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Chapter 18 · The Enchanted April

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  Chapter eighteen of The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnham. This LibriVox recording is
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  in the public domain. Read by T. R. Love. They had
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  a very pleasant walk, with a great deal of sitting down in warm time
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  fragrant corners, and if anything could have helped Rose to recover from the bitter
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  disappointment of the morning, it would have been the company and conversation of mister
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  Briggs. He did help her to recover, and the same process took place
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  as that which Lottie had undergone with her husband. And the more mister Briggs
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  thought Rose charming, the more charming she became. Briggs was a man incapable
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  of concealments, who never lost time if he could help it. They had
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  not got to the end of the headland where the lighthouse is. Briggs had
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  asked her to show him the lighthouse because the power to it, he knew,
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  was wide enough for two to walk abreast and fairly level. Before he
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  had told her of the impression she made on him in London. Since even
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  the most religious sober women like to know they have made an impression, particularly
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  the kind that has nothing to do with character or merits, Rose was pleased
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  being pleased, she smiled. Smiling, she was more attractive than ever.
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  Color came into her cheeks and brightness into her eyes. She heard herself saying
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  things that really sounded quite interesting and even amusing. If Frederick were listening now,
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  she thought, perhaps he would see that she couldn't, after all,
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  be such a hopeless bore. For here was a man, nice looking,
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  young, and surely clever. He seemed clever, and she hoped he was,
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  for then the compliment would be still greater, who was evidently quite happy
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  to spend the afternoon just talking to her, And indeed mister Briggs seemed very
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  much interested. He wanted to hear all about everything she had been doing from
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  the moment she got there. He asked her if she had seen this,
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  that, and the other in the house, what she liked best, which
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  room she had, if she were comfortable, if Francesca was behaving, if
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  Domenico took care of her, and whether she didn't enjoy using the yellow sitting
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  room, the one that got all the sun and looked out towards Genoa.
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  Rose was ashamed how little she had noticed in the house, and how few
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  of the things he spoke of as curious or beautiful in it. She had
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  even seen swamped in thought of Frederick. She appeared to have lived in San
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  Salvatore blindly, and more than half the time had gone, and what had
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  been the good of it? She might just as well have been sitting hankering
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  on Hampstead Heath. No, she mightn't. Through all her hankerings, she
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  had been conscious that she was at least in the very heart of beauty.
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  And indeed it was this beauty, this longing to share it, that had
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  first started her off hankering. Mister Briggs, however, was too much alive
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  for her to be able to spare any attention at this moment for Frederick.
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  And she praised the servants in answer to his questions, and praised the yellow
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  sitting room without telling him she had only been in it once, And then
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  was ignominiously ejected. And she told him she knew hardly anything about art and
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  curiosities, but thought perhaps if somebody would tell her about them, she would
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  know more. And she said she had spent every day since her arrival out
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  of doors, because out of doors there was so very wonderful and different from
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  anything she had ever seen. Briggs walked by her side along his paths that
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  were yet so happily for the moment her paths, and felt all the innocent
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  glows of family life. He was an orphan and an only child, and
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  had a warm domestic disposition. He would have adored a sister and spoiled a
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  mother, and was beginning at this time to think of marrying. For though
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  he had been very happy with his various loves, each of whom, contrary
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  to the usual experience, turned ultimately into his devoted friend, he was fond
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  of children and thought he had perhaps now got to the age of settling,
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  if he did not wish to be too old by the time his oldest son
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  was twenty. San Salvatore had laterly seemed a little forlorn. He fancied it
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  echoed when he walked about it. He had felt lonely there, so lonely
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  that he had preferred this year to miss out a spring and let it.
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  It wanted a wife in it. It wanted that final touch of warmth and
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  beauty, for he never thought of his wife accepting terms of warmth and beauty.
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  She would of course be beautiful and kind. It amused him how much
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  in love with this vague wife. He was already at such a rate he
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  was making friends with the lady with the sweet name as he walked along the
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  path towards the lighthouse that he was sure presently he would be telling her everything
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  about himself and his past doings and his future hopes. And the thought of
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  such a swiftly developing confidence made him laugh. Why are you laughing, she
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  asked, looking at him and smiling. It's so like coming home, he
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  said. But it is coming home for you to come here, I mean,
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  really like coming home to one's one's family. I never had a family.
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  I'm an orphan. Oh are you, said Rose, with the proper
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  sympathy. I hope you've not been one very long. No, I don't
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  mean I hope you have been one very long. No. I don't know
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  what I mean except that I'm sorry, he laughed again. Oh I'm used
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  to it. I haven't anybody, no sisters or brothers. Then you're an
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  only child, she observed intelligently. Yes, and there's something about you that's
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  exactly my idea of a of a family. She was amused. So cozy,
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  he said, looking at her and searching for a word. You wouldn't
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  think so if you saw my house in Hampstead, she said, a vision
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  of that, austere and hard seated dwelling presenting itself to her mind, with
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  nothing soft in it except the shunned and neglected du berries sofa. No wonder,
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  she thought for a moment clear brained that Frederick avoided it. There was
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  nothing cozy about his family. I don't believe any place you lived in could
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  be anything but exactly like you, he said. You are not going to
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  pretend San Salvatore is like me. Indeed, I do pretend it. Surely
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  you admit that it is beautiful, he said several things like that. She
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  enjoyed her walk. She could not recollect any walk so pleasant since her courting
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  days. She came back to Tea, bringing mister Briggs and looking quite different,
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  mister Wilkins noticed from what she had looked till then. Trouble here.
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  Trouble here, thought mister Wilkins, he rubbing his professional hands. He could
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  see himself being called in presently to advise. On the one hand, there
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  was arbuthnot. On the other hand, here was Briggs. Trouble brewing trouble
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  sooner or later. But why had Briggs's telegram acted on the lady like a
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  blow. If she turned pale from excess of joy, then trouble was nearer
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  than he had supposed. She was not pale. Now, she was more
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  like her name than he had yet seen her. Well, he was the
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  man for trouble. He regretted, of course, that people should get into
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  it, but being in he was their man. And mister Wilkins, invigorated
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  by these thoughts, his career being very precious to him, proceeded to assist
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  in doing the honors to mister Briggs, both in his quality of sharer and
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  the temporary ownership of San Salvatore, and of probable helper out of difficulties,
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  with great hospitality, and pointed out the various features of the place to him,
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  and led him to the parapet and showed him Misago across the bay.
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  Missus Fisher too was gracious. This was this young man's house. He was
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  a man of property. She liked property, and she liked men of property.
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  Also, there seemed to be a peculiar merit in being a man of
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  property so young. Inheritance, of course, and inheritance was more respectable than
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  acquisition. It did indicate fathers, and in an age where most people appeared
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  neither to have them nor to want them, she liked this too. Accordingly,
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  it was a pleasant meal, with everybody amiable and pleased. Briggs thought
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  Missus Fisher a dear old lady, and showed he thought so. And again
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  the magic worked, and she became a dear old lady. She developed beninity
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  with him, a kind of beninity which was almost playful. Actually, before
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  tea was over, including in some observation she made him the words my dear
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  boy. Strange words in Missus Fisher's mouth. It is doubtful whether in her
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  life she had used them before. Rose was astonished how nice people really were?
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  When would she leave off making mistakes about them? She hadn't suspected this
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  side of Missus Fisher, and she began to wonder whether those other sides of
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  her with which alone she was acquainted, had not, perhaps, after all,
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  been the effect of her own militant and irritating behavior. Probably they were,
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  how horrid then she must have been. She felt very penitent when she
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  saw Missus Fisher beneath her eyes, blossoming into real amiability. The moment someone
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  came along who was charming to her, and she could have sunk into the
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  ground with shame when Missus Fisher presently laughed, and she realized by the shock
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  it gave her that the sound was entirely new. Not once before had she
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  or anyone else there heard Missus Fisher laugh. What an indictment of the lot
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  of them. For they had all laughed the others, some more, some
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  less, at one time or another since their arrival, and only missus Fisher
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  had not clearly since she could enjoy herself as she was now enjoying herself.
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  She had not enjoyed herself before. Nobody had cared whether she did or not,
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  except perhaps Lottie. Yes, Lottie had cared and had wanted her to
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  be happy. But Lotty seemed to produce a bad effect on missus Fisher.
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  While as for Rose herself, she had never been with her for five minutes
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  without wanting, really wanting to provoke and oppose her. How very horrid she
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  had been, she had behaved unpardonably. Her penitence showed itself in a shy
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  and deferential solicitude towards missus Fisher, which made the observant Briggs think her still
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  more angelic and wish for a moment that he were an old lady himself in
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  order to be behaved to by rosar buffknot just like that. There was evidently
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  no end, he thought, to the thing she could do. Sweetly,
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  he would not even mind taking medicine, really nasty medicine, if it were
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  Rosear Buffnot. Bending over him with the dose, she felt his bright blue
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  eyes, the brighter because he was so sunburnt, fixed on her with a
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  twinkle in them, and smiling, asked him what he was thinking about.
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  But he couldn't very well tell her that, he said, and added,
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  some day trouble. Trouble, thought mister Wilkins at this again, mentally rubbing
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  his hands. Well, I'm their man, I'm sure, said missus Fisher,
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  benignly, you have no thoughts we may not hear, I'm sure,
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  said Briggs. I would be telling you every one of my secrets in a
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  week. You would be telling somebody very safe, then, said missus Fisher
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  benevolently, Just such a son she would have liked to have had, And
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  in return she went on, I dare say I would tell you mine.
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  Ah No, said mister Wilkins, adapting himself to this tone of easy badinage.
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  I must protest, I really must. I have a prior claim I
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  and the older friend. I have known missus Fisher ten days, and you
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  Briggs have not yet known her one. I assert my right to be told
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  her secrets first, that is, he added, bowing gallantly, if she
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  has any which I beg leave to doubt. Oh haven't I exclaimed missus Fisher,
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  thinking of those green leaves. That she should exclaim at all was surprising,
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  but that she should do it with gaiety was miraculous. Rose could only
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  watch her in wonder. Then I shall warm them out, said Briggs,
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  with equal gaiety. They won't need much warming out, said missus Fisher.
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  My difficulty is to keep them from bursting out. It might have been Lottie
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  talking. Mister Wilkins adjusted the single eyeglass he carried with him for occasions like
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  this and examined missus Fisher carefully. Rose looked on, enabled not to smile
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  too, since missus Fisher seemed so much amused, though Rose did not quite
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  know why, and her smile was a little uncertain. For missus Fisher.
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  Amused was a new sight, not without its awe inspiring aspects, and had
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  to be got accustomed to. What missus Fisher was thinking. Was how much
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  surprised they would be if she told them of a very odd and exciting sensation
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  of going to come out all over buds. They would think she was an
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  extremely silly old woman, and so would she have thought as lately as two
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  days ago. But the bud idea was becoming familiar to her. She was
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  more at prevous now, as dear Matthew Arnold used to say. And though
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  it would undoubtedly be best if one's appearance and sensations matched, yet supposing they
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  did not, and one couldn't have everything, was it not better to feel
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  young somewhere rather than old everywhere? Time enough to be old everywhere again inside
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  as well as out when she got back to her sarcophagus in Prince of Wales's
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  Terrace. Yet it is probable that without the arrival of mister Briggs, missus
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  Fisher would have gone on secretly fermenting in her shell. The others only knew
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  her as severe. It would have been more than her dignity could bear suddenly
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  to relax, especially towards the three young women. But now came the stranger
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  Briggs, a stranger who at once took to her as no young man had
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  taken to her in her life. And it was the coming of Briggs and
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  his real and manifest appreciation for such a grandmother, thought Briggs. Hungry for
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  home life and its concomitants, would he have liked to have that released missus
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  Fisher from her shell. And here she was, at last, as Lottie
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  had predicted, pleased, good humored and benevolent. Lottie, coming back half
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  an hour later from her picnic, and following the sound of voices into the
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  top garden in hope of still finding tea, saw at once what had happened
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  for missus Fisher at that very moment was laughing. She's burst her cocoon,
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  thought Lottie. And swift as she was in all her movements, and impulsive,
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  and also without any sense of propriety to worry and delay her. She
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  bent over the back of missus Fisher's chair and kissed her. Good gracious,
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  cried missus Fisher, starting violently, for such a thing had not happened to
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  her since mister Fisher's earlier days, and then only gingerly. This kiss was
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  a real kiss, and rested on Missus Fisher's cheek a moment with a strange
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  soft sweetness. When she saw whose it was, a deep flush spread over
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  her face, Missus Wilkins kissing her, and the kiss feeling so affectionate.
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  Even if she wanted to, she could not, in the presence of the
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  appreciative mister Briggs, resume her cast off severity and begin rebuking again. But
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  she did not want to. Was it possible Missus Wilkins liked her, had
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  liked her all this time while she had been so much disliking her herself.
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  A queer little trickle of warmth filtered through the frozen defenses of Missus Fisher's heart.
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  Somebody young kissing her, somebody young wanting to kiss her, very much
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  flushed, she watched the strange creature, apparently quite unconscious she had done anything
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  extraordinary, shaking hands with mister Briggs on her husband's introducing him, and immediately
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  embarking on the friendliest conversation with him, exactly as if she had known him
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  all her life. What a strange creature, What a very strange creature.
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  It was natural, she being so strange that one should have perhaps misjudged her.
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  I'm sure you want some tea, said Briggs, with eager hospitality to
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  Lottie. He thought her delightful, freckles, picnic, untidiness and all just
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  such a sister would he This is cold, he said, feeling the teapot.
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  I'll tell Francesca to make you some fresh He broke off and blushed.
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  Urnt I forgetting myself, he said, laughing and looking round at them.
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  Very natural, very natural, mister Wilkins reassured him. I'll go and tell
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  Francesca, said Rose, getting up. No, No, said Briggs,
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  don't go away, and he put his hands to his mouth and shouted.
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  Francesca, shouted Briggs. She came running. No summons in their experience had
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  been answered by her with such celerity. Her master's voice, remarked mister Wilkins.
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  Aptly he considered, make fresh tea, ordered Briggs in Italian, quick
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  quick, and then, remembering himself, he blushed again and begged everybody's pardon.
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  Very natural, very natural, mister Wilkins reassured him. Briggs then explained
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  to Lottie what he had explained twice already, once to Rose and once to
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  the other two, that he was on his way to Rome, and thought
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  he would get out at Missago and just look in to see if they were
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  comfortable, and continue his journey the next day, staying the night in a
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  hotel at Missago. But how ridiculous, said Lottie. Of course you must
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  stay here. It's your house. There's Kate Lumley's room, she added,
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  turning to missus Fisher. You wouldn't mind mister Briggs having it for one night.
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  Kate Lumley isn't in it, you know, she said, turning to
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  Briggs again and laughing, and missus Fisher, to her immense surprise, laughed
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  too. She knew that any other time this remark would have struck her as
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  excessively unseemly, and yet now she only thought it funny. No, indeed,
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  she assured Briggs, Kate Lumley was not in that room, very fortunately,
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  for she was an excessively wide person and the room was excessively narrow.
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  Kate Lumley might get into it, but that was about all. Once in,
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  she would fit it so tightly that probably she would never be able to
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  get out again. It was entirely at mister Briggs's disposal, and she hoped
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  he would do nothing so absurd as go to a hotel. He the owner
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  of the whole. Rose listened to this speech, wide eyed with amazement.
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  Missus Fisher laughed very much as she made it. Lottie laughed very much too,
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  and at the end of it bent down and kissed her again, kissed
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  her several times. So you see, my dear boy, said missus Fisher,
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  you must stay here and give us all a great deal of pleasure.
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  A great deal, indeed, corroborated mister Wilkins heartily. A very great deal,
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  repeated missus Fisher, looking exactly like a pleased mother. Do, said
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  Rose on Briggs's turning inquiringly to her. How kind of you all, he
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  said, his face broad with smiles. I'd love to be a guest here.
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  What a new sensation. And with three such he broke off and looked
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  round. I say, he asked, oughtn't I to have a fourth hostess?
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  Francesca said she had four mistresses. Yes, there's lady Caroline, said
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  Lottie. Then hadn't we better find out first if she invites me to?
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  Oh but she's sure, began Lottie, the daughter of the Droit witches.
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  Briggs said, mister Wilkins, is not likely to be wanting, in the
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  proper hospitable impulses, the daughter of the repeated Briggs. But he stopped dead,
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  for there in the doorway was the daughter of the Droit witches herself,
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  or rather, coming towards him. Out of the dark doorway into the brightness
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  of the sunset, was that which he had not in his life yet seen,
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  but only dreamed of, his ideal of absolute loveliness. End of Chapter eighteen.