The After House
M >>
Mary Roberts Rinehart >> The After House
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11
But that morning, after they had settled to bridge, she followed
me to the rail, out of earshot I straightened and took off my cap,
and she stood looking at me, unsmiling.
"Unclench your hands!" she said.
"I beg your pardon!" I straightened out my fingers, conscious for
the first time of my clenched fists, and even opened and closed
them once or twice to prove their relaxation.
"That's better. Now--won't you try to remember that I am
responsible for your being here, and be careful?"
"Then take me away from here and put me with the crew. I am stronger
now. Ask the captain to give me a man's work. This--this is a
housemaid's occupation."
"We prefer to have you here," she said coldly; and then, evidently
repenting her manner: "We need a man here, Leslie. Better stay.
Are you comfortable in the forecastle?"
"Yes, Miss Lee."
"And the food is all right?"
"The cook says I am eating two men's rations."
She turned to leave, smiling. It was the first time she had thrown
even a fleeting smile my way, and it went to my head.
"And Williams? I am to submit to his insolence?"
She stopped and turned, and the smile faded.
"The next time," she said, "you are to drop him!"
But during the remainder of the day she neither spoke to me nor
looked, as far as I could tell, in my direction. She flirted openly
with Vail, rather, I thought, to the discomfort of Mrs. Johns, who
had appropriated him to herself--sang to him in the cabin, and in
the long hour before dinner, when the others were dressing, walked
the deck with him, talking earnestly. They looked well together,
and I believe he was in love with her. Poor Vail!
Turner had gone below, grimly good-humored, to dress for dinner; and
I went aft to chat, as I often did, with the steersman. On this
occasion it happened to be Charlie Jones. Jones was not his name,
so far as I know. It was some inordinately long and different
German inheritance, and so, with the facility of the average crew,
he had been called Jones. He was a benevolent little man, highly
religious, and something of a philosopher. And because I could
understand German, and even essay it in a limited way, he was fond
of me.
"Seta du dick," he said, and moved over so that I could sit on the
grating on which he stood. "The sky is fine to-night. Wunderschon!"
"It always looks good to me," I observed, filling my pipe and
passing my tobacco-bag to him. "I may have my doubts now and then
on land, Charlie; but here, between the sky and the sea, I'm a
believer, right enough."
"'In the beginning He created the heaven and the earth,'" said
Charlie reverently.
We were silent for a time. The ship rolled easily; now and then
she dipped her bowsprit with a soft swish of spray; a school of
dolphins played astern, and the last of the land birds that had
followed us out flew in circles around the masts.
"Sometimes," said Charlie Jones, "I think the Good Man should have
left it the way it was after the flood just sky and water. What's
the land, anyhow? Noise and confusion, wickedness and crime,
robbing the widow and the orphan, eat or be et."
"Well," I argued, "the sea's that way. What are those fish out
there flying for, but to get out of the way of bigger fish?"
Charlie Jones surveyed me over his pipe.
"True enough, youngster," he said; "but the Lord's given 'em wings
to fly with. He ain't been so careful with the widow and the orphan."
This statement being incontrovertible, I let the argument lapse,
and sat quiet, luxuriating in the warmth, in the fresh breeze, in
the feeling of bodily well-being that came with my returning strength.
I got up and stretched, and my eyes fell on the small window of the
chart-room.
The door into the main cabin beyond was open. It was dark with the
summer twilight, except for the four rose-shaded candles on the table,
now laid for dinner. A curious effect it had--the white cloth and
gleaming pink an island of cheer in a twilight sea; and to and from
this rosy island, making short excursions, advancing, retreating,
disappearing at times, the oval white ship that was Williams's shirt
bosom.
Charlie Jones, bending to the right and raised to my own height by
the grating on which he stood, looked over my shoulder. Dinner was
about to be served. The women had come out. The table-lamps threw
their rosy glow over white necks and uncovered arms, and revealed,
higher in the shadows, the faces of the men, smug, clean-shaven,
assured, rather heavy.
I had been the guest of honor on a steam-yacht a year or two before,
after a game. There had been pink lights on the table, I remembered,
and the place-cards at dinner the first night out had been
caricatures of me in fighting trim. There had been a girl, too.
For the three days of that week-end cruise I had been mad about her;
before that first dinner, when I had known her two hours, I had
kissed her hand and told her I loved her!
Vail and Miss Lee had left the others and come into the chart-room.
As Charlie Jones and I looked, he bent over and kissed her hand.
The sun had gone down. My pipe was empty, and from the galley,
forward, came the odor of the forecastle supper. Charlie was
coughing, a racking paroxysm that shook his wiry body. He leaned
over and caught my shoulder as I was moving away.
"New paint and new canvas don't make a new ship," he said, choking
back the cough. "She's still the old Ella, the she-devil of the
Turner line. Pink lights below, and not a rat in the hold! They
left her before we sailed, boy. Every rope was crawling with 'em."
"The very rats
Instinctively had left it,"
I quoted. But Charlie, clutching the wheel, was coughing again,
and cursing breathlessly as he coughed.
CHAPTER IV
I RECEIVE A WARNING
The odor of formaldehyde in the forecastle having abated, permission
for the crew to sleep on deck had been withdrawn. But the weather
as we turned south had grown insufferably hot. The reek of the
forecastle sickened me--the odor of fresh paint, hardly dry, of
musty clothing and sweaty bodies.
I asked Singleton, the first mate, for permission to sleep on deck,
and was refused. I went down, obediently enough, to be driven back
with nausea. And so, watching my chance, I waited until the first
mate, on watch, disappeared into the forward cabin to eat the night
lunch always prepared by the cook and left there. Then, with a
blanket and pillow, I crawled into the starboard lifeboat, and
settled myself for the night. The lookout saw me, but gave no sign.
It was not a bad berth. As the ship listed, the stars seemed to
sway above me, and my last recollection was of the Great Dipper,
performing dignified gyrations in the sky.
I was aroused by one of the two lookouts, a young fellow named
Burns. He was standing below, rapping on the side of the boat
with his knuckles. I sat up and peered over at him, and was
conscious for the first time that the weather had changed. A fine
rain was falling; my hair and shirt were wet.
"Something doing in the chart-room," he said cautiously. "Thought
you might not want to miss it."
He was in his bare feet, as was I. Together we hurried to the
after house. The steersman, in oilskins, was at his post, but was
peering through the barred window into the chart-room, which was
brilliantly lighted. He stepped aside somewhat to let us look in.
The loud and furious voices which had guided us had quieted, but
the situation had not relaxed.
Singleton, the first mate, and Turner were sitting at a table
littered with bottles and glasses, and standing over them, white
with fury, was Captain Richardson. In the doorway to the main cabin,
dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe, Vail was watching the scene.
"I told you last night, Mr. Turner," the captain said, banging the
table with his fist, "I won't have you interfering with my officers,
or with my ship. That man's on duty, and he's drunk."
"Your ship!" Turner sneered thickly. "It's my ship, and I--I
discharge you."
He got to his feet, holding to the table. "Mr. Singleton--hic--
from now on you're captain. Captain Singleton! How--how d'ye
like it?"
Mr. Vail came forward, the only cool one of the four.
"Don't be a fool, Marsh," he protested. "Come to bed. The captain's
right."
Turner turned his pale-blue eyes on Vail, and they were as full of
danger as a snake's. "You go to hell!" he said. "Singleton, you're
the captain, d'ye hear? If Rich--if Richardson gets funny, put him
--in irons."
Singleton stood up, with a sort of swagger. He wes less intoxicated
than Turner, but ugly enough. He faced the captain with a leer.
"Sorry, old fellow," he said, "but you heard what Turner said!"
The captain drew a deep breath. Then, without any warning, he leaned
across the table and shot out his clenched fist. It took the mate on
the point of the chin, and he folded up in a heap on the floor.
"Good old boy!" muttered Burns, beside me. "Good old boy!"
Turner picked up a bottle from the table, and made the same
incoordinate pass with it at the captain as he had at me the morning
before with his magazine. The captain did not move. He was a big
man, and he folded his arms with their hairy wrists across his chest.
"Mr. Turner," he said, "while we are on the sea I am in command here.
You know that well enough. You are drunk to-night; in the morning
you will be sober; and I want you to remember what I am going to say.
If you interfere again--with--me--or--my officers--I--shall--
put--you--in--irons."
He started for the after companionway, and Burns and I hurried
forward out of his way, Burns to the lookout, I to make the round
of the after house and bring up, safe from detection, by the wheel
again. The mate was in a chair, looking sick and dazed, and Turner
and Vail were confronting each other.
"You know that is a lie," Vail was saying. "She is faithful to you,
as far as I know, although I'm damned if I know why." He turned to
the mate roughly: "Better get out in the air."
Once again I left my window to avoid discovery. The mate, walking
slowly, made his way up the companionway to the rail. The man at
the wheel reported in the forecastle, when he came down at the end
of his watch, that Singleton had seemed dazed, and had stood leaning
against the rail for some time, occasionally cursing to himself;
that the second mate had come on deck, and had sent him to bed; and
that the captain was shut in his cabin with the light going.
There was much discussion of the incident among the crew. Sympathy
was with the captain, and there was a general feeling that the end
had not come. Charlie Jones, reading his Bible on the edge of his
bunk, voiced the general belief.
"Knowin' the Turners, hull and mast," he said, "and having sailed
with Captain Richardson off and on for ten years, the chances is
good of our having a hell of a time. It ain't natural, anyhow,
this voyage with no rats in the hold, and all the insects killed
with this here formaldehyde, and ice-cream sent to the fo'c'sle
on Sundays!"
But at first the thing seemed smoothed over. It is true that the
captain did not speak to the first mate except when compelled to,
and that Turner and the captain ignored each other elaborately.
The cruise went on without event. There was no attempt on Turner's
part to carry out his threat of the night before; nor did he, as
the crew had prophesied, order the Ella into the nearest port. He
kept much to himself, spending whole days below, with Williams
carrying him highballs, always appearing at dinner, however, sodden
of face but immaculately dressed, and eating little or nothing.
A week went by in this fashion, luring us all to security. I was
still lean but fairly strong again. Vail, left to himself or to
the women of the party, took to talking with me now and then. I
thought he was uneasy. More than once he expressed a regret that
he had taken the cruise, laying his discontent to the long inaction.
But the real reason was Turner's jealousy of him, the obsession of
the dipsomaniac. I knew it, and Vail knew that I knew.
On the 8th we encountered bad weather, the first wind of the cruise.
All hands were required for tacking, and I was stationed on the
forecastle-head with one other man. Williams, the butler, succumbed
to the weather, and at five o'clock Miss Lee made her way forward
through the driving rain, and asked me if I could take his place.
"If the captain needs you, we can manage," she said. "We have
Henrietta and Karen, the two maids. But Mr. Turner prefers a man
to serve."
I said that I was probably not so useful that I could not be spared,
and that I would try. Vail's suggestion had come back to me, and
this was my chance to get Williams's keys. Miss Lee having spoken
to the captain, I was relieved from duty, and went aft with her.
What with the plunging of the vessel and the slippery decks, she
almost fell twice, and each time I caught her.
The second time, she wrenched her ankle, and stood for a moment
holding to the rail, while I waited beside her. She wore a heavy
ulster of some rough material, and a small soft hat of the same
material, pulled over her ears. Her soft hair lay wet across her
forehead.
"How are you liking the sea, Leslie?" she said, after she had
tested her ankle and found the damage inconsiderable.
"Very much, Miss Lee."
"Do you intend to remain a--a sailor?"
"I am not a sailor. I am a deck steward, and I am about to become
a butler."
"That was our agreement," she flashed at me.
"Certainly. And to know that I intend to fulfill it to the letter,
I have only to show this."
It had been one of McWhirter's inspirations, on learning how I had
been engaged, the small book called "The Perfect Butler." I took it
from the pocket of my flannel shirt, under my oilskins, and held it
out to her.
"I have not got very far," I said humbly. "It's not inspiring
reading. I've got the wine glasses straightened out, but it seems
a lot of fuss about nothing. Wine is wine, isn't it? What
difference, after all, does a hollow stem or green glass make--"
The rain was beating down on us. The "Perfect Butler" was weeping
tears; as its chart of choice vintages was mixed with water. Miss
Lee looked up, smiling, from the book.
"You prefer 'a jug of wine,"' she said.
"Old Omar had the right idea; only I imagine, literally, it was a
skin of wine. They didn't have jugs, did they?"
"You know the 'Rubaiyat'?" she asked slowly.
"I know the jug of wine and loaf of bread part," I admitted,
irritated at the slip. "In my home city they're using it to
advertise a particular sort of bread. You know--'A book of
verses underneath the bough, a loaf of Wiggin's home-made bread,
and thou."'
In spite of myself, in spite of the absurd verse, of the pouring
rain, of the fact that I was shortly to place her dinner before her
in the capacity of upper servant, I thrilled to the last two words.
"'And thou,'" I repeated.
She looked up at me, startled, and for a second our glances held.
The next moment she was gone, and I was alone on a rain swept deck,
cursing my folly.
That night, in a white linen coat, I served dinner in the after
house. The meal was unusually gay, rendered so by the pitching of
the boat and the uncertainty of the dishes. In the general hilarity,
my awkwardness went unnoticed. Miss Lee, sitting beside Vail,
devoted herself to him. Mrs. Johns, young and blonde, tried to
interest Turner, and, failing in that, took to watching me, to my
discomfiture. Mrs. Turner, with apprehensive eyes on her husband,
ate little and drank nothing.
Dinner over in the main cabin, they lounged into the chart-room--
except Mrs. Johns, who, following them to the door, closed it behind
them and came back. She held a lighted cigarette, and she stood
just outside the zone of candlelight, watching me through narrowed
eyes.
"You got along very well to-night," she observed. "Are you quite
strong again"
"Quite strong, Mrs. Johns."
"You have never done this sort of thing before, have you?"
"Butler's work? No--but it is rather simple."
"I thought perhaps you had," she said. "I seem to recall you,
vaguely--that is, I seem to remember a crowd of people, and a
noise--I dare say I did see you in a crowd somewhere. You know,
you are rather an unforgettable type."
I was nonplused as to how a butler would reply to such a statement,
and took refuge in no reply at all. As it happened, none was needed.
The ship gave a terrific roll at that moment, and I just saved the
Chartreuse as it was leaving the table. Mrs. Johns was holding to a
chair.
"Well caught," she smiled, and, taking a fresh cigarette, she bent
over a table-lamp and lighted it herself. All the time her eyes
were on me, I felt that she was studying one over her cigarette,
with something in view.
"Is it still raining?"
"Yes, Mrs. Johns."
"Will you get a wrap from Karen and bring it to me on deck? I--I
want air to-night."
The forward companionway led down into the main cabin. She moved
toward it, her pale green gown fading into the shadow. At the foot
of the steps she turned and looked back at me. I had been stupid
enough, but I knew then that she had something to say to me,
something that she would not trust to the cabin walls. I got the
wrap.
She was sitting in a deck-chair when I found her, on the lee side
of the after house, a position carefully chosen, with only the
storeroom windows behind. I gave her the wrap, and she flung it
over her without rising.
"Sit down, Leslie," she said, pointing to the chair beside her. And,
as I hesitated, "Don't be silly, boy. Else Lee and her sister may
be as blind as they like. You are not a sailor, or a butler, either.
I don't care what you are: I'm not going to ask any questions. Sit
down; I have to talk to some one."
I sat on the edge of the chair, somewhat uneasy, to tell the truth.
The crew were about on a night like that, and at any moment Elsa Lee
might avail herself of the dummy hand, as she sometimes did, and run
up for a breath of air or a glimpse of the sea.
"Just now, Mrs. Johns;" I said, "I am one of the crew of the Ella,
and if I am seen here--"
"Oh, fudge!" she retorted impatiently. "My reputation isn't going
to be hurt, and the man's never is. Leslie, I am frightened--you
know what I mean."
"Turner?"
"Yes."
"You mean--with the captain?"
"With any one who happens to be near. He is dangerous. It is Vail
now. He thinks Mr. Vail is in love with his wife. The fact is that
Vail--well, never mind about that. The point is this: this
afternoon he had a dispute with Williams, and knocked him down. The
other women don't know it. Vail told me. We have given out that
Williams is seasick. It will be Vail next, and, if he puts a hand
on him, Vail will kill him; I know him."
"We could stop this drinking."
"And have him shoot up the ship! I have been thinking all evening,
and only one thing occurs to me. We are five women and two men,
and Vail refuses to be alarmed. I want you to sleep in the after
house. Isn't there a storeroom where you could put a cot?"
"Yes," I agreed, "and I'll do it, of course, if you are uneasy, but
I really think--"
"Never mind what you really think. I haven't slept for three nights,
and I'm showing it." She made a motion to rise, and I helped her up.
She was a tall woman, and before I knew it she had put both her hands
on my shoulders.
"You are a poor butler, and an indifferent sailor, I believe," she
said, "but you are rather a dear. Thank you."
She left me, alternately uplifted and sheepish. But that night I
took a blanket and a pillow into the storeroom, and spread my six
feet of length along the greatest diameter of a four-by-seven pantry.
And that night, also, between six and seven bells, with the storm
subsided and only a moderate sea, Schwartz, the second mate, went
overboard--went without a cry, without a sound.
Singleton, relieving him at four o'clock, found his cap lying near
starboard, just forward of the after house. The helmsman and the
two men in the lookout reported no sound of a struggle. The lookout
had seen the light of his cigar on the forecastle-head at six bells
(three o'clock). At seven bells he had walked back to the helmsman
and commented cheerfully on the break in the weather. That was the
last seen of him.
The alarm was raised when Singleton went on watch at four o'clock.
The Ella was heaved to and the lee boat lowered. At the same time
life-buoys were thrown out, and patent lights. But the early summer
dawn revealed a calm ocean; and no sign of the missing mate.
At ten o'clock the order was reluctantly given to go on.
CHAPTER V
A TERRIBLE NIGHT
With the disappearance of Schwartz, the Ella was short-handed: I
believe Captain Richardson made an attempt to secure me to take the
place of Burns, now moved up into Schwartz's position. But the
attempt met with a surly refusal from Turner.
The crew was plainly nervous and irritable. Sailors are
simple-minded men, as a rule; their mental processes are elemental.
They began to mutter that the devil-ship of the Turner line was at
her tricks again.
That afternoon, going into the forecastle for some of my clothing,
I found a curious group. Gathered about the table were Tom, the
mulatto cook, a Swede named Oleson, Adams, and Burns of the crew.
At the head of the table Charlie Jones was reading the service for
the burial of the dead at sea. The men were standing, bareheaded.
I took off my cap and stood, just inside the door, until the simple
service was over. I was strongly moved.
Schwartz disappeared in the early morning of August 9. And now I
come, not without misgiving, to the night of August 12. I am
wondering if, after all, I have made clear the picture that is before
my eyes: the languid cruise, the slight relaxation of discipline, due
to the leisure of a pleasure voyage, the Ella again rolling gently,
with hardly a dash of spray to show that she was moving, the sun
beating down on her white decks and white canvas, on the three women
in summer attire, on unending-bridge, with its accompaniment of tall
glasses filled with ice, on Turner's morose face and Vail's watchful
one. In the forecastle, much gossip and not a little fear, and in
the forward house, where Captain Richardson and Singleton had their
quarters, veiled hostility and sullen silence.
August 11 was Tuesday, a hot August day, with only enough air going
to keep our sails filled. At five o'clock I served afternoon tea,
and shortly after I went to Williams's cabin in the forward house to
dress the wound in his head, a long cut, which was now healing. I
passed the captain's cabin, and heard him quarreling with the first
mate, who was replying, now and then, sullenly. Only the tones of
their voices reached me.
When I had finished with Williams, and was returning, the quarrel
was still going on. Their voices ceased as I passed the door, and
there was a crash, as of a chair violently overturned. The next bit
I heard.
"Put that down!" the captain roared.
I listened, uncertain whether to break in or not. The next moment,
Singleton opened the door and saw me. I went on as if I had heard
nothing.
Beyond that, the day was much as other days. Turner ate no dinner
that night. He was pale, and twitching; even with my small
experience, I knew he was on the verge of delirium tremens. He did
not play cards, and spent much of the evening wandering restlessly
about on deck. Mrs. Turner retired early. Mrs. Johns played
accompaniments for Vail to sing to, in the chart-room, until
something after eleven, when they, too, went to their rooms.
It being impracticable for me to go to my quarters in the storeroom
until the after house was settled, I went up on deck. Miss Lee had
her arm through Turner's and was talking to him. He seemed to be
listening to her; but at last he stopped and freed his arm, not
ungently.
"That all sounds very well, Elsa," he said, "but you don't know what
you are talking about."
"I know this."
"I'm not a fool--or blind."
He lurched down the companionway and into the cabin. I heard her
draw a long breath; then she turned and saw me.
"Is that you, Leslie?"
"Yes, Miss Lee."
She came toward me, the train of her soft white gown over her arm,
and the light from a lantern setting some jewels on her neck to
glittering.
"Mrs. Johns has told me where you are sleeping. You are very good
to do it, although I think she is rather absurd."
"I am glad to do anything I can."
"I am sure of that. You are certain you are comfortable there?"
"Perfectly."
"Then--good-night. And thank you."
Unexpectedly she put out her hand, and I took it. It was the first
time I had touched her, and it went to my head. I bent over her
slim cold fingers and kissed them. She drew her breath in sharply
in surprise, but as I dropped her hand our eyes met.
"You should not have done that," she said coolly. "I am sorry."
She left me utterly wretched. What a boor she must have thought me,
to misconstrue her simple act of kindness! I loathed myself with a
hatred that sent me groveling to my blanket in the pantry, and that
kept me, once there, awake through all the early part of the summer
night.
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11