CHAPTER VIII

After wading about for a little more than half an hour, Jimmy Kineslla’s

lady went ashore. She rolled down the sleeves of her blouse and let

her skirt fall about her ankles, but she did not put on her shoes and

stockings. Jimmy Kinsella was summoned from his stone and launched his

boat.

“I daresay,” said Priscilla, “that she thinks her rheumatism ought to be

cured by now. That is to say, of course, if she really has rheumatism,

and isn’t a nefarious spy. I rather like that word nefarious. Don’t you?

I stuck it into an English comp. the other day and spelt it quite right,

but it came back to me with a blue pencil mark under it. Sylvia Courtney

said that I hadn’t used it in quite the ordinary sense. She thinks

she knows, and very likely she does, though not quite as much as she

imagines. Nobody can know everything; which is rather a comfort when

it comes to algebra. I loath algebra and always did. Any right-minded

person would, I think.”

“It looks to me,” said Frank, “as if they were coming over here.”

Jimmy Kinsella was heading his boat straight for the bank on which the

Tortoise lay. In a few minutes she grounded on the edge of it. The lady

stepped out and paddled across the mud towards the Tortoise. Seen

at close quarters she was, without doubt, fat, and had a round

good-humoured face. Her eyes sparkled pleasantly behind a pair of gold

rimmed pince-nez.

“She is coming over to us,” said Priscilla. “The thing is for you to

keep her in play and unravel her mystery, while I slip off and put a few

straight questions to Jimmy Kinsella. Be as polite as you possibly can

so as to disarm suspicion.”

Priscilla began the course of diplomatic politeness herself.

“We’re delighted to see you,” she said. “My name is Priscilla Lentaigne,

and my cousin is Frank Mannix. We’re out for a picnic.”

“My name,” said the lady, “is Rutherford, Martha Rutherford. I’m out

after sponges.”

“Sponges!” said Frank.

Priscilla winked at him. The statement about the sponges was obviously

untrue. There is no sponge fishery in Rosnacree Bay. There never has

been. Miss Rutherford, so to speak, intercepted Priscilla’s wink.

“By sponges,” she said, “I mean----”

“Won’t you sit down?” said Priscilla.

She picked her stockings from the gunwale of the boat, leaving a clear

space beside Miss Rutherford.

“Bother!” she said, “the dye out of the purple clocks has run. That’s

the worst of purple clocks. I half suspected it would at the time, but

Sylvia Courtney insisted on my buying them. She said they looked chic.

Would you care for anything to eat, Miss Rutherford?”

“I’m nearly starved. That’s why I came over here. I thought you might

have some food.”

“We’ve lots,” said Priscilla. “Frank will give it to you. I’ll just step

across and speak to Jimmy Kinsella. I want to hear about the baby.”

“I’m afraid,” said Miss Rutherford, when Priscilla left them, “that your

cousin doesn’t believe me about the sponges.”

Frank felt deeply ashamed of Priscilla’s behaviour. The prefect in him

reasserted itself now that he was in the presence of a grown-up lady. He

felt it necessary to apologise.

“She’s very young,” he said, “and I’m afraid she’s rather foolish.

Little girls of that age----”

He intended to say something of a paternal kind, something which would

give Miss Rutherford the impression that he had kindly undertaken the

care of Priscilla during the day in order to oblige those ordinarily

responsible for her. A curious smile, which began to form at the corners

of Miss Rutherford’s lips and a sudden twinkling of her eyes, stopped

him abruptly.

“I hope you’ll excuse my not standing up,” he said, “I’ve sprained my

ankle.”

“I’d like to get in and sit beside you if I may,” said Miss Rutherford.

“Now for the food.”

“There’s some cold tongue,” said Frank.

“Capital. I love cold tongue.”

“But--I’m afraid--” He fished it out from beneath the thwart, “--it may

be rather grubby.”

“I don’t mind that a bit.”

“And--the fact is my cousin--it’s only fair to tell you--she bit it

pretty nearly all over and----” Frank hesitated. He was an honourable

boy. Even at the cost of losing Miss Rutherford’s respect he would not

refrain from telling the truth, “And I bit it too,” he blurted out.

“Then I suppose I may,” said Miss Rutherford. “I should like to more

than anything. I so seldom get the chance.”

She bit and munched heartily; bit again, and smiled at Frank. He began

to feel more at his ease.

“There are some biscuits,” he said. “The macaroons are finished, I’m

afraid. But there are some cocoanut creams. I’m afraid they’re rather

too sweet to go well with tongue.”

“In the state of starvation I’m in,” she said, “marmalade would go with

pea soup. Cocoanut creams and tongue will be simply delicious. Have you

anything to drink?”

“Only the juice of the tinned peaches.”

“Peach juice,” said Miss Rutherford, “is nectar. Do I drink it out of

the tin or must I pour it into the palm of my hand and lap?”

“Any way you like,” said Frank. “I believe there’s a bailer somewhere if

you prefer it.”

“I prefer the tin, if it doesn’t shock you.”

“Oh,” said Frank, “nothing shocks me.”

This was very nearly true. It had not been true a week before; but a

day on the sea with Priscilla had done a great deal for Frank. Miss

Rutherford threw her head back, tilted the peach tin, and quaffed a

satisfying draught.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “that you were just as sceptical as your cousin

was about my sponges.”

“I was rather surprised.”

“Naturally. You were thinking of bath sponges and naked Indians plunging

over the side of their boats with large stones in their hands to sink

them. But I’m not after bath sponges. I’m doing the zoophytes for the

natural history survey of this district.”

“Oh,” said Frank vaguely.

“They brought me over from the British Museum because I’m supposed

to know something about the zoophytes. I ought to, for I don’t know

anything else.”

“It must be most interesting.”

“Last week I did the fresh water lakes and got some very good results.

Professor Wilder and his wife are doing rotifers. They’re stopping----”

“In tents?” said Frank with interest.

“Tents! No. In quite the sweetest cottage you ever saw. I sleep on a

sofa in the porch. What put tents into your head?”

“Then it wasn’t Professor Wilder and his wife whose boat you rescued

just now?”

“Oh, dear no. I don’t know who those people are at all. I never saw them

before. Miss Benson is doing the lichens, and Mr. Farringdon the moths.

They’re the only other members of our party here at present, and I’m the

only one out on the bay.”

Frank was conscious of a sense of relief. It would have been a

disappointment to him if the German spies had turned out to be harmless

botanists or entomologists.

Jimmy Kinsella was sitting in front of his boat gazing placidly at the

sea when Priscilla tapped him on the shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Jimmy?” she said.

“Is that yourself, Miss?” said Jimmy, eyeing her quietly.

“It is. And the only other person present is you. Now we’ve got that

settled.”

Jimmy Kinsella grinned.

“I thought it was the Tortoise when I saw her; but I said to myself

‘There’s strangers on board of her, for Miss Priscilla would know better

than to run her aground on the bank when the tide would be leaving

her.’”

“You haven’t told me yet,” said Priscilla, “what you’re doing here.”

“I’m out along with the lady beyond.”

“I could see that much for myself. What’s she doing?”

“Without she’d be trying the salt water for the good of her health, I

don’t know what she’s doing.”

“I thought at first that it might be that,” said Priscilla. “Has she any

sponges with her?”

“Not that I seen, Miss. But sure none of them would take a sponge with

them into the sea. They get plenty of it without that.”

“I just thought she hadn’t.”

“If I was to be put on my oath,” said Jimmy slowly, “and was to be asked

what I thought of her----”

“That’s just what I am asking you.”

“I’d say she was a high up lady; may be one of them ones that does be

waiting on the Queen, or the wife of the Lord Lieutenant or such.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The skin of her.”

Jimmy’s eyes which had been fixed on the remote horizon focussed

themselves slowly for nearer objects. His glance settled finally on

Priscilla’s bare feet.

“Ah!” she said, “when she took off her shoes and stockings?”

“Saving your presence, Miss, the legs of her doesn’t look as if she was

accustomed to going about that way.”

“And that’s all you know about her?”

“Herself and a gentleman that was along with her settled with my da

yesterday for the use of the boat, the way I’d row her anywhere she’d a

fancy to go.”

“That was the gentleman who has Flanagan’s old boat, I suppose?”

“It was not then, but a different gentleman altogether.”

“Then you can leave him out,” said Priscilla, “and tell me all you know

about the other couple, the ones who lost their boat.”

“Them ones,” said Jimmy, “has no sense, no more than a baby would have.

Did you hear what they’re after paying Flanagan for that old boat of

his?”

“Four pounds a week.”

“You’d think,” said Jimmy, “that when they’d no more care for their

money than to be throwing it away that way they’d be able to afford

to pay for a roof over their heads and not to be sleeping on the bare

ground with no more than a cotton rag to shelter them. It was last

Friday they came in to Inishbawn looking mighty near as if they’d had

enough of it. ‘Is there any objection,’ says he, ‘to our camping on this

island?’ ‘We’ll pay you,’ says the lady, ‘anything in reason for the use

of the land.’ My da was terrible sorry for them, for he could see well

that they weren’t ones that was used to hardship; but he told them that

it would be better for them not.”

“On account of the rats?”

“Rats! What rats?”

“The rats that have the island very nearly eaten,” said Priscilla.

“Sorra the rat ever I saw on Inishbawn, only one that came out in the

boat one day along with a sack of yellow meal my da was bringing home

from the quay; and I killed it myself with the slap of a loy.”

“I just thought Peter Walsh was telling me a lie about the rats,” said

Priscilla. “But if it wasn’t rats will you tell me why your father

wouldn’t let them camp on Inishbawn?”

“He said it would be better for them not,” said Jimmy, “on account of

there being fever on it, for fear they might catch it and maybe die.”

“What fever?”

“I don’t rightly know the name of it; but sure my ma is covered thick

with yellow spots the size of a sixpence or bigger; and the young lads

is worse. The cries of them at night would make you turn round on your

bed pitying them.”

“Do you expect me to believe all that?” said Priscilla.

“Three times my da was in for the doctor,” said Jimmy, “and the

third time he fetched out a powerful fine bottle that he bought in

Brannigan’s, but it was no more use to them than water. Is it likely now

that he’d allow a strange lady and a gentleman to come to the island,

and them not knowing? He wouldn’t do it for a hundred pounds.”

“If you’re going on talking that kind of way there’s not much use my

asking you any more questions. But I’d like very much to know where

those camping people are now.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jimmy, “but they’re drowned. The planks of

that old boat of Flanagan’s is opened so as you could see the daylight

in between every one of them, and it would take a man with a can to be

bailing the whole time you’d be going anywhere in her; let alone that

the gentleman----”

“I know what the gentleman is in a boat,” said Priscilla.

“And herself is no better. It was only this morning my ma was saying to

me that it’s wonderful the little sense them ones has.”

“I thought,” said Priscilla, “that your mother was out all over yellow

spots. What does she know about them?”

Jimmy Kinsella grinned sheepishly.

“Believe you me, Miss,” he said, “if it was only yourself that was in

it----”

“There’d be neither rats nor fever on the island, I suppose.”

Jimmy looked towards the Tortoise and let his eyes rest with an

inquiring expression on Frank Mannix.

“That gentleman’s ankle is sprained,” said Priscilla, “so whatever it is

that you have on your island, you needn’t be afraid of him.”

“That might be,” said Jimmy.

“You can tell your father from me,” said Priscilla, “that the next time

I’m out this way I’ll land on Inish-bawn and see for myself what it is

that has you all telling lies.”

“Any time you come, Miss, you’ll be welcome. It’s a poor place we have,

surely, but it would be a queer thing if we wouldn’t give you the best

of what might be going. But I don’t know how it is. There’s a powerful

lot of strangers knocking around, people that might be decent or might

not.”

His eyes were still fixed on Frank Mannix when Priscilla left him.

The tide was flowing strongly and the water began to cover the lower

parts of the bank. Priscilla measured with her eye the distance between

the Tortoise and the sea. She calculated that she might get off in about

an hour.

When she reached the Tortoise she found Frank pressing the last half

peach on their guest.

“Miss Rutherford,” said Priscilla, “have you landed on Inishbawn, that

island to the west of you, behind the corner of Illaunglos?”

“No,” she said. “I wanted to, but the boy who’s rowing me strongly

advised me not to.”

“Rats?” Said Priscilla, “or fever?”

Miss Rutherford seemed puzzled by the inquiry.

“What I mean,” said Priscilla, “is this: did he give you any reason for

not landing on the island?”

“As well as I recollect,” said Miss Rutherford, “he said something to

the effect that it wasn’t a suitable island for ladies. I didn’t take

much notice of what he said, for it didn’t matter to me where I landed.

One of the islands is the same thing as another. In fact Inishbawn, if

that’s its name, doesn’t look a very good place for sponges.”

“Oh, you still stick to those sponges?” said Priscilla.

“Miss Rutherford,” said Frank, “is collecting zoophytes for the British

Museum.”

“Investigating and tabulating,” said Miss Rutherford, “for the Royal

Dublin Society’s Natural History Survey.”

“I took up elementary science last term,” said Priscilla, “but we didn’t

do about those things of yours. I daresay we’ll get on to them next

year. If we do I’ll write to you for the names of some of the rarer

kinds and score off Miss Pennycolt with them. She’s the science teacher,

and she thinks she knows a lot. It’ll do her good to be made to look

small over a sponge that she’s never seen before, or even heard of.”

“I’ll send them to you,” said Miss Rutherford. “I take the greatest

delight in scoring off science teachers everywhere. I was taught science

myself at one time and I know exactly what it’s like.”

Jimmy Kinsella sat on a stone with his back to the party in the

Tortoise. An instinct for good manners is the natural inheritance of

all Irishmen. The peasant has it as surely as the peer, generally indeed

more surely, for the peer, having mixed more with men of other nations,

loses something of his natural delicacy of feeling. When, as in the case

of young Kinsella, the Irishman has much to do with the sea his courtesy

reaches a high degree of refinement. As the advancing tide crept inch

by inch over the mudbank Jimmy Kinsella was forced back towards the

Tortoise. He moved from stone to stone, dragging his boat after him as

the water floated her. Never once did he look round or make any attempt

to attract the attention of Miss Rutherford. He would no doubt have

retreated uncomplaining to the highest point of the bank and sat there

till the water reached his waist, clinging to the painter of the boat,

rather than disturb the conversation of the lady whom he had taken under

his care. But his courtesy was put to no such extreme test. He made a

move at last which brought him within a few feet of the Tortoise. A mere

patch of sea-soaked mud remained uncovered. The water, advancing

from the far side of the bank, already lapped against the bows of the

Tortoise. Miss Rutherford woke up to the fact that the time for catching

sponges was past.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “that I ought to be getting home. I can’t tell

you how much obliged to you I am for feeding me. I believe I should have

fainted if it hadn’t been for that tongue.”

“It was a pleasure to us,” said Priscilla. “We’d eaten all we could

before you came.”

“I’m afraid,” said Frank politely, “that it wasn’t very nice. We ought

to have had knives and forks or at least a tumbler to drink out of. I

don’t know what you must think of us.”

“Think of you!” said Miss Rutherford. “I think you’re the two nicest

children I ever met.”

She stumped off and joined Jimmy Kinsella. Priscilla saw her putting on

her shoes and stockings as the boat rowed away. She shouted a farewell.

Miss Rutherford waved a stocking in reply.

“There,” said Priscilla, turning to Frank, “what do you think of that?

The two nicest children! I don’t mind of course; but I do call it rather

rough on you after talking so grand and having on your best first eleven

coat and all.”