by Lucas Malet
XI
Something drummed and drummed; and, in obedience to that sound, itappeared to Laurence that he returned--whence he knew not--across themost prodigious spaces ever traversed by the spirit of man. Then thematter explained itself. He was on board ship once again, awakened tothe familiar pounding of the engines and drum of the screw. Opening hiseyes, they would rest on the white iron and wooden walls of hisstate-room, and the alert figure of his bedroom steward,announcing--"Fair morning, sir; bath ready, sir." And this impressionwas so distinct that it took him some seconds to focus his actualwhereabouts--the stately and serious bed-chamber at Stoke Rivers, andthe portly person of Watkins, the under-butler, standing at the bedside,a silver tea-tray in his large, soft hands.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I have been up twice already and receivedno answer," he said, his manner correct and respectful as ever, but hisface wearing, for once, an expression of quite human solicitude--or wasit curiosity? "I spoke to Mr. Renshaw and Mr. Lowndes, and theyconsidered it advisable that I should enter, sir. Mr. Renshaw and Mr.Lowndes felt, with me, not quite comfortable, sir, knowing your habit ofearly rising."
Watkins set down the tray carefully, turning out the corners of the finenapkin which covered it.
"Your tea, your letters, sir," he added, and then paused.
Laurence tried to rouse himself. Shipboard and the pounding engines werea delusion clearly. But was the night of sweet converse, and theflitting away of a rose-clad, slender figure at the first flush of dawn,a delusion likewise?
"Oh yes, thanks, Watkins, I am all right," he said absently. "I've sleptlate, have I? What time is it?"
"Between ten minutes and a quarter past eleven when I passed through thehall," the man answered. "Any orders for the stables, sir?"
Laurence was tearing open his letters. One was addressed in his wife'slarge and elaborate hand. Laughing at her, one day before theirmarriage, he had declared that did she possess half the amount ofcharacter suggested by these opulent hieroglyphics, there wouldpositively be no getting to the end of it, so that his work clearly wascut out for him for the rest of his natural life. Now the sight of thathandwriting--though he had possibly ceased to regard it as a perfectlytrustworthy index to its writer's personality--affected him with amovement of vague self-reproach. For, as sleep left him, Laurenceentertained less and less doubt of the actuality of the existence of hisrose-clad fairy-lady; or of the fact that he had spent hours withher--hours, blameless it is true, yet beautiful beyond all rememberedhours of his experience. And though he had done no wrong, yet the verybeauty of those hours--since she had not shared it--constituted acertain subtle, subjective infidelity towards his wife. This pricked hisconscience the more, that he perceived Virginia must have written to himby the very next mail, but three days after he had sailed. And that wasrather charming and thoughtful of her, for she had innumerableengagements claiming her time and attention, and was by no meansaddicted to anxiety regarding the absent. "Why should she worry," as sheremarked at parting, "everybody was always crossing now, and you hardlyever heard of any one not getting to the other side safely enough."Therefore it seemed to Laurence it would be a duty, perhaps also alittle salve to his conscience, to do something pleasing--howeverremotely--to Virginia. He had an order for the stables. He would rideover to luncheon with her friend and admirer, Mrs. Bellingham, atBishop's Pudbury.
Once on his feet, Laurence was somewhat surprised at his own sensations.He found himself singularly tired, as a man may be by some prolongedconcentration of brain or of will. He felt as though he had made sometremendous mental effort; and, now that it was over, depression heldboth his mind and body. His spirits were not as buoyant as usual, norwas his thought clear. He felt dazed, and incapable of grappling withthe strange problems raised by the events of the last twenty-four hours.The swing of possibility they suggested was too great. The average, the_banal_ attracted him, as a narcotic attracts one in pain. For themoment he suffered something approaching repulsion towards his recentexaltation and amazing, half-realised discoveries. He wanted to get backon to the ordinary lines of things--be amused, be a trifle stupid,laugh, gossip, forget.
The sun had long since burnt up that sprinkling of frost upon the grass.The air was fragrant and mild. Catkins fringed the hazel twigs, while inthe shelter of the deep lanes leaves showed tenderly green. The sap hadrisen in the trees, so that a broken branch bled. Indications offertility and growth were everywhere, Nature sensibly putting forth herstrength after the sleep of winter. The road which Laurence followed,after crossing the park, turned upward under overhanging trees, andskirted the low, stone wall of the churchyard. And the contrast betweenthis last resting-place of human corpses and the perpetual and soevident fecundity of Nature struck home to him, yet not distressfully.He was not wholly unwilling, in his present mood, to welcome the thoughtof eventual rest.
He checked his horse, and waited, looking at the place again,--at itsdark, feathery yew-trees, its narrow mounds, ranged decently in line--onthe surface of which the spring grass raised innumerable blades of vividgreen--at its simple monuments, that showed not merely a name and dateof departure, but time-honoured words of faith in the justice and mercyof Almighty God. There was an unoccupied space on the hither side of theenclosure, lying pleasantly open to the sun. The grey wall of thechancel, pierced by low, round-headed windows, backed it. A bush of_Pyrus Japonica_ was trained around and between these windows; and theflowers, showing up against their black stems, spread garlands of pure,hot colour over the face of the rough stone. Laurence, to whom thedisposal of his body after death had, heretofore, appeared a matter ofextreme unimportance, was overtaken by a sudden eagerness to secure forhimself rights of burial in this serene and sun-visited spot.
"After all, it must come to me, sooner or later, as to all the rest," hethought; "and why shouldn't I provide for the event according to myfancy? I'll talk to the poor little parson about it. Perhaps he'll beeasier regarding the state of my soul and my prospects of salvation if Imake provision for my latter end by staking out a burial-plot. I wonderwhat Virginia would say to that? Probably she's a little transatlanticweakness for embalmers and mausoleums. Mother Earth's lap is best,though, I think!"
And then riding onward, all in the fair spring weather, though he triedto put the thought from him, his heart was somewhat troubled by thatflitting, rose-clad figure once again--by the lovely, speechless lips,to which he had brought gentle gaiety, and the profound and seriouseyes, to which he had brought human sympathy and trust. Silent or not,woman or disembodied spirit, she was a little too captivating forsafety. Should he inquire no further? But, in renouncing all furtherintercourse with her, would he perpetrate an act of high moral courage,or merely commit one of intellectual cowardice, such as that alreadycommitted by his uncle? Here was a problem not easy of solution.Laurence straightened himself in the saddle, and pressed his horse alittle. Bishop's Pudbury would be a relief, and should be reached withas small delay as possible. He would try to be amused, a little stupid,to laugh, gossip, and forget--for a time at all events.
Mrs. Bellingham, certainly, offered an excellent contrast to the spiritof his present perturbations. She was a notable example of moderncivilisation, guiltless of all mysterious or primitive suggestion. Herprettiness was considerable, according to a neat and unaccentuated type.Her manner was vivacious, her attitudes many but sincere. She worethese--so to speak--to bring out the value of her conversation, as shewore her irreproachably constructed clothes to bring out those of herplump and carefully preserved figure. Her light-brown hair was parted inthe middle, waved, and puffed out over the ears--this in imitation ofthe fashion lately patronised by Virginia Rivers. The set of her purple,boxcloth coat and skirt pleased Laurence's eye, as did that of her whitesatin and lace blouse. She was really admirably turned out--according tocurrent standards of fashion. She greeted her guest, moreover, with thathappy combination of self-consciousness and self-assurance, which has init at once a flavour of compliment and promise of worthy ent
ertainment.Mrs. Jack Bellingham would never do anything very great; but she aspiredand succeeded in doing the small things of life remarkably well.
"Why, Mr. Rivers, this is quite too charming for anything," she said."But, unfortunately, I am alone here with my children. I devote a greatdeal of time now to my children. My husband has gone up to town for theday."
"So much the better," Laurence answered cheerfully. "I didn't come tosee Jack, dear Mrs. Bellingham, but wholly and solely to see you.Virginia charged me with innumerable messages. And then there are awhole lot of people we both know I want to talk to you about--a fewmultiplications, subtractions, and divisions, you know, not without ahumorous side to them here and there. Will you keep me to luncheon? Oh!that's awfully good of you."
The Pudbury manor-house had lately undergone reconstruction, therebygaining in convenience what it lost in distinction. It was now as welldesigned to meet modern requirements, as finished, as generallypresentable and as little of an enigma, as its present hostess. Laurencecontemplated the elegant, if slightly unhomelike, room with a movementof ironical satisfaction. Its contents were as agreeably obvious andunrecondite as the style and plot of a current magazine story. It madeno demand upon the intelligence or the emotions. And Laurence had beenin contact with quite other literary subject-matter lately--problems oflove, morals, metaphysics, not unworthy to inspire the magnificentobscurities of Browning, or the fine frenzies of Shelley's lyrics.Therefore he hailed the emotional limitations of his existingenvironment. The indolent side of his nature was paramount. He settleddown to chatter genially about Tom, Dick, and Harry, and the fair ladiesinterested in those worthies, or in whom those worthies were interested.He was amused and amusing, relished his luncheon, his hostess's smarttalk, and enjoyed countless reminiscences of Newport and New York. And,as the ease of this attitude of mind began to grow on him, the questionvery forcibly presented itself:--why strain? Why not always drift thuspleasantly and comfortably down the smooth stream of worldly prosperity?Why try to plumb the depths lying below that smiling surface? For doesnot this, in the majority of cases, involve an expenditure of energy outof all proportion to the worth of the result? To be light-in-hand andlight-of-heart--was not that after all the truest philosophy? To what ahopelessly dreary pass had not the elder Mr. Rivers brought himself bythinking otherwise; and taking his studies, his opinions, himself, inshort, so seriously!
So, sipping his coffee in the drawing-room after luncheon, while Mrs.Bellingham maintained the flow of conversation in penetrating andemphatic tones, Laurence thought--yes, on the whole, he did think--itwould be wiser and better, to retire upon the former lines of hislife,--to eschew high ambitions of sorts, and fall back upon the worksand ways of _l'homme moyen sensuel_, upon the great, good-natured,uninspired Commonplace, of which his uncle had accredited him with beingso oblivious and complete an exponent. He thought--notwithstanding thetightening of some cord at his heart, perhaps moral, perhaps merelyphysical--yes, honestly he did think he had better do that, and make hisdecision here and now. Judging by past experience, he was doomed in alldepartments to be second, not to say third-rate. Well, then, best acceptthat doom smiling. To do so might hurt vanity a bit, yet undoubtedlythere would be consolations. Laurence set down his coffee-cup with alittle lift of the eyebrows and shoulders, and an expression ofcountenance somewhat cynical. He would coquet no longer with fairy,rose-clad ladies--he would decline the so strangely offered adventure.
"The truth is, I'm not big enough for it," he thought to himselfruefully.
"You know just how I feel about Virginia," his hostess was saying. "Sheis a perfectly lovely woman in every way, and her social sense amountsto genius. The thought of her being over makes it possible for me tocontemplate spending another winter here in the country. I look forwardto seeing Virginia lay hold of this neighbourhood and just put itthrough. Her brightness, and _verve_, and _savoir faire_ will be aperfect revelation. She will positively electrify every person within afifteen mile radius. But--"
And there the speaker paused. For along the carriage-drive, all in thepleasant sunshine, the children of the house, a trifle inebriated byrecent dinner of chicken and rice pudding, by freedom, and the open air,went forth with shoutings and laughter for their afternoon walk. FirstSybil and her younger sister, arrayed in straight, scarlet jackets,beneath which showed a long length of tan boot and tan stocking,encasing very active legs. Then the portly coachman, leading a donkey,upon which the three-year-old son and heir of the Bellingham family,also scarlet-coated, made a first essay in horsemanship. Finally, twonurses clothed in white. The little girls ran wildly, their gay figuresbacked by a bank of shrubbery--rusty red of berberis and glinting greenof laurels--while the pink and azure balloon-balls they carried werewhisked heavenward by the wind to the uttermost length of each tetheringstring. Around the procession, barking, circling, jumping high in airafter the floating balls, and even threatening assault of the donkey'snose, skirmished a couple of rough Irish terriers. The donkey shied,the coachman admonished, a laughing nurse ran forward and clutched thesmall cavalier by the outstanding skirt of his coat and by the seat ofhis nether garments. The little girls shrieked and capered, and in suchhilarious fashion the company passed out of sight.
Laurence Rivers's eyes rested rather wistfully upon the scene. Itbelonged to the great, good-natured, uninspired Commonplace upon whichhe was just agreeing with himself to retire; and it offered a comely andwholesome enough example of the same. Mrs. Bellingham also had turnedtowards the window, and the expression of her neat face had softened.The self-consciousness, the worldliness therein usually displayed, werein abeyance, while the beautiful content of motherhood was regnant,visibly enthroned. Laurence had never supposed she could look socharming, and he could have found it in his heart to envy his friendJack Bellingham. Very early in their connection Virginia had pointed outto him, with consummate tact but entire lucidity, that the modernhusband, who marries a fascinating woman of society and reallyappreciates her, will give proof of such appreciation by relegating thematter of child-bearing to a dim and distant future. It will come all ingood time no doubt, but it can wait. For is not it really a little toomuch, in these days of enlightened equality between man and woman, torequire the latter to forego amusement, to endure serious discomfort,risk her freshness and her figure, even come within measurabledistance--in not infrequent cases--of the supremely foolish calamity ofdeath?--Political economy and the health of the race notwithstanding,let the poor breed; let the obscure breed; let that innumerable companyof women, to whom life offers so much of a trial and so little of apastime, that in the sum-total of their infelicity one pain or peril themore cannot make any appreciable difference--let these breed. But sparethe fair Virginias, those fine flowers of wealth and worldlycircumstance, to whom Fortune shows so radiant a face! It is simplejustice and reason so to do--at least such had been Virginia's argument.
But as Laurence now reflected--wiser by some year and a half'sexperience of woman and matrimony--if life on the lines of theCommonplace is to afford its legitimate compensations, it must not betrained too fine, or jockeyed too carefully. The man's ear must not betoo ready to hear specious arguments, nor his imagination to entertaintoo elaborate sympathies. He must compel those said fine flowers to bowtheir heads to the common yoke. All his life he--Laurence--had beenliable to stultify himself by permitting his imagination to turn up inthe wrong place. What good luck to have been born, like his friendcheery Jack Bellingham, devoid of that embarrassing faculty! Good luckfor Jack himself, and for his wife--who just looked so delightfullypretty--and for those three nice, shouting, scarlet-coated, smallBellinghams, otherwise only too probably non-existent.
Laurence had ceased suddenly to be much amused; had ceased to relishdiscussion of mutual friends, reminiscence or anecdote. He rose with theintention of bidding his hostess farewell; but her self-consciousness,her manner and manners, came back with a snap.
"Why, Mr. Rivers, you do not propose to leave yet," she protested. "I amnot ha
lf through with our conversation, I assure you. We have not yetapproached the subject upon which I am most keen for first-handinformation. I am perfectly wild to hear on what terms you believeVirginia, with her bright, fearless, highly-developed, moderntemperament, will be with your family spectre."