An Unknown Lover - Mrs George de Horne Vaizey (microsoft ebook reader TXT) 📗
- Author: Mrs George de Horne Vaizey
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Over her head the two exchanged rapid glances. Bedford nodded, a quick stern nod, with a glance in the direction of the boat; the woman nodded back, comprehending his message. She was bareheaded, cloakless as she had rushed out of the saloon a moment before; now with characteristic coolness she glanced around, and made a second announcement:
“There’s time yet. I can get some clothes and usefuls. You will stay here? Exactly here, so that I may know where to find you? There must be no chance of missing!”
Bedford nodded again, and she hastened away. Prom above sounded the rattle of the wireless, as it sent forth its message of distress. Leaning against the rail stood a youthful officer, little more than a boy. His face was set, but his pose was the acme of careless ease. He had taken from his pocket a silver case, and from time to time he lifted an unlighted cigarette to his lips, with a pathetic pretence of enjoyment. Bedford bent his head until it rested on Katrine’s hair.
“Katrine!”
She moved, so that her cheek took the place of her hair. There was unspeakable comfort in the soft, cold touch of his flesh against her own.
“Yes!”
“That’s the wireless! They are sending messages for help. We are in the direct channel. It will certainly come. We must hope on.”
Even as he spoke the deck shivered beneath his feet, and with a sickening lurch, tilted heavily on one side. Bedford threw out one hand and caught at the rail, holding Katrine firmly with the other. The young officer, thrown on one side, fell back into his nonchalant pose, and tremblingly lifted his cigarette, but his lips moved in an involuntary despair.
“My God! She’s going—”
Katrine caught the gasping words, and looked death in the face. It was coming. At any moment that shuddering lurch might come again, and the deck glide down into the sea. This man said so, and he knew. For the sake of example he preserved an appearance of composure, but he understood, and he despaired. With a sob of emotion she lifted her face to Bedford’s, and their lips met in a long, clinging kiss. It mattered nothing that there were people around, that the flaring lights lit up their forms; they were lost to every thought but of themselves and their love. Above the fear, above the terror, there clamoured in Katrine’s heart a desperate need of expression. All her life she had been dumb; she could not die without putting in words the one transcendent fact.
“I love you!” she cried. “Do you hear? Do you understand? If I must die, let me die in your arms. I tried ... but it was no use—I love you! There is nobody else—I belong to you!”
“My Katrine!” he cried trembling. “My girl—”
Prom above, the wonderful invisible machinery rattled and cracked; the first boat swung low from the davits was already being loaded with its complement of shrinking, trembling women. The flare of lights lit up their ashen faces turned up to the deck above as they floated, wraith-like, into the mist. A second boat creaked on the ropes and Mrs Mannering’s hand gripped Bedford’s arm.
“Now! Bring her along!”
Katrine resisted, but the strong arms bore her along until she stood ranged among the line of waiting women. Nothing but force should induce her to enter a boat alone, but she had not the physical strength to retain her position against the will of her companions.
Mrs Mannering had tied a shawl round her head. The pockets of her coat were filled to the point of bursting. She carried a bundle of small articles, which she proceeded to stuff into the pockets of Katrine’s cloak. A steward came up and fastened a lifebelt round her waist. Bedford took a second from his arm and himself fastened it round Katrine. She laid her cold fingers on his, drawing him back.
“You are going to send me away?”
He bent and laid his lips to her hand, but he went on fastening the straps. There was a relentlessness in his movements which struck ice to Katrine’s soul.
“You will send me away, and let me die alone?”
At that he winced, but still he continued his task.
“You must go first, beloved. If God wills, I’ll follow. The women must go first.”
Katrine laughed; a wild reckless laugh more terrible than tears.
“Why? Why? Because of a sentiment, a convention? Better save the men! They are the bread-winners, the heads of households. Save the lives that count, and let us drown. There are women enough—too many. We should not be missed. I have had no choice in life, but my death is my own. I will not go! I will stay with you.”
Mrs Mannering’s practical, commonplace voice struck sharply upon her ears.
“My good girl,” she cried. “You have not to think of yourself at this moment. You are not the only woman who would rather stay behind. Look at those poor souls over there who have to leave husbands and sons! Is it easier for them, or for you? There’s only one thing to be done—obey orders, and do your bit towards smoothing the way. When your turn comes, you’ve got to go, and I’ll see to it that you do!”
She squared her shoulders, and stationed herself grim and relentless by Katrine’s side. In the lurid light her face looked lined, and incredibly old, but she carried herself bravely, and showed not a quiver of fear.
Along the deck the band had marshalled, and the strains of a popular waltz floated with horrible gaiety on the air. Not a note fell flat, or out of time; stalwart and erect in their smart uniform, the men stood and played, and the conductor waved his baton as composedly as if they had been surrounded by a throng of merry dancers, instead of men and women threatened by instant death. Prom within the brightly-lighted smoking-room a man could be seen writing a letter. A few feet away a woman was playing bo-peep with a frightened child. Gradually, as Katrine stood waiting, her fear subsided, and there stole into her soul a mysterious courage and calm. Strung to its highest sensibilities the spirit within her absorbed the atmosphere by which it was surrounded, and nobly answered the call.
Imagine it! Dwell for one moment on the majesty of it—a crowd of men and women, each one braced up to his highest, strongest self; to a selfless self, stifling, for the sake of others, all signs of distress, obeying the ordinary conventions of society, giving place, the stronger to the weaker, with a smile and bow, as if that matter of preference were some society trifle, not a matter of bald life and death.
As surely as the music floated from the mouth of those brazen instruments, as the light streamed from the electric arch overhead, so surely did the spiritual influence of those brave deeds spread over the ship, and touch with fire every human heart.
Into Katrine’s soul in its turn stole some portion of this noble fortitude; she ceased to struggle, and stood silently by Bedford’s side awaiting her call. The women filed slowly by, were lifted one by one and swung into the boat. Suddenly Bedford turned towards her, grasping both hands. In his face she read that the parting had come.
“Katrine! Good-bye...”
Strong aims seized her, she was lifted high, dropped, and caught. There came to, her aid a merciful unconsciousness...
Katrine lay dazed and senseless, a huddled mass in a corner of the boat, mercifully oblivious of the perilous lowering down the great hull of the ship, of the gradual leaving behind of all that was most dear. The climax of emotion through which she had passed, had exhausted for the time being all power of sensation. While not actually unconscious, her mind was torpid. Nothing mattered, her very powers of fear were at an end. What was past, was past, what would come, would come; nothing mattered the cast of a die!
In the boat were women, dazed like herself, others again weeping and lamenting; others, like Mrs Mannering, composed and brisk, showing at their best, when those from whom more might have been expected proved broken reeds.
It was all dream-like and unreal. Tossed on the waves in the crowded boat, the great hull of the ship looked a rampart of strength. To have left that stronghold to toss in this cockleshell—the dazed brain marvelled feebly at such inconsistency. High on the deck a confused mass of people moved to and fro, but their faces were indistinguishable, and soon vanished from sight. The sounds of a voice shouting peremptory orders mingled with the dashing of the waves, but soon that also became inaudible, as the boat floated farther and farther away.
Katrine sat motionless, oblivious of all that was happening around. The hood of her coat had fallen back from her head and her bleached face had a fixed, almost terrible beauty. Nancy Mannering glanced at her anxiously from time to time, and finally shook her strongly by the arm.
“Now! Brace up, Katrine!” cried the strong voice, “brace up! It don’t matter much what happens to you and to me, my dear. We are just women—unattached women at that—there are too many of our sort knocking around, but here’s some one here who does count—a little man for you to cuddle and protect! Heaven knows the kind he’ll grow up; he’ll be none the worse, any way, for remembering this night, and who knows! some woman may fare the better for your pains. Here, sonny! stop that row. Come to the pretty lady. She’ll nurse you, and tell you tales.”
A sturdy weight was deposited on Katrine’s lap; in the dim light she recognised the features of her former enemy, the redoubtable Jackey, all drawn and wet with tears. Separated from his father, overcome by the hopeless terror of childhood, he had lost his braggart airs, and appeared just a pitiful baby thing, longing to be kissed and held. His wet face nozzled into Katrine’s breast, his little legs in the ridiculous knickerbockers dangled limply over her knees, and the sight, the touch, awoke her to life. She gathered the child in her arms and crooned over him, and Jackey wreathed her neck with his arms, and pressed wet kisses on her cheek! Presently, gathering confidence, he began to question after the manner of childhood.
“How soon shall we be drowned? How much does it hurt to be drowned? As much as a tooth? Will the water be cold? Would it be brave to scream? Will you hold me tight, so that I can’t leave go? Must we say our prayers before we’re drowned?”
“We are not going to be drowned, I hope, Jackey. By-and-bye a big boat will come along and take us up, but you can say your prayers all the same. Pray for your father on our own big ship, and, and—”
“And the parrot, and the goat, and all Thy dumb creatures,” responded Jackey, who was evidently not without religious instruction. He mumbled petitions into Katrine’s neck. “God bless and keep my dear father, ’serve him from danger, make him a good boy. Bless the parrot. Keep Thy young goat. Let him be meek and gentle in spirit. Bless the man I kicked, and mend his legs so he can swim when the boat goes down!”
“Oh, Jackey,” sobbed Katrine wildly. “Oh, Jackey!” She strained the little form in her arms, and buried her face in his curls. So far children had not entered intimately into her life, and the maternal instinct had remained dormant, as it does with many women until the time arrives when their own child is laid in their arms, but now as Jackey’s soft, heavy little body nestled against her own, she realised with a new poignancy the possibility of yet another joy, another opening of the gates of life!
She rocked to and fro, murmuring soothing words, and Jackey cuddled close, vigorously sucked his
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