Otto was not a man to show agitation: but he felt it, none the less. This scheme of Jon’s was the foolhardiest thing he had ever heard of: the slightest suspicion, and they were as good as done for.
Jonsen had ordered him, if he guessed anything was wrong, to run.
Meanwhile, the breeze was dropping, and it was still light.
Jonsen had vanished into the steamer as into a forest.
Emily was as excited as any of them, pointing out the novel features of this extraordinary vessel. The children still thought it was professional quarry. Edward was openly bragging of what he would do when he had captured it.
“I shall cut the captain’s head off and throw it in the water!” he declared aloud.
“S‑s‑sh!” exclaimed Harry in a stage whisper.
“Coo! I don’t care!” cried Edward, intoxicated with bravado. “Then I shall take out all the gold and keep it for myself.”
“I shall sink it!” said Harry, in imitation: then added as an afterthought, “Right to the very bottom!”
Emily fell silent, her peculiarly vivid imagination having the mastery of her. She saw the hold of the steamer, piled with gold and jewels. She saw herself, fighting her way through hordes of hairy sailors, with her bare fists, till only the steamer’s captain stood between her and the treasure.
Then it happened! It was as if a small cold voice inside her said suddenly, “How can you? You’re only a little girl!
” She felt herself falling giddily from the heights, shrinking. She was Emily.
The awful, blood-covered face of the Dutch captain seemed to threaten her out of the air. She cowered back at the shock. But it was over in a moment.
She looked around her in terror. Did anyone know how defenceless she was? Surely someone must have noticed her. The other children were gibbering in their animal innocence. The sailors, their knives half concealed, grinned at each other or cursed. Otto, his brows knotted, stood with his eyes fixed on the steamer.
She feared everybody, she hated everybody.
Margaret was whispering something to Edward, and he nodded. Again panic seized her. What was Margaret telling him? Had she told everyone? Did they all know? Were they all playing with her, deceiving her by pretending not to know, waiting their own time to burst their revelation on her and punish her in some quite unimaginably awful way?
Had Margaret told? If she crept up behind Margaret now, and pushed her in the sea, might she yet be in time?—But even as she thought it, she seemed to see Margaret rising waist-high out of the waves, telling the whole story to everybody in a calm, dispassionate voice, and climbing back on board.
In another flash she saw the fat, comfortable person of her mother, standing at the door of Ferndale, abusing the cook.
Again her eyes roamed round the sinister reality of the schooner. She suddenly felt sick to death of it all: tired, beyond words tired. Why must she be chained forever to this awful life? Could she never escape, never get back to the ordinary life little girls lead, with their papas and mamas and … birthday cakes?
Otto called her. She went to him obediently: though with a presentiment that it was to her execution. He turned, and called Margaret too.
She was in a more attentive mood than she had been the other night with the captain, Heaven knows! But Otto was too preoccupied to notice how frightened her eyes were.
Jonsen had no easy task on the steamer: but Otto did not greatly relish his own. He did not know how to begin—and everything depended on his success.
“See here,” he burst out. “You’re going to England.”
Emily shot him a quick glance. “Yes?” she said at last: her voice showing merely a polite interest.
“The captain has gone onto that steamboat to arrange about it.”
“Aren’t we staying with you any longer, then?”
“No,” said Otto: “you’re going home on that steamboat.”
“Shan’t we see you any more, then?” Emily pursued.
“No,” said Otto: “—Well, some day, perhaps.”
“Are they all going, or only us two?”
“Why, all of you, of course!”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
There was an awkward silence, while Otto wondered how to tackle the real problem.
“Had we better go and get ready?” asked Margaret.
“Now listen!” Otto interrupted her. “When you get on board, they’ll ask you all about everything. They’ll want to know how you got here.”
“Are we to tell them?”
Otto was astonished she took his point so readily.
“No,” he said. “The captain and me don’t want you to. We want you to keep it a secret, do you see?”
“What are we to say, then?” Emily asked.
“Tell them … you were captured by pirates, and then … they put you ashore at a little port in Cuba—”
“—Where the Fat Woman was?”
“—Yes. And then we came along, and took you on board our schooner, which was going to America, to save you from the pirates.”
“I see,” said Emily.
“You’ll say that, and keep the … other a secret?” Otto asked anxiously.
Emily gave him her peculiar, gentle stare.
“Of course!” she said.
Well, he had done his best: but Otto felt heavy at heart. That little cherub! He didn’t believe she could keep a secret for ten seconds.
“Now: do you think you can make the little ones understand?”
“Oh yes, I’ll tell them,” said Emily easily. She considered for a moment: “I don’t suppose they remember much anyway. Is that all?”
“That’s all,” said Otto: and they walked away.
“What was he saying?” Margaret asked. “What was it all about?”
“Oh shut up!” said Emily rudely. “It’s nothing to do with you!”
But inwardly she did not know whether she was on her head or her heels. Were they really going to let her escape? Weren’t they just tantalising her, meaning to stop her at the last moment? Were they handing her over to strangers, who had come to hang her for murder? Was
