The Coward Behind the Curtain
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 20: The Houseboat
The boat hugged the shore as closely as Eric Frazer had advised; being propelled with a skill, and swiftness, considering the difficulties with which he had to contend, which at least showed that the person who had stated that his name was Arnecliffe was engaged in a task with which he was familiar. Presently its progress become slower; the sculler was endeavouring, as best he could, to make out his surroundings.
“Curious how deceptive this light--if you can call it light--is; and the lightning makes it worse. Have you any knowledge of this country?”
“None; I saw it for the first time this morning.”
“There seems to be an opening here, which might be a cut, or backwater--I believe it is. We’ll try it. Look out! The trees hang over the water, and the branches are low. What is that over there? It’s a houseboat; I wonder if it’s the one to which your mysterious friend referred. It’s dark enough. Do you know what the name of Vernon’s houseboat is?” Dorothy knew nothing, and said so. “Anyhow we’ll pay a call. If it’s the wrong one we can only apologise.” He brought the skiff alongside the sombre craft, which seemed to soar above them into the darkness. The girl landed first. “Try that door,” he said. “That’s it--right in front of you.”
She turned the handle.
“It’s open,” she announced.
“Good! Gross carelessness on somebody’s part, to leave a houseboat’s front door unlocked, but good for us.” Tying up the skiff, he landed also. “Wait a minute: let me go in first, in case there’s anyone inside.” He passed through the door which she had opened. “Hollo! Anyone here?” None answered. “Seems empty; I think you may come in without running much risk of intruding on somebody’s privacy.” She went in after him. “I’ll strike a match, so that we can see what sort of place it is we’re in.” He held the flickering flame above his head. “Seems to be a decent sort of apartment--living-room, I presume. If this is his property it strikes me that Mr Vernon is a gentleman who is possessed both of taste and money.”
The match went out.
“Hollo! this won’t do; we must have some light upon the subject. I can’t say to you what I want to say unless I see your face--not comfortably, I can’t; and I should like you to see mine as I’m saying it.”
“I should like to see it too.”
“Should you? Then you shall; there’s a hanging lamp in the centre here; we’ll see each other by its light. Now we’ll pull down the blinds--capital blinds these are; well fitting. If there should be any suspicious characters about, they won’t see us through these blinds; they’re pretty nearly as good as shutters. Now, Miss Gilbert, with your very kind permission, I should like to see what you look like.” By the lamp’s glow the man and the girl surveyed each other; she standing very straight, and he stooping a little forward. He smiled; the smile giving his mouth an odd effect of being twisted. “You’re like your father.”
“Am I? Am I like my mother?”
“No; I don’t think you are; not as I remember her.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Very; once. But your resemblance to your father’s weird. It isn’t only features; it’s the altogether--the way you have of looking at me--they might be your father’s eyes; the way you have of holding yourself--just a little stiffly; the way your head’s poised on your neck--as if it wouldn’t bend; why, you’ve even got your father’s hands--I noticed it as you pulled down the blind. You’re his feminine replica.”
“I’m glad of that.”
“If he could only have heard you say that, before it was too late, what a difference it would have made! What--what a curious chap he was. If he could only come and see you now, he would see himself in you; he could not help it; and any lingering doubts he had would have gone for ever.”
“Why do you say that? What doubts had he?”
He hesitated; as if he searched for words; then again came that wry smile of his.
“Miss Gilbert, it’s not a pretty story I have to tell you; and it may sound uglier than it might be made because, circumstanced as we are, I am hardly in a position to pick and choose my phrases. Time is short; I must get to the end of my tale by the shortest way. I don’t know who your mysterious friend who sent us here may be; but if, as he said he was, he is coming here, he may come soon. And since, when he does come, circumstances may arise which will render it difficult for me to communicate with you on confidential matters, it would be well if what I have to say to you were said quickly. So, if my story sounds even less pleasant than it need do, will you forgive me--since time presses?”
“Of course I will forgive you--you know I will.”
“Thank you; I believe I do know it. I wondered what sort of person I should find you; but now, I think that, if the Fates had been more propitious, I might have been your friend, as I was your father’s.” She said nothing, but her lips quivered; something flashed from her eyes to his. “Won’t you sit down? Compress it as I may, my story will take some minutes; as I said, it’s not a very pretty one; and--you look tired.”
“I would rather stand; I couldn’t sit still; I find it so hard to sit still. Tell me about my mother.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.