The Bandbox

Eleanor pressed her hands to her temples, temporarily dazed by the information. “Island,” she repeated – “a mile from shore – New York an hour and a half away …!”

“Good, comfortable, tight little island,” resumed Mrs. Clover, pleased, it seemed, with the sound of her own voice; “you’ll like it when you come to get acquainted. Just the very place for a girl with your trouble.”

“My trouble? What do you know about that?”

“Your pa told me, of course. Nervous prostration’s what he called it – says as you need a rest with quiet and nothing to disturb you – plenty of good food and sea air – ”

“Oh stop!” Eleanor begged frantically.

“Land!” said the woman in a kindly tone – “I might ’ve known I’d get on your poor nerves, talking all the time. But I can’t seem to help it, living here all alone like I do with nobody but Eph most of the time… There!” she added with satisfaction, spearing the last rasher of bacon from the frying-pan and dropping it on a plate – “now your breakfast’s ready. Draw up a chair and eat hearty.”

She put the plate on the red table-cloth, flanked it with dishes containing soft-boiled eggs, bread and butter and a pot of coffee of delicious savour, and waved one muscular arm over it all with the gesture of a benevolent sorceress. “Set to while it’s hot, my dear, and don’t you be afraid; good food never hurt nobody.”

Momentarily, Eleanor entertained the thought of mutinous refusal to eat, by way of lending emphasis to her indignation; but hunger overcame the attractions of this dubious expedient; and besides, if she were to accomplish anything toward regaining her freedom, if it were no more than to register a violent protest, she would need strength; and already she was weak for want of food.

So she took her place and ate – ate ravenously, enjoying every mouthful – even though her mind was obsessed with doubts and fears and burning anger.

“You are the caretaker here?” she asked as soon as her hunger was a little satisfied.

“Reckon you might call us that, me and Eph; we’ve lived here for five years now, taking care of the island – ever since your pa bought it.”

“Eph is your husband?”

“That’s him – Ephraim Clover.”

“And – doesn’t he do anything else but – caretake?”

“Lord bless you, he don’t even do that; I’m the caretakeress. Eph don’t do nothing but potter round with the motor-boat and go to town for supplies and fish a little and ’tend to the garden and do the chores and – ”

“I should think he must keep pretty busy.”

“Busy? Him? Eph? Lord! he’s the busiest thing you ever laid your eyes on – poking round doing nothing at all.”

“And does nobody ever come here …?”

“Nobody but the boss.”

“Does he often – ?”

“That’s as may be and the fit’s on him. He comes and goes, just as he feels like. Sometimes he’s on and off the island half a dozen times a week, and again we don’t hear nothing of him for months; sometimes he just stops here for days and mebbe weeks, and again he’s here one minute and gone the next. Jumps round like a flea on a griddle, I say; you can’t never tell nothing about what he’s going to do or where he’ll be next… My land o’ mercy, Mr. Searle! What a start you did give me!”

The man had succeeded in startling both women, as a matter of fact. Eleanor, looking suddenly up from her plate on hearing Mrs. Clover’s cry of surprise, saw him lounging carelessly in the hall doorway, where he had appeared as noiselessly as a shadow. His sly, satiric smile was twisting his thin lips, and a sardonic humour glittered in the pale eyes that shifted from Eleanor’s face to Mrs. Clover’s, and back again.

“I wish,” he said, nodding to the caretaker, “you’d slip down to the dock and tell Eph to have the boat ready by seven o’clock.”

“Yes, sir,” assented Mrs. Clover hastily. She crossed at once toward the outer door. From her tone and the alacrity with which she moved to do his bidding, no less than from the half-cringing look with which she met his regard, Eleanor had no difficulty in divining her abject fear of this man whom she could, apparently, have taken in her big hands and broken in two without being annoyed by his struggles.

“And, here!” he called after her – “supper ready?”

“Yes, sir – quite.”

“Very well; I’ll have mine. Eph can come up as soon as he’s finished overhauling the motor. Wait a minute; tell him to be sure to bring the oars up with him.”

“Yes, sir, I will, sir.”

Mrs. Clover dodged through the door and, running down the pair of steps from the kitchen stoop to the ground, vanished behind the house.

“Enjoying your breakfast, I trust?”

Eleanor pushed back her chair and rose. She feared him, feared him as she might have feared any loathly, venomous thing; but she was not in the least spiritually afraid of him. Contempt and disgust only emphasised the quality of her courage. She confronted him without a tremor.

“Will you take me with you when you leave this island tonight?” she demanded.

He shook his head with his derisive smile. She had discounted that answer.

“How long do you mean to keep me here?”

“That depends on how agreeable you make yourself,” he said obscurely.

“What do you mean?”

“Merely that … well, it’s a pleasant, salubrious spot, Wreck Island. You’ll find it uncommonly healthful and enjoyable, too, as soon as you get over the loneliness. Not that you’ll be so terribly lonely; I shall be here more or less, off and on, much of the time for the next few weeks. I don’t mind telling you, in strict confidence, as between father and child, that I’m planning to pull off something pretty big before long; of course it will need a bit of arranging in advance to make everything run smoothly, and this is ideal for a man of my retiring disposition, not overfond of the espionage of his fellow-men. So, if you’re docile and affectionate, we may see a great deal of one another for some weeks – as I said.”

“And if not – ?”

“Well” – he waved his hands expressively – “of course, if you incline to be forward and disobedient, then I shall be obliged to deny you the light of my countenance, by way of punishment.”

She shook her head impatiently. “I want to know when you will let me go,” she insisted, struggling against the oppression of her sense of helplessness.

“I really can’t say.” He pretended politely to suppress a yawn, indicating that the subject bored him inordinately. “If I could trust you – ”

“Can you expect that, after the way you treated me last night – this morning?”

“Ah, well!” he said, claw-like fingers stroking his lips to conceal his smile of mockery.

“You lied to me, drugged me, robbed me of the necklace, brought me here…”

“Guilty,” he said, yawning openly.

“Why? You could have taken the necklace from me at the hotel. Why must you bring me here and keep me prisoner?”

“The pleasure of my only daughter’s society…”

“Oh, you’re despicable!” she cried, furious.

He nodded thoughtfully, fumbling with his lips.

“Won’t you tell me why?” she pleaded.