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Chapter 14 · The Enchanted April

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Chapter fourteen of The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim. This LibriVox recording is
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in the public domain. Read by T. R. Love. That first
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week, the wisteria began to fade, and the flowers of the judas tree
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and peach trees fell off and carpeted the ground with rose color. Then all
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the frisias disappeared, and the irises grew scarce. And then while these were
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clearing themselves away, the double banksia roses came out, and the big summer
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roses suddenly flaunted gorgeously on the walls, and trellises fortunes. Yellow was one
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of them, a very beautiful rose. Presently, the tamarisk and the daphnes
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were at their best, and the lilies at their tallest. By the end
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of the week, the fig trees were giving shade. The plum blossom was
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out among the olives. The modest wigilias peered in their fresh pink clothes,
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and on the rocks sprawled masses of thick leaved, star shaped flowers, some
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vivid purple and some a clear pale lemon. By the end of the week
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too, mister Wilkins arrived, even as his wife had foreseen he would,
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so he did, and there were signs almost of eagerness about his acceptance of
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her suggestion, for he had not waited to write a letter in answer to
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hers, but had telegraphed that surely was eager. It showed Scrap thought a
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definite wish for reunion, and watching his wife's happy face, and aware of
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her desire that mellersh should enjoy his holiday, she told herself that he would
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be a very unusual fool should he waste his time bothering about anybody else.
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If he isn't nice to her, Scrap thought, he shall be taken to
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the battlement and tipped over. For by the end of the week, she
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and Missus Wilkins had become Caroline and Lottie to each other and were friends.
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Missus Wilkins had always been friends, but Scrap had struggled not to be.
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She had tried hard to be cautious, but how difficult was caution With Missus
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Wilkins free herself from every vestige of it, She was so entirely unreserved,
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so completely expansive, that soon Scrap, almost before she knew what she was
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doing, was being unreserved too, And nobody could be more unreserved than Scrap
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once she let herself go. The only difficulty about Lottie was that she was
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nearly always somewhere else. You couldn't catch her, You couldn't pin her down
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to come and talk. Scrap's fears that she would grab seemed grotesque in retrospect.
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Why there was no grab in her at dinner and after dinner, where
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the only times one really saw her all day long she was invisible and would
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come back in the late afternoon looking up perfect sight, her hair full of
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bits of moss, and her freckles worse than ever. Perhaps she was making
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the most of her time before Melursia arrived to do all the things she wanted
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to do, and meant to devote herself afterwards to going about with him,
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tidy and in her best clothes. Scrap watched her, interested in spite of
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herself, because it seemed so extraordinary to be as happy as all that on
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so little San Salvatore was beautiful and the weather was divine. But scenery and
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weather had never been enough for Scrap, And how could they be enough for
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somebody who would have to leave them quite soon and go back to life in
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Hampstead. Also, there was the imminence of allures of that Malerse from whom
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Lottie had so lately run. It was all very well to feel one ought
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to share, and to make a bourgest and do it. But the bourgester
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scrap had known hadn't made anybody happy. Nobody really liked being the object of
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one, and it always meant an effort on the part of the maker.
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Still, she had to admit there was no effort about Lottie. It was
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quite plain that everything she did and said was effortless, and that she was
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just simply completely happy. And so missus Wilkins was for her doubts as to
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whether she had had time to become steady enough in serenity to go on being
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serene in Malersia's company when she had it uninterruptedly right round the clock had gone
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by the middle of the week, and she felt that nothing could shake her.
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She was ready for anything. She was firmly grafted, rooted, built
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in to heaven. Whatever maluse said or did, she would not budge an
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inch out of Heaven, would not rouse herself a single instant to come outside
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it and be cross. On the contrary, she was going to pull him
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up into it beside her, and they would sit comfortably together, suffused in
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light, and laugh at how much afraid of him she used to be in
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Hampstead, and at how deceitful her afraidness had made her. But he wouldn't
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need much pulling. He would come in quite naturally after a day or two,
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irresistibly wafted on the scented breezes of that divine air, and there he
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would sit, arrayed in stars, thought missus Wilkins, in whose mind,
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among much other debris, floated occasional bright shreds of poetry. She laughed to
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herself a little at the picture of Malush that top had a black coated,
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respectable family solicitor arrayed in stars. But she laughed affectionately, almost with a
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maternal pride, in how splendid he would look in such fine clothes, Poor
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lamb, she murmured to herself affectionately, and added, what he wants is
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a thorough airing. This was during the first half of the week. By
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the beginning of the last half, at the end of which mister Wilkins arrived,
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she left off, even assuring herself that she was unshakable that she was
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permeated beyond altering by the atmosphere. She no longer thought of it or noticed
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it. She took it for granted, if one may say so, and
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she certainly said so, not only to herself, but also to Lady Caroline.
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She had found her celestial legs. Contrary to Missus Fisher's idea of the
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seemly, but of course contrary, what else would one expect of Missus Wilkins.
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She did not go to meet her husband at Missago, but merely walked
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down to the point where Bepo's fly would leave him and his luggage in the
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street of Castanado. Missus Fisher disliked the arrival of mister Wilkins, and was
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sure that anybody who could have married Missus Wilkins would be at least of an
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injudicious disposition. But a husband, whatever his disposition, should be properly met.
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Mister Fisher had always been properly met. Never once in his married life
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had he gone unmet at a station, nor had he ever not been sent
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off. These observances, these courtesies, strengthened the bonds of marriage and made
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the husband feel he could rely on his wife's being always there always being there
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was the essential secret for a while, what would have become of mister Fisher
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if she had neglected to act on this principle. She preferred not to think
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enough things became of him, as it was for whatever one's care in stopping
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up married life yet seemed to contain chinks. But missus Wilkins took no pains.
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She just walked down the hill singing. Missus Fisher could hear her,
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and picked up her husband in the street as casually as if he were a
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pin. The three others, still in bed, for it was not nearly
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time to get up, heard her as she passed beneath their windows down the
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zigzag path to meet mister Wilkins, who was coming by the morning train.
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And Scrap smiled and Rose sighed, and missus Fisher rang her bell and desired
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Francesca to bring her her breakfast in her room. All three had breakfast that
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day in their rooms, moved by a common end to take cover. Scrap
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always breakfasted in bed, but she had the same instinct for cover, and
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during breakfast she made plans for spending the whole day where she was, perhaps
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though it wouldn't be as necessary that day. As the next bad day,
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Scrap calculated Miller's would be provided for he would want to have a bath,
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and having a bath that Sensovatory was an elaborate business, a real adventure if
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one had a hot one in the bathroom, and it took a lot of
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time. It involved the attendance of the entire staff, Domenico and the boy
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Giuseppe, coaxing the patent stove to burn, restraining it when it burnt too
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fiercely, using the bellows to it when it threatened to go out, re
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lighting it when it did go out. Francesca anxiously hovering over the tap,
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regulating its trickle, because if it were turned on too full, the water
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instant ran cold, and if not full enough, the stove blew up inside
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and mysteriously flooded the house, and Costanza and Angela running up and down,
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bringing pails of hot water from the kitchen to eke out what the tap did.
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This bath had been put in lately and was at once the pride and
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terror of the servants. It was very patent. Nobody quite understood it.
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There were long printed instructions as to its right treatment hanging on the wall in
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which the word perconoso recurred. When missus Fisher, proceeding on her arrival to
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the bathroom, saw this word, she went back to her room again and
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ordered a sponge bath instead. And when the others found what using the bathroom
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meant, and how reluctant the servants were to leave them alone with the stove,
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and how Francesca positively refused to and stayed with her back turned watching the
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tap, and how the remaining servants waited anxiously outside the door till the bather
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came safely out Again, they too had sponge baths brought into their rooms instead.
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Mister Wilkins, however, was a man and would be sure to want
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a big bath. Having it scrapped calculated would keep him busy for a long
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while. Then he would unpack, and then after his night in the train,
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he would probably sleep till the evening, so he would be provided for
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for the whole of that day and not be let loose on them till dinner.
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Therefore, Scrap came to the conclusion that she would be quite safe in
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the garden that day, and got up as usual after breakfast and donald as
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usual through her dressing, listening with the slight cocked ear to the sounds of
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mister wilkins arrival of his luggage being carried into Lottie's room on the other side
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of the landing, of his educated voice as he inquired of locke, do
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I give this fellow anything? And immediately afterwards can I have a hot bath?
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Of Lottie's voice, cheerfully assuring him that he needn't give the fellow anything
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because he was the gardener, and that yes, he could have a hot
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bath. And soon after this the landing was filled with the familiar noises of
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wood being brought, of water being brought, of feet running, of tongues
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vociferating, in fact, with the preparation of the bath. Scrap finished dressing,
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and then loitered at her window, waiting till she should hear mister Wilkins
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go into the bathroom. When he was safely there, she would slip out
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and settle herself in her garden and resume her inquiries into the probable meaning of
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her life. She was getting on with her inquiries. She dozed much less
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frequently, and was beginning to be inclined to agree that tawdry was the word
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to apply to her past. Also, she was afraid that our future looked
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black. There she could hear mister Wilkins's educated voice again. Lotty's door had
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opened, and he was coming out of it, asking his way to the
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bathroom. It's where you see the crowd, Lotty's voice answered, still a
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cheerful voice. Scrap was glad to notice his steps went along the landing,
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and Lotty's steps seemed to go downstairs. And then there seemed to be a
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brief altercation at the bathroom door, hardly so much an altercation as a chorus
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of vociferations on one side and wordless determination Scrap judged to have a bath by
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oneself on the other. Mister Wilkins knew no Italian, and the expression paracoloso
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left him precisely as it found him, or would have if he had seen
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it. But naturally he took no notice of the printed matter on the wall.
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He firmly closed the door on the servants resisting Domenico, who tried to
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the last to press through, and locked himself in as a man should for
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his bath, judicially, considering as he made his simple preparations for getting in
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the singular standard of behavior of these foreigners, who both male and female apparently
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wished to stay with him while he bathed. In Finland, he had heard
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the female natives not only were present on such occasions, but actually washed the
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bath taking traveler. He had not heard, however, that this was true
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too of Italy, which somehow seemed much nearer civilization, perhaps because one went
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there and did not go to Finland. Impartially examining his reflection and carefully balancing
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the claims to civilization of Italy and Finland, mister Wilkins got into the bath
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and turned off the tap. Naturally, he turned off the tap. It
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was what one did. But on the instructions, printed in red letters,
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was a paragraph saying that the tap should not be turned off as long as
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there was still fire in the stove. It should be left on, not
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much on, but on until the fire was quite out. Otherwise, and
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here again was the word paracoloso, the stove would blow up. Mister Wilkins
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got into the bath, turned off the tap, and the stove blew up,
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exactly as the printed instructions said it would. It blew up, fortunately
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only in its inside, but it blew up with a terrific noise, and
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mister Wilkins leapt out of the bath and rushed to the door, and only
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the instinct born of years of training made him snatch up a towel as he
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rushed. Scrap half way across the landing. On her way out of doors
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heard the explosion. Good heavens, she thought, remembering the instruction, There
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goes mister Wilkins. And she ran toward the head of the stairs to call
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the servants. And as she ran out, ran mister Wilkins, clutching his
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towel, and they ran into each other. That damned bath, cried mister
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Wilkins, imperfectly concealed in his towel, his shoulders exposed at one end and
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his legs at the other. And Lady Caroline Dester to meet whom he had
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swallowed all his anger with his wife and come out to Italy for Lottie in
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her letter had told him who was at San Salvatore besides herself and Missus Arbuthnot
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and Missus Wilkins at once had perceived that this was an opportunity which might never
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recur. Lottie had merely said, there are two other women here, Missus
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Fisher and Lady Caroline Dester, but that was enough. He knew all about
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the Droit Witches, their wealth, their connections, their place and history,
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and the power they had should they choose to exert it of making yet another
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solicitor happy by adding him to those they already employed. Some people employed one
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solicitor for one branch of their affairs, and another for another. The affairs
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of the Droit Witches must have many branches. He had also heard, for
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it was he considered part of his business to hear, and having heard,
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to remember, of the beauty of their only daughter. Even if the Droit
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Witches themselves did not eat his services, as their daughter might, beauty led
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one into strange situations. Advice could never come amiss, And should none of
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them, neither parents nor daughter, nor any of their brilliant sons, need
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him in his professional capacity. It yet was obviously a most valuable acquaintance to
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make. It opened up vistas. It swelled with possibilities. He might go
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on living in Hampstead for years and not again come across such another chance.
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Directly his wife's letter reached him, He telegraphed and packed. This was business.
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He was not a man to lose time. When it came to business,
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nor was he a man to jeopardize a chance by neglecting to be amiable.
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He met his wife perfectly amiably, aware that amiability under such circumstances was
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wisdom. Besides, he actually felt amiable very for once Lottie was really helping
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him. He kissed her affectionately on getting out of Beppo's fly, and was
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afraid she must have got up extremely early. He made no complaints of the
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steepness of the walk up. He told her pleasantly of his journey, and
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when called upon, obediently admired the views. It was all neatly mapped out
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in his mind what he was going to do that first day. Have a
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shave, have a bath, put on clean clothes, sleep awhile, and
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then would come lunch and the introduction to Lady Caroline in the train. He
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had selected the words of his greeting, going over them with care, some
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slight expression of his gratification in meeting one of whom he, in common with
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the whole world, had heard, but of course put delicately, very delicately,
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some slight reference to her distinguished parents and the part her family had played
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in the history of England, made of course with proper tact. A sentence
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or two about her eldest brother, Lord Winchcombe, who had won his v
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C in the late war under circumstances which could only cause he might or might
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not add this every Englishman's heart to beat higher than ever with pride, and
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the first steps toward what might well be the turning point in his career would
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have been taken. And here he was. No, it was terrible.
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What could be more terrible only a towel on water running off his legs,
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and that exclamation He knew at once the lady was Lady Caroline. The minute
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the exclamation was out, he knew it. Rarely did mister Wilkins use that
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word, and never never in the presence of a lady or a client.
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While as for the towel, why had he come? Why had he not
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stayed? And Hamstead, it would be impossible to live this down, But
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mister Wilkins was reckoning without scrap. She indeed screwed up her face at the
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first flash of him on her astonished sight in an enormous effort not to laugh,
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And having choked the laughter down and got her face serious again, she
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said as composedly as if he had had all his clothes on, how do
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you do? What perfect tact, mister Wilkins could have worshiped her, this
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exquisite, ignoring blue blood. Of course, coming out overwhelmed with gratitude,
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he took her offered hand and said, how do you do? In his
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turn, merely to repeat the ordinary words seemed magically to restore the situation to
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normal. Indeed, he was so much relieved, and it was so natural
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to be shaking hands, to be conventionally greeting, that he forgot he had
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only a towel line, and his professional manner came back to him. He
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forgot what he was looking like. But he did not forget that this was
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Lady Caroline Dester, the lady he had come all the way to Italy to
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see, and he did not forget that it was in her face, her
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lovely and important face, that he had flung his terrible exclamation. He must
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at once entreat her forgiveness to say such a word to a lady, to
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any lady, but of all ladies, to just this one. I'm afraid
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I used unpardonable language, began mister Wilkins, very arm, earnestly as earnestly
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and ceremoniously, as if he had had his clothes on. I thought it
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most appropriate, said Scrap, who was used to dams. Mister Wilkins was
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incredibly relieved and soothed by this answer. No offense then taken blue Blood again.
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Only blue Blood could afford such a liberal, such an understanding attitude.
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It is, Lady Caroline Dester, Is it not to whom I am speaking?
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He asked, his voice sounding even more carefully cultivated than usual, for
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he had to restrain too much pleasure, too much relief, too much of
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the joy of the pardoned and the shriven from getting into it. Yes,
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said Scrap, And for the life of her, she couldn't help smiling.
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She couldn't help it. She hadn't meant to smile at mister Wilkins, not
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ever, But really he looked, and then his voice was the top of
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the rest of him, oblivious of the towel and his legs, and talking
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just like a church. Allow me to introduce myself, said mister Wilkins,
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with the ceremony of the drawing room. My name is melursh Wilkins. And
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he instinctively held out his hand a second time at the words I thought perhaps
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it was said Scrap a second time, having hers shaken, and a second
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time unable not to smile, He was about to proceed to the first of
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the graceful tributes he had prepared in the train, oblivious as he could not
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see himself, that he was without his clothes, when the servants came running
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up the stairs, and simultaneously Missus Fisher appeared in the doorway of her sitting
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room. For all this had happened very quickly, and the servants away in
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the kitchen, and Missus Fisher, pacing her battlements, had not had time,
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on hearing the noise to appear before the second hand shake. The servants,
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when they heard the dreaded noise, knew at once what had happened,
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and rushed straight into the bathroom to try and stanch the flood, making no
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notice of the figure on the landing in the towel. But Missus Fisher did
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not know what the noise could be, and, coming out of her room
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to inquire, stood rooted on the door sill. It was enough to root
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anybody. Lady Caroline shaking hands with what, evidently, if he had had
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clothes on, would have been Missus Wilkins's husband, and both of them conversing.
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Just as if then Scrap became aware of missus Fisher. She turned to
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her at once, do let me, she said, gracefully. Introduce mister
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MILERSH. Wilkins. He has just come this, she added, turning to
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mister Wilkins. Is missus Fisher. And mister Wilkins, nothing if not courteous,
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reacted at once to the conventional formula. First he bowed to the elderly
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lady in the doorway. Then he crossed over to her, his wet feet
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leaving footprints as he went, And having got to her, he politely held
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out his hand. It is a pleasure, said mister Wilkins, in his
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carefully modulated voice, to meet a friend of my wife's. Scrap melted away
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down into the garden and of chapter fourteen