The Enchanted April - Chapter 18

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:06):
Missus a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information and to find out how
you can volunteer, please The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnhem,
chapter eighteen. They had a very pleasant walk, with a

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great deal of sitting down in warm time fragrant corners.
And if anything could have helped Rose to recover from
the bitter disappointment of the morning, it would have been
the company and conversation of mister Briggs. You did help
her to recover, and the same process took place as

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that which Lottie had undergone with her husband. And the
more mister Briggs thought Rose charming, the more charming she became.
Briggs was a man incapable of concealments, who never lost
time if he could help it. They had not got
to the end of the headland where the lighthouse is.

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Briggs asked her to show him the lighthouse, because the
path to it, he knew, was wide enough for two
to walk abreast and fairly level. Before he had told
her of the impression she made on him in London.
Since even the most religious sober women like to know
they have made an impression, particularly the kind that has

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nothing to do with character or merits. Rose was pleased.
Being pleased, she smiled, smiling, she was more attractive than ever.
Color came into her cheeks and brightness into her eyes.
She heard herself saying things that really sounded quite interesting

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and even amusing. If Frederick were listening now, she thought,
perhaps he would see that she couldn't, after all, be
such a hopeless bore. For here was a man, nice looking, young,
and surely clever. He seemed clever, and she hoped he was,
for then the compliment would be still greater, who was

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evidently quite happy to spend the afternoon just talking to her.
And indeed, mister Briggs seemed very much interested. He wanted
to hear about everything she had been doing. From the
moment she got there. He asked her if she had
seen this, that, and the other in the house, what

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she liked best, which room she had, if she were comfortable,
if Francesca was behaving, if Domenico took care of her,
and whether she didn't enjoy using the yellow sitting room,
the one that got all the sun and looked out
towards Genoa. Rose was ashamed how little she had noticed

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in the house, and how few of the things he
spoke of is curious or beautiful in it? She had
even seen swamped, and thought of Frederick. She appeared to
have lived in San Salvatore blindly, and more than half
the time had gone, and what had been the good
of it? She might just as well have been sitting

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hankering on Hampstead heath. No, she mightn't. Through all her hankerings,
she had been conscious that she was at least in
the very heart of beauty. And indeed it was this beauty,
this longing to share it, that had first started her
off hankering. Mister Briggs, however, was too much alive for

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her to be able to spare any attention at this
moment for Frederick. And she praised the servants in answer
to his questions, and praised the yellow sitting room without
telling him she had only been in it once, And
then was ignominiously ejected. And she told him she knew
hardly anything about art and curiosities, but thought perhaps if

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somebody would tell her about them, she would know more.
And she said she had spent every day since her
arrival out of doors, because out of doors there was
so very wonderful and different from anything she had ever seen.
Briggs walked by her side along his paths that were

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yet so happily for the moment her paths, and felt
all the innocent glows of family life. He was an
orphan and an only child, and had a warm domestic disposition.
He would have adored a sister and spoiled a mother,
and was beginning at this time to think of marrying,

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for though he had been very happy with his various loves,
each of them, contrary to the usual experience, turned ultimately
into his devoted friend. And he was fond of children,
and thought he had perhaps now got to the age
of settling, if he did not wish to be too
old by the time his eldest son was twenty. San

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Salvatore had latterly seemed a little forlorn. He fancied, it
echoed when he walked about it. He had felt lonely there,
so lonely that he had preferred this year to miss
out a spring and let it. It wanted a wife
in it. It wanted that final touch of warmth and beauty,

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for he never thought of his wife except in terms
of warmth and beauty. She would of course, be beautiful
and kind. It amused him how much in love with
this vague wife he was already At such a rate
was he making friends with the lady with the sweet name?

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As he walked along the path towards the life house
that he was sure presently he would be telling her
everything about himself and his past doings and his future hopes.
And the thought of such a swiftly developing confidence made
him laugh. Why are you laughing, she asked, looking at

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him and smiling. It's so like coming home, he said.
But it is coming home for you to come here,
I mean, really like coming home to one's one's family.
I never had a family. I'm an orphan. Oh are you,

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said Rose, with the proper sympathy. I hope you've not
been one very long. No, I I don't mean I
hope you have been one very long. No. I don't
know what I mean except that I'm sorry. He laughed again.
Oh I'm used to it. I haven't anybody. No sisters

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are others. Then you're an only child, she observed intelligently. Yes,
and there's something about you that's exactly my idea of
a of a family. She was amused, so cozy, he said,

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looking at her and searching for a word. You wouldn't
think so if you saw my house in Hampstead, she said,
a vision of that, austere and hard seated dwelling presenting
itself to her mind, with nothing soft in it except
the shunned and neglected to bury sofa. No wonder, she

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thought for a moment, clear brained that Frederick avoided it.
There was nothing cozy about his family. I don't believe
any place you lived in could be anything but exactly
like you, he said, Not going to pretend San Salvatore
is like me. Indeed I do pretended. Surely you admit

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that it is beautiful, he said several things like that.
She enjoyed her walk. She could not recollect any walk
so pleasant since her courting days. She came back to Tea,
bringing mister Briggs and looking quite different. Mister Wilkins noticed

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from what she had looked till then. Trouble here. Trouble here,
thought mister Wilkins, mentally rubbing his professional hands. He could
see himself being called in presently to advise. On the
one hand, there was Arbuthnot. On the other hand, here
was Briggs. Trouble brewing trouble sooner or later. But why

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had briggs telegram acted on the lady like a blow.
If she had turned pale from excess of joy, than
trouble was nearer than he had supposed. She was not pale. Now,
she was more like her name than he had yet
seen her. Well, he was the man for trouble. Be regretted,

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of course that people should get into it, but being
in he was their man. And mister Wilkins, invigorated by
these thoughts, his career being very precious to him, proceeded
to assist in doing the honors to mister Briggs, both
in his quality of sharer in the temporary ownership of

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San Salvatore and of a probable helper out of difficulties,
with great hospitality, and pointed out the various features of
the place to him, and led him to the parapet,
and showed him Misago across the bay. 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. Also, there seemed a peculiar merit in
being a man of property so young, inheritance of course,
and inheritance was more respectable than acquisition. It did indicate fathers,

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and in an age where most people appeared neither to
have them nor to want them, she liked this too. Accordingly,
it was a pleasant meal, with everybody amiable and pleased.
Briggs thought missus Fisher a dear old lady, and showed
he thought so. And again the magic worked, and she

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became a dear old lady. She developed benignity with him,
and a kind of benignity which was almost playful. Actually,
before tea was over, including in some observation she made
him the words, my dear boy. Strange words in Missus

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Fisher's mouth. It is doubtful whether in her life she
had used them before. Rose was astonished how nice people
really were. When would she leave off making mistakes about them?
She hadn't suspected this side of missus Fisher, and she
began to wonder whether those other sides of her with

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which alone she was acquainted, had not, perhaps, after all,
been the effect of her own militant and irritating behavior.
Probably they were, how horrid then she must have been.
She felt very penitent when she saw missus Fisher beneath
her eyes blossoming out into real amiability the moment some

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one came along who was charming to her, and she
could have sunk into the ground with shame when missus
Fisher presently laughed, and she realized by the shock it
gave her that the sound was entirely new. Not once
before had she or any one else there heard missus

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Fisher laugh. What an indictment of the lot of them,
For they had all laughed the others, some more and
some less, at one time or another since their arrival,
and only missus Fisher had not clearly since she could
enjoy herself as she was now enjoying herself. She had

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not enjoyed herself before. Nobody had cared whether she did
or not, except perhaps Lotty. Yes, Lotty had cared and
had wanted her to be happy. But Lotty seemed to
produce a bad effect on missus Fisher. While as for
Rose herself, she'd never been with her for five minutes

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without wanting, really wanting to provoke and oppose her. How
very horrid she had been, She had behaved unpardonably. Her
penitence showed itself in a shy 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 order to be behaved to
by rose Arbuthnot just like that. There was evidently no end,
he thought, to the things she could do. Sweetly, he
would not even mind taking medicine, really nasty medicine, if

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it were rosarbuthnot bending over him with the dose, she
felt his bright blue eyes the brighter because he was
so sunburnt, fixed on her with a twinkle in them,
and smiling, asked him what he was thinking about. 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 his hands. Well, I'm their man, I'm sure,
said missus Fisher, benignly, you have no thoughts we may
not hear, I'm sure, said Briggs. I would be telling

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you every one of my secrets in a week. You
would be telling somebody very safe, then, said missus Fisher benevolently.
Just such a son would she have liked to have had,
And in return she went on, I dare say I
would tell you mine. Ah no, said mister Wilkins, adapting

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himself to the tone of easy badinage. I must protest,
I really must. I have a prior claim. I am
the older friend. I have known missus Fisher ten days,
and you Briggs have not yet known her one. I
assert my right to be told her secrets first, that is,
he added, bowing gallantly, if she has any which I

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beg leave to doubt. Oh haven't I exclaimed missus Fisher,
thinking of those green leaves. That she should exclaim at
all was surprising, but that she should do it with
gaiety was miraculous. Rose could only watch her in wonder.

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Then I shall worm them out, said Briggs, with equal gaiety.
They won't need much worming out, said missus Fisher. My
difficulty is to keep them from bursting out. It might
have been lotty talking. Mister Wilkins adjusted the single eye
glass he carried with him for occasions like this and

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examined missus Fisher carefully. Rose looked on, unable not to
smile too. Since Missus Fisher seemed so much amused, the
Rose did not quite know why, and her smile was
a little uncertain for missus Fisher amused was a new sight,
not without its awe inspiring aspects, and had to be

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got accustomed to. What missus Fisher was thinking was how
much surprised they would be if she told them of
her very odd and exciting sensation of going to come
out all over buds. They would think she was an
extremely silly old woman, and so would she have thought

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as lately as two days ago. But the bud idea
was becoming familiar to her. She was more apprivois now,
as dear Matthew Arnold used to say. And though it
would undoubtedly be the best if one's appearance and sensations matched,
yet supposing they did not, and one couldn't have everything,

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was it not better to feel young somewhere rather than
old everywhere? Time enough to be old everywhere again inside
as well as out when she got back to her
sarcophagus in Prince of Wales's Terrace. Yet it is probable
that without the arrival of Briggs, Missus Fisher would have

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gone on secretly fermenting in her shell. The others only
knew her as severe. It would have been more than
her dignity could bear. Suddenly to relax especially towards the
three young women. But now came the stranger Briggs, a
stranger who at once took to her as no man

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had taken to her in her life. And it was
the coming of Briggs and his real and manifest appreciation
for just such a grandmother, thought Briggs. Hungry for home
life Finett's concomitants, would he have liked to have that
released Missus Fisher from her shell. And here she was,

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at last, as Lotty had predicted, pleased, good humored and benevolent. Lotty,
coming back half an hour later from her picnic, and
following the sound of voices into the top garden in
the hope of still finding tea, saw at once what
had happened for Missus Fisher at that very moment was laughing.

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She's burst her cocoon, thought Lotty. And swift as she
was in all her movements, and impulsive, and also without
any sense of propriety to worry and delay her. She
bent over the back of missus Fisher's chair and kissed her.
Good gracious, cried Missus Fisher, starting violently, for such a

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thing had not happened to her since mister Fisher's earlier days.
And then only gingerly. This kiss was a real kiss,
and rested on Missus Fisher's cheek a moment with a
strange soft sweetness. When she saw whose it was, a
deep flush spread over her face, Missus Wilkins kissing her,

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and the kiss feeling so affectionate. Even if she had
wanted to, she could not, in the presence of the
appreciative mister Briggs, resume her cast off severity and begin
rebuking again. But she did not want to. Was it
possible Missus Wilkins liked her, had liked her all this

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time while she had been so much disliking her herself.
A queer little trickle of warmth filtered through the frozen
defenses of Missus Fisher's heart, somebody young kissing her, somebody
young wanting to kiss her, very much flushed, she watched

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the strange creature, apparently quite unconscious she had done anything extraordinary,
shaking hands with mister Briggs on her husband's introducing him,
and immediately embarking on the friendliest conversation with him, exactly
as if she had known him all her life. What
a strange creature, What a very strange creature. It was

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natural she being so strange that one should have perhaps
misjudged her. I'm sure you want some tea, said Briggs,
with eager hospitality to Lottie. He thought her delightful, freckles, picnic,
untidiness and all, just such a sister would he? This

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is cold, he said, feeling the teapot. I'll tell Francesca
to make you some fresh He broke off and blushed.
Aren't I forgetting myself? He said, laughing and looking round
at them. Very natural, very natural, mister Wilkins reassured him.
I'll go and tell Francesca, said Rose, getting up. No, no,

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said Briggs, don't go away, and he put his hands
to his mouth and shouted. Francesca, shouted Briggs. She came running.
No summons in their experience had been answered by her
with such celerity. Her master's voice, remarked mister Wilkins. Aptly

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he considered, make fresh tea, ordered Briggs in Italian, quick quick,
and then, remembering himself, he blushed again and begged everybody's pardon.
Very natural, Very natural, mister Wilkins reassured him. Briggs then
explained to Lottie what he had explained twice already, once

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to rose and once to the other two that he
was on his way to Rome and thought he would
get out at Mazago and just look in to see
if they were comfortable, and continue his journey the next day,
staying the night in a hotel at Misago. But how ridiculous,
said Lottie. Of course you must stay here. It's your house.

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There's Kate Lumley's room, she added, turning to missus Fisher.
You wouldn't mind mister Briggs having it for one night.
Kate Lumley isn't in it, you know, she said, turning
to Briggs again and laughing, and missus Fisher, to her
immense surprise, laughed too. She knew that any other time
this re mark would have struck her as excessively unseemly,

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and yet now she only thought it funny. No, Indeed,
she assured Briggs, Kate Lumley was not in that room,
very fortunately, for she was an excessively wide person and
the room was excessively narrow. Kate Lummy might get into it,
but that was about all. Once in, she would fit

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it so tightly that probably she would never be able
to get out again. It was entirely at mister briggs disposal,
and she hoped he would do nothing so absurd as
go to an hotel. He the owner of the whole place.
Rose listened to this speech, wide eyed with amazement. Missus

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Fisher laughed very much as she made it. Lottie laughed
very much too, and at the end of it bent
down and kissed her again, kissed her several times. So
you see, my dear boy, said missus Fisher, you must
stay here and give us all a great deal of pleasure.
A great deal, indeed, corroborated mister Wilkins heartily. A very

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great deal, repeated missus Fisher, looking exactly like a pleased
mother do, said Rose on Briggs, turning inquiringly to her,
How kind of you all, he said, his face broad
with smiles. I'd love to be a guest here. What
a new sensation. And with three such he broke off

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and looked round, I say, he asked, oughtn't I to
have a fourth hostess? Francesca said she had four mistresses. Yes,
there's lady Caroline, said Lotty. Then hadn't we better find
out first if she invites me to? Oh but she's sure,

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began Lotty, the daughter of the droit Witch's Briggs, said,
mister Wilkins is not likely to be wanting, in the
proper hospitable impulses the daughter of the repeated Briggs. But
he stopped dead, for there in the doorway was the
daughter of the droit Witch's herself, or rather, coming towards

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him of the dark doorway, into the brightness of the sunset,
was that which he had not in his life yet seen,
but only dreamed of, his ideal of absolute loveliness. End
of Chapter eighteen.