Flower of the Gorse. Tracy Louis
were for callin' at Belle Isle and berthin' at Lorient; but the foul weather met us, an' he was half inclined to put in at this very place we're headin' for, – Pont Aven is the name, isn't it? – on'y poor Mrs. Carmac wouldn't hear of it. She said Belle Isle was no distance, an' made out she was a good sailor – which was hardly correct, because she was ill as could be for the last two hours."
"Why didn't you turn back?"
"There was no turnin' back about Mr. Carmac, Sir. He wasn't built that way, bein' a sure enough American. Though I've never known anybody more devoted to his wife than he was, he ought to have let a younger man take her across to your boat. Not as I mean to argy that anyone could have held up against that sea. Lord love a duck! it was a oner an' no mistake! But there, what has to be will be. Poor Mr. Carmac was fated to hand in his checks on the coast of Finistère, an' we others weren't, and that's all there is to it; though I'd be flyin' in the face of Providence if I didn't say in the same breath that if four of the pluckiest and best hadn't been aboard this 'ere craft, none of our little lot would ever have seen daylight again."
Tollemache joined them. He had just exchanged a word with Yvonne, who had evidently placed her guest in a bunk, because the gleam of an oil lantern came through the open hatch, and, like the good yachtswoman she was, she had passed out the side lights trimmed and ready for use.
"Well, Ingersoll," he said cheerily, "how are you feeling now?"
"Rather tired," was the unexpected answer.
"I'm not surprised at that. You've had a pretty strenuous time."
"Of course you, Lorry, have had the day of your life!"
"Y-yes. I wouldn't go through it again, though, for a small fortune; that is, with Yvonne on board. It was nip and tuck when we were jammed up against the reef."
"It didn't take you long, Sir, for all that, to jump in after Mrs. Carmac," said Popple.
"Oh, is that the lady's name? What a weird specimen one of your sailormen must be! I asked him the name of the yacht's owner, and he didn't know it."
"If it's the beauty I saw you talkin' to, the swine didn't know his own name when he kem aboard at Southampton," snorted Popple indignantly. "Sink me! I've never seen a man so loaded. Took me for his long-lost uncle. Me, mind you! If I hadn't been rather short-handed, I'd have run him ashore to find an uncle in a policeman."
"He is sober enough now," laughed Tollemache. "I had some difficulty in persuading him to take a sip of brandy. He said he was a teetotaler."
"He what? Which one?"
"That fellow there, leaning against the mast."
"Of all the swabs! Look here, Sir, you come with me an' listen!"
"But I don't want to get the poor chap into a row."
"There'll be no row. Just language! It'll be a treat."
Tollemache, an overgrown schoolboy in some respects, accompanied Popple gleefully. Broken scraps of the skipper's comments boomed back to Ingersoll's unheeding ears.
"Guess you signed the pledge when the shaft snapped… Coughin' up stale beer all Tuesday night, an' all nex' day made you feel you weren't fit to die on a Thursday… You can't run a bluff of that sort on Saint Peter. He'd smell your breath a mile off, an' say, 'To the devil with any Jack who can't take his liquor decent-like when he's paid off without fillin' up when he's signed on!'…You struck a wrong job in goin' to sea. You ought to be a brewer's drayman."
"Peridot," said Ingersoll suddenly, "you saw something of the lady's state of collapse when you pulled her on board. She is not likely to recover her senses before we reach Pont Aven?"
"No, Monsieur, I think not. Women are marvels at times; but this one may not even live. Mademoiselle Yvonne is doing what she can – "
"I know, I know! Now do me a great favor. When we berth at the quay Mademoiselle and I will slip away quietly in the confusion and darkness. See to it that none of the strangers learns our name. I'll warn Monsieur Tollemache myself. Get all these people to Julia's. Tell her that the lady, Madame Carmac, is very wealthy, and that the man with the broken arm is Mr. Carmac's secretary; so every sort of expenditure will be met, though Julia's kind heart would leave nothing undone for a shipwrecked crew if they were paupers. There may be some inquiry about Mademoiselle Yvonne; but refer to her only by her Christian name, and say she lives at Madame Pitou's."
"Oui, M'sieu'." Peridot promised willingly enough. Nevertheless he was obviously bewildered.
"I ask this," explained Ingersoll, "because my daughter and I will depart for Paris by the first train tomorrow. You see, by extraordinary mischance, this Mr. and Mrs. Carmac and I were not on good terms years ago, and I don't wish old scores to be reopened."
"Gars!" spat Peridot. "You're not leaving Pont Aven because we pulled these fools off Les Verrés?"
"No, no. I need a little holiday, and I'm taking it now. That is all. We shall come back to the old life – never fear."
"You mean that, M'sieu'?"
"I swear it."
"Of course, M'sieu', you understand that I cannot silence the tongues of the whole town?"
"I don't care what anybody hears tomorrow. Remember, if poor Madame Carmac dies, no other person will have the slightest interest in my whereabouts. If she lives, and is able to travel, she will certainly endeavor to get away from Pont Aven as speedily as possible. Peridot, it is Yvonne I am thinking of, not of myself."
"Monsieur, you can count on me absolutely."
"And not a word of this to a soul?"
"Cré nom! I'll lie like a gendarme, even to Madeleine."
"But you need not lie at all. Simply forget what I have told you – as to my reason for tomorrow's journey, I mean."
"Monsieur, it is forgotten already."
Tollemache came, chuckling. "Sorry you missed the skipper's homily, Ingersoll," he said. "I laughed like a hyena. I hope the people in the cabin couldn't overhear me. By Jove! to tell you the truth, I didn't even remember that there was a dead man aboard."
"The best tragedies indulge in a what is called 'comic relief'," said Ingersoll dryly. "Give Yvonne a hail, will you? I want a word with her."
Tollemache stooped to the hatch. "Yvonne!" he said.
"Yes," came the girl's voice.
Her father, intent on its slightest cadence, deemed it placid and self-possessed.
"Socrates wants you."
Socrates was a title conferred on Ingersoll by his artist friends owing to his philosophic habit of mind. Nothing disturbed him, they vowed. Once, when the queer little steam tram that jingles into and out of Pont Aven four times daily was derailed, some alarm was created by the fact that Ingersoll, though known to be a passenger, was missing. When found he was perched on the side of the overturned carriage in which he had been seated. On climbing out through a window he discovered that from this precise locality and elevation he obtained a capital view of a wayside chapel; so he sketched it without delay. The chance, no less than the point of view, might not offer again!
Yvonne appeared, her head and shoulders dimly visible in the frame of the hatch. "What is it, Dad?" she inquired.
"We're in the river now, Dearest, and I thought you might join us on deck. You have done all that is possible, I'm sure."
"I simply cannot desert that poor woman until she shows some signs of returning consciousness."
"Oh, is she still insensible?"
"Yes. If only I could get her to swallow a little brandy."
"Well, she will be in the doctor's hands soon. Better leave matters to him."
"But one must try."
"Of course. If you prefer remaining below – "
"Father dear, what else can I do?" She vanished again.
Ingersoll, having ascertained exactly what he wished to know, sighed in sheer relief, and turned to Tollemache.