Priscilla's Spies
rushing, heavily listed, with the wind fair abeam. Now and then, as a
squall struck the sails, Priscilla let the mainsheet run out and allowed
the Tortoise to right herself. The sea was flecked with the white tops
of short, steep waves, raised hurriedly, as it were irritably by the
wind. A few heavy drops of rain fell. The whole sky became very dark. A
bright zig-zag of light flashed down, the thunder crashed over head. The
rain came down like a solid sheet of water.
“Let her away again now,” said Priscilla. “We can run right down on
Inishark. Be ready to round her up into the wind when I tell you. I
daren’t jibe her.”
“Don’t,” said Frank. “I say, you’d better steer.”
“Can’t now. We couldn’t possibly change places. Are you all right, Miss
Rutherford?”
“Splendid. Couldn’t be better. I’m soaked to the skin. Can’t possibly be
any wetter even if we swim for it.”
Inishark loomed, a low dark mass under their bow, dimly seen through a
veil of blinding rain which fell so heavily that the floor boards under
their feet were already awash.
“We’ll have to bail in a minute or two if this goes on,” said Priscilla.
“I wonder where the tin is?”
A roar of thunder drowned her voice. Miss Rutherford and Frank saw her
gesticulate wildly and point towards the island. Two small patches of
white were to be seen near the shore.
“Their tents,” yelled Priscilla. “We have them now if we don’t sink.
Luff her up, Cousin Frank, luff her up for all you’re worth. We must get
her off on the other tack or we’ll be past them.”
She hauled on the mainsheet as she spoke. The Tortoise rounded up into
the wind, lay over till the water began to pour over her side, righted
herself again and stood suddenly on an even keel, her sails flapping
wildly, the boat herself trembling like a creature desperately
frightened. Then she fell off on her new tack. Priscilla dragged Miss
Rutherford up to windward. Frank, guided by instinct rather than by any
knowledge of what was happening, scrambled up past the end of the long
tiller. Priscilla let the main sheet run out again. The Tortoise raced
straight for the shore.
“Keep her as she’s going, Cousin Frank. I’ll get the sail off her.”
For a minute or two there was wild confusion. Priscilla treading on Miss
Rutherford without remorse or apology, struggled with the halyard.
The sail bellied hugely, dipped into the sea to leeward and was hauled
desperately on board. The rain streamed down on them, each drop starting
up again like a miniature fountain when it splashed upon the wood of the
boat. The Tortoise, nearly half full of water, still staggered towards
the shore under her foresail. Priscilla hauled at the rope of the
centreboard.
“Run her up on the beach,” she shouted. “If we do knock a hole in her it
can’t be helped. Oh glory, glory! look at that!”
One of the tents tore itself from its fastenings, flapped wildly in the
air and then collapsed on the ground, a writhing heaving mass of soaked
canvas. The Tortoise struck heavily on the shore. Priscilla leaped over
her bows and ran up the beach with the anchor in her hand. She rammed
one of its flukes deep into the gravel. Then she turned towards the boat
and shouted:
“You help Frank out, Miss Rutherford. I must run on and see what’s
happening to those tents.”
A young woman, rain soaked and dishevelled, knelt beside the fallen
tent. She was working with fierce energy at the guy ropes, such of them
as still clung to their pegs. They were hopelessly entangled with the
others which had broken free and all of them were knotted and twisted
round corners of the flapping canvas.
“If I were you,” said Priscilla, “I’d leave those things alone till the
storm blows over. You’re only making them worse.”
The young woman looked round at Priscilla and smoothed her blown wet
hair from her face.
“Come and help me,” she said, “please.”
“What’s the good of hurrying?” said Priscilla.
“My husband’s underneath.”
“Well, I suppose he’s all right. In fact, I daresay he’s a good deal
drier there than we are outside. We’d far better go into your tent and
wait.”
“He’ll smother.”
“Not he. If he’s suffering from anything this minute I should say it is
draughts.”
The canvas heaved convulsively. It was evident that some one underneath
was making desperate efforts to get out.
“He’s smothering. I know he is.”
“Very well,” said Priscilla. “I’ll give you a help if you like; I don’t
know much about tents and I may simply make things worse. However, I’ll
try.”
She attacked a complex tangle of ropes vigorously. Miss Rutherford,
with Frank leaning on her shoulder, staggered up the beach. Just as they
reached the tents the head of a young man appeared under the flapping
canvas. Then his arms struggled out. Priscilla seized him by the hands
and pulled hard.
“Oh, Barnabas!” said the young lady, “are you safe?”
“He’s wet,” said Priscilla, “and rather muddy, but he’s evidently alive
and he doesn’t look as if he was injured in any way.”
The young man looked round him wildly at first. He was evidently
bewildered after his struggle with the tent and surprised at the manner
of his rescue. He gradually realised that there were strangers present.
His eyes rested on Miss Rutherford. She seemed the most responsible
member of the party. He pulled himself together with an effort
and addressed her in a tone of suave politeness which, under the
circumstances, was very surprising.
“Perhaps,” he said, “I ought to introduce myself. My name is
Pennefather, Barnabas Pennefather. The Rev. Barnabas Pennefather. This
is my wife, Lady Isabel Pennefather. I have a card somewhere.”
He began to fumble in various packets.
“Never mind the card,” said Priscilla. “We’ll take your word for it.”
“We,” said Miss Rutherford, “are a rescue party. We’ve been in search
of you for days. This is Priscilla. This is Frank. My own name is Martha
Rutherford.”
“A rescue party!” said Mr. Pennefather.
“Did mother send you after us?” said Lady Isabel. “If she did you may go
away again. I won’t go back.”
“Quite the contrary,” said Priscilla, “we’re on your side.”
“In fact,” said Miss Rutherford, “we’re here to save you from----”
“At first,” said Priscilla, “we fancied you might be spies, German
spies. Afterwards we found out you weren’t. That often happens you know.
Just as you think you’re perfectly certain you’re right, it turns out
that you’re quite wrong.”
“Then you really were pursuing us,” said Lady Isabel. “I always said you
were, didn’t I, Barnabas?”
“Is Lord Torrington here?” said Mr. Pennefather.
“Not exactly here,” said Priscilla, “at least not yet. But he will be
soon. When we left home this morning he was fully bent on hunting you
down and I rather think the police sergeant must have given him the tip
about where you are.”
“The police!” said Mr. Pennefather.
“I don’t so much mind if it’s only father,” said Lady Isabel.
“You may not,” said Priscilla. “But I expect Mr. Pennefather will. Lord
Torrington is very fierce. In his rage and fury he sprained Frank’s
ankle. He might have broken it. In fact, the railway guard thought he
had. I don’t know what he’ll do to you when he catches you.”
“Does he know we’re married,” said Mr. Pennefather.
“Is mother with him?” said Lady Isabel.
“She is,” said Priscilla. “But it’s all right. Aunt Juliet will keep her
in play. You can count on Aunt Juliet until she finds out that you’re
married--after that------ But it will be all right. We have come to
conduct you to a place of safety.”
“An inviolable sanctuary,” said Miss Rutherford. “But we shall all have
colds in the head before we get there if we don’t do something to dry
ourselves.”
“Barnabas,” said Lady Isabel, “do go and change your clothes. He fell
into the sea the other day, and he is so liable to take cold.”
“We saw him,” said Priscilla. “Go and change your clothes, Mr.
Pennefather. By the time you’ve done that Jimmy Kinsella will have
arrived and you can be off at once with Miss Rutherford. The sooner
we’re all out of this the better. Though Lord Torrington doesn’t look
like a man who would come out in a thunder storm even to catch his
daughter.”
“Your black suit is in the hold-all in my tent,” said Lady Isabel.
The Reverend Barnabas Pennefather disappeared into the tent which was
still standing. Priscilla looked around her cheerfully.
“It’s clearing up,” she said. “There’s quite a lot of blue sky to be
seen over Rosnacree. We’ll all dry soon.”
She gathered the bottom of her skirt tight into her hands and wrung the
water out of it.
“Where are you going to take him to?” she said to Miss Rutherford.
“Am I to take him?” said Miss Rutherford. “I didn’t know that was part
of the plan. I thought we were all going together to Inishbawn, the
sanctuary.”
“Didn’t I tell you,” said Priscilla. “We decided that you were to have
charge of Barnabas for a few days until the trouble blows over a bit.
You’re to pretend that he’s your husband. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I’d much rather have Frank,” said Miss Rutherford.
“What on earth would be the use of that?” said Priscilla.
“But, of course, I’ll marry Barnabas with pleasure,” said Miss
Rutherford, “if it’s really necessary and Lady Isabel doesn’t object.”
“I won’t be separated from Barnabas,” said Lady Isabel, “and I’m sure
he’ll never agree to leave me.”
“All the same you’ll have to,” said Priscilla, “both of you. We can’t
pretend you’re not married if you’re going about together on Inishbawn.”
“But I don’t want to pretend I’m not married. I’m proud of what we’ve
done.”
“You’ll sacrifice the respect and affection of Aunt Juliet,” said
Priscilla, “the moment it comes out that you’re married. As long as she
thinks you’re out on your own defying the absurd conventions by which
women are made into what she calls ‘bedizened dolls for the amusement
of the brutalised male sex,’ she’ll be all on your side. But once she
thinks you’ve given up your economic independence she’ll simply turn
round and help Lady Torrington to hunt you down.”
Mr. Pennefather emerged from the tent. He wore a black suit of clothes
of strictly clerical cut and a collar which buttoned at the back of
his neck. Except that he was barefooted and had not brushed his hair he
would have been fit to attend a Church Conference. His self-respect was
restored by his attire. He walked over to Frank, who was dripping on a
stone, and handed him a visiting card. Frank read it.
“Reverend Barnabas Pennefather--St. Agatha’s Clergy House--Grosvenor
Street, W.”
“I am the senior curate,” he said. “The staff consists of five priests
besides the vicar.”
“They want to take you away from me,” said Lady Isabel. “But you won’t
go, say you won’t, Barnabas.”
Mr. Pennefather took his place at his wife’s side. He held her hand in
his.
“Nothing on earth,” he said, “can separate us now.”
“Very well,” said Priscilla. “You’re rather ungrateful, both of you,
considering all we’re doing for you, and I don’t think you’re exactly
polite to Miss Rutherford, however----”
“Don’t mind about me,” said Miss Rutherford. “I feel snubbed, of course,
but I wasn’t really keen on having him for a husband, even temporarily.”
Mr. Pennefather looked at her with shocked surprise. A deep flush spread
slowly over his face. His eyes blazed with righteous indignation.
“Woman----” he began.
“If you don’t mind,” said Priscilla, “I think we’ll call you Barnabas.
It’s rather long, of course, and solemn. The natural thing would be to
shorten it down to Barny, but that wouldn’t suit you a bit. The rain’s
over now. I think I’ll go down and bail out the Tortoise. Then we’ll
all start. You people can be taking down the tent that’s standing, and
folding up the other one.”
“Where are we going to?” said Mr. Pennefather.