Part 41 (1/2)
”Ask them if we couldn't go down the river a little way,” said Florimel. ”I should so like to see the houses from it!”
Malcolm conferred a moment with Travers and returned.
”They are quite willing, my lady,” he said.
”What fun!” cried Florimel, her girlish spirit all at the surface.
”How I should like to run away from horrid London altogether, and never hear of it again!--Dear old Lossie House! and the boats!
and the fishermen!” she added meditatively.
The anchor was already up, and the yacht drifting with the falling tide. A moment more and she spread a low treble reefed mainsail behind, a little jib before, and the western breeze filled and swelled and made them alive, and with wind and tide she went swiftly down the smooth stream. Florimel clapped her hands with delight.
The sh.o.r.es and all their houses fled up the river. They slid past rowboats, and great heavy barges loaded to the lip, with huge red sails and yellow, glowing and gleaming in the hot sun. For one moment the shadow of Vauxhall Bridge gloomed like a death cloud, chill and cavernous, over their heads; then out again they shot into the lovely light and heat of the summer world.
”It's well we ain't got to shoot Putney or Battersea,” said Travers with a grim smile, as he stood shaping her course by inches with his magic-like steering, in the midst of a little covey of pleasure boats: ”with this wind we might ha' brought either on 'em about our ears like an old barn.”
”This is life!” cried Florimel, as the river bore them nearer and nearer to the vortex--deeper and deeper into the tumult of London.
How solemn the silent yet never resting highway!--almost majestic in the stillness of its hurrying might as it rolled heedless past houses and wharfs that crowded its brinks. They darted through under Westminster Bridge, and boats and barges more and more numerous covered the stream. Waterloo Bridge, Blackfriars' Bridge they pa.s.sed. Sunlight all, and flas.h.i.+ng water, and gleaming oars, and gay boats, and endless motion! out of which rose calm, solemn, reposeful, the resting yet hovering dome of St Paul's, with its satellite spires, glittering in the tremulous hot air that swathed in mult.i.tudinous ripples the mighty city.
Southwark Bridge--and only London Bridge lay between them and the open river, still widening as it flowed to the aged ocean. Through the centre arch they shot, and lo! a world of masts, waiting to woo with white sails the winds that should bear them across deserts of water to lands of wealth and mystery. Through the labyrinth led the highway of the stream, and downward they still swept--past the Tower, and past the wharf where that morning Malcolm had said goodbye for a time to his four footed subject and friend. The smack's place was empty. With her hugest of sails, she was tearing and flas.h.i.+ng away, out of their sight, far down the river before them.
Through dingy dreary Limehouse they sank, and coasted the melancholy, houseless Isle of Dogs; but on all sides were s.h.i.+ps and s.h.i.+ps, and when they thinned at last, Greenwich rose before them. London and the parks looked unendurable from this more varied life, more plentiful air, and above all more abundant s.p.a.ce. The very spirit of freedom seemed to wave his wings about the yacht, fanning full her sails.
Florimel breathed as if she never could have enough of the sweet wind; each breath gave her all the boundless region whence it blew; she gazed as if she would fill her soul with the sparkling gray of the water, the sun melted blue of the sky, and the incredible green of the flat sh.o.r.es. For minutes she would be silent, her parted lips revealing her absorbed delight, then break out in a volley of questions, now addressing Malcolm, now Travers. She tried Davy too, but Davy knew nothing except his duty here. The Thames was like an unknown eternity to the creature of the Wan Water-- about which, however, he could have told her a thousand things.
Down and down the river they flew, and not until miles and miles of meadows had come between her and London, not indeed until Gravesend appeared, did it occur to Florimel that perhaps it might be well to think by and by of returning. But she trusted everything to Malcolm, who of course would see that everything was as it ought to be.
Her excitement began to flag a little. She was getting tired. The bottle had been strained by the ferment of the wine. She turned to Malcolm.
”Had we not better be putting about?” she said. ”I should like to go on for ever--but we must come another day, better provided.
We shall hardly be in time for lunch.”
It was nearly four o'clock, but she rarely looked at her watch, and indeed wound it up only now and then.
”Will you go below and have some lunch, my lady?” said Malcolm.
”There can't be anything on board!” she answered.
”Come and see, my lady,” rejoined Malcolm, and led the way to the companion.
When she saw the little cabin, she gave a cry of delight.
”Why, it is just like our own cabin in the Psyche,” she said, ”only smaller! Is it not, Malcolm?”
”It is smaller, my lady,” returned Malcolm, ”but then there is a little state room beyond.”
On the table was a nice meal--cold, but not the less agreeable in the summer weather. Everything looked charming. There were flowers; the linen was snowy; and the bread was the very sort Florimel liked best.
”It is a perfect fairy tale!” she cried. ”And I declare here is our crest on the forks and spoons!--What does it all mean, Malcolm?”
But Malcolm had slipped away, and gone on deck again, leaving her to food and conjecture, while he brought Rose up from the fore cabin for a little air. Finding her fast asleep, however, he left her undisturbed.