When they were all standing on the sh.o.r.e, Kate did not think it worth while to ask Master Newcombe how he happened to know where she was. But the young man waited for no questions; he went on to tell his story.
When he related that it was a man fishing on a pier who had told him that young Mistress Kate Bonnet was stopping with Dame Charter, Kate wondered greatly, for as d.i.c.kory had met Master Newcombe, what need had there been for the latter to ask questions about her of a stranger? But she said nothing. And d.i.c.kory growled in his soul that he had ever spoken to the man on the pier, except to thank him for the rope he had borrowed.
Martin Newcombe"s story went on, and he told that, having been extremely angered by the conduct and words of Madam Bonnet, he had gone into the town and made inquiries, hoping to hear something of the whereabouts of Mistress Kate. And, having done so, by means of the very obliging person on the pier, he had determined that the daughter of Major Bonnet should have her rights; and he had gone to his own lawyer, who a.s.sured him that being a person of recognised respectability, possessing property, he was fully authorized, knowing the wishes of Mistress Kate Bonnet, to go to her step-mother and demand that those wishes be complied with; and if this very reasonable request should be denied, then the lawyer would take up the matter himself, and would see to it that reasonable raiment and the necessities of a young lady should not be withheld from her.
With these instructions, Newcombe had gone to Madam Bonnet and had found that much disturbed lady in a state of partial collapse, which had followed her pa.s.sion of the morning, and who had declared that nothing in the world would please her better than to get rid of her husband"s daughter and never see her again. And if the creature needed clothes or anything else which belonged to her, a maid should pack them up, and anybody who pleased might take them to any place, provided she heard no more about them or their owner.
In all this she spoke most truthfully, for she hated her step-daughter, both because she was a fine young woman and much regarded by her father, and because she had certain rights to the estate of said father, which his present wife did not wish to recognise, or even to think about. So Martin Newcombe was perfectly welcome to take away such things as would render it unnecessary for the girl to now return to the home in which she had been born. Martin had brought the box, and here he was.
It was not long before Newcombe and the lady of his love were walking away through the little plantation, in order that they might speak by themselves. d.i.c.kory looked after them and frowned, but he bravely comforted himself by thinking that he had been the one into whose arms she had dropped, through the blackness of the night and the blackness of the water, knowing in her heart that he would be there ready for her, and also by the thought that it was his shoes and stockings that she wore. Dame Charter saw this frown on her son"s face, but she did not guess the thoughts which were in his mind.
CHAPTER VII
KATE PLANS
It was nearly an hour before Kate and Mr. Newcombe returned, and when they came back they did not look happy. d.i.c.kory observed their sad visages, but the sight did not make him sad. Kate took Dame Charter by the hand and led her to the bench.
"You have been so kind to me," she said, "that I have almost come to look upon you as a mother, even though I have known you such a little while, and I want to tell you what I have been talking about, and what I think I am going to do."
Mr. Newcombe now stood by, and d.i.c.kory also. His mother was not quite sure that this was the right place for him, but as he had already done so much for the young lady, there was, perhaps, no reason why he should be debarred from hearing what she had to say.
"This gentleman," said Kate, indicating Martin Newcombe, "sympathizes with me very greatly in my present unfortunate position: having no home to which I can go, and having no relative belonging to this island but my father, who is sailing upon the seas, I know not where; and therefore, in his great kindness, has offered to marry me and to take me to his home, which thereafter would be my home, and in which I should have all comforts and rights."
Now d.i.c.kory"s face was like the sky before a shower. His mother saw it out of the corner of her eye, but the others did not look at him.
"This was very kind and very good," continued Kate.
"Not at all, not at all," interrupted Master Newcombe, "except that it was kind and good to myself; for there is nothing in this world which you need and want as much as I need and want you."
At this d.i.c.kory"s brow grew darker.
"I believe all you say," said Kate, "for I am sure you are an honest and a true man, but, as I told you, I cannot marry you; for, even had I made up my mind on the subject, which I have not, I could not marry any one at such a time as this, not knowing my father"s will upon the subject or where he is."
The sun broke out on d.i.c.kory"s countenance without a shower; his mother noticed the change.
"But as I must do something," Kate went on, "a plan came to me while Mr.
Newcombe was talking to me, and I have been thinking of it ever since, and now, as I speak, I am becoming fully determined in regard to it; that is, if I can carry it out. It often happens," she said, with a faint smile, "that when people ask advice they become more and more strengthened in their own opinion. My opinion, and I may say my plan, is this: When my father told me he was going away in his ship, he agreed to take me with him on a little voyage, leaving me with my mother"s brother at the island of Jamaica, not far from Spanish Town. In purposing this he thought, no doubt, that it would be far better for me to be with my own blood, if his voyage should be long, rather than to live with one who is no relative of mine, and does not wish to act like one. This, then, being my father"s intention, which he was prevented, by reasons which I know not of, from carrying out, I shall carry it out myself with all possible dispatch, and go to my uncle in Jamaica by the earliest vessel which sails from this port. Not only as this is my natural refuge in my trouble, but as my father intended to go there when he thought of having me with him, it may be a part of his plan to go there any way, even though I be not with him; and so I may see him, and all may be well."
Clouds now settled heavily on the faces of each of the young men, and even the ordinarily bright sky of Dame Charter became somewhat overcast; although, in her heart, she did not believe that anybody in this world could have devised a better plan, under the circ.u.mstances, than this forsaken Mistress Kate Bonnet.
"Now there is my plan," said Kate, with something of cheerfulness in her voice, "if it so be I can carry it out. Do either of you know," glancing at the young men impartially, but apparently not noticing the bad weather, "if in a reasonable time a vessel will leave here for Jamaica?"
d.i.c.kory knew well, but he would not answer; Kate had no right to put such a thing upon him. Newcombe, however, did not hesitate. "It is very hard for me to say," he made reply, "but there is a merchantman, the King and Queen, which sails from here in three days for Jamaica. I know this, for I send some goods; and I wish, Mistress Bonnet, that I could say something against your sailing in her, but I cannot; for, since you will not let me take care of you, your uncle is surely the best one in the world to do it; and as to the vessel, I know she is a safe one."
"But you could not go sailing away in any vessel by yourself," cried Dame Charter, "no matter how safe she may be."
"Oh, no!" cried Kate; "and the more we talk about our plan the more fully it reveals itself to me in all its various parts. I am going to ask you to go with me, my dear Dame Charter," and as she spoke she seized both of the hands of the other. "I have funds of my own which are invested in the town, and I can afford the expense. Surely, my good friend, you will not let me go forth alone, and all unused to travel?
Leaving me safely with my uncle, you could return when the ship came back to Bridgetown."
Dame Charter turned upon the girl a look of kind compa.s.sion, but at the same time she knit her brows.
"Right glad would I be to do that for you," she said, "but I cannot go away and leave my son, who has only me."
"Take him with you," cried Kate. "Two women travelling to unknown sh.o.r.es might readily need a protector, and if not, there are so many things which he might do. Think of it, my dear Dame Charter; to my uncle"s home in Jamaica is the only place to which I can go, and if you do not go with me, how can I go there?"
Dame Charter now shed tears, but they were the tears of one good woman feeling for the misfortunes of another.
"I will go with you, my dear young lady," she said, "and I will not leave you until you are in your uncle"s care. And, as to my boy here--"
Now d.i.c.kory spoke from out of the blazing noontide of his countenance.
"Oh, I will go!" he cried. "I do so greatly want to see Jamaica."
Without being noticed, his mother took him by the hand; she did not know what he might be tempted to say next.
Mr. Newcombe stood very doleful. And well he might; for if his lady-love went away in this fashion, there was good reason to suppose that he might never see her again. But Kate said no word to comfort him--for how could she in this company?--and began to talk rapidly about her preparations.
"I suppose until the ship shall sail I may stay with you?" addressing Dame Charter.
"Stay here?" exclaimed the good dame. "Of course you can stay here. We are like one family now, and we will all go on board ship together."
Kate walked to the boat with Mr. Newcombe, he having offered to undertake her business in town and at her father"s house, and to see the owners of the King and Queen in regard to pa.s.sage.
d.i.c.kory stood radiant, speaking to no one. Master Martin Newcombe was the lover of Mistress Kate Bonnet, but he, d.i.c.kory, was going with her to Jamaica!
The following days fled rapidly. Long-visaged Martin Newcombe, whose labours in behalf of his lady were truly labours of love, as their object was to help her to go where his eyes could no longer feast upon her, and from which place her voice would no longer reach him, went, with a bitter taste in his mouth, to visit Madam Bonnet, to endeavour to persuade her to deliver to her step-daughter such further belongings as that young lady was in need of.
That forsaken person was found to be only too glad to comply with this request, hoping earnestly that neither the property nor its owner should ever again be seen by her. She was in high spirits, believing that she was a much better manager of the plantation than her eccentric husband had ever been, and she had already engaged a man to take the place of Ben Greenway, who had been a sore trouble to her these many years. She was buoyed up and cheered by the belief that the changes she was making would be permanent, and that she would live and die the owner of the plantation. She alone, in all Bridgetown and vicinity, had no doubts whatever in regard to her husband"s sailing from Barbadoes in his own ship, and with a redundancy of rascality below its decks. The respectability and good reputation of Major Bonnet did not blind her eyes. She had heard him talk about the humdrum life on sh.o.r.e and the reckless glories of the brave buccaneers, but she had never replied to these remarks, fearing that she might feel obliged to object to them, and she did not tell him how, in late years, she had heard him talk in his sleep about standing, with brandished sword, on the deck of a pirate ship. It was her dream, that his dreams might all come true.
So Kate"s baggage was put on board the King and Queen, a very humble vessel considering her sounding name, and Dame Charter"s few belongings were conveyed to the vessel in d.i.c.kory"s canoe, the cottage being left in charge of a poor and well-pleased neighbour.
When the day came for sailing, our friends, with not a few of the townspeople, were gathered upon the deck, where Kate at first looked about for d.i.c.kory, not recognising at the moment the well-dressed young fellow who had taken his place. His Sunday costume became him well, and he was so bravely decked out in the matter of shoes and stockings that Kate did not recognise him.
To every one Mistress Kate Bonnet made clear that she was going to her uncle"s house in Jamaica, where she expected to meet her father; and many were the good wishes bestowed upon her. When the time drew near when the anchor should be heaved, Kate withdrew to one side with Mr.
Newcombe. "You must believe," said she kindly, "that everything between us is just as it was when we used to sit on the shady bank and look out over the ripples of the river. There will be waves instead of ripples for us to look over now, but there will be no change either the one way or the other."
Then they shook hands fervently; more than that would have been unwarrantable.
The King and Queen dropped down the stream, and Master Newcombe stood sadly on the pier, while Kate Bonnet waved her handkerchief to him and to her friends. Dame Charter sat and smiled at the town she was leaving and at the long stretches of the river before her. She knew not to what future she was going, but her heart was uplifted at the thought that a new life was opening before her son. In her little cottage and in her little fields there was no future for him, and now to what future might he not be sailing!
As for d.i.c.kory, he knew no more of his future than the sea-birds knew what was going to happen to them; he cared no more for his future than the clouds cared whether they were moving east or west. His life was like the sparkling air in which he moved and breathed. He stood upon the deck of the vessel, with the wind filling the sails above, while at a little distance stood Kate Bonnet, her ribbons floating in the breeze.
He would have been glad to sing aloud, but he knew that that would not be proper in the presence of the ladies and the captain. And so he let his heart do his singing, which was not heard, except by himself.