Johnny Ludlow First Series Part 108

he cried, his voice a little hoa.r.s.e with agitation, his hand grasping my arm like a vice. "I have been taking a look at the place outside"--pointing up the road towards Parrifer Hall--"but it seems to be empty."

It was empty, except for a man who had charge of the things until the sale could take place. Softening the narrative a little, and not calling everything by the name the public called it, I gave the facts to Gusty.

He drew a deep breath at the end, like a hundred sighs in one. Then I asked him how it was he had not heard these things--had not been written to.

"I don't know," he said. "I have been moving about Scotland: perhaps a letter of theirs may have miscarried; and I suppose my later letters did not reach them. The last letter I had was from Constance, giving me an account of some grand fete here that had taken place the previous day."

"Yes. I was at it with Todhetley and the Whitneys. The--the crisis came three or four days after that."

"Johnny, where's my father?" he asked, after a pause, his voice sunk to a whisper.

"It is not known where he is."

"Is it true that he is being--looked for?"

"I am afraid it is."

"And, if they find him--what then? Why don't you speak?" he added impatiently.

"I don't know what. Some people say it will only be a bad case of bankruptcy."

"Any way, it is a complete smash."

"Yes, it's that."

"Will it, do you think, be ruin, Johnny? Ruin utter and unmitigated?"

"It is that already--to many persons round about."

"But I mean to my own people," said he, impatiently.

"Well, I should fear it would be."

Gusty took off his hat to wipe his brow. He looked white in the starlight.

"What will become of me? I must fly too," he muttered, as if to the stars. "And what of Fabian?--he cannot remain in his regiment. Johnny Ludlow, this blow is like death to me."

And it struck me that of the two calamities, Gusty Pell, non-religious though he was, would rather have met death. I felt dreadfully sorry for him.

"Where's James?" he suddenly asked. "Is he gone too?"

"James disappeared on the Sunday, it is said. It would hardly have been safe for him to remain: the popular feeling is very bitter."

"Well, I must make myself scarce again also," he said, after a pause.

"Could you lend me a pound or so, Johnny, if you've got it about you?"

I told him I wished I had; he should have been heartily welcome to it.

Pulling out my pockets, I counted it all up--two s.h.i.+llings and fivepence. Gusty turned from it with disdain.

"Well, good evening, Johnny. Thank you for your good wishes--and for telling me what you have. I don't know to whom else I could have applied: and I am glad to have chanced to meet you."

He gave another deep sigh, shook my hand, got over the stile, and crept away, keeping close to the hedge, as if he intended to make for Alcester, I stood and watched him until he was lost in the shadows.

And so the Pells, one and all, went into exile in some unknown region, and the poor duped people stayed to face their ruin at home. It was an awful time, and that's the truth.

XXV.

OVER THE WATER.

We had what they called the "dead-lights" put in the ladies' cabin at Gravesend: that will show what the weather was expected to be in the open sea. In the saloon, things were pitching about before we reached Margate. Rounding the point off Broadstairs, the steamer caught it strong and sharp.

"Never heed a bit of pitching: we've the wind all for us, and shall make a short pa.s.sage," said the captain in hearty tones, by way of consolation to the pa.s.sengers generally. "A bit o' breeze at sea is rather pleasant."

Pleasant it might be to him, Captain Tune, taking in a good dinner, as much at ease as if he had been sitting in his dining-room ash.o.r.e. Not so pleasant, though, for some of us, his pa.s.sengers.

Ramsgate and other landmarks pa.s.sed, and away in the open sea it was just a gale. That, and nothing less. Some one said so to the man at the wheel: a tall, middle-aged, bronzed-faced fellow in s.h.i.+rt sleeves and open blue waistcoat.

"Bless y're ignorance! This a gale! Why, 'taint half a one. It'll be a downright fair pa.s.sage, this 'un will, shorter nor ord'nary."

"What do you call a gale--if this is not one?"

"I ain't allowed to talk: you may see it writ up."

"Writ up," it was. "Pa.s.sengers are requested not to talk to the man at the wheel." But if he had been allowed to talk, and talked till now, he would never have convinced some of the unhappy creatures around, that the state of wind then blowing was not a gale.

It whistled in the sails, it roared over the paddle-wheels, it seemed to play at pitch-and-toss with the sea. The waves rose with mountain force, and then broke like mad: the steamer rolled and lurched, and righted herself; and then lurched and rolled again. Captain Tune stood on the bridge, apparently enjoying it, the gold band on his cap glistening in the sun. We got his name from the boat bills; and a jolly, courteous, attentive captain he seemed to be. But for the pitching and tossing and general discomfort, it would have been called beautiful weather. The air was bright; the sun as hot as it is in July, although September was all but out.

"Johnny. Johnny Ludlow."

The voice--Mr. Brandon's--was too faint to be squeaky. He sat amids.h.i.+ps on a camp stool, his back against the cabin wall--or whatever the boarding was--wrapped in a plaid. A yellow handkerchief was tied over his head, partly to keep his cap on, partly to protect his ears. The handkerchief hid most of his face, except his little nose; which looked pinched and about as yellow as the silk.

"Did you call me, sir?"

"I wish you'd see if you can get to my tail pocket, Johnny. I've been trying this ten minutes, and do nothing but find my hands hopelessly entangled in the plaid. There's a tin box of lozenges there."

"Do you feel ill, sir?" I asked, as I found the box, and gave it to him.

"Never was ill at sea in my life, Johnny, in the way you mean. But the motion always gives me the most frightful headache imaginable. How are you?"

The less said about how I was, the better. All I hoped was he wouldn't keep me talking.

"Where's the Squire?" he asked.

I pointed to a distant heap on the deck, from which groans came forth occasionally: and just managed to speak in answer.