CHAPTER XI
THE LAST VIEW FROM HIGH WINDOWS
"Not without fortitude I wait ... ... I, in this house so rifted, marr'd, So ill to live in, hard to leave; I, so star-weary, over-warr'd, That have no joy in this your day."
_Francis Thompson._
I
Rachel, on the morning of April 28th, received this letter from LadyAdela:
"BEAMINSTER HOUSE,
_April 27th._
MY DEAR RACHEL,
Mother suddenly last night expressed an urgent wish to see you. She has not been at all well during the last few days and Dr. Christopher, who has been here since last Saturday, says that if you can come down and see her he thinks that it would be a comfort to her. She is sleeping very badly, but is wonderfully tranquil and seems to like to be here again.
If you can come down to-morrow afternoon I will send to meet the 5.32 at Ryston. That is quicker than going round to Munckston. If I don't hear I conclude that you are coming by that train.
My love to Roddy.
Your affectionate aunt,
ADELA BEAMINSTER."
Rachel showed the letter to Roddy.
"I'm so glad," she said, "I've been hoping that she'd send for me. I'vefelt, ever since that day, that I should never be easy again if Ihadn't the chance to tell her that I see now that I--that we--werewrong."
"She's never answered my letter," said Roddy. "Perhaps she wasn't wellenough to write. Yes, I'm glad you're going, Rachel."
She was moved by many emotions, the old lady dying, the house in whoseshadow she had spent so many of her timid, angry, adventurous youngyears, the thrill that the thought of her child gave her now at everyvision of the world, the knowledge that in Roddy she, at last, hadsomeone in her life to whom, after every absence, however short, she waseager to return--these things shone with new, wonderful lights aroundher journey.
The April evenings were lengthening and the dusks were warm and scented.The little station lay peacefully in the heart of green fields; acrossthe sky, washed clean of every colour, a dark train of birds slowly,lazily took their flight, trees were dim with edges sharp against thesky-line, a dog barking in the distance gave rhythm to the stillness.Rachel, driving through the falling dark, felt, as she had felt it whenshe was a small child, the august colour and space and dignity of thefirst vision of the great house, white as a ghost now under the firststars, speaking to her with the old voice, fountains that splashed ingardens, the river that ran at the end of the sloping lawns, the chimingclock that rang out the hour as she drove up to the door.
Aunt Adela, Uncle John, Dr. Chris, Lizzie, they were all there, andtheir presences made less chill the dominating reason for theirassembly.
Over all the house the shadow fell. The wide, high rooms, the longpicture gallery, the comfortless grandeur of a house that had not found,for some years, many human creatures to lighten it, these echoed andflung forwards and backwards the note of suspense, of pause, ofimpending crisis.
But Rachel spent one of the happiest evenings of her life with UncleJohn and Christopher. She knew that Uncle John had had a short butterrible interview with her grandmother, that he had been charged withtreachery and dishonour and every traitorous wickedness.
A week ago, when he had told her this, he had been the picture ofdespair and shame. "I hadn't meant her to know. She wasn't to come intoit at all. And then that she should meet him at Roddy's on that veryafternoon.... There's nothing bad enough for me." But he had added witha strange note of defiance so unlike the old Uncle John: "I had felt itmy duty, Rachel ... to speak to Francis. I had felt it the right thingto do. I had felt it very strongly."
Then he had been overwhelmed, now he was once more at peace, andtranquil.
"It's all right," he told Rachel. "I've been forgiven. I think she'sforgiven all of us.
"She wouldn't listen when I wanted to tell her how sorry I was. Sheseems now not to care."
"She's never forgiven anyone anything before," said
Rachel.
"Hush, my dear, I don't think you ought to say that. We've neverunderstood her, any of us. She's always been beyond us. You'll realizeto-morrow, Rachel, how wonderful, how _wonderful_ she is!"
But he was very happy. He had his old Rachel back, the old Rachel whomhe had expected never to see again. She sat between him and Christopher,at dinner, no longer fierce and ironical, with sudden silences and swiftangers, but affectionate, sympathetic, happy.
"Mother will see you to-morrow," Adela told her. "She's glad that you'vecome. The morning's rather a bad time for her. Could you stay for thewhole day?"
"Of course," Rachel said.
At the end of the evening she went up to Lizzie's room; when midnightrang from the tower they parted, but first, Rachel said:
"Lizzie, I wonder whether you realize what you've been--to all of us--tome of course ... but to the others--to the whole family."
"Oh! Nonsense!"
"Roddy was speaking about it yesterday. He said that you were the mostwonderful person in all the world for making all the difference withoutsaying or doing anything--by just being there."
"Oh, Roddy thinks everybody----"
"But this is what I'm coming to. You can't yourself know how muchdifference you make to everyone. But there's just this.... Roddy feelsand I feel that when--He--comes (of course it'll be a boy) we'd ratherhave you for his friend than anyone in the whole world. You will--youwill be, won't you?"
"My dear--I should _think_ so. I'll whack him and bath him and snub himand teach him his letters--anything you like." Then she added, rathergravely:
"There's one thing, Rachel, I've wanted to say for some time. I want youto know definitely, that all wounds are closed now, everything'shealed--about Mr. Breton, I mean. I was afraid that you might think Istill cared.... That's all ended, closed up, that little episode.
"You needn't be afraid, Rachel. I'm happier, I'm freer than I've everbeen in my life.... Good night, my dear. Your friendship is more to methan any number of heart-burnings.... I was always meant to beindependent, you know...."
II
It was very strange to Rachel, who had been, on so many, many evenings,to that other room, to pause now outside this new door, to knock withthe house solemn and still around her, to hear Dorchester's voice, then,with the old hesitation and--yes--with some of the old fear, to enter.
She had considered what she would say. Coming down in the train she hadturned it over and over--her apology, her submission, her cry: "See, I'mdifferent--utterly different from the Rachel whom you knew.... I was aprig of the very worst. I deserved everything you thought of me. Justsay you forgive me even though you can't like me." This was the kind ofthing that, in the train, had seemed possible enough; now, with theopening of the door and that sharp recurrence of the old thrill, she wasnot at all sure that she wanted to be submissive and affectionate. "Idon't feel fond of her--nothing could make me--there are too manythings...."
Space and silence saluted Rachel. Two great mirrors ran from floor toceiling, high windows flooded the room with light and everything seemedto be intended only for such a situation as this--the very house, thegrounds, the colour of the day had arranged themselves, in their purityand air and silence, about the central figure. The Duchess lay in a longlow chair before the window; she was wrapped in white shawls and thickrugs covered her body; Dorchester, the same stern, unbending Dorchester,said gravely to Rachel, "Good afternoon, my lady. I hope that you arewell," then moved into another room.
The Duchess had not stirred at the sound of the closing doors, nor atDorchester's voice, nor at Rachel's approach. She was gazing out, beyondthe windows, to the expanse of sunlit country, fields that slopedtowards the river, an orchard, white with blossom, running down thehill, its colour, dazzling, almost visibly trembling against the sky.
Rachel had only seen her in the Portland Place rooms, with the chinadragons, the gold ornaments, the
red lacquer bed, the blazingwall-paper. It had seemed then that she must have those things aroundher, that she needed the colour and extravagance to support her flamingpassion for life, so curbed and shackled by disease.
Their absence made her older, feebler, more human, but also grander andmore impressive. Rachel had always feared her, but despised herself forher fear; now she was in the presence of something that made her proudto be afraid.
She thought that she might be asleep, so she moved, very quietly, achair forward near the window and, sitting down, waited. The only soundin all the world was the steady splash--splash--splash of the fountainbelow, the only movement the stealthy creeping of the long shadows,flung by white boulder clouds, across the shining fields.
Suddenly, without turning her head, the Duchess spoke.
"Very good of you, Rachel. I hoped that you would come."
Her voice was weak, her words indistinct as though she were speakingthrough muffled shawls, but, nevertheless, behind them the presence ofthe old dominating will was to be discerned, but now it was a willquiescent, struggling no longer for power.
"I would have come before if you had sent for me. I'm so glad that youdid."
"I can't talk for very long, my dear, and I don't suppose that you wantto spend hours in my company any more than you've ever done. No, youneedn't protest. We're neither of us here for compliments.... Butthere's something that I must say to you. Christopher allows me half anhour."
"I hope you're better--that being here has done you good."
"Better? Nonsense. I don't want to be better. That's all over and donewith. I had another stroke three days ago and the next one will finishme. So don't pretend. You used to be honest enough. I've asked you tocome because I want to speak to you about Roddy."
"He wrote," Rachel said.
"Yes. I got his letter. I couldn't reply. I can't write myself and Iwon't have anyone else do it for me. Besides, there was nothing to writeabout. He said he was sorry about that little conversation we all hadtogether the other day."
"And I--" Rachel began eagerly, "I was so sorry. I've been longing totell you--it was all wrong, but Roddy has no imagination. He didn'trealize in the least----"
"Ah, my dear. I expect I know Roddy a great deal better than you do.He'll do the same sort of thing to you, one day. He's got the devil inhim and will always have it, however much you coddle him or let him liethere thinking over his sins. Do you suppose I'd have been so fond ofRoddy all these years if I hadn't known him capable of such littlerevenges? I liked it. There was no need to write to me and he knewit--but I'm afraid you influence him a good deal."
Rachel coloured. "I hope----"
"Oh yes, you do, and that's exactly why I wanted to see you."
She turned then and, very carefully, very slowly, her eyes searchedRachel's face.
"I let him marry you, you know. I thought it would be good for you. IfI'd guessed the effect that you'd have had upon him I'd have preventedit."
Rachel's anger was rising.
"What effect?"
"He's begun to worry about other people--a fatal thing with a man likeRoddy who was meant to do things, not think about them. But, anyway,that's all too late now.... Waste of time discussing it.... What Iwanted you for is this----"
Her eyes left Rachel's face and returned to the window.
"You're the one person now that influences him and you will always beso. I can see ahead well enough. Poor Roddy ... and he might have been afine man. All the same, I admire him for it; there are things about youI could have liked if I'd wanted to find them, but we've been fightingfrom the beginning until now--when it's the end ..." She caught herbreath, stayed for an instant struggling for words, then went on:
"We can call a truce now. We don't like one another, but just at themoment you're moved a little because I'm feeble and shall be dead in afortnight. That disturbs you.... It needn't. Some months ago a momentdid come when I realized that I should die soon. I hated it--I foughtand struggled with all my might ... but now that it has come it doesn'tmatter. Nothing matters. I regret nothing. I've had my time. I hate thenew generation, the manly woman and the soft man with all thissentimental nonsense about caring for other people. Think of yourself,fight for yourself, keep up your pride--that's the only way the world'sever been run. You're a sentimentalist and you're making one ofRoddy.... Nonsense it all is.... But all this isn't what I really wantedto say." She turned back and her eyes, as again they held Rachel, weresofter.
"Roddy's been my only weakness. I've loved that boy and he's far toogood and fine for a wobbler like yourself. That's why I hated it theother day. I couldn't bear that he should see me beaten by the pair ofyou, both of you thinking yourself so noble with your fineconfessions--not that I believe a word that you said--but it was cleverof you. You _are_ clever and know how to manage men.
"Yes, that hurt me, but afterwards I loved him all the better, Ibelieve. I'd rather he hadn't written me that soppy letter, but that wasyour doing, of course.... But listen. After I'm gone, I want Roddy tothink of me kindly. He's going to think very much what you make him.It's in your hands. You, when you've got past this sentimental moment,will hate the memory of me. It's natural that you should and I'm sure Idon't mind. But I want you to leave Roddy alone. If he likes to think ofme kindly, let him. Don't blacken his mind to me. I wish to feel--myonly weakness I do believe--that Roddy will be fond of my memory. Thatrests with you."
She stopped with a little final movement of her head as though, havingsaid what had been in her mind for a long while, she was finished,absolutely, with it all, and wanted no word more with any human being.
Rachel answered quietly: "You've said some rather hard things. Youmustn't feel that I'd ever try to make Roddy think badly of you. That'snot fair.... I'm not very proud of myself, but you don't understand me.You've always been determined not to--and perhaps, in the same way, I'venot understood you. We're different generations, that's what it reallyis.
"But over Roddy we _can_ meet. I didn't love him when I married him, butI do now, and we're going to have a child.... That will make us bothvery happy, I expect. You love Roddy and I love him. You needn't beafraid that I'll harm his memory of you."
Her voice was trembling and she was very near to tears. She would haveliked to have said something that would have offered some terms of peacebetween them, something upon which, afterwards, she might look back withcomfort. For her that hostility seemed, in the face of death, so smalland poor a thing.
But no words would come.
Her grandmother, in a voice that was very weak, said:
"Thank you, Rachel; that's a great relief to me. That's good ofyou ... and now, my dear, I think Christopher would say that I'd talkedenough. Good night."
Rachel knew that this was their last meeting, that here was the absoluteconclusion of all the years of warfare that there had been between them.
There was nothing to say.... She bent down and kissed the dry cheek,waited for an instant, but there was no movement.
"Good night, grandmamma," she said. "I hope that you'll be betterto-morrow," then softly stole away.
III
The Duchess lay very still, watching the shadows as they crept acrossthe fields. They were evening shadows now, for the sky, pink like theinside of a shell, had no clouds upon its surface.
She would not get up again; this evening should be the last to see hergaze upon the world. It was too fatiguing and all energy had flowed fromher, leaving her without desire, without passion, without regret, withoutfear. Very dreamily and at a great distance figures and scenes from herpast life hovered, halted, and passed. But she was not interested, shehad forgotten their purpose and meaning, she did not want to think anymore.
The splashing of the fountain was phantasmal and very far away.
The long black shadow crept up the field. She watched it. At the top ofthe red ridge of field, against the sky-line, very sharp and clear, wasa gate, golden now in the sun. When the shadow caught it she would go tobe
d ... and she would never get up again.
She waited lazily, indifferently. The gate was caught; the last gleamsof the sun had left the orchard and the evening star glittered in a skyvery faintly green.
She touched a bell at her side and Dorchester appeared.
"I'll go to bed, Dorchester."
"Very well, Your Grace."
"I shan't get up again. Too much trouble." She turned away from thewindow and closed her eyes.