The Oyster Part 52

"Not bad." Cyril Blakeney looked at the clock which marked five as they tore into Trelawney. "We left at eleven. Now we shall know."

He drove to a little red-brick house looking on to the bay. Denise had brought her Cecil down to grow strong in the soft mild air; the boy had caught cold and been delicate.

Mrs Stanson was at the door, her face wrapped in a shawl. She came to meet them.

Her ladyship was out, she said, had taken the children to the bay.

"My face ached, Sir Cyril. Her ladyship said she would go alone without Ellen."

"Has Mrs Carteret been here?" Sir Cyril asked. "Quickly, nurse, answer!"

Mrs Stanson blushed, faltered. "Yes, Sir Cyril. She came in a motor, has gone out to her ladyship. Oh! is anything wrong?"

"Yes!" Cyril Blakeney's face was very quiet, but his eyes gleamed thoughtfully. "Where shall we find them, Mrs Stanson?"

There were two bays, one on each side of the town; two stretches of firm sands. Mrs Stanson looked dubious.

It appeared that the children had quarrelled as they started. Master Cyril wanted to go to the bay to the east, where the big rock ran out into the sea. Master Cecil to the west bay.

"Then it is sure to be this way." Sir Cyril turned to the right--to the west. "Come, Carteret--we'll walk fast."

Something was making Bertie Carteret afraid. The two men had scarcely spoken on the way down. Just once Sir Cyril had asked: "You think you're right, Carteret?" and Bertie had answered: "Yes. My wife's no thief. She was _given_ those jewels."

"Then there is something," Cyril said. "Something!" and did not speak again.

"I'll go the other way." Bertie pointed to the cliffs. "One never knows, and Esme was dreadfully excited. I'll go along the cliffs, Blakeney; I can see the whole sh.o.r.e, and there are pa.s.sages leading down, and the cliff path is quicker walking."

"Very well! It's all rather a fuss about nothing, isn't it, Carteret?"

Bertie hurried away towards the cliffs. An opal evening was falling on the world. The sea glimmered and sparkled out to the sinking sun. As he hurried, Bertie could see the woods of Cliff End, and the gables of the old house. So far he had seen no one on the beach. The tide was coming in, creaming back softly over the sands, nosing upwards on the rocks.

He was coming close to where he had sat with Estelle and known for the first time that he loved her. Far below was a stretch of firm sand, with a curious rock running out, deep water always at its landward side--a treacherous, slippery rock, not high above the water, but its sides sheer and steep.

Then he saw Denise Blakeney and his wife. Esme was gesticulating, speaking loudly. Denise standing with bent head and outstretched, pleading hands. He saw little Cecil playing with his spade, making a castle.

The next downward track was some way on. He watched for a minute.

"Bertie!" He swung round, astonished.

Estelle, with lines in her pale face, was on the cliffs.

"You!" he jerked out. "Here--to-day. Why?"

She flushed. "I ... came to say good-bye to the cliff here," she said gently. "Where I knew for the first time that you were my world, Bertie. I came down this morning. I was walking back to Trelawney now to catch a train."

For a minute he forgot everything except that the girl beside him would understand and sympathize. He stood pouring out his story; there was no hurry.

Estelle listened, saw suddenly that Marie had not dreamed; looked back on little incidents.

"Her child!" she muttered. "Poor Esme. Oh, Bertie, listen! we can hear what they are saying, and it's as well to know."

The voices rang clearly. Esme was flinging out pa.s.sionate words, demanding justice.

"You'll not take him," Denise cried. "Esme, it would ruin me."

"Did you think when you allowed me to be ruined?" stormed Esme--"saw me cut, banned by my friends?"

"You wrote a foolish letter," wailed Denise. "Cyril thought you had stolen the diamonds. I never told him so."

"No, but to save yourself you left it at that. You acted a cruel lie.

Now give me my boy. I have borne enough."

"You cannot prove it," Denise sobbed piteously. "No, Esme, no."

"I can and will. Because I was weak, and loved ease and pleasure, all this has come. The world believes me to be a thief--my husband that I am an adulteress. At least I'll have my boy. Oh, Denise, do you know how I've longed for him? How my whole life has been one ache of regret?"

"But the scandal. Oh, G.o.d! I cannot face Cyril." Denise flung herself down on the soft sand, gripping it with her hands. "I'll give you more money, anything."

"Nothing but the truth will give me back my honour. Where is the boy?"

"Cecil wanted some red seaweed for his castle. Cyril is on the rock getting it," said Cecil, looking up. "Mumsie not let Cecil go."

"On the rock!" Esme sprang round.

The two on the cliff could hear the raised voices. With white, strained faces they listened, bewildered, almost afraid.

"The boy is hers. It is true," whispered Bertie. "Look, he's out on the rock, and it's slippery, dangerous. He ought to keep down."

A little figure was toiling along the sharply-cut edge. The tide was washing at the safe side where the rock merged into the sands, so Cyril kept high up.

"It's not safe; he may fall. You want to kill him," Esme cried, beginning to run towards the rock.

It was safe at low tide, because the sands were bare, but no place for baby feet on the upper side above the deep water.

"You would not have let Cecil go," Esme stormed as she hurried on. "Oh, Cyril, stop! Keep near the tide."

Perhaps her voice frightened the child as he picked his way. He started, slipped, and fell over. In a second a little white face could be seen on the calm, dark water.

"Cyril, oh, Cyril! Oh, my baby!" rose a shrieking cry.

With mad haste Esme tore off her skirt and sprang into the sea, clutching at the sinking child. She caught him as he came up for the third time, and swam back holding him. But the black sides towered sheer and straight four feet above her; the seaweed gave as she caught it; the child was a dead weight on one arm, and she had hurt the other jumping in.

"Get help," she cried. "Get help, Denise."

Denise lay on the sands, shrieking, half-unconscious, useless and helpless.

"They'll drown! Go for help, Estelle. I may get down to them in time."

Bertie swung over the edge of the cliff, beginning a perilous climb.