Cherry Isle

CHAPTER I Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe I cry

Full and fair ones, come and buy.

—Herrick.

Charles Garston had told the chauffeur of the taxi in which he was driving to "‘hurry along as quickly as possible.”

He had only ten minutes in which to cover a distance that should have taken at least twelve. And he hated to be hurried ; it was bad for his nerves, bad for his temper, and he always said bad for his voice.

And his voice was he — or he was his voice, whichever way you like to put it.

For Charles Garston, good-looking, rather lazy, tall and perfectly healthy, was at twenty-six considered by many people to be the best tenor in Europe. And if not the leading tenor, his voice was wonderful enough to charm the nether world up into light, or to bring the dwellers in the light down into the darkness, if he chose to raise that voice in the gloom.

But there was one thing wrong with him.

He had succeeded too soon and too easily. All doors had opened to him at his knock ; he had not had 5 to wait on thresholds in the cold and dark, with the piercing east wind of neglect cutting into the vitals of his soul and murdering his belief in himself. The world had fallen down before him, and worshiped.

He leaned back now against the cushions of the open taxi, and his handsome face was marred ever so slightly by this same success.

Seven minutes to twelve.

His train left for Manchester at three minutes to the hour. He could afford to offend many people, but he could not afford to offend the great Manchester audience that would wait any number of hours if only at the end of the waiting it could hear him sing.

Ah, nearly a block; but by a clever defiance of all rules of courtesy and the road, the chauffeur slipped past the long line of waiting vehicles and turned in at St. Pancras Station at three and a half minutes to the hour.

Charles Garston, hurried from all his usual leisure, was out of the taxi before it stopped, and racing down the platform at top speed a second or so afterwards.

The chauffeur was about to follow his fare into the station, but something which glittered yellow on the seat caused him to change his mind, and drive away as rapidly as possible.

“ Gent might have made a mistake and be cornin' back for it,” he muttered.

But Charles Garston never made mistakes of this sort; he was an excellent man of business, and combined a clearness of brain with the genuine artist's nature in an exceptional manner. It was only very occasionally that he allowed his emotions to run away with him.

He now jumped into the first open door and made his way along the corridor until he came to a first-class empty smoking compartment. He found a comfortable seat and then noticed that the train had not begun to move.

It was more than three minutes late in starting, and he need not have been in all that confounded hurry.

By Jove, it was too bad of the railway Johnnies to play the fool with the time-tables in this manner! It was disgraceful to make a man race like that! Why, it would reduce the range of his voice by a semitone and give him indigestion; besides the taxi might have collided with something, and let him in for he didn’t know how much in fines, and he stood in no need of cheap advertisement.

At this point, his temper getting the better of him, he put his head out of the window and demanded of a porter who chanced to be strolling past the reason of the delay.

“ See here, why doesn’t this thing start ; it’s nearly seven minutes late ? ”

“ No, sir,” was the stolid answer, “ it’s due off in a minute now; time-tables alter in May, sir. You’ve looked it out in a back number.”

Garston sat down fuming; it would have been bad if it had been the company’s fault, being his own made it much worse.

At last they were off, and the smooth and rapid motion combined with the smoking of a cigarette began to calm the young man’s temper, and by the time Hendon was reached he was nearly in his normal frame of mind of general satisfaction with himself and the world at large.

A good lunch finished the process, and by the time Bedford was passed he had forgotten his irritation.

He leaned back in the carriage, watching rather dreamily the fair and pleasant country through which the train was passing. The country hedges were white with hawthorn, the crab apple trees raised their crests dressed in daintiest pink and white, the fields were white with daisies, and here and there a patch of blue-bells gleamed like a scrap Of fallen sky; and the cowslips raised their heads on the banks past which the train was gliding.

It was lovely, it was peaceful, but presently he would pass into the land where commerce had touched all the beauties of God with smoke-grimed hand — and then he would go to sleep; at present it was worth keeping awake just to see England in her late spring garments.

Ah, the cherry orchards now, lovelier and richer if less dainty than the early apple blossoms!

And as Garston leaned forward and gazed with delighted eyes on the trees, the train gradually slowed up, and then stopped, although there was no station in sight. He put his head out of the window, and all the passengers in the other compartments did the same.

A guard explained that there had been an accident further down the line, that the signals were against them, and that although a gang of workmen was clearing the line there would certainly be a delay of two hours, perhaps more.

Two hours! Garston looked at his watch. He would just have time to keep his engagement; in the meantime he would go for a walk and have tea somewhere.

He climbed up the bank, scrambled through the hedge and found himself in a quiet road, which he crossed; then climbing over a stile, he struck into a footpath.

The east wind, that part and parcel of an English spring, was blowing very gently, and its fresh sweetness and chilliness played about the head of the famous singer as he strolled onwards.

Up one hill, down another, and then into the land of cherry trees. A small, thatched farm peeped out from a little copse of ash trees, and before him orchard after orchard stretched away over the gently sloping hill and crowning the summit seemed to melt into the wind-swept blue sky.

“ This will do,” said Garston to himself ; “ no one else seems to have come along this way, and I can have tea and go back again.”

Still walking slowly, for the air was too lovely to waste a moment in hurrying through it, the singer strolled along under the trees, and opening a little gate, made his way up to the farm. It was all as it should be, latticed windows, thatched roof, climbing plants and primroses.

Garston stamped on the stone before the door, and immediately the latter was opened by a young and comely woman, who looked at him with surprise in her gray blue eyes.

“ What are you pleased to want, sir ? ” she asked.

“ The express has to halt for about two hours/’ he said genially, “ and your cherry land looked so lovely that I came through it in search of tea. Could you let me have some — just anything? ”

“ We don’t provide tea,” retorted the young woman, haughtily; “ if you want tea you must go down to the village.”

“ But I haven’t time,” explained Garston patiently, “ and I particularly want to see how tea tastes when drunk beneath these lovely trees.”

Into the woman’s eyes there came a gleam of amusement.

“ It’ll taste the same as in the village,” she said quickly; “ we all buy it from the same place. You can walk right on under these trees, sir, and you can’t miss the inn.”

“You are cruel,” said Charles Garston reproachfully, “ here am I asking, in this land of delight, for tea, and you send me away. I won’t pay for it, if that would make you feel better. Why Herrick himself must have lived here when he wrote his song.”

And then Garston, half because the day was so lovely, half because he wanted his tea just at this particular moment in this particular place, began to sing softly:

Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe I cry,

Full and fair ones, come and buy.

If so be you ask me where They do grow t I answer, There , ii

Where my Julia’s lips do smile.

There’s the land of cherry isle ,

Whose plantations fully show All the year, where cherries grow.

He sang through the verses half under his breath, and as he sang he forgot his tea, and looked up at the masses of white blossom above him.

When he had finished the song he turned round. The young woman was leaning against the door, her eyelids lowered, and her whole face alive with delight. Behind stood a tall, well-grown young man, dressed roughly in shirt and trousers ; he had placed one hand on the woman’s shoulder and the smile on his face was one of sheer bliss.

Garston waited, both pleased and touched.

The woman looked up at him, and her eyes were moist with tears of pleasure.

“ You shall have tea, sir, under the tree with the thickest blossoms,” she said ; “ in fact you shall have as many teas as you like. I never heard any one sing like that before.”

“ You’re welcome to the best we have,” added the young man. “ My wife and I,” and his voice was full of dignified hospitality, “ are but farming folk; but we love music, and as the wife says, we’ve never heard any one sing like that.”

Garston colored with sensitive pleasure, and said rather shyly:

“ It’s awfully good of you. I’ve a most important engagement to sing to-night in Manchester, and I shan't have time to dine, you see, now that the train is delayed ; but tea will be just the thing for my voice.’'

“ You’re a professional singer, then, sir? ” said the young man respectfully.

“ Yes,” said Garston, but he did not volunteer his name, and the man did not ask it.

The woman had disappeared into the interior of the house, and a sound of hurried movement indicated that she was preparing a meal.

The young man brought out a little round table, and said cheerfully to Garston:

“ Now, sir, choose your tree.”

Garston solemnly walked down the garden path into the orchard, and looked about him for a moment.

“ This one will do,” he said, “ and I’ll take this garden seat if I may. I don’t want to sit on an ordinary chair.”

“All right, sir ; but it's rather heavy,” answered the young farmer.

“ Oh, I’m up to that much,” Garston said, still solemnly ; “ it’s only big enough for two.”

“Yes, sir,” said the man, placing the table in position. “And now you only want a young lady to sit beside you and then it would be perfect.”

“Ah ! ” said Garston, putting down the seat, “ that’s where you make a mistake. As long as I wanted a lady I should be happy, but when she came to sit beside me I should probably not want her any more.”

“ It’s your mistake, sir,” answered the man quickly, and flushing as he spoke; “to have the right woman by you is the best thing the world can give. I should know, for my wife in there is as good as they’re made, and I’ve been married the best part of a year now.” The man’s voice grew rather husky as he finished speaking.

“ You’re in luck, you see,” said Garston; “ I am always meeting women who don’t care for anything besides themselves. I’ve never yet seen the woman whom I felt I could really love.”

“ Your time’s to come, sir,” said the man cheerfully ; “ here’s Bessie with the tea now.”

Garston sat back in his chair, watching Bessie Sanders as she laid the cloth deftly.

The crockery was of the old willow pattern, and the spoons were thin old silver.

“ I’ve given you the best tea things, sir,” Bessie said brightly, “ and the old spoons ; if I had gold ones you should have them, for you sing that lovely; I’ve never heard the like.”

“ Thank you,” said Garston, smiling up at the woman, “ I like to hear you say that. What a lovely tea you’ve given me, and now I’ve half an hour before I have to go back to that stupid train. I should have been in plenty of time if I had caught a later one, only I always like to rest before I sing.”

“If you want anything more, you’ve only got to call,” said Bessie, retreating as she spoke.

“ I couldn’t want anything besides this,” said Garston, looking with real satisfaction on the plenteously spread table before him — two eggs, jam, tea, cream, and a lovely home-made cake.

Bessie Sanders retreated to her kitchen : her husband was waiting at the door to speak to her before he went back to his work.

“ He's a great man, is yon, Bessie," he said rather wistfully; “what wouldn't I give to hear him sing again."

“Ah, Jim," said Bessie, “ it acts on you like — like magic — fair turns you round. I hate the sound of me own voice, and the way the words come out of me after I've heard him. His voice has been dipped in honey."

“ Well, call me when he goes," said Sanders ; “ one kiss, Bessie girl ! If he's got a voice that's been dipped in honey, I've a wife who is honey."

Bessie's blue-gray eyes gave her husband one quick loving glance, as she rested her head against his shoulder for a minute, and then nodded cheerfully as he went back into the garden.

Chapter II

Love in a shower of blossoms came Down , and half -drowned me with the same.

— Herrick.

Garston ate his tea slowly, for the moments were too perfect to waste in hurrying. He was seated at the little table with his back towards the farm; all before him and about him stood the cherry trees, and here and there glimpses of the deep May-blue sky could be seen amongst the branches.

The air, fresh and sunny, with just that touch of keenness that the young love but which makes the elderly and middle-aged draw their mufflers round them, blew about the fortunate man's head, and he leaned back in his chair and let the delight of life soothe all his senses.

Then, through one of the openings, he saw an avenue with a background of blue to it. Along the avenue a woman was coming.

She was walking very slowly and she held her hat in her hand ; the sunlight dancing through the branches of the cherry trees fell in glittering cascades upon her copper-colored hair.

Garston examined her with the critical eye of a man i6 of the world who appraises women’s looks, as he does other merchandise of life.

She was tall and thin, her traveling cloak was of a sombre shade of green, and as the fronts fell back, they revealed glimpses of a dress of dull blue underneath.

The hand that held the hat was gloveless, and the fingers were long and thin. Garston had first taken in all the details of her costume: they would tell him something of the woman. The face would tell him much less, for the face is always a mask.

She was now almost within speaking distance, and the sunlight fell on her face. She was pale and the lines of her face were clearly outlined. The forehead was broad and the hair was gathered away from it, showing the whole of the brow; the eyebrows were well marked, but as the eyelids were lowered the color of the eyes could not be seen. The lips were rather thin, and the mouth inclined to severity; altogether the lower part of the face was less pleasing than the upper.

She came on in such seeming unconsciousness that Garston suspected she knew he was there ; but whether she knew or not, her carriage was absolutely perfect and pleased the man’s aesthetic taste very thoroughly.

He leaned back, waiting for the moment when she must raise her eyes.

A slight increase in the wind sent the petals from the blossoms over her head and shoulders, and looking up she brushed them from her hair and saw the man sitting at the tea table.

He made a movement as if to rise, and she bent her head and said rather quickly:

“ I beg your pardon if I am trespassing, but could you tell me where I could get some tea? The train by which I was traveling has broken down and there’ll be at least another half-hour’s delay.”

“ We are fellow-sufferers, then, as well as fellowtravelers, Madam,” Garston said courteously, getting up as he spoke. “ I have been given tea as a favor ; but I beg another one, and that is that you will take my place. The tea is, I think, in excellent condition, and not more stewed than is to be expected.”

He bowed again and moved slowly away.

“ Stop, stop,” she cried, “ where are you going? If you will share your tea with me I shall be grateful, but if you desert your food I shall doubt its quality.”

Garston bowed again, and striding across the grass fetched a very rickety-looking stool ; coming back with it, he placed it by the table and then waving his hand towards the seat, said gravely:

“ This is a fairy-land, the fairy land of Cherry Isle, I think. Therefore pour me out my tea. There is a teacup for you, and if we empty the sugar basin it will do for me.”

The girl hesitated a moment, and then laughed, showing strong white teeth.

“ It’s very unconventional,” she said, “ but the east wind and the spring in the air are accountable and not I. Besides, I’m hungry, and we haven’t long before that stupid train starts again.”

She sat down in the seat Garston had just vacated and in a few minutes she was eating as if really hungry. They talked of the cherry trees, and of the train, and then the girl leaned forward and said quietly:

“ I do not think I am being quite fair ; of course, I know you, Mr. Garston.”

Charles Garston frowned uneasily and said in a quick, irritable voice :

“ I want to forget that for a moment: I’m only the man in Cherry Isle who offers refreshment to weary travelers.”

“ I beg your pardon, mine host,” said the girl, and as she spoke Garston caught sight of her eyes for the first time: the lashes were long and thick, and he had only been able to gather a general impression of darkness; and now a thrill passed through his whole frame.

For the girl had one dark blue eye and one dark brown.

The man was drinking his tea from the sugar basin, the girl hers from the cup, and as she saw his astonishment, which, despite all his breeding, leaped into every line of his face, her cup slipped from her hand and fell on to the grass. She said nothing, however, and Garston, glad of the interruption, stooped down and picked up the cup which, fortunately — since it was Bessie Sanders' best service — was unbroken. Then very slowly he put it on the table, and horribly conscious of his bad manners, and shocked at his own lapse of good breeding, and yet literally unable to think of anything to say in a natural manner, he pulled out his watch and said stiffly:

“ I think we may allow ourselves another quarter of an hour, but longer will be unsafe.”

No answer.

Charles Garston moved a little uneasily, but said industriously:

“ I wonder what the other poor wretches did — I expect all the old ladies encamped along the line; what do you think? ”

Still no answer.

Garston’s gaze was rigidly fixed upon his companion’s plate, and he was inwardly cursing himself.

Then, on to that plate, a big tear fell with a tiny little splash.

The man looked up.

She was sitting perfectly still. Over her naturally pale face a deadly whiteness had crept, the long thick lashes were once more sheltering the strange dissimilar eyes, but the lips were not trembling, although a second tear was slowly rolling after the first.

Then Charles Garston acted on impulse and, therefore, naturally.

He rose from his chair, was round the table in a second, and bending over her, took her cold hand in his and kissed it, saying eagerly, earnestly, and with perfect sincerity:

“ Please don’t! I'm the biggest cad going. Your eyes are unusual, but I think they are absolutely lovely, and they make you look like no other girl I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t think why you attracted me so; I thought at first it was your copper-colored hair, but it is not that altogether ; and now you will never look at me again. ,,

The girl gasped and then with a little tremor in her voice said:

“ I can’t help them ; they always startle people, and you looked as if you had seen an apparition. I feel awfully nervy to-day.”

“ Why ? ” asked Garston quickly ; “ please tell me ! ”

“ I’m a singer,” she answered ; “ oh, not like you. I’m no one at all; but I have a small solo to-night at Manchester, only a line or so, and it is the very first time I’ve ever done anything in a big concert, and I’m fearfully worried. I shall succeed in the end,” and her voice grew cold and hard, “ but I should like to succeed in the beginning.”

Charles Garston stood up.

“ You will succeed, and soon. Your lips say so, as well by their shape as by the words they have uttered. But I think we should be walking back now ; we must not lose that train, you know.”

“ No,” she agreed.

She stood up and shook herself, with a queer lithe movement, like a shudder, and the few cherry blossoms that still clung to her copper-colored hair fell on to the table, one settling on Garston’s white hand, long fingered, and religiously manicured.

He picked it up with his other hand, and rather absently placed it in his pocket, saying:

“ I will pay the reckoning whilst you go on down the orchards.”

The girl nodded, and with the same quick gliding movement walked away, and the cherry trees soon hid her from sight.

“ Half snake, half maiden, wholly strange and, I should say, a perfect actress,” Garston thought to himself.

“ Her entry was perfect, her exit perfection, but the eyes, by Jove, they did startle me. And yet I should like to see them again — dark blue and dark brown, and the blue one looked as if it could change into all shades of blue from England’s summer sky to Geneva’s lake.”

The farmer and his wife were standing by their door, the well-built, sturdy young man, and his comely blue-gray-eyed wife. How deliciously in harmony it all was.

Harmony — it was the key-note to the singer’s temperament and character.

Bessie Sanders spoke before Garston was within what he considered to be speaking distance:

“ Now, sir, I know what you are going to say, but the song more than paid for what you’ve had, and we’d be proud if you’d come again if you are passing.”

Her blue-gray eyes softened as she spoke, for one of the peculiar attractions of Garston’s voice was that it lived in sound in the memories of those who heard it, and his notes seemed to be falling again on the clear cold air.

“ I must thank you then,” and Garston held out his smooth white hand. “ I have had a delightful meal, and a unique revelation from Nature herself. I will come again if I may.”

The workers’ hands were clasped in turn by the successful singer, and raising his hat, he turned away and hurried down the avenue of trees.

The blossoms were as lovely as when he had passed an hour earlier; they contrasted as wonderfully as before in their sweet colored pink and white with the young green of the leaves ; but Garston had a worrying vision of blue and brown before him. He really must see those eyes again. Who had ever heard of such a thing before? She need not have hurried so, and he did not even know her name.

He wondered if she could sing. Her speaking voice was attractive enough. Well, if she couldn’t sing, she looked as if she could, at least, make listeners think she could.

What on earth had happened to her ?

There was the line at last, and there she was standing by the stile ; but, Good Lord ! where was the train ?

Startled out of all his ordinary calm, he strode rapidly up to the girl. She was breathing in quick gasps, her face was quite white, and she spoke in a high voice, vibrating with pain:

“ It’s gone — the train’s gone ! It was just starting as I came down the hill, and I waved and called; but it’s gone, it’s gone ! ”

“ Good Lord! ” ejaculated Garston again.

“ What’s the good of taking it like that? she asked indignantly ; “ think of something at once.”

“ I — I ” he began rather feebly.

She turned away and flung her hands out:

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter to you! Missing a big engagement will only enhance your reputation; but to me it’s ruin, and it was my first, and now — and now ”

Silence.

Garston wondered if she would cry. No, her white teeth were biting cruelly into the rather thin lower lip; but the strange eyes held no tears beneath the habitually lowered lids.

The man spoke gloomily:

“ It’s jolly awkward for you, but it’s very bad for me. I’ve never missed an engagement before! Just think what a howling mess they will make of it without me”

The girl flashed round on him:

“ You are utterly selfish — think of me for a moment.”

Garston was rapidly losing his temper. What on earth did her trumpery part matter, when his was at stake? But women were all alike, they only thought of themselves.

He spoke very stiffly:

“ I can only suggest that we follow the line until we come to the nearest station, and then perhaps we may be able to find a car to take us on. It will be expensive and tiring, and we shall have to exceed the speed limit ; but perhaps we can get to a station where the next express stops. We should still be in time.”

Inwardly he began to curse.

“ Then come at once,” ordered the girl imperiously, and in a moment she was over the stile, down the side of the bank and hurrying down the four-foot way.

He followed more leisurely. What a fool ending it was to a perfect little episode ! By Jove, she needn’t tear along like that, and since he did not know her name it was awkward.

“ Hi, Miss!”; “ Stop, Madam!”: either form of address would sound boorish.

He hurried, covering the ground more rapidly now than she did.

“ I think you might tell me your name,” he began in rather aggrieved tones, as he came abreast of her.

She turned her head towards him, a glint of color showing under the lowered lids.

“ Certainly,” she answered, “ but I never thought of doing it before. My name is Anthea Argent.”

“ How strange!” he said, bowing. “ We seem to have fallen into the land of Herrick’s poetry this afternoon.”

“ Do you think we shall catch a train ? ” she demanded. “And please do not walk there. Do go either before or behind me; I feel convinced that a train will come up and kill you.”

“ The traffic would be in a state of considerable disorganization if such an event were to happen,” he said, smiling at her, “ for I am walking on the up-line, and all trains on that line come towards us.”

“ One never knows,” she answered nervously ; “please do come away from the line. I should never find my way now by myself.”

Garston gave her an indignant glance, thinking to himself: “What a callous-minded brute! If I got chopped to pieces, she would never find her way, and that’s all she cares.”

However, he complied with her wishes, and stalked in high dudgeon before her.

And in single file they made their way to the station.

Chapter III

Music , thou queen of Heaven , care charming spell , That strik’st a stillness into hell;