"I'll devilish soon show you!" shouted Jack, trying to pass him.
But now Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn fell into a sudden panic. "Don't betray me,
sir! Don't, sir!" he entreated, trying to stop him.
Jack thrust him roughly aside with an angry, "Out of my way!" and poor
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn sank on the seat in the summer-house, gasping, "Good
Lord! He'll tell the whole Walk!"
Jack had acted on the spur of the moment; but now that he was face to
face with all the inhabitants of the Walk a sudden shyness took hold of
him and he stood irresolute. Marjolaine had sat down exhausted on the
seat under the elm, and Madame Lachesnais was coming towards her.
Little Barbara Pennymint was the first to see Jack. She gave a demure
little scream and ran to the Admiral. "Look! A stranger!" Sir Peter
was on his dignity at once. He came straight at Jack. "Now, sir--may I
ask--?"
"Admiral," cried Jack, saluting.
"Eh," said the Admiral, fixing his one eye on the young man,
"Gobblessmysoul! what a coincidence!" He seized Jack's hand and nearly
wrung it off, while the whole Walk watched with amazed curiosity, and
Marjolaine looked on with delight. "I'm delighted to see you, my
lad!--De-lighted!" He turned to Madame Lachesnais as the social leader
of the Walk. "Madame Lachesnais!" he cried, holding Jack by the hand,
"Let me have the honour of presenting my gallant young friend, the
Honourable Jack Sayle, son of my old friend, Lord--"
He never got any further. At the words, "Jack Sayle," Madame, who had
been standing smilingly to welcome the young man, gave a sharp cry,
swayed, and sank swooning in Nanette's arms.
Then what a commotion there was, to be sure! Marjolaine ran to her
mother, Mrs. Poskett, Ruth and Barbara crowded round her or rushed about
vaguely, crying, "Salts! Quick!" The Admiral stood petrified a moment.
Then he hurried Jack towards the boat. "Get away, Jack!" Jack
resisted. "But--!"
"Away with you!" insisted the Admiral in a raucous whisper.
"Discretion!--They'll have to unhook her!"
But the Eyesore went on fishing.
*CHAPTER VI*
*IN WHICH POMANDER WALK IS NOT QUITE ITSELF*
[Illustration: Chapter VI headpiece]
The Admiral was much troubled. A week had elapsed since Madame fainted,
and although the mysterious process of unhooking her, together with a
dash of water on her face, and the salts, had brought her to very
rapidly, a cloud had seemed to hang over the Walk since that moment. It
was certainly not itself, and it had grown less like itself as the days
passed. Madame was apparently quite well, yet she stayed within doors,
or, if she came out, her face was more than usually sad, and she walked
with slow steps, like one who bears a heavy burden of sorrow. She was
not seen in church on Sunday. Marjolaine was there, bright and happy.
She had assured everybody there was nothing really serious the matter
with her mother: only a headache. On Monday morning Marjolaine was
still her usual merry self, but as the morning wore into the afternoon
and the afternoon into the evening she grew restless. The Admiral
noticed that she kept on going to the river-bank and looking up and down
stream as if she were expecting someone. On Tuesday she was out very
early, still apparently watching. On Wednesday she grew silent, and
refused to have her usual singing-lesson on the plea that she was not
feeling very well. On Thursday she turned unnaturally gay, but there
was a hard note in her laughter, and Sir Peter had caught her sobbing in
the Gazebo. Fortunately she had not noticed him, and he was able to
retire without disturbing her. But he himself was greatly disturbed.
The more so as he had seen that Madame was watching her daughter
intently, and that every change in Marjolaine was reflected on the elder
lady's face.
Friday found Marjolaine pale and dejected; and here was midday on
Saturday, and she had not yet appeared!
Could she be sickening for a serious illness? Sir Peter was nervous and
anxious. He was also put out by the fact that although Jack Sayle had
promised as he hurriedly rowed away, that he would come to see him on
the Monday, the whole week had passed without a sign of the young
lieutenant, and without any word of explanation.
But the entire Walk was nervous and anxious. It had grown so accustomed
to Marjolaine's songs and merry laughter, that as she grew silent and
grave, the Walk grew silent and grave with her. Mrs. Poskett's temper
underwent a change for the worse, and she and Ruth Pennymint very nearly
had words over a milk-can which the dairy-man had carelessly hung on the
wrong railing. Ruth's ill-humour was aggravated by the behaviour of
Barbara and Basil. They went about sighing and turning up the whites of
their eyes; Barbara shut herself up two and three hours every day with
the parrot, and Basil ground at the slow movement of the Kreutzer
Sonata, repeating one particularly heart-rending passage so persistently
that Ruth wanted to scream.
But the man who behaved most strangely of all was Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn.
That magnificent creature showed all the symptoms of a guilty
conscience. It is true he strutted about the Walk, dressed as
faultlessly as ever, swung his tassled cane with much of his old
elegance, and took snuff with all the airy grace imaginable. And
yet--and yet--! Somehow, his clothes seemed to hang loosely on him.
Somehow, his hat, though poised at a rakish angle, no longer conveyed
the old devil-may-care impression. His face no longer beamed with
unassailable self-satisfaction. There was a furtive look in his eyes,
as though he were constantly on the watch. It is a low comparison to
apply, but if you have ever seen a dog who knows he has just stolen a
piece of meat, you have seen Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. Once, when the Admiral,
who was stubbornly resisting the universal depression, came up behind
him unobserved and suddenly slapped him on the back, he screamed--he
positively screamed. "Thought the Bow-street runners was after you?"
roared the Admiral heartily. But the tone of fury with which he replied
"Certainly not, sir! How dare you?" was so sincere that Sir Peter did
not pursue the joke. Evidently he had indeed thought the runners were
after him.
The Walk was like a drooping flower, and even the Eyesore felt the
depressing influence; he fished less hopefully than ever, and it was
noticed that he interrupted his fishing more frequently for excursions
outside the bounds of Pomander Walk: excursions from which he returned
wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and returned each time
perhaps a trifle less steadily.
Now, all these good people had lost their usual good spirits and their
cheery outlook on life merely because one little girl had left off
laughing; and she had left off laughing because one very young man had
not kept his word.
The servants of the Walk were very busy this Saturday morning. Jane,
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's nurse, was explaining to Abigail, Mrs. Poskett's
little maid, that nothing should persuade her to continue wearing the
Charity-School costume after she had risen to the dignity of domestic
service. Jim was feverishly polishing the Admiral's little brass
cannon. That brass cannon was the apple of the Admiral's remaining eye;
and at the same time the plague of his life. On every state occasion,
such as the King's birthday, or the anniversary of the Battle of
Copenhagen, he would, to the great terror of the Walk, have it out,
plant it pointing truculently to the opposite side of the river and,
standing well away from it, apply a match. This was always an agonised
moment of suspense for the Walk. But invariably the gun refused to go
off. The Admiral's expletives, however, supplied an efficient
substitute. I am sorry to say the failure to explode was always due to
an act of treachery on Jim's part. The Walk subscribed five shillings
towards that ancient mariner's liquid refreshment, and the ancient
mariner withdrew the charge in the dead of night. To-day he was
polishing the gun well in view of all the houses. The King's birthday
was approaching, and the Walk needed a gentle reminder that unless it
wished to be stunned and to have all its windows broken, now was the
time to start the usual collection.
Nanette came out of Number Four, carrying a rug and a bamboo cane,
evidently bent on beating the former on the lawn. Jane drew Jim's
attention to her. Then began a battle of tongues. Jim tried to explain
that this was not allowed. If she wanted to beat the rug, she must do
so in the back garden. Words, none of which either could understand,
grew high; Abigail and Jane joined in, and the place became a veritable
Babel of screaming voices and of wildly waving arms.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn opened his window violently. "What's all this?" he
cried; and he was such an amazing apparition that the voices sank to
sudden silence and the servants rushed, helter-skelter, into their
respective houses.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was finishing his toilet. He was brushing his hair.
It stood out on each side of his head like a sort of double mane, and
his face looked exactly like the representations of a flaming sun on the
cover of an almanac. He was carrying on a conversation with Selina, and
both he and his wife were evidently in a bad humour.
"But, my own Selina," said he, "what was I to do? Be reasonable. I
only wrote and told his lordship the boy was carrying on a clandestine
love-affair.--No, of course I did n't sign the letter.--None of my
business?--Now, Selina, if I had n't wrote he 'd have come again, and
all would have been disclosed. We should have been obleeged to leave
the Walk.--Drat the Walk?--Oh! fie! That is not how my ring-dove
customarily coos.--What? soft words butter no parsnips?--Selina,
Selina--! Does my Selina think she is in her kitchen?--Yes; I know I
've made Miss Marjory very unhappy; but we must make other people
unhappy, if we 're to be happy ourselves. I 'm sorry for her, very
sorry. She's a sweet creature." There was a sound of a broken tea-cup.
"There you go again!--You scold me for making her unhappy, and you scold
me for being sorry. There 's no pleasing you anyhow!"
In his perplexity he had brushed his hair over the top of his head, and
now he looked like an angry cockatoo.
Marjolaine came slowly and dejectedly out of her house. She heard Mr.
Brooke-Hoskyn's voice and glanced up at him, but even his wild and
wonderful appearance failed to draw a smile from her. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn
could not retire, much as he would have liked to. He waved a
conciliatory hair-brush at her, and cried with assumed cheerfulness,
"Ah, Miss Marjory--! How do you do?" then in response to some remark
from his wife, he turned and whispered peevishly, "I must speak to her;
it's only polite. Don't snivel." He addressed Marjolaine again,
deprecatorily, "You are looking a little pale."
Marjolaine drew herself up. It was intolerable that anybody should see
she was in trouble.
"I never felt better in my life," she said defiantly.
"But more like the lily than the rose?" exclaimed Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn with
a fine touch of lyricism; and then to Selina, "No; I am not talking
nonsense! It was a quotation."
"How is Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn this morning?" asked Marjolaine.
"In the highest spirits!" cried Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "My dear Selina," he
explained, turning towards the room, "Miss Marjory is kind enough to ask
after your health, and I am telling her you are in the highest spirits.
Do--not--snivel--she 'll hear you!" To Marjolaine, with a ghastly
smile, "Her gaiety is infectious; positively infectious!" Some hard
object, thrown with unerring aim, caught him in the small of the back.
"Oh, Lord!" he cried. "Excuse me, Miss Marjory; Selina has just
remembered a joke she wishes to tell me. Thus the hours pass in
innocent mirth and badinage. Excuse me!" He turned away. "You really
_are_--!" he cried, almost viciously; and slammed the window, and
disappeared.
But Marjolaine never smiled. She moved as one who had no particular
object in life. She drifted instinctively towards the river-bank
although she knew that strain her eyes as she might the little boat she
had looked for all the week was now less likely than ever to appear. At
one moment she seemed almost inclined to speak to the Eyesore; to ask
him whether he had seen what she had so long been vainly looking for.
But the Eyesore was at that instant impaling a worm, and was altogether
too revolting. She stood a moment looking up and down the stream, and
then turned away with a great sigh.
Mrs. Poskett's great yellow cat, Sempronius, was curled up in the sun
just behind the Gazebo. Marjolaine looked at him. She and he were fast
friends, and in happier times she would have had a friendly word for him
and an affectionate caress. To-day, even that was too much of an
effort. Fortunately Sempronius was asleep and did not notice her
inattention.
Sir Peter Antrobus opened his upstair window and hung the osier cage
with the thrush in it on its nail. He caught sight of the disconsolate
little figure. "Missie, ahoy!" he roared, as though he were hailing a
friendly craft in the offing. Marjolaine started.
"Oh, Sir Peter! You made me jump!"
"Sent a shot across your bows--what?" roared the Admiral.
"How's the thrush?" asked Marjolaine with an interest she did not feel.
"Peaky. Peaky. That confounded cat next door's been watching him.
Seen him about anywhere?"
Marjolaine pointed to where Sempronius was lying wrapped in innocent
slumber. "He's quite safe," she said. "There."
But the Eyesore was between him and Sir Peter, and the latter had to
twist himself into what was for so portly a gentleman a very unnatural
position in order to see him. "Eh? Where?"
"There," she answered, "there, behind the--" she was just going to say
"Eyesore," but stopped herself in time. "Behind the Gazebo."
"Oh, there! Well, if he moves I'll kill him!"
Marjolaine wondered. Could Sir Peter tell her what she so much wanted
to know? Could he, at least, be brought to talk about what her heart
was full of?
"Sir Peter," she said, with as much of her old cheerfulness as she could
summon, and with that pretty way of hers which no one could resist, "Are
you very busy? Could you spare time for a little chat?"
"With you?" cried the Admiral, gallantly. "Hours!" He vanished from the
window and was heard tumbling down his stairs two at a time. I believe
if he had been only a few years younger he would have slid down the
balustrade. Jim told Jane later in the day he had never seen anything
like it.
Marjolaine waited for him under the elm, and pondered how she was to
lead the conversation round to what she wanted to hear.
The Admiral burst out of his house. For once he took no notice of the
Eyesore. The cat, however, did arrest his attention. Sempronius,
scenting an enemy, was blinking at him out of one eye. Sempronius'
attitude towards the Admiral was one of armed neutrality. He knew Sir
Peter bore him no good-will, but he also knew Sir Peter dare not touch
him. Wherefore, although he kept a wary look-out, even the Admiral's
threatening gesture was not enough to make him stir from his sunny
corner.
Sir Peter came to Marjolaine.
"He's sitting there, watching the Eyesore like a tiger. Shows cats have
no sense. 'Pears to think the Eyesore's going to catch a fish! Ha!
Never caught a fish in his born days!" He took both Marjolaine's hands
in his. "Well, Missie; what can I do for you?"
"Talk to me," said Marjolaine.
Sir Peter was flattered and delighted. Their little Missie was coming
to life again. "Ah!--tell ye what," he said, swinging her hands, "If we
had that fiddler here, we might practise the hornpipe!" He whistled
gaily and tried to force her into the step.
"No, no!" she cried, breaking away from him; and then, more gently, "No:
not to-day!"
The Admiral looked at her anxiously out of his one eye. "Oh?" said he,
sympathetically, "In the doldrums?"
"Sir Peter," she cried, impulsively, "was you ever broken-hearted?"
"Lord bless your pretty eyes, yes! Every time I left port."
"Ah! but did the world seem like an empty husk? and did you want to sit
down and cry your eyes out?"
This was much worse than the Admiral had anticipated. He must try to
make her laugh.
"Well, ye see, I could only have cried one out, was it ever-so!"
"Then what did you do? How did you cure yourself?"
"Why, with a jorum of rum, to be sure!"