The Hand of Ethelberta: A Comedy in Chapters

  12. ARROWTHORNE PARK AND LODGE

  Summer was just over when Christopher Julian found himself rattling alongin the train to Sandbourne on some trifling business appertaining to hislate father's affairs, which would afford him an excuse for calling atArrowthorne about the song of hers that he wished to produce. Healighted in the afternoon at a little station some twenty miles short ofSandbourne, and leaving his portmanteau behind him there, decided to walkacross the fields, obtain if possible the interview with the lady, andreturn then to the station to finish the journey to Sandbourne, which hecould thus reach at a convenient hour in the evening, and, if he chose,take leave of again the next day.

  It was an afternoon which had a fungous smell out of doors, all beingsunless and stagnant overhead and around. The various species of treeshad begun to assume the more distinctive colours of their decline, andwhere there had been one pervasive green were now twenty greenishyellows, the air in the vistas between them being half opaque with blueexhalation. Christopher in his walk overtook a countryman, and inquiredif the path they were following would lead him to Arrowthorne Lodge.

  ''Twill take 'ee into Arr'thorne Park,' the man replied. 'But you won'tcome anigh the Lodge, unless you bear round to the left as might be.'

  'Mrs. Petherwin lives there, I believe?'

  'No, sir. Leastwise unless she's but lately come. I have never heard ofsuch a woman.'

  'She may possibly be only visiting there.'

  'Ah, perhaps that's the shape o't. Well, now you tell o't, I have seen astrange face thereabouts once or twice lately. A young good-looking maidenough, seemingly.'

  'Yes, she's considered a very handsome lady.'

  'I've heard the woodmen say, now that you tell o't, that they meet herevery now and then, just at the closing in of the day, as they come homealong with their nitches of sticks; ay, stalking about under the trees byherself--a tall black martel, so long-legged and awful-like that you'dthink 'twas the old feller himself a-coming, they say. Now a woman mustbe a queer body to my thinking, to roam about by night so lonesome andthat? Ay, now that you tell o't, there is such a woman, but 'a neverhave showed in the parish; sure I never thought who the body was--no, notonce about her, nor where 'a was living and that--not I, till you spoke.Well, there, sir, that's Arr'thorne Lodge; do you see they three elms?'He pointed across the glade towards some confused foliage a long way off.

  'I am not sure about the sort of tree you mean,' said Christopher, 'I seea number of trees with edges shaped like edges of clouds.'

  'Ay, ay, they be oaks; I mean the elms to the left hand.'

  'But a man can hardly tell oaks from elms at that distance, my goodfellow!'

  'That 'a can very well--leastwise, if he's got the sense.'

  'Well, I think I see what you mean,' said Christopher. 'What next?'

  'When you get there, you bear away smart to nor'-west, and you'll comestraight as a line to the Lodge.'

  'How the deuce am I to know which is north-west in a strange place, withno sun to tell me?'

  'What, not know nor-west? Well, I should think a boy could never liveand grow up to be a man without knowing the four quarters. I knowed 'emwhen I was a mossel of a chiel. We be no great scholars here, that'strue, but there isn't a Tom-rig or Jack-straw in these parts that don'tknow where they lie as well as I. Now I've lived, man and boy, theseeight-and-sixty years, and never met a man in my life afore who hadn'tlearnt such a common thing as the four quarters.'

  Christopher parted from his companion and soon reached a stile,clambering over which he entered a park. Here he threaded his way, androunding a clump of aged trees the young man came in view of a light andelegant country-house in the half-timbered Gothic style of the laterevival, apparently only a few years old. Surprised at finding himselfso near, Christopher's heart fluttered unmanageably till he had taken anabstract view of his position, and, in impatience at his want of nerve,adopted a sombre train of reasoning to convince himself that, far fromindulgence in the passion of love bringing bliss, it was a folly, leadingto grief and disquiet--certainly one which would do him no good. Cooleddown by this, he stepped into the drive and went up to the house.

  'Is Mrs. Petherwin at home?' he said modestly.

  'Who did you say, sir?'

  He repeated the name.

  'Don't know the person.'

  'The lady may be a visitor--I call on business.'

  'She is not visiting in this house, sir.'

  'Is not this Arrowthorne Lodge?'

  'Certainly not.'

  'Then where is Arrowthorne Lodge, please?'

  'Well, it is nearly a mile from here. Under the trees by the high-road.If you go across by that footpath it will bring you out quicker than byfollowing the bend of the drive.'

  Christopher wondered how he could have managed to get into the wrongpark; but, setting it down to his ignorance of the difference between oakand elm, he immediately retraced his steps, passing across the parkagain, through the gate at the end of the drive, and into the turnpikeroad. No other gate, park, or country seat of any description was withinview.

  'Can you tell me the way to Arrowthorne Lodge?' he inquired of the firstperson he met, who was a little girl.

  'You are just coming away from it, sir,' said she. 'I'll show you; I amgoing that way.'

  They walked along together. Getting abreast the entrance of the park hehad just emerged from, the child said, 'There it is, sir; I live theretoo.'

  Christopher, with a dazed countenance, looked towards a cottage whichstood nestling in the shrubbery and ivy like a mushroom among grass. 'Isthat Arrowthorne Lodge?' he repeated.

  'Yes, and if you go up the drive, you come to Arrowthorne House.'

  'Arrowthorne Lodge--where Mrs. Petherwin lives, I mean.'

  'Yes. She lives there along wi' mother and we. But she don't wantanybody to know it, sir, cause she's celebrate, and 'twouldn't do atall.'

  Christopher said no more, and the little girl became interested in theproducts of the bank and ditch by the wayside. He left her, pushed openthe heavy gate, and tapped at the Lodge door.

  The latch was lifted. 'Does Mrs. Petherwin,' he began, and, determinedthat there should be no mistake, repeated, 'Does Mrs. EthelbertaPetherwin, the poetess, live here?' turning full upon the person whoopened the door.

  'She does, sir,' said a faltering voice; and he found himself face toface with the pupil-teacher of Sandbourne.