page break

Chapter XX. The Little Cart.

The time seemed long to Mabel, alone there in the cove. She soon got tired of waiting; she had gathered her flowers, and there was nothing to do. The cheerfulness of the day, too, seemed to be gone from it, and the breeze that came blowing over the water had the chill in it that often belongs to August evenings—a warning breath of autumn in the summer sir. Mabel walked up and down a little, waited, wondered, felt half angry with Randal for leaving her, and thought he might have talked to Mrs. Lancaster another day.

Time went on, and the length of it became quite extraordinary. Mabel shivered, and feared it was going to rain. She walked a little way along the beach in the direction that those two had taken; but though she could see what seemed like an immense distance, they were nowhere visible. This was because they were sitting down, hidden from her by rocks; but she did not think of that, and began to feel rather miserable. It was so desolate to be left all alone on this wild beach, with no sound but the splashing of the water and the low rattle of the shingle. Mabel was not a girl to submit patiently to this sort of thing, and after a few minutes more of waiting and reflection, it struck her that she might as well walk home. It was rather a long way for her, past the houses, along the rough lane that skirted the combe, and up the hill to the Castle. She could make it shorter, however, by turning into the field where Anthony and she had first met, and going through the garden that way. Randal would no doubt be alarmed when he came page 179 back and found her gone; but that was no more than he deserved. And the boat must take care of itself.

So Mabel turned the corner of the rocks, and went on with slow painful steps, glad to get off the uneven beach and on the stony road by the houses of the ferry.

One or two of these houses, rough and untidy as they were, had small gardens in front of them. The low stone walls that bordered these were bright with flowers, and a great tall drooping fuchsia made an arch over the gate of one. It was a picturesque place altogether. There was a carpenter’s yard, with old boats and broken carts lying together in confusion, and a scent of tar and wood in the air; there were fishing-nets spread out, and boats hauled up, on the rough slope of beach from the road to the river. A noise of hammering was going on here, and three or four men were standing round one of the boats, which was being mended. One of these men, in his blue jersey, was a very handsome fellow, with a long black beard; another, tall, brown, and sunburnt, with the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, looked like a gentleman. Mabel, as she made her slow progress along the road above, could not help looking at this group. One or two of the men turned their heads and looked at her, and this last one, with a lightning quickness of movement which made his companions stare and smile, pulled down his sleeves, made a dive into the stern of the boat for a blue serge jacket, which he pulled on and buttoned up, and with wet boots and dirty hands walked up the beach towards the young lady, taking off his hat with a smile.

‘How do you do, Miss Ashley? I’m not fit to shake hands with you,’ said Dick.

Mabel forgot herself so far as to blush with pleasure at this meeting. To be met in her trouble and loneliness by somebody at once strong and friendly, though page 180 most untidy and smelling of fish, was anything but disagreeable. Without any reason for it, she felt quite sure that Dick would take care of her and see her safely home.

‘How very strange to meet you here!’ she said.

‘Nothing so strange in that,’ said Dick. ‘I have been out fishing, but the boat sprang a leak, so we were obliged to put in here to have her looked to. But how do you come to be here, in the name of all that’s wonderful? Alone, too!’

It appeared to Mabel that she could not answer this question with any circumstance. She did not wish to talk to him of Randal, and still less of Mrs. Lancaster. In fact, a moment’s reflection showed her that it was all his fault; it was probably about him that poor Mrs. Lancaster wanted to talk to Randal—though that was odd enough. The world was a mystery, and among the most mysterious things in it was Dick’s honest face, with those pleasant smiling eyes that looked so straight and truthfully. Mabel felt again, as she had felt when she saw him before, that her faith in everybody was sadly shaken. If the owner of such a face as that could be a deceiver, it seemed as if no face could tell the truth. Randal, in comparison with Dick, was a whole library of unknown tongues. Dick looked as if he would never wait to be asked what his thoughts were, but would tell them out quite frankly to any one who cared about them. He could have nothing to hide. A shallow nature, some people might say; at any rate a transparent one.

‘I came in a boat,’ said Mabel rather stiffly, ‘and now I am walking home.’

‘You will find that a long business,’ said Dick, with compassion.

‘Yes, I’m afraid I shall,’ said Mabel.

Suddenly, as she stood there, the feeling came over her again of intense loneliness, of weakness, pain, and page 181 weariness, almost more than she could bear. Randal was unkind, and his doings were mysterious; Anthony was far away, and had made it impossible for her to appeal to him; there was no woman to take any notice of her, not even poor Mrs. Lancaster now, absorbed in her own troubles. And here stood a tall strong man, looking at her as kindly as possible, but no doubt thinking her a bore—the very last person, too, in whom she ought to place any confidence—Mrs. Lancaster’s lover, and even in that character ‘as slippery a fish as swam in the Mora.’

But at the same time Mabel’s bones were aching, her head was aching, and she felt that to walk to Pensand Castle was as far beyond her strength as to walk to Morebay itself. She half regretted that she had not waited for Randal where he left her; but it was too late now. She stood with drooped eyes, poking at a stone with her parasol. Then suddenly large tears gathered in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She put out her hand to Dick, and muttered a few words:

‘O, do please take me home. I am so tired.’

‘I thought you were,’ said Dick. ‘I thought there was something wrong. Here, take my arm; come this way.’

Mabel felt much too spiritless to rebel. She was conveyed in under the arch of fuchsia, up the garden-walk, and into a stone kitchen, beautifully clean. Here she was put into a large chintz armchair. A young woman with soft dark eyes came forward sympathisingly.

‘Look here, Mrs. Fenner,’ said Dick. ‘This is Miss Ashley of the Castle. She is out alone, and very tired. Give her a cup of tea, will you? I shall be back in two minutes.’

Dick was a little longer than that, having been delayed by a conversation with the ferry-boy, who came up to communicate what he knew of Miss Ashley’s move- page 182 ments, how Mr. Hawke and Mrs. Lancaster were gone, and the boat was left all by itself. Dick cut him rather short.

‘Well, the boat will be all right, I suppose, unless you walk off with the cushions, which I don’t advise you to do.’

Mrs. Fenner, meanwhile, attended to Mabel with the tenderest hospitality. Her husband was a brother of the St. Denys boatman, and more satisfactory, if not quite so good-looking. He was well off, and owned a cart and pony, besides one or two large boats.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Fenner,’ said Dick, reappearing under the low doorway. ‘I have asked Dan to put the pony in, and to let me drive Miss Ashley up to the Castle. I’ll bring it back. Will you give me some water to wash my hands, please? I don’t feel fit to drive a lady.’

He looked at Mabel and smiled.

‘O Mr. Northcote,’ she said, ‘I can walk perfectly; indeed I can. You are busy fishing. I can’t bear to be so troublesome to you.’

‘I have done fishing for to-day, and the boat is being mended, as you saw,’ said Dick.

‘It’s the cart as ain’t fit for the young lady to ride in,’ said Mrs. Fenner. ‘Nor for you neither, sir. I am ashamed.’

Mabel thought this was the strangest adventure she had ever had in her life. Dick took his place beside her in the funny little cart, and the pony trotted off at once. They made a sudden turn inland, under the cliff, and so instantly lost sight of the houses with their gardens, the wild smiling children with their dark eyes and shock heads, the picturesque group on the beach, Tommy Sale staring with all his might, the broad gray melancholy-looking river. A rough lane indeed it was, with rugged surfaces of rock here and there, winding its way past more stone cottages, and then between the mill and the page 183 cliff, which was here covered with trees and grass. The tide was ebbing fast; the mill-wheel was still, and a great part of the creek was bared to its mud and sandbanks.

Dick was silent at first, and Mabel made use of this time to scold herself very bitterly. How could she be so silly as to give way always at the wrong time?

‘The combe is very pretty, isn’t it?’ she said, determined to talk to her kind driver, and not to be stupid any more.

At that moment the lane began to ascend, and the pony to walk. Dick got down from his place, and walked beside Mabel with his hand on the cart.

‘I can’t imagine,’ said Dick, staring at the narrow channel of water, ‘how Hawke meant to bring you back. He might have done it three-quarters of an hour ago; but the tide ebbs here so very fast. I wonder he didn’t consider that.’

‘How did you know?’ said Mabel; and stopped in some embarrassment.

‘The boy that rows the ferry-boat told me,’ said Dick. ‘I didn’t ask him, Miss Ashley. You did not choose to tell me, and that was enough.’

Mabel was silent for a minute or two, looking gravely straight before her. She reflected that this ferry-boy had no doubt mentioned Mrs. Lancaster’s name too.

‘It was not his fault,’ she said, with dignity. ‘If poor Mrs. Lancaster had not wished to talk to him, we should have gone home some time ago.’

‘Well, it was rather cool of them,’ said Dick, ‘to walk off and leave you alone. They might have chosen another time for their confidences.’

In her heart Mabel agreed with him, though she was amazed at his speaking in this unconcerned way; and it struck her that he really ought to be made to feel what he was doing. Even a girl like herself might do some page 184 good—might give him a hint, without showing that she knew anything.

‘Mrs. Lancaster seemed unhappy, and wished to speak to Randal about some troubles of hers, which were very important,’ she said.

‘O, poor thing! And she joined you on the beach for that purpose?’ said Dick.

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Mabel.

‘I see,’ said Dick. ‘Poor woman! I’m sorry for her.’

Mabel could not help staring at him; for it seemed as if such a monster of hard-hearted wickedness, such a literal wolf in sheep’s clothing, had never come in her way before. Yet was it difficult to show, or even to feel, the proper amount of abhorrence of him. He walked along so easily, with his long steps, one strong brown hand helping the cart up the hill, looking at her, as he spoke, with such fearless eyes, and saying these heartless things in a jolly sort of voice, without any particular pretence of feeling in it. Mabel thought he was a very dangerous companion, and tried to make herself wish that she had insisted on walking home alone.

‘Mr. Northcote,’ she said, in the grave little manner that amused Dick, though at the same time it made him feel half angry with the silly girl, ‘we shall be at the top of the hill directly.’

‘Yes, we shall,’ said Dick. ‘But there is a longer hill afterwards up to the Castle.’

‘But I can walk up that quite well,’ said Mabel.

‘Please don’t take me further than the top of this one.’

‘You must let me do as I think best about that,’ said Dick; and so they went on.

‘Have you had much boating?’ said Dick presently.

‘O no! This is the first day we have been out. I did enjoy it so much. Randal is here very little, you know, so there has not been any opportunity.’

page 185

‘You like him, then?’

‘Yes, very much. He is very agreeable.’

‘One of the pleasantest fellows in the world when he chooses, and the cleverest too. Almost too clever to live,’ said Dick.

‘Is he really?’ said Mabel, hardly aware of the tone in Dick’s voice, which made this a doubtful compliment.

‘Did he do anything great at college?’

‘Not that I ever heard of,’ said Dick. ‘Clever in the ways of the world, I meant. Not so much with books—though I daresay he would be sharp enough to do anything he chose there. Have you seen my aunt again? I have been away, you know, for several weeks.’

‘No,’ said Mabel. ‘We don’t see anybody at Pensand except Mr. Strange.’

‘Have you been to Carweston?’

‘I drove through the village one day with Randal, and we saw Mrs. Strange in the road.’

‘She is a delightful woman,’ said Dick. ‘You ought to know her. There are lots of people about here that you would like, if only you happened to meet them. Suppose we have a picnic—an excursion up the Mora. Randal Hawke and I can arrange it, and ask everybody. Wouldn’t it be fun?’

‘Yes, great fun,’ said Mabel, a little doubtfully; she did not feel sure of Randal’s opinion.

Dick was not discouraged, and went on talking hopefully about his picnic. There was a little steamer at Morebay which would be just the thing to convey the whole party up the river. They might land and dine under some lovely wooded cliffs, and spend the pleasantest afternoon doing what they chose. Then they would come back in the evening, in the splendid harvest moonlight, and land at St. Denys, not too tired to be cheerful and enjoy the drive home.

Dick went off to one or two New Zealand picnics, page 186 which had far surpassed anything of the kind in England. It appeared that they knew how to do things out there. Mabel was amused, and did not make any more attempts to send him back.

Fenner’s stout little pony climbed the last hill; probably it was the first time that he and his cart had ever passed under the old gate-tower, or stopped in front of General Hawke’s door. It stood open, so that there was no need to ring the bell; and Mabel, having been helped down from the cart, stood alone on her guardian’s threshold, to shake hands with Dick and smile her thanks.

‘You are a friend in need,’ she said.

‘Do you remember our journey?’ said Dick. ‘Is it all pleasanter than you expected then?’

‘Yes, certainly it is,’ said Mabel, with a faint sadness under her smile.

‘That’s right. I’m glad to hear it,’ said Dick. ‘Good-bye!’

He got into the cart, and Fenner’s pony went rattling off down Pensand hill at a pace that astonished him.