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Major Vigoureux, a novel by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch |
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Chapter 21. Suspicions |
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_ CHAPTER XXI. SUSPICIONS
"Anything wrong?" asked the Commandant. "Nothing's wrong, I hope"--Mr. Rogers stepped over to the warm fire. "But something's queer." He fished out a pipe from the pocket of his thick pilot coat, filled it, lit up, and sank puffing into the arm-chair from which, a minute ago, Vashti had snatched up her guitar. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon the empty packing-case. "You don't mean to tell me that you've been smuggling?" The Commandant shook his head and laughed, albeit with some confusion. "The steamer brought it this morning. I assure you it held nothing contraband.... But I hope that little game is not starting afresh in the Islands? It gave us a deal of trouble in the old days; and there was quite an outbreak of it, as I remember, some three or four years before you came to us. Old Penkivel"--this was Mr. Rogers' predecessor--"used to declare that it turned his hair gray." "He told me something beside, on the morning he sailed for the mainland; which was that but for the help you gave him as Governor he could never have grappled with it. Maybe this was sticking in my head just now when I started to walk up here and consult you." "Well, and what is the matter?" "Oh, a trifle.... Do you happen to know Tregarthen, the fellow that farms Saaron Island?" The Commandant started. "Eli Tregarthen? Yes, certainly ... that is to say, as I know pretty well everybody in the Islands." "What sort of a fellow?" "Quiet; steady; works on his farm like a horse, week in and week out; never speaks out of his turn, and says little enough when his turn comes." "That sort is often the deepest," observed Mr. Rogers sententiously, and puffed. "And Saaron Island there, close by the Roads, lies very handy for a little illicit work." "You are right, so far," the Commandant admitted; "and history bears you out. In the old kelp-making days, when half-a-dozen families lived on it, Saaron gave more trouble than any two islands of its size." "It's none the less handy for being deserted." Mr. Rogers drew out a penknife and meditatively loosened the tobacco in his pipe. "Handier. But you are wrong in suspecting Tregarthen; that is, unless you have good tangible evidence." "I don't say that it amounts to much, but it's tangible. In fact, his boat is lying here, just now, close under the Keg of Butter." The Commandant turned on his heel and took a pace or two towards the window, to hide his perturbation and give himself time to consider.... Vashti's boat! And Vashti on the premises at this moment! What was to be done? How on earth could he get her away? "You discovered this yourself?" he found himself asking. "No; I happened to be in the Watch House with the chief boatman checking the store-sheets, when Beesley, whose watch it is, came in and reported. I see what you're driving at. Your own boat is lying under the Keg of Butter, as everybody knows, and you suggest that I am duffer enough to mistake her in the darkness for a boat at least two-foot longer." Mr. Rogers laughed good-naturedly. "But the answer is," he went on, "that Beesley found two boats lying there; and Beesley, who knows every craft in the Islands, swears that the one belongs to you no more certainly than the other to Farmer Tregarthen. Moreover, she was moored on a shore line, and we pulled her in and examined her. Sure enough we found name and owner's name cut on her transom--'Two Sisters: E. Tregarthen.' Now, what d'you make of it?" "Very little," answered the Commandant, recovering himself; "and that little in all likelihood quite innocent. Someone, we'll say, wishes to cross over from Saaron to St. Lide's this evening--on any simple errand, say to fetch a parcel from the steamer. Why shouldn't that someone, knowing the Keg of Butter to be good shelter with plenty of water at all tides, have landed and left the boat there?" Mr. Rogers shook his head. "Why there, and not at the pier? The pier lies almost a mile nearer, and there's a fair wind--or almost a fair one--for returning; while from the Keg of Butter no one can fetch Saaron under a couple of tacks. That's my first point. Secondly, if Eli Tregarthen has honest business here, whether with the steamer to fetch a parcel (parcels must be running in your head to-night), or in the town to fetch a doctor, the pier is obviously his landing-place. Why, there isn't a house in the Island, barring these Barracks, that doesn't stand half-a-mile nearer the pier; not to mention that landing at the Keg of Butter involves a perfectly unnecessary climb up one side of Garrison Hill and down the other. Lastly, my dear sir, look at the time! Close on eleven o'clock, and all Garland Town in their beds. Again, I ask what honest business can Eli Tregarthen have here at such an hour?" The Commandant felt himself cornered. An insane hope crossed his mind that, while the Lieutenant sat talking, Vashti had contrived to slip out of the house and down to the shore. It was followed by a saner one, that she had done nothing of the sort; for, to a certainty, the boat would be guarded. "You have taken precautions?" he asked, and felt himself flushing at the dishonesty of the question. "I have posted Beesley in charge, and sent the chief boatman off to the pier-head to keep a close watch on the steamer. She sails at seven-thirty to-morrow, and though I never heard a hint against her skipper, it's only right to be careful. I've amused myself before now, planning imaginary frauds on the revenue; and if anyone cares to risk opening up that game afresh, the Islands still give him a-plenty of openings." "Yes, yes," agreed the Commandant, and checked a groan. He had thought of warning Vashti to slip down to the quay and borrow a boat there without asking leave. Some explanation might be trumped up on the morrow--as that the wind was foul for returning from the Keg of Butter. No one would accuse Eli Tregarthen of borrowing a boat with intent to steal: his taking it would be no more than a neighbourly liberty. But, with the chief boatman watching the pier-head, she would be discovered to a certainty. The Commandant's last hope was gone. Just as he realised this, to his utter astonishment, he heard the voice of Archelaus grumbling outside in the passage. And Archelaus had gone to rest an hour ago! "Pretty time of night this, to come breaking a man's rest!" growled the voice of Archelaus, audibly, and not without viciousness, as though he meant it to be heard. "Good Lord!" exclaimed Mr. Rogers. "You don't tell me we've roused the old fellow out of bed? And I reckoned I was making no more noise than a mouse!" "He may have heard you throw that gravel against the pane." The Commandant took a step towards the door, but halted irresolutely. "Then he's a light sleeper," commented Mr. Rogers, "and an even more dilatory dresser. Why, good heavens!"--the Lieutenant started up from his chair--"he's undoing the bolts! Somebody's at the front door: one of my men to report, I'll bet a fiver!" He would have rushed out into the passage, but the Commandant caught him by the arm. "No need to hurry, my friend! Whoever it is, Archelaus will bring word." Many hasty surmises whirled together in the Commandant's brain--the first, and hastiest, that Vashti, unable to make her escape, had aroused Archelaus, and that Archelaus was unbarring the door for her on the pretence of hearing a knock. Even so, she would be caught as soon as she reached the shore. Still, occasion might be snatched to send Archelaus after her to warn her; she might hide for the night at the Castle under Mrs. Treacher's friendly wing. The instant need was to hold back the Lieutenant from discovering her in the passage, and to the Lieutenant's arm our Commandant clung. "My good sir," expostulated Mr. Rogers, "it _must_ be one of my men. Who else, at this hour?" He fell back a step as the door opened. "A person to see you, sir; from Saaron!" announced Archelaus. "Shall I show her in?" Before either could answer, Vashti herself stood on the threshold. Of the two men, the Lieutenant excusably showed the blankest astonishment. But the Commandant had to catch at the rail of a chair. Vashti had discarded her cloak of furs, and faced him now in such garb as is worn by the poorest in the Islands: a short gown of hodden gray, coarse-knitted stockings, and stout shoes. Across her shoulder, for a "turn-over," she wore a faded shawl of Tartan pattern. (The Commandant recognised it for a surplus one which Mrs. Treacher kept in the Barracks kitchen, to wear "against the draughts" on occasions when she helped Archelaus with the cooking.) But most wonderful of all was her hair. By some swift art the heavy coil had been drawn into two flat bands, brought low over the forehead, and carried back over the ears in a fashion almost slatternly. By no art could Vashti conceal that she was beautiful. She was also too wise to attempt it. But, for the rest, she had transformed herself. "If you please, sir," she began timidly, with an Island curtsey, and paused as if uncertain, at sight of Mr. Rogers, whether to hold her ground or to flee: "If you please, sir, I be that frightened!" Accent, intonation--both were perfect, of the true Island speech, that delicate incommunicable sing-song. The Commandant's eyes grew rounder yet with amazement, and Vashti--afraid, perhaps, of meeting them--flung a glance of mock terror behind her, as though she had caught the footfall of a pursuer. "But--but who in the world--" stammered Mr. Rogers. "If you please, gentlemen"--she turned, with another quick curtsey--"my name is Vazzy Cara, and I come from Saaron. I live there with my sister, Ruth, that is wife to Eli Tregarthen----" Mr. Rogers gave a low whistle. "It's true, sir--true as I stand here! The Governor knows me, and will bear me out--won't you, sir?... A terrible way from Saaron it is, and at this hour of night.... But ask the Governor, sir, and he'll tell you I am a respectable woman; sister to Mrs. Tregarthen, and lives with her to look after the children." "Yes, yes," interrupted the Lieutenant, losing patience. "But the question is, how you came here, and why?" Vashti stood panting. By the heave of her bosom it was plain to see that either her fears still possessed her or that she had been running for dear life, and must catch breath. Her hand went up to her bodice. "I came, sir, to see the Governor--all the way across from Saaron. Eli--that's my sister's husband--is in terrible trouble over there, because the Lord Proprietor means to turn him off his farm. Yes, say!"--she drew a letter from her bodice, and went on with rising voice. "Turn us out he will, though the Tregarthens have lived on the Island ever since Saaron was Saaron. The Governor, here, in his time would never have done such wickedness, nor suffered it, being a just gentleman and merciful, as all the folk can bear witness. And so, thinks I, he may be able to help us yet; and if able he will be willing." She held out the letter towards the Commandant, who took it and turned it over vaguely between his fingers, not opening it, nor daring to meet her eyes. "And so," continued Mr. Rogers, "you took your brother-in-law's boat--without his knowledge----" Vashti nodded. "Yes, sir; I took it unbeknowns. He's a very quiet man, is my sister's husband, and don't like it that other folks, 'specially women, should mix themselves up in his affairs." "Then he's a sensible fellow as well as a quiet one." "Yes, sir." Vashti took the correction meekly, with downcast look. "And still less, I'll bet," Mr. Rogers continued, "would he be pleased to know that one of his woman-kind was straying across to St. Lide's at this hour of the night." "Oh, sir," she caught him up, "but that's where I've been hindered! For, wishing to have word with the Governor, and no one the wiser, I brought the boat to shore down yonder, under the Keg of Butter, and there the coastguards have found it, and are waiting by it to catch me, and what answer to give them I can't think, nor how to account for myself. Seemin' to me they're everywhere, and all around me in the darkness!" Mr. Rogers broke into a laugh. "It appears, Commandant, that I have found a mare's nest; always supposing that this tale is a true one. You'll excuse me, ma'am, but service is service." The Commandant had turned to his writing-table, and was holding the letter under the lamplight. "I can go bail for Miss Cara," he answered, but without looking up. "Undoubtedly she comes from Saaron, and is Mrs. Tregarthen's sister. Also this letter, though we cannot deal with it to-night, is addressed to Eli Tregarthen in the Lord Proprietor's handwriting. It gives him formal notice to quit and deliver up his farm. I can give no hope of help--no hope at all." Here his voice trembled slightly. "The most I can promise is to consider it." "And the best we can do for the moment is to escort Miss Cara down to her boat and get one of my men to sail her back to her island." "I incline to think," said the Commandant, after a pause, "that Miss Cara--from what I have seen of her skill--is competent to sail back alone. If not, I would suggest that you or I escort her, towing my boat across for the return journey. In any case, if we can get your men out of the way, it would be wiser, perhaps, for her sake." "And for mine, begad!" agreed the Lieutenant! "Else I shall have every man of them grinning behind my back for a month of Sundays. 'Rogers' smuggling-chase'--I can hear the villains chuckling over it.... But I say, though"--he turned on Vashti admiringly--"you'll want an escort across, eh? You don't tell me you're man enough to handle that boat alone?" "If you please, sir." "The Channel's none too easy on a dark night." Vashti smiled. "My father taught it to me, sir, before I was ten years old. I could sail it blindfold." "And you have the nerve?... And yet just now, the dark frightened you, and you ran for your life!" "No," said Vashti, demurely, "I just stood still." "Well, come along! And when you get to the Battery, you'll have to stand still again, and wait until I report the coast clear. Commandant, will you give Miss Cara your arm, while I run ahead." They stepped out together into the night. Vashti neither took the Commandant's arm nor spoke to him, even after Mr. Rogers had passed ahead out of earshot. Only when the pair had reached the dark battery, and were waiting there on the dark platform above the sea, she turned to him and asked-- "Shall you be busy to-morrow?" "I am never busy." "I have left my cloak and the guitar with Archelaus." "I will bring them to Saaron to-morrow." She turned away and leaned over the low parapet to the left. Some way below a footfall sounded, on the track leading to the watch-house---the footfall of Beesley. A stone, dislodged by his tread, trickled and fell over the cliff into night. * * * * * "Curious!" remarked Mr. Rogers, confidentially, to the Commandant, twenty minutes later, as they stood and peered into the darkness after Vashti's boat. "Here I am, stuck on these Islands (so to speak) with a telescope held to my eye. Of the folk upon 'em I see next to nothing. Now, I don't know if you took note of it, but that's a remarkable looking woman; a remarkably handsome woman; and I've spent these years here without guessing that such a woman existed hereabouts. Eh?" Mr. Rogers relapsed into mild facetiousness. "If you were a younger man, Commandant, I could hatch up a pretty story out of to-night's doings--and if I didn't mind a laugh against myself." _ |
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