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Chapter 16 · The Enchanted April

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  Chapter sixteen of The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnum. This LibriVox recording is
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  in the public domain, read by T. R. Love. And so
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  the second week began, and all was harmony, the arrival of mister Wilkins
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  instead of as three of the parties had feared, and the fourth had only
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  been protected from fearing by her burning faith in the effect on him of San
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  Salvatore disturbing such harmony as there was increased it, he fitted in. He
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  was determined to please, and he did please. He was most amiable to
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  his wife, not only in public, which she was used to, but
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  in private, when he certainly wouldn't have been if he hadn't wanted to.
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  He did want to. He was so much obliged to her, so much
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  pleased with her for making him acquainted with Lady Caroline, that he felt really
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  fond of her, also proud, for there must be he reflected a good
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  deal more in her than he had supposed for Lady Caroline to have become so
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  intimate with her and so affectionate, And the more he treated her as though
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  she were really very nice, the more Lottie expanded and became really very nice
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  and the more he affected, in his turn became really very nice himself,
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  so that they went round and round, not inovicious, but in a highly
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  virtuous circle. Positively for him malushe petted her. There was at no time
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  much pet in Malush, because he was by nature a cool man. Yet
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  such was the influence on him of as Lottie supposed San Salvatore, that in
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  this second week he sometimes pinched both her ears one after the other, instead
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  of only one, and Lottie, marveling at such rapidly developing affectionateness, wandered
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  what he would do should he continue at this rate in the third week,
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  when her supply of ears would have come to an end. He was particularly
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  nice about the washstand, and genuinely desirous of not taking up too much of
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  the space in the small bedroom. Quick to respond, Lottie was even more
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  desirous not to be in his way, and the room became the scene of
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  many an affectionate combat de generosite, each of which left them more pleased with
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  each other than ever. He did not again have a bath in the bathroom,
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  though it was mended and ready for him, but got up and went
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  down every morning to the sea and in spite of the cool nights making the
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  water cold, early had his dip as a man should, and came up
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  to breakfast, rubbing his hands and feeling, as he told Missus Fisher,
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  prepared for anything. Lottie's belief in the irresistible influence of the heavenly atmosphere of
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  Sand Salvatory being thus obviously justified, and mister Wilkins, whom Rose knew as
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  alarming and Scrap had pictured as icily unkind, being so evidently a changed man.
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  Both Rose and Scrap began to think there might, after all, be
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  something in what Lottie insisted on, and that Sand Salvatory did work purgingly on
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  the character. They were the more inclined to think so, in that they
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  too felt a working going on inside themselves. They felt more cleared, both
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  of them that second week. Scrap in her thoughts, many of which were
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  now quite nice thoughts, real amiable ones about her parents and relations, with
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  a glimmer in them of recognition of the extraordinary benefits she had received at the
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  hands of what faith providence anyhow, of something, and of how having received
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  them, she had misused them by failing to be happy. And Rose in
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  her bosom, which, though it still yearned, yearned to some purpose.
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  For she was reaching the conclusion that merely inactively to yearn was no use at
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  all, and that she must either by some means stop her yearning or give
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  it at least a chance, remote but still a chance, of being quieted
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  by writing to Frederick and asking him to come out. If mister Wilkins could
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  be changed, thought Rose, Why not Frederick, How wonderful it would be,
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  How too wonderful if the place worked on him too, and were able
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  to make them even a little understand each other, even a little be friends.
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  Rose, so far had loosening and disintegration gone on in her character.
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  Now was beginning to think her obstinate, straight lacedness about his books and her
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  austere absorption in good works had been foolish and perhaps even wrong. He was
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  her husband, and she had frightened him away. She had frightened love away,
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  precious love, and that couldn't be good. Was not Lottie right when
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  she said the other day that nothing at all except love mattered. Nothing certainly
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  seemed much use unless it was built up on love. But once frightened away,
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  could it ever come back? Yes, it might in that beauty.
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  It might, in the atmosphere of happiness. Lottie and sensalvatory seem between them
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  to spread round like some divine infection. She had, however, to get
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  him there first, and he certainly wouldn't got there if she didn't write and
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  tell him where she was. She would write, she must write, for
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  if she did, there was at least a chance of his coming, and
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  if she didn't, there was manifestly none. And then once here, in
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  this loveliness, with everything so soft and kind and sweet all round, it
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  would be easier to tell him to try and explain, to ask for something
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  different, for at least an attempt at something different in their lives in the
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  future, instead of the blankness of separation, the cold, oh, the
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  cold of nothing at all, but the great windiness of faith, the great
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  bleakness of works. Why one person in the world, one single person belonging
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  to, one of one's very own, to talk to, to take care
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  of, to love, to be interested in, was worth more than all
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  the space eaches on platforms and the compliments of chairmen in the world. It
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  was also worth more. Rose couldn't help, But the thought would come than
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  all the prayers. These thoughts were not had thoughts like Scraps, who was
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  altogether free from yearnings, but bosom thoughts. They lodged in the bosom.
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  It was in the bosom that rose ached and felt so dreadfully lonely. And
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  when her courage failed her, as it did on most days, and it
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  seemed impossible to write to Frederick, she would look at mister Wilkins and revive.
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  There he was a changed man. There he was going into that small,
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  uncomfortable room every night, that room whose proximities had been Lottie's only misgiving,
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  and coming out of it in the morning, and Lottie coming out of
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  it too, both of them as unclouded and as nice to each other as
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  when they went in. And hadn't he so critical at home? Lottie had
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  told her of the least thing going wrong. Emerged from the bath catastrophe,
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  as untouched in spirit as Shadrac Missash and Abicnego were untouched in body when they
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  emerged from the fire. Miracles were happening in this place. If they could
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  happen to mister Wilkins, why not to Frederick. She got up quickly.
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  Yes, she would write she would go and write to him at once,
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  But suppose she paused, Suppose he didn't answer. Suppose he didn't even answer,
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  and she sat down again to think a little longer. In these hesitations
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  did Rose spend most of the second week. Then there was Missus Fisher.
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  Her restlessness increased that second week. It increased to such an extent that she
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  might just as well not have had her private sitting room at all, for
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  she could no longer sit, not for ten minutes together could Missus Fisher sit.
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  And added to the restlessness. As the days of the second week proceeded
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  on their way, she had a curious sensation which worried her of rising sap.
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  She knew the feeling because she had sometimes had it in childhood, in
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  specially swift springs, when the lilac sen syringes seemed to rush into blossom in
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  a single night, But it was strange to have it again after over fifty
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  years. She would have liked to remark on the sensation to some one,
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  but she was ashamed. It was such an absurd sensation at her age.
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  Yet oftener and oftener, and every day more and more did Missus Fisher have
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  a ridiculous feeling as if she were presently going to Burgin. Sternly, she
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  tried to frown the unseemly sensation down Burgin. Indeed, she had heard of
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  dried staffs, pieces of mere deadwood suddenly putting forth fresh leaves, but only
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  in legend. She was not in legend. She knew perfectly what was due
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  to herself. Dignity demanded that she should have nothing to do with fresh leaves
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  at her age, And yet there it was the feeling that presently, at
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  any moment now she might crop out all green. Missus Fisher was upset.
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  There were many things she disliked more than anything else, and one was when
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  the elderly imagined they felt young and behaved accordingly. Of course they only imagined
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  it, they were only deceiving themselves. But how deplorable were theres So she
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  herself had grown old as people should grow old, steadily and firmly, no
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  interruptions, no belated afterglows and spasmodic returns. If after all these years,
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  she were now going to be deluded into some sort of unsuitable breaking out,
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  how humiliating. Indeed, she was thankful that second week that Kate Lumley was
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  not there. It would be most unpleasant should anything different occur in her behavior
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  to have Kate looking on. Kate had known her all her life. She
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  felt she could let herself go here. Missus Fisher frowned at the book she
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  was vainly trying to concentrate on. For where did that expression come from?
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  Much less painfully before strangers than before an old friend, old friends, reflected
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  missus Fisher, who hoped she was reading. Compare one constantly with what one
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  used to be. They are always doing it. If one develops, they
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  are surprised at development. They hark back. They expect motionlessness after say,
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  fifty, to the end of one's days. That thought, missus Fisher,
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  her eyes going steadily lined by line down the page and not a word of
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  it getting through to her consciousness, is foolish of friends. It is condemning
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  one to a premature death. One should continue, of course, with dignity,
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  to develop, however old one may be. She had nothing against developing,
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  against further rightness, because as long as one was alive, one was
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  not dead, obviously, decided missus Fisher and development, change, ripening were
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  life. What she would dislike would be unripening. Going back to something green,
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  she would dislike it intensely, and this is what she felt. She
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  was on the brink of doing naturally, it made her very uneasy, and
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  only in constant movement could she find distraction. Increasingly restless, and no longer
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  able to combine herself to her battlements, she wandered more and more frequently,
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  and also aimlessly in and out of the top garden, to the growing surprise
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  of scrap, especially when she found that all missus Fisher did was to stare
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  for a few minutes at the view, pick a few dead leaves off the
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  rose bushes, and go away again. In mister Wilkinson's conversation she found temporary
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  relief, But though he joined her whenever he could, he was not always
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  there, for he spread his attentions judiciously among the three ladies, and when
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  he was somewhere else, she had to face and manage her thoughts as best
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  she could by herself. Perhaps it was the excess of light and color at
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  San sal Victoria which made every other place seem dark and black, and Prince
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  of Wales's Terrace did seem a very dark black spot. To have to go
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  back to a dark, narrow street and her house, dark and narrow as
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  the street, with nothing really living or young in it. The gold fish
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  could hardly be called living, or at most not more than half living,
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  and were certainly not young. And except for them, there were only the
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  maids, and they were dusty old things, dusty old things. Missus Fisher
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  paused in her thoughts, arrested by the strange expression. Where had it come
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  from? How was it possible for it to come at all? It might
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  have been one of missus Wilkinson's, in its levity, in its almost slang.
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  Perhaps it was one of hers, and she had heard her say it
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  and unconsciously caught it from her. If so, this was both serious and
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  disgusting that the foolish creature should penetrate into missus Fisher's very mind and establish her
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  personality there, The personality which was still, in spite of the harmony apparently
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  existing between her and her intelligent husband, so alien to Missus Fisher's own,
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  so far removed from what she understood and liked, and infect her with her
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  undesirable phrases, was most disturbing. Never in her life before had such a
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  sentence come into Missus Fisher's head. Never in her life. Before had she
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  thought of her maids, or of anybody else as dusty old things. Her
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  maids were not dusty old things. They were most respectable, neat women who
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  were allowed the use of the bathroom every Saturday night. Elderly, certainly,
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  but then so was she, So was her house, So was her furniture,
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  so were her goldfish. They were all elderly, as they should be
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  together. But there was a great difference between being elderly and being a dusty
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  old thing. How true it was what Ruskin said that evil communications corrupt good
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  manners. But did Ruskin say it on the second thoughts? She was not
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  sure. But it was just the sort of thing he would have said if
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  he had said it, And in any case it was true. Merely hearing
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  missus Wilkinson's evil communications at meals, she did not listen. She avoided listening.
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  Yet it was evident she had heard those communications, which, in that
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  they so often were at once vulgar, indelicate and profane, and always,
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  she was sorry to say, laughed at by Lady Caroline, must be classed
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  as evil. Was spoiling her own mental manners. Soon she might not only
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  think, but say how terrible that would be. If that were the form
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  her breaking out was going to take the form of unseemly speech, Missus Fisher
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  was afraid she would hardly with any degree of composure, be able to bear
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  it. At this stage, Missus Fisher wished more than ever that she were
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  able to talk over her strange feelings with someone who would understand. There was,
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  however, no one who would understand except Missus Wilkins herself. She would
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  she would know at once. Missus Fisher was sure what she felt like,
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  but this was impossible. It would be as abject as begging the very micro
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  that was infecting one for protection against its disease. She continued accordingly to bear
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  her sensations in silence, and was driven by them into that frequent aimless appearing
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  in the top garden which presently roused even Scrap's attention. Scrap had noticed it
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  and vaguely wondered at it for some time before mister Wilkins inquired of her one
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  morning as he arranged her cushions for her. He had established the daily assisting
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  of Lady Caroline into her chair as his special privilege. Whether there was anything
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  the matter with Missus Fisher at that moment, missus Fisher was standing by the
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  eastern parapet, shading her eyes and carefully scrutinizing the distant white houses of miss
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  Ago. They could see her through the branches of the Daphne's. I don't
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  know, said Scrap. She is a lady, I take it, said
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  mister Wilkins, who would be unlikely to have anything on her mind. I
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  should imagine, so, said Scrap, smiling. If she has, and
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  her restlessness appears to suggest it, I should be more than glad to assist
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  her with advice. I'm sure you would be most kind. Of Course,
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  she has her own legal adviser, but he is not on the spot,
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  and a lawyer on the spot, said mister Wilkins, who endeavored to make
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  his conversation when he talked to Lady Caroline light aware that one must be light
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  with young ladies is worth two in. We won't be ordinary and complete the
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  proverb, but say, London, you should ask her, ask her if
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  she needs assistance. Would you advise it? Would it not be a little
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  a little delicate to touch on such a question, the question whether or no
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  a lady has something on her mind? Perhaps she will tell you if you
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  go and talk to her. I think it must be lonely to be missus
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  Fisher. You are all thoughtfulness and consideration, declared mister Wilkins, wishing for
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  the first time in his life that he were a foreigner, so that he
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  might respectfully kiss her hand on withdrawing to go obediently and relieve missus Fisher's loneliness.
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  It was wonderful what a variety of exits from her corner scrapped contrived for
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  mister Wilkins. Each morning she found a different one which sent him off pleased
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  after he had arranged her cushions for her. She allowed him to arrange the
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  cushions because she instantly had discovered the very first five minutes of the very first
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  evening that her fears lest he should cling to her and stare in dreadful admiration
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  weretless. Mister Wilkins did not admire like that. It was not only she
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  instinctively felt not in him, but if it had been, he would not
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  have dared to. In her case, he was all respectfulness. She could
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  direct his movements in regard to herself with the raising of an eyelash. His
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  one concern was to obey She had been prepared to like him if he would
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  only be so obliging as not to admire her. And she did like him.
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  She did not forget his moving defenselessness the first morning in his towel,
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  and he amused her, and he was kind to Lottie. It is true
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  she liked him most when he wasn't there, but then she usually liked everybody
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  most when they weren't there. Certainly, he did seem to be one of
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  those men, rare in her experience, who never looked at a woman from
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  the predatory angle. The comfort of this, the simplification it brought into the
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  relations of the party, was immense. From this point of view. Mister
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  Wilkins was simply ideal. He was unique and precious. Whenever she thought of
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  him, and was perhaps inclined to dwell on the aspects of him that were
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  a little boring. She remembered this and murmured, but what a treasure.
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  Indeed, it was mister wilkins One aim during his stay at San Salvatore to
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  be a treasure at all costs. The three ladies who were not his wife
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  must like him and trust him. Then, presently, when trouble arose in
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  their lives, and in what lives did not trouble sooner or later arise they
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  would recollect how reliable he was and how sympathetic and turned to him for advice.
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  Ladies with something on their minds were exactly what he wanted. Lady Caroline,
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  he judged, had nothing on hers at the moment, but so much
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  beauty, for he could not but see what was evident, must have had
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  its difficulties in the past, and would have more of them before it had
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  done in the past. He had not been at hand in the future he
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  hoped to be. And meanwhile, the behavior of Missus Fisher, the next
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  in importance of the ladies, from the professional point of view, showed definite
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  promise. It was almost certain that Missus Fisher had something on her mind.
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  He had been observing her attentively, and it was almost certain with the third,
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  Missus Arbuthnot he had up to this made least headway, for she was
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  so very retiring and quiet. But might not this very retiringness, this tendency
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  to avoid the others and spend her time alone, indicate that she too was
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  troubled. If so, he was her man, he would cultivate her.
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  He would follow her and sit with her and encourage her to tell him about
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  herself. Our buff not, he understood from Lottie was a British Museum official.
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  Nothing specially important at present, but mister Wilkins regarded it as his business
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  to know all sorts and kinds. Besides, there was promotion. Ar Buth
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  not promoted might become very much worth while. As for Lottie, she was
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  charming. She really had all the qualities he had credited her with during his
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  courtship, and they had been it appeared merely in abeyance, since his early
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  impressions of her were now being endorsed by the affection and even admiration Lady Caroline
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  showed for her. Lady Caroline Dester was the last person he was sure to
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  be mistaken on such a subject. Her knowledge of the world, her constant
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  association with only the best, must make her quite unerring. Lottie was evidently
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  then, that which before marriage he had believed her to be. She was
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  valuable. She certainly had been most valuable in introducing him to Lady Caroline and
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  missus Fisher. A man in his profession could be immensely helped by a clever
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  and attractive wife. Why had she not been attractive sooner? Why this sudden
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  flowering? Mister Wilkins began too to believe there was something peculiar, as Lottie
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  had almost at once informed him, in the atmosphere of San Salvatore, it
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  promoted expansion, it brought out dormant qualities, and feeling more and more pleased
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  and even charmed by his wife, and very content with the progress he was
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  making with the two others, and hopeful of progress to be made with the
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  retiring third. Mister Wilkins could not remember ever having had such an agreeable holiday.
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  The only thing that might perhaps be bettered was the way they would call
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  him mister Wilkins. Nobody said mister MILLERSH. Wilkins. Yet he had introduced
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  himself to Lady Caroline. He flinched a little, unremembering the circumstances. As
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  MILLERSH. Wilkins still, it was a small matter, not enough to worry
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  about. He would be foolish if in such a place and such society he
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  worried about anything. He was not even worrying about what the holiday was costing,
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  and had made up his mind to pay not only his own expenses but
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  his wife's as well, and surprise her at the end by presenting her with
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  her nest egg as intact as when she started. And just the knowledge that
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  he was preparing a happy surprise for her made him feel warmer than ever towards
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  her. In fact, mister Wilkins, who had begun by being consciously and
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  according to plan on his best behavior, remained on it unconsciously and with no
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  effort at all. And meanwhile, the beautiful golden days were dropping gently from
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  the second week, one by one, equal in beauty with those of the
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  first, and the scent of beamfields and flower on the hillside behind the village
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  came across to San Salvatore. Whenever the air moved in the garden that second
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  week, the poet's eyed Narcissus disappeared out the long grass at the edge of
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  the zigzag path, and wild gladiolus, slender and rose colored, came in
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  their stead. White pinks bloomed in the borders, filling the whole place with
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  their smoky sweet smell, and a bush nobody had noticed burst into glory and
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  fragrance, and it was a purple lilac bush. Such a jumble of spring
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  and summer was not to be believed in, except by those who dwelt in
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  those gardens. Everything seemed to be out together, all the things crowded into
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  one month, which in England are spread penuriously over six Even primroses were found
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  one day by Missus Wilkins in a cold corner up in the hills, and
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  when she brought them down to the geraniums and heliotrope of San Salvatore, they
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  looked quite shy. End of Chapter sixteen