XV
KENILWORTH
THERE are some very pleasant shops in Warwick, and if you have time andno money you can spend some very agreeable mornings wandering from oneshop to another, asking the prices of things you have all the will butnone of the means to buy. If you have money and time you will buy a fewof the things whose prices you have asked. Edward bought a ring, crystalwith brilliants around it, very lovely and very expensive, and sometopazes set in old silver, quite as beautiful but not so dear.
Then they went to the old-furniture shops, where he excited the vexedadmiration of the dealers by his unerring eye for fakes. He bought anoak chest, carved with a shield of arms, the date 1612, and the initials"I. B."
"If we were really married," he told her, "I should be vandal enough toalter that 'I' to make it stand for your name."
"I should not think it a vandal's act--if we were married," sheanswered, and their eyes met. He bought tables and chairs of oak andbeech; a large French cupboard whose age, he said, made it a fit matefor the chest; he bought a tall clock with three tarnished gold pinesatop, and some brass pots and pewter plates. She strayed away from himat the last shop, while he was treating for a Welsh dresser with brasshandles, and when he had made his bargain he followed her, to find herlovingly fingering chairs of _papier-mache_ painted with birds andflowers and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. There was a table, too,graceful and gay as the chairs, and a fire-screen of fine needlework.
"You hate anything that isn't three or four hundred years old," shesaid. "It's dreadful that our tastes don't agree, isn't it? Don't youthink we ought to part at once? 'They separated on account ofincompatibility of furniture.'"
"But don't you like the things we have been getting?"
"Of course I do, but I like these, too. They're like lavender andpot-pourri, and ladies who had still-rooms and made scents and liqueursand confections in them, and walked in their gardens in high-heeledshoes and peach-blossom petticoats."
"Why not buy them, then?"
"I would if I had a house. If I were buying things I should first buyeverything I liked, and not try to keep to any particular period. Ibelieve the things would all settle down and be happy together if youloved them all. Did you get your precious dresser? And are you going tobuy that Lowestoft dessert-service to go on it?"
He bought the Lowestoft dessert-service, beautiful with red, red rosesand golden tracery; and next day he got up early and went around andbought all the painted mother-of-pearly things that she had touched. Hegave the man an address in Sussex to which to send everything, and hewrote a long letter to his old nurse, whose address it was that he hadgiven.
They had had dinner in the little private sitting-room over the frontdoor, the smallest private room, I believe, that ever took an evensemi-public part in the life of a hotel. It was quite full of curlyglass vases and photographs in frames of silver and of plush, tillEdward persuaded the landlady to remove them, "for fear," as he said,"we should have an accident and break any of them."
They breakfasted here, and here, too, luncheon was served, so that theymet none of the other guests at meals, and in their in-goings andout-comings they only met strangers. Mr. Schultz might still have beenat Tunbridge Wells, for any sense they had of him.
Presently and inevitably came the afternoon when they motored toKenilworth.
"I've always wanted to see Kenilworth," she told him, "almost more thanany place. Kenilworth and the Pyramids and Stonehenge and the Lost Cityin India--you know the one that the very name of it is forgotten, andthey just found it by accident, all alone and beautiful, with panthersin it instead of people, and trees growing out of the roofs of thepalaces, like Kipling's Cold Lairs."
"I get a sort of cold comfort from the thought of that city," he said."That and Babylon and Nineveh and the great cities in Egypt. When I gothrough Manchester or New Cross or Sheffield I think, 'Some day grassand trees will cover up all this ugliness and flowers will grow again inthe Old Kent Road.'"
"It is cold comfort," she said. "I wish flowers and grass could coverthe ugliness, but I should like them to be flowers planted by us livingpeople--not just wild flowers and the grass on graves."
The first sight of Kenilworth was naturally a great shock to her, as italways is to those who know of it only from books and photographs andengravings.
"Oh dear," she said, "how horrible! Why, it's pink!"
It is, bright pink, and to eyes accustomed to the dignified graymonochrome of our South Country castles, Bodiam and Hever, Pevensey andArundel, Kenilworth at first seems like a bad joke, or an engravingcolored by a child who has used up most of the paints in its paint-boxand has had to make shift with Indian red and vermilion, the only twotints surviving. But when you get nearer, when you get quite near, whenyou look up at the great towers, when you walk between the great massesof it, and see the tower that Elizabeth's Leicester built, and the wallsthat Cromwell's soldiers battered down, you forgive Kenilworth for beingpink, and even begin to admit that pink is not such a bad color forcastles.
At Kenilworth you talk, of course, about Queen Elizabeth, and the onewho has read the guide-books tells the one who hasn't that when theQueen visited Leicester he had a new bridge built over his lake so thatshe might enter the castle by a way untrodden by any previous guest.Also that during her visit the clock bell rang not a note and that theclock stood still withal, the hands of it pointing ever to two o'clock,the hour of banquet. Further, that during her visit of seventeen daysKenilworth Castle managed to put away three hundred and twentyhogsheads of beer.
"Those were great days," said Edward.
There are towers to climb at Kenilworth, as well as towers to gaze at,and with that passion for ascending steps which marks the young the twomade their way to the top of one tower after another. It was as theyleaned on the parapet of the third and looked out over the green countrythat Edward broke off in an unflattering anecdote of my Lord ofLeicester. He stiffened as a pointer stiffens when it sees a partridge.
"Look!" he said, "look!"
Two fields away sheep were feeding--a moment ago calm, white shapesdotting a pastoral landscape, now roused to violent and unsuitableactivities by the presence among them of some strange foe, some inspirerof the ungovernable fear that can find relief only in flight. Thescurrying mass of them broke a little, and the two on the tower saw theshape of terror. They heard it, also. It was white and active. Itbarked.
"Oh, run," said she; "it _is_ Charles. I'm almost certain it is. Oh,run!" And he turned and ran down the tower steps. She saw him come outand cross the grassy square of the castle at fine racing speed.
"It _is_ Charles," she assured herself. "It must be." Yet how couldeven that inspired dog have escaped from the stable at Warwick wherethey had left him, have followed their motor, and got here so soon. Shecould not know that another motor from the hotel, coming out to pick upa client, had overtaken Charles laboring up the hill from the top ofwhich you get your first view of the castle towers, and, recognizing thedog--as who that had ever seen him could fail to do--had, so to speak,offered him a lift. Charles had accepted, and would have been handedover to his master's chauffeur at the Castle Gate House but that, alittle short of that goal, as the car waited for a traction engine topass it in the narrow way, Charles had seen the sheep, and with onebound of desperate gallantry was out and after them before hischarioteer could even attempt restraint. And now Charles was in fullpursuit of the sheep, barking happily in complete enjoyment of thisthrilling game, and Edward was in pursuit of Charles, shouting as heran. But Charles had no mind to listen--one could always pretendafterward that one had not heard, and no dog was more skilful thanCharles in counterfeiting unconsciousness, nor in those acts of cajolerywhich soften the hearts of masters. His surprised delight when he shouldat last discover that his master was there and desired his company wouldbe acted to the life and would be enough to soften any heart. If eitherhad looked up and back he could have seen a white speck on a red tower,which was Herself, watching the chase. B
ut neither of them did. Moreobservant and, to his own thinking, more fortunate, was another visitorto the castle; he, to be exact, whom what we may call Charles's motorhad come to Kenilworth to pick up.
He had seen the fleecy scurrying, heard the yaps of pursuit, seen theflying form of Edward, and entered sufficiently into the feelings ofCharles to be certain that the chase was not going to be a short one. Henow saw from the foot of Mervyn's tower the white speck against bluesky. He made his way straight to the tower where she stood. She saw himcrossing the grassy court which Edward's flying feet had but just nowpassed over. He came quickly and purposefully, and he was Mr.Schultz--none other.
Now she was not afraid of Mr. Schultz. Why should she be? He had beenvery kind, and of course she was not ungrateful, but it was a shock tosee him there--a shock almost as great as that given by the pinkness ofKenilworth, and, anyhow, she did not want to meet him again; anyhow, notto-day; anyhow, not on the top of a tower. And it was quite plain to herthat he had perceived her presence, had recognized her, and was comingup expressly because of that--that his views were not hers, that he didwant to meet her again, did want to meet her to-day, did want to meether on top of a tower--this tower.
She looked around her "like a hunted thing," as they say, and then sheremembered a very little room, hardly more than a recess, opening fromthe staircase. If she hurried down, hid there, and stood very close tothe wall, he would pass by and not notice, and as he went up she couldcreep down and out, and, keeping close to the walls, get away towardEdward and Charles and the sheep and all the things that do not make forconversation with Mr. Schultz.
Lightly and swiftly as a hunted cat she fled down the stairs on whoselower marches was the sound of boots coming up toward her, echoing inthe narrow tower like the tramp of an armed man. It came to her, as shereached the little room and stood there, her white gown crushed againstthe red stones, how a captive in just such a tower in the old days sheand Edward had been talking of might have seized such a chance of escapefrom real and horrible danger, might have hidden as she was hiding, haveheld his breath as she now held hers, and how his heart would have beat,even as hers was beating, at the step of the guard coming toward thehiding-place, passing it, going on to the tower-top while he, thefugitive, crept down toward liberty and sunlight and the good greenworld roofed with the good free sky.
The thought did not make for calmness. She said afterward that the towermust have been haunted by the very spirit of fear, for a panic terrorcame over her, something deeper and fiercer than anything Schultz couldinspire--at any rate, in this century--and a caution and care that suchas fear alone can teach. She slid from her hiding-place and down thestair, and as she went she heard above her those other steps, nowreturning. Nothing in the world seemed so good as the thought of thesunshine and free air into which in another moment she would come out.Round and round the spirals of the stone staircase went her noiseless,flying feet; the sound of the feet that followed came louder andquicker; a light showed at the bottom of the stairs; she rounded thelast curve with a catch of the breath that was almost a cry, and in hereyes the vision of the fair, free outside world. She sprang toward greengrass and freedom and sunlight, and four dark walls received her. Forhalf-way down that tower the steps divide and she had passed thedivision and taken the stairs that led down past the level of the earth.And the light that had seemed to come through the doorway of the towercame through the high-set window of a dungeon, and there was no way outsave by the stairs on which already she could hear feet descending. Theman who followed her had not missed the way.
To turn back and meet that man on the stairs was impossible. She stoodat bay. And she knew what the captive in old days must have felt--whatthe rabbit feels when it is caught in the trap. She stood rigid, withsuch an access of blind terror that the sight of the man, when he camedown the last three steps, was almost--no, quite--relief. She had notfled from him, but from something more vague and more terrible. And whenhe spoke fear left her altogether, and she asked herself, "How could Ihave been so silly?"
"Miss Basingstoke?" He spoke on what he meant for a note of astonishmentand pleasure, but his acting was not so good as hers, and he had tosupplement it by adding, "This is, indeed, a delightful surprise."
"Oh, Mr. Schultz," she said, and quite gaily and lightly, too--"howsmall the world is! Of all unlikely places to meet any one one knows!"and she made to pass him and go up the stairs. But he stood square andfirm at the stair-foot.
"No hurry," he said, "no hurry--since we _have_ met. It is a wonderfulpleasure to me, Miss Basingstoke. Don't cut it short. And what have youbeen doing all this long time?"
"Oh, traveling about," she answered, watching the stair-foot as therabbit from beside its burrow might watch the exit at which a terrier isposted. "Just seeing England, you know. We neglect England too much,don't you think, rushing off to the Riviera and Egypt and India andplaces like that when all the while there are the most beautiful thingsat home."
"I agree," he said, "the most beautiful things are in England," and lesthis meaning should escape her, added, with a jerk of a bow, "and themost beautiful people." And still he stood there, smiling and notmoving.
"Have you your car with you?" she asked, for something to say.
"No, but I'll send for it if you like. We could have some pleasantdrives--Stratford, Shakespeare's birthplace--"
"We've been to Stratford," she put in, and went a step nearer to thestair-foot.
"Then anywhere you like. Shall I send for the car?"
"Mr. Basingstoke," she said, quite untruly, "doesn't care much aboutmotoring."
"Mr.--? Oh, your brother! Well, we did very well without him before,didn't we? Do you remember what a jolly drive we had, and a jollylunch; in point of fact, practically everything was jolly until _he_turned up. I wished him far enough, I can tell you, and I hope you did.Say you did."
"Of course I didn't," she had to say.
"Well, he'd no right to be stuffy if another fellow took care of youwhen he couldn't be bothered to."
"You know it wasn't that. You know it was a mistake."
"I know a good deal," he said, "more than you think for." And he smiled,trying to meet her eyes.
"It's cold here," she found herself saying. "I was just going up. Idon't like dungeons. Do you?"
"I like this one," said he. "Anywhere where _you_ are, don't you know--apalace and all that--"
"I really must go," she said. "My brother won't know where I am."
"No," he said, with meaning, "he won't." And he set his two hands to thepillars of the arch under which he stood and swayed to and fro, lookingat her.
"I must really go. Will you let me pass, Mr. Schultz, please."
"Not till you tell me to send for my car. I've set my heart on thosedrives with you. Our brother can stay behind if he doesn't care formotoring. _I_ don't want him, and I'll take care _you_ don't miss him."
"Do, please," she said, "let me pass."
"No," said he. "I've got you and I mean to keep you. Your brother--"
"He's not my brother," she said, on a sudden resolution. "We told youthat because, because--"
"Don't bother to explain," he said, smiling. That smile, in the dayswhen that dungeon _was_ a dungeon, might have cost him his life if thelady before him had had a knife and the skill to use it. Even now it wasto cost him something.
"He's not my brother--we're married," she said. And at that he laughed.
"I know, my dear girl," he said. "I know all about it. But marriageslike that don't last forever, and they don't prevent another gentlemanplaying for his own hand. I was there when he wasn't, and you let mehelp you."
"I wish I hadn't," said she. "I wish I'd walked all the way to Londonfirst. I didn't think--"
"You didn't think I'd got the sense to put two and two together," saidhe; "but I have. Come, look here. I liked your looks from the first. Ithought-- Never mind about that, though. I was wrong. But even now Ilike you better than any girl I've ever come across. Now, loo
k here--"
"Don't say any more," she urged, almost wildly. "Don't! I am married.You don't believe me, but I am. You were kind once; be kind now and letme go--"
It was like a prisoner imploring a jailer.
"Let you go?" he echoed. "I know better. Not till you say, 'Send for themotor,' and that you'll go out in it with me. Say that and you're freeas air."
And she might have said it, for the terror that lurked in that tower wascoming back, in a new dress, but the same terror. But he went on, "Come,say it, and seal the bargain prettily."
And then she said, "If you don't let me pass I swear I'll--"
What the threat would have been she hardly knew, and he never knew, forhe took a step toward her with his hands outstretched, and words seemedat once to become weak and silly. She clutched her rosy sunshade atabout half its length and struck full at his head. The sunshade broke.He put his hands to his temples and held them a moment.
"Now, by God," he said, "after that--" and came toward her.
And even as he moved the feet of the deliverer sounded on the stairs.Hurried feet, spurning the stones, feet swifter than a man's, lighterthan a woman's--little feet that gave out a thin, quick sound not likethe sound of human footsteps. She called aloud on the name of thedeliverer and he came, swift as the arrow from the bow of amaster-archer.
"Charles!" she cried. "Charles, seize him! Hold him!"
And Charles, coming headlong into that dark place like a shaft of livewhite light, seized him, and held, by the leg.
Mr. Schultz did his best to defend himself, but he had no stick, and noblows of the human fist confused or troubled that white bullet head, nocurses affected it, and against those white teeth no kicks or strugglesavailed.
"Hold him! hold him!" she cried, the joy of vicarious battle lightingher eyes.
"Confound it!" said Schultz. "Call the devil off."
"I will," said she, "from the top of the stairs. And I'll leave you thisfor comfort: If you behave yourself for the future I won't tell myhusband about this. He'd half kill you."
"I don't know about that," said Schultz, even with Charles's teethquietly but persistently boring his leg. "I don't know so much aboutthat."
"I do," she said, with almost the conviction of the woman in love."You'd better stay here till we've gone away. I'm not ungrateful forwhat you did for me on that day, and if you never dare to speak to meagain I'll never tell."
"I don't care what you tell," said Schultz. "Call the devil off, I say."
She ran up the stairs, and at the top called out, "Charles, drop it.Come here, sir."
And Charles dropped it and came.
It was then for the first time that she felt that she was Charles'smistress, even as Edward was Charles's master.
The dog and the woman went out together into the sunshine, and there,between blue sky and green grass, embraced with all the emotions properto deliverer and delivered. When Edward rejoined them, five minuteslater, she was able to say, quite calmly:
"Yes, he found me out. He _is_ clever. He is a darling."
"He deserves a jolly good hiding," said Edward, "and I've a jolly goodmind to give it to him."
"Let him off this time," she said, "it was so clever of him to find meout. He hadn't hurt any of the sheep, had he?"
"No," said he, "but he might have."
"Oh, if we come to might-have-beens," said she, "I might not be here, hemight not be here. We all might not be here. Think of that. No, don'tlook at him with that 'wait-till-I-get-you-home' expression. Forgive himand be done with it."
And when she looked at him like that, as he told himself, what could hedo but forgive the dog?
"Why," he said, "of course I'll forgive him!" adding, with one of thosediabolical flashes of insight to which our subconscious selves aresometimes liable. "Why, I'd forgive Schultz himself if you asked me likethat."
"It isn't Mr. Schultz I want you to forgive," she said, "it'sCharles--Charles that I love."
"Not Schultz whom you like."
"I hate Schultz," said she, so vehemently that he wondered. Becausealways before she had defended the man and called him kind and helpful.It was, however, so pleasant to him that she should hate Schultz that heput his wonder by to taste that pleasure.
She had the self-control to wait till they were gliding through thestreets of Warwick before she said, "Do you want to stay here anylonger?"
"Not if you don't," said he.
"I should like to go to Chester," she said, "now--this evening. Wouldyou mind? There's such lots to see, and something might happen at anymoment to stop our--"
"Our incredible honeymoon?" he said. "But what could?"
"Oh, Aunt Alice might be ill and want me"--and hated herself for thewords. The moment she had uttered them she felt that in using her as adefense she had almost as good as called down the wrath of the gods onAunt Alice, whom she loved. "Oh, a thousand things might happen," sheadded, quickly.
"My lady's will is my law," said Edward, and within an hour or two theywere on the way to Chester. Charles did not, this time, make his journeyin the dog-box. She smiled on the guard, and Charles traveled in afirst-class carriage with his master and his mistress. He sat betweenthem and was happy as only they can be happy who have combined duty andpleasure. He had chased sheep--this was obviously not wrong, sincemaster had not punished him for it. He had bitten a stranger atmistress's bidding. Mistress was evidently one who sympathized with thenatural aspirations of right-minded dogs. Charles knew now how much heloved her. He leaned himself against her, heavily asleep, now and thengrowling softly as he slept. His mistress felt that in his dreams he wasstill biting Mr. Schultz. He was.