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Jeanne Of The Marshes, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 1 - Chapter 12 |
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_ BOOK I CHAPTER XII The man who stood with a telescope glued to his eye watching the coming boat, shut it up at last with a little snap. He walked round to the other side of the cottage, where Andrew was sitting with a pipe in his mouth industriously mending a fishing net. "Andrew," he said, "there are some people coming here, and I am almost sure that they mean to land." Andrew rose to his feet and strolled round to the little stretch of beach in front of the cottage. When he saw who it was who approached, he stopped short and took his pipe from his mouth. "By Jove, it's Cecil," he exclaimed, "and his friends!" His companion nodded. He was a man still on the youthful side of middle age, with bronzed features, and short, closely-cut beard. He looked what he was, a traveller and a sportsman. "So I imagined," he said, "but I don't see Ronald there." Andrew shaded his eyes with his hand. "No!" he said. "There is the Princess and Cecil, and Major Forrest and Miss Le Mesurier. No one else. They certainly do look as though they were going to land here." "Why not?" the other man remarked. "Why shouldn't Cecil come to visit his hermit brother?" Andrew frowned. "Berners," he said, "I want you to remember this. If they land here and you see anything of them, will you have the goodness to understand that I am Mr. Andrew, fisherman, and that you are my lodger?" Andrew's companion looked at him in surprise. "What sort of a game is this, Andrew?" he asked. Andrew de la Borne shrugged his shoulders and smiled good-naturedly. "Never mind about that, Dick," he answered. "Call it a whim or anything else you like. The fact is that Cecil had some guests coming whom I did not particularly care to meet, and who certainly would not have been interested in me. I thought it would be best to clear out altogether, so I have left Cecil in possession of the Hall, and they don't even know that I exist." The man named Berners looked up at his host with twinkling eyes. "Right!" he said. "So far as I am concerned, you shall be Mr. Andrew, fisherman. Will you also kindly remember that if any curiosity is evinced as to my identity, I am Mr. Berners, and that I am here for a rest-cure. By the by, how are you going to explain that elderly domestic of yours?" "He is your servant, of course," Andrew answered. "He understands the position. I have spoken to him already. Yes, they are coming here right enough! Suppose you help me to pull in the boat for them." The two men sauntered down to the shelving beach. The boat was close to them now, and Cecil was standing up in the bows. "We want to land for a few minutes," he called out. "Throw a rope, then," Andrew answered briefly. "You had better come in this side of the landing-stage." The rope was thrown, and the boat dragged high and dry upon the pebbly beach. The Princess, after a glance at him through her lorgnette, surrendered herself willingly to Andrew's outstretched hands. "I am quite sure," she said, "that you will not let me fall. You must be the wonderful person whom my daughter has told me about. Is this queer little place really your home?" "I live here," Andrew de la Borne said simply. Jeanne leaned over towards him. "Won't you please help me, Mr. Andrew?" she said, smiling down at him. He held out his arms, and she sprang lightly to the ground. "I hope you don't mind our coming," she said to him. "I was so anxious to see your cottage." "There is little enough to see," Andrew answered, "but you are very welcome." "We are sorry to trouble you," Cecil said, a little uneasily, "but would it be possible to give these ladies some tea?" "Certainly," Andrew answered. "I will go and get it ready." "Oh, what fun!" Jeanne declared. "I am coming to help. Please, Mr. Andrew, do let me help. I am sure I could make tea." "It is not necessary, thank you," Andrew answered. "I have a lodger who has brought his own servant. As it happens he was just preparing some tea for us. If you will come round to the other side, where it is a little more sheltered, I will bring you some chairs." They moved across the grass-grown little stretch of sand. The Princess peered curiously at Berners. "Your face," she remarked, "seems quite familiar to me." Berners did not for the moment answer her. He was looking towards Forrest, who was busy lighting a cigarette. "I am afraid, madam," he said, after a slight pause, "that I cannot claim the honour of having met you." The Princess was not altogether satisfied. Jeanne had gone on with Andrew, and she followed slowly walking with Berners. "I have such a good memory for faces," she remarked, "and I am very seldom mistaken." "I am afraid," Berners said, "that this must be one of those rare occasions. If you will allow me I will go and help Andrew bring out some seats." He disappeared into the cottage, and came out again almost directly with a couple of chairs. This time he met Forrest's direct gaze, and the two men stood for a moment or two looking at one another. Forrest turned uneasily away. "Who the devil is that chap?" he whispered to Cecil. "I'll swear I've seen him somewhere." "Very likely," Cecil answered wearily, throwing himself down on the turf. "I've no memory for faces." Jeanne had stepped into the cottage, and gave a little cry of delight as she found herself in a small sitting-room, the walls of which were lined with books and guns and fishing-tackle. "What a delightful room, Mr. Andrew!" she exclaimed. "Why--" She paused and looked up at him, a little mystified. "Do the fishermen in Norfolk read Shakespeare and Keats?" she asked. "And French books, too, De Maupassant and De Musset?" "They are my lodger's," Andrew answered. "This is his room. I sit in the kitchen when I am at home." His dialect was more marked than ever, and his answer had been delivered without any hesitation. Nevertheless, Jeanne was still a little puzzled. "May I come into the kitchen, please?" she asked. "Certainly," he answered. "You will find Mr. Berners' servant there getting tea ready." Jeanne peeped in, and looked back at Andrew, who was standing behind her. "What a lovely stone floor!" she exclaimed. "And your copper kettle, too, is delightful! Do you mean that when you have not a lodger here, you cook and do everything for yourself?" "There are times," he answered composedly, "when I have a little assistance. It depends upon whether the fishing season has been good." Berners came in, and threw himself into an easychair in the sitting- room. "Make what use you like of my man, Andrew," he said. "I will have a cup of tea in here afterwards." "I'm very much obliged, sir," Andrew answered. The Princess called out to him, and he stepped back once more to where they were all sitting. "It is a shame," she said, "that we drive your lodger away from his seat. Will you not ask him to take tea with us?" "I am afraid," Andrew answered, "that he is not a very sociable person. He has come down here because he wants a complete rest, and he does not speak to any one unless he is obliged. He has just asked me to have his tea sent into his room." "Where does he come from, this strange man?" the Princess asked. "It is all the time in my mind that I have met him somewhere. I am sure that he is one of us." "I believe that he lives in London," Andrew answered, "and his name is Berners, Mr. Richard Berners." "I do not seem to remember the name," the Princess remarked, "but the man's face worries me. What a delightful looking tea-tray! Mr. Andrew, you must really sit down with us. We ought to apologize for taking you by storm like this, and I have not thanked you yet for being so kind to my daughter." Andrew stepped back toward the cottage with a firm refusal upon his lips, but Jeanne's hand suddenly rested upon the arm of his coarse blue jersey. "If you please, Mr. Andrew," she begged, "I want you to sit by me and tell me how you came to live in so strange a place. Do you really not mind the solitude?" Andrew looked down at her for a moment without answering. For the first time, perhaps, he realized the charm of her pale expressive face with its rapid changes, and the soft insistent fire of her beautiful eyes. He hesitated for a moment and then remained where he was, leaning against the flag-staff. "It is very good of you, miss," he said. "As to why I came to live here, I do so simply because the house belongs to me. It was my father's and his father's. We folk who live in the country make few changes." She looked at him curiously. The men whom she had known, even those of the class to whom he might be supposed to belong, were all in a way different. This man talked only when he was obliged. All the time she felt in him the attraction of the unknown. He answered her questions and remarks in words, the rest remained unspoken. She looked at him contemplatively as he stood by her side with a tea-cup in his hand, leaning still a little against the flag-staff. Notwithstanding his rough clothes and heavy fisherman's boots, there was nothing about his attitude or his speech, save in its dialect, to denote the fact that he was of a different order from that in which she had been brought up. She felt an immense curiosity concerning him, and she felt, too, that it would probably never be gratified. Most men were her slaves from the moment she smiled upon them. This one she fancied seemed a little bored by her presence. He did not even seem to be thinking about her. He was watching steadily and with somewhat bent eyebrows Cecil de la Borne and Forrest. Something struck her as she looked from one to the other. "I read once," she remarked, "that people who live in a very small village for generation after generation grow to look like one another. In a certain way I cannot conceive two men more unlike, and yet at that moment there was something in your face which reminded me of Mr. De la Borne." He looked down at her with a quick frown. Decidedly he was annoyed. "You are certainly the first," he said drily, "who has ever discovered the likeness, if there is any." "It does not amount to a likeness," she answered, "and you need not look so angry. Mr. De la Borne is considered very good-looking. Dear me, what a nuisance! Do you see? We are going!" Andrew de la Borne took the cup from her hand and helped to prepare the boat. With a faint smile upon his lips he heard a little colloquy between Cecil and the Princess which amused him. The Princess, as he prepared to hand her into the boat, showed herself at any rate possessed of the instincts of her order. She held out her hand and smiled sweetly upon Andrew. "We are so much obliged to you for your delightful tea, Mr. Andrew," she said. "I hope that next time my daughter goes wandering about in dangerous places you may be there to look after her." Andrew looked swiftly away towards Jeanne. Somehow or other the Princess' words seemed to come to him at that moment charged with some secondary meaning. He felt instinctively that notwithstanding her thoroughly advanced airs, Jeanne was little more than a child as compared with these people. She met his eyes with one of her most delightful smiles. "Some day, I hope," she said, "that you will take me out in the punt again. I can assure you that I quite enjoyed being rescued." The little party sailed away, Cecil with an obvious air of relief. Andrew turned slowly round, and met his friend issuing from the door of the cottage. "Andrew," he said, "no wonder you did not care about being host to such a crowd!" There was meaning in his tone, and Andrew looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you know--anything definite?" he asked. Berners nodded. "About one of them," he said, "I certainly do. I wonder what on earth has become of Ronald. He was with them yesterday." "Had enough, perhaps," Andrew suggested. Berners shook his head. "I am afraid not," he answered slowly. "I wish I could think that he had so much sense." _ |
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