The Enchanted April - Chapter 19

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnem chapter nineteen. And
then when she spoke what chance was there for poor Briggs,
he was undone. All scrap said was how do you

(00:21):
do on mister Wilkins presenting him? But it was enough.
It undid Briggs. From a cheerful, chatty, happy young man,
overflowing with life and friendliness, he became silent, solemn, and
with little beads on his temples. Also he became clumsy,

(00:47):
dropping the teaspoon as he handed her her cup, mismanaging
the macaroons so that one rolled on the ground. His
eyes could not keep off the enchanting face for a moment.
And when mister Wilkins, elucidating him, for he failed to
elucidate himself, informed Lady Caroline that in mister Briggs she

(01:12):
beheld the owner of San Salvatore, who was on his
way to Rome, but had got out at Mizago, et cetera,
et cetera, And that the other three ladies had invited
him to spend the night in what was, to all
intents and purposes, his own house rather than an hotel,
and mister Briggs was only waiting for the seal of

(01:33):
her approval to this invitation, she being the fourth hostess.
When mister Wilkins, balancing his sentences and being admirably clear
and enjoying the sound of his own cultured voice, explained
the position in this manner to Lady Caroline, Briggs sat

(01:53):
and said, never a word. A deep melancholy invaded Scrap.
The symptoms of the incipient grabber were all there, and
only too familiar, and she knew that if Briggs stayed,
her rescuer might be regarded as over. Then Kate Lumley

(02:18):
occurred to her. She caught at Kate as at a straw.
It would have been delightful, she said, faintly, smiling at Briggs.
She could not, in decency not smile at least a little,
but even a little betrayed the dimple, and Briggs's eyes

(02:38):
became more fixed than ever. I'm only wondering if there
is room. Yes, there is, said Lottie. There's Kate Lumley's room,
I thought, said Scrap to missus Fisher, and it seemed
to Briggs that he had never heard music till now.

(03:00):
Your friend was expected immediately. Oh no, said missus Fisher,
with an odd placidness. Scrap thought, Miss Lumley, said mister Wilkins.
Or should I he inquired of missus Fisher, say, missus

(03:21):
nobody has ever married Kate, said missus Fisher complacently. Quite so,
Miss Lumley does not arrive to day in any case,
Lady Caroline, and mister Briggs has, unfortunately, if I may
say so, to continue his journey tomorrow, so that his

(03:43):
staying would in no way interfere with Miss Lumley's possible movements.
Then of course I join in the invitation, said Scrap,
with what was to Briggs the most divine cordiality. He
stammered something flushing scarlet, and Scrap thought, oh, and turned

(04:05):
her head away. But that merely made Briggs acquainted with
her profile. And if there existed anything more lovely than
Scrap's full face, it was her profile. Well, it was
only for this one afternoon and evening. He would leave,
no doubt, the first thing in the morning. It took

(04:26):
hours to get to Rome. Awful if he hung on
till the night train. She had a feeling that the
principal express to Rome passed through at night. Why hadn't
that woman Kate Lumley arrived yet? She had forgotten all
about her, But now she remembered she was to have

(04:46):
been invited a fortnight ago. What had become of her?
This man, once let in, would come and see her
in London, would haunt the places she was likely to
go to. He had the makings her experienced eye could
see of a passionately persistent grabber. If thought mister Wilkins,

(05:10):
observing Briggs's face and sudden silence, any understanding existed between
this young fellow and Missus Arbuthnot, there is now going
to be trouble. Trouble of a different nature from the
kind I feared, in which Arbuthnot would have played a
leading part, in fact, the part of petitioner. But trouble

(05:33):
that may need help and advice, none the less for
its not being publicly scandalous. Briggs, impelled by his passions
and her beauty, will aspire to the daughter of the
Droit Witches. She naturally and properly will repel him. Missus Arbuthnot,

(05:54):
left in the cold, will be upset and show it. Arbuthnot,
on his arrival, will find his wife in enigmatic tears.
Inquiring into their cause. He will be met with an
icy reserve more trouble may then be expected, and in
me they will seek and find their adviser. When Lottie

(06:17):
said Missus Arbuthnot wanted her husband, she was wrong. What
Missus Arbuthnot wants is Briggs, and it looks uncommonly as
if she were not going to get him. Well, I'm
their man. Where are your things, mister Briggs, asked missus Fisher,
her voice round with motherliness. Oughtn't they to be fetched?

(06:42):
For the sun was nearly in the sea now, and
the sweet smelling april dampness that followed immediately on its
disappearance was beginning to steal into the garden. Briggs started
my things, he repeated, Oh, yes, I must fetch them.
They're in Misago. I'll send Domenico. My fly is waiting

(07:05):
in the village. He can go back in it. I'll
go and tell him. He got up to whom was
he talking to missus Fisher ostensibly, yet his eyes were
fixed on Scrap, who said nothing and looked at no one. Then,
recollecting himself, he stammered, I'm awfully sorry. I keep on forgetting.

(07:30):
I'll go down and fetch them myself. We can easily
send Domenico, said rose, and at her gentle voice he
turned his head. Why there was his friend, the sweet
named lady. But how had she not in this short
interval changed? Was it the failing light making her so colorless,

(07:56):
so vague featured, so dim, so much like a ghost?
A nice, good ghost, of course, and still with a
pretty name, but only a ghost. He turned from her
to scrap again and forgot Rosarbuthnot's existence. How was it
possible for him to bother about anybody or anything else

(08:20):
in this first moment of being face to face with
his dream come true, Briggs had not supposed or hoped
that any one as beautiful as his dream of beauty existed.
He'd never till now met even an approximation pretty women,
Charming women by the score he had maddened, properly appreciated,

(08:43):
but never the real, the godlike thing itself. He used
to think, if ever I saw a perfectly beautiful woman,
I should die. And though having now met what, to
his ideas was a perfectly beautiful woman, he did not die.
He became very nearly as incapable of managing his own

(09:05):
affairs as if he had the others were obliged to
arrange everything for him by questions. They extracted from him
that his luggage was in the station cloak room at Mitsago,
and they sent for Domenico. And urged and prompted by
everybody except Scrap, who sat in silence and looked at

(09:28):
no one, Briggs was induced to give him the necessary
instructions for going back in the fly and bringing out
his things. It was a sad sight to see the
collapse of Briggs. Everybody noticed it, even rose upon my word,
thought missus Fisher. The way one pretty face can turn

(09:52):
a delightful man into an idiot is past all patients,
and feeling the air getting chilled and the sight of
the enthralled Briggs painful, she went in to order his
room to be got ready, regretting now that she had
pressed the poor boy to stay. She had forgotten Lady
Caroline's kill joy face for the moment, and the more

(10:16):
completely owing to the absence of any ill effects produced
by it on mister Wilkins, poor boy, such a charming boy,
too left to himself. It was true she could not
accuse Lady Caroline of not leaving him to himself, for
she was taking no notice of him at all. But

(10:36):
that did not help, exactly like foolish moths did. Men
in other respects intelligent flutter around the impassive lighted candle
of a pretty face. She had seen them doing it,
she had looked on only too often. Almost she laid

(10:56):
a mother hand on Briggs's fair head as she passed
poor boy, then, scrap, having finished her cigarette, got up
and went indoors too. She saw no reason why she
should sit there in order to gratify mister Briggs's desire
to stare. She would have liked to stay out longer,

(11:18):
to go out to her corner behind the Daphne bushes
and look at the sunset sky, and watch the lights
coming out one by one in the village below, and
smell the sweet moisteness of the evening. But if she did,
mister Briggs would certainly follow her. The old familiar tyranny

(11:39):
had begun again. Her holiday of peace and liberation was interrupted,
perhaps over, for who knew if he would go away
after all tomorrow He might leave the house driven out
of it by Kate Lumley, but that was nothing to
prevent his taking rooms in the village and coming up

(11:59):
every day day. This tyranny of one person over another
and she was so miserably constructed that she wouldn't even
be able to frown him down without being misunderstood. Scrap,
who loved this time of the evening in her corner,
felt indignant with mister Briggs, who was doing her out

(12:22):
of it, and she turned her back on the garden
and him, and went towards the house without a look
or a word. But Briggs, when he realized her intention,
leaped to his feet, snatched chairs which were not in
her way out of it, kicked a footstool which was
not in her path on one side, hurried to the door,

(12:44):
which stood wide open, in order to hold it open,
and followed her through it, walking by her side along
the hall. What was to be done with mister Briggs? Well,
it was his hall. She couldn't prevent his walking along it,
I hope, he said, not able while walking to take

(13:06):
his eyes off her, so that he knocked against several
things he would otherwise have avoided. The corner of a bookcase,
an ancient carved cupboard, the table with the flowers on it,
shaking the water over that you are quite comfortable here.
If you're not, I'll I'll flay them alive. His voice

(13:27):
vibrated what was to be done with mister Briggs. She could,
of course stay in her room the whole time, say
she was ill, not appear at dinner. But again the
tyranny of this. I'm very comfortable, indeed, said Scrap, if
I had dreamed you were coming, he began. It's a

(13:50):
wonderful old place, said Scrap, doing her utmost to sound
detached and forbidding, but with little hope of success. The
kitchen was on this floor, and passing its door, which
was open a crack. They were observed by the servants,
whose thoughts, communicated to each other by looks, may be

(14:12):
roughly reproduced by such rude symbols as aha and oho,
symbols which represented and included their appreciation of the inevitable,
their forre knowledge of the inevitable, and their complete understanding
and approval. Are you going upstairs? Asked Briggs, as she

(14:34):
paused at the foot of them. Yes, which room do
you sit in? The drawing room or the small yellow
room in my own room? So then he couldn't go
up with her, So then all he could do was
to wait till she came out again. He longed to

(14:57):
ask her which was her own room. It thrilled him
to hear her call any room in his house her
own room, that he might picture her in it. He
longed to know if, by any happy chance, it was
his room for ever after to be filled with her wonder,
but he didn't dare. He would find that out later

(15:17):
from some one else. Francesca, anybody, then, I shan't see
you again till dinner. Dinner is at eight, was Scrap's
evasive answer. As she went upstairs, he watched her go.
She passed the Madonna, the portrait of Rosarbuthnot, and the

(15:42):
dark eyed figure he had thought so sweet seemed to
turn pale to shrivel into insignificance. As she passed, she
turned the bend of the stairs, and the setting sun
shining through the west window. A moment on her face
turned her to glory. She disappeared, and the sun went

(16:05):
out too, and the stairs were dark and empty. He
listened till her footsteps were silent, trying to tell from
the sound of the shutting door which room she had
gone into. Then wandered aimlessly away through the hall again
and found himself back in the top garden. Scrap from

(16:28):
her window saw him there she saw Lottie and Rose
sitting on the end parapet where she would have liked
to have been, and she saw mister Wilkins button holding
Briggs and evidently telling him the story of the oleander
tree in the middle of the garden. Briggs was listening

(16:48):
with the patience she thought rather nice, seeing that it
was his oleander and his own father's story. She knew
mister Wilkins was telling him the story by his gestures.
Domenico had told it her soon after her arrival, and
he had also told Missus Fisher, who had told mister Wilkins.

(17:10):
Missus Fisher thought highly of this story and often spoke
of it. It was about a cherrywood walking stick. Briggs's
father had thrust this stick into the ground at that
spot and said to Domenico's father, who was then the gardener,
here we will have an oleander. And briggs father left

(17:33):
the stick in the ground as a reminder to Domenico's father,
and presently, how long afterwards nobody remembered, the stick began
to sprout and it was an oleander. There stood poor
mister Briggs, being told all about it and listening to
the story. He must have known from infancy with patience.

(17:58):
Probably he was thinking of so something else. She was
afraid he was. How unfortunate, how extremely unfortunate, the determination
that seized people to get hold of and engulf other people,
If only they could be induced to stand more on
their own feet. Why couldn't mister Briggs be more like Lotty,

(18:23):
who never wanted anything of anybody, but was complete in
herself and respected other people's completeness. One loved being with Lotty.
With her, one was free and yet befriended. Mister Briggs
looked so really nice too. She thought she might like him,

(18:44):
if only he wouldn't so excessively like her. Scrap felt
melancholy here she was shut up in her bedroom, which
was stuffy from the afternoon sun that had been pouring
into it, instead of out in the cool garden, and
all because of mister briggs intolerable tyranny, she thought, flaring up.

(19:10):
She wouldn't endure it. She would go out all the same.
She would run downstairs while mister Wilkins, really that man
was a treasure, held mister Briggs down, telling him about
the oleander, and get out of the house by the
front door and take cover in the shadows of the
zigzag path. Nobody could see her there, nobody would think

(19:33):
of looking for her. There she snatched up a rap,
for she did not mean to come back for a
long while, perhaps not even to dinner. It would be
all mister briggs fault if she went dinnerless and hungry.
And with another glance out of the window to see
if she was still safe, she stole out and got

(19:53):
away to the sheltering trees of the zigzag path, and
there sat down on one of the seats placed at
each bend to assist the upward journey of those who
were breathless. Ah, this was lovely, thought Scrap, with a
sigh of relief. How cool, how good it smelt. She

(20:15):
could see the quiet water of the little harbor through
the pine trunks, and the lights coming out in the
houses on the other side, and all round her the
green dusk was splashed by the rose pink of the
gladiolus's in the grass, and the white of the crowding daisies. Ah,

(20:36):
this was lovely. So still nothing moving, not a leaf,
not a stalk. The only sound was a dog barking
far away somewhere up on the hills, or when the
door of the little restaurant in the piazza below was opened,
and there was a burst of voices, silenced again immediately

(20:59):
by the swinging two of the door. She drew in
a deep breath of pleasure. Ah, this was her deep
breath was arrested in the middle. What was that? She
leaned forward, listening her body tense footsteps on the zigzag

(21:22):
path briggs finding her out. Should she run? No? The
footsteps were coming up, not down, someone from the village,
perhaps Angelo, with provisions. She relaxed again. But the steps

(21:44):
were not the steps of Angelo, that swift and springy youth.
They were slow and considered, and they kept on pausing.
Someone who isn't used to hills thought scrap. The idea
of going back to the house did not occur to her.
She was afraid of nothing in life except love. Brigands

(22:08):
or murderers. As such held no terrors for the daughter
of the Droit witches. She only would have been afraid
of them if they left off being brigands and murderers
and began instead to try and make love. The next moment,
the footsteps turned the corner of her bit of path,
and stood still, getting his wind thought scrap. Not looking round. Then,

(22:34):
as he from the sounds of the steps, she took
them to belong to a man did not move. She
turned her head and beheld with astonishment a person she
had seen a good deal of lately in London, the
well known writer of amusing memoirs, mister Ferdinand Arundel. She stared.

(22:58):
Nothing in the way of being followed surprised her any more,
but that he should have discovered where she was surprised her.
Her mother had promised faithfully to tell no one you,
she said, feeling betrayed here He came up to her
and took off his hat. His forehead beneath the hat

(23:22):
was wet with the beads of unaccustomed climbing. He looked
ashamed and entreating, like a guilty but devoted dog. You
must forgive me, he said, Lady Droitwridge told me where
you were, and as I happened to be passing through
on my way to Rome, I thought I would get

(23:43):
out at Mitzago and just look in and see how
you were. But didn't my mother tell you I was
doing a rest cure. Yes she did, and that's why
I haven't intruded on you. Earlier in the day. I
thought you would probably sleep all day and wake up
about now so as to be fed. But I know

(24:08):
I've got nothing to say an excuse. I couldn't help myself.
This thought scrap comes of mother insisting on having authors
to lunch, and me being so much more amiable in
appearance than I really am. She had been amiable to
Ferdinando Rundle. She liked him, or rather she did not

(24:31):
dislike him. He seemed a jovial simple man and had
the eyes of a nice dog. Also, though it was
evident that he admired her, he had not in London
grabbed there. He had merely been a good natured, harmless
person of entertaining conversation who helped to make luncheons agreeable.

(24:56):
Now it appeared that he too was a grabber, fancy
following her out there daring too. Nobody else had. Perhaps
her mother had given him the address because she considered
him so absolutely harmless and thought he might be useful
and see her home. Well. Whatever he was, he couldn't

(25:18):
possibly give her the trouble an active young man like
mister Briggs might give her. Mister Briggs, infatuated would be reckless,
she felt, would stick at nothing, would lose his head publicly.
She could imagine mister Briggs doing things with rope ladders
and singing all night under her window, being really difficult

(25:40):
and uncomfortable. Mister Arundel hadn't the figure for any kind
of recklessness. He had lived too long and too well.
She was sure he couldn't sing and wouldn't want to.
He must be at least forty. How many good dinners
could not a man have eaten by the time he
was forty, And if during that time, instead of taking

(26:04):
exercise he had sat writing books, he would quite naturally
acquire the figure. Mister Arundel had, in fact acquired the
figure rather for conversation than adventure. Scrap, who had become
melancholy at the sight of Briggs, became philosophical at the

(26:25):
sight of Arundel. Here he was. She couldn't send him
away till after dinner. He must be nourished. This being
so she'd better make the best of it, and do
that with a good grace, which anyhow wasn't to be avoided. Besides,

(26:45):
he would be a temporary shelter from mister Briggs. She
was at least acquainted with Ferdinand Arundel, and could hear
news from him of her mother and her friends, and
such talk would put up a defensive barrier dinner between
herself and the approaches of the other one. And it
was only for one dinner, and he couldn't eat her.

(27:10):
She therefore prepared herself for friendliness. I'm to be fed,
she said, ignoring his last remark at eight, and you
must come up and be fed too. Sit down and
get cool and tell me how everybody is. May I
really dine with you in these traveling things, he said,

(27:33):
wiping his forehead before sitting down beside her. She was
too lovely to be true, he thought. Just to look
at her for an hour, just to hear her voice
was enough reward for his journey and his fears. Of course,
I suppose you've left your fly in the village and

(27:54):
we'll be going on from Mitzago by the night train,
or stay in the Tzago in a hotel and go
on tomorrow. But tell me, he said, gazing at the
adorable profile about yourself. London has been extraordinarily dull and empty.
Lady Droitwich said, you were with people here. She didn't know.

(28:16):
I hope they've been kind to you. You look well
as if your cure had done everything a cure should.
They've been very kind, said Scrap. I got them out
of an advertisement. An advertisement. It's a good way I
find to get friends. I'm fonder of one of these

(28:39):
than i've been of anybody in years. Really, who is it?
You shall guess which of them it is when you
see them. Tell me about mother. When did you see
her last? We arranged not to write to each other
unless there was something special. I wanted to have a
month that was perfectly blank. And now I've come and interrupted.

(29:05):
I can't tell you how ashamed I am, both of
having done it and of not having been able to
help it. Oh Butt, said Scrap quickly, For we could
not have come on a better day. When up there
waiting and watching for her was she knew the enamored Briggs.
I'm really very glad indeed to see you. Tell me

(29:27):
about mother. End of chapter nineteen.