The Enchanted April Page 14

  Chapter 14

  That first week the wistaria began to fade, and the flowers ofthe Judas-tree and peach-trees fell off and carpeted the ground withrose-colour. Then all the freesias disappeared, and the irises grewscarce. And then, while these were clearing themselves away, thedouble banksia roses came out, and the big summer roses suddenlyflaunted gorgeously on the walls and trellises. Fortune's Yellow wasone of them; a very beautiful rose. Presently the tamarisk and thedaphnes were at their best, and the lilies at their tallest. By theend of the week the fig-trees were giving shade, the plum-blossom wasout among the olives, the modest weigelias appeared in their fresh pinkclothes, and on the rocks sprawled masses of thick-leaved, star-shapedflowers, some vivid purple and some a clear, pale lemon.

  By the end of the week, too, Mr. Wilkins arrived; even as hiswife had foreseen he would, so he did. And there were signs almost ofeagerness about his acceptance of her suggestion, for he had not waitedto write a letter in answer to hers, but had telegraphed.

  That, surely, was eager. It showed, Scrap thought, a definitewish for reunion and watching his wife's happy face, and aware of herdesire that Mellersh should enjoy his holiday, she told herself that hewould be a very unusual fool should he waste his time bothering aboutanybody else. "If he isn't nice to her," Scrap thought, "he shall betaken to the battlements and tipped over." For, by the end of theweek, she and Mrs. Wilkins had become Caroline and Lotty to each other,and were friends.

  Mrs. Wilkins had always been friends, but Scrap had struggled notto be. She had tried hard to be cautious, but how difficult wascaution with Mrs. Wilkins! Free herself from every vestige of it, shewas so entirely unreserved, so completely expansive, that soon Scrap,almost before she knew what she was doing, was being unreserved too.And nobody could be more unreserved than Scrap, once she let herselfgo.

  The only difficulty about Lotty was that she was nearly alwayssomewhere else. You couldn't catch her; you couldn't pin her down tocome and talk. Scrap's fears that she would grab seemed grotesque inretrospect. Why, there was no grab in her. At dinner and after dinnerwere the only times one really saw her. All day long she wasinvisible, and would come back in the late afternoon looking a perfectsight, her hair full of bits of moss, and her freckles worse than ever.Perhaps she was making the most of her time before Mellersh arrived todo all the things she wanted to do, and meant to devote herselfafterwards to going about with him, tidy and in her best clothes.

  Scrap watched her, interested in spite of herself, because itseemed so extraordinary to be as happy as all that on so little. SanSalvatore was beautiful, and the weather was divine; but scenery andweather had never been enough for Scrap, and how could they be enoughfor somebody who would have to leave them quite soon and go back tolife in Hampstead? Also, there was the imminence of Mellersh, of thatMellersh from whom Lotty had so lately run. It was all very well tofeel one ought to share, and to make a beau geste and do it, but thebeaux gestes Scrap had known hadn't made anybody happy. Nobody reallyliked being the object of one, and it always meant an effort on thepart of the maker. Still, she had to admit there was no effort aboutLotty; it was quite plain that everything she did and said waseffortless, and that she was just simply, completely happy.

  And so Mrs. Wilkins was; for her doubts as to whether she had hadtime to become steady enough in serenity to go on being serene inMellersh's company when she had it uninterruptedly right round theclock, had gone by the middle of the week, and she felt that nothingnow could shake her. She was ready for anything. She was firmlygrafted, rooted, built into heaven. Whatever Mellersh said or did, shewould not budge an inch out of heaven, would not rouse herself a singleinstant to come outside it and be cross. On the contrary, she wasgoing to pull him up into it beside her, and they would sit comfortablytogether, suffused in light, and laugh at how much afraid of him sheused to be in Hampstead, and at how deceitful her afraidness had madeher. But he wouldn't need much pulling. He would come in quitenaturally after a day or two, irresistibly wafted on the scentedbreezes of that divine air; and there he would sit arrayed in stars,thought Mrs. Wilkins, in whose mind, among much other debris, floatedoccasional bright shreds of poetry. She laughed to herself a little atthe picture of Mellersh, that top-hatted, black-coated, respectablefamily solicitor, arrayed in stars, but she laughed affectionately,almost with a maternal pride in how splendid he would look in such fineclothes. "Poor lamb," she murmured to herself affectionately. Andadded, "What he wants is a thorough airing."

  This was during the first half of the week. By the beginning ofthe last half, at the end of which Mr. Wilkins arrived, she left offeven assuring herself that she was unshakeable, that she was permeatedbeyond altering by the atmosphere, she no longer thought of it ornoticed it; she took it for granted. If one may say so, and shecertainly said so, not only to herself but also to Lady Caroline, shehad found her celestial legs.

  Contrary to Mrs. Fisher's idea of the seemly--but of coursecontrary; what else would one expect of Mrs. Wilkins?--she did not goto meet her husband at Messago, but merely walked down to the pointwhere Beppo's fly would leave him and his luggage in the street ofCastagneto. Mrs. Fisher disliked the arrival of Mr. Wilkins, and wassure that anybody who could have married Mrs. Wilkins must be at leastof an injudicious disposition, but a husband, whatever his disposition,should be properly met. Mr. Fisher had always been properly met.Never once in his married life had he gone unmet at a station, nor hadhe ever not been seen off. These observances, these courtesies,strengthened the bonds of marriage, and made the husband feel he couldrely on his wife's being always there. Always being there was theessential secret for a wife. What would have become of Mr. Fisher ifshe had neglected to act on this principle she preferred not to think.Enough things became of him as it was; for whatever one's care instopping up, married life yet seemed to contain chinks.

  But Mrs. Wilkins took no pains. She just walked down the hillsinging--Mrs. Fisher could hear her--and picked up her husband in thestreet as casually as if he were a pin. The three others, still inbed, for it was not nearly time to get up, heard her as she passedbeneath their windows down the zigzag path to meet Mr. Wilkins, who wascoming by the morning train, and Scrap smiled, and Rose sighed, andMrs. Fisher rang her bell and desired Francesca to bring her herbreakfast in her room. All three had breakfast that day in theirrooms, moved by a common instinct to take cover.

  Scrap always breakfasted in bed, but she had the same instinctfor cover, and during breakfast she made plans for spending the wholeday where she was. Perhaps, though, it wouldn't be as necessary thatday as the next. That day, Scrap calculated, Mellersh would beprovided for. He would want to have a bath, and having a bath at SanSalvatore was an elaborate business, a real adventure if one had a hotone in the bathroom, and it took a lot of time. It involved theattendance of the entire staff--Domenico and the boy Giuseppe coaxingthe patent stove to burn, restraining it when it burnt too fiercely,using the bellows to it when it threatened to go out, relighting itwhen it did go out; Francesca anxiously hovering over the tapregulating its trickle, because if it were turned on too full the waterinstantly ran cold, and if not full enough the stove blew up inside andmysteriously flooded the house; and Costanza and Angela running up anddown bringing pails of hot water from the kitchen to eke out what thetap did.

  This bath had been put in lately, and was at once the pride andthe terror of the servants. It was very patent. Nobody quiteunderstood it. There were long printed instructions as to its righttreatment hanging on the wall, in which the word pericoloso recurred.When Mrs. Fisher, proceeding on her arrival to the bathroom, saw thisword, she went back to her room again and ordered a sponge-bathinstead; and when the others found what using the bathroom meant, andhow reluctant the servants were to leave them alone with the stove, andhow Francesca positively refused to, and stayed with her back turnedwatching the tap, and how the remaining servants waited anxiouslyoutside the door till the bather came safely out again, they too hadsponge-bat
hs brought into their rooms instead.

  Mr. Wilkins, however, was a man, and would be sure to want a bigbath. Having it, Scrap calculated, would keep him busy for a longwhile. Then he would unpack, and then, after his night in the train,he would probably sleep till the evening. So would he be provided forthe whole of that day, and not be let loose on them till dinner.

  Therefore Scrap came to the conclusion she would be quite safe inthe garden that day, and got up as usual after breakfast, and dawdledas usual through her dressing, listening with a slight cocked ear tothe sounds of Mr. Wilkins's arrival, of his luggage being carried intoLotty's room on the other side of the landing, of his educated voice ashe inquired of Lotty, first, "Do I give this fellow anything?" andimmediately afterwards, "Can I have a hot bath?"--of Lotty's voicecheerfully assuring him that he needn't give the fellow anythingbecause he was the gardener, and that yes, he could have a hot bath;and soon after this the landing was filled with the familiar noises ofwood being brought, of water being brought, of feet running, of tonguesvociferating---in fact, with the preparation of the bath.

  Scrap finished dressing, and then loitered at her window, waitingtill she should hear Mr. Wilkins go into the bathroom. When he wassafely there she would slip out and settle herself in her garden andresume her inquiries into the probable meaning of her life. She wasgetting on with her inquiries. She dozed much less frequently, and wasbeginning to be inclined to agree that tawdry was the word to apply toher past. Also she was afraid that her future looked black.

  There--she could hear Mr. Wilkins's educated voice again.Lotty's door had opened, and he was coming out of it asking his way tothe bathroom.

  "It's where you see the crowd," Lotty's voice answered--still acheerful voice, Scrap was glad to notice.

  His steps went along the landing, and Lotty's steps seemed to godownstairs, and then there seemed to be a brief altercation at thebathroom door--hardly so much an altercation as a chorus ofvociferations on one side and wordless determination, Scrap judged, tohave a bath by oneself on the other.

  Mr. Wilkins knew no Italian, and the expression pericoloso lefthim precisely as it found him--or would have if he had seen it, butnaturally he took no notice of the printed matter on the wall. Hefirmly closed the door on the servants, resisting Domenico, who triedto the last to press through, and locked himself in as a man should forhis bath, judicially considering, as he made his simple preparationsfor getting in, the singular standard of behaviour of these foreignerswho, both male and female, apparently wished to stay with him while hebathed. In Finland, he had heard, the female natives not only werepresent on such occasions but actually washed the bath-taking traveler.He had not heard, however, that this was true too of Italy, whichsomehow seemed much nearer civilization--perhaps because one wentthere, and did not go to Finland.

  Impartially examining this reflection, and carefully balancingthe claims to civilization of Italy and Finland, Mr. Wilkins got intothe bath and turned off the tap. Naturally he turned off the tap. Itwas what one did. But on the instructions, printed in red letters, wasa paragraph saying that the tap should not be turned off as long asthere was still fire in the stove. It should be left on--not much on,but on--until the fire was quite out; otherwise, and here again was theword pericoloso, the stove would blow up.

  Mr. Wilkins got into the bath, turned off the tap, and the stoveblew up, exactly as the printed instructions said it would. It blewup, fortunately, only in its inside, but it blew up with a terrificnoise, and Mr. Wilkins leapt out of the bath and rushed to the door,and only the instinct born of years of training made him snatch up atowel as he rushed.

  Scrap, half-way across the landing on her way out of doors, heardthe explosion.

  "Good heavens," she thought, remembering the instruction, "theregoes Mr. Wilkins!"

  And she ran toward the head of the stairs to call the servants,and as she ran, out ran Mr. Wilkins clutching his towel, and they raninto each other.

  "That damned bath!" cried Mr. Wilkins, imperfectly concealed inhis towel, his shoulders exposed at one end and his legs at the other,and Lady Caroline Dester, to meet whom he had swallowed all his angerwith his wife and come out to Italy.

  For Lotty in her letter had told him who was at San Salvatorebesides herself and Mrs. Arbuthnot, and Mr. Wilkins at once hadperceived that this was an opportunity which might never recur. Lottyhad merely said, "There are two other women here, Mrs. Fisher and LadyCaroline Dester," but that was enough. He knew all about theDroitwiches, their wealth, their connections, their place in history,and the power they had, should they choose to exert it, of making yetanother solicitor happy by adding him to those they already employed.Some people employed one solicitor for one branch of their affairs, andanother for another. The affairs of the Droitwiches must have manybranches. He had also heard--for it was, he considered, part of hisbusiness to hear, and having heard to remember--of the beauty of theironly daughter. Even if the Droitwiches themselves did not need hisservices, their daughter might. Beauty led one into strangesituations; advice could never come amiss. And should none of them,neither parents nor daughter nor any of their brilliant sons, need himin his professional capacity, it yet was obviously a most valuableacquaintance to make. It opened up vistas. It swelled withpossibilities. He might go on living in Hampstead for years, and notagain come across such another chance.

  Directly his wife's letter reached him he telegraphed and packed.This was business. He was not a man to lose time when it came tobusiness; nor was he a man to jeopardize a chance by neglecting to beamiable. He met his wife perfectly amiably, aware that amiabilityunder such circumstances was wisdom. Besides, he actually feltamiable--very. For once, Lotty was really helping him. He kissed heraffectionately on getting out of Beppo's fly, and was afraid she musthave got up extremely early; he made no complaints of the steepness ofthe walk up; he told her pleasantly of his journey, and when calledupon, obediently admired the views. It was all neatly mapped out inhis mind, what he was going to do that first day--have a shave, have abath, put on clean clothes, sleep a while, and then would come lunchand the introduction to Lady Caroline.

  In the train he had selected the words of his greeting, goingover them with care--some slight expression of his gratification inmeeting one of whom he, in common with the whole world, had heard--butof course put delicately, very delicately; some slight reference to herdistinguished parents and the part her family had played in the historyof England--made, of course, with proper tact; a sentence or two abouther eldest brother Lord Winchcombe, who had won his V.C. in the latewar under circumstances which could only cause--he might or might notadd this--every Englishman's heart to beat higher than ever with pride,and the first steps towards what might well be the turning-point in hiscareer would have been taken.

  And here he was . . . no, it was too terrible, what could be moreterrible? Only a towel on, water running off his legs, and thatexclamation. He knew at once the lady was Lady Caroline--the minutethe exclamation was out he knew it. Rarely did Mr. Wilkins use thatword, and never, never in the presence of a lady or a client. While asfor the towel--why had he come? Why had he not stayed in Hampstead?It would be impossible to live this down.

  But Mr. Wilkins was reckoning without Scrap. She, indeed,screwed up her face at the first flash of him on her astonished sightin an enormous effort not to laugh, and having choked the laughter downand got her face serious again, she said as composedly as if he had hadall his clothes on, "How do you do."

  What perfect tact. Mr. Wilkins could have worshipped her. Thisexquisite ignoring. Blue blood, of course, coming out.

  Overwhelmed with gratitude he took her offered hand and said "Howdo you do," in his turn, and merely to repeat the ordinary words seemedmagically to restore the situation to the normal. Indeed, he was somuch relieved, and it was so natural to be shaking hands, to beconventionally greeting, that he forgot he had only a towel on and hisprofessional manner came back to him. He forgot what he was lookinglike,
but he did not forget that this was Lady Caroline Dester, thelady he had come all the way to Italy to see, and he did not forgetthat it was in her face, her lovely and important face, that he hadflung his terrible exclamation. He must at once entreat herforgiveness. To say such a word to a lady--to any lady, but of allladies to just this one . . .

  "I'm afraid I used unpardonable language," began Mr. Wilkins veryearnestly, as earnestly and ceremoniously as if he had had his clotheson.

  "I thought it most appropriate," said Scrap, who was used todamns.

  Mr. Wilkins was incredibly relieved and soothed by this answer.No offence, then, taken. Blue blood again. Only blue blood couldafford such a liberal, such an understanding attitude.

  "It is Lady Caroline Dester, is it not, to whom I am speaking?"he asked, his voice sounding even more carefully cultivated than usual,for he had to restrain too much pleasure, too much relief, too much ofthe joy of the pardoned and the shriven from getting into it.

  "Yes," said Scrap; and for the life of her she couldn't helpsmiling. She couldn't help it. She hadn't meant to smile at Mr.Wilkins, not ever; but really he looked--and then his voice was the topof the rest of him, oblivious of the towel and his legs, and talkingjust like a church.

  "Allow me to introduce myself," said Mr. Wilkins, with theceremony of the drawing-room. "My name is Mellersh-Wilkins."

  And he instinctively held out his hand a second time at thewords.

  "I thought perhaps it was," said Scrap, a second time having hersshaken and a second time unable not to smile.

  He was about to proceed to the first of the graceful tributes hehad prepared in the train, oblivious, as he could not see himself, thathe was without his clothes, when the servants came running up thestairs and, simultaneously, Mrs. Fisher appeared in the doorway of hersitting-room. For all this had happened very quickly, and the servantsaway in the kitchen, and Mrs. Fisher pacing her battlements, had nothad time on hearing the noise to appear before the second handshake.

  The servants when they heard the dreaded noise knew at once whathad happened, and rushed straight into the bathroom to try and staunchthe flood, taking no notice of the figure on the landing in the towel,but Mrs. Fisher did not know what the noise could be, and coming out ofher room to inquire stood rooted on the door-sill.

  It was enough to root anybody. Lady Caroline shaking hands withwhat evidently, if he had had clothes on, would have been Mrs.Wilkins's husband, and both of them conversing just as if--

  Then Scrap became aware of Mrs. Fisher. She turned to her at once. "Dolet me," she said gracefully, "introduce Mr. Mellersh-Wilkins. He hasjust come. This," she added, turning to Mr. Wilkins, "is Mrs. Fisher."

  And Mr. Wilkins, nothing if not courteous, reacted at once to theconventional formula. First he bowed to the elderly lady in thedoorway, then he crossed over to her, his wet feet leaving footprintsas he went, and having got to her he politely held out his hand.

  "It is a pleasure," said Mr. Wilkins in his carefully modulatedvoice, "to meet a friend of my wife's."

  Scrap melted away down into the garden.