DRIFTING BACK.
But of every one on board the _Pandora_ Godfrey Harland was in reality
the most nervous and uncomfortable. He longed to be able to shut
himself up in his own berth, and refuse sustenance, but he could not
afford to do it. He felt it was indispensable for him to appear at
meals, and pretend to have a good appetite, and to talk and laugh
loudly, as he had been wont to do, but he was obliged to pay for it
afterwards by drowning his thoughts and dulling his conscience with
copious draughts of brandy. And notwithstanding all his efforts to
appear jolly and at his ease, he could see that his fellow-passengers
were not quite the same to him as they had been before. Although
Will Farrell and Mr Fowler had kept their own counsel, hints _would_
leak out--a word was dropped here and there, or a look given--and Mr
Harland’s companions began to glance shyly at him. His jests were not
responded to; his offers of assistance were rejected; and conversation
was hushed as he drew near. Even Grace Vansittart seemed to avoid him,
and drop her big brown eyes confusedly when they met his. Harland
perceived the general feeling, though no one was brave enough to
express it openly, and it drove him to drink. For two nights he drank
to intoxication; and after some hours of torpid sleep he ascended the
poop deck, where, with bleared eyes and flushed and feverish face, he
leaned upon the taffrail. The nervous twitching of the fingers that
clawed the buttons of his coat, his startled glances and trembling
tongue, showed what havoc the drink had made with him. But the state
of the weather was in his favour. Had not the thoughts of the ship’s
company been occupied with the fog and its possible danger, his conduct
would have been far more noticeable than it was; but all minds were too
much wrapped up in their own welfare to have time to concern themselves
about the doings of others.
As Godfrey Harland left the saloon, little Winnie Leyton escaped from
her mother’s side, and, disobeying orders, clambered step by step up
the ladder, and landed herself on the poop deck. Dodging the officer
on watch, who happened to be Vernon Blythe (who, she knew well, would
soon re-consign her to her mother’s care), the mischievous little imp
concealed her tiny person behind the mizenmast, waiting until the
young sailor had turned his back, and then pattered aft along the
wet deck to Harland’s side. He hated children, and this one beyond
others, because both her mother and sister had always displayed a
marked aversion to him. So, to her innocent questions and remarks,
he made no reply; and, tired of his silence, Winnie ran off to find
a more congenial companion, and commenced to play ‘peep-bo!’ with
the quarter-master on the lee side of the wheel-house, much to the
amusement of that jolly tar. But children soon weary of any employment;
so, after standing on the bench and shaking her arch little head, with
its golden curls, at him through the window for the space of five
minutes, she kissed the helmsman through the pane of glass, and jumped
on the deck again.
‘Tum here, tum here!’ she cried presently, tugging at Harland’s
coat-tail; ‘tum and see dis tunny ting.’
‘Go along, you little beast! Go down to your mother, and don’t bother
me!’ he said angrily, as he shook off the dimpled hand.
Winnie made a wry face, and puckered up her rosebud mouth for a cry.
She was not used to be called by such ugly names, and she did not
understand them. But she summoned up courage to remark, before she did
so--determined, like the majority of her sex, to have the last word,--
‘_Not_ boddering! Dere _is_ a tunny ting--in de water. _Dere!_’
‘It’s only a fish. Run away! I’m busy!’
‘I tink it sark. Do tum and see,’ persisted the child.
‘Where is it then?’ inquired Harland. ‘I suppose you’ll give me no
peace till I _have_ looked at it.’
Winnie pulled him along gleefully, delighted at having gained her own
way.
‘Dere! _dere!_’ she exclaimed, pointing with her little finger to some
object in the water.
But one look was enough for Godfrey Harland. With his eyes starting
from their sockets with horror, he covered his face with his hands.
‘My God! my God!’ he exclaimed, in a voice of agony, as he rushed away
and left the child by herself.
Winnie was terribly frightened. She couldn’t think what she had said,
or done, to make the ‘cross man’ so angry with her; and bursting into
a loud howl, she attracted the notice of ‘Brother Jack’ (as she still
called him), who ran forward, and took her in his arms.
‘Why, what’s the matter, baby? Have you hurt yourself?’ he inquired
tenderly, as he kissed the wet face.
At the same moment he was joined by Alice, who had been sent by Mrs
Leyton to bring the truant back.
‘How naughty of you, baby, to run away directly mother left the cabin,’
she began reprovingly, but stopped on seeing her little sister’s tears.
‘Why, who has made you cry, darling? Not Jack?’
‘As if “Jack” _would_,’ replied Vernon, with mock reproach. ‘It’s _you_
who make _Jack_ cry, Miss Alice.’
‘Much you’ve cried for me,’ she answered, in the same tone. ‘Why,
you’ve looked twice as young and handsome since I set you free. But
what has happened to Winnie?’
‘Man make faces at me,’ sobbed the child.
‘_Man!_ What man?’ demanded Vernon.
‘Dere,’ said Winnie, pointing to the wheel-house.
But when Jack searched in that direction, he found no one. Harland,
trembling with terror, had already hidden himself below.
‘I expect it was Mr Harland,’ said Jack. ‘He was the only person on
deck a few minutes ago. What did you do to make him angry, Winnie?’
‘Sowed him a fis. I specks it’s dere now.’
‘Well, come along, and show it to Alice and me,’ he said, walking aft
with the little child clinging to his hand. ‘We’ll look at Winnie’s
“fis,” and see if we can catch it, and cook it for mammy’s dinner.’
‘Oh, Jack, how _sweet_ you are!’ cried Alice enthusiastically.
She was of a romantic disposition, and occasionally given to these
little outbursts of sudden regret for the lover whom she had
voluntarily relinquished in favour of Captain Lovell. Jack looked at
her with a world of merriment in his soft grey eyes.
‘Don’t be a fool, Alice,’ he said, laughing.
‘Oh! but you _are_,’ persisted the girl, with a suspicious mist
obscuring her sight; ‘you are so kind to everybody. It seems to me as
if you only lived to make other people happy.’
‘You’re very much mistaken then, for I can make myself deucedly
disagreeable when I feel inclined. But let’s look out for Winnie’s
“fis.” By Jove! Alice, that’s no fish! Wait till I get the glasses.’
‘What is it, Jack?’ asked Alice impatiently, as he took a long survey
of the object in question. ‘Can’t you make it out?’
‘It looks like a black log from here; but these glasses are not very
clear. But stay! there is something white on it. Good heavens! it is a
body! It must be the woman who jumped overboard the other night.’
‘Oh, Jack! how _can_ it be?’
‘I can swear it is the body of a woman, and with a black dress on.
Here, Alice, you had better take Winnie below. This is no sight for
either of you. And I must go at once and report it to the captain.’
Vernon Blythe was correct. Strange as it may seem, it was the body of
poor Maggie Greet, which had risen to the surface on the third day.
The _Pandora_ had gone far ahead in the squall; but since then she had
been slowly but surely drifting back again, and was now on the very
spot where she had been three nights before, and the murdered woman
floated on the waters within a hundred yards of her stern.[A]
A boat was lowered at once, and paddled to the quarter, and the corpse
was reverently lifted into it, and carried to the surgery.
There was tremendous excitement throughout the vessel whilst the
doctor’s and captain’s examination of the body--at which they invited
Fowler and Farrell to be present--was going on; but it resulted in no
discovery that could afford a clue to the manner of her death. Her long
dark hair had fallen about her face, having been washed down by the
action of the waves, and her face and figure were much swollen, and
beginning to show signs of discoloration. But there were no marks of
violence to be seen, nor any evidence of a struggle having taken place,
nor the slightest proof that she had been in any way even acquainted
with Godfrey Harland. She still wore Iris’s long cloak, tied round her
throat, but the woollen wrap had fallen from her head. The poor dead
girl formed a sad and solemn spectacle, and Will Farrell’s grief at the
sight of her was profound. After a rigid and careful examination, Mr
Fowler led the poor fellow away to his own berth, fearful lest in his
pain he should say or do something to cast suspicion on the man they
both had in their mind’s eye.
In the dog watch, the body, sewed in a canvas shroud, and heavily
weighted at the feet, was laid on a grating covered with the Union
Jack, and the bell was tolled to announce that the funeral was about to
take place.
The passengers, with serious faces, clustered about the captain and
his officers, who stood close to the grating, and the seamen, dressed
in their Sunday clothes, clean shorn, and holding their caps in their
hands, filled up the background. A burial at sea is one of the most
solemn and impressive services imaginable.
The skipper, officiating in the place of a priest, with prayer-book in
hand--the silent corpse that lies under the flag, ready to be committed
to the deep--the infinite surroundings of water and space--the
unfathomable grave--the words which are pronounced as the grating is
withdrawn, ‘We therefore commit this body to the deep, to be turned
into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body, when the
sea shall give up her dead’--the hollow splash--and the sobs that
often break upon the succeeding silence, form a scene that cannot be
wiped from the memory in a lifetime. There were many things to render
it more solemn than usual on this occasion. The mystery surrounding
the sad fate of the young woman who had been their fellow-passenger
affected most of the spectators strangely; and Will Farrell, although
he had promised Iris to control himself, and his hated enemy, Godfrey
Harland, stood with dry eyes within a few yards of him, broke down so
completely, as the body disappeared from view, that his sobs seemed
to penetrate every part of the vessel. Iris, though scarcely less
affected, made no scene. She trembled like an aspen leaf when she saw
her husband take his place amongst the mourners, and grew so deadly
white that Vernon Blythe (who never took his eyes off her) thought she
was going to faint. But she made a strong effort to recover herself,
and stood silent throughout the ceremony. When it was over, indeed,
and the passengers were dispersing, she walked to the gangway and took
a long look at the water, whilst her tears dropped into it, and she
wished her poor faithful Maggie farewell until the light of another
world should break upon them. And then she turned, and laid her hand
upon Will Farrell’s arm.
‘Come, Mr Farrell,’ she said gently, ‘and _leave the rest to God_!’
As she spoke the words, she raised her eyes, and encountered those of
Godfrey Harland, and in that glance the wretched murderer read that his
crime was known to her.
When the burial was over, and the sailors had resumed their duties, the
bell rang for dinner, but few sat down to it. The women were overcome
by the scene they had witnessed, and even the men were not inclined to
be jolly or conversational after so solemn a ceremony.
‘Farrell,’ said Mr Fowler, as he entered the former’s berth, and
fastened the door securely behind him, ‘I am afraid the examination of
to-day will lead to no results. There was absolutely nothing to guide
us as to the manner of her death. If it did not occur by accident, we
shall have to use other means by which to arrive at the truth.’
‘I feel _sure_ it did not occur by accident,’ returned Farrell. ‘Have
you been able to speak to Harland yet?’
‘I have not. He has been drinking very hard the last few days, and
kept to his cabin, which is in itself a suspicious circumstance. But I
have ascertained from the second officer, young Blythe, that there was
something very strange about his conduct when the body was discovered
to-day. He did or said something that nearly frightened Mrs Leyton’s
youngster into fits. But if he is guilty of the murder, he must be a
very hardened villain, for I watched him narrowly during the burial
service, and I could not detect the least signs of emotion. One thing
only have I ascertained for _certain_, and that is, that he did not
attend dinner on the evening of Miss Greet’s disappearance, neither
did anybody see him afterwards, until Dr Lennard and Captain Lovell
went on deck about eleven o’clock for a smoke, and found him leaning
over the mainrail, and apparently gazing at the water. Of this there
is no doubt. They are both ready to swear to it. Also, that he had so
much chloroform on his handkerchief that the doctor turned quite sick,
and begged him to put it away. Harland said he used the chloroform for
toothache, and so he may have done. But the doctor has an ugly little
story to tell about finding Mr Harland in his surgery on the afternoon
of the same day, without his being able to give a good account of
himself, and also of one of his bottles of chloroform being missing
since.’
‘But what can be clearer?’ exclaimed Farrell.
‘My dear fellow! it may be clear that Mr Harland took the doctor’s
chloroform without his authority, but there is no proof he did not use
it (as he affirmed) for toothache. We can do nothing in this matter
without hard, undeniable proofs.’
‘We shall never do anything!’ cried Farrell despairingly. ‘The brute
will go scot-free. It is always so in the world.’
‘Not always, sir; in fact, _my_ experience is that very few criminals
escape in the long run; and this business won’t be forgotten against Mr
Harland--you may take your oath of that!’
‘I should think I might,’ returned Farrell. ‘_I_ sha’n’t forget it, Mr
Fowler, and if the law doesn’t punish him for it, _I will_. I shall
live for nothing henceforward, but to see that man die as he killed
her. He robbed me of the first half of my life, and just as I hoped I
might live to forget all I had gone through on his account, and find
some comfort in the love of a true-hearted woman, he robs me of her
too, and in the cruellest and most dastardly manner! But he shall
answer for it! I swear before God, he shall live to suffer as she
suffered,--to die hopeless, as she died! If the hangman refuses the
job, I’ll twist the rope round his dirty neck myself!’
‘Hush! hush! you must not speak like that,’ said Mr Fowler; ‘you are
excited, and don’t know what you are saying. Go to bed now, my good
fellow, and try to sleep. You will be worn out if you keep this sort of
thing up much longer!’
‘Yes; I’ll take your advice, and get into my berth. I may as well sleep
now; she’s sleeping under the water, and I can never do her any more
good in this world. And I shall want all my strength, too, Mr Fowler; I
shall want it _for what’s coming_!’
He scrambled into his berth as he spoke, and the kind-hearted detective
having administered a sleeping-draught to him, under the guise of a
stiff glass of whisky toddy, left him to forget his troubles as best he
might.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] A fact.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]