The Shadow of Dr Syn - Thorndike Russell (библиотека электронных книг txt) 📗
The Vicar seemed to be full of perturbed amazement at the dangers she had been through, saying what a terrifying experience it must have been. To which Cicely replied that she hadn’t been frightened at all because of his superb horsemanship, but she had to admit that she had been troubled. The Vicar agreed that it must have been terrible to have been in the arms of such a desperate character.
‘Oh, do not mistake me,’ she protested. ‘I was troubled because I knew ’twas but a few kilometres to the next village, and I would have ridden that way all night. But then, fresh horses, and he vanished again. For the most part he had spoken to me in his rough French, though for that short distance we rode in silence.’ Here her voice took on a new seriousness, and she said as though experiencing it again: ‘And I felt that he knew me, and in some strange way that I had known him all my life. Yes, and that we were being swept on to something more vital than escaping from the mob. Now do you understand why I am troubled?’
The Vicar too seemed as if he wanted to escape. He went to the fire, saying gravely: ‘It seems that this man has taken occasion to be more than a rogue.’
‘Oh, but he is no ordinary adventurer.’ She moved after him and knelt at his feet. ‘Indeed, he is a very wonderful person. You have no idea of his efficiency — his attention to the smallest detail. His daring in running the Revenue blockade made me marvel.’ She turned away from him and looked into the fire. ‘So you see, Doctor Syn, having set myself a riddle, the solution of it makes me very glad.’
‘And have you solved your riddle?’ the Vicar asked quietly.
‘Indeed, without any assistance my heart found the answer.’ She turned and looked earnestly up at him. ‘Dear, kind old Doctor Syn, tell me what I should do, for I am fathoms deep in love with this — pirate.’
Disturbed and shaken at the word she used, he asked urgently: ‘What are you saying? You cannot be serious. A man whose face you’ve never seen.’
‘Oh, I care not what he looks like,’ she cried. ‘In spite of that foolish mask I should love him were he as ugly as sin.’ She was laughing up at him now, and he dared not look at her, but went on protesting that it was madness. That he had a price on his head and was hunted by Army, Navy and Revenue alike.
‘’Twould be madness not to love him,’ she persisted gaily. ‘All the King’s horses and Revenue men cannot stop me.’
Steeling himself to meet that challenging look, he tried desperately to master her compelling eyes, as facing her he said: ‘Then perhaps ’tis foolish of me to try.’ And again, seeking vainly to convince her, asked, ‘Have you stopped to consider that his madness could not be?’
She answered swiftly: ‘I cannot, nor do I desire to stop. My thoughts are his, and if he should command, my life.’ She knelt up straight, which brought her closer to him, and putting one hand upon his arm which rested on the corner of the settle, she looked down at it, toying with the buttons on his coat and teasing said: ‘I shall have no one else if he does not love me. I shall become…’ Here she put her head on one side and thought deeply. ‘Yes,’ she announced, ‘I shall become the spinster of the parish, and devote myself entirely to good works. Maybe I should commence with you. ’Tis true you have no one to look after you.’ She looked down again at that intriguing arm.
‘Why there, what did I say? Your sleeve, you have a button loose. My first good deed shall be to sew it on for you.’
He gently moved the inquisitive hand and rose slowly to his feet, the look of fierce concentration on his face changing to one of calm purpose as he moved away from her. She remained on her knees, sitting back on the heels of her slim riding-boots, fearful yet expectant. Making no haste, he drew off his coat and let it fall. Then deliberately rolling up the right sleeve of his frilled shirt, he moved close to her and gently placed his forearm over the shoulder of the kneeling girl, as though forcing her to look at the tattooed mark upon it. She did not turn her head, but with a caressing movement clasped the incriminating arm to her, and in a small voice asked for needle and thread with which to sew on the offending button. His deep voice was husky as he said, ‘Child, you know that this can never be.’
‘I have always known that it must be,’ she answered, continuing casually, ‘’Twill only be a moment if you have a good spool of black.’
‘But, Cicely, do you realize what this mark is?’
‘’Tis but the picture of a man walking the plank with a shark beneath. I saw it first in Paris upon the arm of a most notorious character,’ and continued just as casually, ‘’Twas foolish of me to leave my thimble behind.’
He fought desperately, reasoning with her against himself, that the tattoo upon his arm was the mark of the pirate Clegg, who should have hung in chains on Execution Dock; that it was the mark of a hunted law-breaker, the mark of a man who ruled the Marsh by fear and with his cunning. But again to this she answered simply:
‘’Tis also the mark of that saintly man the Vicar of Dymchurch, revered by all that know him, and dearly loved by Cicely Cobtree, spinster of the parish, who must remember to carry her chatelaine of pins and thread.’
Though knowing he had already lost, he made a last attempt to save her from what he knew must be inevitable should he allow himself such happiness, so, without mercy, he accused his threefold personality — pirate, smuggler, parson — of being an unholy trinity — and of all the three that saintly parson was but the worst of hypocrites, mouthing his smug sermons and hiding black deeds behind the pillars of the Church. Then turning to her he demanded passionately, ‘How can you love a coward?’
She rose to her feet and stood before him, and fiercely she challenged with a passion equal to his own: ‘Coward in one thing only: you will not say what I await to hear.’
His despair was triumphant as he laughed back at her glorious audacity. ‘Then not even you shall call me a coward,’ he cried, and she was in his arms.
After a little while she sought the answer to another riddle. ‘And how much did the Scarecrow pay?’
‘Eh, child?’ For a moment, and to tease her, he became again the kindly Vicar, then holding her from him at arms’ length he said: ‘All the wealth that was Clegg’s when he sailed the Caribbean would not suffice to pay those tithes. Does that satisfy you?’ She did not answer, but stood content and gazing at him. ‘No?’ But still she did not speak, so he went on: ‘Would you have me sail up London River and loot the Crown Jewels to lay at your feet?’
‘Why, Captain Clegg, should I then be richer than I am?’ she asked. ‘There is now but one thing that I desire.’ He, in his turn, stood silent, looking at her, as she pleaded with a feigned sincerity: ‘Dear, kind old Doctor Syn, pray stop preaching your horrid sermons against my beloved Scarecrow.’
He laughed again and drew her swiftly to him. For Christopher Syn had remembered to forget the pirate’s slogan — no petticoats aboard.
And so it was that the next morning Doctor Syn, happening to perceive from his study window a last remaining rose upon his favourite tree, went out to pick it, and there upon the frosty ground beneath this lovely challenge to the winter was a pair of gauntlet gloves.
Chapter 13
In which Mr. Mipps Discovers an Old Friend and Doctor Syn Discovers a Secret
Doctor Syn smiled and promised Cicely that although he could not stop preaching against this rascal, he would at least modify his righteous rage, adding in a more serious tone that perhaps in the near future it might not be necessary to preach upon that vein at all, since already it was evident that the Scarecrow was showing signs of repentance, and that he, as shepherd of the flock, hoped that he might be able to lead one more stray lamb into the fold. So for the third time that evening Cicely crossed the Glebe field, but this time in company with Doctor Syn. Upon reaching the Court House, she was loth to part with him so soon, and entreated him to come in, urging that having found him she never wanted to let him go, and she also knew by the look in Papa’s eye that he too was in need of moral support.
