Priscilla's Spies Part 34

"Nonsense," said Priscilla. "Wetting won't hurt us, and anyway we'll be at Inishminna in half an hour with this breeze."

The _Tortoise_ was racing through the dark water. She was listed over so that her lee gunwale seemed likely to dip under. Miss Rutherford, in spite of her wish for shipwreck, scrambled up to windward. They reached the point of Ardilaun and fled, bending and staggering, down the narrow pa.s.sage between it and Inishlean. Priscilla took the mainsheet in her hand and ordered Frank to luff a little. There was another period of 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 ma.s.s 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 sh.o.r.e.

"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 sh.o.r.e.

"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 sh.o.r.e 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 ma.s.s of soaked canvas. The _Tortoise_ struck heavily on the sh.o.r.e. 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 circ.u.mstances, 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.