Conrad Aiken - The Collected Short Stories of Conrad Aiken

“Well, if there’s anything at all,” he said.

She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held on to it. She gave up struggling and allowed it to remain in his. She felt unhappy again.

“I always try to think the best of people,” she said. “I’m sure you didn’t mean anything wrong by that.”

He didn’t reply, but instead, after a pause, put his other hand on her forearm and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re awfully nice, Margaret,” he said. “If I were free, I’d like to marry you.”

She shut her eyes, and didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

VII.

After dinner she had a good cry in her bunk, while Katy sat and talked to her, and from time to time wet the washcloth to put on her eyes. The ship was making a terrible noise, blowing off steam, which was a good thing, as it prevented the neighbors from hearing her. Two of the bedroom stewards were hanging round in the corridor outside. Now and then she could hear them laughing. Katy sat on the camp-chair and argued with her.

“You just put him out of your mind,” she said.

“But I can’t. You think it’s easy, Katy, but it isn’t.”

“I told you how it would be from the beginning, Peg, and you wouldn’t listen to me. He doesn’t care anything for you—don’t kid yourself. He isn’t our kind at all. You know how it is with that kind of man. He may soft-soap you, but really he looks down on us, and if he met us anywhere at home he wouldn’t even speak to us.”

Margaret moved her head from side to side on the pillow—back and forth, back and forth.

“No,” she said, “he isn’t like that. He’s in love with me. He doesn’t despise me because I’m a cook.”

“Don’t kid yourself. He might think so right now, when there’s nobody else for him to fool with, but that’s all there is to it. What’s the use getting all upset about it, anyway, with him a married man!”

Margaret blew her nose and sat up.

“It’s awful hot in here,” she said.

“I tell you what, you need a little excitement to take your mind off this business. Let’s get a glass of stout and then go down and have a bit of a dance with Pat and the girls.”

Margaret was helpless, apathetic. She didn’t care one way or the other, and she was too tired to resist. She bathed her eyes in the wash-basin, rubbed her cheeks with the towel, and tidied up her hair. Maybe Katy was right—maybe he really didn’t care for her at all. He shouldn’t have said that about her coming to his stateroom; though, of course, men’s views were so different about those things.

She felt better after the glass of stout, and they went down the dark companionway to the steerage deck—the whole crowd was out there in the moonlight, Pat with his concertina, another boy with his mouth organ. Two of the men were whirling a skipping rope, and the girls were taking turns in seeing how fast they could skip and how long they could keep it up. A lot of people were sitting along the canvas-covered hatch. Katy had a try at it, and the very first thing the rope caught her skirt and lifted it way up so that her knickers showed, and everybody laughed. Katy didn’t mind at all. She laughed as much as anybody did. She was a good sport. There was an English girl, about eighteen, who was the best at it—she would take a running start into the rope and put her hands on her hips and jump as if she was possessed. They couldn’t down her at all, and everybody clapped her when finally one of the men dropped his end of the rope.

Pat tuned up on his concertina and they began to dance. A tall young fellow named Jim, who was a carpenter, asked Margaret to dance with him, and before she had time to make up her mind about it he had grabbed her and she was dancing with him and having a good time. They had a fox-trot first, and after that there was a jig, and in the middle of this, just when she had bumped into Katy and they were both laughing, she happened to look up at the second-cabin deck, and there was Mr. Camp, looking down. She waved her hand at him.

“Come on down!” she shouted to him.

He shook his head and smiled; Mr. Carter was standing with him. Jim yanked her hand and whirled her round, and when she looked up again he was gone.

VIII.

They spent the morning in packing, and getting their landing cards, and writing letters. He wasn’t at breakfast when they were, and she took Katy’s advice and kept out of his way. At lunch she avoided looking in his direction—she knew he was there, and Katy said he kept looking toward her, but she wouldn’t look back. She guessed Katy was right. If he had really cared, he would have come down and danced with them. He was probably a snob, just as Katy said he was. After lunch she went back to the stateroom, and didn’t go out till she heard they were sailing along close to the coast of Ireland; so she went up on deck. There was a crowd all along the railing, and she and Katy wedged themselves in and stared at the cliffs and green slopes and watched the little steam trawlers wallowing up and down in what looked like a smooth sea. A tremendous lot of sea-gulls were flying over the ship, swooping down to the water for the swill that was flung overboard, and all of them mewing like cats. The idea of landing at Queenstown was beginning to be exciting. Her mother and uncle would probably come in from Tralee to meet her, and she supposed they would all spend the night in some hotel in Queenstown.

When they went in for their last tea she rather hoped that Mr. Camp would turn up, but he didn’t. By this time, most likely, he saw that she was avoiding him, and was keeping himself out of her track. Maybe his feelings were hurt. She was restless, unhappy, excited, and, try as she would, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She gulped down her two cups of tea as if she were in a hurry; but then she couldn’t find anything to be in a hurry for. Her trunk was packed, her bag was all strapped and labeled, there was nothing to do. The orchestra came in and began playing. The sound of the music made her feel like crying. Katy said she was going to see if there was a night train out of Queenstown for the north. She got down a timetable from the shelves and looked at it, but couldn’t make head or tail of it. Then two of the ladies at their table came with menus on which they were getting all their acquaintances to sign their names. She and Katy signed their names and said goodbye, in case they shouldn’t meet again, for it wasn’t certain whether they would have supper on board or not. The rumor was that they would get into Queenstown harbor about six o’clock, in which case the Queenstown passengers would have to wait and have their supper in Queenstown.

It was after dark when finally the ship swung into the harbor. They felt the engine stopping, and ran out on deck. They could see the lights all round them, and a long row of especially bright ones; there was the hotel, and another ship waiting a little way off—waiting, as they were, for the tenders to come out. Everything seemed very still, now that the engines were stopped; it was almost as if something was wrong with the ship,—unnatural. Everybody seemed to talk in lower voices. The harbor water was quieter than the ocean; it just lapped a little against the side of the ship, and there was a long narrow rowboat which had come out and was lying against the bow with two men in it, one of them giving an occasional flourish with a long oar. A light was played on them from the ship, so that they stood out very clear against the blackness of the water. Then at last they saw the tenders coming out, and they decided they had better go down and see about their things.

It was just after they had tipped the steward, and he had gone off with the trunks, and just when they heard the tender coming alongside, that Mr. Camp suddenly came to their stateroom door.