BOOK THE SIXTH. PAULA.
I.
'I have decided that I cannot see Sir William again: I shall go away,'said Paula on the evening of the next day, as she lay on her bed in aflushed and highly-strung condition, though a person who had heard herwords without seeing her face would have assumed perfect equanimity tobe the mood which expressed itself with such quietness. This was thecase with her aunt, who was looking out of the window at some idlersfrom Markton walking round the castle with their eyes bent upon itswindows, and she made no haste to reply.
'Those people have come to see me, as they have a right to do whena person acts so strangely,' Paula continued. 'And hence I am betteraway.'
'Where do you think to go to?'
Paula replied in the tone of one who was actuated entirely by practicalconsiderations: 'Out of England certainly. And as Normandy lies nearest,I think I shall go there. It is a very nice country to ramble in.'
'Yes, it is a very nice country to ramble in,' echoed her aunt, inmoderate tones. 'When do you intend to start?'
'I should like to cross to-night. You must go with me, aunt; will younot?'
Mrs. Goodman expostulated against such suddenness. 'It will redoublethe rumours that are afloat, if, after being supposed ill, you are seengoing off by railway perfectly well.'
'That's a contingency which I am quite willing to run the risk of. Well,it would be rather sudden, as you say, to go to-night. But we'll goto-morrow night at latest.' Under the influence of the decision shebounded up like an elastic ball and went to the glass, which showeda light in her eye that had not been there before this resolution totravel in Normandy had been taken.
The evening and the next morning were passed in writing a finaland kindly note of dismissal to Sir William De Stancy, in makingarrangements for the journey, and in commissioning Havill to takeadvantage of their absence by emptying certain rooms of their furniture,and repairing their dilapidations--a work which, with that in hand,would complete the section for which he had been engaged. Mr. Wardlawhad left the castle; so also had Charlotte, by her own wish, herresidence there having been found too oppressive to herself to becontinued for the present. Accompanied by Mrs. Goodman, Milly, andClementine, the elderly French maid, who still remained with them, Pauladrove into Markton in the twilight and took the train to Budmouth.
When they got there they found that an unpleasant breeze was blowing outat sea, though inland it had been calm enough. Mrs. Goodman proposed tostay at Budmouth till the next day, in hope that there might be smoothwater; but an English seaport inn being a thing that Paula dislikedmore than a rough passage, she would not listen to this counsel. Otherimpatient reasons, too, might have weighed with her. When night cametheir looming miseries began. Paula found that in addition to her owntroubles she had those of three other people to support; but she did notaudibly complain.
'Paula, Paula,' said Mrs. Goodman from beneath her load of wretchedness,'why did we think of undergoing this?'
A slight gleam of humour crossed Paula's not particularly blooming face,as she answered, 'Ah, why indeed?'
'What is the real reason, my dear? For God's sake tell me!'
'It begins with S.'
'Well, I would do anything for that young man short of personalmartyrdom; but really when it comes to that--'
'Don't criticize me, auntie, and I won't criticize you.'
'Well, I am open to criticism just now, I am sure,' said her aunt, witha green smile; and speech was again discontinued.
The morning was bright and beautiful, and it could again be seen inPaula's looks that she was glad she had come, though, in takingtheir rest at Cherbourg, fate consigned them to an hotel breathing anatmosphere that seemed specially compounded for depressing the spiritsof a young woman; indeed nothing had particularly encouraged her thusfar in her somewhat peculiar scheme of searching out and expressingsorrow to a gentleman for having believed those who traduced him; andthis coup d'audace to which she had committed herself began to looksomewhat formidable. When in England the plan of following him toNormandy had suggested itself as the quickest, sweetest, and most honestway of making amends; but having arrived there she seemed further offfrom his sphere of existence than when she had been at Stancy Castle.Virtually she was, for if he thought of her at all, he probably thoughtof her there; if he sought her he would seek her there. However, as hewould probably never do the latter, it was necessary to go on. It hadbeen her sudden dream before starting, to light accidentally upon him insome romantic old town of this romantic old province, but she had becomeaware that the recorded fortune of lovers in that respect was not to betrusted too implicitly.
Somerset's search for her in the south was now inversely imitated.By diligent inquiry in Cherbourg during the gloom of evening, in thedisguise of a hooded cloak, she learnt out the place of his stay whilethere, and that he had gone thence to Lisieux. What she knew of thearchitectural character of Lisieux half guaranteed the truth of theinformation. Without telling her aunt of this discovery she announcedto that lady that it was her great wish to go on and see the beauties ofLisieux.
But though her aunt was simple, there were bounds to her simplicity.'Paula,' she said, with an undeceivable air, 'I don't think you shouldrun after a young man like this. Suppose he shouldn't care for you bythis time.'
It was no occasion for further affectation. 'I am SURE he will,'answered her niece flatly. 'I have not the least fear about it--norwould you, if you knew how he is. He will forgive me anything.'
'Well, pray don't show yourself forward. Some people are apt to fly intoextremes.'
Paula blushed a trifle, and reflected, and made no answer. However, herpurpose seemed not to be permanently affected, for the next morningshe was up betimes and preparing to depart; and they proceeded almostwithout stopping to the architectural curiosity-town which had soquickly interested her. Nevertheless her ardent manner of yesterdayunderwent a considerable change, as if she had a fear that, as her auntsuggested, in her endeavour to make amends for cruel injustice, she wasallowing herself to be carried too far.
On nearing the place she said, 'Aunt, I think you had better call uponhim; and you need not tell him we have come on purpose. Let him think,if he will, that we heard he was here, and would not leave withoutseeing him. You can also tell him that I am anxious to clear up amisunderstanding, and ask him to call at our hotel.'
But as she looked over the dreary suburban erections which lined theroad from the railway to the old quarter of the town, it occurred to herthat Somerset would at that time of day be engaged in one or other ofthe mediaeval buildings thereabout, and that it would be a much neaterthing to meet him as if by chance in one of these edifices than to callupon him anywhere. Instead of putting up at any hotel, they left themaids and baggage at the station; and hiring a carriage, Paula told thecoachman to drive them to such likely places as she could think of.
'He'll never forgive you,' said her aunt, as they rumbled into the town.
'Won't he?' said Paula, with soft faith. 'I'll see about that.'
'What are you going to do when you find him? Tell him point-blank thatyou are in love with him?'
'Act in such a manner that he may tell me he is in love with me.'
They first visited a large church at the upper end of a square thatsloped its gravelled surface to the western shine, and was pricked outwith little avenues of young pollard limes. The church within was one tomake any Gothic architect take lodgings in its vicinity for a fortnight,though it was just now crowded with a forest of scaffolding for repairsin progress. Mrs. Goodman sat down outside, and Paula, entering, took awalk in the form of a horse-shoe; that is, up the south aisle, round theapse, and down the north side; but no figure of a melancholy youngman sketching met her eye anywhere. The sun that blazed in at the westdoorway smote her face as she emerged from beneath it and revealed realsadness there.
'This is not all the old architecture of the town by far,' she said toher aunt with an air of confidence. 'Coachman, drive to St. Jacq
ues'.'
He was not at St. Jacques'. Looking from the west end of that buildingthe girl observed the end of a steep narrow street of antique character,which seemed a likely haunt. Beckoning to her aunt to follow in the flyPaula walked down the street.
She was transported to the Middle Ages. It contained the shops oftinkers, braziers, bellows-menders, hollow-turners, and other quaintesttrades, their fronts open to the street beneath stories of timberoverhanging so far on each side that a slit of sky was left at the topfor the light to descend, and no more. A blue misty obscurity pervadedthe atmosphere, into which the sun thrust oblique staves of light. Itwas a street for a mediaevalist to revel in, toss up his hat and shouthurrah in, send for his luggage, come and live in, die and be buried in.She had never supposed such a street to exist outside the imaginationsof antiquarians. Smells direct from the sixteenth century hung in theair in all their original integrity and without a modern taint. Thefaces of the people in the doorways seemed those of individuals whohabitually gazed on the great Francis, and spoke of Henry the Eighth asthe king across the sea.
She inquired of a coppersmith if an English artist had been seen herelately. With a suddenness that almost discomfited her he announcedthat such a man had been seen, sketching a house just below--the 'VieuxManoir de Francois premier.' Just turning to see that her aunt wasfollowing in the fly, Paula advanced to the house. The wood framework ofthe lower story was black and varnished; the upper story was brown andnot varnished; carved figures of dragons, griffins, satyrs, and mermaidsswarmed over the front; an ape stealing apples was the subject of thiscantilever, a man undressing of that. These figures were cloaked withlittle cobwebs which waved in the breeze, so that each figure seemedalive.
She examined the woodwork closely; here and there she discernedpencil-marks which had no doubt been jotted thereon by Somerset aspoints of admeasurement, in the way she had seen him mark them at thecastle. Some fragments of paper lay below: there were pencilled lines onthem, and they bore a strong resemblance to a spoilt leaf of Somerset'ssketch-book. Paula glanced up, and from a window above protruded an oldwoman's head, which, with the exception of the white handkerchief tiedround it, was so nearly of the colour of the carvings that she mighteasily have passed as of a piece with them. The aged woman continuedmotionless, the remains of her eyes being bent upon Paula, who asked herin Englishwoman's French where the sketcher had gone. Without replying,the crone produced a hand and extended finger from her side, and pointedtowards the lower end of the street.
Paula went on, the carriage following with difficulty, on account ofthe obstructions in the thoroughfare. At bottom, the street abutted ona wide one with customary modern life flowing through it; and as shelooked, Somerset crossed her front along this street, hurrying as if fora wager.
By the time that Paula had reached the bottom Somerset was a long wayto the left, and she recognized to her dismay that the busy transversestreet was one which led to the railway. She quickened her pace to arun; he did not see her; he even walked faster. She looked behind forthe carriage. The driver in emerging from the sixteenth-century streetto the nineteenth had apparently turned to the right, instead of to theleft as she had done, so that her aunt had lost sight of her. However,she dare not mind it, if Somerset would but look back! He partly turned,but not far enough, and it was only to hail a passing omnibus upon whichshe discerned his luggage. Somerset jumped in, the omnibus drove on, anddiminished up the long road. Paula stood hopelessly still, and in a fewminutes puffs of steam showed her that the train had gone.
She turned and waited, the two or three children who had gatheredround her looking up sympathizingly in her face. Her aunt, having nowdiscovered the direction of her flight, drove up and beckoned to her.
'What's the matter?' asked Mrs. Goodman in alarm.
'Why?'
'That you should run like that, and look so woebegone.'
'Nothing: only I have decided not to stay in this town.'
'What! he is gone, I suppose?'
'Yes!' exclaimed Paula, with tears of vexation in her eyes. 'It isn'tevery man who gets a woman of my position to run after him on foot, andalone, and he ought to have looked round! Drive to the station; I wantto make an inquiry.'
On reaching the station she asked the booking-clerk some questions, andreturned to her aunt with a cheerful countenance. 'Mr. Somerset has onlygone to Caen,' she said. 'He is the only Englishman who went by thistrain, so there is no mistake. There is no other train for two hours. Wewill go on then--shall we?'
'I am indifferent,' said Mrs. Goodman. 'But, Paula, do you think thisquite right? Perhaps he is not so anxious for your forgiveness as youthink. Perhaps he saw you, and wouldn't stay.'
A momentary dismay crossed her face, but it passed, and she answered,'Aunt, that's nonsense. I know him well enough, and can assure you thatif he had only known I was running after him, he would have looked roundsharply enough, and would have given his little finger rather than havemissed me! I don't make myself so silly as to run after a gentlemanwithout good grounds, for I know well that it is an undignified thing todo. Indeed, I could never have thought of doing it, if I had not been somiserably in the wrong!'