CHAPTER XI.
THE “PLYMOUTH CASTLE.”
Sheila stood with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair on the deck of a great steamer that was slipping slowly down Southampton Water on a bright October afternoon.
She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and, turning quickly round, exclaimed delightedly—
“Oh, Miss Adene, you are really here! The stewardess said she knew you were on board; but I was half afraid you were not. I did not catch a glimpse of you anywhere.”
“I was below with my niece setting our cabins to rights, as travellers like to do before getting out of smooth water. Well, little one, you look very bright; but you are thinner than when I saw you last. I am afraid you have had an anxious summer.”
“Yes, rather,” answered Sheila. “Poor Effie was ill for a long time, and I don’t think all the doctors and specialists they called in did her any good. They tried all sorts of things for her breathing, and there was a sort of operation once, and I’m sure that did her harm. The last man who saw her said, ‘Take her out of England for the winter. Let her live out of doors and take no physic, and not see a doctor at all unless there is real cause.’ That’s what I call being sensible; and I remembered what you had said about Madeira and how delightful it was there, and Effie set her heart upon going. So here we are. Uncle and Aunt Cossart, and Effie and I and her maid. Oh, I think it will be delightful! I have never been abroad. It will be charming to cross the Atlantic and see beautiful new places!”
There was a laugh from behind, and Sheila turned to meet the sunny glance from a pair of bright dark eyes, and Miss Adene said—
“Ah, here is my nephew (as he likes to be called) Ronald Dumaresq! Let me introduce him, Sheila, my dear.”
The girl held out her hand with her pretty manner, half shy, half frank, and Ronald shook it heartily, saying—
“I have heard a lot about you, Miss Cholmondeley, from my aunt. I know all about that fire in which you played the part of heroine.”
“I!” cried Sheila, half indignant at the imputation. “I did nothing at all but shiver and shake, and feel in a most fearful fright. I don’t know if that’s what you call being heroic. I don’t.”
“Well, but you must have a spirit of your own, I am sure! Did I not just hear you saying that crossing the Atlantic would be delightful? Not many people share that opinion, I can tell you.”
“I mean it to be delightful. I don’t care if I am ill. It will be a new experience. I like to try new things.”
“If you like sea-sickness you will be a remarkable being,” laughed Ronald; “but perhaps you are a good sailor.”
“I think I shall be. I went yachting once all about the Hebrides, and it was often pretty rough and choppy; but I did not mind. I don’t see how one could be ill in a huge boat like this.”
Ronald laughed.
“Wait till you see what the Atlantic rollers are like. You will soon learn what a cork even a big vessel like this can be. Wait till we get to the Bay of Biscay O!”
Laughing and talking, with the quickly established good fellowship of young folks, Sheila and Ronald paced up and down the deck. Sheila was keenly interested in the big vessel and in the other ships they met or passed as they glided along; and Ronald could answer most of her questions, and was altogether a delightful companion. He had travelled a good deal, though he had never before been to Madeira; and he told her anecdotes of shipboard life and of his hunting adventures, time slipping away so fast that the clatter of teacups and the movement of some of the passengers towards the saloon quite surprised them.
It was not a full ship, being one of the “intermediate” boats popular with Madeira passengers, who often find trouble in getting booked for the regular Cape mails. Most of the passengers had cabins to themselves—no small boon to bad sailors, and appreciated by all.
“We shall take about half a day, perhaps a whole one, longer than the mail,” Ronald explained; “but it’s much jollier to have plenty of room and a cabin of one’s own. But come along and have some tea! Where are your people? You’ve got a delicate cousin, I know, and an aunt and uncle. Anybody else?”
“No, I did want my brother to come; but it couldn’t be arranged. It would have been quite perfect with him. Is this the way? How funny everything is on shipboard! Oh, we are beginning to roll a little! I suppose we are getting into the Channel?”
“Yes, just about. Do you mind?”
“Not a bit. I like it. There is Miss Adene! Who is the lovely lady she is talking to? And, oh, what a darling little boy! Who is he?”
“Oh, that’s our young Rascal! The lady is my sister-in-law, you know. Here, Rascal, come and see this lady! Here’s somebody new to make a fuss of you!”
Sheila was devoted to babies and little children. She was on her knees in a moment, and little Guy had his arms about her, making up his mind in a moment that this was a friend, and laughing and chattering in the most confidential way.
“Oh, isn’t he too perfectly sweet!” cried Sheila in an ecstasy, kissing her hand as the nurse bore him off for his tea; and then she found herself led up and presented to Lady Dumaresq, who was so gentle, and beautiful, and sweet that Sheila fell in love with her at once.
Effie was not present, having been much tired by the railway journey, so that the maid had got her to bed at once. Mr. and Mrs. Cossart came into the saloon for some tea; but sat apart and looked rather forlorn. Miss Adene went and spoke to them, but they did not seem happy, and very soon went away again, so that Sheila was thankful to be able to consort with the Dumaresq party, since all the other passengers were strangers.
The vessel certainly pitched a good deal as they got farther out into the Channel. Sheila did not mind it in the least; but she observed that the saloon thinned considerably, and Ronald remarked with a laugh—
“I don’t think there will be many at dinner to-night.”
Sheila presently slipped away to take a peep at Effie, who was dozing in her berth. She did not feel ill, she said, only tired and sleepy. She was interested to hear about Miss Adene and the Dumaresqs. Miss Adene had paid her more than one visit during her illness, and she had grown fond of her, though she had not seen her now for a good while, and she did not correspond with her as Sheila did.
Mr. and Mrs. Cossart had gone to bed too, the maid said with a smile. They were both rather sea-sick, but were comfortable now. The maid was an experienced traveller and an excellent sailor. She and Sheila and the stewardess had a little laugh together over the unfortunates who were so speedily bowled over.
“Poor things! It’s a dreadful sort of feeling; but they’ll be better when we’re once through the Bay. We get into smooth water then very often, especially this time of year, and they soon forget their troubles.”
Ronald was right about the dinner. There were very few at table, and the Captain was still on the bridge. He did not generally leave his post there till the perils of the Channel were passed.
Sir Guy came up from his cabin looking thin and frail, but with a sunburnt tint upon his face from the open-air life he had led all the summer. Sheila thought him very handsome and very interesting. He and Lady Dumaresq seemed surrounded by a halo of romance; they were so much attached to each other, and were both so very handsome and attractive. Indeed, Sheila thought that the voyage and the long stay in Madeira with such nice people would be enchanting, and her bright spirits bubbled over in little peals of happy laughter and merry repartee in answer to Ronald’s chaff.
After dinner he took her for a prowl upon the deck. She would have liked to wander up and down a long time; but the air blew chilly, so he took her in to Miss Adene, who was now almost the sole occupant of the drawing-room saloon, weariness or the motion of the boat having driven others below.
“Have you seen May lately?” asked Miss Adene. “And what is the news from Isingford?”
“May has been visiting a good deal this summer, so I only saw her now and then,” answered Sheila; “and as for news, there is not so very much. Perhaps you have heard that Lionel Benson is engaged to my cousin Raby?”
“No; I had not heard that.”
“Yes. I rather think it was the fire that did it, though it wasn’t given out till three months afterwards. I think they are all very pleased, and she will be married soon, for he has plenty of money. He is in the business, you know. It isn’t a very interesting engagement, but Raby seems quite happy. I suppose it’s all right.”
“They are two handsome young people, and know each other well. It ought to turn out happily, I think. And how about Cyril?” asked Miss Adene, with a little quick glance, which Sheila met and answered by a flashing smile.
“Oh, Cyril! Well, he is still idling about at home, talking of the wonders he means to do some day, and they all believe in him as much as ever, I think.”
A little smile curved Miss Adene’s lips.
“Don’t be merciless, little girl. Perhaps he may astonish the world yet!”
“He astonished some of us the day of the fire. Miss Adene, I can speak to you, because you’re not a relation whose feelings have to be spared. But do you believe that when he dashed off like that, fighting his way out and knocking everybody down, he had the least intention of going for help? You know he says he was going for the fire-escape, and people believe it now. Lionel Benson won’t say it’s a lie because of Raby, and though North always looks as grim as grim when the thing is mentioned, he does not contradict. After all, Cyril is his brother. But Oscar and I know that he rushed straight home. Of course, he may have seen somebody and sent a message, but somehow I can’t believe that he was thinking of anything but saving his own precious skin. It makes me so wild with Cyril. What do you think about it? You saw it all.”
“Well, Sheila, perhaps the best way is not to think too much about it. We all have our faults and failings, and we must beware of judging those of other people too harshly. The thing is over and done with now, and we are not set as judges over each other. If Cyril is trying to atone for an error in the past, it would be better to try and excuse it, and not think too harshly of him.”
“I think he’s just as conceited as ever. I don’t think he’s a bit ashamed. Miss Adene, do you know, I rather think he would like to marry May. He is always going over there when she is at home. But he will get a good snubbing if he tries. May would not touch him with a pair of tongs!”
“My dear child!” said Miss Adene, laughing, and then she added, “I had an idea that Cyril was attached to Effie.”
Sheila shrugged up her shoulders.
“I can’t quite make out about that. Sometimes I fancy it is so, and then I don’t know what to think. But Effie has been ill all the summer, and though Cyril used to go and see her pretty often, I could never make out if they cared for one another. Effie’s never been allowed to talk about the fire, so I don’t know if she saw or remembered what Cyril did then. I don’t much believe that Cyril cares for anybody but himself; only May is well born, and Effie is an heiress. It’s those things he thinks about.”
“Sheila, Sheila, don’t be cynical!”
“Well, I’ve heard people say so. Even Ray said something very like that. Ray is sensible; she doesn’t go down flat before the family idol. She is fond of Cyril, but she sees his faults. She and North have really much more in them than Raby and Cyril.”
Sheila enjoyed her little gossip with Miss Adene, and was almost reluctant to go to bed. However, when once there she slept soundly, and only awoke when the stewardess brought her a cup of morning tea.
“It’s pretty rough, miss, but fine and sunny. Not weather as sailors call it, but a capful of wind right in our faces. If you feel like getting up, I’ll bring you hot water; but most of the ladies are lying still, even those that aren’t ill.”
But Sheila was all for getting up, though she staggered about her narrow little cabin, and was glad to sit down as much as she could, for the vessel pitched and lurched a good deal, and her hairpins went flying over the floor, and her clothes swayed and flapped in a comic manner.
But once up and out in the breezy sunshine, all the little dizziness of getting up vanished. Ronald was on deck before her, and welcomed her with a most friendly smile, and little Guy was trotting about, the pet and plaything of the captain, who had found him a ship’s cap, vastly too large for him, which was tied on his head by a broad ribbon.
Sheila was the only lady up at breakfast, and was made much of by the captain and the other passengers. She was full of sparkle and fun, was delighted to be taken to various mysterious portions of the boat where passengers seldom ventured, and spent a perfectly delightful morning, learning a vast deal of nautical lore, and winning the good-will of everybody on board.
She flitted into the cabins where Effie and Miss Adene lay. Effie was quite comfortable, but indisposed for the exertion of getting up in such a rough-and-tumble sea. Miss Adene rose for lunch, but was a little disinclined for talk, and Lady Dumaresq did not appear at all that day.
But soon they passed through the troubled Bay; the water became calm and smiling; one after another the passengers appeared; and Effie would lie on her deck-chair all day, watching the indigo blue of the great Atlantic rollers, which lifted them gently up and let them down, and shone with rainbow tints when the sunlight caught their foam-flecked crests.
Mr. and Mrs. Cossart appeared in due course to sit beside their darling and watch how the fresh breeze brought some colour to her face. But Sheila flitted about like a sprite, never still, always intent upon some fresh fancy. Her merry laugh was one of the familiar sounds about the deck, and she seemed always the centre of a group of admirers.
People were kind to Effie, and would come and chat to her; but the mother began to look with rather jealous eyes upon the little court that Sheila always had round her.
“I hope she is not going to be a little flirt,” she said once to her husband. “She is certainly pretty, but I don’t know if I like that way of hers. She attracts more notice than I think quite seemly.” And in her heart she added, “I can’t have my Effie cut out and overshadowed by that little chit!”
(To be continued.)
[THE PLEASURES OF BEE-KEEPING.]
By F. W. L. SLADEN.