Chapter IX: A Safe Voyage to Him!

Was it ever your fate or fortune to be on board an Indian vessel when it was just about to start? If so, there's no doubt you retain a more vivid than agreeable reminiscence of the reigning confusion. Passengers coming on at the last moment and going frantic over their luggage or the discovered inconveniences of their cabins; cords and ropes creaking and coiling; sailors shouting, officers commanding; boxes shooting up from the boats to the deck, and to your feet, only in turn to be shot down again to the hold!--it is Bedlam gone frantic, and nothing less.

On a fine ship, anchored off Gravesend, this scene was taking place on a crisp day early in January. A bright, inspiriting, sunny day, giving earnest--if there's anything in the popular belief--of a bright voyage. One gentleman stood aloof from the general _mêlée_. He had been on board half an hour or more; had seen to his cabin, his berth, his baggage--as much of the latter as he could see to; and now stood alone watching the turmoil. Others, passengers, had come on board in groups, surrounded by hosts of friends; he came alone: a tall and very distinguished-looking man, attired in the deepest mourning, with a grey plaid crossed on his shoulder.

As if jealous that the ship should have all the confusion to itself, the shore was getting up a little on its own account. Amidst the drays, the trucks, the carts: amidst the cases and packages, which were heaped on the bank, not all, it was to be hoped, for that ship, or she would never get off to-day; amidst the numerous crowds of living beings, idlers and workers, that such a scene brings together, there came something into the very throng of them, scattering everything that could be scattered right and left.

An exceedingly remarkable carriage, of the style that may be called "dashing," especially if height be any criterion, its wheels red and green, its horses of high mettle, and a couple of fierce dogs barking and leaping round it. The scattered people looked up in astonishment to see a lady guiding those horses, and deemed at first that the sun, shining right into their eyes, had deceived them: pawing, snorting, prancing, fiery animals; which, far from being spent by their ten or twelve miles journey, looked as if they were eager to start upon another. The lady managed them admirably. A very handsome lady was she, of the same style as the carriage; dashing, with jet-black eyes, large and free, and a scarlet feather in her hat that might have been found nearly thirty-six inches long, had it been measured from top to tip. A quiet little gentleman, slight and fair, sat beside her, and a groom lounged grandly with folded arms in the back seat. She, on her high cushions, was almost a yard above either of them: the little gentleman in fact was completely eclipsed: and she held the reins in her white gauntleted hands and played gallantly with the whip, perfectly at ease, conscious that she was those foaming steeds' master. Suddenly, without the least warning, she drew them back on their haunches.

"There she is! in the middle of the stream. Can't you read it, Dolf? _The Indus._ How stupid of the people to tell us she was lying lower down!"

Jumping from the carriage without waiting to be assisted, she left the groom in charge and made her way to the pier, condescendingly taking the gentleman's arm as she hastened up it, and hissing off the dogs as a hint that they were to remain behind. I am sure you cannot need an introduction to either of these people, but you shall have it for all that; Mr and Mrs. Rodolf Pain.

She, Charlotte, did all the acting, and the talking too. Her husband had always been retiring in manner, as you may remember; and he had grown far more retiring than he used to be. Charlotte bargained for a boat: and they were pulled to the ship's side.

For a few moments they had to take their chance; they made only two more in the general confusion; but Charlotte seized upon a handsome young man with a gold band upon his cap, who was shouting out orders.

"Can you tell me whether Mr. George Godolphin has come on board yet?"

"Mr. George Godolphin," repeated the young officer, cutting short some directions midway, and looking half bewildered in the general disorder.

"Bound for Calcutta," explained Charlotte.

"I can inquire. Tymms," beckoning to him one of the middies, "go and ask the steward whether a gentleman of the name of Godolphin has come down."

But there was no need of further search. Charlotte's restless eyes had caught sight of George--the solitary passenger in mourning whom you saw standing alone. She and Mr. Pain made the best of their way to him, over the impediments blocking up the deck.

He did not see their approach. He was leaning over the vessel on the side opposite to that facing the shore, and Charlotte gave him a smart rap on the arm with her gauntlet-glove.

"Now, Mr. George Godolphin! what do you say for your manners!"

He turned quickly, his face flushing slightly with surprise when he saw them standing there: and he shook hands with them both.

"I ask what you have to say for your manners, Mr. George? The very idea of your leaving England for good, and never calling to say good-bye to us!"

"I met Mr. Pain a day or two ago," said George. "He----"

"Met Mr. Pain! what on earth if you did!" interrupted Charlotte. "Mr. Pain's not me. You might have found time to dine with us. I have a great mind to quarrel with you, George Godolphin, by way of leave-taking."

Something like a smile crossed George's lips. "The fact is, I thought I might have seen you at the Verralls', Mrs. Pain. I went there for half an hour yesterday. I charged Mrs. Verrall----"

"Rubbish!" retorted Charlotte. "When you must have known we had moved into a house at Shooter's Hill, you could not suppose we were still at the Verralls'. Our catching you this morning here was a mere chance. We stayed late in town yesterday afternoon at the furniture warehouse, and, in driving back down the Strand, saw Isaac Hastings, so I pulled up to ask what had become of you, and whether you were dead or alive. He informed us you were to sail to-day from Gravesend, and I told Dolf I should drive down. But it _is_ ill-mannered of you, Mr. George."

"You will readily understand, that since my last return from Prior's Ash, I have not felt inclined for visiting," he said in a low grave tone, unconsciously glancing at his black attire. "I intended you no discourtesy, Mrs. Pain: but, for one thing, I did not know where you might be met with."

"And couldn't find out!" retorted Charlotte. "Dolf could have given you the address, I suppose, the other day, had you asked. He's too great a fool to think to give it of his own accord."

George looked at "Dolf," whom his wife seemed so completely to ignore; looked at him with a pleasant smile, as if he would atone for Charlotte's rudeness. "We were not together a minute, were we, Mr. Pain? I was in a hurry, and you seemed in one also."

"Don't say any more about it, Mr. Godolphin," spoke Dolf, as resentfully as he dared. "That's just like her! Making a fuss over nothing! Of course you could not be expected to visit at such a time: and any one but Charlotte would have the good feeling to see it. I am pleased to be able to see you here, and wish you a pleasant voyage; but I remonstrated with her this morning, that it was scarcely the right thing to intrude upon you. But she never listens, you know."

"_You_ needn't have come," snapped Charlotte.

"And then you would have gone on at me about my bad manners, as you have to Mr. Godolphin! One never knows how to please you, Charlotte."

George resumed: to break the silence possibly, more than from any other motive. "Have you settled at Shooter's Hill?"

"Settled!" shrieked Charlotte; "settled at Shooter's Hill! Where it's ten miles, good, from a theatre or any other place of amusement! No, thank you. A friend of Verrall's had this place to let for a few weeks, and Dolf was idiot enough to take it----"

"You consented first, Charlotte," interrupted poor Dolf.

"Which I never should have done had I reflected on the bother of getting up to town," said Charlotte equably. "Settled at Shooter's Hill! I'd as soon do as you are going to do, Mr. George--bury myself alive in Calcutta. We have taken on lease a charming house in Belgravia, and shall enter on a succession of dinner-parties: one a week we think of giving during the season. We shall not get into it much before February: it takes some time to choose furniture."

"I hate dinner-parties," said Dolf ruefully.

"You are not obliged to appear at them," said Charlotte with much graciousness. "I can get your place filled up at table, I dare say. What _is_ that noise and scuffling?"

"They are weighing anchor," replied George. "We shall soon be on the move."

"I hear that great alterations are being made at Ashlydyat," remarked Charlotte.

"Only on the spot called the Dark Plain. The archway is taken down, and a summer-house is being built on the site. An elaborate sort of summer-house, for it is to contain three or four rooms, I believe. It will have a fine view."

"And what of those ugly gorse-bushes?"

"They will be cleared away, and the place laid out as a garden."

"Is my lady starring it at the Folly?"

"Scarcely: just now," quietly answered George.

"Miss Godolphin has gone to Scotland, I hear."

"Yes. Bessy will reside with Lady Godolphin."

"And tart Margery? What has become of her?"

"She remains with Maria at Ashlydyat."

Charlotte opened her eyes--Charlotte had a habit of opening them when puzzled or surprised. "Maria! Who is Maria?"

"The child. We call her by her proper name now."

"Oh, by the way, I had nearly forgotten it," returned Charlotte in the old good-natured tone: for it may be remarked, that during the interview her tone had been what she had just called Margery--tart. "I should like to have the child up on a visit when we get into our house, and astonish her mind with the wonders of London. I suppose Lady Averil will make no objection?"

A very perceptible flush, red and haughty, dyed the face of George Godolphin. "You are very kind to think of it, Mrs. Pain; but I fear Lady Averil would not consent. Indeed, I have desired that the child may not visit, except amidst her immediate relatives."

"As you please," said Charlotte resentfully. "Dolf, I think we may as well be moving. I only meant it as a kindness to the child."

"And I thank you for it," said George warmly. "For all the kindness you have shown her, Mrs. Pain, I thank you, sincerely and heartily. Take care!"

He interposed to prevent a rope, that was being borne along, from touching her. Charlotte began in earnest to think it was time to move, unless she would be carried down the river in the ship.

"When shall you come back?" she asked him.

He shook his head. He could net tell any more than she could. The future was all uncertain and indistinct.

"Well, you won't forget to find us out whenever you do come?" returned Charlotte.

"Certainly not. Thank you."

"Do you know," cried Charlotte impulsively, "you are strangely different in manner, George Godolphin! You have grown as cold and formal as a block of ice. Hasn't he, Dolf?"

"If he has, it's your fault," was the satisfactory answer of Dolf. "You keep firing off such a heap of personal questions, Charlotte. I see no difference in Mr. Godolphin; but he has had a good deal of trouble, you know."

"Shall we ever hear of you?" continued Charlotte, pushing back Dolf with her elbow, and completely eclipsing his meek face with her sweeping scarlet feather.

"No doubt you will, Mrs. Pain, from one source or another. Not that I shall be a voluminous correspondent with England, I expect: except, perhaps, with Ashlydyat."

"Well, fare you well, George," she said, holding out both her gauntleted hands. "You seem rather cranky this morning, but I forgive you; it _is_ trying to the spirits to leave one's native place for good and all. I wish you all good luck with my best heart!"

"Thank you," he said, taking the hands within his own and shaking them: "thank you always. Good-bye. Good-bye, Mr. Pain."

Mr. Pain shook hands less demonstratively than his wife, and his leave-taking, if quiet, was not less sincere. George piloted them to the gangway, and saw them pulled ashore in the little boat.

They ascended to the carriage, which to all appearance had been keeping up a perpetual commotion since they left it, the fault probably of its horses and dogs; and Charlotte, taking her high seat, dashed away in style; her whip flourishing, the dogs barking, her red feather tossing and gleaming. What she will do when these feathers go out of fashion it's hard to say: Charlotte could hardly stir out without one.

And by-and-by, the anchor up, the tug attached, the good ship _Indus_ was fairly on her way, being towed smoothly down the river under command of her pilot. The passengers were tormenting themselves still: the sailors seemed to be perpetually hurrying hither and thither, the steward was in a tumult: but George Godolphin, wrapped in his grey plaid, remained in his place, quiet and still, gazing out over the bows of the vessel. What were his reflections, as his native land began to recede from his eyes? Did he regret it? Did he regret the position he had lost; the ruin he had wrought; the death of his wife? Did he, finally, regret the inevitable PAST, with all its mistakes and sins?--and think that if it could only come over again, he would act differently? Possibly so. Once he lifted his hat, and pushed the golden hair further from his brow, from his handsome face, not less bright or handsome than of yore--except in its expression. In that, there was an unmistakable look of weary sadness, never before seen on the features of gay George Godolphin.

And when, hours after, the rest of the cabin passengers were summoned to dinner, he never stirred, but kept his place there, looking far into the dusky night, glancing up at the stars that came glittering out in the blue canopy of heaven.

A safe landing to him on the shores of Calcutta! A safe and sure landing on a different shore that must come after it!

And Mr. and Mrs. Pain's dinner-parties in Belgravia are a great success.

THE END.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED. DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W.

* * * * *

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"Mrs. Henry Wood has an art of novel-writing which no rival
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MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS.

_Sale, nearly Five Million Copies._

EAST LYNNE. _940th Thousand._
THE CHANNINGS. _320th Thousand._
MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. _245th Thousand._
THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. _180th Thousand._
LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. _250th Thousand._
VERNER'S PRIDE. _182nd Thousand._
ROLAND YORKE. _200th Thousand._
JOHNNY LUDLOW. First Series. _61st Thousand._
MILDRED ARKELL. _155th Thousand._
ST. MARTIN'S EVE. _162nd Thousand._
TREVLYN HOLD. _140th Thousand._
GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. _95th Thousand._
THE RED COURT FARM. _167th Thousand._
WITHIN THE MAZE. _170th Thousand._
ELSTER'S FOLLY. _95th Thousand._
LADY ADELAIDE. _180th Thousand._
OSWALD CRAY. _120th Thousand._
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ANNE HEREFORD. _67th Thousand._
DENE HOLLOW. _78th Thousand._
EDINA. _60th Thousand._
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THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. _65th Thousand._
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THE HOUSE OF HALLIWELL. _95th Thousand._
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EAST LYNNE.

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"A work of remarkable power which displays a force of
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THE CHANNINGS.

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MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES.

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a fine work; a great and artistic picture."--THE MORNING POST.

THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT.

"'The Shadow of Ashlydyat' is very clever, and keeps up the
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Walter Scott so often used with even greater effect; but it is
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LADY ADELAIDE.

"One of Mrs. Henry Wood's best novels."--THE STAR.

"Mme. Henry Wood est fort célèbre en Angleterre, et ses
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ROLAND YORKE.

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VERNER'S PRIDE.

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OSWALD CRAY.

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BESSY RANE.

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LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS.

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ELSTER'S FOLLY.

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MILDRED ARKELL.

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exercised in the rarer experiences; and as he proceeds he
wonders more and more at the manner in which the mystery, the
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SAINT MARTIN'S EVE.

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GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL.

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A LIFE'S SECRET.

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THE RED COURT FARM.

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WITHIN THE MAZE.

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THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS.

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JOHNNY LUDLOW.

THE FIRST SERIES.

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SPECTATOR.

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ORVILLE COLLEGE.

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PARKWATER.

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EDINA.

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managed."--ACADEMY.

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POMEROY ABBEY.

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JOHNNY LUDLOW.

THE SECOND SERIES.

"The author has given proof of a rarer dramatic instinct than we
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COURT NETHERLEIGH.

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we are sure of being amused and interested."--THE TIMES.

"Lisez-le; l'émotion que vous sentirez peu à peu monter à votre
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sorti d'une plume honnête et vous pourrez le laisser traîner sur
la table."--LE SIGNAL (_Paris_).

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Errors in punctuation have been corrected silently.

This lists the changes that have been made to the text, fixing believed printing errors, together with some unusual usages that have been left. References are to the page number.

* 2: Changed 'estima-[end of line] of' to 'estimation of'
* 2: Changed 'You _fell_ weak still?' to 'You _feel_ weak still?'
* 20: Original has 'this side thirty' and 'this side forty' in both
editions checked
* 42: Changed ? to ! in 'I wish we had never taken it'
* 168: Changed 'torns' to 'thorns'
* 264: Added missing word 'It' in 'It had occurred' (space for it in
original)
* 288: Corrected 'youself' to 'yourself'
* 318: Added semicolon in 'something; at present' (space for it in
original)
* 342: Corrected '_same_ strange malady' to '_some_ strange malady'
* 358: added comma in 'you see, and therefore' (large space in
original)
* 382: Changed 'shivered _roun_ him' to 'shivered _round_ him'
* 385: 'chaffling' in original. 'Chaffing' may have been intended.
* 471: Changed '_A_ exceedingly remarkable' to '_An_ exceedingly
remarkable'