The Light Heart (40 page)

Phoebe discovered with chagrin when the time came to leave Jeff and Rachel behind and sail for England that she minded it rather more than she had expected to. And then she wondered with her usual honesty if it wasn’t more because of the tranquil way he had settled into his new quarters without seeming to care much whether she was there or not, than that she would miss him herself. Dinah had the inborn knack of playing with children and Phoebe hadn’t, and it made no difference which of them was the mother, Dinah belonged in a nursery and Phoebe remained a visitor there.

On that last Saturday morning Phoebe and Dinah sat on the floor beside Jeff, who was busy with blocks, and talked for a bit over his head about food and fresh air and not too many new playthings all at once, and what Phoebe was to tell everybody in St. James’s Square. Then Bracken called up the stairs that the car was waiting. Phoebe managed with some difficulty to plant a kiss on Jeff’s cheek and stood up, straightening her hat.

“Don’t come down with me,” she said to Dinah. “He might suspect something and begin to howl. Good-bye Jeff, you’re in clover here, and don’t you forget it.”

“Say Good-bye to Phoebe,” Dinah admonished him.

“Goo’-bye to Fee,” said Jeff unemotionally.

“Wave your hand to her,” Dinah prompted.

He waved his hand.

“Well—good-bye,” said Phoebe rather flatly, and bent to kiss Dinah and ran down the stairs.

Then the one Jeff called Diney grabbed him and held him so tight it almost hurt. He endured it for a minute and then squirmed uneasily. Instantly her hold relaxed, and she looked down at him with shiny beads on her cheeks.

“I mustn’t break you, must I,” she whispered.

He grinned at her. She grinned back. On a mutual impulse they fell again into each other’s arms.

1.
The
High
Seas
May,
1915

B
RACKEN went on board with Phoebe and saw her
luggage
into the small inside stateroom on B Deck which she had all to herself, as she preferred it to sharing a larger one with a stranger. It was all he had been able to
get for her at short notice.

While they stood together counting the bags his mind went back to the notice signed by the German Embassy at
Washington
which they had seen in the morning paper during breakfast—a formal statement that vessels flying the flag of Great Britain or her allies were liable to destruction in the waters adjacent to the British Isles and that travellers on the Atlantic voyage sailed at their own risk. Phoebe had asked at breakfast what that meant, and Bracken replied rather tersely that it meant
submarines
. Phoebe reminded him that the Lusitania was not a battleship. Bracken said she was a British ship, and asked Phoebe bluntly if she would rather wait a few days and go on an American liner, or a Dutch one. Phoebe told him not to be silly.

Now he looked at her gravely in the cramped little room, with the electric light bulb glaring down from the ceiling and the bustle of white-coated stewards and the passengers’ cheery voices outside the open door.

“I wish I were going with you,” he said. “Tell ’em I’ll be back soon, anyway. Next month, probably. Not Dinah. She’s had enough for a while. She and Jeff will have to hold the fort here.”

“Then I may see you in London before I start back,” Phoebe suggested, pleased.

“Very likely.” He glanced around the cabin. “See that thing there? That’s your life-belt. Remember where it is, so you could find it in the dark. And if ever you think the ship has been hit, put on your life-belt and go straight up to the boat deck. Don’t go without it. Wherever you are, come and get it first. See?”

“Bracken, you don’t really think they—”

“No. Not really. But judging by myself, one’s tendency would be all to rush up to the open air, one would have a fear of being trapped down here. That’s why I’m telling you to remember the life-belt if anything happens. There would be plenty of time to come and fetch it. Then you’re safe. You’ll float.” He grinned, and bent to kiss her. “Don’t have bad dreams, though,” he said. “This would be a hard boat to catch, even if they tried.”

Holding to his sleeve she went up the crowded main
staircase
with him to the lounge, where they saw no one they knew, though the place seemed to be full of celebrities. Finally Bracken kissed her again, and went away down the
gangplank
, trying not to think he was having some kind of hunch, trying not to keep telling himself that she looked so helpless and
young.

Phoebe wandered about the ship, seeing familiar faces among the stewards, and renewing her memory of the luxurious layout of the public rooms. The last time she had sat in that very corner with a book the world was comparatively simple and at peace, and she was on her way to visit Rosalind at Heidersdorf as a welcome guest. The last time she had dozed in a deck-chair under a plaid rug they knew at least that Rosalind was all right…. Which reminded her that she must
see to her deck-chair, and she had one placed well aft on the boat deck on the starboard side in the sun. A middle-aged lady who was obviously an experienced traveller was already tucked up in one near-by, and was half way through a new copy of
The
Lion’s
Den.

Descending to the dining-saloon to make her table
reservation
, Phoebe accepted with smiling resignation a place at the Captain’s table—she never took much satisfaction in playing the famous authoress—and the first night out went to bed very early, convinced that she had nothing better to do. Besides, a young man in a peaked cap and a knickerbocker suit had passed her three times on the deck before dinner, casting interested glances each time, and she did
not
feel in the mood for a shipboard flirtation.

It was a smooth voyage in warm spring sunshine, and the portholes on B and C Decks stood open to the rhythmic swish of white water under the keel, and the air in the lower passages was damp and salty and made Phoebe’s hair curl. On the decks children ran about in summer clothes without hats, and people sunned themselves till they burned. There was some talk among the passengers of submarines, and the middle-aged lady in the deck-chair near Phoebe said she knew a man who had actually cancelled his sailing at the last minute because of that notice put in by the German Embassy, and then she pointed out another man who had had himself transferred from the Carpathia because he felt that a fast boat like this one would be safer.

She was one of those travellers who make a point of
knowing
all about everyone on board, and it had taken her no time at all to extract from Phoebe that she was the author of the book everyone was reading, and to volunteer the information that the interested young man in the peaked cap was of an old Philadelphia family and
very
wealthy, and was going to Geneva to do something splendid with the International Red Cross. Phoebe then relented and allowed him to be presented to her as she felt that a friend at Geneva might be helpful later on.

Thereafter, though he tried visibly not to be a nuisance, young Mr. Kendrick was rather under foot, and Phoebe found him gay, a little cheeky, and—amusing. He was not exactly a handsome young man—his nose was too big, and his dark hair grew high—but he had a curling, humorous mouth and pointed, humorous eyebrows, and he made her laugh. More, he made her feel younger than she had felt for years.

On Thursday morning when Phoebe came on deck she noticed that they had swung out the lifeboats and uncovered them. The day passed uneventfully, with everybody saying that the trouble, if there was going to be any trouble, would come on Friday night as the ship ran for Liverpool across the Irish Sea. During the usual ship’s concert, which took place on Thursday evening, the main lounges got rather stuffy because all the shades had been drawn, and the doors to the deck were closed to keep the light inside. When she and Mr. Kendrick went out for a breath of air after the programme he said that smoking was forbidden on deck after dark.

Phoebe leaned her elbows on the rail beside his and he cheated so that their shoulders touched and the high white fur collar of her brocade wrap brushed his cheek, and he said, “Look, all you fishes and mermaids out there, look who’s standing up here beside me—Miss Phoebe Sprague—the one that writes all the books.” He cocked his head around to see her face inside the shielding collar. “
Miss
Phoebe Sprague,” he repeated, and his eyes were bright and his teeth gleamed in his quirky smile. “How did that ever happen? Have you got a heart of stone, or something? It doesn’t go with the books.”

“Are you asking me, after five days’ acquaintance, why I don’t seem to be married?”

“I am. Provided that you aren’t.”

“None of your business,” she said deliberately, after a moment.

“I begin to think it is.” The friendly pressure of his shoulder against hers increased ever so little. “Because after five days’ acquaintance I am falling in love with you.”

“Now, Mr. Kendrick—” Phoebe straightened, with a smooth, aloof movement.

“I know, I know, How dare you Mr. Kendrick, and all that!” His voice was warm and easy, and he made no effort to follow her withdrawal, so that his very stillness against the rail held her where she was, less than a foot away from him. “Maybe it’s
lèse
majesté.
Maybe I should have put in my application through the Ambassador. Maybe I ought to show credentials. I come of rich but honest parents, I’m the only son, I learnt my law at Harvard, and I think America ought to be doing something about this damned war, and if she won’t I will. So I bought an ambulance and bribed my way into the Red Cross with it. I’m twenty-six next birthday, and everybody says I ought to get married—”

“That’s what everybody said about me,” she broke in sharply. “And I did.”

“You—did?”

“I’m a widow. I’ve got a son a year old.”

“I—didn’t know.”

“You’re not to blame for that. I only mentioned it because I want to say—because I like you so much I want to say, Don’t ever let anybody talk you into it just because it’s time. Wait till you just can’t help yourself. And now, Mr. Kendrick, please take your old grandmother inside and send her off to bed before she can give any more personal advice.”

She turned and walked briskly towards the door into the main hall, which was now masked by a dark curtain hung inside it. When he had seen her start down the passage towards her room, Mr. Kendrick headed for the bar.

P
HOEBE
was awakened at an early hour Friday morning by the foghorn, and as she had been somewhat later than usual
dropping
off to sleep—largely because she had kept saying to
herself, And I’m
seven years older
than he is, it’s come to
that
—she buried her face in the pillow and moaned, instead of going down to breakfast. Presently the foghorn stopped, but by that time she was hopelessly awake so she rang for the stewardess and had breakfast on a tray. The stewardess said you could see Ireland now, on the port side, and the fog had lifted nicely.

Phoebe dressed at leisure and went up to her chair on the boat deck, and sure enough, there was Ireland, looking very green and solid. She rolled herself in the plaid rug and pretended at once to be asleep in case Mr. Kendrick came by. Pretty soon she did doze, so that the luncheon bugle took her by surprise. She was not hungry and stayed where she was, waiting grimly for the departure to lunch of a pair of small romping children whose pattering footsteps and artless voices had impinged every now and then on her pleasant coma. I’ll let luncheon go, she thought comfortably. That egg will last me till tea time if I don’t take any exercise. It will be nice and quiet here when everybody else has gone down to feed. I must teach Jeff not to run about and crow with innocent glee like the story-books when he is on shipboard…. She dozed again, on the almost deserted deck, and gradually became aware that lunch was finishing and people were drifting back again.

She was still only half awake when she distinctly felt a dull, heavy bump somewhere and raised her head sharply—the ship gave a long shudder, and instantly there was another shock, harder than the first, like an explosion somewhere below. A man’s voice rose in a single warning shout, and the air was full of salt water and falling fragments of wood and even bits that rattled like metal. Some of it landed quite near her chair, and the rug which covered her was splashed with shining drops of sea water. Her mind was slower than her nerves, and she was trembling all over by the time she heard herself thinking,
We’ve
been
hit.

She disentangled her legs from the rug with difficulty and stood up unsteadily. People were running towards the starboard
side from all over the ship, and some of them were already hurling themselves at the lifeboats just forward of where she stood. The deck beneath her feet had tilted to that side, so that it was downhill to the rail.

Phoebe’s mind was ticking now, but her legs were shaky and she felt a wild pounding in her ears which was her heartbeats. I mustn’t be frightened—a big ship like this can’t sink—my life-belt—Bracken said to get my life-belt—it’s only as far as B Deck—there will always be time to get it—I’ll be safe then—I’ll float—

She walked firmly up the sloping deck and through the door into the main hall, where everyone else seemed to be hurrying out. She got down the stairs against the tide and turned towards her room, choosing the right one of four possible directions without hesitation. My passport, she was thinking clearly—my letter of credit, locked in the top of my trunk—my warm coat—the picture of Jeff on the bedside table—my gloves—

She reached the stateroom and pressed the light switch, noticing that her fingers fumbled and were cold, clenching her teeth with fury at these signs of her own weakness in a crisis. A ship like the Lusitania can’t just go down like a stone, she told herself scornfully. Besides, we’re just off Ireland. They’ll see us from shore. They’ll send out to pick us up in no time. It’s only because I’m alone that I feel this way, if Bracken were here I’d be able to think nothing of it—it’s frightening not to have someone to tell me what to do—times like these one wants a man around—a man that
belongs
to you—

She laid the life-belt on the bed and got her keys out of her purse and unlocked the trunk—put the passport and letter of credit into her handbag, and the little picture of Jeff taken on the lawn at Williamsburg—she wanted that to show Virginia—Virginia wasn’t the only one who could have babies—she turned to the wardrobe to get her heavy coat—and the light went out.

Phoebe grabbed the side of the wardrobe as though the ship had lurched—had it?—of course not—and heard above the
renewed thumping in her own ears the pound of running feet on the deck above. Then she snatched the life-belt from the bed and stepped out into the passage. Not only her own cabin light, but all the lights in that part of the ship had gone. There was a dim greyness and a damp smell of sea from the open portholes at the ends of the cross passages which ran to the outer tier of staterooms, and she thought, Somebody ought to have closed them. And realizing that now she had to walk in the angle formed by the floor and the side walls of the cabins, she thought, if we go on heeling over like this the water will pour in through the portholes—perhaps it’s already coming in on the lower decks—that would sink us—

And the dread Bracken had foreseen of being caught down there took her by the throat, and she slipped and caught at the hand-rail, and said between her teeth,
Behave
yourself!
When she reached the main square from which the central staircase rose, she found with relief that the lights still burned there, and there was no panic and no outcry among the people packed patiently, even courteously, on the steps which were now tilted sideways at such an angle that everybody had to hold on to everybody else. Half way up, a child had begun to cry and a woman’s voice called “Harry!” and there was no answer.