Kate Bonnet Part 12

Most abominable when contrasted with the scurrilous screed he had written to her.

Day after day pa.s.sed on, and Kate Bonnet arose each morning feeling less happy than on the day before. But at last a letter came, brought by a French vessel which had touched at Barbadoes. This letter was to Kate from Martin Newcombe. It was a love-letter, a very earnest, ardent love-letter, but it did not make the young girl happy, for it told her very little about her father. The heart of the lover was so tender that he would say nothing to his lady which might give her needless pain. He had heard what Captain Marchand had told and he had not understood it, and could only half believe it. Kate must know far more about all this painful business than he did, for her father's letter would tell her all he wished her to know. Therefore, why should he discuss that most distressing and perplexing subject, which he knew so little about and which she knew all about. So he merely touched upon Major Bonnet and his vessel, and hoped that she might soon write to him and tell him what she cared for him to know, what she cared for him to tell to the people of Bridgetown, and what she wished to repose confidentially to his honour.

But whatever she chose to say to him or not to say to him, he would have her remember that his heart belonged to her, and ever would belong, no matter what might happen or what might be said for good or for bad, on the sea or the land, by friends or enemies.

This was a rarely good love-letter, but it plunged Kate into the deepest woe, and d.i.c.kory saw this first of all. He had brought the letter, and for the second time he saw tears in her eyes. The absence of news of Major Bonnet was soon known to the rest of the family, and then there were other tears. It was perfectly plain, even to Dame Charter, that things had been said in Bridgetown which Mr. Newcombe had not cared to write.

"No, Dame Charter," said Kate, "I cannot talk to you about it. My uncle has already spoken words of comfort, but neither you nor he know more than I do, and I must now think a little for myself, if I can."

So saying, she walked out into the grounds to a spot at a little distance where d.i.c.kory stood, reflectively gazing out over the landscape.

"d.i.c.kory," said the girl, "my mind is filled with horrible doubts. I have heard of the talk in Bridgetown before we left, and now here is this letter from Mr. Newcombe from which I cannot fail to see that there must have been other talk that he considerately refrains from telling me."

"He should not have written such a letter," exclaimed d.i.c.kory hotly; "he might have known it would have set you to suspecting things."

"You don't know what you are talking about, you foolish boy," said she; "it is a very proper letter about things you don't understand."

She stepped a little closer to him as if she feared some one might hear her. "d.i.c.kory," said she, "he did not put that thing into my mind; it was there already. That was a dreadful s.h.i.+p, d.i.c.kory, and it was filled with dreadful men. If he had not intended to go with them he would not have put himself into their power, and if he had not intended to be long away he would not have planned to leave me here with my uncle."

"You ought not to think such a thing as that for one minute," cried d.i.c.kory. "I would not think so about my mother, no matter what happened!"

She smiled slightly as she answered. "I would my father were a mother, and then I need not think such things. But, d.i.c.kory, if he had but written to me! And in all this time he might have written, knowing how I must feel."

d.i.c.kory stood silent, his bosom heaving. Suddenly he turned sharply towards her. "Of course he has written," said he, "but how could his letter come to you? We know not where he has sailed, and besides, who could have told him you had already gone to your uncle? But the people at Bridgetown must know things. I believe that he has written there."

"Why do you believe that?" she asked eagerly, with one hand on his arm.

"I think it," said d.i.c.kory, his cheeks a little ruddier in their brownness, "because there is more known there than Master Newcombe chose to put into his letter. If he has not written, how should they know more?"

She now looked straight into his eyes, and as he returned the gaze he could see in her pupils his head and his straw hat, with the clear sky beyond.

"d.i.c.kory," she said, "if he wrote to anybody he also wrote to me, and that letter is still there."

"That is what I believe," said he, "and I have been believing it."

"Then why didn't you say so to me, you wretched boy?" cried Kate. "You ought to have known how that would have comforted me. If I could only think he has surely written, my heart would bound, no matter what his letter told; but to be utterly dropped, that I cannot bear."

"You have not been dropped," he exclaimed, "and you shall know it. Kate, I am going--"

"Nay, nay," she exclaimed, "you must not call me that!"

"But you call me d.i.c.kory," he said.

"True, but you are so much younger."

"Younger!" he exclaimed in a tone of contempt, not for the speaker but for the word she had spoken. "Eleven months!"

She laughed a little laugh; her nature was so full of it that even now she could not keep it back.

"You must have been making careful computation," she said, "but it does not matter; you must not call me Kate, and I shall keep on calling you d.i.c.kory; I could not help it. Now, where is it you were about to say you were going?"

"If you think me old enough," said he, "I am going to Barbadoes in the King and Queen. She sails to-morrow. I shall find out about everything, and I shall get your letter, then I shall come back and bring it to you."

"d.i.c.kory!" she exclaimed, and her eyes glowed.

There was silence for some moments, and then he spoke, for it was necessary for him to say something, although he would have been perfectly content to stand there speechless, so long as her eyes still glowed.

"If I don't go," said he, "it may be long before you hear from him; having written, he will wait for an answer."

She thought of no difficulties, no delays, no dangers. "How happy you have made me, d.i.c.kory!" she said. "It is this dreadful ignorance, these fearful doubts of which I ought to be ashamed. But if I get his letter, if I know he has not deserted me!"

"You shall get it," he cried, "and you shall know."

"d.i.c.kory," said she, "you said that exactly as you spoke when you told me that if I let myself drop into the darkness, you would be there."

"And you shall find me there now," said he; "always, if you need me, you shall find me there!"

Dame Charter had been standing and watching this interview, her foolish motherly heart filled with the brightest, most unreasonable dreams. And why should she not dream, even if she knew her dreams would never come true? In a few short weeks that d.i.c.kory boy had grown to be a man, and what should not be dreamed about a man!

As Kate ran by the open door towards her uncle's apartments, Dame Charter rose up, surprised.

"What have you been saying to her, d.i.c.kory?" she exclaimed. "Do you know something we have not heard? Have you been giving her news of her father?"

"No," said the son, who had so lately been a boy, "I have no news to give her, but I am going to get news for her."

She looked at him in amazement; then she exclaimed: "You!"

"Yes," he said, "there is no one else. And besides I would not want any one else to do it. I am going to Bridgetown in the brig which brought us here; it is a little sail, and when I get there I will find out everything. No matter what has happened, it will break her heart to think that her father deserted her without a word. I don't believe he did it, and I shall go and find out."

"But, d.i.c.kory," she said, with anxious, upraised face, "how can you get back? Do you know of any vessel that will be sailing this way?"

He laughed.

"Get back? If I go alone, dear mother, you may be sure I shall soon get back. Craft of all kinds sail one way or another, and there are many ways in which I can get back not thought of in ordinary pa.s.sage. When any kind of a vessel sails from Jamaica, I can get on board of her, whether she takes pa.s.sengers or not. I can sleep on a bale of goods or on the bare deck; I can work with the crew, if need be. Oh! you need not doubt that I shall speedily come back."

They talked long together, this mother and this son, and it was her golden dreams for him that made her invoke Heaven's blessings upon him and tell him to go. She knew, too, that it was wise for her to tell him to go and to bless him, for it would have been impossible to withstand him, so set was he in his purpose.

"I tell you, Dame Charter," said Mr. Delaplaine an hour later, "this son of yours should be a great credit and pride to you, and he will be, I stake my word upon it."

"He is now," said the good woman quietly.

"I have been pondering in my brain," said he, "what I should do to relieve my niece of this burden of anxiety which is weighing upon her. I could see no way, for letters would be of no use, not knowing where to send them, and it would be dreary, indeed, to sit and wait and sigh and dream bad dreams until chance throws some light upon this grievous business, and here steps up this young fellow and settles the whole matter. When he comes back, Dame Charter, I shall do well for him; I shall put him in my counting-house, for, although doubtless he would fain live his young life in the fields and under the open sky, he will find the counting-house lies on the road to fortune, and good fortune he deserves."

If that loving mother could have composed this speech for Master Delaplaine to make she could not have suited it better to her desires.

When the King and Queen was nearly ready to sail, d.i.c.kory Charter, having been detained by Mr. Delaplaine, who wished the young man to travel as one of importance and plentiful resources, hurried to the house to take his final instructions from Mistress Kate Bonnet, in whose service he was now setting forth. It might have been supposed by some that no further instructions were necessary, but how could d.i.c.kory know that? He was right. Kate met him before he reached the house.

"I am so glad to see you again before you sail," she said. "One thing was forgotten: You may see my father; his cruise may be over and he may be, even now, preparing for me to come back to Bridgetown. If this be so, urge him rather to come here. I had not thought of your seeing him, d.i.c.kory, and I did not write to him, but you will know what to say. You have heard that woman talk of me, and you well know I cannot go back to my old home."