Jeanne of the MarshesOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
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Jeanne of the Marshes
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 20th century
"Sit still," she said, "and you are as safe as though you were in your
own armchair. No current that ever ran could upset this clumsy raft.
The only reason I am working so hard is that I do not want to be
carried down past the ridges. If we get too low down we shall have to
walk across the black mud."
Jeanne kept silence, listening only to the swirl of the water struck by
the pole, and to the quick breathing of her companion. Once she asked
whether she could not help.
"There is no need," Kate answered. "Shine your torch on the left. We
are nearly across."
Almost as she spoke they struck the sandy bottom. Jeanne fell into the
bottom of the boat. Kate, with a little laugh, sprang ashore and held
out her hand.
"Come," she said, "we have crossed the worst part now."
"Where are we going?" Jeanne asked, a little relieved as she felt her
feet land on the sodden turf.
"Towards the Hall," Kate answered. "Give me your hand, if you like, or
use your torch. The way is simple enough, but we must twist and turn
to-night. It has been a flood tide, and there are great pools left here
and there, pools that you have never seen before."
"But how do you know?" Jeanne asked, in amazement. "I can see nothing."
Her guide laughed contemptuously.
"I can see and I can feel," she said. "It is an instinct with me to
walk dry-footed here. To the right now--so."
"Stand still for a moment," Jeanne pleaded. "The wind takes my breath."
"You have too many clothes on," Kate said contemptuously. "One should
not wear skirts and petticoats and laces here."
"If you would leave my clothes alone and tell me where you are going,"
Jeanne declared, a little tartly, "it would be more reasonable."
The girl laughed. She thrust her arm through her companion's and drew
her on.
"Don't be angry," she said. "It is quite easy now to find our way.
There is room for us to walk like this. Can you hear what I say to you?"
"I can hear," Jeanne answered, raising her voice, "but it is getting
more difficult all the time. Is that the sea?"
"Yes!" Kate answered. "Can't you feel the spray on your cheeks? The
wind is blowing it high up above the beach. Let me go first again.
There is an inlet here. Be careful."
They came to a full stop before a dark arm of salt water. They skirted
the side and crossed round to the other side.
"Be careful, now," Kate said. "This way."
They turned inland. In a few minutes her guide stopped short.
"Turn on your torch," she said. "There ought to be a wall close here."
Jeanne did as she was bid, and gave a little stifled cry.
"Why, we are close to the Red Hall!" she said. Kate nodded.
"A little way farther up there is a gate," she said. "We are going in
there."
"You are not going to the house?" Jeanne asked, in terror.
"No," Kate answered, "I am not going there! Follow me, and don't talk
more than you can help. The wind is going down."
"But it is the middle of the night," Jeanne said. "No one will be
astir."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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