Where Deep Seas Moan Part 1

Where Deep Seas Moan.

by E. Gallienne-Robin.

CHAPTER I.

The autumn wind blew in great gusts over the rocky island of Guernsey, and in the country parishes rushed up hill and down dale, leaving not a lane undisturbed by its vagaries. It rattled the leafless trees which grew at the back of Colomberie Farm, whose deep brown-thatched roof rested against the lichened red tiles of the barn adjoining. Surrounded on all sides by green fields outside its charming garden, Colomberie looked the picture of comfort; and its cheery interior laughed the wind to scorn as the curtains were drawn across the kitchen window, and the _cra.s.set_ was lit at the side of the wide hearth. But the wind had its revenge, for it blew across the country roads pretty young Blaisette, the daughter of Colomberie, who was going out to spend the evening; and who struggled with all her healthy vigour against the impertinent buffetting of the bleak north-wester. When she disappeared into a sheltered hollow, the wind, hushed and non-plussed for a minute, paused to meditate further mischief; then, with regathered rage, it tore across country, and boomed, with sullen roar, into a valley shut in by brackened and heather-covered hills.

Here, a granite-built house, sheltered under the rocky cliff, had an air of stern and unkempt loneliness; and there was something sinister about the watermill, whose dingy wheel, green with disuse, was close against the side of the building. Yet there was prosperity to be read in the large open barn stacked high with corn and hay, in the many cows that fed in the meadow below the hill, and in the horses that stamped impatiently in the stable.

The master of Orvilliere Farm was Dominic Le Mierre, a bachelor, a hard worker, and a more than respectable member of the parish of Saint Pierre du Bois. It seemed that he did not mind the boisterous wind this evening as he ate his supper hurriedly in the gloomy kitchen, whose windows shook at every touch of the blast.

Over the hills, and once more across country, the howling wind made its way, past the old church of Saint Pierre du Bois, past the lanes to Torteval parish, and along the high road to Pleinmont, where it had full play over a wide moorland district, dotted with low ma.s.ses of gorze and groups of boulders.

Here, too, was just one little cottage to shake and grip and freeze with biting draughts. It stood in a slight hollow on the summit of a cliff overlooking Rocquaine Bay. Its mossy thatched roof overhung tiny latticed windows, whose panes were golden red from the light of the fire of dried sea-weed and furze heaped up on the hearth of stone raised above the earthen sanded floor.

Round the fire a group of girls was gathered; for the most part they were just homely, pleasant creatures, but two stood out distinctly from the rest; one, by reason of her beauty, the other, because of her original and perhaps, forbidding, personality. The beautiful one, Blaisette Simon, of Colomberie Farm, was small and plump and very fair, with cheeks of a rosebud pink and lips full and ripe for kisses. The round innocence of her blue eyes looked away all sense from the men, so it was said, and she had lovers by the dozen. Added to her beauty was the attraction of a very desirable little fortune which she had already inherited from her mother, who was dead; and by and bye, _Mess_' Simon would leave her the farm and all his money, for she was an only child. She was disposed to be friendly with Ellenor, again an only child, the one treasure of Jean and Marie Cartier, of Les Casquets Cottage.

People wondered what Blaisette saw in the dark scowling girl, who was reserved and offhand with people in general; and probably Blaisette herself was puzzled as to _why_ she sought Ellenor so constantly. The girls were a distinct contrast, not only in character, but in appearance.

Ellenor was tall and angular, with a certain n.o.bility and haughtiness of carriage inherited from her fisherman father. Her sallow skin, sombre grey eyes and heavy mouth, looked the personification of night beside the sunny beauty of Blaisette's blue eyes and yellow hair. The girl of the cottage was an excellent foil to the girl of Colomberie Farm. Did Blaisette realize, all unconsciously, the use of this to her as she went forward triumphantly in her victorious path as the belle of two parishes?

But to return to the group round the fire.

All at once, by common consent, as it appeared, the girls rose and crowded round the entrance. Ellenor lifted the latch, and, flinging the door wide open, she stood on the threshold and looked out into the inky blackness of the night. The wind howled and moaned as it entered the kitchen; and a flash of lightning tore open, for one second, the darkness of the sky. After the crash of thunder that followed, Blaisette cried in an awestruck voice,

"Surely now, Ellenor, you will not go!"

"Not go!" echoed the girl of the cottage, "not go! but this is the very weather to go in! Now, perhaps, you will all believe I fear nothing! and if there was need for it I would go bareheaded to Saint Peter Port in this deluge!" and she pointed to the sheets of rain which swept over the moorland.

Then a small, insignificant voice, coming from a woman who sat in the hearth corner, spoke irritably.

"You know, Ellenor, if your father was here, he would not let you play such tricks!"

Ellenor faced her mother with rebellion in every feature of her face.

"The girls have dared me to go to the Haunted House on this very night, and I'll go, mother, if I have to face the devil himself."

Mrs. Cartier sighed.

"Well, you must do as you please, it seems you always do!"

Without further words, Ellenor coiled tighter the thick hair that looked too heavy for her small head, stuck through it a dull gold pin, and stepped out into the small garden.

"It has stopped raining," she said sarcastically, "so who will go a little way, to see I don't cheat, but go, in reality, to the Haunted House?"

After a minute's hesitation, two or three of the girls followed her, but Blaisette, with a pretty pout, returned to the _jonquiere_ by the hearth. Ellenor walked rapidly up the steep path to the summit of the cliff, then plunged into the darkness of the moorland.

Winding in and out amongst gorze bushes, she reached at last a large patch of gra.s.s. She turned round to the girls who were huddling close to her.

"There! in two minutes I'll be to the Haunted House. Listen to the sea! We're close to the edge of the cliffs. Come, quick, let's run, who knows if I can burst open the door, if I won't see the devil. I would wish it, for my part! There'd be a chance to tell him what one thinks of him."

Her words wandered away into the night, for the girls, with cries of horror, had fled as if evil spirits pursued them.

With a mocking laugh, Ellenor hurried on, then gradually she slackened her pace. At last, she groped her way forward with outstretched hands, for it was horribly dark. Presently she touched the rough stone wall of some building and stopped and listened. Not a sound but the wild roar of the waves below the cliffs and the gradual lulling of the wind. She groped along the wall, till her hands fell a little lower, to a different surface. It was a short wooden door. She pushed against it, gently, but it did not yield.

She felt it across and up and down. There was no latch and she could find no keyhole. Again she pushed, this time with all her strength.

Jerking suddenly, the door opened inwards, and Ellenor, leaning against it, fell forward over the high threshold into pitch darkness. She felt a blinding blow and a sickening pain, and then she lost consciousness.

When she came to herself she was first aware of a heavily beamed cobwebbed roof, of a dim lantern beside her, of the stifling nearness of kegs and bales and boxes, and then of a very familiar figure kneeling beside her on one knee.

The man's face that peered into hers was handsome in a heavy undeveloped way. Eyes as grey as hers and as sombre scowled from underneath dark brows and a dark thatch of hair. His sullen mouth, set in a hard angry line, was the finest feature of a clean-shaven face.

"You little fool!" he half whispered, "what on earth, or in h.e.l.l, has made you come meddling here, I'd like to know! I've nearly killed you!"

With his coa.r.s.e pocket handkerchief he mopped up the blood that was flowing from a cut on her head.

"How did you nearly kill me?" she asked, "what harm have I done?"

"You've come sneaking in here, and in this darkness, and I hit you when you banged open the door. It seems you were falling over the doorstep. You're pretty pale, my girl, but I believe I know your face. Aren't you from Les Casquets?"

"I'm Ellenor Cartier, yes. And you--you're Monsieur Le Mierre, from Orvilliere."

He scowled and looked for a minute as if he meditated another blow--then he swore roundly in the Norman-French that he and all the islanders spoke.

"How the devil did you know me in this darkness! You're a witch, it seems, and it isn't the first time I've thought it. You are not a beauty, my girl. But come, tell me, how did you recognize me?"

"I've seen you to church, to St. Pierre du Bois, but you were all dressed up then; and I've seen you driving to the market of a Sat.u.r.day morning sometimes."

He laughed and bent a little closer. Her eyes were like stars as they were lifted to his face. And she did not appear to fear him in the very least.

"Well, it's a joke, isn't it, the difference between Dominic Le Mierre of a Sunday and Dominic Le Mierre in this place, my clothes all wet with sea-water. And now, tell me, witch, why do you think I'm here, in the Haunted House?"

"I couldn't say, I'm sure."

He was silent, staring hard into the candid, fearless eyes; then impulsively he cried,

"I believe I can trust you! But, I warn you, if you let out why I'm here, I'll kill you."

"You can trust me. I'd be killed before I'd let out."

A soft shadow darkened the clearness of her eyes: her long eyelashes fell before his puzzled stare.

"But why, bah! it appears you're not afraid of me, then! Very well.

I'll tell you. It is the best way out of the difficulty. But sit up against this barrel, and drink a little brandy. I've stopped the bleeding in your head with a black enough cobweb."

Ellenor tried to raise herself up, but loss of blood had made her giddy, and Dominic put his arm round her and steadied her roughly, but not unkindly. Her dark head rested a second against his blue jerseyed shoulder, and once more she lifted her eyes to his. With brusque and evidently totally unpremeditated pa.s.sion he kissed her red lips.

"There! didn't I say you are a witch! I could laugh at myself for this--I, Le Mierre, of one of the oldest families of St. Pierre du Bois to be kissing a girl like you, a girl who carries fish to market, tramp, tramp, all the way in the rain or in the sun! And, moreover, I, Le Mierre, oh, so respectable and fine of a Sunday, pulling a long face in my pew, and yet, behold, here I am a smuggler, keeping guard over brandy and lace and silks! And why the devil did I kiss you, for it isn't that you are a pretty girl or enticing, eh?"