Читать книгу Englefield Grange; or, Mary Armstrong's Troubles - Mrs. H. B. Paull - Страница 5

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The afternoon sun of early summer shone brightly on the arm of the sea which joins the Solent at West Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. A few boats were moored alongside the landing-place, but as the season had not yet commenced, the boatmen were standing about idle, scarcely hoping for a fare.

Presently three ladies and a little boy were observed descending the steps, and one of the men, with whom the ladies seemed acquainted, hastily advanced, and touching his cap, exclaimed—

"Want a boat, ma'am, to-day? splendid tide!"

The lady was about to reply, when her youngest daughter, a beautiful girl of about eighteen, touched her on the arm, and exclaimed—

"Oh, mamma, look at the waves; is not the sea very rough to-day?"

"Lor', no, Miss," replied the man, "that's only a little ripple, caused by the fresh breeze; the boat 'ill sail beautiful if you're going up the Solent, for she'll have wind and tide in her favour."

Maria St. Clair looked above and around her as the man spoke, and truly the sea presented a charming aspect of crested, tiny waves, rippling in the breeze, and sparkling beneath the sun, shining in a sky of brilliant blue.

Her fears almost gave way at the sight, yet her sister's remark, although it shamed her into silence, did not complete the cure.

"Why, Maria, how can you be so foolish? If you had sailed to India and back, as I have done, you would laugh at your fears of a sea like this."

"You shall not venture, my dear," said her mother, who wore a widow's costume, "unless you feel quite willing to do so."

"Oh, thank you, mamma, but I would rather go with you. I want to conquer this nervousness on the water; why, even on a steamer I always feel afraid."

While they talked the men were launching a prettily-rigged pleasure boat, the colours of green and gold with which it was painted gleaming in pleasant contrast with the rippling water; and over the seats in the stern an awning was stretched to protect the ladies from the sun's rays.

Mrs. St. Clair and her elder daughter, Mrs. Herbert, with her little boy of four, were, however, safely seated in the boat before Maria could make up her mind to follow them.

At a part of West Cowes near this landing-place stood a row of private houses, the back windows overlooking the sea, and the gardens reaching down to it protected by a sea wall. As in Devonshire, the foliage of this beautiful island in some part stretches down to the water's edge, and gardens near the sea are often well filled with roses and other summer flowers in profusion.

In one of these gardens, and very near the boundary wall against which the high tide dashed pleasantly, stood a gentleman earnestly watching the embarkation of the party in the pleasure-boat.

His dress was more like that of the yeoman of those days than the seaside costume of a gentleman. The thick shoes and drab gaiters, part of the customary garb of a farmer, were, however, concealed by the garden wall, and when for a moment he took off the white, low-crowned beaver hat, and rubbed his fingers through his hair, the face and head were those of a handsome man of the intellectual type. Regular features, clear olive skin, dark sparkling eyes, hair, eyebrows, and whiskers of almost raven blackness, and a certain air of refinement, were certainly not quite in character with his homely attire.

"Where have I seen that face?" he said to himself, as Maria St. Clair paused irresolutely with one foot on the prow of the boat. "It is very beautiful."

And the gentleman's reflections were not far wrong. Plainly, but tastefully dressed, the lithe figure slightly bent forward in a shrinking, yet graceful attitude, and the outstretched tiny foot were attractive enough to excite notice. But the face truly deserved the epithet bestowed upon it by the lounger in the garden. Fair at this moment, even to paleness, the delicately-chiselled features, the half-opened lips, expressive of fear, and exposing the pearly teeth, and the long fair ringlets that fell on her shoulders made up a picture which when once seen was not easily forgotten. Such a face is often supposed to belong to a woman devoid of character or insipid, but from this appearance it was saved by marked eyebrows darker than the hair and violet eyes shaded by long dark lashes.

While thus Edward Armstrong stood making a photograph of the young girl on his memory, he recalled the fact that he had seen her at church on the previous Sunday as one of the pupils of a ladies' school, and had been attracted to notice her by her retiring timid manner, which to him formed her greatest charm.

He remained to watch till he saw her safely seated in the boat with the other ladies, and then, as the rowers turned in the direction of the Solent, he found himself observed by the ladies. At once, but not abruptly, he left his post of observation, saying to himself, "I'll find out the name of that fair lassie from my landlady; she has lived here many years and knows everybody." At the garden door he met the very person of whom he thought, and she at once opened the subject without requiring him to "beat about the bush" for that purpose.

"You've been watching the ladies embark, sir," she said; "it's a lovely day for a row or even a sail, if they like. Mrs. St. Clair and her daughter, Mrs. Herbert, often hires that boat for themselves, but it's the first time I've ever seen Miss Maria on the sea, except in a steamboat; she's very much afraid of the water."

"Is Mrs. St. Clair a visitor?" he asked.

"Well, sir, in one way she is, for she's visiting her daughter, Mrs. Herbert, who resides here with her little boy. Her husband, Captain Herbert, is in India, and she came over about twelve months ago, on account of her health.

"Mrs. St. Clair has a house near London, and she's a real lady, sir," continued the old woman, glad to have for once an interested listener. "She's one of the Elliots; they're a Warwickshire family, and she married the Honourable Mr. St. Clair, a grandson of Lord Selmore's. He wasn't very well off, sir—you know those younger sons seldom are—and when he died, about five years ago, he left his widow a very small income, and nothing for his three daughters."

"And is Mrs. Herbert the eldest?" he asked.

"No, sir; Miss St. Clair, when she was only twenty, married a rich admiral fifty years of age, and now she's Lady Elston. But for my part I can't understand how a woman can marry a man so much older than herself, just for money and a title. Miss Helen, that's Mrs. Herbert, made the best match. Captain Herbert's not much older than she is, and he's got private property besides his pay. She was very high-spirited and independent, and would go and be a governess, and I think Miss Maria, that's the youngest, wants to do the same now she's left school, but her mamma wont hear of it because she's so timid; all the young ladies are very clever and accomplished. But I beg your pardon, sir, I'm keeping you standing to listen to my gossip, and I daresay you want your tea."

"Yes, if you please, Mrs. Lake, as soon as you like," and Edward Armstrong turned into his parlour, forming a resolution in his mind that by some means or other he would prevent the possibility of Maria St. Clair ever becoming a governess.

It had cost the timid girl a strong effort to enter the boat; she tottered, and would have fallen more from fear than from the rocking of the boat, had not the man held her firmly, and even when first seated, she held on with both hands while the rowers brought the boat round, and could not feel secure till they were rowing gently with the tide.

After awhile her sister remarked, "This is pleasant now, is it not, Minnie?"

"Oh, yes, delightful," she replied, "and I'm so glad you and mamma persuaded me to come, for I'm tired of being laughed at, and called a coward; why, even little Charlie does not seem afraid!"

"Not he, are you, my pet?" continued his mother, addressing her boy.

"No, mamma, not a bit; I like it better than riding in a coach or a train."

For some distance they continued their course towards Ryde, till Mrs. St. Clair, looking at her watch, and finding they had been out more than an hour, expressed a wish to return. She had noticed also that the breeze stiffened as the sun approached the west, and although no thought of danger entered her mind, she was unwilling to wait for a rough sea to alarm her timid daughter. The tide had turned, and therefore the return would, she knew, be as free from difficulty on that score as on the way out, but the wind would be against them, and create, of course, an uneasy motion of the boat.

It was as she expected. The removal of the awning became necessary, and the rocking of the little craft during this performance so alarmed poor Maria that she became completely unnerved, nor could all the efforts of her friends and the boatmen reassure her. However, at times they were sheltered, and although Maria felt a motion which thrilled through the boat as it battled with the waves roughened by the wind, she was becoming more at ease, and by the time they passed Osborne House, not then a royal residence, and came in sight of the houses of West Cowes, she was positively beginning to enjoy her trip, and could talk pleasantly to her mother and sister.

Meanwhile Edward Armstrong sat at his solitary tea-table wrapped up in his own thoughts. Mrs. Lake came in to fetch the tea-things, but he did not speak. She roused him, however, by one remark—

"The ladies have got a beautiful evening for their trip, sir," she said; "they generally stay out two hours, but they started later than usual this evening—I suppose because the days are getting longer, and they're not back yet."

"It is a beautiful evening," replied the young man, rising and going to the open window; "I may as well have a stroll by the sea as sit here."

"So I thought, sir," was the reply, "and that's why I mentioned it."

Edward Armstrong smiled as he left the room, unprepared for the events of an evening which for his whole life would never be obliterated from his memory.

When he reached the village street, and turned down by the landing-place to the beach, the change from the costume of the afternoon to a suit of black, and a black hat with a crape band, made his appearance entirely that of a gentleman; there was nothing of the farmer's slouch in the tall, well-built, erect figure, and manly carriage.

He wandered on the beach for some time, enjoying the sweet freshness of the sea-breeze and watching the rippling waves, over which the approach of sunset threw a glow of crimson and gold; now and then, however, casting glances in the direction of Ryde, with a hope of once more beholding the face that had so completely enthralled him. The church clock struck seven, and presently, as he stood at a point a little beyond the battery from which royal salutes are now fired, he saw the Southampton steamer coming round a point of land at a little distance. He, with others, walked quietly on towards the landing-place, actuated by the curiosity as to new arrivals which generally besets occasional residents at the seaside.

But his attention was quickly withdrawn from the steamer. In the direction of Ryde he could see the green and gold of the pleasure-boat as it approached, struggling against the wind, which made her progress difficult and uneasy.

The rowers were evidently making for the point from which the boat had started, not very far from the spot where the steamer now lay, blowing off her steam, yet easily reached without danger of being run down, even if she moved before they could do so.

But the steamer had already created a difficulty, for when the boat entered the point where the waters unite, she encountered also the swell made by the paddle-wheels. Steadily the men plied their oars, while the boat, dancing and rolling on the surge, caused by the united effects of the wind, the steamer, and the double currents, attracted the attention of others besides Edward Armstrong. He could distinguish the ladies clearly as the men neared the shore. He saw the pale face and the violet eyes of Maria St. Clair fixed upon the steamer with painful intenseness; he saw the little gloved hands clasped on her lap, as if by that violent pressure she could prevent the steamer from moving. The men were bending all their strength to the oars, as with rapid strokes they made for the landing-place. Nearer and nearer came the boat till within fifty yards of the shore. The spectators scarcely breathed as it passed under the stern of the steamer, no one on deck seeming to notice it. Would they reach the shore before it moved?

"Is there any danger?" was eagerly asked.

"No; boats like that would ride the wave safely—besides, the men are becoming used to steamers now, and sailors can always avoid danger."

Alas! not always. At this critical moment the steamer moved from the pier, its paddle-wheels backing slowly to make the turn towards Ryde more easily; from beneath them the foaming water rolled in eddying, agitating circles, swelling the already disturbed waves. Upon one of these the boat was lifted, and then to the terrified occupants appeared to be sinking headlong into the trough of the sea.

Edward Armstrong stretched out his arms as if to avert the impending danger. He had seen the young girl rise from her seat, and as she tottered from the consequences of this almost always fatal act, she caught at her little nephew's arm, and the next moment they were both struggling together in the surging water.

There were screams on the shore—running to and fro—a cry for ropes—the stoppage of the steamer, from which a boat was quickly lowered; but unexpected help was nearer at hand.

A gentleman on the beach was seen to throw off his coat and hat, and plunge into the boiling waves. In a few moments he returned with the little boy in his arms, for whom many hands were eagerly held out. He paused not a moment, but struck out again towards the spot at which he had seen the young girl fall overboard.

The rowers had hastened on to the shore, in order to land the alarmed mother and sister in safety, they then quickly proceeded to the spot where the boat from the steamer had already arrived with ropes.

Amongst the anxious spectators on shore stood Mrs. Lake, who, the instant she saw Mrs. St. Clair and her daughter, rushed towards them, exclaiming, "Oh pray, ladies, do not stay here, the gentleman is sure to save Miss Maria, he's my lodger, and——"

At this moment Mrs. Herbert started forward, she had seen her boy carried from the water and ran to meet him.

"Take the little boy to my house, Mrs. Herbert, pray do," cried the excited landlady; "it's close by, and he'll want attention directly."

Too bewildered to refuse, and anxious also to remove her mother from the scene of excitement, for Mrs. St. Clair seemed ready to faint as she stood, Mrs. Herbert took her arm, and together they followed the man who carried little Charlie.

"You know where it is, Tom," said Mrs. Lake to the man; "take the ladies, I'll be there directly; I must stay and see if Mr. Armstrong saves that dear young lady," she added to herself, as she turned back to the shore.

Meanwhile the men had cheered the stranger as he plunged a second time into the waves, but he remained more than once so long under water when diving, that fears were entertained for his own fate. There was a pause. At last, amid the shouts of the spectators, he rose to the surface, but so faint and exhausted that he had only sufficient strength to give up the apparently lifeless body of Maria St. Clair to the men in one of the boats. He would himself have sunk after doing so, had he not been quickly seized by ready hands and dragged into the boat.

A few moments brought them to shore, amid the cheers of the spectators, who were, however, hushed to silence when Maria St. Clair and her deliverer, both to all appearance dead, were lifted out of the boat.

"Oh dear! oh, sir! Mr. Armstrong, and Miss Maria too!—oh, that I should live to see this day!"

"Hush! that outcry will do no good," and the voice of the doctor stayed the useless complaints of Mrs. Lake. "Is there any house near to which this lady can be taken?"

"Oh yes, sir," she replied, "mine is close by; Mrs. Herbert's there now with the little boy, and the gentleman's own apartments are at my house."

But Edward Armstrong had by this time so far recovered, that with assistance he was able to leave the boat and follow on foot the bearers of that lifeless form to his own apartments, with trembling steps and a sinking at his heart.

He was met at the door by Mrs. St. Clair and Mrs. Herbert. The former in dismay at her daughter's appearance, could not utter a word, but Mrs. Herbert, as he entered, held out her hand, and clasping that of her child's deliverer, she exclaimed, "God bless you, sir, I can never repay you for what you have done." He had no heart to reply, but he pressed the hand he held, and turned towards his own bedroom with the painful thought that all his efforts, even at the risk of his own life, had been unsuccessful in the case of Maria St. Clair.