Читать книгу Waif of the River - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 8

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Having washed and changed his miry garments in that small, snug bedchamber long dedicated to his use and called for some unknown reason "Luff", Robin descended to the spacious taproom, there to be welcomed by Sergeant George and Bo'sun Tom, and, moreover, saluted by a mouth-watering fragrance, the luscious emanation of cloves, lemon-peel and something else, cunningly blended in a large bowl set exactly in the middle of a small, polished table.

"Mr. Robin, sir," quoth the sergeant, smoothing his short, trim whiskers.

"Sir and messmate," said the bo'sun, fingering his shaven chin, "seeing as how your visits aboard is not so frequent since you took up farming them sheep o' yourn, and sich ree-markable black sheep——"

"True enough, Tom, though some are beginning to show a little greyish here and there, and one or two even a spot or so of white."

"Yet a crew o' reg'lar bloody-minded pirates, sir——"

"Cut-throats and jailbirds all!" added the sergeant.

"Precisely, George. And yet maybe John and I shall change 'em into the men they ought to be someday—some of them, perhaps. But," enquired Robin, glancing round upon the many empty chairs and benches, "have we no company tonight?"

"Not a soul, sir!" replied the sergeant.

"Y'see, Master Robin," the bo'sun explained, "if you'd brought a 'dead un' aboard us tonight as they gen'rally are 'twould ha' been business as usual. But yours was a 'live un', consequently her ladyship our commodore is now aworking on and apraying 'eaven's 'ard for this 'live un' to so remain, and, sich so being, our orders is 'silence all', wherefore we're aflying the 'no entry' signal."

"This is a new idea, Tom. There was no such order when I lived here."

"No, sir, 'twere institooted better nor a month ago along of a poor young lass as come ashore and was brought aboard us still alive and there was your lady aunt workin' and prayin' over her like she's adoing now with your woman."

"Not 'my woman', Tom! Good gad, she's nothing to me!"

"Very good, sir; 'twere only a way o' speakin'. However, that's the position, when into the tap here come three sailormen, furriners all, and starts a fight, whereupon George and me and Cap'n Si runs 'em aboard and heaves 'em out, prompt——"

"Which," added George, "caused some bit o' commotion, sir."

"Ay!" nodded the bo'sun. "Consequently to us comes Jemima in tears to call us brutes and savages and tell us as how the poor lass wakes from death to life, but, hearing the din, gives a moan and ex-pires."

"Tom means as she dies o' fright, Master Robin," the sergeant explained.

"Therefore," continued the bo'sun, "this here noo order of 'no entry'!"

"But now, Master Robin, sir," quoth Sergeant George, "my comrade Tom and self begs as you'll sit atwixt us, this being a occasion——"

"Likewise a festive-all!" said the bo'sun, setting a rummer of steaming fragrance into Robin's ready grasp. "So do us proud, sir, by sniffin', sippin' and swallerin' this here as can't be ekalled except p'raps by Jarsper Shrig's 'one and only', and as therefore be worthy to drink present j'y and future happiness to Sir Oliver and his lady Clia, as be our lady, too—and—their first!"

"Ah!" exclaimed young Robin, sighing mournfully. "You mean their—their new baby."

"A boy, sir; a son, and a nine-pounder!" said the sergeant.

"Belay, messmate!" exclaimed the bo'sun. "You talk o' this blessed infant as if 'e was a gun, a fo'c'sle carronade, George! Howsever, sir, we are now charged for to drink long life and happiness to S'Oliver's noo little son and heir, God bless him and them!" So Robin, stifling another sigh, honoured this toast.

"Lord!" exclaimed Bo'sun Tom, setting down his empty glass. "It do seem only yesterday as my lady being then our little Miss Clia, were akissin' and acuddlin' her dolls, and now—doing the same with a real, live baby, her own flesh and blood——"

"Ar, and bones!" added Sergeant George, refilling the glasses.

"Bones?" exclaimed the bo'sun, "Avast now, George; you're off course. Babbies noo-born don't have no bones, same being no more than jelly——"

"Gristle, Tom, gristle!"

"Well, jelly or gristle, here's hoping he may prove now and hereafter a blessing to his ekally blessed mamma——"

"Mother, Tom! Why not 'mother'?"

"Because, messmate, anyone can have a mother; the Quality always and ever has mammas. For d'ye see, when I was sarving aboard the old Belly Sarious, seventy-four, Cap'n Sir Willyam Wills, his lady presented him with a son, which noos comes by packet as we cruised off Too Long waiting for the mounseers to come out if they dared. So the crew is drummed to quarters and we tumbled up lively, hoping as the Johnny Crapaws was out at last. Instead, we was issued with a double go o' grog to drink j'y to the noo infant and happiness to—now mark this, George—happiness to that infant's ma-ma! And wot d'ye say to that now?"

"Why, Tom, I says as how, Tom, when I was in the Peninsula, Battle o' Vittoria, my colonel takes a musket ball in the leg and down he goes flat as a flounder. But myself chancing at hand and being pretty strong in them days, up I picks him and along with him to the surgeon, who, being pretty busy, keeps me to ass-ist. Scarcely is the colonel bandaged and strapped than the post arrives and an orderly brings him a letter which, having read, up he struggles b' means o' me and says he, 'Corporal, it's a boy,' says he, then off they carries him and back goes I to help beat the Frogs, which we surely did! That night after roll-call, up limps our colonel, and, 'men,' says he, 'I'm proud to command you, so that means an extry ration o' rum. I'm gladly proud o' the regiment,' says he, 'so that means another! But I'm happy to inform you I am now a father who hopes someday to be as proud of his son, and this means another. So tonight the regiment will drink all joy and health to'—now hearkee, Tom—'to my little son's mother!'—mother, Tom; and mind you, comrade, our colonel was—an earl!"

"Mother or mamma, George, a oncommonly shipshape infant 'e is, so far as I could ob-sarve."

"Though smaller," said the sergeant; "ar, smaller than expected!"

"Lord love ye, messmate! How big do your expectations run?"

"Well, Tom, say an inch or so each way."

"George, how many noo-born infants have you fell in with?"

"Not so many, Tom, but——"

"Then, messmate, belay your jaw-tackle and let me tell you as he's a right tight little craft and the breathing image of his papa."

"Though pinker, Tom! Ar, 'tis a remarkable pink infant!"

"All infants is pink, messmate, as lobsters—'tis natur'."

"So," enquired Robin, gazing mournfully at his rummer, though it brimmed anew, "you've seen—her baby?"

"Ay, sir, we drove down to Abbeymead along of our lady Rosamond last week and saw the noo arrival."

"And how was—she, Tom?"

"Sir, the infant is a he!"

"He means his mother, comrade."

"His ma-ma, sir, and our lady Clia is marvellous well and happy, Master Robin, and axed when you, sir, was agoing to bear away for sight of 'em. Sir Oliver ex-pects you, so he said."

"Yes," sighed Robin, "I should have ridden down to Abbeymead days ago—only that I've been kept pretty busy of late with those lambs of mine."

"Lambs, sir? Egad, wolves I'd call 'em, for raveenious beasts they are—to a man! Scally-waggy roofians all and jailbirds aplenty, I'll lay—eh, Master Robin?"

"Right you are, Bo'sun!" answered Robin, eyes kindling and powerful shoulders squaring themselves. "Thieves, rogues and rascals they were and would be yet but for Black John and myself. But we are teaching them better things by rule of fist; we out-brute the brutes. We are welding them into a sort of brotherhood, a kind of ragamuffin fellowship. These are the animals John and I are rearing on our farm."

"Ay, Master Robin, but how do these yere baa-lambs o' yourn when your eye ain't on 'em and those fists o' yourn not handy?"

"Fairish, Tom, fairish! Only two cases of petty larceny last week, fourteen of foul language and nine of drunkenness, which is not so bad, considering."

"And how many, sir——"

"Thirty-seven regulars, Tom, but sometimes we feed and sleep as many as a hundred-odd. Ah, we could have ten times as many if only we had room, for our farm, or club, is becoming famous and attracts more of 'em every week. Also we are self-supporting—or very nearly; and clear of debt—almost! We find 'em work for meals and lodging, rough-carpentry, tinsmiths, chairs to mend, knives to grind and what not, and b' George we've an oldish cove, a watchmaker by profession but cracksman by trade who can turn his hand to anything...."

Thus they talked, yet alert and ready all three for any summons from that great kitchen where four devoted women wrought waging desperate battle with that dark angel whose name is Death.

So the hours dragged their weary length, the night wore away, and yet no sign. Midnight struck ... then one o'clock ... then two. Bo'sun Tom, blinking drowsily, bestirred himself to shake Sergeant George, who had snored. Robin was yawning till his eyes watered. And all were yearning for bed, when they roused to the sudden opening of the door and Jemima's voice, strained and hoarse with weariness:

"Master Robin, your lady aunt waits you in Salamander."

"Rightho, Jemima dear," he answered sleepily as he rose. "How's that frightful thing, that wretched woman, now?"

"Pretty well, sir—and a dreadful time we've had wi' her. But my lady'll tell ee."

So forthwith Robin came to that small, cosy, triangular chamber called, now as of yore and for no remembered reason, Salamander, and here found Lady Rosamond leaning back wearily in cushioned elbow-chair, who, smiling wanly, beckoned him beside her, saying:

"Robin, I think and hope your poor waif is going to live and—I am wondering——"

"So am I, Aunt, at your small marvellous self, as I always have done and always shall! For this little, gentle, immensely potent aunt of mine is the absolute incomparable, and—well—there is only one you!"

"Dear boy," she murmured with weary sigh though smile gentle as her voice, "never mind me, at least for the present, and let me tell you of this very strange young woman."

"My dear Aunt, please, no. Instead tell me of—her—I mean Clia, of course. Is she well, and so on? I mean, has she recovered and—well—is she pretty well?"

"Oh yes, quite! But now of this other, this young creature Old Father Thames bore to your arms, Robin, and I wonder why? This woman you saved tonight, don't you wish to hear about her?"

"Not a word!" said he, shaking his curly head. "Women don't interest me now and never will again—never, since Clia was—not for me. Besides, I don't like horrors and dodge all such."

"But, Robin, this is a very beautiful young creature, dangerously so!"

"Well, I don't like danger either—if it's feminine."

"And this unfortunate is superlatively feminine, my dear; and besides beauty of face and perfection of form, she is evidently a person of breeding and refinement, judging by her speech."

"She is able to speak then, and so soon, Aunt?"

"Yes, Robin, though not coherently. She raved quite terribly about some man, or men, and of the river, the cold, dark water. I fear hers will be a dreadfully sordid story, if it is ever told."

"Yet you think she is a lady?"

"I am quite sure of it. For, besides her speech her clothes and linen are of the very finest quality; and besides these again, there is this most lovely and precious thing!" Here, opening her hand, Lady Rosamond showed a scintillating glory that flamed in the candlelight.

"Eh—diamonds!" exclaimed Robin. "And, by George, what magnificent ones! A broach, Aunt?"

"No, the half of a buckle; the other part must have been wrenched away, because her dress, a silk robe, has been torn most brutally."

"Ha, robbery?"

"Yes, or worse, my dear. So it would seem your miserable waif is——"

"Not mine, Aunt; no no! To me she is an abiding horror."

"My poor waif then, silly boy, judging by the splendour of this broken trinket, is not merely a person of condition but of wealth also."

"Oh well, enough of her, Aunt, I beg. Instead do pray tell me all about your last visit to—to Clia."

"Not until you tell me why you have never been near Abbeymead since her baby was born."

"I wrote instead, my dear."

"Yes, I read it, the briefest of notes, Robin, and rather worse spelt than usual!"

"I was never much of a hand at letter-writing, especially to Clia."

"Are you suggesting you still love her?"

"And always must and shall, Aunt—not being a changeable sort of a fellow. Yes, I shall adore her forever, to the end of—well—everything," he replied mournfully.

"My poor, dear, nonsensical boy!" she murmured, viewing his gloomy countenance with wise and loving glance. "But why in the world did you write and tell Oliver of this?"

"Because I thought it right to be open and honest with him, confound him!"

"It has troubled him greatly, Robin."

"Good! Glad of it! I meant it should! Did he tell Clia?"

"Oh no; he merely read your letter to her."

"Ha! Did it trouble her, too?"

"Not in the least. She called you a silly boy and kissed her Oliver."

"Did she, by heaven!"

"By heaven she did, Robin, fervently! And she was perfectly right. You are indeed the very silliest of boys; but then, of course, you are also the very dearest."

"However," he sighed, "I am faithful by nature; there will never be any other woman for me, never! Love's a tomfoolery and I'm done with it for evermore! Yes, I shall live and die without it, b'gad!"

"And you are not twenty-four yet, are you, Robin dear?"

"No, but very nearly. Quite aged enough to know the blasting bitterness of grievous and irreparable loss and eternal grief for—for what could—yes and would have been mine."

"'Blasting bitterness!'" she repeated gently, but with a dimple peeping beside her shapely mouth.

"Yes, b' George!" he exclaimed fervently and quite unaware of this dimple, of course. "And to be perennially haunted by the carking phantom of the happiness that dawned but to fade, the joy that fled, leaving desolation behind!"

"My poor, darling boy!" she sighed, yet with the dimple more in evidence.

"Yes, Aunt, the perfection of bliss that could, would and should have been mine but for—old Noll! And he old enough to be her father!"

"Not quite, my dear."

"Oh well," sighed Robin dejectedly, "for me henceforth must be the path of loneliness and confounded solitude! Yes, instead of wife and children, or even a single baby, I must be content with old John and my deuced black sheep."

"Yes, my dear," said Lady Rosamond, reaching to touch his bowed head. "And it is a truly noble work you are doing, you and your faithful Black John! For, Robin, whoever has comforted one grieving soul or lifted one fellow creature from despair has not lived in vain. And I'm proud of you, my dear one, because it seems you and John are working miracles among the most abandoned and desperate characters. I'm constantly hearing of your work from my own poor folk, the wives, sisters and mothers of your—black sheep. Even Mr. Shrig bears out their testimony."

"Good old Jasper! He hasn't been our way lately, which is just as well, for my sheep panic at sight of him, having had professional dealings with him at one time or another." Here the grandfather clock in an adjacent corner, having wheezed like the very old gentleman he was, struck an unexpectedly musical chime.

"Three o'clock already!" exclaimed Lady Rosamond. "My gracious! You should have been asleep hours ago, Robin, so off with you."

"The same to you, my lady!" he retorted, rising to his splendid height. "So I'll light your ladyship's bedroom candle and kiss your ladyship good night at once, my lady; you shall to your downy couch forthwith!"

"Downy fiddlestick, boy! There can be no sleep for me while that ill-used girl lies so near death. Jemima and Lucy are taking the first watch and I shall doze here waiting for my waif to wake to consciousness and life or sink into the everlasting sleep. And I am wondering which would be best for her and—others! Yes, I'm troubled with a quite unwonted and very strange doubt—which, were I a nervous person, would be apprehension and—yes—fear."

"Yet you say she is a lady and beautiful?"

"Yes."

"Is she dark or fair, Aunt?"

"Dark, my dear. Oh, dark as the old river itself at midnight!"

"As expected, Aunt! And dark women repel me, because I have always adored fair women; I mean Clia, of course—red-gold! I remember the first time I saw her hair—and I then a half-starved little misery; I thought she was an angel and I've worshipped her ever since."

"Her or her hair, Robin?"

"Both, Aunt, as you know right well."

"Yes, my dear, but what I should like to know is—why did our Old Father Thames bear this midnight lady to your very arms, Robin?"

"Chance, Aunt dear; merest chance."

"I wonder!" she murmured, looking up at him with troubled gaze. "For, my dear boy, since making my home here beside our old Thames I have come to regard it as a river—no, the River of Destiny—somehow concerned with each one of us. Which sounds absurdly fanciful, I suppose?"

"No," said Robin gravely, "not to me, because I have always loved Father Thames and looked upon him as a live old thing, who, being so very old, is therefore infinitely wise and—understanding."

"Yes, Robin, because, though immortal, he is so very human—a thing of good and evil, of life and death, pure at his source from the hand of God and glad with youth, deepening as he flows past village and town, growing darker and saddened by experience of human grief, darker yet and fouler with the sin and needless suffering of this great city, yet flowing on—to be purified at last and made glad again in the merciful immensity of God's ocean.... Dear me, how I prose! And all because you and Thames betwixt you bring me this strange, darkly beautiful creature to whom life may be a blessing or curse to herself and others. And consequently I'm wondering who and which and——"

Here came a rapping on the door and Jemima's sleepy voice saying:

"Oh, my lady, she be awake at last and conscious——"

Up started Lady Rosamond and sped away, leaving Robin to sink into the elbow-chair and presently fall asleep. He awoke at a touch, to see the maid Lucy beside him and the new-risen sun making a glory at the narrow casement.

"Eh? Oh, what now, m' dear?" he murmured drowsily.

"Your aunt, sir, do bid you to her this moment."

Yawning, he arose and followed Lucy obediently to a certain door that stood ajar; here he paused to enquire sleepily:

"What's this? Where are you taking me?"

"La, sir," answered Lucy, simpering, "to see your lovely lady, for sure."

"But I have no lady, and want none."

"Oh, Master Robin, I mean the lady as you brought us in your arms last night, then so muddy and horrorsome but now so lovely! Your aunt bids you take a peep at her."

"Eh, a peep at——? No thanks, Lucy; I prefer to remember her merely as an armful o' filth. So tell Aunt I'm off to my black sheep and bid her good morning for me; say I'll see her again as soon as I've visited my lady Cli—the folk at Abbeymead."

But at this moment from beyond this partly open door his aunt's voice arrested him, for in it was a note of command:

"Robin, I want you! Come in, do!"

So, perforce, he entered this room, then halted suddenly; he was aware of Lady Rosamond seated beside the bed, but all he saw was a face, a pallid oval framed in lustrous black hair and lit by eyes vividly blue such as he had never seen; a beautiful face—marred all at once by hate, black brows close-knit above eyes that glared, shapely lips back-drawn from gleaming teeth hard-shut, a slender hand tight-clenched lifted against him as in menace. All this Robin saw ere, with swift, wild gesture this face turned and hid itself in the pillow.

"Lord love me!" he whispered, and, backing out of the chamber, closed the door as against something evil.

"Lucy," said he softly, "you can tell Aunt I've seen—the devil! Yes, b'gad, the evil eye or some such; an infernal brimstone witch—and I'm off!"

"But, oh, Master Robin, wi' no breakfast?"

"By heavens, no! Not with that—that creature anywhere about." So saying, he hastened to the taproom for his hat, and thence sped out and away into the sweet, cool freshness of this early summer morning.