Authors: Miranda of the Island
“I was cast up on the shore along the coast yesterday, when the storm caught me,” Denzil explained. “A cottager gave me shelter for the night.”
The innkeeper was sympathetic, and willing to exclaim at the severity of the storm.
“You were fortunate, sir,” he said. “We have had more dead bodies washed ashore that I can remember than live ones.”
Denzil nodded. “That I will readily believe. But I did injure my shoulder, and am rather shaken by the experience. Could you provide me with a bed for a few days while I rest?”
He dangled his purse, heavy with several gold pieces, which he had fortunately not lost when he had been shipwrecked, and the innkeeper offered his best room, asking whether he could send his son with any message for the gentleman.
“I thank you, but not immediately. When I have rested, I would be glad of his services in fetching me a horse. But there is no point as yet, for I expect to remain here for a couple of days.”
He occupied the rest of the day in walking along the cliffs towards the island, and saw it was hidden from the little port by the headland that sheltered the estuary. He ate his simple but plentiful dinner at the inn in a thoughtful mood, then joined the locals who were drinking in the taproom.
They were wary of the stranger, but soon responded to his generous call for drinks. He kept the conversation general at first, explaining his own presence there due to his accident, and then asked casually who owned the land about.
“Sir Henry Carstairs,” one of the fishermen replied, and Denzil almost dropped his drink in surprise. That detested name was only too familiar to him!
“I suppose then, he also owns the island I saw from the headland,” he said in as level a voice as he could contrive.
They nodded, but there was an undercurrent of uneasiness amongst them. He promptly turned the conversation towards their fishing, and only after some time idly remarked he had a desire to explore the island.
“I wondered if one of you might be willing to take me out tomorrow, for I am devilishly bored with so little to occupy my time.”
They had stiffened when he made his request, but after a brief silence they hurried into speech. They were all busy, they could not spare the time, though they trusted the gentleman would not think them disobliging. Only one man, a sour looking individual, did not join in the general clamour of excuses, and Denzil remarked his silence.
He shrugged, and again turned the conversation, but now the fishermen seemed anxious to be gone and gradually drifted away until only a few, including the silent one, were left. Denzil called for another round, and casually changed his seat so that he was sitting near to this man. He heard a low voice close to his ear.
“You want to go to the island?”
Denzil nodded. “Will you take me?” he asked softly, not turning round.
“I might.”
“How much?”
“How badly do you want to go?”
“I’ll pay a sovereign, no more.” Denzil looked straight at him then, and after a moment’s silence, the man nodded.
“Be ready at eight in the morning.”
He rose and left, and Denzil found the others looking oddly at him. Soon they also departed, and the landlord bustled round locking up, chatting loudly and inconsequentially as he did so.
Denzil bade him goodnight, made his way to bed, and by eight the next morning was waiting impatiently on the quay. His boatman soon appeared, and indicated a small boat lying at the edge of the mole. They climbed down to it, and the fisherman rowed out from the harbour, then set a small sail.
* * * *
“Why were the others so reluctant to take me?” Denzil enquired, and the man glanced shiftily at him.
“Sir Henry would not like it,” he said eventually.
“He owns the island, I understand. But does he ever come here?”
“I have never seen him, and I am near sixty. I knew old Sir Henry, his father, well, for he came often, used to live there for weeks on end.”
Denzil thought of the books. “Then the island is deserted now,” he commented casually.
There was a silence, and he looked at the man, to find him peering oddly across at him.
“No. There’s a couple there, the man comes across regular for provisions. Says they’re caretakers!” He spat accurately over the side of the boat. “But there are others. No one knows who, but he takes back far more than the two of them could use. And folk like they’d have no call for books and papers!”
“Has no one ever seen these others?” Denzil asked.
“Never, except from a distance. There’s supposed to be a child there, a girl, but no one’s ever been close enough to be certain.”
“Who can she be? And why is she kept there?”
The man laughed, an ugly sound. “It’s rumoured she’s a by-blow of Sir Henry’s, that he wants to keep out of the way.”
Denzil calculated swiftly. Sir Henry was almost forty. He could be the girl’s father.
“It’s monstrous, if true!” he exclaimed.
“I can’t see why he don’t lose her in some out of the way place. But I suppose she’s too old now, though he could have done it easy enough when she were small. From all accounts he’s a well respected man that would not want to admit his shame. A Member of Parliament, too. But as well as being owner of the land hereabouts, he’s a powerful man, and no one wants to get on the wrong side of him – or rather of his agent, for as I said, he’s never been seen here.”
“Then why were you prepared to risk it?” Denzil asked bluntly.
“Gold!” was the laconic reply, and then a sneer came over his face. “That agent has done me down so much I’ve little more to lose, and if I can be in the way of doing him or his master a bad turn, I won’t say no! But take care, try not to let anyone know you’re on the island. The fellow’s handy with a gun!”
They were almost at the island, and Denzil directed his boatman to the beach he wanted.
“You will be fishing all day, so pick me up on your way home. I will wait here,” he said as he stepped over the side to wade ashore. The fisherman nodded, and rowed away until he could hoist his sail again, and Denzil anxiously scanned the beach. The girl was not there, and though he was relieved the fisherman had not seen her, he was suddenly deeply anxious in case she had for some reason been unwilling or unable to meet him.
* * * *
His fears were soon calmed, however, for as he walked up the beach towards the stream a low whistle came from some bushes, and as he turned towards them she appeared.
“I thought you would not come!” she exclaimed, running towards him. “Oh, how glad I am that you did, I could not have borne it if you had not meant it!”
She held out her hands in welcome, and he took them for a moment in his, smiling down into her excited face.
“Where shall we go to be safe from your guardians?”
“Through to the shell beach. The tide will cut it off soon, and my excuse for being absent will be that I got cut off. That is, unless you have to go soon, and cannot wait until low tide again?”
She looked anxiously at him, and broke into a delightful smile when he assured her he meant to stay all day.
“Then come, before they start searching for me. I am supposed to be collecting eggs and then helping Anna with the baking.”
She ran on, and he followed more slowly through the passageway in the rocks, where the water already swirled several inches deep. By the time Denzil had followed her she had found a sunny spot at the foot of the cliffs and was sitting there, smiling happily as he approached.
For some time he persuaded her to talk of her life on the island, and about the books she had read, but she was more interested in asking him questions about his life and London. She listened avidly to his descriptions, and wistfully said that she would love to see the city, but then fell silent, gazing dreamily into the distance.
Denzil considered her. During the night when he had envisaged her as he had last seen her, there had been a nagging idea she resembled someone he knew. He thought it likely that if Sir Henry Carstairs were indeed her father, it was a family resemblance, but looking closely at her now, however, he could see no trace of any resemblance to any of the Carstairs family, and he knew most of the close relatives of Sir Henry.
Suddenly she turned and smiled at him, and the sweetness of it shook him.
“Are there many mad people like me?” she asked simply.
“You are not mad!” he declared angrily. “I know not who you are or why you are imprisoned here, but I’d stake my life you are not mad!”
“They say I am.”
“They have their own diabolical reasons for wanting you to think so. Redruth – oh, confound it, I cannot call you by that atrocious name!” He paused, and smiled at her. “I shall call you Miranda,” he said softly.
She laughed delightedly. “The girl on the island! And the shipwrecked sailors!”
“Have you read
The Tempest
?” he demanded, surprised. The old plays were not thought much of now.
“I’ve read all of Shakespeare’s plays, there is a copy in the library,” she explained. “I liked that one, but some of them I could not understand very well. I should indeed like to be called Miranda, and I can pretend this is an enchanted island!”
“Good. Well, Miranda, are there ever times when you do not know what you have been doing? Or when you cry and cannot stop? Or have an uncontrollable urge to do something, like hitting people?”
She shook her head. “I may cry if I am hurt, and I used to hit poor Anna when I was small, but not now. Why?”
“Those are the sort of things mad people do. Miranda – yes, it suits you to perfection – I do not believe in the least that you are mad, and it is wicked to keep you imprisoned here. Have you never thought of escaping?”
“Where would I go? And how would I know how to go on?” she asked reasonably. “Oh yes, I have wondered a few times, when I have read a book about a mad person, for I truly do not seem to be like them. Shakespeare’s King Lear, for instance. I am not at all like him. Nor poor King George, who has to be held down for fear he harms his own wife! But Miss Brockton says there are many forms of madness, and I might become like that if I were excited. And I must confess it would be vastly exciting to visit the mainland.”
“You have not become like that because of my arriving so unexpectedly here!”
“No-o.” She thought about it, and he had to fight an almost overwhelming desire to take her in his arms and comfort her as he read the alternate hope and fear in her face. “I have never seen anyone else, so do not know whether they would think me mad. You do not?”
“No! I would not believe it in a thousand years!”
She giggled. “It would not matter to either of us very much then if you did,” she commented.
“Miranda, believe me, I beg of you! You are not mad, and I mean to prove it to everyone!”
She was startled. “How can you do that? Miss Brockton would not believe you.”
“Come away with me,” he said impulsively. “I will escort you to London. My sister will look after you there, and we will prove to everyone that you do not lose your reason when mixing with others. Then, perhaps, we can set about discovering who you are, and what your family.”
For a moment there was a look of tremendous joy in her eyes, and then she began to have doubts. She did not answer, and he set himself to point out all the advantages of taking such a daring step, and the grim prospect that faced her if she remained on the island for the rest of her life.
“Come with me, Miranda,” he urged.
“You have the opportunity, if only you dare take it. I may be wrong, and making a dreadful mistake, but I truly believe I am not. The only way for you to test it is to leave the island. Will you venture all and take this chance?”
“Tell me more about your life,” she said in a small voice, and he did his best to satisfy her, explaining how they lived, and reassuring her that because she had been brought up by a cultured governess, and had read much, she would not feel totally strange, would know how to go on, and soon would enjoy it. She grew more animated, and it seemed as though he had persuaded her, when she hesitated.
“I have no money.”
“I am accounted a rich man, so that need not be a problem.”
She looked at him directly. “You do not design to make me your mistress?”
Here was another proof of her sanity, and he pointed it out to her.
“No, you have my word on that. Not because I am too great a prude, and I would be dishonest if I did not admit you are beautiful enough to arouse desire in any man,” he added slowly. “But I would regard you as if I were your guardian. What I most want is to prove to you, and to others, that you are sane, and take you away from this life.”
“But I cannot live for ever on your charity. It would be wrong in me.”
“Someone, who pays for this island, has money. If we can discover who it is, and what claims you have on them, they will provide for you.”
She nodded, accepting this.
He smiled a trifle wryly. “Even should we not, when my sister has launched you into society, there are bound to be plenty of men anxious to wed you.”
She glanced hurriedly up at him and as swiftly away again. “I could perhaps earn my living as a seamstress, for I sew well, and make all my own gowns.”
He agreed, content that she had apparently accepted his plan for leaving the island, and not wishing to discourage her by pointing out the hardship of such a life, which he was certain she would never need to embrace. She seemed satisfied.
“Then I will come with you. Oh, I never dreamed anything so wonderful would happen! It is truly magical, just as on Miranda’s island!”
“You are Miranda, and this is your island, but once you leave you need never again come back unless you wish it. That I promise you.”
“When shall I go? Will you take me now, when your boat returns?”
“No, that would not do.” Her face showed her disappointment. “I must make preparations for our journey, send for my horses. Also it would be better if I waited until I can manage a boat by myself, so that no one can betray us. I could contrive in four days from now. You can be making preparations too. Can you collect together some clothes and whatever else you will need to carry with you? It will be much easier on the journey if you have some baggage. We will buy whatever else you need in London, but can you smuggle out a bundle? I will provide a valise for them.”