I GO ADVENTURING
IT was lucky for us that all the house-party were tired that night.
Dancing was often kept up at The Towers until long after midnight; but
on this occasion the strenuous day in the bush had had its effect, so
that a move was made towards bed soon after half-past ten. One strong
soul cheerily suggested finishing up with a bathing excursion to the
beach—and never knew what malevolent brain-waves I wafted towards him
from my nook near the schoolroom door. Fortunately, Dicky Atherton
poured cold water upon the idea.
“Don’t be a lunatic, Billy,” he remarked. “If you haven’t had enough, I
guess the rest of us have. Go and bathe by yourself, if you want to.” At
which “Billy” yawned mightily, and said that bathing alone was a poor
game, and he guessed he’d go to bed, too. They all trooped upstairs, and
I noticed that several locks clicked as the doors were shut. Evidently
the girls had not forgotten the chance of the burglar. I wondered what
would have been their sensations had they known that we were preparing
to convey the suspected burglar out of the house!
I waited until ten minutes after the last light had gone out. The house
was wrapped in deep silence as I stole up the stairs to the Tower rooms.
Mrs. McNab was waiting for me on the landing.
“Come in,” she whispered. “We are all ready.”
Ronald Hull sat smoking in her study. Something of the sneering coldness
was gone from his face.
“You seem to be a most energetic planner,” he greeted me. “It was a
lucky chance that brought you in here this evening, though at the time I
must admit that I thought it a precious unlucky one. Are you sure you
can run the boat?”
“Quite sure,” I told him coldly. I couldn’t bear his face or his manner:
he repelled me as a snake repels. It was difficult even to be civil to
him.
There were many parcels and packages on the floor, ready for carrying.
Mr. Hull was still dressed like Mrs. McNab, but he carried a pile of
men’s clothing over his arm.
“Well, we might as well make a start, if you think it’s safe,” he said.
“This stuff will need more than one trip.”
It needed three, since Mrs. McNab could carry very little. Laden like
camels, we crept down the kitchen stairs, across the crunching gravel of
the yard, and over the paddock, stowing our burdens in the launch that
lay beside the little jetty. Backwards and forwards we went, almost
running on the return journeys to the house: the dread of detection
suddenly heavy upon us, so that every clump of tea-tree seemed to
contain the lurking shadow of a watching man. Just as we were leaving
the yard on our last trip, Mr. Hull well ahead with the heaviest
burdens, a window at the rear of the house was suddenly flung up. Mrs.
McNab and I stopped, petrified with fear. A voice shrilled out, that was
unmistakably the product of the County Cork: a voice in which wrath
struggled valiantly with nervousness:
“Who’s there? Tell me now, or I’ll loose the dogs on ye!”
“Answer her quickly!” I whispered.
“It is I, Julia,” said Mrs. McNab in icy tones. They were really the
only accents she could command, for she was shaking with dread; but they
must have sounded sufficiently awe-inspiring to Julia, who ejaculated,
“Howly Ann, ’tis the misthress!” and slammed down her window. We took to
our heels and fled after Mr. Hull.
At the shore we lost no time, Julia’s outcry might easily have aroused
the house, and for all we knew we might be followed already; so we
hurried Mr. Hull into the launch, not daring to risk delay while he
changed his clothes, which could just as well be done at the Island. He
grumbled a little, saying that he was sick and tired of living in
women’s garments; at which Mrs. McNab fixed him with a glance that, even
in the moonlight, must have been daunting, for he broke off in the
middle of a remark, and only muttered under his breath—Mrs. McNab took
the tiller, and I switched on the engine. And it would not start!
The minutes went by while I tinkered with every gadget I could find in
that abominable box of machinery. Mrs. McNab—how I loved her for
it!—sat absolutely silent, betraying no sign of impatience; but
presently her brother grew restive, and demanded angrily, “Won’t she
start?”—a query that seemed to me so singularly futile that I deigned
no answer. I tried everything that I could think of, and still no
response came from that very engine which had purred so happily on our
piratical expedition a few hours before. Ronald Hull broke out rudely at
last.
“I might have known as much! What fools we were, Marie, to believe in a
self-satisfied school-girl! We might as well unpack the boat and go
back—we can’t sit here until daylight comes and somebody finds us!”
“Oh, hold your tongue, Ronald!” Mrs. McNab said wearily. “We are doing
our best for you. And let me assure you that, whatever happens, you are
not going back to my house.”
He subsided at that, with an ill-tempered grunt. And then, I don’t know
in the least what I did—possibly my wrath communicated itself to the
spanner I was using—but the engine suddenly began to spit, and then to
purr. I heaved a sigh of relief, echoed by Mrs. McNab; and in a moment
we were slipping away from the jetty and heading towards the opening of
the bay. I took the tiller from Mrs. McNab, and in silence we shot
across the moonlit water.
Having recovered from its fit of bad temper, the engine decided to
behave beautifully. Its even throb was music in my ears. It was a still
and perfect night, a night of moonbeams and starshine and peace, in
which the load of anxiety and evil that we carried seemed to have no
part. Beyond the headland, when we turned westward, the sea rose in
long, gentle swells on which we rocked lazily as the launch sped
onwards. Every tiny island was a dim place of mysterious beauty. No
sound reached us, save, now and then, a seabird’s cry. None of us spoke.
Ronald Hull lit a cigarette and sprawled across the bow, looking ahead:
beside me, his sister leaned back, and on her white face was the
beginning of peace. So we travelled across the gleaming water, until
Shepherd’s Island loomed ahead, and I slowed down the engine, looking
for the opening to the tiny bay where we must land. Soon it came into
view. I ran the launch carefully beside the shelf of rock, and Ronald
Hull sprang out with a rope.
We made fast, and landed. One after another Mr. Hull passed out the
packages, until the launch was empty.
“You’d better go ahead with the lighter things,” he said. “I’ll change
in the boat. Is it safe to show a light to guide me to this hut of
yours?”
“I do not think it would be wise,” Mrs. McNab answered. “But you cannot
miss it—it is only a stone’s-throw away. Whistle softly when you are
ready, and we will come back.”
We left him, and went up the slope with what we could carry. Mrs. McNab
had brought a lantern, but, even had we dared to use it, we did not need
it; although the moon was thinking of setting, the night was wonderfully
clear and bright. We opened the sagging door of the hut to its fullest
width and put in our bundles—I wondered if Mrs. McNab was as much
afraid of spiders in the dark interior as I was, or if her mind rose
superior to such earthly considerations. Personally, I cannot imagine
any circumstances in which the thought of a spider in the dark will have
lost its power to give me chills down the back.
A low whistle came to us as we descended the slope, and we reached the
shore to find Mr. Hull arrayed in his own garments, and looking
decidedly more cheerful.
“Thank goodness for my own kit!” he remarked. “Your clothes have been
very useful, my dear Marie, but skirts are ‘the burden of an honour unto
which I was not born,’ and I’m uncommonly glad to see the last of them.
We’d better get this stuff up as soon as possible; you two must hurry
away.”
We loaded ourselves again, and returned to the hut. Our passenger was
not excited by its aspect.
“Pretty dingy sort of hole!” he remarked, peering into the darkness
within. “Thank goodness it’s a warm night: I’ll roll up in my blankets
under a tree. There are probably several varieties of things that creep
and crawl inside that shanty.”
“You will remember to keep out of sight of the mainland in daylight,
Ronald?”
“Oh yes—I’ll be careful,” he answered lightly.
“I hope you will. You should conceal everything in the morning, as soon
as it is light—there are rocks and hollows all over the island—you
will have no difficulty in stowing everything away. Do remember that
there will be many watchful eyes along the coast during the next few
days: you cannot be too cautious.”
“Well, you’ve done all you can for the present, so you needn’t worry,”
her brother replied. “If they get me now it will be plain John Smith
they will get, who does not know of even the existence of such a place
as The Towers, or such a family as that of McNab! When may I expect to
see you again?”
“We will come in three or four nights—it is impossible for me to say
exactly when I can get away unnoticed. By that time there may be news
from Adelaide about your future movements. You will have to listen for
the beat of the engine—we will try not to be later than ten o’clock.”
“Right,” he said. “Whistle three times when you stop, so that I may know
for certain that it is your engine and not a police-boat’s. I suppose
you can whistle, Miss Earle?—you look as if you could!”
“I suppose you can carry up the remainder of these things?” I gave back
icily. “It is quite time I got Mrs. McNab home—she is tired out.”
“Let us go,” Mrs. McNab said hastily. I believe she knew that I hungered
to throw things at him. “Remember, by the way, Ronald, that if bad
weather comes we may be prevented from taking out the launch—you had
better husband your provisions. We will do the best that we can for
you.”
“You’ve certainly done that always, Marie,” he admitted ungraciously.
“I’ve no doubt you’re deeply thankful to be rid of your Old Man of the
Sea for a time. Well, I hope it will be for good in a few days—I
promise I won’t come back again if once I get to America.”
I was already in the launch, starting the engine. Mrs. McNab took her
place, and Mr. Hull cast off the rope.
“Good night,” he said. Mrs. McNab answered him, but I pretended to be
deeply occupied with the engine, and said nothing. We slid away gently
from the rock, and in a moment the Island was only a dim blur behind us.
I believe we both enjoyed the voyage home, although scarcely a word was
spoken. Mrs. McNab relaxed limply into her corner of the seat, smoking
so slowly that twice she let her cigarette go out, when she would flick
it away into the water and light a fresh one—she managed wonderfully
with her one hand. As for me, I could have purred as contentedly as did
the engine. It was good to be without that evil presence in the launch;
better still to think that The Towers that night would be free from its
blight. I liked to think how welcome would be the solitude of her eyrie
in the tower to the tired woman beside me. Whatever the future might
hold for Mrs. McNab and her brother, I firmly believed that we had done
a good job in transferring him to Shepherd’s Island, where his
unpleasant temper would be restricted to gannets and gulls. It gave me
serene pleasure to think how dull he would be. When Mrs. McNab
recollected presently, with an exclamation of annoyance, that she had
omitted to pack for him a good supply of tobacco, I fear I chuckled
inwardly. I had small sympathy for Mr. Ronald Hull.
We swung round into Porpoise Bay and ran across to the jetty, slowing
down to lessen the sound of the engine, and watching keenly ahead in
case anyone should be prowling on the shore.
But there was no one: all was dark and silent, save for the waves
lapping gently against the jetty piles. I made the launch fast, while
Mrs. McNab gathered up her brother’s discarded dress, and, hurrying
across the paddock, we gained the house unseen, and felt our way up the
dark kitchen stairs.
Mrs. McNab came into my room, closing the door as I switched on the
light. She put her hand on my shoulder, and I saw that her eyes were
full of tears.
“You are a very brave girl, my dear,” she said. “I shall sleep to-night
in the nearest approach to peace that I have known for a long while, and
it is thanks to you. A month ago you were a stranger to me, and yet
to-night you have done me a service I could not ask from my own son.”
I mumbled something idiotic. Nothing that evening, unless it were the
time when the engine would not start, had been so terrible as this!
“You do not want to be thanked, I know,” she went on. “And, indeed, I
have no words to thank you. But I hope that you will never think hardly
of me for having allowed you to shoulder my burden—I know I should not
have done it, but it was growing too heavy for me. You came to me like
an angel of help. I hope you will always let me be your friend.” She
stooped and kissed me, and then, like Julia’s “grey ghost,” she was
gone.