A High Wind in Jamaica

the steamer; and also an object of pity. In the wide world they had become almost national figures: but it was easier to hide this from them then than it would be nowadays. But people⁠—friends⁠—would often come and tell them about the pirates: what wicked men they were, and how cruelly they had maltreated them. Children would generally ask to see Emily’s scar. They were especially sorry for Rachel and Laura, who, as being the youngest, must have suffered most. These people used also to tell them about John’s heroism, and that he had died for his country just the same as if he had grown up and become a real soldier: that he had shown himself a true English gentleman, like the knights of old were and the martyrs. They were to grow up to be very proud of John, who though still a child had dared to defy these villains and die rather than allow anything to happen to his sisters.

The glorious deeds which Edward would occasionally confess to were still received with an admiration hardly at all tempered with incredulity. He had the intuition, by now, to make them always done in defiance of Jonsen and his crew, not, as formerly, in alliance with or superseding them.

The children listened to all they were told: and according to their ages believed it. Having as yet little sense of contradiction, they blended it quite easily in their minds with their own memories; or sometimes it even cast their memories out. Who were they, children, to know better what had happened to them than grownups?

Mrs. Thornton was a feeling, but an essentially Christian woman. The death of John was a blow to her from which she would never recover, as indeed the death of all of them had once been. But she taught the children in saying their prayers to thank God for John’s noble end and let it always be an example to them: and then she taught them to ask God to forgive the pirates for all their cruelty to them. She explained to them that God could only do this when they had been properly punished on earth. The only one who could not understand this at all was Laura⁠—she was, after all, rather young. She used the same form of words as the others, yet contrived to imagine that she was praying to the pirates, not for them; so that it gradually came about that whenever God was mentioned in her hearing the face she imagined for Him was Captain Jonsen’s.

Once more a phase of their lives was receding into the past, and crystallising into myth.

Emily was too old to say her prayers aloud, so no one could know whether she put in the same phrase as the others about the pirates or not. No one, in point of fact, knew much what Emily was thinking about anything, at that time.

IV

One day a cab came for the whole family, and they drove together right into London. The cab took them into the Temple: and then they had to walk through twisting passages and up some stairs.

It was a day of full spring, and the large room into which they were ushered faced south. The windows were tall and heavily draped with curtains. After the gloomy stairs it seemed all sunshine and warmth. There was a big fire blazing, and the furniture was massive and comfortable, the dark carpet so thick it clung to their shoes.

A young man was standing in front of the fire when they came in. He was very correctly, indeed beautifully dressed: and he was very handsome as well, like a prince. He smiled at them all pleasantly, and came forward and talked like an old friend. The suspicious eyes of the Liddlies soon accepted him as such. He gave their parents cake and wine: and then he insisted on the children being allowed a sip too, with some cake, which was very kind of him. The taste of the wine recalled to all of them that blowy night in Jamaica: they had had none since.

Soon some more people arrived. They were Margaret and Harry, with a small, yellow, fanatical-looking aunt. The two lots of children had not seen each other for a long time: so they only said Hallo to each other very perfunctorily. Mr. Mathias, their host, was just as kind to the new arrivals.

Everyone was at great pains to make the visit appear a casual one; but the children all knew more or less that it was nothing of the sort, that something was presently going to happen. However, they could playact too. Rachel climbed onto Mr. Mathias’s knee. They all gathered round the fire, Emily sitting bolt upright on a footstool, Edward and Laura side by side in a capacious armchair.

In the middle of everyone talking there was a pause, and Mr. Thornton, turning to Emily, said, “Why don’t you tell Mr. Mathias about your adventures?”

“Oh yes!” said Mr. Mathias, “do tell me all about it. Let me see, you’re⁠ ⁠…”

“Emily,” whispered Mr. Thornton.

“Age?”

“Ten.”

Mr. Mathias reached for a piece of clean paper and a pen.

“What adventures?” asked Emily clearly.

“Well,” said Mr. Mathias, “you started for England on a sailing-ship, didn’t you? The Clorinda?”

“Yes. She was a barque.”

“And then what happened?”

She paused before answering.

“There was a monkey,” she said judicially.

“A monkey?”

“And a lot of turtles,” put in Rachel.

“Tell him about the pirates,” prompted Mrs. Thornton. Mr. Mathias frowned at her slightly: “Let her tell it in her own words, please.”

“Oh yes,” said Emily dully, “we were captured by pirates, of course.”

Both Edward and Laura had sat up at the word, stiff as spokes.

“Weren’t you with them too, Miss Fernandez?” Mr. Mathias asked.

Miss Fernandez! Everyone turned to see who he could mean. He was looking at Margaret.

“Me?” she said suddenly, as if waking up.

“Yes, you! Go on!” said her aunt.

“Say yes,” prompted Edward. “You were with us, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Margaret, smiling.

“Then why couldn’t you say so?”