The Lord of the Sea Part 46

Harris, O'Hara, Rebekah and Frankl alone knew that past, and the motives for silence of the first three were obvious; nor had Frankl whispered that secret even to his own heart in his bed-chamber, conscious of his own guilt in the matter of the Arab Jew's death, fearing that, if the wit and power of Hogarth were given motive to move heaven and earth, the real facts might not be undiscoverable: then would Frankl be ground to fine powder by the grinders. But if he was going to Palestine, what mattered?

Also, there was Margaret: she should go out as a Jewess.

She arrived at "Silverfern" in the charge of a Jewish clerk, and the Abrahams received her as an afflicted orphan, committed to Frankl by her father; she, like Rebekah, to go under their care.

Well, the evening before the departure, Mr. and Mrs. Abrahams, their two sons, Rebekah and Margaret, all go for a stroll--about nine o'clock, that morning one of the four ravishers having been to the house on some pretence, seen Margaret with Mrs. Abrahams under the porch, and noted her well, her grey tailor-gown, her brooch, her singing; and now, as all walked out under the moon, they were watched, the watchers, surprised at the presence of _two_ young ladies, concluding that the smaller--Rebekah--must have arrived later: so upon the large and shapely form of Margaret their gaze fastened, as the party pa.s.sed near their hedge of concealment, Margaret then remarking: "My name is Rachel Oppenheimer--" and Mrs. Abrahams with gentle chiding answering her: "No, be good: your name is Ruth Levi".

For during two years at the Jewish Asylum at Wroxham they had tilled into her shrieking brain, "Now, be good: your name is Rachel Oppenheimer", and one day she had said: "My name _is_ Rachel Oppenheimer", and had been saying it ever since.

In fact, there was a real Rachel Oppenheimer, a dependent of Frankl's, at Yarmouth, who was rather mad, and when it had been necessary that Margaret should be out of the way in order to secure Hogarth's conviction, two doctors had examined this Rachel Oppenheimer, and given the legal certificates by means of which Frankl had put away Margaret; and she during two years of sanity in an atmosphere of lunacy had screamed for pity, till one morning she had shewed the stare, the unworldly rapture, and had started to sing her old songs.

After which, Frankl, hearing of it, and touched by some awe, had got her out, and kept her in one retreat or another.

But in all her madness was mixed some memory of his devilish heart, and every fresh sight of him inspired her with panic, she in his presence hanging upon his eyes, instant to obey his slightest hint: hence her beckoning down to Hogarth from that window in Market Street.

Now, on this last night of England the Abrahams party strolled far, two days like Summer days having come, on hedge and tree now tripping the shoots of Spring, the moon-haunted night of a mild mood: so from "Silverfern" lawns they pa.s.sed up a steep field northward, down a path between village-houses, and idled within a pine-wood by the river-side.

The moon's glow was like one luminous ghost: and b.u.t.tercup, daisy, snowdrop, primrose gathered Margaret, vagrant, flighty, light to the winds that wafted her as fluff, and tossed them suddenly aloft, and back they came to be tangled in her bare hair; and now she was a tipsy bacchante, singing:

"Will you come to the wedding?

Will you come?

Bring you own bread and b.u.t.ter, And your own tea and sugar, And we'll all pay a penny for the Rum".

"Poor Ruth!"--from Rebekah, an arm about her waist.

"There is such a huge pool which is wheeling", said Margaret, gazing at it with surprise, "and it goes hollow in the middle: my goodness, it does wheel! and there is a little grey duck in it ranging round and round with it, and this little grey duck is singing like an angel".

"Do you know where we are going to?" asked Rebekah: "to the land of our fathers, Ruth, after all the exile in this ugly Western world; and it is he who sends us, the fierce-willed master of men".

"My name", said Margaret, "is Rachel Oppenheimer"; and immediately, wafted like a half-inflated balloon which leaps to descend a thousand feet away, she sang:

"Happy day! Happy day!

When Jesus washed my sins away..."

Then, woe-begone, she shook her head, and let fall her abandoned hand; and Rebekah, speaking more to herself: "Did you never hear of Hogarth, the King, Ruth? or see him in some dream in shining white, with a face like the face in the bush which burned and was not consumed?"

But now Margaret laughed, crying out: "Oh, there's a man riding a shorthorn bull that has wings; white it is: and up they fly, the bull pawing and snorting, all among the stars. Oh, and now the man is falling!--my goodness--"

She stood still, gazing at that thing in heaven.

"Well, what has become of the man, dear?" asked Rebekah.

"I can't make out....But I should like to marry that man".

"Ah, if wishes were fathers, we should all have babies, Ruth, to say our _kaddish_".

"Oh, look--!" cried Margaret.

A rabbit had rushed across a path ahead, and she ran that way beyond a bend....When Rebekah followed she had disappeared.

On Rebekah's outcry all set to search wood, path, river--she was gone; but after five minutes a voice a long way off in the wood, singing:

"O what a pretty place, And what a graceful city...."

on which the two youths flew toward the sound, and presently the rest, following, heard a shout, a cry, then silence, till one of the young men came running back, his face washed in blood: he had seen some forms, and, as he had approached, been struck on the brow, his brother felled.

When all came to where the brother lay insensible, no sign of Margaret; nor could villagers and police, searching through the night, find her.

She had gone without surprise with her four captors, who had carried her to a cottage of boarded-up windows: and the same hour Hogarth had the news.

The next morning the four received detailed instructions at the village _poste restante_: the lady-attendant at the cottage was to ask the prisoner if she would go to London, try to persuade her, and, if she consented, make her sign pledge of honour (enclosed) to go without any attempt at escape during three days.

The men were surprised: for that Margaret was deranged they had seen at once, and supposed that the Regent must know it: what, then, could her pledge do? Their business, however, was to obey: and when Margaret was asked: "Will you go quietly to the Palace in London with us?" she answered: "Yes!" and sang:

"Here we go to London-town: Tri-de-laddie! Tri-de-laddie!

See the King with his golden crown, Tri-de-laddie, O!"

By noon the Abrahams and Rebekah were being tugged out of harbour, to the hand-wavings and G.o.d-speeds of seven emigrant-boats by the quay; but it was not till five that the Regent's emissaries could obtain a special train on the thronged lines; and not till after seven did they arrive with Margaret at the Palace-gates.

Now, that night the Lord Regent and the Prince of Wales were attending a banquet at the Guildhall, given in honour of sea-rent reduction on British ships, and at the moment when Margaret arrived Hogarth, already _en route_, thinking of Rebekah, muttered: "By now she is here!"

But since Frankl, on getting news of the disappearance of Margaret, had at once conjectured the hand of Hogarth, as Margaret was being handed from the cab at the Palace-gates, she saw two terrible eyes, and, s.n.a.t.c.hing her hand free, flew screaming down the street--eyes of Frankl, who, conjecturing that hither she would be brought, had taken stand there half the afternoon, knowing precisely the effect upon her of the sight of his face; and said he: "You see, you haven't got her yet--though you _shall_ have her to your heart's content...."

As she could only run southward or northward, he had posted two motor-cars, one containing a clerk to south, the other Harris, to north, so that, as she ran, one or other should catch her, hustle her in, and dash away.

In fact, she ran north, right into the arms of Harris, her surprised guardians still ten yards behind; and "Quick!" hissed Harris, "come with me, or 'e'll 'ave you!" and was off with her.

Upon which Frankl drove to the Market Street house, where he found Harris and Margaret; and again, with screams, she sought to fly, though her first terrors gave place to a quiet subservience after some minutes of his presence.

"Oh Lawd!" said Harris, "she started singing in the car, you know. Sing me songs of Araby, it _is_. Enough to give anybody the sicks".

"You see this gentleman here?" said Frankl to Margaret.

"Yes", she whispered: "oh my!"

"Well, it so happens that very likely you are going to live in the same house as him--a big Palace with all gold and silver, where the King with his crown lives, and all. So while you are there, I want you to be his friend as if it was myself, and do everything he tells you, same as myself, in fact. Do you see?"

"Yes", she whispered, her large form towering above Frankl's, yet awe of him widening her eyes.

"What's your name?" said he.

"My name is Rachel Oppenheimer", said she.

"All right: come up and dress".

She followed him up to a back room, where was a lamp, a gla.s.s, etc., and on an old settee evening-dress complete, shoes, roses, head-wrap.

"Now", said Frankl, leaving her, he, too, in evening-dress, "I give you ten minutes to rig yourself out in that lot: a second more, and you catch it".

And in fifteen minutes they two were in a cab, _en route_ for the Guildhall, Frankl, who had invitations for himself and daughter, saying: "You understand? you keep your eye fixed upon me the whole time--never mind about eating--and when I hold up my finger _so_, you rise and give them a little song...."