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Chapter 21 · The Enchanted April

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  Chapter twenty one of The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnum. This LibriVox recording
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  is in the public domain. Read by T. R. Love. Now,
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  Frederick was not the man to hurt anything if he could help it.
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  Besides, he was completely bewildered. Not only was his wife here here,
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  of all places in the world, but she was clinging to him as she
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  had not clung for years, and murmuring love and welcoming him. If she
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  welcomed him, she must have been expecting him. Strange as this was,
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  it was the only thing in the situation which was evident. That and the
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  softness of her cheek against his, and the long forgotten sweet smell of her.
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  Frederick was bewildered, but not being the man to hurt anything if he
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  could help it, he too put his arms round her, And having put
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  them round her, he also so kissed her. And presently he was kissing
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  her almost as tenderly as she was kissing him. And presently he was kissing
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  her quite as tenderly. And again presently he was kissing her more tenderly,
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  and just as if he had never left off. He was bewildered, but
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  he could still kiss it. Seemed curiously natural to be doing it. It
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  made him feel as if he were thirty again instead of forty, and rows
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  were his rows of twenty. The rose he had so much adored before she
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  began to weigh what he did with her idea of right, and the balance
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  went against him, and she had turned strange and stony, and more and
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  more shocked, and oh so lamentable. He couldn't get at her in those
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  days at all. She wouldn't, she couldn't understand. She kept on referring
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  everything to what she called God's eyes. In God's eyes, it couldn't be
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  right, It wasn't right. Her miserable face. Whatever her principles did for
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  her, they didn't make her happy. Her little miserable face twisted with effort
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  to be patient. Had been at last more than he could bear to see,
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  and he had kept away as much as he could. She never ought
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  to have been the daughter of a low church rector, narrow devil. She
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  was quite unfitted to stand up against such an upbringing. What had happened?
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  Why she was here? Why she was his rose? Again past his comprehension.
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  And meanwhile, and until such time as he understood, he could still
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  kiss. In fact, he could not stop kissing. And it was he
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  now who began to murmur, to say love things in her ear, under
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  the hair that smelt so sweet and tickled him, just as he remembered it
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  used to tickle him. And as he held her close to his heart,
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  and her arms were soft round his neck, he felt stealing over him,
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  a delicious sense of At first he didn't know what it was, this delicate,
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  pervading warmth, and then he recognized it as security. Yes, security.
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  No need to be ashamed of his figure, and to make jokes about
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  it so as to forestall other people's and show he didn't mind it. No
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  need now to be ashamed of getting hot going up hills, or to torment
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  himself with pictures of how he probably appeared to beautiful young women, how middle
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  aged, how absurd in his inability to keep away from them. Rose cared
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  nothing for such things with her. He was safe to her, He was
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  her lover as he used to be, and she would never notice or mind
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  any of the ignoble changes that getting older had made in him, and would
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  go on making more and more. Frederick continued therefore, with greater and greater
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  warmth and growing delight to kiss his wife, and the mere holding of her
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  in his arms caused him to forget everything else. How could he, for
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  instance, remember or think of Lady Caroline, to mention only one of the
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  complications with which his situation bristled. When here was his sweet wife, miraculously
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  restored to him, whispering with her cheek against his in the dearest, most
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  romantic words, how much she loved him, how terribly she had missed him.
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  He did for one brief instant, For even in moments of love,
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  there were brief instants of lucid thought, recognized the immense power of the woman
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  present and being actually held, compared to that of the woman, however beautiful,
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  who is somewhere else. But that is as far as he got towards
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  remembering, scrap. No farther. She was like a dream, fleeing before
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  the morning light. When did you start? Murmured Rose, her mouth on
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  his ear. She couldn't let him go, not even to talk. She
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  couldn't let him go yesterday morning, murmured Frederick, holding her close. He
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  couldn't let her go either, Oh, the very instant, then, murmured
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  Rose. This was cryptic, But Frederick said yes, the very instant,
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  and kissed her neck. How quickly my letter got to you, murmured Rose,
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  whose eyes were shut in the excess of her happiness, didn't it,
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  said Frederick, who felt like shutting his eyes himself. So there had been
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  a letter soon, no doubt light would be vouchsafed for him. And meanwhile,
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  this was so strangely touchingly sweet, this holding his rose to his heart
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  again, after all the years that he couldn't bother to try to guess anything.
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  Oh, he had been happy during those years, because it was not
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  in him to be unhappy. Besides, how many interests life had had to
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  offer him, how many friends, how much success, how many women only
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  too willing to help him. To blot out the thought of the altered,
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  petrified, pitiful little wife at home, who wouldn't spend his money, who
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  was appalled by his books, who drifted away and away from him, and
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  always if he tried to have it out with her, asked him, with
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  patient obstinacy, what he thought the things he wrote and lived by looked in
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  the eyes of God. No one, she said once, should ever write
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  a book God wouldn't like to read. That is the taxis Frederick and he
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  had laughed hysterically, burst into a great shriek of laughter, and rushed out
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  of the house, away from her solemn little face, Away from her pathetic,
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  solemn little face. But this rose was his youth again, the best
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  part of his life, the part of it that had had all the visions
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  in it and all the hopes. How they had dreamed together, he and
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  she, before he struck that vein of memoirs, how they had planned and
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  laughed and loved. They had lived for a while in the very heart of
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  poetry. After the happy days came the happy nights, the happy, happy
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  nights, with her asleep close against his heart, with her when he woke
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  up in the morning, still close against his heart, for they hardly moved
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  in their deep, happy sleep. It was wonderful to have it all come
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  back to him at the touch of her, at the feel of her face
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  against his Wonderful that she should be able to give him back his youth,
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  sweetheart, he murmured, overcome by remembrance, clinging to her now in his
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  turn, beloved husband, She breathed the bliss of it, the sheer bliss.
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  Briggs coming in a few minutes before the gong went on the chance that
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  lady Caroline might be there, was much astonished. He had supposed rosarbuthnot was
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  a widow, and he still supposed it, so that he was much astonished.
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  Well, I'm damned, thought Briggs, quite clearly and distinctly, for
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  the shock of what he saw in the window startled him so much that for
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  a moment he was shaken free of his own confused absorption. Aloud, he
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  said, very red, oh, I say, I beg your pardon,
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  and then stood hesitating and wondering whether he oughtn't go back to his bedroom again.
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  If he had said nothing, they would not have noticed he was there.
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  But when he begged their pardon, Rose turned and looked at him as
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  one who looks who is trying to remember, and Frederick looked at him too,
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  without at first quite seeing him. They didn't seem, thought Briggs,
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  to mind, or to be at all embarrassed. He couldn't be your brother.
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  No brother ever brought that look into a woman's face. It was very
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  awkward. If they didn't mind he did, it upset him to come across
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  his Madonna forgetting herself. Is this one of your friends? Frederick was able
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  after an instant to ask Rose, who made no attempt to introduce the young
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  man standing awkwardly in front of them, but continued to gaze at him with
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  a kind of abstracted, radiant good will. It's mister, Briggs, said
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  Rose, recognizing him. This is my husband, she added, and Briggs,
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  shaking hands, just had time to think how surprising it was to have
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  a husband when you were a widow. Before the gong sounded and Lady Caroline
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  would be there in a minute, and he ceased to be able to think
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  at all, and merely became a thing with its eyes fixed on the door,
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  through the door immediately entered in what seemed to him an endless procession.
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  First Missus Fisher, very stately in her evening lace, shawl and brooch,
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  who when she saw him at once relaxed into smiles and beninity, only to
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  stiffen, however, when she caught sight of the stranger. Then mister Wilkins,
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  cleaner and neaterer, and more carefully dressed and brushed than any man on
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  earth, and then tying something hurriedly as she came, Missus Wilkins, and
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  then nobody. Lady Caroline was late. Where was she had she heard the
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  gong. Oughtn't it to be beaten again? Suppose she didn't come to dinner
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  after all? Briggs went cold. Introduce me, said Frederick, on missus
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  Fisher's entrance, touching Rose's elbow. My husband, said Rose, holding him
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  by the hand, her face exquisite. This thought, Missus Fisher must now
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  be the last of the husbands, unless Lady Caroline produces one from up her
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  sleeve. But she received him graciously, for he certainly looked exactly like a
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  husband, not at all like one of those people who go about abroad pretending
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  their husbands when they are not, And said she supposed he had come to
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  accompany his wife home at the end of the month, and remarked that now
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  the house would be completely full, so that she added, smiling at Briggs,
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  we shall at least really be getting our money's worth. Briggs grinned aught
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  a because he was just able to realize that somebody was being playful with him.
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  But he had not heard her, and he did not look at her.
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  Not only were his eyes fixed on the door, but his whole body
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  was concentrated on it. Introduced in his turn, mister Wilkins was most hospitable
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  and called Frederick, Sir. Well, Sir, said mister Wilkins, hardily,
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  here we are. Here we are, and having gripped his hand with
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  an understanding that only wasn't mutual, because Arbuthnot did not know yet what he
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  was in for in the way of trouble. He looked at him as a
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  man should, squarely in the eyes, and allowed his look to convey as
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  plainly as a look can that in him would be found staunchness, integrity,
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  reliability, in fact, a friend in need. Missus Arbuthnot was very much
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  flushed. Mister Wilkins noticed he had not seen her flush like that before.
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  Well, I'm their man, he thought. Lottie's greeting was effusive. It
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  was done with both hands, didn't I tell you? She laughed at Rose
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  over her shoulder, while Frederick was shaking her hands in both his What did
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  you tell her? Asked Frederick, in order to say something. The way
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  they were all welcoming him was confusing. They had evidently all expected him.
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  Not only Rose, the sandy but agreeable young woman, didn't answer his question,
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  but looked extraordinarily pleased to see him. Why should she be extraordinarily pleased
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  to see him? What a delightful place. This is, said Frederick,
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  confused and making the first remark that occurred to him. It's a tub of
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  love, said the sandy young woman earnestly, which confused him more than ever,
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  and his confusion became excessive at the next words he heard spoken these by
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  the old lady, who said, we won't wait. Lady Caroline is always
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  late. For he only then, on hearing her name, really and properly,
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  remembered Lady Caroline, and the thought of her confused him to excess.
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  He went into the dining room like a man in a dream. He had
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  come out to this place to see Lady Caroline, and had told her so.
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  He had even told her, in his fatuousness. It was true,
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  but how fatuous that he hadn't been able to help coming. She didn't know
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  he was married. She thought his name was Arundel. Everybody in London thought
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  his name was Arundel. He had used it and written under it so long
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  that he almost thought it himself. In the short time since she had left
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  him on the seat in the garden where he told her he had come because
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  he couldn't help it, he had found Rose again, had passionately embraced and
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  been embraced, and had forgotten Lady Caroline. It would be an extraordinary piece
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  of good fortune. If Lady Caroline's being late meant she was tired, abored,
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  and would not come to dinner at all, then he could know.
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  He couldn't. He turned the deeper red even than usual, he being a
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  man of full habit and read anyhow at the thought of such cowardice. No,
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  he couldn't go away after dinner and catch his train and disappear to Rome,
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  not unless, that is, Rose came with him. But even so,
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  what a running away? No, he couldn't. When they got to
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  the dining room, Missus Fisher went to the head of the table. Was
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  this Missus Fisher's house, he asked himself. He didn't know, He didn't
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  know anything. And Rose, who in her earlier day of defying Missus Fisher,
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  had taken the other end as her place. For after all, no
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  one could say by looking at a table which was its top and which its
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  bottom? Led Frederick to the seat next to her. If only he thought
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  he could have been alone with Rose, just five minutes more alone with Rose,
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  so that he could have asked her. But probably he wouldn't have asked
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  her anything, and only gone on kissing her. He looked round. The
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  sandy young woman was telling the man they called Briggs, to go and sit
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  beside missus Fisher. Was the house, then the sandy young woman's, and
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  not Missus Fisher's. He didn't know, He didn't know anything, And as
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  she herself sat down on Rose's other side, so that she was opposite him
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  Frederick and next to the genial man who had said, here we are,
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  And it was only too evident that there they were, indeed next to Frederick,
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  and between him and Briggs was an empty chair, Lady Caroline's. No
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  more than Lady Caroline knew of the presence in Frederick's life of Rose. Was
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  Rose aware of the presence in Frederick's life of Lady Caroline? What would each
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  think? He didn't know, He didn't know anything. Yes, he did
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  know something, and that was that his wife had made it up with him,
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  suddenly, miraculously, unaccountably, and divinely. Beyond that, he knew
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  nothing. The situation was one with which he felt he could not cope.
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  It must lead him whither it would He could only drift in silence. Frederick
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  ate his soup, and the eyes, the large expressive eyes of the young
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  woman opposite were on him, he could feel with a growing look in them
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  of inquiry. They were, he could see, very intelligent and attractive eyes,
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  and full apart from the inquiry of good will. Probably she thought he
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  ought to talk, but if she knew everything, she wouldn't think. So
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  Briggs didn't talk either. Briggs seemed uneasy. What was the matter with Briggs?
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  And Rose too didn't talk, But then that was natural. She never
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  had been a talker. She had the loveliest expression on her face. How
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  long would it be on it? After Lady Caroline's entrance? He didn't know,
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  He didn't know anything. But the genial man on Missus Fisher's left was
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  talking enough for everybody that Fellow ought to have been a parson. Pulpits were
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  the place for a voice like his. It would get him a bishopric in
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  six months. He was explaining to Briggs, who shuffled about in his seat,
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  why did Briggs shuffle about in his seat? That he must have come
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  out by the same train as our buff night. And when Briggs, who
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  said nothing, wriggled in apparent descent, he undertook to prove it to him,
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  and did prove it to him in long, clear sentences. Who's the
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  man with the voice, Frederick asked Rose in a whisper, and the young
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  woman opposite, whose ears appeared to have the quickness of hearing of wild creatures,
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  answered, he's my husband. Then, by all the rules, said
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  Frederick, pleasantly, pulling himself together. You oughtn't to be sitting next to
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  him, but I want to. I like sitting next to him. I
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  didn't before I came here. Frederick could think of nothing to say to this,
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  so he only smiled generally. It's this place, she said, nodding
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  at him. It makes one understand. You've no idea what a lot you'll
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  understand before you've done here. I'm sure, I hope, so said Frederick
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  with real fervor. The soup was taken away and the fish was brought.
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  Briggs, on the other side of the empty chair, seemed more uneasy than
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  ever. What was the matter with Briggs? Didn't he like fish? Frederick
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  wondered what Briggs would do in the way of fidgets if he were in his
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  own situation. Frederick kept on wiping his mustache and was not able to look
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  up from his plate, But that was as much as he showed of what
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  he was feeling. Though he didn't look up, he felt the eyes of
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  the young woman opposite raking him like searchlights. And Rose's eyes were on him
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  too, he knew, but they rested on him unquestioningly, beautifully, like
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  a benediction. How long would they go on doing that? Once Lady Caroline
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  was there? He didn't know, He didn't know anything. He wiped his
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  mustache for the twentieth unnecessary time and could not keep his hand steady. And
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  the young woman opposite saw his hand not being quite steady, and her eyes
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  raked him persistently. Why did her eyes rake him persistently? He didn't know,
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  He didn't know anything. Then Briggs leapt to his feet. What was
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  the matter with Briggs? Oh? Yes, quite she had come. Frederick
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  wiped his mustache and got up too. He was in for it now,
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  absurd, fantastic situation. Well, whatever happened, he could only drift,
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  drift and look like an ass to Lady Caroline, the most absolute as well
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  as deceitful ass, an ass who was also a reptile, for she might
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  well think he had been mocking her out in the garden when he said,
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  no doubt in a shaking voice, fool and ass that he had come because
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  he couldn't help it. While as for what he would look like to his
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  Rose when Lady Caroline introduced to her, When Lady Caroline introduced him as her
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  friend whom she had invited in to dinner, well God alone knew that he.
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  Therefore, as he got up, wiped his mustache for the last time
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  before the catastrophe. But he was reckoning without scrap That accomplished and experienced young
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  woman slipped into the chair Briggs was holding for her, and on Lottie's leaning
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  across eagerly, and sang before anyone else could get a word in. Just
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  fancy, Caroline, how quickly Rose's husband has got here? Turned to him
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  without so much as the faintest shadow of surprise on her face, and held
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  out her hand and smiled like a young angel, and said, and me
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  late your very first evening. The daughter of the Droit Witches end of chapter
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  twenty one two