 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Diana Keisner. The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnhem. Chapter 16 And so the second week began and all was harmony. The arrival of Mr. Wilkins. Instead of, as three of the party had feared, and the fourth had only been protected from fearing by her burning faith and the effect on him of san salvatore, disturbing such harmony as there was, increased it. He fit it in. He was determined to please and he did please. He was most amiable to his wife, not only in public which she was used to, but in private. When he certainly wouldn't have been if he hadn't wanted to, he did want to. He was so much obliged to her, so much pleased with her, for making him acquainted with Lady Caroline, that he felt really fond of her. Also proud. For there must be, he reflected, a good deal more in her than she had supposed, for Lady Caroline to have become so intimate with her, and so affectionate. And the more he treated her as though she were really very nice, the more Lottie expanded and became really very nice. And the more he, affected in his churn, became really very nice himself, so that they went round and round. Delicious, but in a highly virtuous circle. Positively for him, Malerche petted her. There was at no time much pet in Malerche, because he was by nature a cool man. Yet such was the influence on him of, as Lottie supposed, San Salvatore, that in this second week he sometimes pinched both her ears, one after the other, instead of only one. And Lottie, marvelling at such rapidly developing affectionateness, wondered what he would do should he continue at this rate in the third week, when her supply of ears would have come to an end. He was particularly nice about the wash stand, and genuinely desirous of not taking up too much of the space in the small bedroom. Quick to respond, Lottie was even more desirous not to be in his way, and the room became the scene of many an affectionate combat de generosity, each of which left them more pleased with each other than ever. He did not again have a bath in the bathroom, though it was mended and ready for him, but got up and went down every morning to the sea, and in spite of the cool nights making the water cold, early had his dip as a man should, and came up to breakfast rubbing his hands and feeling, as he told Mrs. Fisher, prepared for anything. Lottie's belief in the irresistible influence of the heavenly atmosphere of San Salvatore being thus obviously justified, and Mr. Wilkins, whom Rose knew as alarming, and Scrap had pictured as icily unkind, being so evidently a changed man, whom Rose and Scrap began to think there might, after all, be something in what Lottie insisted on, and that San Salvatore did work purgingly on the character. They were the more inclined to think so, in that they too felt a working going on inside themselves. They felt more cleared, both of them that second week. Scrap in her thoughts, many of which were now quite nice thoughts, real amiable ones about her parents and relations, with a glimmer in them of recognition of the extraordinary benefits she had received at the hands of what, fate, providence? Anyhow of something, and of how, having received them, she had misused them by failing to be happy. And Rose in her bosom, which though it still yearned, yearned to some purpose, for she was reaching the conclusion that merely inactively to yearn was of no use at all, and that she must either by some means stop her yearning, or give it at least a chance, remote but still a chance, of being quieted by writing to Frederick and asking him to come out. If Mr. Wilkins could be changed, thought Rose, why not Frederick? How wonderful it would be! How too wonderful! If the place worked on him too, and were able to make them even a little understand each other, even a little be friends. Rose so far had loosening and disintegration gone on in her character, was now beginning to think her obstinate straight lacedness about his books, and her austere absorption in good works had been foolish and perhaps even wrong. He was her husband, and she had frightened him away. She had frightened love away, precious love, and that couldn't be good. Was not Lottie right when she said the other day that nothing at all except love mattered? Nothing certainly seemed much use unless it was built up on love. But once frightened away, could it ever come back? Yes, it might in that beauty. It might in the atmosphere of happiness Lottie and San Salvatore seemed between them to have spread round like some divine infection. She had, however, to get him there first, and he certainly couldn't be got there because she didn't write and tell him where she was. She would write. She must write. For if she did, there was at least a chance of his coming. And if she didn't, there was manifestly none. And then, once here, in this loveliness, with everything so soft and kind and sweet all round, it would be easier to tell him to try and explain, to ask for something different, for at least an attempt at something different in their lives in the future. Instead of the blankness of separation, the cold, oh the cold, of nothing at all but the great windiness of faith, the great bleakness of works. Why one person in the world, one single person belonging to one of one's very own to talk to, to take care of, to love, to be interested in, was worth more than all the speeches on platforms and the compliments of chairman in the world. It was also worth more. Rose couldn't help it, the thought would come. Then all the prayers. These thoughts were not head thoughts like scraps, who was altogether free from yearnings, but bosom thoughts. They lodged in the bosom. It was in the bosom that Rose ached and thought so dreadfully lonely. And when her courage failed her as it did on most days and it seemed impossible to write to Frederick, she would look at Mr. Wilkins and revive. There he was, a changed man. There he was, going into that small uncomfortable room every night, that room whose proximities had been Lottie's only misgiving, and coming out of it in the morning and Lottie coming out of it too, both of them as unclouded and as nice to each other as when they went in. And hadn't he so critical at home, Lottie had told her, of the least thing going wrong, emerged from the bath catastrophe as untouched in spirit as Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were untouched in body when they emerged from the fire. Miracles were happening in this place. If they could happen to Mr. Wilkins, why not to Frederick? She got up quickly. Yes, she would write. She would go and write to him at once. But suppose... She paused. Suppose he didn't answer. Suppose he didn't even answer. And she sat down again to think a little longer. In these hesitations did Rose spend most of the second week. Then there was Mrs. Fisher. Her restlessness increased that second week. It increased to such an extent that she might just as well not have had her private sitting-room at all. For she could no longer sit. Not for ten minutes together could Mrs. Fisher sit. And added to the restlessness, as the days of the second week proceeded on their way, she had a curious sensation which worried her of rising sap. She knew the feeling because she sometimes had it in childhood in specially swift springs when the lilacs and the syringes seemed to rush out into bloom in a single night. But it was strange to have it again after over fifty years. She would have liked to remark on the sensation to someone, but she was ashamed. It was such an absurd sensation at her age. Yet oftener and oftener and every day more and more did Mrs. Fisher have a ridiculous feeling as if she were presently going to Burgeon. Sternly she tried to frown the unseemly sensation down. Burgeon indeed. She had heard of dried staffs, pieces of mere dead wood suddenly putting forth fresh leaves, but only in legend. She was not in legend. She knew perfectly what was due to herself. Dignity demanded that she should have nothing to do with fresh leaves at her age. And yet there it was, the feeling that presently, that at any moment now, she might crop out all green. Mrs. Fisher was upset. There were many things she disliked more than anything else, and one was when the elderly imagined they felt young and behaved accordingly. Of course they only imagined it. They were only deceiving themselves. But how deplorable were the results? She herself had grown old as people should grow old, steadily and firmly. No interruptions, no belated afterglows and spasmodic returns. If after all these years she were now going to be deluded into some sort of unsuitable breaking out, how humiliating. Indeed she was thankful that second week that Kate Lumley was not there. It would be most unpleasant should anything different occur in her behaviour to have Kate looking on. Kate had known her all her life. She felt she could let herself go, hear Mrs. Fisher frowned at the book she was vainly trying to concentrate on, for where did that expression come from? Much less painfully before strangers than before an old friend. Old friends reflected Mrs. Fisher, who hoped she was reading. Compare one constantly with what one used to be. They're always doing it if one develops. They're surprised at development. They hark back. They expect motionlessness after, say, fifty, to the end of one's days. That, thought Mrs. Fisher, her eyes going steadily, line by line down the page, and not a word of it getting into her consciousness, is foolish of friends. It is condemning one to a premature death. One should continue. Of course with dignity, to develop however old one may be. She had nothing against developing, against further ripeness, because as long as one was alive, one was not dead. Obviously decided Mrs. Fisher, and development, change, ripening, were life. What she would dislike would be unripening, going back to something green. She would dislike it intensely. And this is what she felt she was on the brink of doing. Naturally it made her very uneasy, and only in constant movement could she find distraction. Increasingly restless, and no longer able to confine herself to her battlements, she wandered more and more frequently, and also aimlessly, in and out of the top garden, to the growing surprise of scrap, especially when she found that all Mrs. Fisher did was to stare for a few minutes at the view, pick a few dead leaves off the rosebushes, and go away again. In Mr. Wilkins' conversation she found temporary relief. But though he joined her whenever he could he was not always there, for he spread his attentions judiciously among the three ladies. And when he was somewhere else she had to face and manage her thoughts as best she could by herself. Perhaps it was the excess of light and colour at San Salvatore, which made every other place seem dark and black. And Prince of Wales Terrace did seem a very dark black spot to have to go back to. A dark, narrow street, and her house dark and narrow as the street, with nothing really living or young in it. The goldfish could hardly be called living, or at most not more than half living, and were certainly not young. And except for them there were only the maids, and they were dusty old things, dusty old things. Mrs. Fisher paused in her thoughts, arrested by the strange expression. Where had it come from? How was it possible for it to come at all? It might have been one of Mrs. Wilkins in its levity, its almost slang. Perhaps it was one of hers, and she had heard her say it and unconsciously caught it from her. If so, this was both serious and disgusting. But the foolish creature should penetrate into Mrs. Fisher's very mind and establish her personality there. The personality which was still, in spite of the harmony apparently existing between her and her intelligent husband, so alien to Mrs. Fisher's own, so far removed from what she understood and liked, and infect her with her undesirable phrases was most disturbing. Never in her life before had such a sentence come into Mrs. Fisher's head. Never in her life before had she thought of her maids, or of anybody else, as dusty old things. Her maids were not dusty old things. They were most respectable, neat women, who were allowed the use of the bathroom every Saturday night. Elderly certainly. But then so was she, so was her house, so was her furniture. So were her goldfish. They were all elderly, as they should be, together. But there was a great difference between being elderly and being a dusty old thing. How true it was what Ruskin said that communications corrupt good manners. But did Ruskin say it? On second thoughts she was not sure. But it was just the sort of thing he would have said if he had said it, and in any case it was true. Merely hearing Mrs. Wilkins' evil communications at meals, she did not listen, she avoided listening, yet it was evident she had heard. Those communications which in that they so often were at once vulgar, indelicate, and profane, and always she was sorry to say laughed at by Lady Caroline, must be classed as evil, was spoiling her own mental manners. Soon she might not only think but say. How terrible that would be! If that were the form her breaking out seemed to take, the form of unseemly speech, Mrs. Fisher was afraid she would hardly, with any degree of composure, be able to bear it. At this stage Mrs. Fisher wished more than ever that she were able to talk over her strange feelings with someone who would understand. There was, however, no one who would understand, except Mrs. Wilkins herself. She would. She would know at once Mrs. Fisher was sure what she felt like. But this was impossible. It would be as abject as begging the very microbe that was infecting one for protection against its disease. She continued, accordingly, to bear her sensations in silence and was driven by them into that frequent aimless appearing in the top garden which presently roused even Scrap's attention. Scrap had noticed it and vaguely wondered at it for some time before Mr. Wilkins inquired of her one morning as he arranged her cushions for her. He had established the daily assisting of Lady Caroline into her chair as his special privilege. Whether there was anything, the matter with Mrs. Fisher. At that moment Mrs. Fisher was standing by the eastern parapet, shading her eyes and carefully scrutinizing the distant white houses of Metzago. They could see her through the branches of the Daphne's. I don't know, said Scrap. She is a lady, I take it, said Mr. Wilkins, who would be unlikely to have anything on her mind. I should imagine so, said Scrap, smiling. If she has, and her restlessness appears to suggest it, I should be more than glad to assist her with advice. I am sure you would be most kind. Of course she has her own legal advisor, but he is not on the spot. I am. And a lawyer on the spot, said Mr. Wilkins, who endeavored to make his conversation when he talked to Lady Caroline light, aware that one must be light with young ladies, is worth two in. We won't be ordinary and complete the proverb, but say London, you should ask her. Ask her if she needs assistance. Would you advise it? Would it not be a little, a little delicate to touch on such a question? The question whether or no a lady has something on her mind. Perhaps she will tell you if you go and talk to her. I think it must be lonely to be Mrs. Fisher. You are all thoughtfulness and consideration, declared Mr. Wilkins, wishing, for the first time in his life, that he were a foreigner, so that he might respectfully kiss her hand on withdrawing to go obediently and relieve Mrs. Fisher's loneliness. It was wonderful what a variety of exits from her corner scrap-contrived for Mr. Wilkins. Each morning she found a different one, which sent him off pleased after he had arranged her cushions for her. She allowed him to arrange the cushions because she instantly had discovered, the very first five minutes of the very first evening, that her fears lest he should cling to her and stare in dreadful admiration were baseless. Mr. Wilkins did not admire like that. It was not only, she instinctively felt, not in him, but if it had been, he would not have dared to in her case. He was all respectfulness. She could direct his movements in regard to herself with the raising of an eyelash. His one concern was to obey. She had been prepared to like him if he would only be so obliging as not to admire her. And she did like him. She did not forget his moving defencelessness the first morning in his towel, and he amused her. And he was kind to Lottie. It is true she liked him most when he wasn't there, but then she usually liked everybody most when they weren't there. Certainly he did seem to be one of those men, rare in her experience, who never looked at a woman from the predatory angle. The comfort of this, the simplification it brought into the relations of the party, was immense. From this point of view Mr. Wilkins was simply ideal. He was unique and precious. Whenever she thought of him, and was perhaps inclined to dwell on the aspects of him that were a little boring, she remembered this and murmured, but what a treasure! Indeed it was Mr. Wilkins one aim during his stay at San Salvatore to be a treasure. At all costs the three ladies who were not his wife must like him and trust him. Then presently, when trouble arose in their lives, and in what lives did not trouble sooner or later arise, they would recollect how reliable he was and how sympathetic, and turn to him for advice. Ladies with something on their minds were exactly what he wanted. Lady Caroline, he judged, had nothing on hers at the moment, but so much beauty. For he could not but see what was evident, must have had its difficulties in the past and would have more of them before it had done. In the past he had not been at hand, in the future he hoped to be. And meanwhile the behaviour of Mrs. Fisher, the next in importance of the ladies, from the professional point of view, showed definite promise. It was almost certain that Mrs. Fisher had something on her mind. He had been observing her attentively, and it was almost certain. With the third, with Mrs. Arbuthnot, he had up to this made least headway for she was so very retiring and quiet. But might not this very retiringness, this tendency to avoid the others and spend her time alone, indicate that she too was troubled? If so, he was her man. He would cultivate her. He would follow her and sit with her and encourage her to tell him about herself. Arbuthnot, he understood from Lottie, was a British museum official. Nothing specially important at present, but Mr. Wilkins regarded it as his business to know all sorts and kinds. Besides there was promotion. Arbuthnot promoted, might become very much worthwhile. As for Lottie, she was charming. She really had all the qualities he had credited her with during his courtship. And they had been, it appeared, merely in abeyance since. His early impressions of her were now being endorsed by the affection and even admiration Lady Caroline showed for her. Lady Caroline Dester was the last person, he was sure, to be mistaken on such a subject. Her knowledge of the world, her constant association with only the best, must make her quite unerring. Lottie was evidently then that which before marriage he had believed her to be. She was valuable. She certainly had been most valuable in introducing him to Lady Caroline and Mrs. Fisher. A man in his profession could be immensely helped by a clever and attractive wife. Why had she not been attractive sooner? Why this sudden flowering? Mr. Wilkins began, too, to believe that there was something peculiar, as Lottie had almost at once informed him in the atmosphere of San Salvatore. It promoted expansion. It brought out dormant qualities. And feeling more and more pleased and even charmed by his wife and very content with the progress he was making with the two others and hopeful of progress to be made with the retiring third, Mr. Wilkins could not remember ever having had such an agreeable holiday. The only thing that might perhaps be bettered was the way they would call him Mr. Wilkins. Nobody said Mr. Malersh Wilkins. Yet he had introduced himself to Lady Caroline. He flinched a little on remembering the circumstances. As Malersh Wilkins. Still, this was a small matter, not enough to worry about. He would be foolish if in such a place and such society he worried about anything. He was not even worrying about what the holiday was costing to make up his mind to pay not only his own expenses but his wife's as well and surprise her at the end by presenting her with her nest egg as intact as when she started. And just the knowledge that he was preparing a happy surprise for her made him feel warmer than ever towards her. In fact, Mr. Wilkins, who had begun by being consciously and according to plan on his best behaviour, remained on it unconsciously and with no effort at all. And meanwhile the beautiful golden days were dropping gently from the second week one by one, equal in beauty with those of the first. And the scent of bean-fields in flower on the hillside behind the village came across to San Salvatore whenever the air moved. In the garden that second week the poet's eyed Narcissus disappeared out the long grass at the edge of the zigzag path and wild gladiolas, slender and rose-coloured, came in their stead. White pinks bloomed in the borders filling the whole place with their smoky sweet smell. And a bush nobody had noticed burst into glory and fragrance and it was a purple lilac bush. Such a jumble of spring and summer was not to be believed in except by those who dwelt in those gardens. Everything seemed to be out together. All the things crowded into one month which in England are spread penuriously over six. Even primroses were found one day by Mrs. Wilkins in a cold corner up in the hills. And when she brought them down in the haze of the vineyards and heliotrope of San Salvatore they looked quite shy. End of Chapter 16 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Diana Keisner's The Enchanted April Chapter 17 On the first day of the third week Rose wrote to Frederick. In case she should again hesitate and not post the letter she gave it to Domenico to post. For if she did not right now there would be no time left at all. Half the month that San Salvatore was over even if Frederick started directly he got the letter which of course he wouldn't be able to do what with packing and passport besides not being in a hurry to come he couldn't arrive for five days. Having done it Rose wished she hadn't he wouldn't come he wouldn't bother to answer. And if he did answer it would just be giving some reason which was not true and about being too busy to get away and all that had been got by writing to him would be that she would be more unhappy than before. What things one did when one was idle this resurrection of Frederick or rather this attempt to resurrect him what was it but the result of having nothing whatever to do she wished she had never come away on a holiday what did she want with holidays work was her salvation work was the only thing that protected one that kept one steady and one's values true at home in Hampstead absorbed and busy she had managed to get over Frederick thinking of him laterally only with the gentle melancholy with which one thinks of someone once loved but long since dead and now this place idleness in this soft place had thrown her back to the wretched state and so carefully out of years ago why if Frederick did come she would only bore him hadn't she seen in a flash quite soon after getting to San Salvatore that that was really what kept him away from her and why should she suppose that now after such a long estrangement she would be able not to bore him be able to do anything that stand before him like a tongue-tied idiot with all the fingers of her spirit turned into thumbs besides what a hopeless position to have as it were to beseech please wait a little please don't be impatient I think perhaps I shan't be a bore presently a thousand times a day Rose wished she had let Frederick alone Laudy who asked her every evening whether she had sent her letter yet she exclaimed with delight when the answer at last was yes and threw her arms around her now we shall be completely happy cried the enthusiastic Laudy but nothing seemed less certain to Rose and her expression became more and more the expression of one who has something on her mind Mr. Wilkins wanting to find out what it was strolled in the sun in his Panama hat and began to meet her accidentally I did not know said Mr. Wilkins the first time courteously raising his hat that you too liked this particular spot and he sat down beside her in the afternoon she chose another spot and she had not been in it half an hour before Mr. Wilkins lightly swinging his cane came round the corner we are destined to meet in our rambles said Mr. Wilkins pleasantly and he sat down beside her Mr. Wilkins was very kind and she had she saw misjudged him in Hampstead and this was the real man ripened like fruit by the beneficent son of San Salvatore but Rose did want to be alone still she was grateful to him for proving to her that though she might bore Frederick she did not bore everybody if she had he would not have sat talking to her on each occasion till it was time to go in true he bored her but that wasn't anything like so dreadful as if she bored him then indeed her vanity would have been sadly ruffled for now that Rose was not able to say her prayers she was being assailed by every sort of weakness vanity, sensitiveness irritability, pugnacity strange unfamiliar devils to have come crowding on one and taking possession of one's swept and empty heart she'd never been vain or irritable or pugnacious in her life before could it be that San Salvatore was capable of opposite effects and the same son that ripened Mr. Wilkins made her go acid the next morning so as to be sure of being alone she went down while Mr. Wilkins was still lingering pleasantly with Mrs. Fisher over breakfast to the rocks by the water's edge where she and Lottie had sat the first day Frederick by now had got her letter today if you were like Mr. Wilkins she might get a telegram from him she tried to silence the absurd hope by jeering at it yet if Mr. Wilkins had telegraphed why not Frederick the spell of San Salvatore lurked even it seemed in note paper Lottie had not dreamed of getting a telegram and when she came in at lunchtime there it was it would be too wonderful if when she went back at lunchtime she found one there for her too Rose clasped her hands tight round her knees how passionately she longed to be important to somebody again not important on platforms not important as an asset in an organization but privately important just to one other person quite privately nobody else to know or notice it didn't seem much to ask in a world so crowded with people just to have one of them only one out of all the millions to oneself somebody who needed one who thought of one who was eager to come to one oh how dreadfully one wanted to be precious all the morning she sat beneath the pine tree by the sea nobody came near her the great hours passed slowly they seemed enormous but she wouldn't go up before lunch she would give the telegram time to arrive that day scrap egged on by Lottie's persuasions and also thinking that perhaps she had sat long enough had arisen from her chair and cushions and gone off with Lottie and sandwiches up into the hills till evening Mr. Wilkins who wished to go with them stayed on Lady Caroline's advice with Mrs. Fisher in order to cheer her solitude and though he left off cheering her about eleven to go and look for Mrs. Arbuthnot so as for a space to cheer her too thus dividing himself impartially between these solitary ladies he came back again presently mopping his forehead and continued with Mrs. Fisher where he had left off for this time Mrs. Arbuthnot had hidden successfully there was a telegram too for her he noticed when he came in pity he did not know where she was ought we to open it he said to Mrs. Fisher no said Mrs. Fisher it may require an answer I don't approve of tampering with other people's correspondence tampering my dear lady Mr. Wilkins was shocked such a word tampering he had the greatest possible esteem for Mrs. Fisher but he did at times find her a little difficult she liked him he was sure and she was in a fair way he felt to become a client but he feared she would be a headstrong and secretive client she was certainly secretive for though he had been skillful and sympathetic for a whole week she had us yet given him no inkling of what was so evidently worrying her poor old thing said Lottie on his asking her if she perhaps could throw light on Mrs. Fisher's troubles she hasn't got love love Mr. Wilkins could only echo genuinely scandalised but surely my dear at her age any love said Lottie that very morning he had asked his wife for he now sought and respected her opinion if she could tell him what was the matter with Mrs. Arbuthnod for she too though he had done his best to thaw her into confidence had remained persistently retiring she wants her husband said Lottie ah said Mr. Wilkins a new light shed on Mrs. Arbuthnod's shy and modest melancholy and he added very proper and Lottie said smiling at him one does and Mr. Wilkins said smiling at her does one and Lottie said smiling at him of course and Mr. Wilkins much pleased with her though it was still quite early in the day a time when caresses are sluggish pinched her ear just before half past twelve rose came slowly up through the pergola and between the camellias ranged on either side of the old stone steps the rivulets of periwinkles that flowed down them when first she arrived were gone and now there were these bushes incredibly rosetted pink, white, red, striped she fingered and smelt them one after the other so as not to get to her disappointment too quickly as long as she hadn't seen for herself seen the table in the hall quite empty except for its bowl of flowers she still could hope she still could have the joy of imagining the telegram lying on it waiting for her but there is no smell in a camellia as Mr. Wilkins who was standing in the doorway on the lookout for her and knew what was necessary in horticulture reminded her she started at his voice and looked up a telegram has come for you said Mr. Wilkins she stared at him her mouth open I searched for you everywhere but failed of course she knew it she had been sure of it all the time bright and burning youth in that instant flashed down again on rose she flew up the steps red as the camellia she'd just been fingering and was in the hall staring open the telegram before Mr. Wilkins had finished his sentence why but if things could happen like this why but there was no end to why she and Frederick they were going to be again at last no bad news I trust said Mr. Wilkins who had followed her for when she had read the telegram she stood staring at it and her face went slowly white curious to watch how her face went slowly white she turned and looked at Mr. Wilkins as if trying to remember him oh no on the contrary she managed to smile I'm going to have a visitor she said holding out the telegram and when he had taken it she walked away towards the dining room murmuring something about lunch being ready Mr. Wilkins read the telegram it had been sent that morning from Mitzago and was I'm passing through on way to Rome may I pay my respects this afternoon Thomas Briggs why should such a telegram make the interesting lady turn pale for her pallor on reading it had been so striking as to convince Mr. Wilkins she was receiving a blow who is Thomas Briggs he asked following her into the dining room she looked at him vaguely who is she repeated getting her thoughts together again Thomas Briggs oh yes he is the owner this is his house he is very nice he's coming this afternoon Thomas Briggs was at that very moment coming he was jogging along the road between Mitzago and Castagneto in a fly sincerely hoping that the dark-eyed lady would grasp that all he wanted was to see her and not at all to see if his house was still there he felt that an owner of delicacy did not intrude on a tenant but he had been thinking so much of her since that day who is our bath-naught such a pretty name and such a pretty creature mild, milky, mothery in the best sense the best sense being that she wasn't his mother and couldn't have been if she had tried her parents were the only things impossible to have younger than oneself also he was passing so near it seemed absurd not just to look in and see if she were comfortable he longed to see her in his house he longed to see it as her background to see her sitting in his chairs drinking out of his cups using all his things did she put the big crimson brocade cushion in the drawing room behind her little dark head her hair and the whiteness of her skin would look lovely against it had she seen the portrait of herself on the stairs she wondered if she liked it he would explain it to her if she didn't paint and she had said nothing to suggest it she wouldn't perhaps notice how exactly the moulding of the eyebrows and the slight hollow of the cheek he told the fly to wait in Castagneto and crossed the piazza hailed by children and dogs who all knew him and sprang up suddenly from nowhere and walking quickly up the zigzag path for he was an active young man, not much more than thirty he pulled the ancient chain that rang the bell and waited decorously on the proper side of the open door to be allowed to come in at the sight of him Francesca flung up every bit of her that would fling up eyebrows, eyelids and hands and voluble assured him that all was in perfect order and that she was doing her duty of course, of course said Briggs cutting her short no one doubts it and he asked her to take in his card to her mistress which mistress? asked Francesca which mistress? there are four said Francesca senting an irregularity on the part of the tenants for her master looked surprised and she felt pleased for life was dull the regularities helped it along at least a little four he repeated surprised well take it to the lot then he said recovering himself for he noticed her expression coffee was being drunk in the top garden in the shade of the umbrella pine only Mrs. Fisher and Mr. Wilkins were drinking it for Mrs. Arbuthnott after eating nothing and being completely silent during lunch had disappeared immediately afterwards well Francesca went away into the garden with his card her master stood examining the picture on the staircase of that Madonna by an early Italian painter name unknown picked up by him at Orvieto who was so much like his tenant it really was remarkable the likeness of course his tenant that day in London had had her hat on he was pretty sure her hair grew just like that off her forehead the expression of the eyes grave and sweet was exactly the same he rejoiced to think that he would always have her portrait he looked up at the sound of footsteps and there she was coming down the stairs just as he had imagined her in that place dressed in white she was astonished to see him so soon she had supposed he would come about tea time until then she had meant to sit somewhere out of doors where she could be by herself he watched her coming down the stairs with the utmost eager interest in a moment she would be level with her portrait it really is extraordinary said Briggs how do you do said Rose intent only on a decent show of welcome she did not welcome him he was here she felt the telegram bitter in her heart instead of Frederick doing what she had longed Frederick would do taking his place just stand still a moment she obeyed automatically yes quite astonishing do you mind taking off your hat Rose surprised took it off obediently yes I thought so I just wanted to make sure and look have you noticed he began to make odd swift passes with his hand over the face in the picture measuring it looking from it to her Rose's surprise became amusement and she could not help smiling have you come to compare me with my original she asked you do see how extraordinarily alike I didn't know I looked so solemn you don't not now you did a minute ago quite a solemn oh yes how do you do he finished suddenly noticing her outstretched hand and he laughed and shook it flushing a trick of his to the roots of his hair Francesca came back the Signora Fisher she said would be pleased to see him who is the Signora Fisher he asked Rose one of the four who are sharing your house then there are four of you yes my friend and I found we couldn't afford it by ourselves oh I say began Briggs in confusion for he would best have liked Rose Arbuthnot a pretty name not to have to afford anything but to stay at San Salvatore as long as she liked as his guest Mrs. Fisher is having coffee in the top garden said Rose I'll take you to her and introduce you I don't want to go you've got your hat on you were going for a walk may and I come too I'd immensely like being shown round by you but Mrs. Fisher is waiting for you won't she keep yes said Rose with the smile that had so much attracted him the first day I think she will keep quite well till tea do you speak Italian no said Rose why on that he turned to Francesca and told her at a great rate for an Italian he was glib to go back to the Signora in the top garden and tell her he had encountered his old friend the Signora Arbuthnot and was going for a walk with her he would present himself to her later do you invite me to tea he asked Rose when Francesca had gone of course it's your house it isn't it's yours till Monday week she smiled come and show me all the views he said eagerly and it was plain even to the self-depreciatory Rose that she did not bore Mr. Briggs end of chapter 17 this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information and to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Diana Keisner's The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnhem chapter 18 they had a very pleasant walk with a great deal of sitting down in warm, time-fragment corners and if anything could have helped Rose to recover from the bitter disappointment of the morning it would have been the company in conversation of Mr. Briggs he did help her to recover and the same process took place as that which Lottie had undergone with her husband and the more Mr. Briggs thought Rose charming the more charming she became Briggs was a man incapable of concealments who never lost time if he could help it they had not got to the end of the headland where the lighthouse is Briggs asked her to show him the lighthouse because the path to it he knew was wide enough for two to walk abreast and fairly level before he had told her of the impression she made on him in London since even the most religious sober women liked to know they've made an impression particularly the kind that has nothing to do with character or merits Rose was pleased being pleased she smiled smiling she was more attractive than ever colour came into her cheeks and brightness into her eyes she heard herself saying things that really sounded quite interesting and even amusing if Frederick were listening now she thought perhaps he would see that she couldn't after all be such a hopeless bore for here was a man nice looking young and surely clever he seemed clever and she hoped he was for then the compliment would be still greater who was evidently quite happy to spend the afternoon just talking to her and indeed Mr. Briggs seemed very much interested he wanted to hear about everything she had been doing from the moment she got there he asked her if she had seen this that and the other in the house what she liked best which room she had if she were comfortable if Francesca was behaving if Domenico took care of her and whether she didn't enjoy using the yellow sitting room the one that got all the sun and looked out towards Genoa Rose was ashamed how little she had noticed in the house and how few of the things he spoke of as curious or beautiful in it she had even seen swamped in thought of Frederick she appeared to have lived in San Salvatore blindly and more than half the time had gone and what had been the good of it she might just as well have been sitting hankering on Hampstead Heath no she mightn't through all her hankerings she had been conscious that she was at least in the very heart of beauty and indeed it was this beauty this longing to share it that had first started her off hankering Mr. Briggs however was too much alive for her to be able to spare any attention at this moment for Frederick and she praised the servants in answer to his questions and praised the yellow sitting room without telling him she had only been in it once and then was ignominiously ejected and she told him she knew hardly anything about art and curiosities but thought perhaps if somebody would tell her about them she would know more and she said she had spent every day since her arrival out of doors because out of doors there was so very wonderful and different from anything she had ever seen Briggs walked by her side along his paths that were yet so happily for the moment her paths and felt all the innocent glows of family life he was an orphan and an only child and had a warm domestic disposition he would have adored a sister and spoiled a mother and was beginning at this time to think of marrying for though he had been very happy with his various loves each of them contrary to the usual experience turned ultimately into his devoted friend he was fond of children and thought he had perhaps now got to the age of settling if he did not wish to be too old by the time his eldest son was twenty since Salvatore had laterly seemed a little forlorn he fancied it echoed when he walked about it he had felt lonely there so lonely that he had preferred this year to miss out a spring and let it it wanted a wife in it it wanted that final touch of warmth and beauty for he never thought of his wife except in terms of warmth and beauty she would of course be beautiful and kind amused him how much in love with this vague wife he was already at such a rate was he making friends with the lady with the sweet name as he walked along the path towards the lighthouse that he was sure presently he would be telling her everything about himself and his past doings and his future hopes and the thought of such a swiftly developing confidence made him laugh why are you laughing she asked looking at him and smiling it's so like coming home he said but it is coming home for you to come here I mean really like coming home to one's family I never had a family I'm an orphan oh are you said Rose with the proper sympathy I hope you've not been one very long no I don't mean I hope you have been one very long no I don't know what I mean except that I'm sorry he laughed again oh I'm used to it I haven't anybody no sisters or brothers then you're an only child she observed intelligently yes and there's something about you that's exactly my idea of a family she was amused so cosy he said looking at her and searching for a word you wouldn't think so if you saw my house in Hampstead she said a vision of that austere and hard seated dwelling presenting itself to her mind with nothing soft in it except the shunned and neglected to bury sofa no wonder she thought for a moment clear-brained that Frederick avoided it there was nothing cosy about his family I don't believe any place you lived in could be anything but exactly like you he said you're not going to pretend San Salvatore is like me indeed I do pretended surely you admit that it is beautiful he said several things like that she enjoyed her walk she could not recollect any walk so pleasant since her courting days she came back to tea bringing Mr. Briggs and looking quite different Mr. Wilkins noticed from what she had looked till then trouble here trouble here thought Mr. Wilkins mentally rubbing his professional hands he could see himself being called in presently to advise on the one hand there was our bath not on the other hand here was Briggs trouble brewing trouble sooner or later but why had Briggs telegram acted on the lady like a blow if she had turned pale from excess of joy then trouble was nearer than he had supposed she was not pale now she was more like her name than he had yet seen her well he was the man for trouble be regretted of course that people should get into it but being in he was their man and Mr. Wilkins invigorated by these thoughts his career being very precious to him proceeded to assist in doing the honors to Mr. Briggs both in his quality of sharer in the temporary ownership of San Salvatore and of a probable helper out of difficulties with great hospitality and pointed out the various features of the place to him and led him to the parapet and showed him Mitzago across the bay Mrs. Fisher too was gracious this was this young man's house he was a man of property she liked property and she liked men of property also there seemed a peculiar merit in being a man of property so young inheritance of course and inheritance was more respectable than acquisition it did indicate fathers and in an age where most people appeared neither to have them nor to want them she liked this too accordingly it was a pleasant meal everybody amiable and pleased Briggs thought Mrs. Fisher a dear old lady and showed he thought so and again the magic worked and she became a dear old lady she developed benignity with him and a kind of benignity which was almost playful actually before tea was over including in some observations she made him the words strange words in Mrs. Fisher's mouth it is doubtful whether in her life she had used them before Rose was astonished how nice people really were when would she leave off making mistakes about them she hadn't suspected this side of Mrs. Fisher and she began to wonder whether those other sides of her with which alone she was acquainted had not perhaps after all been the effect of her own militant and irritating behaviour probably they were how horrid then she must have been she felt very penitent when she saw Mrs. Fisher beneath her eyes blossoming out into real amyability the moment someone came along who was charming to her and she could have sunk into the ground with shame Mrs. Fisher presently laughed and she realised by the shock it gave her that the sound was entirely new not once before had she or anyone else there heard Mrs. Fisher laugh what an indictment of the lot of them for they had all laughed the others some more and some less at one time or another since their arrival and only Mrs. Fisher had not clearly since she could enjoy herself as she was now enjoying herself she had not enjoyed herself before nobody had cared whether she did or not except perhaps Lottie yes Lottie had cared and had wanted her to be happy but Lottie seemed to produce a bad effect on Mrs. Fisher while as for Rose herself she'd never been with her for five minutes but wanting, really wanting to provoke and oppose her how very horrid she had been she had behaved unpardonably her penitence showed itself in a shy and deferential solicitude towards Mrs. Fisher which made the observant Briggs think her still more angelic and wish for a moment that he were an old lady himself in order to be behaved to by Rose Arbuthnot just like that there was evidently no end, he thought to the things she could do sweetly he would not even mind taking medicine really nasty medicine if it were Rose Arbuthnot bending over him with the dose she felt his bright blue eyes the brighter because he was so sunburnt fixed on her with a twinkle in them and smiling asked him what he was thinking about but he couldn't very well tell her that, he said and added, some day trouble, trouble, thought Mr. Wilkins at this again mentally rubbing his hands well, I'm their man I'm sure, said Mrs. Fisher benignly you have no thoughts we may not hear I'm sure, said Briggs I would be telling you every one of my secrets in a week you would be telling somebody very safe then said Mrs. Fisher, benevolently just such a son would she have liked to have had and in return she went on I daresay I would tell you mine ah, no, said Mr. Wilkins adapting himself to the tone of easy badinage I must protest, I really must I have a prior claim, I am the older friend I have known Mrs. Fisher ten days and you Briggs have not yet known her one I assert my right to be told her secrets first that is, he added bowing gallantly if she has any which I beg leave to doubt oh, haven't I exclaimed Mrs. Fisher thinking of those green leaves that she should exclaim it all was surprising that she should do it with gait he was miraculous Rose could only watch her in wonder then I shall worm them out, said Briggs with equal gait he they won't need much warming out, said Mrs. Fisher my difficulty is to keep them from bursting out it might have been Lottie talking Mr. Wilkins adjusted the single eyeglass he carried with him for occasions like this and examined Mrs. Fisher carefully Rose looked on unable not to smile too since Mrs. Fisher seemed so much amused the Rose did not quite know why and her smile was a little uncertain her Mrs. Fisher amused was a new sight not without its awe-inspiring aspects and had to be got accustomed to what Mrs. Fisher was thinking was how much surprise they would be she told them of her very odd and exciting sensation of going to come out all over Buds they would think she was an extremely silly old woman and so would she have thought as lately as two days ago but the Bud idea was becoming familiar to her she was more apprivoise now as dear Matthew Arnold used to say and though it would undoubtedly be the best one's appearance and sensations matched yet supposing they did not and one couldn't have everything was it not better to feel young somewhere rather than old everywhere time enough to be old everywhere again inside as well as out and she got back to her sarcophagus in Prince of Wales Terrace yet it is probable that without the arrival of Briggs Mrs. Fisher would have gone on secretly fermenting in her shell the others only knew her as severe it would have been more than her dignity could bear suddenly to relax especially towards the three young women but now came the stranger Briggs a stranger who at once took to her as no man had taken to her in her life and it was the coming of Briggs and his real and manifest appreciation for just such a grandmother thought Briggs hungry for home life and its concomitance would he have liked to have that released Mrs. Fisher from her shell and here she was at last as Lottie had predicted pleased, good-humoured and benevolent Lottie coming back half an hour later from her picnic and following the sound of voices into the top garden in the hope of still finding tea saw it once what had happened for Mrs. Fisher at that very moment was laughing she's burst her cocoon thought Lottie and swift as she was in all her movements and impulsive and also without any sense of propriety to worry and delay her she bent over the back of Mrs. Fisher's chair and kissed her good gracious cried Mrs. Fisher starting violently for such a thing had not happened to her since Mr. Fisher's earlier days and then only gingerly this kiss was a real kiss and rested on Mrs. Fisher's cheek a moment with a strange soft sweetness when she saw who's it was a deep flush spread over her face Mrs. Wilkins kissing her and the kiss feeling so affectionate even if she had wanted to she could not in the presence of the appreciative Mr. Briggs resume her cast off severity and begin rebuking again but she did not want to was it possible Mrs. Wilkins liked her had liked her all this time while she had been so much disliking her herself a queer little trickle of warmth filtered through the frozen defences of Mrs. Fisher's heart somebody young kissing her somebody young wanting to kiss her very much flushed she watched the strange creature apparently quite unconscious she had done anything extraordinary shaking hands with Mr. Briggs on her husband's introducing him and immediately embarking on the friendliest conversation with him exactly as if she had known him all her life what a strange creature what a very strange creature it was natural she being so strange that one should have perhaps misjudged her I'm sure you want some tea said Briggs with eager hospitality to Lottie he thought her delightful freckles, picnic untidiness and all just such a sister would he this is cold he said feeling the teapot I'll tell Francesca to make you some fresh he broke off and blushed aren't I forgetting myself he said laughing and looking round at them very natural, very natural Mr. Wilkins reassured him I'll go and tell Francesca said Rose getting up no no said Briggs don't go away and he put his hands to his mouth and shouted Francesca shouted Briggs she came running no summons in their experience had been answered by her with such celerity her master's voice remarked Mr. Wilkins aptly he considered big fresh tea ordered Briggs in Italian quick quick and then remembering himself he blushed again and begged everybody's pardon very natural, very natural Mr. Wilkins reassured him Briggs then explained to Lottie what he had explained twice already once to Rose and once to the other two that he was on his way to Rome and thought he would get out at Metzago and just look in to see if they were comfortable and continue his journey the next day staying the night in a hotel at Metzago but how ridiculous said Lottie of course you must stay here it's your house there's Kate Lumley's room she added turning to Mrs. Fisher you wouldn't mind Mr. Briggs having it for one night Kate Lumley isn't in it you know she said turning to Briggs again and laughing and Mrs. Fisher to her immense surprise laughed too she knew that any other time this remark would have struck her as excessively unseemly and yet now she only thought it funny no indeed she assured Briggs Kate Lumley was not in that room very fortunately for she was an excessively wide person and the room was excessively narrow Kate Lumley might get into it but that was about all once in she would fit it so tightly that probably she would never be able to get out again it was entirely at Mr. Briggs disposal and she hoped he would do nothing so absurd as go to an hotel he the owner of the whole place Rose listened to this speech wide-eyed with amazement Mrs. Fisher laughed very much as she made it Laudy laughed very much too and at the end of it bent down and kissed her again kissed her several times so you see my dear boy said Mrs. Fisher you must stay here and give us all a great deal of pleasure a great deal indeed corroborated Mr. Wilkins Hardley a very great deal repeated Mrs. Fisher looking exactly like a pleased mother do said Rose on Briggs turning inquiringly to her how kind of you all he said his face broad with smiles I'd love to be a guest here what a new sensation and with three such he broke off and looked round I say he asked what and I to have a fourth hostess Francesca said she had four mistresses yes, there's Lady Caroline said Laudy then hadn't we better find out first if she invites me to oh but she's sure began Laudy the daughter of the droid witches Briggs said Mr. Wilkins is not likely to be wanting in the proper hospitable impulses the daughter of the repeated Briggs but he stopped dead for there in the doorway was the daughter of the droid witches herself or rather coming towards him out of the dark doorway into the brightness of the sunset was that which he had not in his life yet seen but only dreamed of a feel of absolute loveliness end of chapter 18 this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information and to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Diana Keisner's The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnhem chapter 19 and then when she spoke what chance was there for poor Briggs he was undone all scrap said was how do you do on Mr. Wilkins presenting him but it was enough it undid Briggs from a cheerful chatty happy young man overflowing with life and friendliness he became silent solemn and with little beads on his temples also he became clumsy dropping the teaspoon as he handed her her cup mismanaging the macaroons so that one rolled on the ground his eyes could not keep off the enchanting face for a moment and when Mr. Wilkins elucidating him for he failed to elucidate himself informed Lady Caroline that in Mr. Briggs she beheld the owner of San Salvatore who was on his way to Rome but had got out at Metzago etc etc and that the other three ladies had invited him to spend the night in what was to all intents and purposes his own house rather than a hotel and Mr. Briggs was only waiting for the seal of her approval to this invitation she being the fourth hostess when Mr. Wilkins balancing his sentences and being admirably clear and enjoying the sound of his own cultured voice explained the position in this manner to Lady Caroline Briggs sat and said never a word a deep melancholy invaded scrap the symptoms of the incipient grabber were all there and only too familiar and she knew that if Briggs stayed her rescuer might be regarded as over then Kate Lumley occurred to her she caught at Kate as at a straw it would have been delightful she said faintly smiling at Briggs she could not in decency not smile at least a little but even a little betrayed the dimple and Briggs eyes became more fixed than ever I'm only wondering if there is room yes there is said Lottie there's Kate Lumley's room I thought said scrap to Mrs. Fisher and it seemed to Briggs that he had never heard music till now your friend was expected immediately oh no said Mrs. Fisher with an odd placidness scrap thought Miss Lumley said Mr. Wilkins or should I he inquired of Mrs. Fisher say Misses nobody has ever married Kate said Mrs. Fisher complacently quite so Miss Lumley does not arrive today in any case Lady Caroline and Mr. Briggs has unfortunately if I may say so to continue his journey tomorrow so that his staying would in no way interfere with Miss Lumley's possible movements then of course I join in the invitation said scrap with what was to Briggs the most divine cordiality he stammered something flushing Scarlett and Scrot thought oh and turned her head away but that merely made Briggs acquainted with her profile and if there existed anything more lovely than Scrot's full face it was her profile well it was only for this one afternoon and evening he would leave no doubt the first thing in the morning it took hours to get to Rome awful if he hung on till the night train she had a feeling that the principal expressed to Rome pass through at night why hadn't that woman Kate Lumley arrived yet she had forgotten all about her but now she remembered she was to have been invited a fortnight ago what had become of her this man once let in would come and see her in London would haunt the places she was likely to go to he had the makings her experienced eye could see of a passionately persistent grabber if thought Mr. Wilkins observing Briggs face and sudden silence any understanding existed between this young fellow and Mrs. Arbuthnot there is now going to be trouble trouble of a different nature from the kind I feared in which Arbuthnot would have played a leading part in fact the part of petitioner but trouble that may need help and advice nonetheless for it's not being publicly scandalous Briggs impelled by his passions and her beauty will aspire to the daughter of the droid witches she naturally and properly will repel him Mrs. Arbuthnot left in the cold will be upset and show it Arbuthnot on his arrival will find his wife in enigmatic tears inquiring into their cause he will be met with an icy reserve more trouble may then be expected and in me they will seek and find their advisor when Lottie said Mrs. Arbuthnot wanted her husband she was wrong what Mrs. Arbuthnot wants is Briggs and it looks uncommonly as if she were not going to get him well I'm their man where are your things Mr. Briggs asked Mrs. Fisher her voice round with motherliness oughtn't they to be fetched for the sun was nearly in the sea now and the sweet smelling April dampness that followed immediately on its disappearance was beginning to steal into the garden Briggs started things he repeated oh yes I must fetch them they're in Matago I'll send Domenico my fly is waiting in the village he can go back in it I'll go and tell him he got up to whom was he talking to Mrs. Fisher ostensibly yet his eyes were fixed on scrap who said nothing and looked at no one then recollecting himself he stammered I'm awfully sorry I keep on forgetting I'll go down and fetch them myself we can easily send Domenico said Rose and at her gentle voice he turned his head why there was his friend the sweet named lady but how had she not in this short interval changed was it the failing light making her so colorless so vague featured so dim so much like a ghost a nice good ghost of course and still with a pretty name but only a ghost he turned from her to scrap again and forgot Rose Arbuthnott's existence how was it possible for him to bother about anybody or anything else in this first moment of being face to face when his dream come true Briggs had not supposed or hoped that anyone as beautiful as his dream of beauty existed he'd never till now met even an approximation pretty women charming women by the score he had met and properly appreciated but never the real the godlike thing itself he used to think if ever I saw a perfectly beautiful woman I should die and though having now met what to his ideas was a perfectly beautiful woman he did not die he became very nearly as incapable of managing his own affairs as if he had the others were obliged to arrange everything for him by questions they extracted from him his luggage was in the station cloak room at Mitzago and they sent for Domenico and urged and prompted by everybody except Scrap who sat in silence and looked at no one Briggs was induced to give him the necessary instructions for going back in the fly and bringing out his things it was a sad sight to see the collapse of Briggs everybody noticed it even Rose upon my word thought Mrs. Fisher the way one pretty face can turn a delightful man into an idiot has passed all patience and feeling the air getting chilly and the sight of the enthralled Briggs painful she went in to order his room to be got ready regretting now that she had pressed the poor boy to stay she had forgotten Lady Caroline's killjoy face for the moment and the more completely owing to the absence of any ill effects produced by it on Mr. Wilkins poor boy such a charming boy too left to himself it was true she could not accuse Lady Caroline of not leaving him to himself for she was taking no notice of him at all but that did not help exactly like foolish moths did men in other respects intelligent flutter around the impassive lighted candle of a pretty face she had seen them doing it she had looked on only too often almost she laid a mother hand on Briggs fair head as she passed him poor boy then scrap having finished her cigarette got up and went in doors too she saw no reason why she should sit there in order to gratify Mr. Briggs desire to stare she would have liked to stay out longer to go out to her corner behind the Daphne bushes and look at the sunset sky and watch the lights coming out one by one in the village below and smell the sweet moistness of the evening but if she did Mr. Briggs would certainly follow her the old familiar tyranny had begun again her holiday of peace and liberation was interrupted perhaps over for who knew if he would go away after all tomorrow he might leave the house driven out of it by Kate Lumley but that was nothing to prevent his taking rooms in the village and coming up every day this tyranny of one person over another and she was so miserably constructed that she wouldn't even be able to frown him down without being misunderstood scrap who loved this time of the evening in her corner felt indignant with Mr. Briggs who was doing her out of it and she turned her back on the garden and him and went towards the house without a look or a word but Briggs when he realized her intention leapt to his feet snatched chairs which were not in her way out of it kicked a footstool which was not in her path on one side hurried to the door which stood wide open in order to hold it open and followed her through it walking by her side along the hall what was to be done with Mr. Briggs well it was his hall she couldn't prevent his walking along it I hope he said not able while walking to take his eyes off her so that he knocked against several things he would otherwise have avoided the bookcase, an ancient carved cupboard the table with the flowers on it shaking the water over that you are quite comfortable here if you're not I'll I'll flay them alive his voice vibrated what was to be done with Mr. Briggs she could of course stay in her room the whole time say she was ill not appear at dinner but again the tyranny of this I'm very comfortable indeed said Scrap if I had dreamed you were coming he began it's a wonderful old place said Scrap doing her utmost to sound detached and forbidding but with little hope of success the kitchen was on this floor and passing its door which was open a crack they were observed by the servants whose thoughts communicated to each other by looks may be roughly reproduced by such rude symbols as ah-ha and oh-ho symbols which represented and included their appreciation of the inevitable their foreknowledge of the inevitable and their complete understanding and approval are you going upstairs ask Briggs as she paused at the foot of them yes which room do you sit in the drawing room or the small yellow room in my own room so then he couldn't go up with her so then all he could do was to wait till she came out again he longed to ask her which was her own room it thrilled him to hear her call any room in his house her own room and he might picture her in it he longed to know if by any happy chance it was his room forever after to be filled with her wonder but he didn't dare he would find that out later from someone else Francesca anybody then I shan't see you again till dinner dinner is at eight was Scrap's evasive answer as she went upstairs she watched her go she passed the Madonna the portrait of Rosa Arbuthnot and the dark-eyed figure he had thought so sweet seemed to turn pale to shrivel into insignificance as she passed she turned the bend of the stairs and the setting sun shining through the west window a moment on her face turned her to glory she disappeared and the sun went out too the stairs were dark and empty he listened till her footsteps were silent trying to tell from the sound of the shutting door which room she had gone into then wandered aimlessly away through the hall again and found himself back in the top garden Scrap from her window saw him there she saw Lottie and Rose sitting on the end parapet where she would have liked to have been and she saw Mr. Wilkins button-holding Briggs and evidently telling him the story of the Oleander tree in the middle of the garden Briggs was listening with the patience she thought rather nice seeing that it was his Oleander and his own father's story she knew Mr. Wilkins was telling him the story by his gestures Domenico had told it her soon after her arrival and he had also told Mrs. Fisher who had told Mr. Wilkins Mrs. Fisher thought highly of this story and often spoke of it it was about a Cherrywood walking stick Briggs father had thrust this stick into the ground at that spot and said to Domenico's father who was then the gardener here we will have an Oleander and Briggs father left the stick in the ground as a reminder to Domenico's father and presently how long afterwards nobody remembered the stick began to sprout and it was an Oleander there stood poor Mr. Briggs being told all about it and listening to the story he must have known from infancy with patience probably he was thinking of something else she was afraid he was how unfortunate how extremely unfortunate the determination that seized people to get hold of and engulf other people if only they could be induced to stand more on their own feet why couldn't Mr. Briggs be more like Lottie who never wanted anything of anybody but was complete in herself and respected other people's completeness one loved being with Lottie with her one was free and yet befriended Mr. Briggs looked so really nice too she thought she might like him if only he wouldn't so excessively like her Scrap felt melancholy here she was shut up in her bedroom which was stuffy from the afternoon sun that had been pouring into it instead of out in the cool garden and all because of Mr. Briggs intolerable tyranny she thought flaring up she wouldn't endure it she would go out all the same she would run downstairs while Mr. Wilkins really that man was a treasure held Mr. Briggs down telling him about the Oleander and get out of the house by the front door and take cover in the shadows of the zigzag path nobody could see her there nobody would think of looking for her there she snatched up a wrap for she did not mean to come back for a long while perhaps not even to dinner it would be all Mr. Briggs fault if she went dinnerless and hungry and with another glance out of the window to see if she was still safe she stole out and got away to the sheltering trees of the zigzag path and there sat down on one of the seats at each bend to assist the upward journey of those who were breathless ah this was lovely thought scrap with a sigh of relief how cool how good it smelt she could see the quiet water of the little harbour through the pine trunks and the lights coming out in the houses on the other side and all round her the green dusk was splashed rose pink of the gladioluses in the grass and the white of the crowding daisies ah this was lovely so still nothing moving not a leaf, not a stalk the only sound was a dog barking far away somewhere up on the hills or when the door of the little restaurant in the piazza below was opened and there was a burst of voices silenced again immediately by the swinging two of the door she drew in a deep breath of pleasure ah this was her deep breath was arrested in the middle what was that? she leaned forward listening her body tense footsteps on the zigzag path briggs finding her out should she run? no the footsteps were coming up not down someone from the village perhaps angelo with provisions she relaxed again but the steps were not the steps of angelo that swift and springy youth they were slow and considered and they kept on pausing someone who isn't used to hills thought scrap the idea of going back to the house did not occur to her she was afraid of nothing in life except love brigands or murderers as such held no terrors for the daughter of the draught witches she only would have been afraid of them if they left off being brigands and murderers and began instead to try and make love the next moment the footsteps turned the corner of her bit of path and stood still getting his wind thought scrap not looking round then as he from the sounds of the steps she took them to belong to a man did not move she turned her head and beheld with astonishment a person she had seen a good deal of lately in London the well-known writer of amusing memoirs Mr. Ferdinand a Rundle she stared nothing in the way of being followed surprised her anymore but that he should have discovered where she was surprised her her mother had promised faithfully to tell no one you she said feeling betrayed here he came up to her and took off his hat his forehead beneath the hat was wet with the beads of unaccustomed climbing he looked ashamed and intriguing like a guilty but devoted dog you must forgive me he said Lady Droit which told me where you were and as I happened to be passing through on my way to Rome I thought I would get out at Metzago and just look in and see how you were but didn't my mother tell you I was doing a rest cure yes she did and that's why I haven't intruded on you earlier in the day I thought you would probably sleep all day and wake up about now so as to be fed but I know I've got nothing to say an excuse I couldn't help myself this thought scrap comes of mother insisting on having authors to lunch and me being so much more amiable in appearance than I really am she had been amiable to Ferdinando Rundle she liked him or rather she did not dislike him he seemed a jovial simple man and had the eyes of a nice dog also though it was evident that he admired her he had not in London grabbed there he had merely been a good natured, harmless person of entertaining conversation who helped to make luncheons agreeable now it appeared that he too was a grabber fancy following her out there daring to nobody else had perhaps her mother had given him the address because she considered him so absolutely harmless and thought he might be useful and see her home well whatever he was could possibly give her the trouble an active young man like Mr. Briggs might give her Mr. Briggs infatuated would be reckless she felt would stick at nothing would lose his head publicly she could imagine Mr. Briggs doing things with rope ladders and singing all night under her window being really difficult and uncomfortable Mr. Rundle hadn't the figure for any kind of recklessness he had lived too long and too well she was sure he couldn't sing and wouldn't want to he must be at least 40 how many good dinners could not a man have eaten by the time he was 40 and if during that time instead of taking exercise he had sat writing books he would quite naturally acquire the figure Mr. Rundle had in fact acquired the figure rather for conversation than adventure scrap who had become melancholy at the sight of Briggs became philosophical at the sight of a Rundle here he was she couldn't send him away till after dinner he must be nourished this being so she'd better make the best of it and do that with a good grace which anyhow wasn't to be avoided besides he would be a temporary shelter from Mr. Briggs she was at least acquainted with Ferdinand Rundle and could hear news from him of her mother and her friends and such talk would put up a defensive barrier at dinner between herself and the approaches of the other one and it was only for one dinner and he couldn't eat her she therefore prepared herself for friendliness time to be fed she said ignoring his last remark at eight and you must come up and be fed too sit down and get cool and tell me how everybody is may I really dine with you in these travelling things he said wiping his forehead before sitting down beside her she was too lovely to be true he thought just to look at her for an hour just to hear her voice was enough reward for his journey and his fears of course I suppose you've left your fly in the village and will be going on from Metzago by the night train or stay in Metzago in a hotel and go on tomorrow but tell me he said gazing at the adorable profile about yourself London has been extraordinarily dull and empty which said you were with people here she didn't know I hope they've been kind to you you look well as if your cure had done everything a cure should they've been very kind said scrap I got them out of an advertisement an advertisement it's a good way I find to get friends I'm fond of one of these and I've been of anybody in years really who is it you shall guess which of them it is when you see them tell me about mother when did you see her last we arranged not to write to each other unless there was something special I wanted to have a month that was perfectly blank and now I've come and interrupted I can't tell you how ashamed I am both of having done it and of not having been able to help it oh but said scrap quickly for we could not have come on a better day when up there waiting and watching for her was she knew the enamored Briggs I'm really very glad indeed to see you tell me about mother end of chapter 19