At Half-mast
For once Mrs. Penruddock was mistaken in her calculations. Bevis did not
come back. His supper waited in the oven, and his room over the kitchen
was ready, but the potatoes were spoilt, and his bed was never slept in.
Nobody in Chagmouth had seen anything of him, and all inquiries were in
vain. Day after day passed without bringing news of the truant. When
Mavis and Merle motored over with Dr. Tremayne on the following Saturday
they found sad trouble at Grimbal's Farm.
"It's not like Bevis," proclaimed Mrs. Penruddock. "He's never treated
us in this way before. To run off without a word when he'd know well
enough we'd take his part even if there was a little trouble with The
Warren. We thought he might have gone to his school, and we telegraphed
to the headmaster, but they'd seen nothing of him. We're afraid the
silly lad must have tramped to Port Sennen, and got on some vessel
there. If that's so goodness knows where he may be by now, or when we
shall have a letter from him. If we could only be sure he was all right
we shouldn't mind so much. It's this waiting that wears one out. Young
folks don't think of all it means to their elders when they do these
things. I can't sleep at nights for worrying. The place doesn't seem the
same without Bevis. Such a good lad he's always been too."
Mrs. Penruddock's pleasant face looked quite puckered, and there was a
choke in her voice which she had to cough away. She was busier than
usual, and hurried off into the dairy to serve customers who came for
their Saturday portions of scalded cream. (Chagmouth people could not
eat their Sunday tea without jam and cream on their bread.) She missed
her foster-son's help with the poultry, and in many other matters. He
had never shirked work on the farm, and had always been ready to lend a
strong hand when she needed it.
Mavis and Merle, strolling round the stackyard, agreed with her. The
place was certainly not the same without Bevis. It seemed very slack and
slow indeed now he was gone. To kill time before lunch, while Dr.
Tremayne saw his patients in the surgery, the girls took a walk down the
town towards the beach. Midway in the quaint steep street there was a
spot railed off where people could sit on benches and look out over the
sea. It was a favourite lounge, and two or three old fishermen were
generally there discussing catches and tides, or the village invalids
were sunning themselves and collecting local news. In the middle stood a
flagstaff where the Union Jack was kept flying. To-day as the Ramsays
passed this observation point they noticed that the flag was at
half-mast.
"I wonder what's the matter?" said Merle.
"I don't know. Somebody dead, I suppose, and we haven't heard yet. I
hope it's not the King! Shall I ask?"
"Yes, do. Ask that old man!"
"Oh, I daren't! You do!"
Merle, having more courage with strangers, made the necessary inquiry.
The blue-jerseyed individual whom she addressed pulled his pipe from his
mouth and grunted a reply:
"It's General Talland as is gone. There was a telegram come this morning
from the West Indies. He was only sixty-one. He ought to a' been good
for another ten year or more."
"They do say the climate is awful over there," chimed one of the
loungers, quite willing to discuss the event.
"Ay! He should a' stayed in his native air!"
Other listeners had strolled up and began to give their opinions.
"I don't hold with foreign parts myself."
"Not to live, though it's nice to see them."
"There's always fever about in those hot places."
"He'll be buried out there!"
"And his son was buried in India!"
"It seems as if the luck was against the family."
"Mr. Glyn Williams will be for buying the property now!"
"If he can get hold of it."
"It's what he's been after ever since he came here."
"Well, I suppose he'd make a better landlord than some."
Mavis and Merle were not remarkably interested in General Talland, so
they said "Thank you" for the information they had received, and walked
down to the shore, where they amused themselves till it was time to
return for lunch. When they got back to Grimbal's Farm, however, they
found Mrs. Penruddock full of the news, which she had learnt from some
of her customers.
"It seems trouble on trouble," she declared. "Everybody is saying that
Mr. Glyn Williams will be sure to get hold of the estate now, and with
our lease just falling in, and this business between Bevis and young
Williams which they'll likely not forgive, we may be turned out of the
farm for all I know. I came here when I was married twenty-five years
ago, and Mr. Penruddock was born here. It would break our hearts to have
to go anywhere else."
"Oh, I hope it won't be as bad as that!" said Mavis consolingly.
At lunch-time the girls told Uncle David about the matter.
"Will Mr. Glyn Williams really buy the property?" asked Mavis.
"I don't think he can," replied Dr. Tremayne; "the estate's entailed."
"What's 'entailed'?" said Merle, looking puzzled.
"It's a legal term, which means that a property cannot be sold, but must
always pass to the next heir in the male line, so that the owner really
only has a life interest in it."
"And who is the heir then?"
"A distant cousin of General Talland's, Mr. George Talland, a most
unsuitable man from all accounts. I believe he spends most of his time
gaming at Monte Carlo. Very probably he will make the same arrangement
as before with Mr. Glyn Williams, and will let him the The Warren and
the shooting. There's a possibility, though, that Mr. George Talland and
his son might 'cut the entail'. If owner and heir both agree to sell a
property they can legally do so, and they might care to have the ready
money and settle up their debts rather than only the income of the
estate."
"Pity General Talland hadn't a son to leave it to."
"Yes, poor Austin. He died in India. It must be fifteen years ago now.
There was a persistent rumour at the time that he'd been privately
married out there, and had a son of his own, but no wife and child ever
turned up to claim his heritage, which they would most certainly have
done if they had existed. It was all gossip and hearsay. People love to
invent these stories, but when you come to sift them there's no truth in
them. I'm sorry the estate will go to the George Tallands. The son--also
a George--has six daughters, but no son, so the male line comes to an
end in that direction. That's why I fancy they may cut the entail--to
get a little money for the girls. It seems a sad pity for an old family
to die out absolutely. There have been Tallands at Chagmouth from time
immemorial. After the younger George goes, the name will become quite
extinct. Many of the old Devon families have died away like that for
want of heirs."
The troubles of the Tallands seemed to Mavis and Merle quite a minor
business, however, compared with the overwhelming misfortune of Bevis's
running away. They did not quite know what to do with themselves after
lunch. They would have gone with Uncle David to the Sanatorium, but he
wished to drive a patient up there, and had no room for them in the car.
They might of course have gone to The Warren, where they had a general
invitation to play tennis, but they hesitated, partly because they felt
a delicacy in going without being definitely asked and certain of
welcome, and partly because after what had happened the week before they
were not very keen to meet Tudor. They could not forget the way he had
taunted Bevis, and they had not yet forgiven him for it.
"Gwen would be sure to say something nasty about last Saturday,"
ventured Merle, who had carefully avoided the Williamses at school on
French days.
"I vote we go a walk by ourselves," decided Mavis.
So they set off, and instinctively their steps turned in the direction
of their dismantled bower. They did not, however, choose the upper road
to it, which would have led them over the forbidden fence, but went the
same way as on their first visit, taking the footpath among the woods.
Spring had come since they were there before, and had brought out the
leaves, so that the sea was seen through a screen of greenery. The
primroses were nearly over, but hyacinths were opening like a blue
cloud, and great purple orchises were shooting up. In clumps at the
edges of the cliff bloomed the pink thrift and white sea-campion, and
patches of the yellow lady's-fingers. Merle thought she heard the
cuckoo, though Mavis was certain it was only a little boy who was
anticipating the well-known call. They lingered and loitered for a long
time in the wood, picking flowers and hunting about for birds' nests,
and wishing Bevis were there to find them for them. At last they left
the trees behind, and coming out on to the headland reached the grassy
plateau that jutted out from the sloping cliff.
The cave looked very dark and particularly "spooky" to-day. Merle
peeped timorously inside, and turned away shuddering. Mavis, more deeply
interested, ventured farther. She had neither matches nor candle, and
could only trust to the faint twilight that reigned within. It seemed to
her as if in a dark corner a heap of something was lying. She did not
think it had been there on their former visit. Wild thoughts of
smugglers and contraband goods flashed into her mind. Were there
smugglers nowadays? Was it a bale of silk or a case of champagne that
was being stored there for safety? With rather a fluttering feeling she
crept nearer. It was no case of wine or bale of silk; in the darkness it
looked more like a tumbled bundle of clothing. What could it be? She was
frightened, and almost turned to go; but some attraction greater far
than curiosity seemed to draw her on. She was quite close to it now. Her
eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, and she could just
distinguish the sleeping figure of a boy, covered with a mackintosh
coat.
"Bevis!" she whispered. "Oh, Bevis!"
He roused at her voice, and sprang to his feet with a cry, turning to
her such a white, haunted face that she scarcely knew him. Merle ran
forward from the entrance, and seeing both the girls he came slowly
towards them.
"It's you, is it?" he said. "Have you brought the police with you?"
"Police! Why no, Bevis, of course not!"
"Why should we?"
He put his hand wearily to his head. His face was very pale, and his
eyes were bright and big with dark rings round them.
"No, you wouldn't bring them, I know, but they'll come all the same! I'm
wanted. Wanted by the police. They're after me!"
"Oh, Bevis, don't talk like this! No police want you. Why don't you go
home?"
"Go home! Go to Chagmouth! His ghost would stop me! Tell me, where have
they buried him?"
"Buried whom?"
"Why, Tudor Williams of course--the poor boy that I murdered."
"But Tudor's all right. He wasn't really much hurt. He walked home."
Bevis stared searchingly at Mavis, then shook his head.
"I _know_ he's dead. It's no use telling me he isn't. I murdered him.
Haven't I heard the bell tolling for his funeral? It never stops. I tell
you it never stops. I hear it night and day, and I feel like Cain!"
The girls glanced at one another. Bevis was plainly very ill. He looked
ghastly, and his knees trembled so greatly that he had to lean against
the wall of the cave.
"Where have you been all this week?" Mavis asked him.
"I don't know. Here mostly, I think. I thought I'd walk to Port Sennen
and try to get on board a ship, but somehow I feel weak. Perhaps I could
get off to-night if I tried."
"Come home, Bevis," persuaded Merle.
But he sank down again on to the bed of leaves which he had made, and
drew the mackintosh coat over him.
"It's so cold," he shivered. "First I'm burning hot and then I'm cold.
It's the curse of Cain!"
Mavis took Merle's arm, and drew her outside the cave.
"He's in a high fever, and simply raving," she whispered. "He's not fit
to walk home even if we could get him to try. You go back to the farm
and tell Mrs. Penruddock, and I'll stay here. We mustn't both leave him
or he might wander off somewhere on to the cliffs. Be as quick as you
can."
"I shall run all the way," declared Merle. "Oh, the _poor_ boy. Think of
staying here by himself the whole week."
Mavis went back into the cave, and kneeling down by Bevis tried to
soothe him. She had been ill so often herself that she could sympathize
as he shuddered and shivered. His hands were burning hot, and his great
dark eyes shone like fires in his white face. She told him over and over
again that Tudor was safe; but he scarcely seemed to understand, and
kept moaning that he had murdered him.
"I'm not fit for any one to speak to. It's the curse of Cain," he
repeated.
Meantime Merle, who was swift of foot and had won many long-distance
races at school sports, flew back to Chagmouth with record speed, and
carried her news to Grimbal's Farm. Mrs. Penruddock was in the kitchen.
She ran at once and called her husband from where he was working in the
orchard.
"I'll put the horse in the trap," he said briefly. "We'll go by the
upper road, and then slip across the fields to the cave. Best take his
overcoat and a rug."
Merle went with them, not that she could be of any special use, but
because she simply could not stop behind, and after all she was able to
render a service, for she held the horse while Mr. and Mrs. Penruddock
hurried down the fields to the cave. They came back after a short time
half-carrying Bevis along, with Mavis, looking extremely grave, walking
beside them. They lifted him into the trap, and drove him home, meeting
Dr. Tremayne on the very doorstep.
The Doctor shook his head when he heard of the nights in the damp cave.
"Get him to bed, and we'll do our best," was his verdict. "He has youth
and strength on his side at any rate. Please God we'll pull him round
again. I've seen people worse than he is, Mrs. Penruddock, so keep your
heart up. While there's life there's hope, remember. That's a proverb I
always tell my patients, and one of the best that was ever invented."
"I know, Doctor," gulped poor Mrs. Penruddock. "I know if anybody can
pull him through, you will. But it's hard to see him looking like this
all the same--Bevis, who's hardly had a day's illness in his life
before."