THE ONLY PORT
It was a rainy, squally morning, and Jake returning from the Stables
after an early ride, looked down at his muddy gaiters with momentary
hesitation. Mrs. Lovelace, his cook and housekeeper, objected very
strongly to muddy gaiters in what she was pleased to call "her parlour."
They generally meant disaster to a clean table-doth, though Jake himself
could never be made to see why, since he was the only person to use it
and never noticed its condition, this should be regarded as a matter of
vital importance.
On the present occasion, Mrs. Lovelace being out of sight and hearing,
he decided to risk detection, and, leaving his cap on a peg in the dark
oak passage, he passed on to the room overlooking the downs and the
distant sea in which he had once entertained Bunny and his sister.
Breakfast would be awaiting him, he knew; and he was more than ready for
breakfast. In fact he was ravenously hungry, and he hastened to hide
the offending gaiters under the spotless table-doth as soon as he had
rung the bell for the dish which was being kept hot for him.
When Mrs. Lovelace came stoutly in, he greeted her with a smile. "I'm
late this morning. Been having a tussle with one of the youngsters.
No, don't put that whip away! It wants a new lash. What a cussed
nuisance this rain is! The ground is a quagmire, and the animals can
hardly keep their feet. Any letters?"
"One, sir," said Mrs. Lovelace, and laid it before him. Then she looked
at him searchingly. "Did you get very muddy?" she enquired.
"What?" said Jake. He took up his letter. "Yes, you can take the
cover. No, leave the coffee! I'll pour that out when I'm ready.
Muddy? Look out of the window, my good woman, if you want to know!
Don't wait! Time's precious, and I guess you're busy."
Again he smiled upon Mrs. Lovelace, his pleasant, candid smile; and Mrs.
Lovelace had perforce to smile back and withdraw.
Jake heaved a sigh of relief, and began his breakfast. His letter,
bearing a purple crest of a fox's head and under it the motto: _Sans
Vertu_, lay on the table before him. He eyed it as he ate, and presently
took it up. It bore a Swiss stamp.
Jake opened it and read:
"DEAR BOLTON,
"I meant to winter in Cairo, and heaven alone knows why I am here. It
is fiendishly cold, and blowing great guns. There was skating when I
arrived, but that is a dream of the oast. We now slop about knee-deep
in slush or play cat's cradle in the _salon_ during the day. We dance
or cuddle in corners practically all night. Some of the female portion
of the community are quite passably attractive, but I always preferred
one goddess to a crowd, and she is not to be found here. Unless it
freezes within the next forty-eight hours, I shall come back to beastly
old England and look for her. So if I should turn up at Burchester
within the next few days, please accept this (the only) intimation and
have the stud ready for inspection.
"Yours sincerely,
"SALTASH."
Jake's face wore a curious expression as he folded the letter and
returned it to the envelope. It was what Bunny called his "cowboy"
look--a look in which humour and sheer, savage determination were very
oddly mingled. There was a good deal of the primitive man about him at
that moment. He continued his breakfast with business-like rapidity and
presently helped himself to coffee with a perfectly steady hand.
The cup, however, was still untasted beside him when Mrs. Lovelace once
more made her appearance, her plump face looking somewhat startled.
"Miss Brian has called, sir. Wishes to see you for a moment. Shall I
show her in?"
Jake's chair scraped back and he was on his feet in a single movement.
"Of course! Where is she? No, I'll fetch her myself. Out of the way,
my good woman!"
He removed her from his path without the smallest ceremony, and was gone
before she could protest.
In the passage he almost ran into his visitor. "Miss Brian! Is that
you? Come right in! Snakes! You're wet. Come along to the fire!"
He had her by it before his greeting was fully uttered. A man of action
at all times, was Jake. And Maud, still panting from her recent
struggle with the elements, found herself in an easy-chair, holding
numbed fingers to the blaze almost before she realized how she came to
be there. He knelt beside her, unbuttoning her streaming waterproof.
She saw the glint of the firelight on his chestnut hair.
"Thank you," she said, with an effort. "You are very kind."
He looked at her with those lynx-like eyes of his. "Say, you're
perished!" he said, in his soft, easy drawl.
She smiled quiveringly at the concern in his face. She had expected a
precipitate enquiry about Bunny, but it was evident that he had thoughts
only for her at that moment. And she was very badly in need of human
kindness and consideration just then.
She sat huddled over the fire, all the queenliness gone out of her,
tried to speak to him twice and failed; finally, shook her head and sat
in silence.
He got up and reached across the table for the coffee he had just poured
out.
"Drink a little!" he said, holding it to her. "You need it."
She made a small gesture of impotence. Somehow the warmth and comfort
of the room after the cheerless cold without had upset her. She still
smiled, but it was a puckered, difficult smile, and her eyes were full
of tears. She could not take the cup. Her throat worked painfully.
Again she shook her head.
Jake stood beside her for a moment or two looking down at her, then with
swift decision he set down the coffee, stepped to the door and quietly
turned the key.
He came back to her with the steady purpose of a man quite sure of
himself, knelt again by her side, put his arm about her.
"You lean on me, my girl!" he said softly. "Don't be afraid!"
She gave him a quick look. The tears were running down her face. She
covered it suddenly with both hands and sobbed.
He drew her to him so gently that she was hardly aware of the action
till her head came to rest on his shoulder. His free hand, strong and
purposeful, took possession of one of hers and sturdily held it.
"It's all right," he murmured to her soothingly. "It's all right."
She wept for awhile without restraint, her nerves completely shattered,
her pride laid low. And while she wept, Jake held her, strongly,
sustainingly, his red-brown eyes staring unblinkingly full into the
heart of the fire.
At the end of a long interval she grew a little calmer, made as if she
would withdraw herself. But very quietly he frustrated her.
"No, not while you're feeling so badly. Say, now, let me take off your
hat! Guess I can do it without you moving."
She was not in a condition to forbid him, and he removed it with
considerable dexterity, while she still hid her quivering face against
him with an instinctive confidence that paid a dumb tribute to the man's
complete mastery of himself.
"I'm dreadfully sorry--to have behaved like this," she whispered at
last.
"You needn't be sorry for that," said Jake. "No one will know except
me. And I don't count."
"I think you do," she faltered, and made a more decided effort to free
herself.
He let her go with a kindly pat on the shoulder. "Say, now, if that
coffee ain't cold, p'raps you'll try a sip."
He reached for it and held it to her without rising. She lifted the cup
in both her trembling hands while he held the saucer, and slowly drank.
Jake's eyes went with abrupt directness to her wrists as she did it. He
did not speak at the moment. Only as she returned the cup he put it
quietly aside and laid his hand over hers.
"What's that skunk Sheppard been doing to you?" he asked.
She shrank at the straight question "How--how did you know----"
He lifted his hand and pushed back her sleeves without speaking. There
was something dreadful about him as he regarded the bruises thus
exposed.
A quick fear went through her. "Jake," she said sharply, "that--is no
affair of yours. You are not to--interfere."
His eyes came up to hers and the hardness went from him on the instant.
"I reckon you're going to make some use of me," he said.
She trembled a little and turned her face away. She had used his
Christian name spontaneously, and now suddenly she found that all
formality had gone from between them. It disconcerted her, frightened
her, made her uncertain as to his attitude as well as her own.
Jake waited a few seconds; then with the utmost gentleness he laid his
hand again upon hers. "Are you afraid to say it?" he said.
"To say--what?" Her hands moved agitatedly beneath his till strangely,
unexpectedly, they turned and clasped it with convulsive strength.
"Yes, I am afraid," she said, with a sob.
"But I asked you to marry me weeks ago," said Jake.
Her head was bowed. She sought to avoid his look. "I know you did."
"And you are going to marry me," he said, in a tone that was scarcely a
question.
She turned desperately and faced him. "I must have a clear
understanding with you first," she said.
"I--see," said Jake.
He met her eyes with the utmost directness, and before his look hers
wavered and fell. "Please!" she whispered. "You must agree to that."
He did not speak for a moment, but his fingers wound themselves closely
about her own.
"I don't want you to be scared," he said finally. "But--that's a mighty
big thing you've asked of me."
Maud's face was burning. "I knew it isn't for me to make--conditions,"
she said, under her breath.
A gleam of humour crossed Jake's face. "I guess it's up to me to accept
or refuse," he said. "But--suppose I refuse--what are you going to do
then? Will you marry me--all the same?"
She shook her head instantly. "I don't know what I shall do, Jake.
I--I must go back and think."
She mustered her strength and made as if she would rise, but he checked
her.
"Wait!" he said. "I haven't refused--yet. Lean back and rest a bit!
I've got to do some thinking too."
She obeyed him because it seemed that he must be obeyed. He got to his
feet.
"Poor girl!" he said gently. "It hasn't been easy for you, has it?
Reckon you've just been driven to me for refuge. I'm the nearest port,
that's all."
"The only port," Maud answered, with a shiver.
"All right," he said. "It's a safe one. But--" He left the sentence
unfinished and turned to the window.
She lay back with closed eyes, counting the hard throbs of her heart
while she waited. He was very quiet, standing behind her with his face
to the storm-driven clouds. She longed to know what was passing in his
mind, but she could not break the silence. It held her like a spell
while the clock on the mantelpiece ticked the dragging minutes away. She
whispered to her racing heart that the moment he moved she would rise
and go. But while the silence lasted she could not bring herself to
stir. She was worn out physically and mentally, almost too weary for
thought.
He moved at length rather suddenly, wheeled round before she was aware,
and came back to the fire.
"Don't get up!" he said. "You look ready to drop, and you may just as
well hear what I have to say sitting. It won't make a mite of
difference."
She raised her eyes to his in unconscious appeal. "I am afraid I have
made a mistake," she said.
She saw his smile for a moment. "No, you haven't made a mistake, my
girl. You're safe with me. But I wonder if you have the faintest idea
now why I want you for my wife."
The simple directness of his speech touched her as she did not want to
be touched. She sat silent, her hands clasped tightly together.
"You haven't," he said. "And p'raps this isn't the time to tell you.
You've come to me for refuge--as I hoped you would--and I shan't abuse
your confidence. But, you know, I had a reason."
He paused, but she still said nothing. Only she could not meet his eyes
any longer. She looked away into the fire, waiting for him to continue.
"Say, now," he said, after a moment, "if I make a bargain with you, you
won't accuse me of taking advantage of your position?"
She winced a little. "I wish you--to forget--that I ever said that."
"All right. It is forgotten," said Jake. "I'll go ahead. We haven't
mentioned Bunny though I take it he is a fairly big factor in the case.
That is to say, if it hadn't been for Bunny, you would never have taken
this step."
Maud's eyes went swiftly up to his. "But of course I shouldn't!" she
said quickly. "I thought you understood that."
"I quite understand," said Jake. "I assure you I'm not taking anything
for granted. But now--I want to put it to you--supposing the impossible
happened, supposing Bunny were cured,--yes, it's only the hundredth
chance, I know--still, just for a moment, suppose it! Bunny cured, able
to look after himself like other lads. You would be married to me.
What then?"
"What then?" She repeated the words, still with an effort meeting his
look.
He made a slight gesture with one hand. "You would stick to me?"
The hot colour flooded her face and neck. "Of course," she said, her
voice very low. "That goes without saying."
He bent slowly towards her. "Maud, if we ever live alone together, it
must be as man and wife."
His voice was low too, but she heard in it a deep note that seemed to
pierce through and through her. His eyes drew and held her own. She
wanted to avoid them but could not. They burned like the red, inner
heart of a furnace.
The blood receded from her face. She felt it go. "We--need never live
alone," she said faintly.
He held out a quiet hand to her. "P'raps not. But I should like your
promise to that, all the same." He paused a moment; then added: "I have
sworn already to be good to you, remember."
She laid her hand in his. She could not do otherwise. He held it and
waited.
"Very well," she said at last, her voice almost a whisper. "I--agree."
He let her go, and straightened himself. "It's a deal, then," he said.
"And now for more immediate details. You've decided to marry me, and I
gather you don't mind how soon?"
He picked up a clay pipe from the mantelpiece, and knocked out some ash
against the fireplace.
Maud watched him with a curious species of fascination. There was
something in the man's serenity of mien that puzzled her, something that
did not go with those fiery, possessive eyes.
He looked at her with a smile that was half-quizzical, half-kindly, and
her heart began to beat more freely.
"We must somehow get away from 'The Anchor' to-day," she said. "I have
a little money. Perhaps if you would help me to move Bunny, we could go
into lodgings again until----"
"I have a little money too," said Jake. "And I will certainly help you.
But first,--do you object to telling me what has been happening at 'The
Anchor'?"
She coloured again vividly, painfully, but he was fully engrossed with
the filling of his pipe and did not notice her embarrassment.
"To begin with," she said with difficulty, "he--Mr. Sheppard--has turned
us out of the room downstairs. He carried Bunny off himself to an attic
under the roof, and hurt him horribly. I was driven nearly mad at the
time." She broke off, shuddering at the remembrance.
Jake frowned. "Go on!" he said briefly.
She went on with increasing difficulty. "That happened yesterday. I
hoped you would come round in the afternoon or evening, but you didn't."
"I couldn't get away," he interpolated. "Yes? And then?"
"Then--in the evening--that is, late at night--" Maud stumbled like a
nervous child--"I went down to fetch something and he--he came in after
me, half-tipsy; and--and--he--" She halted suddenly. "I can't go on!"
she said, with quivering lips.
Jake laid aside his pipe and stooped over her. "Did he beat you, or did
he make love to you? Which?" he said.
There was a sound in his voice like the growl of an angry beast. She
could not look him in the face.
"Tell me!" he said, and laid an imperative hand on her shoulder. "You
need never tell anyone else."
She shrank a little. "I don't see why I should tell you," she said
reluctantly.
"You must tell me," said Jake with decision.
And, after brief hesitation, miserably, with face averted, she yielded
and told him. After all, why should he not know? Her dainty pride was
crushed for ever. She could sink no lower.
"He held me down and thrashed me--with his slipper. I was in my
night-dress, and--and it was rather a brutal thrashing. Perhaps some
women wouldn't have minded it much; but I--I am not used to that kind of
treatment. I hope you will never beat me, Jake. I don't bear it very
heroically."
She tried to laugh, but it was a piteous little sound that came from her
quivering throat.
Jake's hand closed upon her shoulder. She seemed to feel the whole man
vibrate behind it like a steel spring. Yet he made no comment whatever.
"Go on!" he said, his voice short and stern. "Tell me everything!"
She braced herself to finish. "He went on till he was tired. I believe
I was wailing like a baby, but no one heard. And then--and then--he
suddenly discovered that I was a woman and not a naughty child, and
he--he--kissed me." She shuddered suddenly and violently. "That's
nearly all," she ended. "I got away from him, heaven knows how. And I
got back to Bunny. I didn't tell him everything, but I couldn't help
him knowing I was upset. We neither of us slept all night. And the
night before was a bad one too. That's how I came to be so idiotic just
now."
She leaned slowly back in her chair till she rested against the hand he
had laid upon her.
"Do you know," she said tremulously, after a moment, "I think it has
actually done me good to tell you? You are very kind to me, Jake."
He withdrew his hand and turned away. "That may be," he said
enigmatically. "And again it may not. Thanks anyway for telling me."
He picked up the horsewhip that he had flung down on entering, and began
with his square, steady fingers to remove the lash. "You are right.
You can't spend another night at 'The Anchor.' If you will allow me, I
will find some comfortable rooms where you and Bunny can stay till we
can get married. I will go up to-morrow and get a special licence. The
marriage might be arranged for Sunday--if that will suit you."
"Next Sunday?" Maud started round and looked at him with startled eyes.
He nodded. "In church. After the eight o'clock service if there is
one. Your mother must give you away. Afterwards, we will come on here
with the boy." He glanced round at her. "He shall have this room for
the daytime, and the one over it to sleep in. I'm sorry there are not
two ground-floor rooms for him; but I know how to carry him in comfort.
Of course, if necessary this room could be used as a bedroom as well."
He threw down the worn lash and went to a drawer for a new one. Maud
still watched him in silence.
"Does that meet with your approval?" he asked at length.
"I think you are--more than good," she said, a tremor of feeling in her
voice.
He kept his eyes lowered over his task. "I am not hustling you too
much?" he enquired.
She smiled wanly. "I am asking myself if I ought to let you do it," she
said. "It doesn't seem very fair to you."
"It chances to be the thing I want," said Jake, his fingers still busy.
"And I reckon you won't disappoint me--won't draw back? I can count on
you?"
She rose, turning fully towards him. "You can certainly count on me,"
she said. "But are you really sure you meant it? It isn't going to
spoil your life?"
Jake stood upright with a jerk. She met the extraordinary brightness of
his eyes with an odd mixture of boldness and reluctance.
"My girl," he said, in his queer, anomalous drawl, "there ain't a man
anywhere in God's universe who knows what he wants better than I do. If
I didn't want this thing I shouldn't ask for it. See?" He came to her
with the words, and laid one finger on her arm. "Don't you know it's
your friendship I'm after?" he said, with a touch of aggressiveness.
"Why, I've been after it ever since that night I found you down in the
dark alone on the edge of the parade. You were up against it that
night, weren't you? And didn't like me over much for butting in. Do you
know what you made me think of? A forlorn princess of the Middle Ages.
There's a mediaeval flavour about you. I don't know where you keep it.
But it makes me feel mediaeval too."
She drew back a little, stiffened ever so slightly. Something in her
resented the freedom of his speech. Something rose in swift revolt and
clamoured to be gone.
He must have seen her gesture, her quick, protesting blush; for he
turned almost instantly and jerked the whip-lash through his fingers,
testing it.
A fitful gleam of sunshine suddenly pierced the clouds behind him and
shone on his bent head. His hair gleamed like burnished copper. The
tawny glint of it made her think of an animal--a beast of prey, alert,
merciless, primeval.
She put on her hat. "I must be getting back to Bunny," she said.
"I am coming with you," said Jake.
She looked at him sharply. "You will walk?"
"Yes, I shall walk."
She pointed with nervous abruptness to the whip he held. "Then you won't
want that."
Jake smiled, and tested the whip again without speaking.
Maud waited a moment; then steadily she spoke. "You realized of course,
that when I told you about Mr. Sheppard's behaviour of last night, it
was in strict confidence?"
Jake squared his broad shoulders. "All right, my girl. It's safe with
me," he said. "There shan't be any scandal."
Maud was very white, but quite resolute. "Jake," she said, "you are not
to do it."
He raised his brows.
"You are not to do it!" she said again, with vehemence. "I mean it! I
mean it! The quarrel is not yours. You are not to make it so." She
paused, and suddenly caught her breath. "Oh, don't look at me like
that! You make me--afraid!"
Jake turned and tossed the whip down on the window-seat. "You've nothing
to be afraid of," he said rather curtly. "You're making your own
bugbear. P'raps it's natural," he added, with abrupt gentleness.
"You've had a lot to bear lately. There! I've done what you asked. We
had better get back while it's fine."
He unlocked and opened the door, standing back for her to pass.
He kept his eyes downcast as she went through, and she knew that it was
in response to her appeal that he did so. She tingled with a burning
embarrassment, which vanished all in a moment as he said: "Say, now, do
you mind if I light my pipe before I follow you? Don't wait! I'll
catch you up."
And she made her way out into the fleeting sunlight and racing wind with
a strong sense of relief. The pipe was not a particularly aristocratic
feature of Jake's existence, but it was an extremely characteristic one,
and it placed matters on a normal footing at once. Jake was never
disconcerting or formidable when he was smoking a pipe. She consented
to it gladly.
And Jake turned back into the room with a grim smile on his lips, picked
up a letter from the table, and thrust it deep into the fire.
After that he lighted his pipe with the charred remnants thereof, and
followed Maud into the open.