Troublesome Comforts Part 9

"Is it high tide?" she asked.

"In another hour." And some one added out of the darkness, "Don't you be feared, ma'am; children and chickens come home to roost."

Mrs. Beauchamp thanked him gratefully and felt comforted.

Again she wearily climbed the steps, and flew rather than walked down the long Parade. The flickering gas lamps showed between patches of darkness, the rain drizzled on, and she felt helpless and bewildered, not knowing where to turn next. Wherever d.i.c.kie was, bronchitis must be d.o.g.g.i.ng his footsteps, and all the time she seemed to hear Susie's voice appealing to her. Poor Susie! who always came back to her best friend--who was always so sorry afterwards!

She spoke to the policeman at the corner of the Parade, and he was very determined. He would go to the police station and give notice, he said; but there wasn't the least use in her wearing herself out by running on into the town. He knew the young lady from No. 17 quite well by sight--a very sensible young lady!--and he was as certain as that he stood there that she had not pa.s.sed him since five o'clock. She was on the beach then with the little boy and some other young ladies and gentlemen; he had seen them himself. They were playing and shouting, and having a fine time. No, he was quite certain he wasn't making a mistake; he knew her by her face, and her brown plaits, and her scarlet jersey. She certainly was playing with other children.

Mrs. Beauchamp tried to push aside the urgent fear that was knocking at her heart. If even the policeman had confidence in Susie, should her mother be behindhand? She told the policeman, for his information and her own comfort, that she was only frightened because the little boy had been ill, and it was such a cold, wet night, but at the same time she thought she would walk round to the town by the beach. "And you will go to the police station? Some one may have seen them. I cannot feel satisfied doing nothing."

"If you take my advice, lady," said the policeman, "you should go home first. Perhaps they'll have got back, or perhaps the other young lady could give you an idea. Children know a good deal of each other's ways."

The advice was sensible and practical, and Mrs. Beauchamp was relieved at any definite suggestion. Amy might possibly know something about the others which she had not confided to nurse. She caught at the hope, and fought her way back before the wind, up the long, wet Parade, until she stood, drenched and breathless, at the door.

Nurse opened it almost on her knock, and peered anxiously behind her into the dark, but Mrs. Beauchamp shook her head.

"No, I have done nothing," she said, in a strained voice. "I can't think what to do--no one has seen them, nurse."

Her voice trembled a little, but she tried to smile. She would not break down.

"I want to speak to Amy, nurse, and Master Tom; but Amy is less excitable. Send them to me on the stairs here; we must not wake baby."

"I've questioned them," said nurse, "but they don't seem to know anything. They'll be ready enough to tell if they do; they are very upset."

Mrs. Beauchamp sat upon the lowest stair, with her anxious eyes fixed on the nursery door. They were curiously like Susie's eyes, but with a sweeter expression. They were smiling still, but it was such a sad smile that after one look Amy flew helter-skelter downstairs and flung herself into the welcoming arms.

"Amy," said her mother gently, "don't cry now; I haven't time. I am anxious about d.i.c.kie's bronchitis"--it was curious how she clung to the belief that it was only the bronchitis that troubled her--"it is so rainy and cold! Do you know where Susie has gone?"

"No, mother," said Amy. She knelt upon the stair with her pale little face pressed against her mother's cheek.

"Think, Amy," Mrs. Beauchamp urged.

"I have thoughted and thoughted," said Amy, "and I can only remember that once, a long time ago, the twins said--"

"What twins?"

"Oh, I forgot you didn't know. They are twins, and they are friends of Susie's. They are very reckless on the rocks, and sometimes Susie went too."

"But when, Amy?"

"I don't know," said Amy, with literal truthfulness. "They didn't tell me; they said I was a baby." Amy's eyes filled. "I wish Susie could be found," she said.

"But you are helping me to find her," said her mother. "Now I have something to go on.--Did you know, Tom? Have you ever been on the rocks with the twins?"

"They told me not to tell," said Tom st.u.r.dily.

"But, Tom, that does not matter; it is right to break such a promise."

"If you break your promise you go to h.e.l.l," said Tom.

"No, no, Tom--not when it is a matter--a matter of life and death. Do you think they went on the rocks to-night?"

"I will tell you if you want me to," said Tom, "but Susie will be angry.

I don't know if she went to-day; so there!"

"Did you ever go?"

"Heaps and heaps of times," said Tom.

"And who are the twins?"

"I don't know."

"But their _name_, Tom?" she urged.

"I truly don't know, mummy."

"O Tom!"

Tom too had broken down, and his arms were round her neck.

"O mother, Susie didn't mean to go. She often and often didn't want to.

Don't be angry with Susie. Nurse often said, 'I can't think where you get your stockings in such a mess.' But the twins asked Susie, and she went; often and often she didn't want to--"

"Poor Susie," said Mrs. Beauchamp.

"And you needn't think she's drowned," said Tom, "because Susie knows quite well how to walk on seaweed. She wouldn't be such a silly as to be drowned."

Tom's testimony and the policeman's! She alone--Susie's mother--had been faithless and unbelieving. She began to regain her confidence in Susie.

She got up a minute later with a more hopeful smile. As she shook out her wet umbrella she stooped to kiss Amy's eager face.

"It is so much easier to find four people than two," she said, "particularly when two of them are twins, and one wears a scarlet jersey.

Some one must have seen such a noisy crew, and there is less chance of their having disappeared."

"Susie isn't such a silly as all that," said Tom, with serene confidence.

Mrs. Beauchamp's eyes shone, and when Tom opened the door she looked out, over his head, into the deepening night. A few stars had struggled through the clouds, and the moon shone fitfully above the island. It looked very big and black and peaceful, and Mrs. Beauchamp paused for a moment and looked back at it.

"_If_," she said to herself, and then again "_if_" out loud.

But whatever the disturbing thought might be, she would not give it entrance. She fixed her mind resolutely on the twins and the red jersey, and pinned her hopes on the police inspector.

CHAPTER X.