mistress, beware of jealousy.”
Sue gasped. She had never considered the possibility of her words being
taken in this way, and she could think of no adequate reply at that
moment save a reproachful, “Anny!”
There was silence for a moment or two and then Anny spoke again over her
shoulder.
“Rest assured,” she said, “‘tis not thoughts of thy pesky little
cheap-jack that keeps me awake o’ nights. There be many here better than
he, and one amongst them whom I love.”
Then she buried her head under the blankets and did not speak again, in
spite of Sue’s protestations of dislike for Dick, and the elder girl,
getting tired of talking to seemingly deaf ears, lay down also and
beguiled herself to sleep with thoughts of her own lover.
The next day broke fine and fresh after the heavy rainfall of the
preceding three weeks, but Sue went about her work with a certain
nervous fidgetiness which irritated Anny and sent her out over the
fields with Hal.
Several times when they were out Sue went up to her room and there
peered into the cracked mirror, putting a curl back here, another
forward there, smoothing down her eyelashes with a moistened thumb and
forefinger, and biting her lips till the red blood suffused them
glowingly. More often did she go to the window, however, and stand there
for minutes on end, staring out into the new begreened landscape, where
the young leaves danced like lambkins in the cool, strong sea breeze,
the sun on their wet surfaces lending them some of the splendour of
jewels.
Sue had made up her mind. Nobody came to the Ship all the morning, and
by three o’clock she was in no pleasant humour, so old Gilbot found when
he asked her to sing for him, for she was up and off in a moment with
the sharp remark, “that there was more to do in the world than sing and
get deep in liquor.”
Gilbot was amazed; his little blue eyes stared surprisedly in front of
him, and he absent-mindedly put his rumkin upside down on the stove and
it was some minutes before he discovered that the kitchen was reeking
with burnt rum dregs.
This made Sue angrier still, and she bustled about, throwing open the
doors, muttering the while that she was ashamed to let visitors into a
room that smelt like Pet Salt’s boat and looked like a sty.
Little Red Farran, however, found her in a very different mood, for when
he came creeping into the scullery with his kitten (now wellnigh a cat)
tucked under his cape, she caught him up in her arms and kissed him and
then to his astonishment gave him a large slice of oatmeal cake
high-heaped with quince jelly and sent him off on his way rejoicing.
Her charity was well rewarded, for some two minutes later the kitchen
door was kicked open and Red and French came in together.
Sue began at once to bustle about with unnatural gaiety, and Gilbot
regarded her with still greater astonishment, until he suddenly looked
round and saw French. Then he nodded his head sagely once or twice, and,
getting up with difficulty, tottered to get his coat which hung behind
the door.
“Redsh an’ Ish goin’ foa walk,” he announced.
Red gave a whoop of delight and ran after him happily.
French looked after them in surprise.
“Whatever made him go off like that, now?” he said, as he sat down at
the table.
Sue blushed and clanged the pots together noisily.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said almost sharply.
French turned to her, his handsome boyish face blank with astonishment.
“Why, what’s the matter with you?” he said.
Sue shrugged her shoulders and bit her lips. Why was he so different
to-day, she wondered?
“Me--oh, nothing; is there aught in my face that should make you ask
that?”
Sue turned a fiery cheek toward the young giant, and then moved away.
French got up.
“I don’t know what’s taken you all,” he said, puzzled. “When I first
comes in, Master Gilbot flies out wi’ the young lad, and now you look at
me as though I’d done some mortal wrong. What is it?”
“Oh! go to with ye.” Sue’s back was toward him and he could not see her
face but her voice sounded sharp. “I’m getting your rum as fast as may
be.”
“What need you be worrying about rum?”
French looked round him miserably.
“I’m sorry,” he said, changing his weight from one foot to the other and
his hands becoming noticeable and awkward.
Sue only sighed impatiently and busied herself with the rum.
French turned on his heel.
“All’s well then,” he said finally. “I’ll be getting down West. I reckon
I knows when I’m welcome or not, Mistress--Mistress Susan Gilbot,” and
he strode to the door. “There’s other inns,” he said meaningly.
Sue turned about in a moment.
“Oh, wait for your rum, Master French,” she said.
French did not move but stood straddle-legged in the doorway looking out
into the yard.
“Rum? Oh, that don’t matter; an inn’s got more uses than just to sell
rum, mistress,” he said.
“Indeed, to provide wenches for any man to insult, I reckon,” said Sue,
tossing her head and dashing her hand across her eyes.
French turned round quickly.
“Why, who’s been insulting you, lass?” he said sharply.
Sue laughed and turned her head away.
“What’s that to you?” she said.
French shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m going,” he remarked, and stepped down the stone stair into the
yard.
Sue swallowed once and then ran after him.
“Prithee wait while I hot your rum, sir,” she said.
French turned willingly.
“I’d do aught for you when you ask me like that, Sue,” he said gently,
as he followed her back into the kitchen and sat down while she bustled
around with a tankard, hardly knowing what she did.
French watched her critically.
“Aught been upsetting you, mistress?” he asked.
“Nay.” Sue blushed again and stumbled over a form.
The big man sighed and looked into the fire.
“Been thinking of the Spaniard?” he asked half between his teeth.
“No,” said Sue so vehemently that he jumped. “I have not, nor am like
to.”
French smiled on her.
“Well, that’s all right, then, ain’t it?” he said cheerfully.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.
French’s smile faded.
“No, that’s right,” he said almost mournfully, “that’s right.”
And there was silence for a few moments. He drank his rum, and after
opening and shutting his mouth once or twice, rose to go.
Sue watched him to the door and then in spite of herself the tears
began to trickle down the side of her nose, and she sobbed once audibly.
French was at her side in a moment.
“What is the matter, lassie?” he said kindly, all his shyness vanishing
as he whipped out a large yellow handkerchief and began to wipe her eyes
hastily. “Are you ill?”
Sue sobbed violently.
“No,” she said angrily, and then snatching the handkerchief out of his
hand buried her face in it.
French put a big hand on each of her shoulders and shook her gently.
“If I asked you for something would you give it to me?” he said.
Sue still covered her face with her hands.
“Oh! why don’t you ask me?” she sobbed.
French lifted her up in his arms to kiss her, and she stopped crying and
began to blush as he carried her over to the chimney corner where they
sat, laughing and whispering, till Gilbot and Red, driven in by the
rain, which had restarted with as much violence as ever, came for their
tea.
“I thought you watched that damned Spaniard a deal too much,
sweetheart,” said French, as he and Sue walked to the end of the lane
together, although the rain came down in torrents.
“Oh! go along with you. Would I not rather have a man to love than a
live knife?” said Sue, as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.