CHAPTER XIX.
Henry Wimbush's long cigar burned aromatically. The "History of Crome"lay on his knee; slowly he turned over the pages.
"I can't decide what episode to read you to-night," he saidthoughtfully. "Sir Ferdinando's voyages are not without interest. Then,of course, there's his son, Sir Julius. It was he who suffered from thedelusion that his perspiration engendered flies; it drove him finally tosuicide. Or there's Sir Cyprian." He turned the pages more rapidly. "OrSir Henry. Or Sir George...No, I'm inclined to think I won't read aboutany of these."
"But you must read something," insisted Mr. Scogan, taking his pipe outof his mouth.
"I think I shall read about my grandfather," said Henry Wimbush, "andthe events that led up to his marriage with the eldest daughter of thelast Sir Ferdinando."
"Good," said Mr. Scogan. "We are listening."
"Before I begin reading," said Henry Wimbush, looking up from thebook and taking off the pince-nez which he had just fitted to hisnose--"before I begin, I must say a few preliminary words about SirFerdinando, the last of the Lapiths. At the death of the virtuous andunfortunate Sir Hercules, Ferdinando found himself in possession of thefamily fortune, not a little increased by his father's temperance andthrift; he applied himself forthwith to the task of spending it, whichhe did in an ample and jovial fashion. By the time he was forty he hadeaten and, above all, drunk and loved away about half his capital, andwould infallibly have soon got rid of the rest in the same manner, ifhe had not had the good fortune to become so madly enamoured of theRector's daughter as to make a proposal of marriage. The young ladyaccepted him, and in less than a year had become the absolute mistressof Crome and her husband. An extraordinary reformation made itselfapparent in Sir Ferdinando's character. He grew regular and economicalin his habits; he even became temperate, rarely drinking more thana bottle and a half of port at a sitting. The waning fortune of theLapiths began once more to wax, and that in despite of the hard times(for Sir Ferdinando married in 1809 in the height of the NapoleonicWars). A prosperous and dignified old age, cheered by the spectacle ofhis children's growth and happiness--for Lady Lapith had already bornehim three daughters, and there seemed no good reason why she should notbear many more of them, and sons as well--a patriarchal decline into thefamily vault, seemed now to be Sir Ferdinando's enviable destiny. ButProvidence willed otherwise. To Napoleon, cause already of such infinitemischief, was due, though perhaps indirectly, the untimely and violentdeath which put a period to this reformed existence.
"Sir Ferdinando, who was above all things a patriot, had adopted, fromthe earliest days of the conflict with the French, his own peculiarmethod of celebrating our victories. When the happy news reached London,it was his custom to purchase immediately a large store of liquor and,taking a place on whichever of the outgoing coaches he happened to lighton first, to drive through the country proclaiming the good news to allhe met on the road and dispensing it, along with the liquor, at everystopping-place to all who cared to listen or drink. Thus, after theNile, he had driven as far as Edinburgh; and later, when the coaches,wreathed with laurel for triumph, with cypress for mourning, weresetting out with the news of Nelson's victory and death, he sat throughall a chilly October night on the box of the Norwich 'Meteor' with anautical keg of rum on his knees and two cases of old brandy under theseat. This genial custom was one of the many habits which he abandonedon his marriage. The victories in the Peninsula, the retreat fromMoscow, Leipzig, and the abdication of the tyrant all went uncelebrated.It so happened, however, that in the summer of 1815 Sir Ferdinando wasstaying for a few weeks in the capital. There had been a succession ofanxious, doubtful days; then came the glorious news of Waterloo. It wastoo much for Sir Ferdinando; his joyous youth awoke again within him. Hehurried to his wine merchant and bought a dozen bottles of 1760 brandy.The Bath coach was on the point of starting; he bribed his way on tothe box and, seated in glory beside the driver, proclaimed aloud thedownfall of the Corsican bandit and passed about the warm liquid joy.They clattered through Uxbridge, Slough, Maidenhead. Sleeping Readingwas awakened by the great news. At Didcot one of the ostlers was somuch overcome by patriotic emotions and the 1760 brandy that he found itimpossible to do up the buckles of the harness. The night began to growchilly, and Sir Ferdinando found that it was not enough to take a nipat every stage: to keep up his vital warmth he was compelled to drinkbetween the stages as well. They were approaching Swindon. The coachwas travelling at a dizzy speed--six miles in the last half-hour--when,without having manifested the slightest premonitory symptom ofunsteadiness, Sir Ferdinando suddenly toppled sideways off his seatand fell, head foremost, into the road. An unpleasant jolt awakened theslumbering passengers. The coach was brought to a standstill; theguard ran back with a light. He found Sir Ferdinando still alive, butunconscious; blood was oozing from his mouth. The back wheels of thecoach had passed over his body, breaking most of his ribs and both arms.His skull was fractured in two places. They picked him up, but he wasdead before they reached the next stage. So perished Sir Ferdinando,a victim to his own patriotism. Lady Lapith did not marry again, butdetermined to devote the rest of her life to the well-being of her threechildren--Georgiana, now five years old, and Emmeline and Caroline,twins of two."
Henry Wimbush paused, and once more put on his pince-nez. "So muchby way of introduction," he said. "Now I can begin to read about mygrandfather."
"One moment," said Mr. Scogan, "till I've refilled my pipe."
Mr. Wimbush waited. Seated apart in a corner of the room, Ivor wasshowing Mary his sketches of Spirit Life. They spoke together inwhispers.
Mr. Scogan had lighted his pipe again. "Fire away," he said.
Henry Wimbush fired away.
"It was in the spring of 1833 that my grandfather, George Wimbush, firstmade the acquaintance of the 'three lovely Lapiths,' as they were alwayscalled. He was then a young man of twenty-two, with curly yellow hairand a smooth pink face that was the mirror of his youthful and ingenuousmind. He had been educated at Harrow and Christ Church, he enjoyedhunting and all other field sports, and, though his circumstances werecomfortable to the verge of affluence, his pleasures were temperate andinnocent. His father, an East Indian merchant, had destined him for apolitical career, and had gone to considerable expense in acquiring apleasant little Cornish borough as a twenty-first birthday gift for hisson. He was justly indignant when, on the very eve of George's majority,the Reform Bill of 1832 swept the borough out of existence. Theinauguration of George's political career had to be postponed. At thetime he got to know the lovely Lapiths he was waiting; he was not at allimpatient.
"The lovely Lapiths did not fail to impress him. Georgiana, the eldest,with her black ringlets, her flashing eyes, her noble aquiline profile,her swan-like neck, and sloping shoulders, was orientally dazzling; andthe twins, with their delicately turned-up noses, their blue eyes, andchestnut hair, were an identical pair of ravishingly English charmers.
"Their conversation at this first meeting proved, however, to be soforbidding that, but for the invincible attraction exercised by theirbeauty, George would never have had the courage to follow up theacquaintance. The twins, looking up their noses at him with an air oflanguid superiority, asked him what he thought of the latest Frenchpoetry and whether he liked the 'Indiana' of George Sand. But whatwas almost worse was the question with which Georgiana opened herconversation with him. 'In music,' she asked, leaning forward andfixing him with her large dark eyes, 'are you a classicist or atranscendentalist?' George did not lose his presence of mind. He hadenough appreciation of music to know that he hated anything classical,and so, with a promptitude which did him credit, he replied, 'I am atranscendentalist.' Georgiana smiled bewitchingly. 'I am glad,' shesaid; 'so am I. You went to hear Paganini last week, of course. "Theprayer of Moses"--ah!' She closed her eyes. 'Do you know anything moretranscendental than that?' 'No,' said George, 'I don't.' He hesitated,was about to go on speaking, and then decided that after all it would bewiser not to say--w
hat was in fact true--that he had enjoyed above allPaganini's Farmyard Imitations. The man had made his fiddle bray likean ass, cluck like a hen, grunt, squeal, bark, neigh, quack, bellow, andgrowl; that last item, in George's estimation, had almost compensatedfor the tediousness of the rest of the concert. He smiled with pleasureat the thought of it. Yes, decidedly, he was no classicist in music; hewas a thoroughgoing transcendentalist.
"George followed up this first introduction by paying a call on theyoung ladies and their mother, who occupied, during the season, a smallbut elegant house in the neighbourhood of Berkeley Square. Lady Lapithmade a few discreet inquiries, and having found that George's financialposition, character, and family were all passably good, she asked him todine. She hoped and expected that her daughters would all marry intothe peerage; but, being a prudent woman, she knew it was advisable toprepare for all contingencies. George Wimbush, she thought, would makean excellent second string for one of the twins.
"At this first dinner, George's partner was Emmeline. They talked ofNature. Emmeline protested that to her high mountains were a feeling andthe hum of human cities torture. George agreed that the country was veryagreeable, but held that London during the season also had its charms.He noticed with surprise and a certain solicitous distress that MissEmmeline's appetite was poor, that it didn't, in fact, exist. Twospoonfuls of soup, a morsel of fish, no bird, no meat, and threegrapes--that was her whole dinner. He looked from time to time at hertwo sisters; Georgiana and Caroline seemed to be quite as abstemious.They waved away whatever was offered them with an expression of delicatedisgust, shutting their eyes and averting their faces from the proffereddish, as though the lemon sole, the duck, the loin of veal, the trifle,were objects revolting to the sight and smell. George, who thought thedinner capital, ventured to comment on the sisters' lack of appetite.
"'Pray, don't talk to me of eating,' said Emmeline, drooping like asensitive plant. 'We find it so coarse, so unspiritual, my sisters andI. One can't think of one's soul while one is eating.'
"George agreed; one couldn't. 'But one must live,' he said.
"'Alas!' Emmeline sighed. 'One must. Death is very beautiful, don't youthink?' She broke a corner off a piece of toast and began to nibbleat it languidly. 'But since, as you say, one must live...' She made alittle gesture of resignation. 'Luckily a very little suffices to keepone alive.' She put down her corner of toast half eaten.
"George regarded her with some surprise. She was pale, but she lookedextraordinarily healthy, he thought; so did her sisters. Perhaps ifyou were really spiritual you needed less food. He, clearly, was notspiritual.
"After this he saw them frequently. They all liked him, from Lady Lapithdownwards. True, he was not very romantic or poetical; but he was such apleasant, unpretentious, kind-hearted young man, that one couldn'thelp liking him. For his part, he thought them wonderful, wonderful,especially Georgiana. He enveloped them all in a warm, protectiveaffection. For they needed protection; they were altogether too frail,too spiritual for this world. They never ate, they were always pale,they often complained of fever, they talked much and lovingly of death,they frequently swooned. Georgiana was the most ethereal of all; of thethree she ate least, swooned most often, talked most of death, and wasthe palest--with a pallor that was so startling as to appear positivelyartificial. At any moment, it seemed, she might loose her precarioushold on this material world and become all spirit. To George the thoughtwas a continual agony. If she were to die...
"She contrived, however, to live through the season, and that in spiteof the numerous balls, routs, and other parties of pleasure which, incompany with the rest of the lovely trio, she never failed to attend. Inthe middle of July the whole household moved down to the country. Georgewas invited to spend the month of August at Crome.
"The house-party was distinguished; in the list of visitors figuredthe names of two marriageable young men of title. George had hoped thatcountry air, repose, and natural surroundings might have restored tothe three sisters their appetites and the roses of their cheeks. He wasmistaken. For dinner, the first evening, Georgiana ate only an olive,two or three salted almonds, and half a peach. She was as pale as ever.During the meal she spoke of love.
"'True love,' she said, 'being infinite and eternal, can only beconsummated in eternity. Indiana and Sir Rodolphe celebrated the mysticwedding of their souls by jumping into Niagara. Love is incompatiblewith life. The wish of two people who truly love one another is not tolive together but to die together.'
"'Come, come, my dear,' said Lady Lapith, stout and practical. 'Whatwould become of the next generation, pray, if all the world acted onyour principles?'
"'Mamma!...' Georgiana protested, and dropped her eyes.
"'In my young days,' Lady Lapith went on, 'I should have been laughedout of countenance if I'd said a thing like that. But then in my youngdays souls weren't as fashionable as they are now and we didn't thinkdeath was at all poetical. It was just unpleasant.'
"'Mamma!...' Emmeline and Caroline implored in unison.
"'In my young days--' Lady Lapith was launched into her subject;nothing, it seemed, could stop her now. 'In my young days, if you didn'teat, people told you you needed a dose of rhubarb. Nowadays...'
"There was a cry; Georgiana had swooned sideways on to Lord Timpany'sshoulder. It was a desperate expedient; but it was successful. LadyLapith was stopped.
"The days passed in an uneventful round of pleasures. Of all the gayparty George alone was unhappy. Lord Timpany was paying his court toGeorgiana, and it was clear that he was not unfavourably received.George looked on, and his soul was a hell of jealousy and despair. Theboisterous company of the young men became intolerable to him; he shrankfrom them, seeking gloom and solitude. One morning, having broken awayfrom them on some vague pretext, he returned to the house alone. Theyoung men were bathing in the pool below; their cries and laughterfloated up to him, making the quiet house seem lonelier and more silent.The lovely sisters and their mamma still kept their chambers; they didnot customarily make their appearance till luncheon, so that the maleguests had the morning to themselves. George sat down in the hall andabandoned himself to thought.
"At any moment she might die; at any moment she might become LadyTimpany. It was terrible, terrible. If she died, then he would dietoo; he would go to seek her beyond the grave. If she became LadyTimpany...ah, then! The solution of the problem would not be so simple.If she became Lady Timpany: it was a horrible thought. But then supposeshe were in love with Timpany--though it seemed incredible that anyonecould be in love with Timpany--suppose her life depended on Timpany,suppose she couldn't live without him? He was fumbling his way alongthis clueless labyrinth of suppositions when the clock struck twelve. Onthe last stroke, like an automaton released by the turning clockwork, alittle maid, holding a large covered tray, popped out of the door thatled from the kitchen regions into the hall. From his deep arm-chairGeorge watched her (himself, it was evident, unobserved) with an idlecuriosity. She pattered across the room and came to a halt in front ofwhat seemed a blank expense of panelling. She reached out her hand and,to George's extreme astonishment, a little door swung open, revealingthe foot of a winding staircase. Turning sideways in order to get hertray through the narrow opening, the little maid darted in with a rapidcrab-like motion. The door closed behind her with a click. A minutelater it opened again and the maid, without her tray, hurried backacross the hall and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Georgetried to recompose his thoughts, but an invincible curiosity drew hismind towards the hidden door, the staircase, the little maid. It was invain he told himself that the matter was none of his business, that toexplore the secrets of that surprising door, that mysterious staircasewithin, would be a piece of unforgivable rudeness and indiscretion.It was in vain; for five minutes he struggled heroically with hiscuriosity, but at the end of that time he found himself standing infront of the innocent sheet of panelling through which the little maidhad disappeared. A glance sufficed to show him the positi
on of thesecret door--secret, he perceived, only to those who looked witha careless eye. It was just an ordinary door let in flush with thepanelling. No latch nor handle betrayed its position, but an unobtrusivecatch sunk in the wood invited the thumb. George was astonished that hehad not noticed it before; now he had seen it, it was so obvious,almost as obvious as the cupboard door in the library with its linesof imitation shelves and its dummy books. He pulled back the catch andpeeped inside. The staircase, of which the degrees were made notof stone but of blocks of ancient oak, wound up and out of sight.A slit-like window admitted the daylight; he was at the foot of thecentral tower, and the little window looked out over the terrace; theywere still shouting and splashing in the pool below.
"George closed the door and went back to his seat. But his curiositywas not satisfied. Indeed, this partial satisfaction had but whettedits appetite. Where did the staircase lead? What was the errand of thelittle maid? It was no business of his, he kept repeating--no businessof his. He tried to read, but his attention wandered. A quarter-pasttwelve sounded on the harmonious clock. Suddenly determined, Georgerose, crossed the room, opened the hidden door, and began to ascendthe stairs. He passed the first window, corkscrewed round, and cameto another. He paused for a moment to look out; his heart beatuncomfortably, as though he were affronting some unknown danger. Whathe was doing, he told himself, was extremely ungentlemanly, horriblyunderbred. He tiptoed onward and upward. One turn more, then half aturn, and a door confronted him. He halted before it, listened; he couldhear no sound. Putting his eye to the keyhole, he saw nothing but astretch of white sunlit wall. Emboldened, he turned the handle andstepped across the threshold. There he halted, petrified by what he saw,mutely gaping.
"In the middle of a pleasantly sunny little room--'it is now Priscilla'sboudoir,' Mr. Wimbush remarked parenthetically--stood a small circulartable of mahogany. Crystal, porcelain, and silver,--all the shiningapparatus of an elegant meal--were mirrored in its polished depths. Thecarcase of a cold chicken, a bowl of fruit, a great ham, deeply gashedto its heart of tenderest white and pink, the brown cannon ball ofa cold plum-pudding, a slender Hock bottle, and a decanter of claretjostled one another for a place on this festive board. And round thetable sat the three sisters, the three lovely Lapiths--eating!
"At George's sudden entrance they had all looked towards the door, andnow they sat, petrified by the same astonishment which kept George fixedand staring. Georgiana, who sat immediately facing the door, gazed athim with dark, enormous eyes. Between the thumb and forefinger of herright hand she was holding a drumstick of the dismembered chicken; herlittle finger, elegantly crooked, stood apart from the rest of her hand.Her mouth was open, but the drumstick had never reached its destination;it remained, suspended, frozen, in mid-air. The other two sisters hadturned round to look at the intruder. Caroline still grasped her knifeand fork; Emmeline's fingers were round the stem of her claret glass.For what seemed a very long time, George and the three sisters staredat one another in silence. They were a group of statues. Then suddenlythere was movement. Georgiana dropped her chicken bone, Caroline's knifeand fork clattered on her plate. The movement propagated itself, grewmore decisive; Emmeline sprang to her feet, uttering a cry. The wave ofpanic reached George; he turned and, mumbling something unintelligibleas he went, rushed out of the room and down the winding stairs. He cameto a standstill in the hall, and there, all by himself in the quiethouse, he began to laugh.
"At luncheon it was noticed that the sisters ate a little more thanusual. Georgiana toyed with some French beans and a spoonful ofcalves'-foot jelly. 'I feel a little stronger to-day,' she said to LordTimpany, when he congratulated her on this increase of appetite; 'alittle more material,' she added, with a nervous laugh. Looking up, shecaught George's eye; a blush suffused her cheeks and she looked hastilyaway.
"In the garden that afternoon they found themselves for a moment alone.
"You won't tell anyone, George? Promise you won't tell anyone,' sheimplored. 'It would make us look so ridiculous. And besides, eating ISunspiritual, isn't it? Say you won't tell anyone.'
"'I will,' said George brutally. 'I'll tell everyone, unless...'
"'It's blackmail.'
"'I don't care, said George. 'I'll give you twenty-four hours todecide.'
"Lady Lapith was disappointed, of course; she had hoped for betterthings--for Timpany and a coronet. But George, after all, wasn't so bad.They were married at the New Year.
"My poor grandfather!" Mr. Wimbush added, as he closed his book andput away his pince-nez. "Whenever I read in the papers about oppressednationalities, I think of him." He relighted his cigar. "It wasa maternal government, highly centralised, and there were norepresentative institutions."
Henry Wimbush ceased speaking. In the silence that ensued Ivor'swhispered commentary on the spirit sketches once more became audible.Priscilla, who had been dozing, suddenly woke up.
"What?" she said in the startled tones of one newly returned toconsciousness; "what?"
Jenny caught the words. She looked up, smiled, nodded reassuringly."It's about a ham," she said.
"What's about a ham?"
"What Henry has been reading." She closed the red notebook lying onher knees and slipped a rubber band round it. "I'm going to bed," sheannounced, and got up.
"So am I," said Anne, yawning. But she lacked the energy to rise fromher arm-chair.
The night was hot and oppressive. Round the open windows the curtainshung unmoving. Ivor, fanning himself with the portrait of an AstralBeing, looked out into the darkness and drew a breath.
"The air's like wool," he declared.
"It will get cooler after midnight," said Henry Wimbush, and cautiouslyadded, "perhaps."
"I shan't sleep, I know."
Priscilla turned her head in his direction; the monumental coiffurenodded exorbitantly at her slightest movement. "You must make aneffort," she said. "When I can't sleep, I concentrate my will: I say,'I will sleep, I am asleep!' And pop! off I go. That's the power ofthought."
"But does it work on stuffy nights?" Ivor inquired. "I simply cannotsleep on a stuffy night."
"Nor can I," said Mary, "except out of doors."
"Out of doors! What a wonderful idea!" In the end they decided to sleepon the towers--Mary on the western tower, Ivor on the eastern. Therewas a flat expanse of leads on each of the towers, and you could get amattress through the trap doors that opened on to them. Under the stars,under the gibbous moon, assuredly they would sleep. The mattresses werehauled up, sheets and blankets were spread, and an hour later the twoinsomniasts, each on his separate tower, were crying their good-nightsacross the dividing gulf.
On Mary the sleep-compelling charm of the open air did not work with itsexpected magic. Even through the mattress one could not fail to be awarethat the leads were extremely hard. Then there were noises: the owlsscreeched tirelessly, and once, roused by some unknown terror, all thegeese of the farmyard burst into a sudden frenzy of cackling. The starsand the gibbous moon demanded to be looked at, and when one meteoritehad streaked across the sky, you could not help waiting, open-eyed andalert, for the next. Time passed; the moon climbed higher and higher inthe sky. Mary felt less sleepy than she had when she first came out.She sat up and looked over the parapet. Had Ivor been able to sleep? shewondered. And as though in answer to her mental question, frombehind the chimney-stack at the farther end of the roof a white formnoiselessly emerged--a form that, in the moonlight, was recognisablyIvor's. Spreading his arms to right and left, like a tight-rope dancer,he began to walk forward along the roof-tree of the house. He swayedterrifyingly as he advanced. Mary looked on speechlessly; perhaps he waswalking in his sleep! Suppose he were to wake up suddenly, now! If shespoke or moved it might mean his death. She dared look no more, but sankback on her pillows. She listened intently. For what seemed an immenselylong time there was no sound. Then there was a patter of feet on thetiles, followed by a scrabbling noise and a whispered "Damn!" Andsuddenly Ivor's head and shoulders
appeared above the parapet. One legfollowed, then the other. He was on the leads. Mary pretended to wake upwith a start.
"Oh!" she said. "What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep," he explained, "so I came along to see if youcouldn't. One gets bored by oneself on a tower. Don't you find it so?"
It was light before five. Long, narrow clouds barred the east, theiredges bright with orange fire. The sky was pale and watery. With themournful scream of a soul in pain, a monstrous peacock, flying heavilyup from below, alighted on the parapet of the tower. Ivor and Marystarted broad awake.
"Catch him!" cried Ivor, jumping up. "We'll have a feather." Thefrightened peacock ran up and down the parapet in an absurd distress,curtseying and bobbing and clucking; his long tail swung ponderouslyback and forth as he turned and turned again. Then with a flap and swishhe launched himself upon the air and sailed magnificently earthward,with a recovered dignity. But he had left a trophy. Ivor had hisfeather, a long-lashed eye of purple and green, of blue and gold. Hehanded it to his companion.
"An angel's feather," he said.
Mary looked at it for a moment, gravely and intently. Her purple pyjamasclothed her with an ampleness that hid the lines of her body; she lookedlike some large, comfortable, unjointed toy, a sort of Teddy-bear--buta Teddy bear with an angel's head, pink cheeks, and hair like a bellof gold. An angel's face, the feather of an angel's wing...Somehow thewhole atmosphere of this sunrise was rather angelic.
"It's extraordinary to think of sexual selection," she said at last,looking up from her contemplation of the miraculous feather.
"Extraordinary!" Ivor echoed. "I select you, you select me. What luck!"
He put his arm round her shoulders and they stood looking eastward. Thefirst sunlight had begun to warm and colour the pale light of the dawn.Mauve pyjamas and white pyjamas; they were a young and charming couple.The rising sun touched their faces. It was all extremely symbolic;but then, if you choose to think so, nothing in this world is notsymbolical. Profound and beautiful truth!
"I must be getting back to my tower," said Ivor at last.
"Already?"
"I'm afraid so. The varletry will soon be up and about."
"Ivor..." There was a prolonged and silent farewell.
"And now," said Ivor, "I repeat my tight-rope stunt."
Mary threw her arms round his neck. "You mustn't, Ivor. It's dangerous.Please."
He had to yield at last to her entreaties. "All right," he said, "I'llgo down through the house and up at the other end."
He vanished through the trap door into the darkness that still lurkedwithin the shuttered house. A minute later he had reappeared on thefarther tower; he waved his hand, and then sank down, out of sight,behind the parapet. From below, in the house, came the thin wasp-likebuzzing of an alarum-clock. He had gone back just in time.