CHAPTER VI
FANS
"Il est doux de sommeiller a l'ombre chaude, sur le tiede oreiller d'un mal epicurisme et d'une intelligence ironique, tres simple, assez curieuse, et prodigieusement indifferente, au fond."
Romain Rolland.
I
On the afternoon that followed the ball Lady Adela took Rachel to teawith Lord Richard.
It was a superb May afternoon; white clouds, bolster-shaped, were piledin the heavens and made, so rounded were they, the blue sky seem aninfinite distance away. It was a day of sparkling dazzling gaiety--theair seemed electric with the happiness of the world, and, as they drovedown to Grosvenor Street, Rachel felt that the little breeze that justtouched the hats and coats of the people on the omnibuses was createdsimply by the joy of the beautiful weather.
As they moved slowly down Bond Street Rachel looked at the world andthought of last night. She looked at the men with their shining hats andshining boots; at the messenger boys and the young women with parcelsand the young women without; at the old men who thought themselves youngand the young men who thought themselves old; at the fish shops and thepicture galleries, at the jewellers' and the book shops, at the placewhere they taught you Swedish exercises and the place where there was apalmist with a Japanese name, and it was all splendid and magnificentand simply carried on the glories of the night before. Before theturning into Grosvenor Street there was a great crush of carriages and along pause. In the carriage next to Rachel there was a very stout, veryrichly coloured lady with a strong scent and a pug dog. A little fartheraway there were two young gentlemen in a smart little carriage, andtheir hats were so large and their expression so haughty and the top oftheir canes so golden that it seemed absurd that they should have towait for anybody, and near them was a small boy on a little butcher'scart and near him an omnibus with a red-faced driver and any number ofinterested ladies, and all these incongruities seemed only to add to thehaphazard happiness of this shining afternoon.
Rachel had many things to consider as she sat there. Aunt Adela did notinterfere with her thoughts, because she never talked when she was in acarriage, but always sat up and looked wearily at the people about her.She had never very much to say, but the open air made her feel stupid.
Rachel was aware that last night had altered her point of view for alltime. She was aware, as she sat there in sunshine, of a new world. Byone glance at Aunt Adela was this new world made apparent. Aunt Adelahad hitherto been important--Aunt Adela was now unimportant.
Had this afternoon been wet and gloomy, then Rachel might have doubtedthat passionate discovery of the world that she now felt was hers, buthere with this blazing sun and sky the note was sustained. Surely neveragain would Rachel be afraid of her grandmother, surely never againwould she be afraid of anyone. Holding herself very proudly in a dressthat was a soft primrose colour and in a hat that was dark and shady,Rachel looked round about her on the world.
"There's Lady Massiter!" Lady Adela smiled lightly and bowed a verylittle--"Monty Carfax is with her."
Rachel thought of Lord Massiter, and wondered again at last night'sdinner--"How could I have been like that? How _could_ I?"
There passed them a very handsome carriage with a little dark handsomelady who looked happily round about her, all alone in her magnificence.Rachel did not know whether her aunt had seen or no: here was theBeaminster arch-enemy, Mrs. Bronson, a young American widow, incrediblyrich, incredibly fascinating, incredibly bold. Mrs. Bronson had been inLondon only a year, had snapped her jewelled fingers at the Beaminstersand everything that they stood for, had laughed at snubs and threats,was intending, so it was said, to have London at her feet in a season ortwo.
Rachel considered her. She was like some jewelled bird of paradise. Shewas--one must admit it--better suited to this glorious day than was AuntAdela.
Why need Aunt Adela refuse to be glad because the sun was shining? Whycould not Aunt Adela have said something pleasant about last night'sdance? Why must this absurd outward dignity be so carefully maintained?Why when one was looking attractive in a primrose dress could one's auntnot say so?
That reminded her of Roddy Seddon.
She liked him. He might be a real friend like Dr. Christopher. Thethought of him made her, as she sat there in the sun, feel doublycertain that the world was a comfortable, reassuring place and that thatvision of cold spaces and dark forests that had been so often with herwas now to be banished like an evil dream never to return.
At the end of Grosvenor Street the trees were so green that they mighthave been painted, and here they were at Uncle Richard's house.
II
But, with the closing of Uncle Richard's doors the sun was taken fromthe world. Uncle Richard's house was always soft and dim, like one ofthose little jewel cases, all wadding and dark wood. Uncle Richard'scarpets were so thick and soft that everyone seemed to walk on tip-toe,and the wonderful old prints in the hall and the beautiful dark carvingon the staircase and the sudden swiftness of the doors as they closedbehind you only helped to increase the impression that everything here,yourself included, was in for a beautiful exhibition, and that lightmight hurt the exhibits.
Uncle Richard's study, where they always had tea, was lined from roof toceiling with book-cases, and behind the shining glass there gleamed thebacks of the haughtiest and proudest books in the world. For, were theyold and dingy, then they were first editions of transcendent value, andwere they new and shining, then were they "Editions de luxe," or some ofUncle Richard's favourites bound in the most intricate and precious ofbindings.
Some china on the mantelpiece was so valuable that housemaids mustsurely have a sleepless time because of it, and all the furniture was soconscious of its rich and ancient glories that to sit down on the chairsor to lean on the tables was to offer them terrible insults.
Two Conders and a Corot shone from the grey walls.
In the midst of this was Uncle Richard, elaborately, ironicallyindifferent to all emotions. "I have governed the country, yes--butreally, my friends, scarcely a job for a fine spirit nowadays. I havecollected these few things--yes, but after all what does it come to?Don't many pawn-brokers do the same?"
Rachel, as she stood in the room, felt that her newly found independencewas slipping away from her. With the departure of the sun had fled alsothat consciousness of last night's splendours. About her again wascreeping that atmosphere that was always with her in this room,something that made her feel that she was a wretched, ignorantBeaminster, and that even if she did learn the value of all theseprecious things, why then that knowledge was of little enough use toher.
Uncle Richard with his high white forehead, his long dark trousers, hisgrey spats and his great collar that bent back, in humble deference,before the nobility of his neck and chin, Uncle Richard required a greatdeal of courage.
"Well, dear, I hope you enjoyed your dance."
"Yes, Uncle Richard, thank you."
"I left early, but everything seemed to be going very well."
"Yes, I think it was all right."
How different this from the fashion in which she had intended to flingher enthusiasm upon him. What, she wondered, would have been the effecthad she done so? How would he have taken it? Could she have pierced thatmelancholy ironical armour that always kept the real man from her?
Meanwhile she was now back again in the old, old world; tea was brought,the footman and butler moved softly about the room. Aunt Adela said alittle, Uncle Richard said a little ... the lid was down upon the world.
Meanwhile, impossible to imagine that only a quarter of an hour agothere had been that gay confusion in Bond Street, impossible to believeMrs. Bronson in her carriage anything but common and vulgar, impossibleto prefer that dazzling sun to this cloistered quiet.
A wonderful lacquered clock ticked the minutes away. "I'm in a cage--I'min a cage--and I want to get out," someone in Rachel Beaminster wascrying, and someone else replied, "Thank God that you are allowed
to bein such a cage at all. There's no other cage so splendid."
Her primrose gown was forgotten; when Uncle Richard asked her questionsshe answered "Yes," or "No." Her old terrors had returned.
Upon the three of them, sitting thus, Roddy Seddon was announced. Roddyhad assaulted and conquered Lord Richard in as masterly a fashion as hehad subdued the Duchess and Lady Adela. He had done it simply bypresenting so boisterous and honest an allegiance to the Beaminsterstandard. Lord Richard's irony had been useless against Roddy'singenuous appeal. Moreover, there was the Duchess's advocacy--youngSeddon was the hope of the party.
Roddy brought to view no evidence of last night's energies; he was asfresh, as highly coloured, as browned and bronzed and clear as anypastoral shepherd, his skin was so finely coloured that clothes alwaysseemed, with him, a pity. Lord Richard's melancholy cynicism had poorchance against such vigour.
His eyes, as they fastened upon Rachel, brightened. She gave that dimroom such fresh pleasure, sitting there in her primrose frock with herserious eyes and long hands. No, she was not beautiful; he knew that hislast night's impression had been the true one; but she was unusual, shewould make, he was sure, a most unusual companion. "You wouldn't thinkit," May Eversley had said, "but there's any amount of fun inRachel--you'll find it when you know her."
He was not sure but that he saw it now, lurking in her eyes, her mouth,as she sat there, so gravely, opposite to her uncle and aunt.
"How d'ye do, Lady Adela? How d'ye do, Miss Beaminster? How are you,sir? Thanks--I will have some tea. Pretty gorgeous day, ain't it?Rippin' dance of yours last night, Lady Adela."
Meanwhile, Rachel knew that she had nothing to say to him. Out there inthe sunlight she might, perhaps, have maintained that relationship thathad been begun between them the night before, but in here, with AuntAdela and Uncle Richard so consciously an audience, with the air so dimand the walls so grey, Roddy Seddon seemed the most strident ofstrangers.
She sat, silently, whilst he talked to Aunt Adela. "I've never had sotoppin' a dance as last night--'pon my soul, no. Young Milhaven, whom Itumbled on at Brook's at luncheon, said the same. Band first-rate, andfloor spiffin'."
"I'm glad you liked it, Roddy," said Lady Adela, with a dry littlesmile. "I must confess to being glad that it's over."
Roddy glanced a little shyly at Rachel. "I suppose you're goin' hard atit now, Miss Beaminster?"
She looked across the tea-table at him. "There's Lady Grode's and LadyMassiter's, and Lady Carloes is giving one for her niece----"
"The Massiter thing ought to be a good one. Always do it well," saidRoddy. "'Pon my word, on a day like this makes one hot to think ofdancing."
He was perplexed. He had instantly perceived that he had here a RachelBeaminster very different from last night's heroine. She was now beyondall contemplated intimacy. He had heard others speak of that aloofnessthat came like a cloud about her. He now saw it for himself.
After a time he came across to her whilst Lady Adela and her brothertalked as though the world consisted of one Beaminster railed round byhigh palings over which a host of foolish people were trying to climb.
He stood beside her smiling in that slightly embarrassed manner of his,a manner that caused those who did not know him to say that they likedRoddy Seddon because he was so modest.
"Such a day it seems a shame to be in town."
"Yes--isn't it lovely?"
"The opera's pretty hot in the evenin' just now. Have you been yet?"
"I've been in Munich often. I've never been here."
"My word! Haven't you really? Wish I could say the same. I'm alwaysbein' dragged----"
"Why do you go if you don't care about it?"
"Can't think--always askin' myself. Why do half the Johnnies go? And yetin a way I like some sorts o' music."
"_What_ kind of music?"
"Sittin' in the dark, in a room, with someone just strokin' the piano upand down--just strokin' it--not hammerin' it. I don't care what the oldtune is----"
Rachel laughed a little, but said nothing. Of course, she thought himthe most thundering kind of fool, and this made him eager to display toher his wisdom and common sense.
But he could say nothing. There followed the most awkward silence. Shedid not try to help him, but sat there quietly looking in front of her.
Suddenly she said: "Uncle Richard, I want to see your fans again. Ihaven't seen them for a long time. I know you've added some lately. SirRoderick, have you ever seen my uncle's fans?"
"No," he said. "I'd be delighted----"
Lord Richard's eyes lifted. The lines of his mouth grew softer.
Rachel watched him. "Now he'll pretend," she said, "that he doesn'tcare. He'll pretend that they're nothing to him at all."
He went, in his solemn guarded manner, to a place in the room where alarge cabinet was let into the wall. He drew this cabinet forward, andthen, out of it, moving his hands almost pontifically, he pulled trays,and on these trays lay the fans.
The others had gathered around him. There were nearly five hundredfans--fans Dutch and Italian and French and Chinese and Japanese; fansof the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, of the eighteenth and of theEmpire--modern Japanese heavy with iron spokes, others light asgossamer, with spokes of ivory or tortoise shell. There were Frenchfans, painted only on one side, with pictures of fantastic shepherds andshepherdesses; there were Chinese fans with bridges and mandarins andtowers; Empire fans perforated with tinsel and such lovely shades ofcolour that they seemed to change as one gazed.
There they all lay in that rich solemn room, quietly, proudly consciousof their beauty, needing no word of praise, catching all the colour andthe daintiness and fragrance that had ever been in the world.
Rachel drank in their splendour and then looked about her.
Uncle Richard's eyes were flaming and his hands trembling against thecase.
Then she looked at Roddy Seddon. His head was flung back; with eyes andmouth, with every vein, and fibre of his body he was drinking in theirglory.
His eyes were suddenly caught away. He was staring at her before shelooked away--Her eyes said to him, "Why! Do you care like _that_? Dothose things mean _that_ to you?"
She smiled across at him. They were in communion again as they had beenlast night.
He was surprised that he should be so glad.