by Thomas Hardy
IX.
Somerset returned to the top of the great tower with a vagueconsciousness that he was going to do something up there--perhaps sketcha general plan of the structure. But he began to discern that thisStancy-Castle episode in his studies of Gothic architecture might beless useful than ornamental to him as a professional man, though it wastoo agreeable to be abandoned. Finding after a while that his drawingprogressed but slowly, by reason of infinite joyful thoughts more alliedto his nature than to his art, he relinquished rule and compass, andentered one of the two turrets opening on the roof. It was not thestaircase by which he had ascended, and he proceeded to explore itslower part. Entering from the blaze of light without, and imagining thestairs to descend as usual, he became aware after a few steps thatthere was suddenly nothing to tread on, and found himself precipitateddownwards to a distance of several feet.
Arrived at the bottom, he was conscious of the happy fact that he hadnot seriously hurt himself, though his leg was twisted awkwardly. Nexthe perceived that the stone steps had been removed from the turret, sothat he had dropped into it as into a dry well; that, owing to its beingwalled up below, there was no door of exit on either side of him; thathe was, in short, a prisoner.
Placing himself in a more comfortable position he calmly consideredthe best means of getting out, or of making his condition known. Fora moment he tried to drag himself up by his arm, but it was a hopelessattempt, the height to the first step being far too great.
He next looked round at a lower level. Not far from his left elbow, inthe concave of the outer wall, was a slit for the admission of light,and he perceived at once that through this slit alone lay his chance ofcommunicating with the outer world. At first it seemed as if it were tobe done by shouting, but when he learnt what little effect was producedby his voice in the midst of such a mass of masonry, his heart failedhim for a moment. Yet, as either Paula or Miss De Stancy would probablyguess his visit to the top of the tower, there was no cause for terror,if some for alarm.
He put his handkerchief through the window-slit, so that it flutteredoutside, and, fixing it in its place by a large stone drawn from theloose ones around him, awaited succour as best he could. To begin thiscourse of procedure was easy, but to abide in patience till it shouldproduce fruit was an irksome task. As nearly as he could guess--for hiswatch had been stopped by the fall--it was now about four o'clock, andit would be scarcely possible for evening to approach without someeye or other noticing the white signal. So Somerset waited, his eyeslingering on the little world of objects around him, till they allbecame quite familiar. Spiders'-webs in plenty were there, and one inparticular just before him was in full use as a snare, stretching acrossthe arch of the window, with radiating threads as its ribs. Somersethad plenty of time, and he counted their number--fifteen. He remainedso silent that the owner of this elaborate structure soon forgot thedisturbance which had resulted in the breaking of his diagonal ties,and crept out from the corner to mend them. In watching the process,Somerset noticed that on the stonework behind the web sundry names andinitials had been cut by explorers in years gone by. Among these antiqueinscriptions he observed two bright and clean ones, consisting of thewords 'De Stancy' and 'W. Dare,' crossing each other at right angles.From the state of the stone they could not have been cut more than amonth before this date, and, musing on the circumstance, Somerset passedthe time until the sun reached the slit in that side of the tower,where, beginning by throwing in a streak of fire as narrow as acorn-stalk, it enlarged its width till the dusty nook was flooded withcheerful light. It disclosed something lying in the corner, which onexamination proved to be a dry bone. Whether it was human, or had comefrom the castle larder in bygone times, he could not tell. One bone wasnot a whole skeleton, but it made him think of Ginevra of Modena, theheroine of the Mistletoe Bough, and other cribbed and confined wretches,who had fallen into such traps and been discovered after a cycle ofyears.
The sun's rays had travelled some way round the interior when Somerset'swaiting ears were at last attracted by footsteps above, each tread beingbrought down by the hollow turret with great fidelity. He hoped thatwith these sounds would arise that of a soft voice he had begun to likewell. Indeed, during the solitary hour or two of his waiting here he hadpictured Paula straying alone on the terrace of the castle, lookingup, noting his signal, and ascending to deliver him from his painfulposition by her own exertions. It seemed that at length his dream hadbeen verified. The footsteps approached the opening of the turret;and, attracted by the call which Somerset now raised, began to descendtowards him. In a moment, not Paula's face, but that of a dreary footmanof her household, looked into the hole.
Somerset mastered his disappointment, and the man speedily fetched aladder, by which means the prisoner of two hours ascended to the roofin safety. During the process he ventured to ask for the ladies of thehouse, and learnt that they had gone out for a drive together.
Before he left the castle, however, they had returned, a circumstanceunexpectedly made known to him by his receiving a message fromMiss Power, to the effect that she would be glad to see him at hisconvenience. Wondering what it could possibly mean, he followed themessenger to her room--a small modern library in the Jacobean wing ofthe house, adjoining that in which the telegraph stood. She was alone,sitting behind a table littered with letters and sketches, and lookingfresh from her drive. Perhaps it was because he had been shut up in thatdismal dungeon all the afternoon that he felt something in her presencewhich at the same time charmed and refreshed him.
She signified that he was to sit down; but finding that he was goingto place himself on a straight-backed chair some distance off she said,'Will you sit nearer to me?' and then, as if rather oppressed by herdignity, she left her own chair of business and seated herself atease on an ottoman which was among the diversified furniture of theapartment.
'I want to consult you professionally,' she went on. 'I have been muchimpressed by your great knowledge of castellated architecture. Will yousit in that leather chair at the table, as you may have to take notes?'
The young man assented, expressed his gratification, and went to thechair she designated.
'But, Mr. Somerset,' she continued, from the ottoman--the width of thetable only dividing them--'I first should just like to know, and I trustyou will excuse my inquiry, if you are an architect in practice, or onlyas yet studying for the profession?'
'I am just going to practise. I open my office on the first of Januarynext,' he answered.
'You would not mind having me as a client--your first client?' Shelooked curiously from her sideway face across the table as she saidthis.
'Can you ask it!' said Somerset warmly. 'What are you going to build?'
'I am going to restore the castle.'
'What, all of it?' said Somerset, astonished at the audacity of such anundertaking.
'Not the parts that are absolutely ruinous: the walls battered by theParliament artillery had better remain as they are, I suppose. But wehave begun wrong; it is I who should ask you, not you me.... I fear,'she went on, in that low note which was somewhat difficult to catch ata distance, 'I fear what the antiquarians will say if I am not verycareful. They come here a great deal in summer and if I were to do thework wrong they would put my name in the papers as a dreadful person.But I must live here, as I have no other house, except the one inLondon, and hence I must make the place habitable. I do hope I can trustto your judgment?'
'I hope so,' he said, with diffidence, for, far from having muchprofessional confidence, he often mistrusted himself. 'I am a Fellowof the Society of Antiquaries, and a Member of the Institute of BritishArchitects--not a Fellow of that body yet, though I soon shall be.'
'Then I am sure you must be trustworthy,' she said, with enthusiasm.'Well, what am I to do?--How do we begin?'
Somerset began to feel more professional, what with the businesschair and the table, and the writing-paper, notwithstanding that thesearticles, and the room they were in, were hers instead of h
is; and anevenness of manner which he had momentarily lost returned to him. 'Thevery first step,' he said, 'is to decide upon the outlay--what is it tocost?'
He faltered a little, for it seemed to disturb the softness of theirrelationship to talk thus of hard cash. But her sympathy with hisfeeling was apparently not great, and she said, 'The expenditure shallbe what you advise.'
'What a heavenly client!' he thought. 'But you must just give someidea,' he said gently. 'For the fact is, any sum almost may be spenton such a building: five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand, fiftythousand, a hundred thousand.'
'I want it done well; so suppose we say a hundred thousand? My father'ssolicitor--my solicitor now--says I may go to a hundred thousand withoutextravagance, if the expenditure is scattered over two or three years.'
Somerset looked round for a pen. With quickness of insight she knewwhat he wanted, and signified where one could be found. He wrote down inlarge figures--
100,000.
It was more than he had expected; and for a young man just beginningpractice, the opportunity of playing with another person's money to thatextent would afford an exceptionally handsome opening, not so muchfrom the commission it represented, as from the attention that would bebestowed by the art-world on such an undertaking.
Paula had sunk into a reverie. 'I was intending to intrust the workto Mr. Havill, a local architect,' she said. 'But I gathered fromhis conversation with you to-day that his ignorance of styles mightcompromise me very seriously. In short, though my father employed himin one or two little matters, it would not be right--even a morallyculpable thing--to place such an historically valuable building in hishands.'
'Has Mr. Havill ever been led to expect the commission?' he asked.
'He may have guessed that he would have it. I have spoken of myintention to him more than once.'
Somerset thought over his conversation with Havill. Well, he did notlike Havill personally; and he had strong reasons for suspecting that inthe matter of architecture Havill was a quack. But was it quite generousto step in thus, and take away what would be a golden opportunity tosuch a man of making both ends meet comfortably for some years to come,without giving him at least one chance? He reflected a little longer,and then spoke out his feeling.
'I venture to propose a slightly modified arrangement,' he said.'Instead of committing the whole undertaking to my hands without betterproof of my ability to carry it out than you have at present, let therebe a competition between Mr. Havill and myself--let our rival plans forthe restoration and enlargement be submitted to a committee of the RoyalInstitute of British Architects--and let the choice rest with them,subject of course to your approval.'
'It is indeed generous of you to suggest it.' She looked thoughtfullyat him; he appeared to strike her in a new light. 'You really recommendit?' The fairness which had prompted his words seemed to incline herstill more than before to resign herself entirely to him in the matter.
'I do,' said Somerset deliberately.
'I will think of it, since you wish it. And now, what general idea haveyou of the plan to adopt? I do not positively agree to your suggestionas yet, so I may perhaps ask the question.'
Somerset, being by this time familiar with the general plan of thecastle, took out his pencil and made a rough sketch. While he was doingit she rose, and coming to the back of his chair, bent over him insilence.
'Ah, I begin to see your conception,' she murmured; and the breath ofher words fanned his ear. He finished the sketch, and held it up to her,saying--
'I would suggest that you walk over the building with Mr. Havill andmyself, and detail your ideas to us on each portion.'
'Is it necessary?'
'Clients mostly do it.'
'I will, then. But it is too late for me this evening. Please meet meto-morrow at ten.'