The Cruise of the Make-Believes

"Then you can give them my message," said Gilbert, a little contemptuously. "You can tell them that I decline to have my actions criticized by any one; you can let them understand that I know that they had no real reason for coming to Fiddler's Green, and taking uncomfortable lodgings, except in order to find out what I was doing. You can tell them – "

"I beg your pardon, Byfield – but I can't tell them anything of the kind," said Mr. Tant. "You can't send messages of that description – and I can't take them."

"You're quite right, my Tant; of course you can't," replied Gilbert. "I'm obliged to you for reminding me. Forgive me; I'm a little worried and troubled, and I seem to think that everyone about me is plotting against me, and scheming against me."

"My dear Byfield – why don't you shake these people off?" asked Tant, lowering his voice. "Common charity is one thing; but these people will stick to you like leeches till they've sucked your very blood. After all, as I have said so often, one must draw the line somewhere, you know."

"Yes – I know; and I'm going to draw the line to-morrow," said Gilbert, half to himself. "However, if the ladies have not retired, I'll stroll down with you and see them. Come along!"

"They'll be delighted, I'm sure," said Tant, without the least cordiality.

They found Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter astonishing so much of the village as remained awake by sitting in an extremely small garden in front of an unpretentious cottage stiffly on chairs in evening dress; behind them was the lighted room in which they had just been dining. Mrs. Ewart-Crane greeted Gilbert grimly, and hoped he was well; Enid nodded, and said casually – "Ah, Gilbert" – and turned her attention to Jordan Tant.

"Sorry I couldn't let you have my house," said Gilbert – "but you see I had already let it to other people. A little later on, perhaps – "

"My dear Gilbert – what is really happening?" asked Mrs. Ewart-Crane, lowering her voice, and turning away from the others. "Of course we all know that there's a girl – and that she came out of some quite impossible slum in which you chose to live. I'm not saying that she's not perfectly nice and good, and all that sort of thing; but you have to think of yourself, and of the future. And I suppose that she's got all her horrid people with her?"

"Some friends of mine are certainly staying at my house down here at present," said Gilbert – "and I originally met them in Arcadia Street, when I was living there. It has merely been a visit – and that visit ends almost immediately. As a matter of fact, I'm going away to-morrow on a yachting cruise."

"I am relieved to hear it," said the lady, with a sigh. "I have been perfectly miserable over the whole business; I have not known how to sleep. I came down here, and took these rooms to-day, on the assurance of Jordan that they were the only ones to be had in the place; I wanted to keep an eye on you."

"Extremely kind of you," he said. "Only you see I rather object to anyone keeping an eye upon me."

"Now, however, that the horrid people are going, and that you have made up your mind in a sense to run away also, there is no further necessity for my remaining here," went on Mrs. Ewart-Crane. "But tell me; do you go on this yachting cruise alone?"

"Well – I've scarcely made up my mind yet," he returned evasively; and the lady looked at him, and silently drew in her breath and pursed her lips. "My plans have been made rather hurriedly."

"Exactly," she said. "Now, my dear Gilbert – would it not be a kindly thing to take Enid and myself with you? I know the yacht, and I know how very comfortable you can make your guests. And believe me, we should be more than grateful."

"I'm afraid I'm not able to do that just at present," he replied. "Mine is, in a sense, a sudden trip, and I have no real preparations made for the reception of passengers on the yacht. I'm sorry, but – "

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said, with a smile. "It was only a sudden thought on my part."

Feeling annoyed and ashamed and resentful at this cross-questioning, Gilbert presently bade them good night curtly enough, and strolled off into the darkness towards his own house. As he disappeared, Mrs. Ewart-Crane turned to Jordan Tant and the girl.

"Well – one thing I have discovered, at least," she said viciously. "Gilbert takes the girl with him to-morrow on this extraordinary voyage."

"My dear mother!" Enid rose with an appearance of indignation. "He wouldn't do such a thing."

"I don't know what to make of the fellow myself," said Jordan Tant, with a shake of the head. "I don't think he means any harm; I simply think he's got himself into a deuce of a hole, and doesn't quite know how to get out of it. That's my opinion. As for the girl – well, of course she's decidedly pretty – and nice-mannered – and all that kind of thing; and so I suppose – "

"I think we will wish you good night, Jordan," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane, rising. And Jordan Tant took the hint, and went off to his room at the village inn.

Gilbert Byfield walked far that night under the stars, and smoked many pipes. Now he was right, and now he was wrong; now he knew that this thing was good in the sight of that wholly impossible heaven that smiles upon unconventional things when they are done for a good and proper purpose. Now there was no other way – and now there was a better way, by which he might speak the truth, and send her back to some Arcadia Street where she could struggle on, and yet live the old clean fine life. Now he hated himself for what he had settled to do; now he urged against a pricking conscience that Bessie loved him, and that nothing else mattered. Still, with those warring thoughts he got back in the small hours, and let himself in, and went to bed.

There was much to be done on the following day, and he determined to start early. He made all necessary arrangements with the man in charge of the house; left a brief note for Bessie, to be given into her hands alone, in which he explained carefully what she was to do. Then, avoiding his strange guests, who fortunately for him were in the habit of rising late, he found his way to the little station, and left Fiddler's Green behind him.

There followed a hurried rush through London, and the settling of various affairs there, and the dispatch of telegrams. Late in the afternoon he found himself at Newhaven, with a small hillock of luggage, and facing a man who had the appearance of being half landsman and half seaman, and who was respectfully touching his cap to him.

"Ah, Pringle – so you had my wire," he said cheerfully.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. And everything's ready, sir," said Pringle.

Pringle was a long, thin, cleanly shaven man, with a countenance absolutely without expression, save for a pair of eyes that twinkled on occasion with a touch of humour very unbefitting a servant. He was neatly dressed in a blue suit, and was in fact a species of half steward, half man-servant, who had been with his master in various parts of the world on various occasions. He was that sort of man who, had he received a telegram to say that a young and lively tiger was being consigned to his care, would in all probability have bought the largest and strongest dog collar and chain obtainable, as a matter of precaution, and have gone to meet his charge with perfect equanimity. He had the luggage gathered together now, and in an incredibly short space of time had deposited that and his master on board the yacht Blue Bird.

"Quite nice to be here again, Pringle," said Gilbert. "As you may have gathered from my wire, there is someone else coming; make the necessary arrangements. Also meet the trains this afternoon coming from London; a young lady will inquire for the yacht, and you can bring her down."

"Very good, sir," said Pringle; and vanished.

It was late in the evening when Pringle appeared again, standing solemnly just within the cabin door. His face was inscrutable to an ordinary observer – and yet one might have thought that there was in his eyes a lurking gleam of that humour that was so very much out of place.

"Young lady's come aboard, sir," said Pringle.

Gilbert sprang up, and pushed the man aside, and went out and mounted the companion. There was Bessie – smiling and bright-eyed, and obviously very excited; as he took her hands, and looked at her delightedly, she broke out into a flood of speech.

"Oh, my dear – such a journey – and yet I'm so glad to be here. I don't know how I should have managed it – all alone and not knowing anything much about travelling – if it hadn't have been for dear father."

"Dear father?" he repeated, with a curious chill creeping into his heart.

"Yes, of course," she replied. "You see, I couldn't come without father – and besides, he would have broken his heart if I had gone away without him. So I told him all you said, and all that you were going to do; and he worked hard to get things packed, and to get us off. See – there he is!"

Gilbert dropped her hands, and walked a pace or two along the deck to where a man was standing looking over the side. The man turned, and revealed the smiling features of Daniel Meggison; Daniel in the frock-coat much too large for him – a silk hat perched upon one side of his head – and with an umbrella half unfurled grasped tightly by the middle in one hand. Daniel waved the umbrella cheerfully as he advanced to meet Byfield.

"Ha! – so here we are!" he exclaimed, with much heartiness. "Beautiful vessel – very trim and ship-shape. Splendid notion!"

CHAPTER XI

PURSUIT

THE explanation of that coming of Daniel Meggison to the yacht is a very simple one. He had seen for himself that the game could not last very much longer; he knew that in all probability Byfield would fling caution to the winds, and expose the trick that Meggison and his son were playing. Therefore he watched that young man with more anxiety than he really showed; despite the bravado he displayed, Meggison was really in deadly fear of what was to happen.

The sudden going of Gilbert from the house, while it might have allayed the suspicions of a less cunning man than Meggison, only served to increase them in his case. He felt that in all probability Byfield had but gone away to seek advice or assistance; Meggison began to think that after all the game had been played a little too boldly, and a little too extravagantly. He blamed himself that he had not been more cautious; they might then have hung on for quite a long time.

Prying about the house, in the hope to discover something, Daniel Meggison became aware of the fact that no one seemed in the least surprised at Byfield's departure. True, a question was asked by Simon Quarle, but no definite answer given; Mr. and Mrs. Stocker paid no attention to chance visitors. The astounding thing to Daniel Meggison was that Bessie took no notice of Gilbert's departure, but went about the house singing gaily, and evidently very busy over something in her room. She flitted backwards and forwards to that room with an air of great mystery.

Meggison summoned courage at last to mount the stairs, and to set off in search of her. At the very door of the room, as he knocked, he was confronted by Bessie, who had opened it at that very moment; she smiled at him, and beckoned him in, and closed the door again.

"My child," he whispered with deep anxiety – "what is happening?"

"Father dear, I'm running away," she said, with eyes dancing like those of a child. "And you are going to run away with me."

"But why, my dear? Why leave the beauties of the country? – why run away at all? Please explain," he pleaded.

"Sit down here, father, while I go on with my packing," she commanded – "and I'll tell you all about it. It's so wonderful that you'll scarcely believe it at first; so strange that it would be hard for anyone to believe it. Please don't interrupt me – because I shall have things to pack for you presently, before we run away together."

"I am of a singularly patient nature," said Daniel Meggison, seating himself and folding his hands. "Pray proceed, Bessie."

She proceeded then glibly enough to tell him of all that had happened; of how the Prince of that fairy tale that had come true so strangely had come down there, and had told her that he loved her. There was much that she could not tell her father, beyond the bald fact; but he would understand, and he would know that when the Prince commanded, his willing slave must follow.

"He wanted me to run away with him out into the world – to sail far over the sea with him in this yacht that has been lent to him by a friend," said Bessie, on her knees beside one of the new trunks, busily folding garments. "But of course that wouldn't do at all – because, although I know Gilbert perfectly, and know how good he is, ladies mustn't travel about with gentlemen in that promiscuous way. More than all, it is necessary of course that a certain poor old father, quite incapable of looking after himself, should not be left behind; therefore that father comes in, as usual, very happily." She jumped up at that point, specially to kiss the old reprobate, who was thinking long thoughts.

"Wise little Bessie!" he said, patting her head. "I might have known that you would make no mistake over a matter of that kind. And so friend Byfield wants to take away his bride that is to be, and give her a little holiday on the sea – eh? Well – that seems a very excellent idea, and I promise you that you shall not find your poor old father in the way. But a word of warning, my Bessie!" He turned in his chair, and faced his daughter solemnly.

"Yes, father dear?"

"Not a word to anyone else – not a syllable!" he whispered. "Let us slip away together, leaving the other people in comfort here; we can write to them from some foreign port. Because, you see, we don't want to annoy our friend Byfield; and he might not have accommodation for everybody on this wonderful yacht. Your brother and the others will be very comfortable here; but as we do not wish to make them envious, we will say nothing about our new plans."

"But when they find we're gone, they'll naturally be worried to know what has become of us," urged Bessie.

"True, my child, most true," he responded. "On second thoughts, it would perhaps be better to leave a note for them – a carefully worded diplomatic note – not giving too much information, but just enough. Leave that to me. I'll go and get the few things together that I shall need, and you can come and help me presently. Newhaven, did you say? I'm all excitement. It's a splendid notion!"

The matter of getting from the house was not after all so great a difficulty as may be imagined, for the simple reason that that astute servant in charge of the place saw in this packing up merely the exodus of extraordinary tenants, one of whom at least had been most undesirable. That they should demand that the thing be done secretly seemed under the circumstances reasonable enough; so that the luggage was actually smuggled out of the house, and taken out to a back gate, where a hired carriage was waiting.

"I've left the note in a prominent position, explaining enough to set their minds at rest," said Daniel Meggison, chuckling to himself as he got into the carriage with the girl.

Mr. Daniel Meggison understood, of course, exactly what had happened; saw, or thought he saw, that Gilbert had cunningly determined to lift Bessie neatly out of all the business, and leave the others to face the music as best they might. Daniel felt certain that secret instructions had been given to the servants at the house – instructions which were not to include Bessie; and that Gilbert Byfield had made up his mind to play a new game for himself alone. It is probable that on the score of morality alone Daniel Meggison did not regard the matter seriously; but this proposed desertion of himself was little short of a crime.

"After this," he though to himself, "I'll put the screw on a bit. He thinks he'll play fast and loose with me; he thinks he'll leave me in the lurch – does he? He doesn't know poor old Daniel! Bessie's the ticket – and I'll stick to her through thick and thin – poor child! After all, it's rather lucky that she loves her father so fondly!"

As we already know they arrived on board the yacht Blue Bird in due course, something to the astonishment of Gilbert Byfield, and giving him a new problem to be faced. So far as the note that had been written by Daniel Meggison was concerned – a mere shadowy trail, indicating vaguely the way they had taken – that was to be found some hours later by Mr. Aubrey Meggison.

Now, Aubrey had discovered for the first time on the previous day the real secret of that mysterious fortune the origin of which had more than puzzled him from the first. He was not a brilliant youth, but he knew enough to understand that his father was probably the last man in the world ever to have money to speculate with, or ever to be lucky in any impossible speculation in which he might indulge. Aubrey had been willing enough to accept his share of that impossible fortune, and to shut his eyes resolutely to everything outside the actual good realities that came to him; but he had a feeling that in some fashion a crash would come, involving him with the rest, in the near future. The conversation he had overheard between Daniel and Gilbert Byfield had given him the clue; and he had sprung to his father's rescue with the instinct of one who desires to save himself first of all. But from that moment it became necessary that he should watch the source of the unexpected wealth, the better to be sure that that source did not run dry.

He knew that Gilbert was in a mood to kick over the traces; he was not surprised to find that the master of the house at Fiddler's Green had suddenly gone. But when he discovered that Daniel Meggison and Bessie were also missing, he began to be possessed by a great fear; and when a little later he discovered the note that had been left by his father, that fear was changed at once into a certainty of disaster.

The note had been left to him, as the eldest son, as a species of baneful legacy; it lay upon his dressing-table.

"My dear Aubrey,

"You will have gathered, from the conversation you accidentally overheard yesterday, that our good friend Mr. Byfield is naturally restive at the prospect of providing for the wants not of one person alone, but of a family. In that restiveness I cordially agree with him; I feel that it is time a growing lad – or youth – or young man – whichever you prefer – should be doing something to provide for his own wants. Mr. Byfield is interested in the welfare of your sister, and I foresee for her an alliance in the future which will lift her into that sphere to which I have always felt the family should properly belong.

"Mr. Byfield understands that father and child must not be separated; therefore I accompany Bessie. We are about to start on a voyage, but our ultimate destination is unknown; it will, however, probably be some foreign port. Let me advise you, my son, to keep a stout heart, and to wrest from the world that portion which belongs equally to every one of her sons. I shall expect to hear that you are doing well, and are a credit to the family whose name you bear."

Your father,"Daniel Meggison."

Aubrey Meggison remained for some minutes plunged in gloom after reading the letter; then he said some uncomplimentary things concerning that father who had been so willing to desert him. Child of that father, however, he came quickly to the conclusion that something must be done. He shivered at the thought of being left alone in the world – even such a world as that of Arcadia Street – with no one to feed him, and with no convenient Bessie from whom to borrow half-crowns and shillings.

"Only thing to be done, as far as I can see, is to stick to the guv'nor," he murmured disconsolately. "The guv'nor'll stick to Bessie, and I suppose Bessie'll stick to that bounder Byfield. Well, there'll be a nice string of us; and even if I am at the tail-end of it, I don't mean to be dropped. Only thing is – where have they gone to?"

He knew that it was quite useless to raise a hue and cry, because that would have set others on the track, and so have spoilt his own game. He determined to make cautious inquiries, and in the meantime to appear quite unsuspicious. And it happened that he received assistance from an unexpected quarter.

Mrs. Ewart-Crane had had a sleepless night. She saw herself flouted and laughed at by this slip of a girl who had been picked out of a certain slum called Arcadia Street – saw in imagination that imp of common wickedness known as Bessie Meggison setting her at naught, and leading Gilbert Byfield where she would. Mrs. Ewart-Crane thought of her daughter, and of that daughter's future – felt that this boy-and-girl courtship of years before should be made a binding thing once for all. If Mr. Gilbert Byfield did not know what was due to himself and his friends, he must be taught; and Mrs. Ewart-Crane, as a lady and a mother (for so she reckoned herself, in that order and in those actual words) was the one to teach him.

Rising after that troubled night, she determined to wait until the unlucky Jordan Tant should put in an appearance; she meant to seize upon him as a convenient messenger. It happened, however, that Mr. Jordan Tant was quite content to let well alone; he believed that Gilbert was gone, and was safely out of the way for a considerable time to come. Tant would very gladly have carried the ladies back to London in due course, there to teach them to forget the existence of any such person as Gilbert Byfield.

With this object in view, Mr. Jordan Tant, suspecting that he might be wanted in the business, kept out of the way; so that it happened that it was quite late in the afternoon – long after repeated messages had been sent down to the inn to summon him – that he put in a sheepish appearance at the cottage where dwelt Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter.

Mrs. Ewart-Crane may be said to have seized him in no uncertain fashion, and to have pointed the way. He protested and pleaded; but all to no purpose. Mrs. Ewart-Crane demanded to know what had happened or was happening; and her dignity forbade that she should take any active part in the matter personally. Clearly Jordan Tant was the man sent by Providence for such a purpose.

So Jordan Tant went – and Jordan Tant arrived at the house at the very moment when the whole discovery had burst upon that house. Mr. Gilbert Byfield himself, as an apparent visitor, might not have been missed; but Bessie – the very head and front of everything – and Daniel Meggison, whose dictatorial tones had been heard everywhere at all times and seasons in that house; these were the people to be missed indeed. Mrs. Stocker complained first of discourteous behaviour on the part of host and hostess; later on became suspicious that all was not well, and wondered sarcastically if her brother had gone in search of yet another fortune. This suggestion she made with an accompaniment of sniffs and folded hands, and some pursing of lips.

Still Aubrey Meggison was discreetly silent. He wanted to find out what had happened, solely on his own account; he wanted to know what had become of that father who had so basely deserted him; but on the other hand he did not want, as he tersely expressed it, "a crowd."

Simon Quarle sprang into the very heart of the matter, strident-tongued and fierce. It was his Bessie that was concerned, and he passionately swept aside any suggestion that anyone else might be injured. Where was she? – and what was being done? – those were the questions to which he demanded an instant answer – questions which he shook before the faces of all with whom he came in contact.

Mr. Tant, coming in the guise of a friend of Mr. Gilbert Byfield, was seized upon eagerly as someone having information. What did he know? – and what was he prepared to tell? Mr. Tant looked round on the eager faces, and feeling that for once he held a position of importance, waved the questioners aside, and declined to answer.

"I know nothing of Mr. Byfield's movements," he said. "There certainly has been a suggestion that he might be leaving here shortly – but beyond that I know nothing."

"Does nobody know anything?" wrathfully demanded Mrs. Stocker, glaring at her husband as though she fully expected that mild little man to be hiding important information in his quaking breast. "Are we all to be treated in this fashion, and no explanations to be given whatever?"