The Enchanted April Page 20

  Chapter 20

  Scrap wanted to know so much about her mother that Arundel hadpresently to invent. He would talk about anything she wished if onlyhe might be with her for a while and see her and hear her, but he knewvery little of the Droitwiches and their friends really--beyond meetingthem at those bigger functions where literature is also represented,and amusing them at luncheons and dinners, he knew very little of themreally. To them he had always remained Mr. Arundel; no one called himFerdinand; and he only knew the gossip also available to the eveningpapers and the frequenters of clubs. But he was, however, good atinventing; and as soon as he had come to an end of first-handknowledge, in order to answer her inquires and keep her there tohimself he proceeded to invent. It was quite easy to fasten some ofthe entertaining things he was constantly thinking on to other peopleand pretend they were theirs. Scrap, who had that affection for herparents which warms in absence, was athirst for news, and became moreand more interested by the news he gradually imparted.

  At first it was ordinary news. He had met her mother here, andseen her there. She looked very well; she said so and so. Butpresently the things Lady Droitwich had said took on an unusualquality: they became amusing.

  "Mother said that?" Scrap interrupted, surprised.

  And presently Lady Droitwich began to do amusing things as wellas say them.

  "Mother did that?" Scrap inquired, wide-eyed.

  Arundel warmed to his work. He fathered some of the mostentertaining ideas he had lately had on to Lady Droitwich, and also anycharming funny things that had been done--or might have been done, for hecould imagine almost anything.

  Scrap's eyes grew round with wonder and affectionate pride in hermother. Why, but how funny---fancy mother. What an old darling. Didshe really do that? How perfectly adorable of her. And did she reallysay--but how wonderful of her to think of it. What sort of a face didLloyd George make?

  She laughed and laughed, and had a great longing to hug hermother, and the time flew, and it grew quite dusk, and it grew nearlydark, and Mr. Arundel still went on amusing her, and it was a quarterto eight before she suddenly remembered dinner.

  "Oh, good heavens!" she exclaimed, jumping up.

  "Yes. It's late," said Arundel.

  "I'll go on quickly and send the maid to you. I must run, orI'll never be ready in time--"

  And she was gone up the path with the swiftness of a young,slender deer.

  Arundel followed. He did not wish to arrive too hot, so had togo slowly. Fortunately he was near the top, and Francesca came downthe pergola to pilot him indoors, and having shown him where he couldwash she put him in the empty drawing-room to cool himself by thecrackling wood fire.

  He got as far away from the fire as he could, and stood in one ofthe deep window-recesses looking out at the distant lights of Mezzago.The drawing-room door was open, and the house was quiet with the hushthat precedes dinner, when the inhabitants are all shut up in theirrooms dressing. Briggs in his room was throwing away spoilt tie afterspoilt tie; Scrap in hers was hurrying into a black frock with a vaguenotion that Mr. Briggs wouldn't be able to see her so clearly in black;Mrs. Fisher was fastening the lace shawl, which nightly transformed herday dress into her evening dress, with the brooch Ruskin had given heron her marriage, formed of two pearl lilies tied together by a blueenamel ribbon on which was written in gold letters Esto perpetua; Mr.Wilkins was sitting on the edge of his bed brushing his wife's hair--thus far in this third week had he progressed in demonstrativeness--while she, for her part, sitting on a chair in front of him, put hisstuds in a clean shirt; and Rose, ready dressed, sat at her windowconsidering her day.

  Rose was quite aware of what had happened to Mr. Briggs. If shehad had any difficulty about it, Lotty would have removed it by thefrank comments she made while she and Rose sat together after tea onthe wall. Lotty was delighted at more love being introduced into SanSalvatore, even if it were only one-sided, and said that when onceRose's husband was there she didn't suppose, now that Mrs. Fisher toohad at last come unglued--Rose protested at the expression, and Lottyretorted that it was in Keats--there would be another place in theworld more swarming with happiness than San Salvatore.

  "Your husband," said Lotty, swinging her feet, "might be herequite soon, perhaps to-morrow evening if he starts at once, andthere'll be a glorious final few days before we all go home refreshedfor life. I don't believe any of us will ever be the same again--and Iwouldn't be a bit surprised if Caroline doesn't end by getting fond ofthe young man Briggs. It's in the air. You have to get fond of peoplehere."

  Rose sat at her window thinking of these things. Lotty'soptimism . . . yet it had been justified by Mr. Wilkins; and look, too,at Mrs. Fisher. If only it would come true as well about Frederick!For Rose, who between lunch and tea had left off thinking aboutFrederick, was now, between tea and dinner, thinking of him harder thanever.

  It has been funny and delightful, that little interlude ofadmiration, but of course it couldn't go on once Caroline appeared.Rose knew her place. She could see as well as any one the unusually,the unique loveliness of Lady Caroline. How warm, though, things likeadmiration and appreciation made one feel, how capable of reallydeserving them, how different, how glowing. They seemed to quickenunsuspected faculties into life. She was sure she had been athoroughly amusing woman between lunch and tea, and a pretty one too.She was quite certain she had been pretty; she saw it in Mr. Briggs'seyes as clearly as in a looking-glass. For a brief space, she thought,she had been like a torpid fly brought back to gay buzzing by thelighting of a fire in a wintry room. She still buzzed, she stilltingled, just at the remembrance. What fun it had been, having anadmirer even for that little while. No wonder people liked admirers.They seemed, in some strange way, to make one come alive.

  Although it was all over she still glowed with it and felt moreexhilarated, more optimistic, more as Lotty probably constantly felt,than she had done since she was a girl. She dressed with care, thoughshe knew Mr. Briggs would no longer see her, but it gave her pleasureto see how pretty, while she was about it, she could make herself look;and very nearly she stuck a crimson camellia in her hair down by herear. She did hold it there for a minute, and it looked almost sinfullyattractive and was exactly the colour of her mouth, but she took it outagain with a smile and a sigh and put it in the proper place forflowers, which is water. She mustn't be silly, she thought. Think ofthe poor. Soon she would be back with them again, and what would acamellia behind her ear seem like then? Simply fantastic.

  But on one thing she was determined: the first thing she would dowhen she got home would be to have it out with Frederick. If he didn'tcome to San Salvatore that is what she would do--the very first thing.Long ago she ought to have done this, but always she had beenhandicapped, when she tried to, by being so dreadfully fond of him andso much afraid that fresh wounds were going to be given her wretched,soft heart. But now let him wound her as much as he chose, as much ashe possibly could, she would still have it out with him. Not that heever intentionally wounded her; she knew he never meant to, she knew heoften had no idea of having done it. For a person who wrote books,thought Rose, Frederick didn't seem to have much imagination. Anyhow,she said to herself, getting up from the dressing-table, thingscouldn't go on like this. She would have it out with him. Thisseparate life, this freezing loneliness, she had had enough of it. Whyshouldn't she too be happy? Why on earth--the energetic expressionmatched her mood of rebelliousness--shouldn't she too be loved andallowed to love?

  She looked at her little clock. Still ten minutes before dinner.Tired of staying in her bedroom she thought she would go on to Mrs.Fisher's battlements, which would be empty at this hour, and watch themoon rise out of the sea.

  She went into the deserted upper hall with this intention, butwas attracted on her way along it by the firelight shining through theopen door of the drawing-room.

  How gay it looked. The fire transformed the room. A dark, uglyroom in the daytime,
it was transformed just as she had beentransformed by the warmth of--no, she wouldn't be silly; she wouldthink of the poor; the thought of them always brought her down tosobriety at once.

  She peeped in. Firelight and flowers; and outside the deep slitsof windows hung the blue curtain of the night. How pretty. What asweet place San Salvatore was. And that gorgeous lilac on the table--she must go and put her face in it . . .

  But she never got to the lilac. She went one step towards it,and then stood still, for she had seen the figure looking out of thewindow in the farthest corner, and it was Frederick.

  All the blood in Rose's body rushed to her heart and seemed tostop its beating.

  She stood quite still. He had not heard her. He did not turnround. She stood looking at him. The miracle had happened, and he hadcome.

  She stood holding her breath. So he needed her, for he had comeinstantly. So he too must have been thinking, longing . . .

  Her heart, which had seemed to stop beating, was suffocating hernow, the way it raced along. Frederick did love her then--he must loveher, or why had he come? Something, perhaps her absence, had made himturn to her, want her . . . and now the understanding she had made upher mind to have with him would be quite--would be quite--easy--

  Her thoughts wouldn't go on. Her mind stammered. She couldn'tthink. She could only see and feel. She didn't know how it hadhappened. It was a miracle. God could do miracles. God had done thisone. God could--God could--could--

  Her mind stammered again, and broke off.

  "Frederick--" she tried to say; but no sound came, or if it didthe crackling of the fire covered it up.

  She must go nearer. She began to creep towards him--softly,softly.

  He did not move. He had not heard.

  She stole nearer and nearer, and the fire crackled and he heardnothing.

  She stopped a moment, unable to breathe. She was afraid.Suppose he--suppose he--oh, but he had come, he had come.

  She went on again, close up to him, and her heart beat so loudthat she thought he must hear it. And couldn't he feel--didn't heknow--

  "Frederick," she whispered, hardly able even to whisper, chokedby the beating of her heart.

  He spun round on his heels.

  "Rose!" he exclaimed, staring blankly.

  But she did not see his stare, for her arms were round his neck,and her cheek was against his, and she was murmuring, her lips on hisear, "I knew you would come--in my very heart I always, always knew youwould come--"