Part 12 (1/2)

'Mother'll be up agen in a day or two,' she told him, 'an' I'll have finished wi' all this, unless she feels the need o' me.'

'Well, if she does, I reckon Cathie can help her,' said Joseph, watching her closely.

'But I like it,' exclaimed Susan, wiping a spot of flour from her chin. 'I'm not young enough to care for gallivantin' about Plyn, this is when I feel happy an' at ease.'

'You can continue till the end o' your days,' said Joseph, gazing at her arms, 'but you won't be doin' it here.'

'Why ever not, pray?' scoffed Susan, wringing the dough from her fingers.

'Because you're goin' to marry me an' do it in your own kitchen,' said Joseph, and he rose to his feet and put his arms round her, and kissed the white flour marks away from her mouth.

'Why, bless me,' began Susan weakly, and struggled to get free. 'What's marryin' got to do wi' the likes o' me, you wild ridiculous lad.'

'Everything in the world, my dear,' laughed Joseph, 'and I will not let you go until you promise to be my wife, and quickly too, because I want a week of married life before I sail.' And that was how Joseph Coombe proposed to Susan Collins in the year 1865.

So it was arranged, and before the night was pa.s.sed the news was all over Plyn that Joe Coombe was going to marry Susan Collins, whom n.o.body ever thought would find a lover, with her homely face, and she past thirty-five.

''Twill never last,' declared the pretty girls of Plyn. 'To think o' Joe bein' tied to a dull quiet body like Susan Collins. Why, she's five years older'n him, an' maybe more.'

Nevertheless, Susan, fl.u.s.tered and overwhelmed by her impatient lover, made haste to see to her clothes and be ready in time. Joseph found a house close to the Methodist Chapel. He too was busy with his s.h.i.+p Janet Coombe, for she was to sail to St Michaels a week after his wedding day.

Thus the days pa.s.sed like a flash of lightning, and on the 17th day of March, Joseph and Susan were married in the little grey Methodist Chapel, for old Captain Collins was a staunch Wesleyan and would not have his daughter wed in church.

For a week Joseph devoted himself to the task of making his wife happy and content, which was easy and pleasant enough; and he felt proud of her and his home as he thought things over on his last night in Plyn. Queer to think he must consider himself as 'settled down' now, and a married man with responsibilities. He bent over her as she lay asleep in the crook of his arm.They were to look after one another through life, she was to share his luck and his misfortunes. Did she care for him greatly, he wondered? Would she understand his moments of wretchedness and desolation? He longed so much for her to wake and to drag his head down upon her breast, and to run her fingers through his hair, and whisper to him that he would be safe with her. Tomorrow he was starting off once more on his lonely path, on his own s.h.i.+p that understood his ways, and where he could give himself up entirely to that strange mixture of dreams and reality that was the essence of his inward life.

But it would be good to know that here in Plyn a woman waited for him, to whom he longed, in some helpless way, to be a child as well as a lover.

'Susan,' he said softly, 'Susan.'

She stirred in his arms and opened her eyes.'Still awake, Joe?' she murmured sleepily. 'Try an' sleep, my dear, for you've a long journey afore you i' the mornin'.' She stretched and settled herself once more in his arms. 'An' here's me dreamin' I'd burnt the Sunday cake to ashes, an' parson comin' to tea . . .'

Joseph lay awake until the morning. Below in the harbour the figurehead of Janet waited, her eyes turned to the horizon, and the s.h.i.+p strained at the moornings which kept her from the sea.

4.

Once more on the decks of his s.h.i.+p, the interests of his little world were cast aside from Joseph's mind, as dim and as unreal as the smudge of Plyn astern of him.

His wife and his home were nothing but make-believe, the fancies of one who was not sure of himself, and who created these things to serve as a protection and a means of escape from himself. They could be loved and cherished for a while, but the real life was here, far from the cries and worries of humankind. Here Joseph lived with a strange indefinable sense of freedom, beside the rough simple men who obeyed his will and shared his dangers.

The routine life in the Janet Coombe was much the same as the first year. She made a quick pa.s.sage to St Michaels, and from thence back to London with fruit, the race again being won by Joseph's s.h.i.+p, having met with favourable winds the whole pa.s.sage, and also by a stroke of luck securing an early freight. In London she loaded with coals to Madeira, proceeding in ballast to St Michaels again, from where she returned with a cargo to Dublin. Freights were firm for St Michaels at this time, and the s.h.i.+p returned to Plyn for a few days only, filling up almost at once with clay and taking her departure once more.

Thus Joseph, who had only spent a week of married life, was obliged to sail again with scarce three days added to the original week, and those few hours mainly filled with settlement of the new cargo, and paying off the s.h.i.+p's accounts. The business was always transacted with Philip at Hogg and Williams, and Philip, though not yet thirty, was hinting at his rise to the position of head clerk in the near future. Mr Hogg was an elderly man, with no sons to follow him, and he trusted most of his affairs in the hands of the head clerk, who was about to retire for reasons of ill-health. It was into this man's shoes that Philip was to step. Williams, the other partner in the firm, was a pleasant easy-going sort of man, and the young clerk expected to have little or no trouble in dealing with him. Philip was clever and far-seeing; he already looked ahead to the days when old Hogg should succ.u.mb to his age, and by judicious foresight and careful investment the young man intended to save enough money to buy the partners.h.i.+p, when it became vacant. None of his family knew of this intention. He kept his concerns private, and no one knew of the little store of wealth that was acc.u.mulating year by year. He lived extremely quietly, almost meanly, and his expenses were practically nothing. The only clue to his as yet modest fortune was that he possessed most of the shares of the Janet Coombe. He and Joseph between them held four-fifths of the shares, while the remaining fifth was owned by Samuel and Herbert, whose stock of money naturally was in the business in the yard. Mary and Lizzie also held a small interest.

Philip looked forward to the time when he might control much of the s.h.i.+pping in Plyn, and when he would command respect from his brother Joseph himself.

Joseph was unaware of the secret animosity of his youngest brother. He had never had any particular liking for him, but had not given the matter much consideration. Philip led his own life; they were not likely to come into opposition against each other.

Only Janet had foreseen trouble. She had read it often in Philip's eyes.

Meanwhile the Janet Coombe had sailed again, and did not drop anchor in Plyn until the first week of October.

Joseph was in a fever of impatience to be back, for Susan was already seven months gone, and he knew she was anxious for him to be with her when her time came. Joseph was strangely excited at the thought of being a father. He had not thought it possible that such a thing could stir him. He had never taken much notice of Herbert's and Samuel's children, and had laughed when one of his brothers went about Plyn with an important face, half pride and half concern, that meant his wife was expecting an addition to the family. He had joked with them on the 'trials of marriage', and asked them if they did not envy a free sailor like himself, with no cares and responsibilities.

Now he was surprised at his own tenderness towards Susan, and caught himself watching her with anxious worried eyes as she moved slowly about the house, fearful lest she should do herself some damage and harm the child that was within her. This child would carry Janet's blood in his veins, and his own too.There would be something indefinably precious about him that Joseph could not explain. It was as if Janet herself had been present at his creation, and was sending him as a messenger of consolation, as another tie to bind them more strongly together.

The weeks dragged slowly for Joseph. He could scarcely conceal his impatience, and fretted at what he considered to be an unnecessary waste of time.

Susan smiled at him and said little. She was facing her ordeal with courage, for to a woman of past thirty-five it was no small matter to bring a child into the world. But she was too happy to be overcome by vague fears. She had longed all her life to be a wife and mother, and that Joseph Coombe, the most splendid man in Plyn, should have chosen her for his own, never ceased to be a cause for wonder and glory. She would suffer ten times over if it should bring him any pleasure.

The baby was due in Christmas week, and the Janet Coombe would be sailing for St John's, Newfoundland, in the very first days of January.

The Christmas festivities came and went, and on New Year's Day Joseph was standing in the little garden at the back of the house in a half-hearted attempt to do some digging, his spade in his hand. It was in the early part of the afternoon, and he was thinking of laying aside his tools and going into the kitchen to ask Susan to make him a cup of tea, when he heard a murmur come from her bedroom window. She was leaning out, and waving her hand to him.

He threw away his spade and ran to her.

'What is it, are you taken bad?' Her face was pitiful, and contracted with pain, but she managed to summon a smile for him.

In a moment he was gone from her and running up the hill. Soon he returned with the doctor.

Why was the man so slow, when perhaps the child's life was in danger? To his fury, he was shut away from the sick-room, and told to take himself off.

Helpless and raging Joseph made his way to the Janet Coombe, and as he looked upon the figurehead of his s.h.i.+p it seemed to him that calm came to him. The eyes of Janet smiled into his, and bade him to lay aside care and distress. She understood what this thing meant in his life, she knew the great value he placed upon the birth of this child, bringing them both, as he would, nearer together.The evening came and still Joseph stayed by his s.h.i.+p, wrapping himself in the atmosphere of Janet, and then refreshed and steadied he turned his back on the harbour, and walked along the quay to his house. The doctor was standing on the doorstep.

'You've got a splendid little boy,' he said, 'and your wife is rallying wonderfully. You can step upstairs an' see 'em both, but only stay a minute, mind.' Joseph burst into the bedroom, with a smile on his lips. He had felt like this before, when he had returned to Janet after a voyage, and she waited for him with open arms. He had known the same sensation on a wild night at sea, when for hours he had battled with wind and sea, and by his own skill had brought his s.h.i.+p to safety. This was the thrill that came to him when he anch.o.r.ed in strange waters, and looked for the first time on a new land where the city lights rose and beckoned with mysterious fingers.

Another adventure . . .

He crossed the room and leant over the bed where Susan lay, pale and weak, upon her pillows. Then he turned without a word and gazed down upon the cot, where the baby was sleeping.

'We'll call him Christopher, won't we, Joe, since he's come to us at this holy time,' murmured his wife.

'Yes,' said Joseph slowly. He was looking on his son for the first time. He had a tiny red face and his head was covered with soft fair hair.

'Takes after his mother, I should say, eh?' cried Mrs Joliff.

Joseph waited and then the child's eyelids fluttered, and for a moment opened wide.

The colouring and indefinite features were Susan's right enough, but the eyes were the eyes of Janet.

5.

When Joseph returned from his voyages, it was not with a light in his eye and a boyish step that he flung himself ash.o.r.e, as in the old days with no desire in his mind but to reach Janet's side as soon as he may; this new Joseph was a man of past thirty, Master of his own vessel, who sat in the stern sheets of a gig while the boat was pulled to the quay by his seamen; and who was greeted with respect by the shopkeepers, before he made his way to the house hard by the Methodist Chapel. Here he was just as much master as on his own s.h.i.+p, and every word was accepted as law and the truth from Susan.