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The Well · The Lady of the Barge and other Stort Stories

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Section four of the Lady of the Barge. This is a LibriVox recording.
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All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,
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please visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Ben Tucker. The Lady of
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the Barge by W. W. Jacobs. The Well one two men stood
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in the billiard room of an old country house. Talking. Play which had
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been of a half hearted nature, was over, and they sat at the
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open window, looking out over the park stretching away beneath them, conversing idly.
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Your time's nearly up, Jim said one at length. It's time six
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weeks you'll be yawning out the honeymoon and cursing the man woman, I mean,
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who invented them. Jim Benson stretched his long limbs in the chair and
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grunted in dissent. I've never understood it, continued Wilfrid Carr, yawning,
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It's not in my line at all. I never had enough money for my
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own wants, let alone for two. Perhaps if I were as rich as
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you are, Croesus, I might regard it differently. There was just sufficient
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meaning in the latter part of the remark for his cousin to forbear to reply
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to it. He continued to gaze out of the window and to smoke slowly.
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Not beIN as rich as Croesius or you, resumed Karr, regarding him
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from beneath his lowered lids. I paddle my own canoe down the stream of
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time and tying it to my friend's door posts, go in to eat their
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dinners. Quite venetian, said Jim Benson, still looking out of the window.
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It's not a bad thing for you, Wilfred, that you have the
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door posts and dinners and friends. Carr grunted in his turn. Seriously,
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though Jim, he said, slowly, you're a lucky fellow, a very
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lucky fellow. If there is a better girl above ground than Olive, I
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should like to see her, yes, said the other quietly. She's such
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an exceptional girl, continued Karr, staring out of the window. So good
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and gentle. She thinks you are a bundle of all the virtues, he
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laughed frankly and joyously, but the other man did not join him. Strong
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sense of right and wrong, though, continued Karr, musingly. Do you
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know I believe that if she found out that you were not not what,
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demanded Benson, turning upon him fiercely. Not what everything that you are,
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returned his cousin with a grin that belied his words. I believe she'd drop
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you. Talk about something else, said Benson slowly. Your pleasantries are not
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always in the best taste. Wilfrid Carr rose, and, taking a cue
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from the rack, bent over the board and practiced one or two favorite shots.
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The only other subject I can talk about just at present is my own
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financial affairs, he said slowly, as he walked round the table. Talk
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about something else, said Benson again bluntly. And the two things are connected,
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said Carr, and dropping his cue, he half sat on the table
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and eyed his cousin. There was a long silence. Benson pitched the end
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of his cigar out of the window, and leaning back, closed his eyes.
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Do you follow me, inquired Karr at length. Benson opened his eyes
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and nodded at the window. Do you want to follow my cigar? He
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demanded, I should prefer to depart by the usual way for your sake,
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returned the other, unabashed. If I left by the window, all sorts
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of questions would be asked. And you know what a talkative chap. I
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am so long as you don't talk about my affairs, returned the other,
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restraining himself by an obvious effort. You can talk about yourself. Horse.
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Ah'm in a mess, said Karr slowly, A devil of a mess.
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If I don't raise fifteen hundred by this day fortnight, I may be getting
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my board and lodging free. Would that be any change, questioned Benson.
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The quality would, retorted the other. The address also would not be good.
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Seriously, Jim, will you let me have the fifteen hundred, No,
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said the other, quite simply. Carr went white. It's to save
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me from ruin, he said thickly. I've helped you till I'm tired,
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said Benson, turning and regarding him, And it is all to no good.
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If you've got into a mess, get out of it. You should
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not be so fond of giving autographs away. It's foolish, I admit,
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said Carr deliberately. I won't do so any more. By the way,
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I've got some to sell. You needn't sneer. They're not my own.
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Whose are they, inquired the other? Yours? Benson got up from his
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chair and crossed over to him. What is this, he asked quietly,
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blackmail. Call it what you like, said Carr. I've got some letters
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for sale price fifty hundred, and I know a man who would buy them
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at that price for the mere chance of getting olive from you. I'll give
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you first offer. If you have got any letters bearing my signature, you
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will be good enough to give them to me, said Benson, very slowly.
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They're mine, said Carr, lightly, given to me by the lady
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you wrote them to. I must say that they are not all in the
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best possible taste. His cousin reached forward suddenly, and catching him by the
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collar of his coat, pinned him down on the table. Give me those
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letters, he breathed, sticking his face close to carrs They're not here,
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said Karr, struggling. I'm not a fool. Let me go, or
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I raise the price. The other man raised him from the table in his
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powerful hands, apparently with the intention of dashing his head against it. Then
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suddenly his hold relaxed as an astonished looking maid servant entered the room with letters.
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Carr said up hastily. That's how it was done, said Benson,
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for the girl's benefit. As he took the letters I don't wonder at the
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other man making him pay for it, then, said Carr. Blandly,
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you will give me those letters, said Benson suggestively, as the girl left
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the room. At the price I mentioned, Yes, said Carr, But
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so sure as I am a living man, if you lay your clumsy hands
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on me again, I'll double it. Now I'll leave you for a time
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while you think it over. He took a cigar from the box, and,
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lighting it, carefully quitted the room. His cousin waited until the door
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had closed behind him, and then, turning to the window, sat there
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in a fit of fury. As silent as it was terrible. The air
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was fresh and sweet from the park, heavy with the scent of new mown
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grass. The fragrance of a cigar was now added to it, and glancing
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out, he saw his cousin pacing slowly by. He rose and went to
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the door, and then, apparently altering his mind, he returned to the
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window and watched the figure of his cousin as it moved slowly away into the
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moonlight. Then he rose again, and for a long time the room was
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empty. It was empty when missus Benson came in, and some time later
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to say good night to her son on her way to bed. She walked
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slowly round the table, and, pausing at the window, gazed from it
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in idle thought, until she saw the figure of her son advancing with rapid
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strides towards the house. He looked up at the window. Good night,
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said she. Good night, said Benson in a deep voice. Where is
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Wilfrid. Oh he is gone, said Benson. Gone. We had a
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few words. He was wanting money again, and I gave him a piece
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of my mind. I don't think we shall see him again. Poor Wilfrid,
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sighed missus Benson. He is always in trouble of some sort. I
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hope that you were not too hard upon him, No more than he deserved,
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said her son sternly. Good night. Two. The well, which
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had long ago fallen into disuse, was almost hidden by the thick tangle of
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undergrowth which ran riot at that corner of the old park. It was partly
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covered by the shrunken half of a lid, above which a rusty windlass creaked
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in company with the music of the pines when the wind blew strongly. The
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full light of the sun never reached it, and the ground surrounding It was
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moist and green, when other parts of the park were gaping with the heat.
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Two people walking slowly round the park in the fragrant stillness of a summer
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evening strayed in the direction of the well. No use going through this wilderness,
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Olive, said Benson, pausing on the outskirts of the pines and eyeing
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with some disfavor the gloom beyond best part of the park, said the girl
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briskly. You know it's my favorite spot. I know you're very fond of
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sitting on that coping, said the man slowly, And I wish you wouldn't.
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One day you will lean back too far and fall in and make the
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acquaintance of truth, said Olive lightly. Come along. She ran from him
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and was lost in the shadow of the pine, the bracken crackling beneath her
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feet as she ran. Her companion followed slowly, and emerging from the gloom,
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saw her poise daintily on the edge of the well, with her feet
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hidden in the rank grass and nettles which surrounded it. She motioned her companion
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to take a seat by her side, and smiled softly as she felt a
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strong arm passed about her waist. I like this place, said she,
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breaking a long silence. It is so dismal, so uncanny. Do you
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know I wouldn't dare to sit here alone? Jim, I should imagine that
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all sorts of dreadful things were hidden behind the bushes and trees, waiting to
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spring out on me. Ugh, you'd better let me take you in,
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said her companion tenderly. The well isn't always wholesome, especially in the hot
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weather. Let's make a move. The girl gave an obstinate little shake and
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settled herself more securely on her seat. Smoke your cigar and piece, she
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said quietly. I am settled here for a quiet talk. Has anything been
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heard of Wilfrid? Yet? Nothing quite a dramatic disappearance, isn't it?
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She continued? Another scrape, I suppose, and another letter for you in
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the same old strain. Dear Jim helped me out. Jim Benson blew a
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cloud of fragrant smoke into the air, and holding his cigar between his teeth,
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brushed away the ash from his coat sleeves. I wonder what he would
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have done without you, said the girl, pressing his arm affectionately. Gone
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under long ago. I suppose when we are married, Jim, I shall
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presume upon the relationship to lecture him. He is very wild, but he
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has his good points, poor fellow, I never saw them, said Benson,
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with startling bitterness. God knows, I never saw them. He is
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nobody's enemy but his own, said the girl, startled by this outburst.
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You don't know much about him, said the other, sharply. He was
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not above blackmail, not above ruining the life of a friend to do himself
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a benefit. A loafer, a cur and a liar. The girl looked
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up at him soberly but timidly, and took his arm without a word,
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and they both sat silent while evening deepened into night, and the beams of
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the moon, filtering through the branches, surrounded them with a silver network.
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Her head sank upon his shoulder, till suddenly, with a sharp cry,
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she sprang to her feet. What was that? She cried breathlessly. What
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was what? Demanded Benson, springing up and clutching her fast by the arm.
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She caught her breath and tried to laugh. You're hurting me, Jim.
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His hold relaxed. What is the matter, he asked, gently?
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What was it startled you. I was startled, she said, slowly,
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putting her hand on his shoulder. I suppose the words I used just now
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are ringing in my ears. But I fancied that somebody behind us whispered,
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Jim, help me out. Fancy, repeated Benson, and his voice shook.
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But these fancies are not good for you. You are frightened at the
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dark, in the gloom of these trees. Let me take you back to
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the house. No, I am not frightened, said the girl, reseating
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herself. I should never be really frightened of anything when you were with me,
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Jim. I'm surprised at myself for being so silly. The man made
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no reply, but stood a strong, dark figure a yard or two from
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the well, as though waiting for her to join him. Come and sit
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down, Sir, cried, olive, patting the brickwork with her small white
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hand. One would think that you did not like your company. He obeyed
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slowly and took a seat by her side, drawing so hard at his cigar
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that the light of it shone upon his face at every breath. He passed
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his arm firm and rigid as steel, behind her, with his hand resting
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on the brickwork beyond. Are you warm enough, he asked tenderly, as
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she made a little movement. Pretty fair, she shivered. One oughtn't to
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be cold at this time of the year, but there's a cold damp air
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comes up from the well. As she spoke, a faint splash sounded from
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the depths below, and for the second time that evening, she sprang from
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the well with a little cry of dismay. What is it now, he
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asked in a fearful voice. He stood by her side and gazed at the
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well, as though half expecting to see the cause of her alarm emerge from
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it. Oh my bracelet, she cried in distress, My poor mother's bracelet.
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I've dropped it down the well. Your bracelet, repeated Benson. Dully,
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your bracelet, the diamond one, the one that was my mother's,
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said olive. Oh we can get it back. Surely we must have the
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water drained off your bracelet, repeated Benson. Stupidly, Jim said the girl
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in terrified tones. Dear Jim, what is the matter. For the man
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she loved was standing regarding her with horror. The moon which touched it was
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not responsible for all the whiteness of the stortid face, and she shrank back
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in fear to the edge of the well. He saw her fear, and
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by a mighty effort, regained his composure and took her hand. Poor little
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girl. He murmured, you frightened me. I was not looking when you
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cried, and I thought that you were slipping from my arms down down.
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His voice broke, and the girl, throwing herself into his arms, clung
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to him convulsively. There there, said Benson, fondly. Don't cry.
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Don't cry. Tomorrow, said Olive, half laughing, half crying. We
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will all come round the well with hook and line and fish for it.
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It will be quite a new sport. No, we must try some other
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way, said Benson. You shall have it back, how, asked the
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girl. You shall see, said Benson, tomorrow morning at latest. You
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shall have it back. Till then, promise me that you will not mention
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your loss to any one. Promise I promise, said Olive, wonderingly.
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But why not? It is of great value for one thing, and but
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there there are many reasons for one thing. It is my duty to get
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it for you. Wouldn't you like to jump down for it? She asked,
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mischievously. Listen. She stooped for a stone and dropped it down.
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Fancy being where that is now, she said, peering into the darkness.
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Fancy going round and round like a mouse in a pale, clutching at the
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slimy sides, with the water filling your mouth, and looking up to the
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little patch of sky above. You had better come in, said Benson,
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very quietly. You are developing a taste for the morbid and horrible. The
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girl turned, and, taking his arm, walked slowly in the direction of
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the house. Missus Benson, who was sitting in the porch, rose to
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receive them. You shouldn't have kept her out so long, she said,
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chidingly. Where have you been sitting on the well? Said Olive, smiling,
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discussing our future. I don't believe that place is healthy, said Missus
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Benson emphatically. I really think it might be filled in Jim all right,
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said her son slowly, Petty it wasn't filled in long ago. He took
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the chair vacated by his mother as she entered the house with Olive, and
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with his hands hanging limply over the sides, sat in deep thought. After
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a time, he rose and going upstairs to a room which was set apart
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for sporting requisites, selected a sea fishing line and some hooks, and stole
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softly downstairs again. He walked swiftly across the park in the direction of the
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well, turning before he entered the shadow of the trees to look back at
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the lighted windows of the house. Then, having arranged his line, he
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sat on the edge of the well and cautiously lowered it. He sat with
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his lips compressed, occasionally looking about him in a startled fashion, as though
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he half expected to see something peering at him from the belt of trees.
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Time after time he lowered his line until at length, and pulling it up
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he heard a little metallic tinkle against the side of the well. He held
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his breath then, and forgetting his fears, drew the line an inch by
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inch so as not to lose its precious burden. His pulse beat rapidly,
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and his eyes were bright. As the line came slowly in, he saw
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the catch hanging to the hook, and with a steady hand, drew the
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last few feet in. Then he saw that instead of the bracelet, he
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had hooked a bunch of keys with a faint cry. He shook them from
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the hook into the water below, and stood breathing heavily. Not a sound
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broke the stillness of the night. He walked up and down a bit and
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stretched his great muscles. Then he came back to the well and resumed his
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task. For an hour or more. The line was lowered without result.
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In his eagerness, he forgot his fears, and, with eyes bent down
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the well, fished slowly and carefully. Twice the hook became entangled in something
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and was with difficulty released. It caught a third time, and all his
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efforts failed to free. Then he dropped the line down the well, and
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with head bent, walked toward the house. He went first to the stables
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at the rear, and then, retiring to his room, for some time,
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paced restlessly up and down. Then, without removing his clothes, he
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flung himself upon the bed and fell into a troubled sleep. Three long before
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anybody else was astir he arose and stole softly downstairs. The sunlight was stealing
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in at every crevice and flashing in long streaks across the darkened rooms. The
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dining room, into which he looked struck chill and cheerless. In the dark
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yellow light which came through the lowered blinds, He remembered that it had the
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same appearance when his father lay dead in the house. Now, as then,
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everything seemed ghastly and unreal. The very chairs, standing as their occupants
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had left them the night before, seemed to be indulging in some dark communication
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of ideas. Slowly and noiselessly, he opened the hall door and passed into
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the fragrant air beyond the sun was shining on the drenched grass and trees,
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and a slowly vanishing white mist rolled like smoke about the grounds. For a
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moment, he stood, breathing deeply the sweet air of the morning, and
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then walked slowly in the direction of the stables. The rusty creaking of a
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pump handle and a spatter of water upon the red tiled courtyard showed that somebody
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else was astir, and a few steps farther he beheld a brawny, sandy
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haired man gasping wildly under severe self infliction at the pump. Everything ready,
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George, he asked quietly, Yes, sir, said the man, straightening
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up suddenly and touching his forehead. Bob's just finishing the arrangements. Inside.
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It's a lovely morning for a dip. The water in that well must be
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just icy. He as quick as you can, said Benson, impatiently.
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Very good, Sir, said George, burnishing his face harshly with a very
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small towel which had been hanging over the top of the pump. Hurry up,
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Bob. In answer to his summons, a man appeared at the door
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of the stone with a coil of stout rope over his arm and a large
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metal candlestick in his hand. Just to try the air, Sir, said
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George, following his master's glance. A well gets rather foul sometimes, but
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if a candle can't live down it, a man can. His master nodded,
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and the man, hastily pulling up the neck of his shirt and thrusting
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his arms into his coat, followed him as he led the way slowly to
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the well. BEG pardon, sir, said George, drawing up to his
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side. But you are not looking over and above well this morning. If
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you'll let me go down, i'd enjoy the bath. No now, said
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Benson, peremptorily. You ain't fit to go down, Sir, persisted his
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follower. I've never seen you look so before now, if mind your business,
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said his master curtly. George became silent, and the three walked with
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swinging strides through the long wet grass to the well. Bob flung the rope
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on the ground and had a sign from his master handed him the candlestick.
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Harris the line for it, sir, said Bob, Fumbling in his pockets.
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Benson took it from him and slowly tied it to the candlestick. Then
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he placed it on the edge of the well, and, striking a match,
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lit the candle and began slowly to lower it. Hold horse, Sir,
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said George, quickly, laying his hand on his arm. You must
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tilt it or the stringle burned through. Even as he spoke, the string
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parted and the candlestick fell into the water below. Benson swore quietly. I'll
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soon get another, said George, starting up. Never mind, the whal's
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all right, said Benson. It won't take a moment, Sir, said
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the other over his shoulder. Are you master here or am I? Said
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Benson hoarsely. George came back slowly a glance at his master's face, stopping
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the protest upon his tongue, and he stood by, watching him sulkily as
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he sat on the well and removed his outer garments. Both men watched him
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curiously, as having completed his preparations, he stood grim and silent, with
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his hands by his sides. I wish you'd let me go, sir,
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said George, pluck up courage to address him. You ain't fit to go.
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You've got a chill or something I shouldn't wonder. It's the typhoid.
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I've got it in the village. Bad For a moment, Benson looked at
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him angrily, then his gaze softened. Not this time, George, he
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said quietly. He took the looped into the rope and placed it under his
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arms, and sitting down through one leg over the side of the well.
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How are you going to go about it, Sir, queried George, laying
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hold of the rope and signing to Bob to do the same. I'll call
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out when I reach the water, said Benson. Then pay out three yards
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more quickly so that I can get to the bottom. Very good, sir,
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answered both. The Master threw the other leg over the koping and sat
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motionless. His back was turned toward the men as he sat with head bent
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looking down the shaft. He sat for so long that George became uneasy.
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All right, sir, he inquired, Yes, said Benson slowly. If
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I tug at the rope, George pull up at once lower away. The
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rope passed steadily through their hands until a hollow cry from the darkness below and
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a faint splashing warned them that he had reached the water. They gave him
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three yards more and stood with relaxed grip and strained ears, waiting. He's
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gone under, said Bob in a low voice. The other nodded and,
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moistening his huge palms, took a firmer grip of the rope fully. A
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minute passed and the men began to exchange uneasy glances. Then a sudden,
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tremendous jerk, followed by a series of feebler ones, nearly tore the rope
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from their grasp. Pull, shouted George, placing one foot on the side
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and hauling desperately. Pull. Pull. He stopped first, He's not coming.
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Pull. In response to their terrific exertions, the rope came slowly in
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inch by inch, until at length a violent splashing was heard, and at
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the same moment a scream of unutterable horror came echoing up the shaft. What
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a way he is, panted Bob. He stuck fast or something. Keep
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still, sir, for Heaven's sake, keep still. The top rope was
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being jerked violently by the struggles of the weight at the end of it.
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Both men, with grunts and sighs, hauled it in foot by foot.
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All right, sir, cried George, cheerfully. He had one foot against
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the well and was pulling manfully. The burden was nearing the top, A
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long pole and a strong pole in the face of a dead man with mudden
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the eyes and nostrils came peering over the edge. Behind it was the ghastly
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face of his master. But this he saw too late, for with a
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great cry he let go his hold of the rope and stepped back. The
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suddenness overthrew his assistant, and the rope tore through his hands. There was
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a frightful splash. You fool, stammered Bob, and ran to the well
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helplessly. Run, cried George. Run for another line. He bent over
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the coping and called eagerly down as his assistant sped back to the stables,
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shouting wildly. His voice re echoed down the shaft, but all else was
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silence. End of Section four s