Part 50 (1/2)
They began by low bows of affected reverence, coa.r.s.er and worse in the ruffian of inferior grade, and the knight complimented Pilpignon on being a lucky dog, and hoped he had made the best use of his time in spite of the airs of his d.u.c.h.ess. It was his own fault if he were not enjoying such fair society, while they, poor devils, were buffeting with the winds, which had come on more violently than ever. Peregrine broke in with a question about the vessels in sight.
There was an East Indiaman, Dutch it was supposed, laying-to, that was the cause of much excitement. ”If she drives ash.o.r.e our fellows will neither be to have nor to hold,” said Sir George.
”They will obey me,” said Peregrine quietly.
”More than the sea will just yet,” laughed the captain. ”However, as soon as this villainous weather is a bit abated, I'll be off across the Island to do your little errand, and only ask a kiss of the bride for my pains; but if the parson be at Portsmouth there will be no getting him to budge till the water is smooth. Never mind, madam, we'll have a merry wedding feast, whichever side of the water it is. I should recommend the voyage first for my part.”
All Anne could do was to sit as upright and still as she could, apparently ignoring the man's meaning. She did not know how dignified she looked, and how she was daunting his insolence. When presently Sir George Barclay proposed as a toast a health to the bride of to-morrow, she took her part by raising the gla.s.s to her lips as well as the gentlemen, and adding, ”May the brides be happy, wherever they may be.”
”Coy, upon my soul,” laughed Sir George. ”You have not made the best of your opportunities, Pil.” But with an oath, ”It becomes her well.”
”A truce with fooling, Barclay,” muttered Peregrine.
”Come, come, remember faint heart--no lowering your crest, more than enough to bring that devilish sparkle in the eyes, and turn of the neck!”
”Sir,” said Anne rising, ”Monsieur de Pilpignon is an old neighbour, and understands how to respect his most unwilling guest. I wish you a good-night, gentlemen. Guennik, venez ici, je vous prie.”
Guennik, the Breton boatswain's wife, understood French thus far, and comprehended the situation enough to follow willingly, leaving the remainder of the attendance to Hans, who was fully equal to it.
The door was secured by a long knife in the post, but Anne could hear plainly the rude laugh at her entrenchment within her fortress and much of the banter of Peregrine for having proceeded no further.
It was impossible to shut out all the voices, and very alarming they were, as well as sometimes so coa.r.s.e that they made her cheeks glow, while she felt thankful that the Bretonne could not understand.
These three men were all proscribed traitors in haste to be off, but Peregrine, to whom the yacht and her crew belonged, had lingered to obtain possession of the lady, and they were declaring that now they had caught his game and given him his toy, they would brook no longer delay than was absolutely necessitated by the storm, and married or not married, he and she should both be carried off together, let the damsel-errant give herself what haughty airs she would. It was a weak concession on their part to the old Puritan scruples that he might have got rid of by this time, to attempt to bring about the marriage. They jested at him for being afraid of her, and then there were jokes about gray mares.
The one voice she could not hear was Peregrine's, perhaps because he realised more than they did that she was within ear-shot, and besides, he was absolutely sober; but she thought he silenced them; and then she heard sounds of card-playing, which made an accompaniment to her agonised prayers.
CHAPTER x.x.xIII: BLACK GANG CHINE
”Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace, Let us fly this cursed place, Lest the sorcerer us entice With some other new device.
Not a word or needless sound Till we come to holier ground.
I shall be your faithful guide Through this gloomy covert wide.”
MILTON.
Never was maiden in a worse position than that in which Anne Woodford felt herself when she revolved the matter. The back of the Isle of Wight, all along the Undercliff, had always had a wild reputation, and she was in the midst of the most lawless of men.
Peregrine alone seemed to have any remains of honour or conscience, and apparently he was in some degree in the hands of his a.s.sociates.
Even if the clergyman came, there was little hope in an appeal to him. Naval chaplains bore no good reputation, and Portsmouth and Cowes were haunted by the sc.u.m of the profession. All that seemed possible was to commit herself and Charles to Divine protection, and in that strength to resist to the uttermost. The tempest had returned again, and seemed to be raging as much as ever, and the delay was in her favour, for in such weather there could be no putting to sea.
She was unwilling to leave the stronghold of her chamber, but Hans came to announce breakfast to her, telling her that the Mynheeren were gone, all but Ma.s.sa Perry; and that gentleman came forward to meet her just as before, hoping 'those fellows had not disturbed her last night.'
”I could not help hearing much,” she said gravely.
”Brutes!” he said. ”I am sick of them, and of this life. Save for the King's sake, I would never have meddled with it.”
The roar of winds and waves and the beat of spray was still to be heard, and in the manifest impossibility of quitting the place and the desire of softening him, Anne listened while he talked in a different mood from the previous day. The cynical tone was gone, as he spoke of those better influences. He talked of Mrs. Woodford and his deep affection for her, of the kindness of the good priests at Havre and Douai, and especially of one Father Seyton, who had tried to reason with him in his bitter disappointment, and savage penitence on finding that 'behind the Cross lurks the Devil,' as much at Douai as at Havant. He told how a sermon of the Abbe Fenelon's had moved him, and how he had spent half a Lent in the severest penance, but only to have all swept away again in the wild and wicked revelry with which Easter came in. Again he described how his heart was ready to burst as he stood by Mrs. Woodford's grave at night and vowed to disentangle himself and lead a new life.
”And with you I shall,” he said.