Chapter 5
It was cloudy in Italy, which surprised them. They had expectedbrilliant sunshine. But never mind: it was Italy, and the very cloudslooked fat. Neither of them had ever been there before. Both gazedout of the windows with rapt faces. The hours flew as long as it wasdaylight, and after that there was the excitement of getting nearer,getting quite near, getting there. At Genoa it had begun to rain--Genoa! Imagine actually being at Genoa, seeing its name written up inthe station just like any other name--at Nervi it was pouring, and whenat last towards midnight, for again the train was late, they got toMezzago, the rain was coming down in what seemed solid sheets. But itwas Italy. Nothing it did could be bad. The very rain was different--straight rain, falling properly on to one's umbrella; not thatviolently blowing English stuff that got in everywhere. And it didleave off; and when it did, behold the earth would be strewn withroses.
Mr. Briggs, San Salvatore's owner, had said, "You get out atMezzago, and then you drive." But he had forgotten what he amply knew,that trains in Italy are sometimes late, and he had imagined histenants arriving at Mezzago at eight o'clock and finding a string offlys to choose from.
The train was four hours late, and when Mrs. Arbuthnot and Mrs.Wilkins scrambled down the ladder-like high steps of their carriageinto the black downpour, their skirts sweeping off great pools of sootywet because their hands were full of suit-cases, if it had not been forthe vigilance of Domenico, the gardener at San Salvatore, they wouldhave found nothing for them to drive in. All ordinary flys had longsince gone home. Domenico, foreseeing this, had sent his aunt'sfly, driven by her son his cousin; and his aunt and her fly lived inCastagneto, the village crouching at the feet of San Salvatore, andtherefore, however late the train was, the fly would not dare come homewithout containing that which it had been sent to fetch.
Domenico's cousin's name was Beppo, and he presently emerged outof the dark where Mrs. Arbuthnot and Mrs. Wilkins stood, uncertain whatto do next after the train had gone on, for they could see no porterand they thought from the feel of it that they were standing not somuch on a platform as in the middle of the permanent way.
Beppo, who had been searching for them, emerged from the darkwith a kind of pounce and talked Italian to them vociferously. Beppowas a most respectable young man, but he did not look as if he were,especially not in the dark, and he had a dripping hat slouched over oneeye. They did not like the way he seized their suit-cases. He couldnot be, they thought, a porter. However, they presently from out ofhis streaming talk discerned the words San Salvatore, and after thatthey kept on saying them to him, for it was the only Italian they knew,as they hurried after him, unwilling to lose sight of their suit-cases,stumbling across rails and through puddles out to where in the road asmall, high fly stood.
Its hood was up, and its horse was in an attitude of thought.They climbed in, and the minute they were in--Mrs. Wilkins, indeed,could hardly be called in--the horse awoke with a start from itsreverie and immediately began going home rapidly; without Beppo;without the suit-cases.
Beppo darted after him, making the night ring with his shouts,and caught the hanging reins just in time. He explained proudly, andas it seemed to him with perfect clearness, that the horse always didthat, being a fine animal full of corn and blood, and cared for by him,Beppo, as if he were his own son, and the ladies must be alarmed--hehad noticed they were clutching each other; but clear, and loud, andprofuse of words though he was, they only looked at him blankly.
He went on talking, however, while he piled the suit-cases upround them, sure that sooner or later they must understand him,especially as he was careful to talk very loud and illustrateeverything he said with the simplest elucidatory gestures, but theyboth continued only to look at him. They both, he noticedsympathetically, had white faces, fatigued faces, and they both had bigeyes, fatigued eyes. They were beautiful ladies, he thought, and theireyes, looking at him over the tops of the suit-cases watching his everymovement--there were no trunks, only numbers of suit-cases--were likethe eyes of the Mother of God. The only thing the ladies said, andthey repeated it at regular intervals, even after they had started,gently prodding him as he sat on his box to call his attention to it,was, "San Salvatore?"
And each time he answered vociferously, encouragingly, "Si, si--San Salvatore."
"We don't know of course if he's taking us there," said Mrs.Arbuthnot at last in a low voice, after they had been driving as itseemed to them a long while, and had got off the paving-stones of thesleep-shrouded town and were out on a winding road with what they couldjust see was a low wall on their left beyond which was a great blackemptiness and the sound of the sea. On their right was something closeand steep and high and black--rocks, they whispered to each other; hugerocks.
They felt very uncomfortable. It was so late. It was so dark.The road was so lonely. Suppose a wheel came off. Suppose they metFascisti, or the opposite of Fascisti. How sorry they were now thatthey had not slept at Genoa and come on the next morning in daylight.
"But that would have been the first of April," said Mrs. Wilkins,in a low voice.
"It is that now," said Mrs. Arbuthnot beneath her breath.
"So it is," murmured Mrs. Wilkins.
They were silent.
Beppo turned round on his box--a disquieting habit alreadynoticed, for surely his horse ought to be carefully watched--and againaddressed them with what he was convinced was lucidity--no patois, andthe clearest explanatory movements.
How much they wished their mothers had made them learn Italianwhen they were little. If only now they could have said, "Please sitround the right way and look after the horse." They did not even knowwhat horse was in Italian. It was contemptible to be so ignorant.
In their anxiety, for the road twisted round great jutting rocks,and on their left was only the low wall to keep them out of the seashould anything happen, they too began to gesticulate, waving theirhands at Beppo, pointing ahead. They wanted him to turn round again andface his horse, that was all. He thought they wanted him to drivefaster; and there followed a terrifying ten minutes during which, as hesupposed, he was gratifying them. He was proud of his horse, and itcould go very fast. He rose in his seat, the whip cracked, the horserushed forward, the rocks leaped towards them, the little fly swayed,the suit-cases heaved, Mrs. Arbuthnot and Mrs. Wilkins clung. In thisway they continued, swaying, heaving, clattering, clinging, till at apoint near Castagneto there was a rise in the road, and on reaching thefoot of the rise the horse, who knew every inch of the way, stoppedsuddenly, throwing everything in the fly into a heap, and thenproceeded up at the slowest of walks.
Beppo twisted himself round to receive their admiration, laughingwith pride in his horse.
There was no answering laugh from the beautiful ladies. Theireyes, fixed on him, seemed bigger than ever, and their faces againstthe black of the night showed milky.
But here at least, once they were up the slope, were houses. Therocks left off, and there were houses; the low wall left off, and therewere houses; the sea shrunk away, and the sound of it ceased, and theloneliness of the road was finished. No lights anywhere, of course,nobody to see them pass; and yet Beppo, when the houses began, afterlooking over his shoulder and shouting "Castagneto" at the ladies, oncemore stood up and cracked his whip and once more made his horse dashforward.
"We shall be there in a minute," Mrs. Arbuthnot said to herself,holding on.
"We shall soon stop now," Mrs. Wilkins said to herself, holdingon. They said nothing aloud, because nothing would have been heardabove the whip-cracking and the wheel-clattering and the boisterousinciting noises Beppo was making at his horse.
Anxiously they strained their eyes for any sight of the beginningof San Salvatore.
They had supposed and hoped that after a reasonable amount ofvillage a mediaeval archway would loom upon them, and through it theywould drive into a garden and draw up at an open, welcoming door, withlight streaming from it and those servants stand
ing in it who,according to the advertisement, remained.
Instead the fly suddenly stopped.
Peering out they could see they were still in the village street,with small dark houses each side; and Beppo, throwing the reins overthe horse's back as if completely confident this time that he would notgo any farther, got down off his box. At the same moment, springing asit seemed out of nothing, a man and several half-grown boys appeared oneach side of the fly and began dragging out the suit-cases.
"No, no--San Salvatore, San Salvatore"--exclaimed Mrs. Wilkins,trying to hold on to what suit-cases she could.
"Si, si--San Salvatore," they all shouted, pulling.
"This can't be San Salvatore," said Mrs. Wilkins, turning to Mrs.Arbuthnot, who sat quite still watching her suit-cases being taken fromher with the same patience she applied to lesser evils. She knew shecould do nothing if these men were wicked men determined to have hersuit-cases.
"I don't think it can be," she admitted, and could not refrainfrom a moment's wonder at the ways of God. Had she really been broughthere, she and poor Mrs. Wilkins, after so much trouble in arranging it,so much difficulty and worry, along such devious paths of prevaricationand deceit, only to be--
She checked her thoughts, and gently said to Mrs. Wilkins, whilethe ragged youths disappeared with the suit-cases into the night andthe man with the lantern helped Beppo pull the rug off her, that theywere both in God's hands; and for the first time on hearing this, Mrs.Wilkins was afraid.
There was nothing for it but to get out. Useless to try to go onsitting in the fly repeating San Salvatore. Every time they said it,and their voices each time were fainter, Beppo and the other man merelyechoed it in a series of loud shouts. If only they had learned Italianwhen they were little. If only they could have said, "We wish to bedriven to the door." But they did not even know what door was inItalian. Such ignorance was not only contemptible, it was, they nowsaw, definitely dangerous. Useless, however, to lament it now.Useless to put off whatever it was that was going to happen to them bytrying to go on sitting in the fly. They therefore got out.
The two men opened their umbrellas for them and handed them tothem. From this they received a faint encouragement, because theycould not believe that if these men were wicked they would pause toopen umbrellas. The man with the lantern then made signs to them tofollow him, talking loud and quickly, and Beppo, they noticed, remainedbehind. Ought they to pay him? Not, they thought, if they were goingto be robbed and perhaps murdered. Surely on such an occasion one didnot pay. Besides, he had not after all brought them to San Salvatore.Where they had got to was evidently somewhere else. Also, he did notshow the least wish to be paid; he let them go away into the night withno clamour at all. This, they could not help thinking, was a bad sign.He asked for nothing because presently he was to get so much.
They came to some steps. The road ended abruptly in a church andsome descending steps. The man held the lantern low for them to seethe steps.
"San Salvatore?" said Mrs. Wilkins once again, very faintly,before committing herself to the steps. It was useless to mention itnow, of course, but she could not go down steps in complete silence.No mediaeval castle, she was sure, was ever built at the bottom ofsteps.
Again, however, came the echoing shout--"Si, si--San Salvatore."
They descended gingerly, holding up their skirts just as if theywould be wanting them another time and had not in all probabilityfinished with skirts for ever.
The steps ended in a steeply sloping path with flat stone slabsdown the middle. They slipped a good deal on these wet slabs, and theman with the lantern, talking loud and quickly, held them up. His wayof holding them up was polite.
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Wilkins in a low voice to Mrs. Arbuthnot,"It is all right after all."
"We're in God's hands," said Mrs. Arbuthnot again; and again Mrs.Wilkins was afraid.
They reached the bottom of the sloping path, and the light of thelantern flickered over an open space with houses round three sides.The sea was the fourth side, lazily washing backwards and forwards onpebbles.
"San Salvatore," said the man pointing with his lantern to ablack mass curved round the water like an arm flung about it.
They strained their eyes. They saw the black mass, and on thetop of it a light.
"San Salvatore?" they both repeated incredulously, for where werethe suit-cases, and why had they been forced to get out of the fly?
"Si, si--San Salvatore."
They went along what seemed to be a quay, right on the edge ofthe water. There was not even a low wall here--nothing to prevent theman with the lantern tipping them in if he wanted to. He did not,however, tip them in. Perhaps it was all right after all, Mrs. Wilkinsagain suggested to Mrs. Arbuthnot on noticing this, who this time washerself beginning to think that it might be, and said no more aboutGod's hands.
The flicker of the lantern danced along, reflected in the wetpavement of the quay. Out to the left, in the darkness and evidentlyat the end of a jetty, was a red light. They came to an archway with aheavy iron gate. The man with the lantern pushed the gate open. Thistime they went up steps instead of down, and at the top of them was alittle path that wound upwards among flowers. They could not see theflowers, but the whole place was evidently full of them.
It here dawned on Mrs. Wilkins that perhaps the reason why the fly hadnot driven them up to the door was that there was no road, only afootpath. That also would explain the disappearance of the suit-cases.She began to feel confident that they would find their suit-caseswaiting for them when they got up to the top. San Salvatore was, itseemed, on the top of a hill, as a mediaeval castle should be. At aturn of the path they saw above them, much nearer now and shiningmore brightly, the light they had seen from the quay. She told Mrs.Arbuthnot of her dawning belief, and Mrs. Arbuthnot agreed that it wasvery likely a true one.
Once more, but this time in a tone of real hopefulness, Mrs.Wilkins said, pointing upwards at the black outline against the onlyslightly less black sky, "San Salvatore?" And once more, but this timecomfortingly, encouragingly, came back the assurance, "Si, si--SanSalvatore."
They crossed a little bridge, over what was apparently a ravine,and then came a flat bit with long grass at the sides and more flowers.They felt the grass flicking wet against their stockings, and theinvisible flowers were everywhere. Then up again through trees, alonga zigzag path with the smell all the way of the flowers they could notsee. The warm rain was bringing out all the sweetness. Higher andhigher they went in this sweet darkness, and the red light on the jettydropped farther and farther below them.
The path wound round to the other side of what appeared to be alittle peninsula; the jetty and the red light disappeared; across theemptiness on their left were distant lights.
"Mezzago," said the man, waving his lantern at the lights.
"Si, si," they answered, for they had by now learned si, si.Upon which the man congratulated them in a great flow of polite words,not one of which they understood, on their magnificent Italian; forthis was Domenico, the vigilant and accomplished gardener of SanSalvatore, the prop and stay of the establishment, the resourceful, thegifted, the eloquent, the courteous, the intelligent Domenico. Onlythey did not know that yet; and he did in the dark, and even sometimesin the light, look, with his knife-sharp swarthy features and swift,panther movements, very like somebody wicked.
They passed along another flat bit of path, with a black shapelike a high wall towering above them on their right, and then the pathwent up again under trellises, and trailing sprays of scented thingscaught at them and shook raindrops on them, and the light of thelantern flickered over lilies, and then came a flight of ancient stepsworn with centuries, and then another iron gate, and then they wereinside, though still climbing a twisting flight of stone steps with oldwalls on either side like the walls of dungeons, and with a vaultedroof.
At the top was a wrought-iron door, and through it shone a floodof electric light.
r /> "Ecco," said Domenico, lithely running up the last few stepsahead and pushing the door open.
And there they were, arrived; and it was San Salvatore; and theirsuit-cases were waiting for them; and they had not been murdered.
They looked at each other's white faces and blinking eyes verysolemnly.
It was a great, a wonderful moment. Here they were, in theirmediaeval castle at last. Their feet touched its stones.
Mrs. Wilkins put her arm round Mrs. Arbuthnot's neck and kissedher.
"The first thing to happen in this house," she said softly,solemnly, "shall be a kiss."
"Dear Lotty," said Mrs. Arbuthnot.
"Dear Rose," said Mrs. Wilkins, her eyes brimming with gladness.
Domenico was delighted. He liked to see beautiful ladies kiss.He made them a most appreciative speech of welcome, and they stood armin arm, holding each other up, for they were very tired, blinkingsmilingly at him, and not understanding a word.