CHAPTER VIII

FIRE AND WATER

"Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island and the river."—TENNYSON.

"Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes."—SHAKESPEARE.

"YOU don't mean to say you are going in a washing summer dress! Fulvie! And this—November!" exclaimed Daisy, with rounded eyes.

"It is the prettiest dress I have." Fulvia spoke composedly, looking at herself in the pier-glass. The colour of her costume, dark navy-blue, with portions of a lighter shade, was suitable for any season; and the material though really a washing fabric, did not look like it. Fulvia knew this to be a becoming dress. It had been made in particularly graceful style by a London dressmaker, and fitted beautifully, showing her figure to the best advantage; while the colour harmonised well with her reddish hair. Several people had assured her that in this dress she looked "quite handsome."

Some impulse came over her to don it, when making ready for the boat trip; she could hardly have told why. Of course the real wish was a desire to look well in Nigel's eyes, and of course this was the last admission she would have made even to herself. But she obeyed the impulse. Then Daisy came in, and remonstrated.

"Nobody would take it for a summer dress, and I like the coolness. It is so warm this morning—quite oppressive. I feel as if I could hardly breathe. Besides, I don't mind if this gets splashed. My nice serge might be spoilt."

"Why don't you put on your old brown thing? Mr. Carden-Cox wouldn't care."

"I detest myself in that brown. It makes me hideous."

"Well, what matter? Nobody would mind. There 'll be nobody to see, who signifies; only Nigel and a few others."

"I should mind. I like to look respectable."

"You'll take cold."

"As if I ever did! Besides, I have plenty underneath the dress to keep me warm."

"Then you'll wear your fur cloak, I suppose?"

"No; I shall take the cloak but I couldn't endure the weight of it all day. I mean to wear this," as she lifted a "half-season" jacket of thin cloth; which was tailor-made and fitted like a glove.

"I think you are crazy," declared Daisy. "Why Anice and I are going in serge dresses, and our thickest winter jackets."

"Quite right to be prudent. Anice can't take too many warm wraps."

She had to undergo another ordeal of criticism downstairs on her lack of wisdom, but it was too late then to change, even had she been willing, and they were speedily off.

Fulvia was the prominent person in the boat that day. Mr. Carden-Cox being host, his niece fell naturally into the position more or less of hostess. Mr. Carden-Cox might make a favourite of Daisy, but he paid due honour to the eldest girl, and he never failed to acknowledge the family tie between himself and her. She was indeed almost the sole relative left to him.

Mr. and Mrs. Browning were not present. Mr. Browning proved unpersuadable; and as a matter of course Mrs. Browning stayed at home with him. Dr. Duncan failed to accompany his genial wife, and his pretty fifteen-years-old daughter, Annibel, Daisy's great chum. The particular friend of Anice, Rose Bramble, and Rose's brother, Baldwyn, were of the party. Fulvia had no great chums, or particular friends. She always said she could not find anybody who suited her.

Malcolm Elvey appeared at the last moment, racing at headlong speed down the garden, just when all hope of him was given up, and Mr. Carden-Cox had actually given the word of command to cast off. The garden ended in a steep wall, which was level with the path on one side, and went sheer down into deep water on the other side, and was broken by the flight of steps and small boat-house. A narrow space divided the steam-launch from the wall, and Malcolm sprang lightly across. He had been an agile schoolboy not long before.

"Just in time!" Nigel said.

"I couldn't get here sooner. Impossible," panted Malcolm.

Some of the party were in high spirits; not all. Baldwyn Bramble, who went in for being witty, made jokes without end, for the benefit of the girls. He rather admired Anice, but found Daisy's retorts sometimes too sharp to be agreeable. Malcolm threw off the cares of parish work, and entered with zest into all that went on. Before luncheon, through luncheon, and after luncheon, as they still steamed up the river, silence had no chance of reigning for the shortest space, and the pretty banks rang with bursts of laughter.

Nigel could not get into the full swing of fun. Though joining sufficiently to prevent remark, he was unable to shake off the recollection of Ethel at home gaily talking to the "Australian cousin Tom," and pleased to be there rather than on the river. If only he had seen her a little grieved and disappointed, he could have borne her absence bettor. As it was, he felt that he was not making way with Ethel. Things were different from what they once had been. The old frankness and freedom, the complete trust and understanding between them, seemed to be lacking. He loved Ethel more than ever, but he could not at all tell how much she cared for him.

She did care for him, of course, in a measure. "We all," as she had told him, were always ready to give him a welcome; but Nigel craved far more.

Ethel had grown older now, and so had he. Perhaps she wished him to feel that things were and must be a little different, that the boy and girl friendship had to be transposed into something more calm and distant. He wanted it transposed himself, but by no means into something more distant.

And here was Tom—a nice fellow, full of fun and full of talk. Ethel had plainly seen a good deal of him; and who could tell what manner of impression he had made upon her? How bright she had looked at the very thought of seeing Tom a few hours earlier than had been expected! And how little she had cared about losing the boat excursion with himself!

Nigel had seldom felt less full of fun and talk than this afternoon. He had great difficulty in keeping up to the mark at all. Ethel was never out of his mind. He managed pretty well at lunch, and for a while after; but presently he left other folks alone, standing to gaze at the wooded heights, in apparent admiration of their beauty, while he was really looking in imagination at the Rectory drawing-room, hearing Tom's amusing conversation, and Ethel's bright response. If somebody had asked him suddenly whether his eyes were fixed upon turf or trees, he could not have told.

Fulvia alone saw all this, noted every turn of expression, and was aware of his struggle against what Ethel would have called "preternatural gravity." Fulvia was not fully herself to-day. She had not yet recovered from that tearful night-watch, and the "rainy season" lasted still, fitfully; though no traces of tears were visible beyond a general softening of the face. Hope aided in the softening. She saw Nigel's gravity, but she did not ascribe it to Ethel. He had taken Ethel's absence so quietly, hardly uttering a word of regret. No; it was not Ethel. He was only anxious about his father, good affectionate son that he always had been; and he could not shake off the weight.

Nigel was undoubtedly a good son, an affectionate son; and he did feel disturbed about his father's possible condition. Mr. Carden-Cox's warning had been strong enough to cause uneasiness. But the load upon him to-day arose from another cause; the real pain was for Ethel. If Ethel could have come, he would have been the most joyous of the party; if Ethel had spoken out her disappointment, he could still have been cheerful. Now every joke was an effort.

Fulvia did not read the truth; perhaps because she would not. Nigel's composure about Ethel's absence had stirred her to the core. She could no more shake off for a moment the consciousness of his presence than he could shake off the consciousness of Ethel's absence; yet she showed it no more than he did. If Nigel drew a step nearer, her heart beat thickly, as it had taken to doing these last few days; but none could have guessed the fact. Though really by no means well, she was looking her best. Excitement and feverish warmth lent a flush to her cheeks; and the slight heaviness of her eyelids gave to the eyes a rare softness. Now and then she caught Nigel's glance; and after lunch Daisy whispered in passing, "Do you know, Nigel says you have grown pretty this year?"

Fulvia only laughed in response. She grew warmer still; and while other people were glad to don wraps, she pulled off even her cloth jacket, becoming a central figure, daintily attired.

Nigel presently underwent some banter for his abstracted gaze at the hills, and to escape it, he came to her side.

She was sitting apart from the rest; and again her heart gave so fierce a throb that she could hardly believe he would not hear. "Stupid! What has come over me?" she demanded angrily of herself, while looking up, and saying—

"How thoroughly Malcolm is enjoying himself."

"He has earned a few hours' rest if anybody ever did."

"And he looks better for it already. When do we turn?"

"Soon, I believe. The girls have been begging for another half-hour."

"You will be glad to get back. After going round the world, a trip like this must seem hardly worth the trouble."

"I don't think—" Nigel began and paused.

"Isn't that it? But you certainly are a degree flat to-day—are you not?"

He made no immediate response, seeming to consider what to say.

And suddenly, without premeditation, Fulvia found herself remarking, "So Ethel could not come."

"No," Nigel said slowly.

"Very disappointing for her."

"Yes."

"Mrs. Elvey not well, you told us. But surely she might have spared Ethel."

"Perhaps—yes—but that was not the only reason. A cousin was expected to lunch."

"Which cousin? A young lady?"

"No—the one from Australia."

"Mr. Tom Elvey?"

"His name is Tom, certainly."

"I remember. He has been here once before; and they saw a good deal of him last summer. Yes; he seemed rather—"

Fulvia did not finish her sentence.

"Yes. You know something of him?"

"Not much. Ethel talked about him to us. I believe he has made plenty of money out there. Perhaps he has come home for a wife."

"A wife would not be hard to find; if he is not particular as to the description," Nigel said, with a short laugh.

"He need not look far," Fulvia spoke, with more meaning in her tone than she was aware.

"Do you think there is anything between him and Ethel?"

Was this indifference—or was it—? Fulvia did not frame the question. She gave one swift glance at his face, noting its gravity. Like a flash came the thought of her midnight resolution to "smooth the way" for him and Ethel; to put self aside, and only to be happy in the knowledge that others were so.

But with this recollection came also a sharp temptation. Why was she to do anything of the kind? Why need she act? Why not let things take their course? How could she tell whether Nigel did really care for Ethel? In any case, why must she help the thing on? Nay, if she could hinder it by a touch, why not? Hardly all this in words, for there was but a pause of two seconds; but the temptation was powerful, and Fulvia's resolution had been only her own. No panoply of heaven's armour shielded her.

"What should make you suppose so?" she asked in an undertone, matching his.

"I don't suppose. I asked what you thought."

"Oh, perhaps—did she seem very much delighted at the idea of seeing him again?" Fulvia had an abundant share of feminine perception, and she knew, only too well, how and where to strike. Yet to give pain to Nigel was to give pain to herself, and her heart smote her as she saw his look. Then the look vanished, and she would not believe, or at least admit, that it had existed.

"I thought her pleased."

"One often is pleased to see a cousin, of course; at least, I should imagine so. I don't speak from experience, having no cousins. But really I can't pretend to know much about this Mr. Tom Elvey. Ethel seemed to have enjoyed his society on the whole, last summer—at least she talked about him a good deal afterwards. I don't suppose it has come to anything—yet! One never can tell what may be."

Fulvia spoke in a deliberate and careless tone. Not a word that she uttered was untrue; nevertheless, she hated herself for saying what she did, saying just so much and so little. A few more words would have made all the difference. She might have told how Ethel, while talking truly "a good deal" about this cousin, had laughed at his slowness, at his ponderous jokes, at his love of bestowing information upon everybody. Not unkindly, but in a way which effectually barred any notion of an attachment between the two.

Fulvia could recall how the Elvey boys had voted Tom "a bore"; and how Ethel had said, "Poor fellow! Don't be too hard on him. He does his best."

But Fulvia said no more. Even while she despised herself for it, she was silent; trying to believe that her silence could make no real difference. She was at liberty to jest if she liked. Nigel might find out when he chose exactly how matters really stood. Besides, who could tell what might happen? Many a girl ends by marrying the man whom at first she criticised. If Nigel cared, he had but to ask.

Nigel's next remark was in a different tone. "I must try to bring about that interview between my father and Jamie in a day or two." Dr. Duncan was commonly known at the Grange as "Jamie" or "Cousin Jamie."

"Have you said anything to padre yet?"

"Yes; a little. I fancy he will give way."

"You don't suppose him to be really ill, do you? Not seriously?"

"One can't tell. Don't mention this again, but I saw Duncan yesterday afternoon, and pressed for an opinion. He confessed he had seen for some time that my father was very much out of health, and he thought the matter ought not to be left. He would not say anything more definite."

"And that is why you are so grave to-day?"

The answer was evasive. "One can't help being uneasy. Jamie is not a man to look on the dismal side without some reason. Things may be better than he expects; but I don't understand my father's state, mental or bodily. He seems to take depressed views all round. Did you know that he objected to Oxford for me?"

"No!"

"Doesn't like the expense."

"But, Nigel—why, what absurdity! As if that had not been settled years ago!"

"He says he cannot afford it. Don't tell the girls."

"No—" with a glow of pleasure at his confidence. "But what can padre mean?"

"That is all he says—too much expense—and the Bar too uncertain. He talks of an appointment at the Bank."

"Newton Bury Bank! Nonsense! A clerk on a three-logged stool, under Mr. Bramble!"

"He says it might lead to partnership and wealth."

"Wealth! What does that matter? You will have enough of your own. Besides, the Bar would lead to wealth too, if you were successful; and you would be successful. I know you would."

"Not so soon."

"But that is the very thing that does not matter when you have plenty to live upon meantime. You can afford to wait. Padre has not to provide for a dozen boys. You, the only son, surely ought to be free to choose. It must be a fit of the dumps. Don't let him decide on anything in a hurry. Cannot you talk matters over with Uncle Arthur? Anyhow, do keep padre from acting till he gets over this mood. Too much expense! I never heard anything so absurd in my life. Did he explain what he meant?"

"He spoke of 'embarrassments.'"

"To be sure, he always is talking now of expenses, but still—Nigel!" As a thought struck her, "Is it because I am coming of age? That will make no difference. Of course he will go on having just the same, so long as I live at the Grange. Not right! Yes, it is right. Any other plan would not be right. I can assure you, I will only stay on those terms. I should have told him long ago, only I have never liked to assume that it would not be so as a matter of course. But I'll take care to tell him now."

Nigel muttered something about "Generous!"

"It is not generosity. It is the merest common justice. Do you think he has been worrying about that? You could not give up college—it would be too terrible a disappointment, when your mind has been set on it all these years. And the Bar! Why, Uncle Arthur always declares you are just made for a special pleader. You don't fritter yourself away in energetic talk about nothing, but when anything does stir you, there's no mistake about it. Fancy coming down from that to a country bank! Perhaps padre will be brighter after seeing Dr. Duncan. We must wait a few days; and I'll manage to have a talk with him."

It was gladness to Fulvia to learn this fresh cause for his depression. Anything rather than Ethel!

Nigel presently strolled away again, and she saw him laughing with Malcolm, more heartily than since they had started. The joke, whatever it was, seemed infectious; and the merriment became general. Fulvia rose and moved to a seat nearer, where she could hear what went on.

Baldwyn Bramble had been smoking a cigar, and had tossed away the still lighted end—overboard, he believed, but it had fallen short, dropping on the deck almost under the chair which Fulvia now took. Nobody saw it fall there except Daisy, and Daisy forgot the fact in a second. The red end smouldered still, and when Fulvia sat down, her dress rested upon it. Had she worn a woollen fabric, no harm might have resulted; but a washing summer fabric is a different matter.

Fulvia noted the strong scent, but she was unconscious of her peril.

Mr. Bramble presently walked to the farther end of the launch, and Malcolm disappeared behind the funnel. Nigel was talking to Mrs. Duncan, Annibel, and Daisy, beyond hearing. Only Anice and Rose remained near where Fulvia sat. Fulvia had lost the joke after all.

"What were you laughing at just now?" she asked.

"Oh, just something Mr. Elvey said," Rose answered. "What was it, Anice? I couldn't quite understand, only everybody laughed, and so—"

"And so you did too!" Fulvia spoke with a touch of disdain. She counted Rose an inane specimen of giggling young ladyhood.

"Well, of course, I couldn't keep out of it," explained Rose. "It looks so stupid to sit with a solemn face when other people are laughing."

"Why didn't you ask?"

"Oh!—Ask for a joke to be explained! That is more stupid still. Baldwyn always says a joke never bears being repeated. Besides, one looks so silly, not to understand at once."

"I wonder whether 'to be' or 'to look' is the worst," murmured Fulvia.

Rose's density was proof against this, or she might have been offended. "Anice can tell you," she said.

No, Anice could not. Anice, like Rose, had laughed because others laughed, not because she divined the joke. Fulvia shrugged her shoulders, and was mute.

Some seconds, or some two or three minutes, might have passed—Fulvia could not afterwards recall which—when she became conscious of a peculiar odour, not only the scent of the cigar but a distinct smell of burning. Then she was vaguely aware of a blue smoke. She had gone back in thought to Nigel's future, and was cogitating deeply, so deeply that though physical consciousness was awake, her mind did not at once respond.

An impulse to escape from the girls' chatter came over her, and she stood up, moving a few steps away from her sheltered seat, into the breeze; the very worst thing she could have done, had she only known it.

Strange, this idea of Mr. Browning's about Nigel! Could his affairs really be under serious embarrassment? If it were so—Well, in any case, Fulvia would have ample means of her own. A sense of joy shot through her, at the thought of becoming a family benefactor. Would Nigel be willing? Yes, surely—if he still viewed her as sister! What more natural? Besides, he need not know. She would find out from "padre" the real state of affairs, and would insist upon putting everything straight. She had, or at least in a few weeks she would have, both the power and the right. Nobody then might say her nay, if she chose to give away any part of her possessions. Nothing should or must stand in the way of Nigel's going to college. She knew how he was bent upon it. Of course—that was why he looked so sad. Not Ethel; only this. So what she had said about Ethel did not matter. This was the real trouble; and how delightful to think that her hand might remove it!

"Fulvie! Fulvie!! O Fulvie!—Your dress is on fire!! Oh!!"

Anice's shriek reached slowly her absorbed mind at first bringing bewilderment. Then she was aware of smoke, smell, heat, and she sprang forward to get some woollen wrap; but the movement brought her yet more fully into the fresh breeze. In the tenth of a second the fanned flame ran greedily up her skirt, and swept round her, licking with fierce touch the bare skin of her hand, and rising to scorch her face.

Fulvia's scream was agonising. She had been always known as a girl of much presence of mind, by no means given to crying out; but she was taken by surprise, and unnerved. Anice and Rose fled at once, in fear for themselves, calling to others to help. Fulvia never forgot that moment, the brief yet prolonged horror, the anguish of isolation. It was as if everybody had forsaken her; none would dare to approach; and she was left face to face with awful peril, face to face with death.

"Nigel!" was the one word which broke from her in hoarse appeal. She could not think, could not recall what ought to be done. She could only rush forward, throwing out her hands in agony. And then, instantly, she saw Nigel's face close at hand.

Shouts and cries were sounding. "A shawl! A rug! I say—throw her down! Have her flat!"

Malcolm was flying along the deck. But Nigel had reached her before the first hoarse shriek of his name came to an end; and he did not hesitate. As he sprang forward, he grasped Fulvia firmly, dragged her to the side of the vessel, and with one clear leap went over, Fulvia in his arms. There was a flash of red flame, followed by a heavy splash, and the two sank out of sight.