Romance on the High Seas
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“What is it, then, that you would have me say?” said Mrs. Jenkinson, looking at her daughter with a smile of infinite tenderness and delight which she knew was too well-known to be mistaken; but the girl seemed in no hurry to answer the question, so Mrs. Jenkinson smiled. “It’s time I had gone down,” she said smilingly.
She saw that the little woman’s eyes were shining with tears, and thought that it was time to put an end to this. “I’m not going to tell you all my secrets now, Mama,” said Miss Larkin. She looked very pretty, standing in the sunlight with her arms folded across her bosom as if there could be no harm done by letting herself appear ridiculous.
Her smile was so sweet that the words came easily to her lips: “There are certain things one cannot always do.” But the moment they left her mouth, she wished they hadn’t been uttered—she didn’t know why, but something inside her cried out against them being spoken as if she feared some ill that might happen because of this.
And when at length Miss Larkin spoke again, she found herself asking what the name of Mr. Chillingworth meant, and whether the doctor had ever made her aware of a gentleman named Richard Hawkins?
A silence fell between them for a long while. She had not been able to prevent a sense of alarm from coming into her face at the thought that she was doing wrong; yet she felt as if she would like to know more about the young man, who was her brother’s friend and whose friendship might have been useful to Richard if he had known him better.
But before she could finish speaking, there was another knock at the door, and Mrs. Jenkinson’s voice called, “Come in.” The girl heard the sound of steps as Mrs. Jenkinson opened the door wide.
It was plain that the girl was to leave the room, for the old lady was saying that it was time to go back home, which made the girl start slightly. Was it because she wanted to say a word more or less to that person that she wished to remain?
Mrs. Jenkinson turned towards her and said, “Oh dear! I forgot you were expecting someone else—I’ve sent up a message asking him to come here.” She did not speak very loud, nor did her voice ring with any particular note of importance: only a sort of gentle interest shone through it. “He won’t mind waiting for you,” she added, “since he is a guest himself.”
“Who?” asked the girl, still looking rather confused. “Richard Hawkins?” The look on the old lady’s face answered the question for her: Richard must have told his mother everything about what had taken place at the vicarage. And yet she could hardly have expected to be so quickly reassured as her reply showed. “Thank you, Mama,” said the girl quietly.
The old lady’s brows lifted and her eyes sparkled. She had not expected such quick acceptance of the information. A few moments later Miss Larkin was seated on the chaise-longue, and Mrs. Jenkinson sat beside her, holding her hand, while Mrs. Denny brought in tea, and then they drove off together towards home.
“You see, I have been thinking that perhaps the best thing we can do for ourselves is to try and forget that poor young man ever existed,” said the girl.
“Oh! He doesn’t exist to us!” said Mrs. Jenkinson. “We shall never hear of him again—never think of him again.” They both laughed, and Mrs. Jenkinson’s eyes danced. “I suppose there’s no use asking how long your silence will last?”
“I don’t know—but I feel sure we shan’t be tempted to break it,” Miss Larkin said with conviction.
“I am afraid I can’t make you promise that—” said the old lady, smiling.
And Miss Larkin gave a laugh and nodded. Then, having kissed her mother, she stood up and went down to the drawing room where her father was sitting alone.
The sight of Mr. Larkin’s grave and reserved manner reminded her that she wanted to find out whether she was to meet Dr. Chillingworth at the vicarage tomorrow morning. “Mama, you mustn’t go with me, and you must ask Mrs. Denny to stay,” she said.
“Well, I shall do nothing of the kind!” the old lady replied with decision. “If the doctor asks me to wait, I’ll send him to bed without tea, and if he wishes to be angry at it, he need only say he wants a cup of tea, and I shall serve him a glass of water.”
Miss Larkin smiled at her and said, “Mother, you know very well we are not going to the vicarage.”
“It seems to me there might be some advantage,” Mrs. Jenkinson said, turning towards her daughter.
“Why shouldn’t there?” the girl asked, wondering why her mother did not seem to wish her to go. But even before Mrs. Jenkinson could answer, a servant came in to tell her that a gentleman was coming in, and they all went down to the hall.
She had expected the gentleman to come in, but her mother spoke so quickly and seemed so anxious about this meeting with her husband, that the girl did not think it worthwhile to say anything more about it.
The next moment Mrs. Jenkinson said, “He’s got here already? Why didn’t you let him enter?”
“Because you told me not to open the door to anyone except you,” said Miss Larkin calmly.
Her mother turned round and saw who was standing behind her—and the surprise that showed on her face caused her to lose her train of thought for a few moments. The young man stepped forward and bowed, and as he did so there were signs of recognition on his face that made both women stare at him.
But he shook his head slightly when their gaze met, and then they both turned away. There was something strange about him after all, and the fact that he appeared to be somewhat in a hurry added to the strangeness; but neither Mrs. Jenkinson nor Dr. Chillingworth said anything about it.
They both looked at him as though they did not quite understand. His eyes were very bright, but there was something in his look which they both found hard to interpret. For an instant, Miss Larkin felt a curious pang of annoyance that they should keep on looking at him with such a blankness upon their faces, and yet be unable to comprehend who it was that entered with them.
But she also understood that they had no wish to recognize him, and therefore decided not to mention his name either.
“Well, my dear—we’ll go in now—if I may.”
Miss Larkin went to the window and looked out into the street. It seemed almost too dark for her to find her way along the pavement in safety. As she turned round she saw her mother’s eyes fixed on the stranger’s figure standing by the entrance, and then her mother took her hand and led her back into the room.
“It will be better,” she said, “for you to stand at the other end of the sofa. He will probably sit near the fireplace.”
“No, he won’t!” said the girl quickly, looking at her husband’s profile. “You won’t mind if I take off my bonnet and my cloak?” she asked, turning towards him.
There was a certain look in the way he smiled that made her uneasy. She had never seen him smile like that before. The moment she removed her hat and cloak, however, he turned and left the room.
***
A COLD, DRY WINTER HAD COME TO AN END. THE EARTH BEGAN TO GLISTEN AGAIN AND SPRING WAS IN FULL SWING. A MILD, WARM SUNSET WAS PLEASANTLY SPENT AT ROSSETT’S FARM WHERE MISS LARKIN STAYED OVER WEEKDAYS WHILE SHE TENDED HER PARENTS.
Mr. Rossett was a man of few words, and Miss Larkin thought him rather stiff and formal, although he had been ever so much kinder than she anticipated he would be.
He had been surprised at the sudden notice that her father took of his presence but had said nothing about it, and when she asked her mother what he had meant, she answered with a slight inclination of her head that the matter did not interest her.
And yet the question puzzled her, and when the time came that she returned home for the holidays, she resolved to have it put to the test. She knew that it was the proper thing to do—to show the family that they had a right to expect courtesy from Mr. Rossett.
Her parents had been good enough to make it possible for her to live quietly at Rossett Farm during the school holidays without any further expense, and she could not bear to think that she could not give her father the slightest satisfaction for his kindness.
But she must try not to show that she cared in the least whether or not her father acknowledged him. She thought it best to wait until her mother had gone upstairs to dress for the drive.
When Mrs. Rossett came down she did so looking more beautiful than usual, with a flush upon her cheeks, and a look of pleasure upon her face. She wore a light blue silk gown and a wide-brimmed straw hat of deep rose color. She gave Miss Larkin a warm look and a little nod, and said with a pleasant smile, “My love—shall we go down to breakfast?”
Mrs. Larkin went to the table and took up her hat and bonnet, and then stood by the window and waited while her mother arranged her veil and fastened the ribbons in it. She wished that she might have kept her bonnet on, but she could not help thinking how much better it would be if she had worn it inside.
She was sure that her mother did not suspect that it was the bonnet that gave her such uneasiness, but she felt that she was taking some risk by making that concession to the convention. She glanced sideways at her mother and saw her smiling and nodding as usual.
There was no change in her appearance that would betray the anxiety she had felt. Her mother was always pretty and well dressed—and now she appeared to be in excellent spirits.
When they reached the hall door, she was surprised to hear a voice calling her name, and she turned and saw a gentleman coming up from the opposite side of the road.
The sound of it made her start back. She remembered the last time she heard this same name spoken—with terror in her heart, in the churchyard at St. James’s. That night when she had fled from the house to hide in the church she had run into Mr. Rossett’s arms, crying out “John!”
She saw again the tall form of Mr. Rossett, walking up and down the aisle in the church, and then she knew that it must be her father who was calling her. She tried to speak, and the words caught in her throat. She felt as if something invisible had entered between them and cut off communication.
The old spell that had existed between them seemed broken, and she had no power to reach him by ordinary means. She felt afraid—terrified, yet with a faint feeling of relief: she was able to move away from Mr. Rossett and walk straight down the road, without turning to see whether he had followed her or not.
But just at the point where he would have overtaken her she stopped short and looked around. It was only Mr. Rossett, standing there with an attitude of surprise. Then she ran past him to her carriages, which were already waiting.
When they reached the station she got into one carriage and sat down without saying a word—but still smiling, as if she were relieved. She was so glad that everything had gone according to her plan, and that her father could not possibly find fault with Mr. Rossett.
She thought it very lucky that she had been able to escape before she saw him! She had felt sure that he would not approve of the way in which he had treated her father, but she had been unable to tell Mr. Rossett anything of her fears.
She thought of nothing except that Mr. Rossett might take his departure before she reached home. As it happened, though, he remained with her all the way. He had been standing outside in the hall when she drove into the yard. As they drove away he came running after her, but she saw him look back at her from the corner of his eye, and then turn and enter his own car.
The journey was soon over, and she was glad to get out of the carriage and hurry into the house. There was no sign of her mother, so she knocked softly at the sitting room door and said, “May I come in?”
There was no answer, and she opened the door and entered. No one met her, so she closed the door behind her and hurried to the parlor, where she found her mother reading a magazine. She looked up quickly when the door closed and gave her a smile. She asked what she could do for her, and said, “Shall you be going out anymore?”
“No,” she answered.
Her mother nodded with satisfaction and returned to her book.
The End