The Cruise of the Make-Believes

It was at that moment that the vanity which possessed Mr. Aubrey Meggison overcame all other feelings, and demanded to have speech. Aubrey had up to this moment been ignored; more than that, he had been ignored by this aristocratic-looking, well-dressed stranger. He thrust his way into the circle, elbowing out of it Mr. Edward Stocker, as being the weakest there, and faced Mr. Jordan Tant.

"Seein' that everybody seems to be at sixes and sevens, and not quite to know what they're talkin' about, it mightn't be a bad idea if what I might call the last representative of the family put in a spoke. There's a lot of jawin' goin' on – and yet nobody seems to know anything at all. If I might say a word, p'raps I could elucidate what seems to be regarded as a bit of a mystery, but which ain't, mind you, any mystery at all."

"Why – what in the world do you know about it?" demanded Mrs. Stocker fiercely.

"What I know about it is this," replied Aubrey calmly, as he drew the note from his pocket, and flicked at it with a finger. "The guv'nor's taken it into his head to go – likewise that sweet sister of mine; and by all accounts our precious friend Byfield has gone also. No thought, mind you, of what's goin' to become of me, or of what I'm to do, left with this blessed house on my hands. Also to say nothin' of hints thrown out as to the necessity for me to earn my own livin'. That's what I know about it."

"I knew it," said Jordan Tant. "I was certain in my own mind that when it came to the point Byfield would shake himself free of you all, and go away. But I certainly did not anticipate that he would take the girl or her father."

"So you know the truth – do you?" demanded Simon Quarle, elbowing his way up to Mr. Tant. "You know the whole disgraceful truth – do you? I suppose you're one of his precious friends – eh?"

"Mr. Byfield is certainly a friend of mine," said Jordan Tant. "And I am the more sorry that he seems to have been sponged upon by all sorts of people with whom he should have had nothing to do."

"Sponged upon!" Mrs. Stocker literally took him by one shoulder, and turned him round so that he faced her. "My brother, let me tell you, has a private fortune of his own – "

"Private fiddlesticks, ma'am," broke in Simon Quarle. "He never had a penny to bless himself with, until he happened to light upon a soft-hearted man who took an interest in his daughter Bessie. That soft-hearted man was Gilbert Byfield; and all this house, and the servants, and the rioting and the feasting, and the champagne and what not – it's all been paid for by him. So much for your brother's fortune, ma'am!"

"I'll not believe it," exclaimed Mrs. Stocker, seeing the matter clearly enough now, but clinging to straws. "It's ridiculous!"

"It happens to be true," said Mr. Tant. "Byfield's friends have long bewailed this absurd infatuation of his, and have done their best to get him away from it; now he has finally defied all their efforts, and has actually run away with this young person."

"Regardin' the fact that she's my sister – would you wish to offer any explanation of that remark to me?" asked Aubrey, with dignity.

"Don't forget, my friend, that she has gone with her father," Simon Quarle reminded Tant in his harsh voice. "There's not a word can be breathed against the girl; understand that."

"The only question is – where have they gone?" demanded Mrs. Stocker. "Personally, I should like to see my brother; I should like to let him understand that never for one instant was I deceived about the matter; never for one instant did I believe his tales of this fortune – and his speculations – and so forth. He would find it difficult to deceive me, I think. I saw through the whole business from the very beginning."

"All I can tell you is this," said Mr. Tant, turning towards the door. "Our friend Byfield – or perhaps I should say my friend Byfield – is an extremely wealthy man, and has a yacht – the Blue Bird– lying at Newhaven. He has gone there, and will doubtless be found on board by anyone sufficiently interested in him to follow. So far as I'm concerned – I wash my hands of him altogether. Good day to you!"

Mr. Tant put on his hat, and walked with his little mincing steps out of the house; from the windows they saw him going down the drive, and turning out into the high road. There was a silence for a moment or two until he had disappeared; then Mrs. Stocker, in the most startling fashion, demanded of her husband why he was standing staring there.

"Will you permit me, Edward, to remain any longer in a house in which I have been insulted – defrauded – held up to ridicule? As you are well aware, I am compelled to accompany you whenever I receive orders to do so; such is my wifely duty. But at the present moment I implore you to take me away."

"Certainly, my love," said Mr. Stocker feebly. "Only I should have liked to know what had happened to poor Bessie; I always took an interest in the girl, and I was in a way – (subject, of course, to your decision in the matter, my dear) – quite fond of her. I should have liked to know – "

"Your wife, I believe, stands first," said Mrs. Stocker, pointing to the door. "I suggest, Edward – for of course I would not wish to put my views before yours – I suggest that you lead the way, and that I follow. We can then decide privately what is best for us to do."

So Mr. Edward Stocker, with a protesting glance at the others, led the way, and Mrs. Stocker followed. In the hall, with the door closed, Mrs. Stocker literally took him by the collar, and after administering a shake to him, the better to rouse his wits, spoke her mind.

"Edward Stocker – I am going after them," she said. "I am not going to allow that wretched brother of mine to triumph in such a manner as this; I intend to let him know exactly what I think of him. As for the girl" – Mrs. Stocker bridled and breathed hard – "I fancy I shall have a word to say to her also when we meet. Edward Stocker – our way lies straight for Newhaven and this vessel called Blue Bird."

"But, my love – I am not a good sailor," protested little Mr. Stocker.

"Idiot! – I don't anticipate a voyage," exclaimed Mrs. Stocker. "We may be in time to stop them; that's my idea."

Aubrey Meggison, left with Simon Quarle, looked at the latter dubiously; and then, in his despair, decided to seek that gentleman's advice. Simon was pacing about the room, with his hands clasped behind him, and muttering to himself.

"Speakin' of myself for a moment – what would you advise?" said Aubrey.

"Advise? What do you mean?" snarled Mr. Quarle, turning upon him.

"As a man – and as a brother," said Aubrey a little feebly. "To say nothing of a being that's been abandoned, and left to what I might call his fate. What do you think I ought to do?"

"Do? See if you can find some honest work somewhere – preferably road-mending, or something of that sort," snapped the other; and turned and walked out of the room.

"Gentlemanly chap, that," said Aubrey, addressing the furniture. "Road-mendin' indeed! I think I know a trick worth two of that. If this man Byfield is so fly with his money, why shouldn't I have a turn at him? An outraged brother ought to count for something. Is it to be left to the old man to deal with him? Not much! Newhaven, wasn't it? I'll have a look at this blessed Blue Bird on my own account!" He buttoned his coat with some show of resolution, and went hurriedly out of the room.

It has to be recorded that Mr. Simon Quarle, on his knees in his room, hurriedly packing his small bag, had arrived also at a decision. He was cramming things in ruthlessly, muttering savagely to himself as he did so.

"Oh! – my Bessie – child in the ways of the world – and child most of all where your heart is touched – is there anyone that can look after you? You'll be lost, body and soul, among the lot of 'em, if your old friend Simon doesn't stir himself. Devils! – harpies! – vultures! – they shall reckon with me when it comes to the pinch. I'm for Newhaven!"

Meanwhile, Mr. Jordan Tant had walked straight back to the cottage, in search of Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid. There, with many gestures, and with the air of a man whose feelings of right and wrong had been outraged, he told his story. "If Gilbert had only listened to me," he ended pathetically – "but he never would learn to draw the line."

"One thing I am resolved upon," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane grimly – "and that is that poor Gilbert shall not be absolutely lost. He must be rescued; he must be snatched away from these people, against his will if necessary. As I have already hinted, my mind is pretty well made up; we will go at once to Newhaven, and see what can be done."

"We?" Enid looked at her mother in bewilderment.

"That was the word I used," said Mrs. Ewart-Crane sternly. "Jordan, I am sure, would not allow us to go on such an expedition alone; he will doubtless be willing to lend us his support – morally and physically."

"Certainly – if you wish it," said Jordan Tant humbly. "Most delighted. To Newhaven, by all means."

CHAPTER XII

MISS MAKE-BELIEVE WAKES UP

IT becomes necessary that we should return to the deck of that yacht Blue Bird, there to discover Mr. Daniel Meggison beaming upon Gilbert Byfield, and inwardly congratulating himself on having once more stepped straight into the heart of a difficult and delicate business. We have to imagine the state of mind of that misguided young man Gilbert, in once again finding himself saddled with Mr. Daniel Meggison.

Yet, if the truth be told, there was behind this resentment some faint sneaking feeling of relief. In imagination he had gone over scenes that must presently be enacted on that yacht; and always had come against a dead wall, beyond which he could not go; and that dead wall had sprung up hard and firm whenever he thought of how he must look into the eyes of Bessie Meggison. He had seen her in many different moods – still always in his imagination; but, to do the man credit, he had seen her always pure. Which is only another way of saying that she had always been the girl he had first imagined her to be.

Shorn of all the romantic element in it, the thing had painted itself in brutal colours; and Byfield had been able to leap the years, as it were, and to see her in the future. He had set out to do this thing with the finest motives, and it was not his fault entirely that his hand had been forced, and that he had been compelled to take a different course from that he had at first contemplated; nevertheless he could not blink the fact that what he was to do now was shameful. So that the coming of Daniel Meggison, while it changed every plan he had, yet relieved the situation of awkwardness; there were to be none of those scenes between himself and Bessie, when she would demand an explanation he could not fully give.

Nevertheless (such is the inconsistency of man) he rebelled at the thought that once again this man Meggison was to take matters into his own hands, and to do as he liked, with the unconscious aid of the girl. Gilbert was quite prepared to end the matter, and, however, reluctantly, to be done with the whole business for ever; but he was not prepared to go on with it under present conditions. The thing resolved itself into the ridiculous; this carrying away into the world of Mr. Daniel Meggison, in the absurd frock-coat and silk hat of his supposed respectability.

Dejectedly enough, Gilbert showed the girl over the yacht – Daniel Meggison tailing behind, and expressing loud approval of everything. Then, so soon as it could be managed, the young man got rid of Bessie, and approached the father. For he had determined that now he would no longer mince matters.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand the position, Meggison," said Gilbert, standing leaning over the side while the old man stood beside him. "What do you imagine I'm going to do; what do you think is going to happen, now that you have come here with Bessie?"

Mr. Daniel Meggison opened wide eyes of virtuous astonishment. "What am I going to do?" he echoed. "Is it possible that you imagined, sir, that I was going to allow my daughter to come here alone? Is it possible that you thought that her old father would be so neglectful of her interests as to permit such a thing? What in the name of all that's moral did you think I should do?"

That was a poser indeed; Gilbert bit his lip and said nothing. Mr. Daniel Meggison pursued his advantage relentlessly.

"My child, sir, has no mother," he went on in a subdued tone. "I have not been fortunate, Mr. Byfield, so far as the world is concerned, but yet I have held up my head. I have been father and mother too to my girl; she has never been able to complain that I have not watched over her. Consequently, when she comes to me, and in the joy of her girlish heart says to me – 'Father – I love this man, and this man loves me' – I take her to my heart, and I rejoice with her. Nevertheless, sir" – Daniel Meggison wagged his head sternly at the other man – "nevertheless, knowing the ways of men, I say to myself that I must be careful, and I must be watchful. My suspicions are aroused when I learn that there is to be a secret stealing away from the house – with talk of a yacht – and a voyage – and unknown countries. When my child turns to me, and says naturally and simply – 'You will of course come with me, father' – the tears gather in my eyes, and I know that all is well. Providence has arranged that I am to shepherd my child, after all. And here I am."

The difficulty lay, of course, in the fact that the old schemer was absolutely right; out of the lips of another man his words would have sounded magnificently indeed. Setting aside the fact that he had been working for himself, and had followed the girl simply because she led the way to that gold mine Daniel Meggison had discovered in his old age, the man was absolutely right in what he had done, and Gilbert had no word in reply. But after a moment or two he turned to Meggison, and said bitterly enough the only thing he felt he could say.

"Very well, Meggison – we will grant that you are right," he said. "But you must understand that I am not going to carry you about the world for your own pleasure; I shouldn't think of such a thing. Since the moment when I did a mad thing for the sake of this girl you have done your best to drain me; you have, in fact, announced your intention of living upon me for the rest of your life. Therefore I'll end the matter; since I cannot help Bessie without being preyed on by you for your own purposes, I will not help her at all. The game is ended; you can go back to that miserable, shiftless, shifty life you were living at the time I first met you. Take Bessie away, and let's put an end to the matter. I've done with it."

Daniel Meggison walked after him, and laid a detaining hand on his arm. "Not so fast, my young friend – not so fast," he urged. "For the sake of my child, and for the sake of the past, I will overlook certain references to what you term my miserable, shiftless, shifty existence; I will swallow that particular insult, as I have swallowed others. But this matter cannot be ended in the fashion you suggest. Nay more – it shall not be ended."

"We'll see about that," said Gilbert. "I give you fair warning that you are to get off this boat as soon as you can possibly manage it; you are to make what excuses you like to Bessie; and you are not to come back here, nor to go again to Fiddler's Green. In fact, so far as Fiddler's Green is concerned, I may tell you that I have given instructions to the servants there that your credit is stopped, and that you are not to be admitted if you go to the place again."

"I guessed as much," said Daniel, with a grin. "That was one reason why I pursued you here – because I really wanted you to understand that you can't take people up one minute, and drop them the next, like so many hot potatoes. I did not seek you, young man; you sought me; consequently you've got to put up with me. I decline to go."

"You'll think better of it presently," said Gilbert, turning away helplessly.

"Sir – I defy you!" said Daniel Meggison, in a stage whisper, as he ran after the other man. "You dare not do anything – because you dare not tell Bessie. If I wasn't a weakling, without a penny to bless myself with in the world, I would not shelter myself behind my child. But you compel me to do so – and I am not ashamed. I defy you. You dare not tell Bessie the truth!"

Gilbert knew only too well that that was strictly true; he went below, nursing his wrath, and wondering what had better be done. Mr. Daniel Meggison, mildly jubilant, went down below also, in search of refreshment.

Now that astute servant Pringle had had instructions that directly the guest expected by Gilbert arrived the Blue Bird was to start. Consequently he went below now in search of his master, and finding him, pointed out that the captain was ready, and only awaited Gilbert's instructions. Gilbert Byfield, in a quandary indeed, told the man angrily that he had changed his mind.

"I'm not going to start yet at all, Pringle," he said.

"Very good, sir," said Pringle cheerfully. "Expecting anybody else, sir?"

"The Lord only knows!" exclaimed Gilbert. "I shouldn't be surprised if everybody else came – any number of them. We must wait, at any rate; I won't start yet."

"Very good, sir," said Pringle; and retired wondering. "'Shouldn't be surprised if everybody came.' Wonder what he means?" muttered the man to himself. "However, it doesn't matter; only it doesn't look as if we should have a very cheery or chatty party."

Meanwhile those who were on their way to the yacht were proceeding as fast as various trains would carry them. Mrs. Julia Stocker and her husband had discovered that by taking a route across country they would avoid the necessity of going to London, and would arrive at Newhaven very late that night; they chose that route accordingly. Mr. Aubrey Meggison made a dash for London, and caught the mail train down – as did also Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter, piloted by Jordan Tant. As, however, they had never seen Aubrey (so far, at least, as the ladies were concerned), and as Mr. Jordan Tant was too busy even to notice him, it happened that they all travelled down by the same train together, without mutual discovery.

Simon Quarle, for his part, was unlucky enough to miss the mail train, but found on that particular day that there was another and a slower train, half an hour later; by that he travelled, on his way to find that yacht on which all his thoughts were centred.

Now it happened that on that particular night a dense and heavy white fog, with indeed almost a suggestion of the "London particular" to add to its density, settled down upon Newhaven, and upon the coast for some miles inland, and upon the sea that washed that coast. A perplexing fog for the summer, and one not to be accounted for; and it only concerns us in so far that many strange things were to happen under the mantle of it. Pringle eyed it with concern, for it meant that there was no possibility of a start being made; and Pringle was of a restless disposition, with a love of the sea that was as incongruous as that suggestion of humour in his eyes. However, there was the fog, and they had to make the best of it.

But Pringle was troubled, because he could not quite understand what was happening, or what was going to happen. He knew enough of his master and of that master's moods to know that he must not question him further; and he had a vague notion that there might be other people coming to the yacht, or there might not. Being of a philosophical turn of mind, he decided to be prepared for anything that might happen.

Then, in the most surprising fashion, various people drifted in, sulkily or suspiciously, out of the fog, and confronted Pringle. In the first place a lanky youth, with his hat on the back of his head, and with a cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth; a youth who was anxious to know whether this really was the yacht Blue Bird, owned by Mr. Gilbert Byfield; and whether, further, a young lady and an old gentleman had come on board already. Being assured as to these points, Mr. Aubrey Meggison instructed Pringle in a lordly fashion to show him to a cabin.

"And there's no call for you to mention that I've arrived; I'll break it to 'em later," said Aubrey.

Next there drifted in out of the night Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid, piloted by the anxious Jordan Tant; and in this case there was a long consultation on the quay, while Pringle stood waiting, before they consented to go on board. And there Mr. Jordan Tant button-holed Pringle at once, and explained the situation.

"No one is to be disturbed so late as this; Mrs. Ewart-Crane will choose her own time for an interview with Mr. Byfield. Let them retire somewhere – the ladies, I mean – and show me some place where I can be out of the way also. With daylight the atmosphere will be likely to clear, in more ways than one."

"Very good, sir," said the obliging Pringle; and proceeded to accommodate the party without further delay.

The coming of Mr. and Mrs. Stocker would have surprised any other man; but Pringle was equal even to them. He scratched his head a little as he thought of what the accommodation was; but cheerfully solved a difficulty that was growing in his mind by whispering to Mr. Edward Stocker – "Man and wife, sir, I presume?" – and on being assured that that was the fact, conducting them with some ceremony and much delicacy to one cabin.

Pringle had finally decided that the vessel was fairly well stocked, and was discussing the situation with the captain, when he was hailed for the last time from the quay; and after preliminaries there descended to him the square-shouldered figure of Simon Quarle. Once again Pringle was button-holed, and once again he proved equal to the emergency.

"Yes, sir – quite right, sir; young lady and elderly gentleman. Best not disturb them till the morning, sir; sunshine an' daylight makes a world of difference, if the temper is at all 'eated, sir. Mr. Byfield, sir, wouldn't care to be disturbed, I know. Cold night, sir, with the fog; could I get you anything, sir?"

"What you can get me is a bunk of some sort – some place I can sleep in," said Simon Quarle, in a determined voice. "And you need not let anyone know that I'm here; I'll explain to Mr. Byfield myself in the morning."

"Very good, sir," replied the smiling but bewildered Pringle. "This way, sir."

Pringle counted them on his fingers, and shook his head over them, and decided that they were a little mixed. Proud of the way in which he had accommodated the party, he went on deck, and assured the captain that it was all right, but that they were "a rummy lot." Being summoned in a great hurry by Gilbert Byfield, he discovered that gentleman evidently in a very fierce and bitter humour, striding up and down his cabin. Pringle discreetly remained at the door.

"Oh, Pringle" – Gilbert turned quickly as the man appeared – "let it be understood that we start as early as possible in the morning – directly it clears. Let there be no delay. Do you understand?"

"Certainly, sir – perfectly, sir," said Pringle. He hesitated at the door, and came a step or two into the cabin. "And – and the passengers, sir?"

Gilbert of course understood him to refer to Mr. Daniel Meggison and Bessie; he answered curtly enough. "They are not to be disturbed; they go with me," he said.

"Very good, sir," said Pringle, in the hushed tones of one labouring under deep amazement. "Very good indeed, sir." Then he vanished.

There were, of course, excellent reasons why the various members of that extraordinary company should keep out of each other's way. Mr. Jordan Tant, in particular, conjured up in a vivid imagination the wrath of Gilbert Byfield at discovering that Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter were on board. The Stockers were too much overawed by their surroundings, and too much afraid of the result of that impulsive action taken by Mrs. Julia Stocker, to do anything but remain in the cabin that had been allotted to them, a little frightened at what they had done. Aubrey intended to wait for that moment when he could throw himself, as he had done so often, on the protection of his sister; and Simon Quarle was fiercely determined to wait until daylight, and then confront Byfield on his own deck, and have the matter out with him.