The Duke's Sweetheart: A Romance
They would call this murder. But was murder of the body of a living man worse than-anything nearly so bad as-murder of a dead woman's fair fame? Eternal curses attend this reprobate wretch!
He ate his breakfast, but what it consisted of he did not know. The talkative waiter kept up a running fire of words; but what they meant, or what his answers conveyed, he did not know.
He made up his mind to walk over to Silver Bay, and, as soon as breakfast was over, he asked the way and set off.
The gale had not moderated; and although Cheyne was one of the strongest men in England, he could not make rapid headway against it. In ordinary weather he would have backed himself to walk the four miles in less than three-quarters of an hour. This day, at the end of three-quarters of an hour, he had got little more than halfway.
He was in no hurry, and he liked the wind. He liked to feel it beat against his face and tug at his clothes. He exulted in the conflict, for at every pace he was conquering the enemy. He was in an excited angry humour-in a rage, the first rage he had ever known in all his life-and he exulted in having some kind of foe in front of him.
Then again, if what that loquacious waiter had told him was true, the wind against which he fought there was fighting for him out at sea, was driving that yacht with its accursed passenger towards him. When this thought crossed his mind, he reached out his arms to embrace the wind. It was no longer a foe, but a loyal friend, doing his work with all its might.
He wondered, Would the yacht come in to-day? Almost certainly not. She had, according to the man at the Shropshire Arms, gone to sea two or three days ago. This gale had been blowing only twelve hours, and it was not likely she had been last night within twenty-four hours' sail of this bay. But then one should remember that twenty-four hours of such a gale would do more than three days of light winds. That was so if the light winds had been fair winds, and the gale was a fair wind. But if the light winds had been fair, and this was foul, how would that be? To answer this question, one should know particulars as to the course the yacht had sailed, and where she was when the gale had struck her first. He knew none of these particulars, and therefore he had no choice but to give up trying to solve the problem.
Thanks to this wind, his victim would soon be in his hands. Unless-what an intolerable disappointment that would be! – unless the waves swallowed his victim up, that victim would soon be in his hands. It would be too bad if the sea robbed him of his revenge. Vengeance for an insult to a mother was the inalienable right of a son, and it would be monstrous to take it from him.
He pressed onward through the rain and blinding dust.
What should he do if this man refused to see him? Suppose, when he tried to get aboard that yacht, they would not let him, what should he do? He had never thought of that before. In case they refused to let him go on board, he should have to go on board by force. He should have the strength of ten. Ay, but he should have more than ten against him. He could not hope to fight his way on board, across the deck, down the companion, and into the cabin, against such odds as would be opposed to him.
What should he do? What could he do?
Ah, that was a good thought! He should send in the name of Baker and Tranter, and make no other use of the name of the firm or of the information he had got through Freemantle. What an excellent thought that was! With the proceeds of the book, "The Duke of Fenwick," he had been able to undertake this journey, and face any reasonable delay. With the name of the firm to which this man had written the libel on himself and his mother, he should gain admittance to the loathsome detractor. Here was a complete circle of poetic justice!
When asked for his name, he should say:
"A gentleman on business. Kindly mention the name of Messrs. Baker and Tranter. I do not happen to have a card of the firm by me."
When he found himself in the presence of the Marquis, he should announce his own name, and say that he had written that book.
But suppose, when all this had happened, the Marquis said nothing, made no accusations, no admissions, what then?
Oh, confound it, Southwold would say something. Surely the Marquis would betray his opinions in some way or another, and then-
"Ah, is this the bay? Silver Bay? And here is the Castle-Silverview Castle."
The gale struck him with all its force; for he now stood on top of the high land by which the bay was surrounded. On his right rose the favourite home of the great Duke of Shropshire. He was in the ducal grounds, opposite the vast castellated pile of buildings, where the Duke lived when on shore; and before him lay the unquiet green waters of the bay, bounded on the seaward side by the reef of grey rocks and the narrow opening through which the heavy waters wallowed in huge uncouth billows towards the shore at his feet; while all along the reef, and high above the summit of its rock, rose and fell at regular intervals a slow-moving irregular wall of dingy white spray. Beyond the reef lay the German Ocean, heaving and tumbling beneath the impetuous blast.
On the left or northern shore of the bay the water was comparatively smooth, and here a few fishing-boats lay moored. Somewhat south-west of the fishing-boats rose and fell the buoy at which the yacht Seabird swung when in port. At the northern corner of the bay lay the only strip of level ground on the shores of the bay, and there stood a few fishermen's cottages; and from this rose a long private road of gradual ascent to the level of the Castle, reaching the upper land a little to the north-east of the Castle.
Except at that one strip of land at the north-east corner of the bay, at the right angle formed where the reef joined the mainland, the water of the bay was unapproachable by cart or carriage. There were three precipitous paths leading, at different points, from the top of the cliffs to three small sandy coves below. The road and the cottages had been the work of the present Duke. He had made the road, that he might have easy access to the water; and he had built the few cottages, that he might have at hand a few seafaring young men, from whom he might fill up vacancies in the yacht's crew, for neither he nor his son liked strangers. While the wild north-east wind swept over the sea and the downs, the cottages lay in secure shelter under the shadow of the high cliff and gaunt rocks, while the huge Castle stood up white against the withering gale.
The road to the little jetty was visible the whole way from the Castle to the water. That cluster of cottages was the only one within three miles of the Castle.
For awhile Cheyne stood leaning forward against the wind contemplating the scene. He looked out under the low clouds streaming up towards him, and could see no craft of any kind. He looked into the bay, and saw a few fishing-boats rolling slowly in the comparatively smooth water between him and the reef. He looked at the reef itself, and the cataracts of white foam and waving haloes of dun spray. He heard the thunder of the ocean billows on the reef, and swash of lesser waves upon the shore.
"What a storm!" he thought. "And that yacht is out there-out there where the long waves, each with the weight of thousands of tons, press onward ceaselessly to the shore. It is wonderful to think man can build anything which can withstand the onslaught of such mighty waves, the fury of such relentless wind! It is almost incredible that any structure of wood could live afloat under conditions such as these!"
He pressed his hand firmly over his eyes, drew his coat tightly round him, and, leaning still more forward into the wind, pushed resolutely down the road leading to the jetty.
CHAPTER XIII.
A NOR'-EASTER AT SEA
When this north-east wind began to blow, the yacht Seabird lay well away to the southward and eastward of Silver Bay, the reckoning being that she was from the bay a hundred-and-thirty miles as a crow flies. The gale had not come on the schooner suddenly. The Duke, the Marquis, and the captain were standing together when the south-west wind on which they had been sailing, began to die, and finally shook out of the sails.
It was a beautiful moonless starlight night. When the wind fell, and the sails flapped idly against the masts, the Duke turned to Captain Drew and said:
"Well, captain, what do you think of it now?"
"I don't think much of it, your grace; I think we're going to have a stiff'ner. I don't like the look of it at all."
"Where do you expect it from now?"
"Not out of the south'ard and west'ard again. No such luck. It would not surprise me a bit if it went all the way round to north, or even the east'ard of north. The glass is falling, it's been un-naturally hot for days, and I think we'll have a change."
"So do I. I think the thermometer must have fallen also. Has it, captain?"
"Yes, your grace, it has dropped from sixty-seven to sixty, and it is going down still."
"I'm sure it isn't sixty now. I think you're right, Drew. I think it will be out of the north. I feel it in my shoulder. I feel the north-east is coming. What do you think, George?"
"I think so too. I am almost sure we shall have to put about before morning. It is growing colder and colder every moment."
For awhile there was silence on deck.
A tall raw-boned man with hollow cadaverous cheeks was at the wheel. He was a man of forty-five years of age, and one of the best seamen in the crew. It was the captain's watch, and the next man who spoke aloud was the man at the wheel. He cried out, in as low a voice as would reach the second mate:
"Mr. Mate!"
"Ay, ay!" answered the mate from the waist, as he turned and walked aft to Pritchard, the gaunt cadaverous man at the wheel.
There was a loud flapping of sails at this time. For awhile Pritchard and Starclay, the second mate, whispered. Starclay took the wheel for a moment, put it three spokes to starboard, put it three spokes to port, and then asked of Pritchard:
"When did you notice it?"
"Not until after the way went off her. I was playing with the wheel, and I felt something wrong."
"Ay, something wrong, no doubt. I don't know what. We must see to it at once. I think we're going to have a bit of a twister. Awkward to have anything wrong there if we get into heavy weather. The captain is talking to the Duke, and I don't like going to him just now. Mr. Yarmould is lying down. I'll ask him to turn up."
Yarmould was the first mate.
In a few minutes Yarmould, the first mate, came aft with the second mate, and taking the wheel in his hand, turned it three spokes to starboard, and then three spokes to port of "steady," shook his head, and then asked:
"How much was it free before from steady, Pritchard?"
"One spoke, sir, or maybe two. Did you notice, sir, that when you put it over three spokes and were putting it back six, between the second and third spoke you felt something?"
"Yes. It didn't come back smooth. I felt a check at about steady. That's queer, isn't it, Mr. Starclay?"
Mr. Yarmould was stout and low of stature.
"Yes, sir. I can't make it out. It goes over freely three spokes, and yet when it's coming back, it grates between two and three."
The chief mate spun the wheel backward and forward once more, and then looked up quickly. It was impossible to see the expression of his face; but evidently he had made up his mind as to what was wrong with the steering apparatus of the yacht Seabird.
He said:
"The carpenter is in your watch, Mr. Starclay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ask him to step aft."
When the carpenter had come, the first mate said:
"Mr. Carpenter, yesterday two spokes or three spokes of the wheel picked up the slack of the rudder-chain when the wheel was hard over in smooth water, now it takes six spokes to pick up the slack. Try the wheel and tell us what you think of it."
The carpenter caught the spokes and put them over, and put them back again.
"At halfway back I feel something," said the carpenter. "That is bad. It's not the chains, it's not the wheel, it's not the tackles-"
He paused awhile, and all the men looked gravely into one another's face, but no one spoke.
The boom, with the great mainsail, lay over at the starboard side of the schooner. The Duke, the Marquis, and the captain were standing by the starboard main shrouds. The two noblemen were leaning up against the bulwark, and the captain was standing five or six planks to windward, amid-ship from the bulwark, and in a line with a line drawn from a point about halfway between the mainmast and the companion. Thus he could not see anything of what was going on at the wheel, and the flapping of the sails prevented his hearing the words spoken further aft beyond the cry of "Mr. Mate!" to which he had attached no importance.
The lower portion of the bodies of the four men now at the wheel had been all along visible to the Marquis of Southwold. Such a gathering of the crew on the quarter-deck was, under the circumstances, exceedingly unusual, and it attracted the heir's attention. At last he spoke:
"I say, Captain Drew, what can all these men want aft in a calm at this time of night?"
The captain turned quickly round, stooped so as to be able to see under the boom, recognised by the bulk and stature of the four men who they were, and guessing something was wrong from the fact that the first mate, whose watch it was below, was on deck and in consultation with Pritchard at the wheel, the second mate, and the carpenter, said: "I'll go see, my lord," and dived under the boom and disappeared, all but the lower part of his body.
"What is it, Mr. Mate?" asked the captain.
"Well, sir, it looks bad enough."
"The weather? I know it does. We're going to have it, and I think, Mr. Mate, a good deal too, of it, out of the north. But we are able for all we can get. Eh?" The final interrogative was spoken, evidently not with a view to an answer to the question it put, but with the intention of encouraging the mate to speak out and explain why a council should be held on the quarter-deck without him, at such an hour, and in a calm.
There was a perceptible pause.
"We think," said Yarmould, in a whisper, "that there's going to be a gale-"
"Well," cried the captain impatiently, "we're not feathers or chaff that we need be afraid of our being blown away, my sons." He spoke with the impatient irritation of a man who knew he was being fenced with, and knew the men who were fencing with him would not be so unstraight, only that they wished to break to him some unpleasant fact.
"What is it?" the captain asked, seeing them all hesitate.
"We think, sir, there is something wrong with the steering-gear."
"With the steering-gear! With what part of the steering-gear? The chain?"
"No."
"The tackles?"
"No."
"The wheel?"
"No."
"The helm?"
"No, sir."
"Then, in the devil's name, what is it?"
"We think the cap-irons of the rudder have worked loose."
"What!"
For a few seconds no one spoke.
"Are you sure?" asked the captain.
"Take the wheel, sir, and see what you think of it."
The captain spun the wheel first one way and then another. He thrust his cap back off his forehead, thrust his hands into his trousers-pockets, and remained motionless for a few moments.
Over the rudder-head was an ornamental seat.
"Carpenter," said the captain, "bring your tools and a lantern. Knock away this seat, and let us see how things are."
As the captain gave these orders the sails ceased to flap. Slowly the boom went over to what had a little while before been the weather-side; the sails filled, and the schooner began to forge slowly ahead.
"Drew!" cried the Duke.
"Yes, your grace."
"Put her about and run for the bay. Good-night."
"Ay, ay, your grace. Good-night."
"Anything wrong. Drew?" called out the Marquis.
"I hope not, your lordship. We are going to try; and when we know I will run below and tell you."
"All right. Good-night, Drew; good-night, men."
"Good-night, your lordship."
The carpenter brought the tools and a lantern. In a few minutes he had knocked away the ornamental seat, and revealed the rudder-cap.
There, unmistakeably, was the explanation of the irregularity which Pritchard had noticed. The rudder-head was rotten; and the cap-irons of the rudder had worked loose upon the wood, so that the helm, to which the cap-irons were fixed, played a little free to starboard and port before it gripped the rudder-head.
"What do you think, carpenter?" asked the captain, when the four men had recovered their upright position, after bending low to examine the rudder-head by the light of the lantern.
The carpenter shook his head gravely.
"It doesn't look wholesome, does it, captain? You're going to put the ship about, sir?"
"Yes."
"All right, sir. Put her about, and then we'll see what we can do."
The sails were now full with the north-east breeze, which was yet light. The yacht was put about. Her head was set for Silver Bay, and she lay over slightly, steered half a point to the northward of north-west, on the wind with the wind abeam.
When the yacht was tidy once more, the four men came aft to where the man stood at the wheel.
"What do you propose to do, carpenter?" asked the master.
"Well, sir, you see there's no time to be lost. It was a bad bit of timber to start with, and now it's dozed. It's the first rudder she ever had?"
"It is the first rudder she ever had."
"And it's five years since she has been on the hard or in a dry dock?"
"Five years since she got a good overhauling."
"It is my opinion, sir, that anyone would pass that rudder by sight until it began to give, which can't be longer ago than a few days."
"What do you propose doing?"
"Well, sir, I'd say the best thing would be to wedge it taut inside the cap-iron. What do you think, sir?"
"You couldn't fish it?"
"No, sir, in no way; there's no room."
"I think you're right, Mr. Carpenter. There is no other way but to wedge it. Do you think it will hold?"
"Yes, sir, I think it will. We'll lash it in with half-inch as far as we can below the iron, and then we'll wedge it inside the iron. That'll hold it," said the carpenter confidently.
"Ay," said the captain; "I don't think you can do anything better."
The carpenter set to work at once. The man at the helm kept the wheel steady, and coil after coil was slowly wound round the rotten rudder-head. The carpenter wound the rope round and round as far down as the space between the rudder-head and the rudder-case would allow. Then he improved on his original plan, and wound the line over the coil already formed, thus doubling the thickness of the serving. When this had been done, the carpenter brought some pieces of oak, and cut them into long wedges. These he drove down with a caulker's maul inside the cap-iron all round the rudder-head.
While the carpenter was lashing the rudder-head and driving in the wedges, the captain and first mate were walking up and down the quarter-deck together. As the carpenter had driven in wedge after wedge, he had noticed with satisfaction that each succeeding one required more driving. Hence it was obvious the wedges were telling. It was also plainly revealed, by the light of the lantern, that the play of the rudder-head within the irons of the rudder-cap had been reduced to almost nothing. This was exceedingly satisfactory. Now and then the captain had stopped in his walk to see how the carpenter progressed.
When the carpenter had driven in ten wedges he paused a moment, asked the captain to look, and said:
"What do you think of it now, captain?"
"What do you say, Mr. Carpenter?"
"Well, sir, I think 'twill hold now. See." He caught the rudder and shook it forcibly.
"It works a little yet."
"It does, sir. Do you think, sir, I might put in another wedge or two?"
"You see, Mr. Carpenter, it works a little free now; we're going to have a gale; if it works a little now, it will work a great deal more by-and-by, and I don't like the notion of that iron working freer and freer with a lee-shore under my bow. I don't like that notion at all. Do you think you could make it taut with a couple more wedges?"
"Yes, captain; I think I could, if-"
"If what?"
"If the iron will hold."
"Ah!" said the captain, and the three men looked down gravely at the face of the carpenter, who was kneeling on the deck, and whose tar-stained caulker's maul was partly illumined by the light of the lantern. The lantern was tilted up by a spike-nail so that most of the light was thrown on the rudder-cap and down the rudder-case.
"And what do you think of the iron, Mr. Carpenter?"
The man did not reply immediately. He took up a hammer and struck the iron sharply with it. The paint cracked and fell down the rudder-case into the black invisible water below. When most of the yellow paint had fallen off, the rusty wasted metal became visible.
"It looks all right, captain," said the carpenter, raising his head.
"Well, knock in two more wedges. I don't like the notion of that thing working loose while we are in a gale with a lee-shore under our bow. I promised the Duke I'd tell him about this as soon as it had been put straight. I suppose I may count it straight now, Mr. Carpenter?"
"Yes, sir; I think you may. With the lashing and the wedges I don't expect anything will stir, and I have no fear of the iron."
The captain walked forward and disappeared down the companion.
CHAPTER XIV.
TWO DISCOVERIES
The captain knocked at the cabin-door, and, having received permission, entered.
"Well, Drew, what is the matter?" asked the Duke, from a couch.
"The rudder-head is dozed, your grace."
"Dozed, Drew! and you found that out only now?"
There was a tone of alarm and reproach in the old man's voice.
"You see, your grace, it is some time since she was overhauled."
"Yes; but the rudder-head. Drew, the rudder-head! That is not a thing to trifle with."
"Your grace will remember I could not get at it, owing to the seat."
"Well, talking won't undo the evil now. What do you propose doing?"
"We've cured it so far, your grace. We've served the rudder-head with the half-inch, and driven wedges inside the iron all round."
"And you think it is safe now?"
"Quite safe for the run."
"And you do not think it necessary or advisable to put in anywhere?"
"That's what I came to speak to your grace about."
"There's Izlemouth, a couple of hours nearer than Silver Bay. How is the wind for Izlemouth?"
"Fair, your grace. We'd carry it over the quarter."
"And how is it for home?"
"Abeam."
"She'd make a couple of knots more an hour with the wind on the quarter."
"Yes, your grace, and less leeway."
"I am half inclined to run in there. And yet, if you are satisfied that the rudder-head will hold until we can reach Silver Bay, I'd much rather go home."
"The rudder-head will hold, your grace. I'll answer for that. Would your grace like to come and see it?"
"No, no. Drew. I'll take your word for it. You know all about it. It's a wonder you never thought of running a knife into that rudder."
"Well, your grace, as I said, it wasn't easy to get at. You see, there was the seat."
"Ay, ay! So there was-so there was, Drew! I forgot that-I forgot that. You are not to blame. We must lay the Seabird up when we get in. We can hire or buy another yacht while this one is under repairs. What do you think we ought to do, Drew, sell her or repair her? What do you think?"
"You have had her a good many years now, your grace."
"Yes, yes. You think I ought to sell her. I think you are right. What course are you steering now, Drew?"
"Nor'-west, your grace; for home."
"Well, then, keep her on that tack-keep her on that tack. If you answer for the rudder, we'll go home. What do you think she'd fetch as she swims?"
"Fittings and all?"
He looked round at the superbly-fitted and furnished cabin.
"Yes. Just as she swims. We'd take our personal baggage ashore, and sell all the rest."
