The Buccaneers
BONY WAS DIRECTED to push the invalid’s chair to the sitting room, and place it beside the small table before the window. Books and newspapers on the table, the light from the window, and the position of the fireplace, all indicated that here Eli Wessex spent most of his day when it was too cold or wet to sit on the veranda. The window view was of the approach to the house from the road, the small flower garden in the foreground, and it was not till several minutes later that Bony came to look at the room itself.
Flanking one side of the fireplace, bookshelves ranged from floor to ceiling, and few of these books were modern. Above the mantel was a picture of a woman seated with a man standing at her side… Mrs Wessex and her husband when they were young. There were other pictures on the walls, and framed photographs upon the mantel either side the clock. The furniture was old, solid, valuable, well kept.
A pleasing room, and truly reflective of the character of those inhabiting it.
The voices of women came to them whilst Bony was trying to lift the depression weighing upon his host, and with a rustle of clothes, Mrs Wessex came in. She was wearing riding breeches and boots, and an old tweed jacket, and the wind had teased her hair.
“It was nice of you to come, Mr Rawlings,” she said, offering her hand. “Sorry I wasn’t here. My husband, I hope, hasn’t been grumbling too much.”
“Thoroughly enjoyed getting it alloff my chest,” countered Wessex. “We’ve been talking of the rising generation, and of taxes, death and damnation.”
“What subjects! Mr Rawlings must be bored… and thirsty. Mary’s bringing the tea.” She smiled at Bony, and turned again to her husband, saying, with an edge to her voice: “The rising generation? What’s wrong with the rising generation?”
“The same as our fathers thought of our generation,” Bony said soothingly.
“Of course,” Mrs Wessex agreed, but her mouth had lost its softer lines. “The boys and girls today are no different from what we were. Not a bit.”
“They are angels,” said Wessex and the bitternesswas clear.
“Well, we won’t talk about them,” Mrs Wessex decreed. “The afternoon’s much too nice. Those ewes have lambed over a hundred per cent. Much better than last year. We left Alfie there to build a windbreak.”
“H’m!” Wessex looked pleased but he wasn’t going to sound so, and Bony learned that there were close to four hundred breeding ewes in a paddock two miles away. He was telling them that he owned twenty-two hundred breeding ewes, and that a lambing of eighty per cent was good in his part of the country, when Mary Wessex came in carrying a large tray.
The mother cleared the table and the daughter arranged the primrose tea set, and the plates of scones and cakes. At this second meeting, Mary never once glanced at Bony, and when seated beside her father, gazed beyond the window with a peculiar fixity of expression. The others talked of trifles, Bony thoroughly at ease, until the girl exclaimed:
“Car coming. Fred Ayling like as not.”
An old car halted at the road gate, and they watched the timber cutter crossing to the house. He moved with the litheness of a cat and the sureness of the horse, to enter the house as though he belonged, to stand in the doorway of the sitting room, his eyes alight, a smile on his weathered face. He was a trifle tipsy, but his voice was normal.
“Good day-ee, everyone! Just in time for a cuppa, eh. How’s things , Pop?”
“ ’Boutthe same, Fred.”
“Come and sit down,” urged Mrs Wessex.“Another cup and saucer, Mary.”
Ayling advanced, and the girl rose. The tautness of her face was gone, and she was smiling at him in a manner childishly-pathetic.
“Day, Mary,” he said, and patted her arm. “Bring a tough cup. Might accidentally crush one of those in my fist. Not used to them sort. I didn’t forget you.”
Wessex was regarding him with open affection, his wife with narrowed eyes. The girl’s voice was eager.
“What is it? You never forget… you never did.” Swiftly she was serious, normal, and for the first time Bony saw her as she must have been before grief toppled her mind. “Sit down, Fred, and I’ll fetch a cup for you. And some apple tart.”
“Apple tart! That’s the stuff, Mary. A large plate and full.”
He sat between Mrs Wessex and the invalid, smiled at them and at Bony, and Mrs Wessex said:
“Going back to camp tonight?”
“No. Stoppin’ at the Lakes. Promised to on the way out”
“Did you enjoy the pictures?”
“Oh yes,” was the reply… spoken, Bony thought, a little sheepishly.
“Tell me what they were about,” suggested Mrs Wessex, and Ayling laughingly confessed he had slept through the entire programme. When Mary appeared with the “tough” cup and saucer, he dived into a coat pocket and brought forth something wrapped in tissue paper. The flash of normalcy had passed, and the girl almost snatched the gift. He watched whilst she gazed at the package, obviously guessing the contents, and he chuckled softly when she unrolled the paper and revealed amarcasite peacock brooch. Fred Ayling reminded Bony of a good-tempered and playful bear.
Mrs Wessex admired the brooch, and Mary had to jump up and stand before a wall mirror whilst pinning it to her dress. Bony felt sad at heart, for she was beautiful. For a little while she studied the effect of the gleaming stones, and then turned swiftly to stand before Ayling.
“Was she young and buxom, or old and bent?” she asked, and the question nonplussed him for a second. Then he said, gravely:
“Old and bent. We encountered theSan Pedro on her way from Panama to Cadiz. As the wind favoured us she wasn’t hard totake, and one of the voyagers was the old woman and her jewels the prize. I brought that diamond brooch home especially for you, my Bully Buccaneer.”
Mary swept the hair back from her forehead, her eyes suddenly flaming.
“Ah! And there was much treasure, my Captain?”
“Gold by thechestful. But the diamond brooch was lovelier than all the gold.”
The girl curtsied low. Her father frowned. Her mother said, stonily:
“That’ll do. Come and drink your tea.”
The girl laughed, and Ayling drew forward a chair. For a moment he was the reincarnation of Captain Kidd. Then once more he was the timber cutter in his go-to-town suit. Wessex coughed and looked at the mantel clock, and saying nothing his wife brought his tablets. He spoke of wool, and when Mary gave a low chilling chuckle, determinedly continued to talk on the subject of wool. His wife sharply told the girl to clear the table.
Shortly afterwards, Ayling said he would have to get along, and Bony also rose to leave.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said to Eli Wessex. “It has been a pleasant afternoon.”
“Thank you for coming, Mr Rawlings.” The grey eyes pleaded.“If you could spare the time to call again? I can’t shake you by the hand, but the wife will for me.”
“I shall be glad to come again,” Bony said. “Hope to be staying at the Inlet Hotel for another week or two. Goodbye, for now.”
Mrs Wessex accompanied the guests to the front veranda, and to Bony she said:
“Please come again. My husband would be awfully glad to see you.” She called to Mary to hurry, and to Ayling explained that Mary was bringing “A little something for the camp.” Ayling laughed and squeezed her arm.
“I know your littlesomethings for the camp. What’s it this time? Half a side of beef?”
She patted the hand grasping her other arm. Her expression was unaltered, but her eyes were soft.
“Look after yourself, Fred, and don’t take too many risks. And remember what I’ve told you so often. When you tire of being alone, come to us.”
Mary appeared carrying a large and heavy parcel wrapped in newspaper. Ayling accepted the parcel and emphasized its weight by pretending to drop it. He chided Mrs Wessex, laughed at Mary, and lifted her chin.
“So long all!” he said, following Bony down the steps.“See you again sometime. Be good!
When Bony closed the road gate, both waved to mother and daughter. At the dilapidated car, Ayling said warmly:
“Try and make it again, Mr Rawlings. Old Eli’shavin ’ a roughtrot, and anyonecallin ’ in for a chin-wag helps him along.” He sat behind the wheel and deftly rolled a cigarette with hands as steady as those of a surgeon. “An’ come out with Dick Lake and his partner to my camp. They’ll bemakin ’ ittomorrer. You’ll be welcome for a billy of tea and a snack of whatever’s in the parcel Mary brought.”
“Thanks. I will. And I’ll certainly call on Mr Wessex again.”
Bony noddedaurevoir, and departed. He heard the car engine roar, tone down as the vehicle was backed to take the track to the mountains. The noise of the engine died, and he glanced back. The machine was motionless, and Mary Wessex was standing beside the driver.
Bony walked on, happy because he felt he had given a little happiness to one whose ailment was tragic misfortune, and elevated by the company of people who gave with pleasure and received with humility.
In the face of his malady, Eli Wessex could easily be forgiven his garrulity. With all her problems, his wife could be forgiven her occasional sharpness of tongue. The daughter’s mental condition was a separate tragedy, and the additional load placed upon her mother’s shoulders was the absent son.
The one ray of sunshine in that home seemed to be Fred Ayling, a recluse, almost an eccentric. What had the old man said of Ayling? That he could have been someone today had he not been so unbalanced at school. That Eli Wessex and his wife both held Ayling in deep affection was certain. They had known him as a small child, racing to school with their own son and Dick Lake… with Mary trailing after them, for sure.
Mary! What a pity! The years of waiting, of longing, and the thunderbolt striking from the New Guinea jungle. At one moment a haunted automaton: at another an excited child: for one fleeting moment a normal young woman. Bony recalled the scene when Ayling described the capture of the imaginary Spanish galleon.
Pirates and galleons and treasure! The girl had asked: “Was she young and buxom or old and bent?” For a moment Ayling had been puzzled, and then swiftly had understood. She was living in the past… must have been… when they two were playing at pirates. He had said he had brought the brooch especially for “My Bully Buccaneer”, and she had called him “My Captain”!
Three boys and a girl playing pirates, fishing, riding, working at school together… the boys going off to war, the girl staying behind and waiting.
My Bully Buccaneer! Bully…
The ring on that finger so ably assisting other fingers to roll a cigarette was engraved with the letters BB. The ring in the pocket of the murdered man’s clothes also was engraved BB. BB stood for Bully Buccaneers. That must be so.
The two rings were alike as two peas. Three boys and a girl… the Bully Buccaneers. The dead man in the Lighthouse… the clothes in the cave… the ring in the coat pocket. The association of the ring with the nude body interned in the wall of the Lighthouse could be assumed.
Three boys and a girl. The girl was Mary Wessex. One boy was Dick Lake, and another was Fred Ayling. The third was Eldred Wessex, who was said to have gone to America. Had Eldred gone to America? Was it possible that it was his body in the Lighthouse?
It could be, but was it probable that there could succeed a conspiracy of silence over the identity of the body?