The Enchanted April

by Elizabeth Von Arnim

  Chapter 18

  They had a very pleasant walk, with a great deal of sitting downin warm, thyme-fragrant corners, and if anything could have helped Roseto recover from the bitter disappointment of the morning it would havebeen the company and conversation of Mr. Briggs. He did help her torecover, and the same process took place as that which Lotty hadundergone with her husband, and the more Mr. Briggs thought Rosecharming the more charming she became.

  Briggs was a man incapable of concealments, who never lost timeif he could help it. They had not got to the end of the headland wherethe lighthouse is--Briggs asked her to show him the lighthouse, becausethe path to it, he knew, was wide enough for two to walk abreast andfairly level--before he had told her of the impression she made on himin London.

  Since even the most religious, sober women like to know they havemade an impression, particularly the kind that has nothing to do withcharacter or merits, Rose was pleased. Being pleased, she smiled.Smiling, she was more attractive than ever. Colour came into hercheeks, and brightness into her eyes. She heard herself saying thingsthat really sounded quite interesting and even amusing. If Frederickwere listening now, she thought, perhaps he would see that she couldn'tafter 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, forthen the compliment would be still greater--who was evidently quitehappy to spend the afternoon just talking to her.

  And indeed Mr. Briggs seemed very much interested. He wanted tohear all about everything she had been doing from the moment she gotthere. He asked her if she had seen this, that, and the other in thehouse, what she liked best, which room she had, if she werecomfortable, if Francesca was behaving, if Domenico took care of her,and whether she didn't enjoy using the yellow sitting-room--the onethat got all the sun and looked out towards Genoa.

  Rose was ashamed how little she had noticed in the house, and howfew of the things he spoke of as curious or beautiful in it she hadeven seen. Swamped in thought of Frederick, she appeared to have livedin San Salvatore blindly, and more than half the time had gone, andwhat had been the good of it? She might just as well have been sittinghankering on Hampstead Heath. No, she mightn't; through all herhankerings she had been conscious that she was at least in the veryheart of beauty; and indeed it was this beauty, this longing to shareit, that had first started her off hankering.

  Mr. Briggs, however, was too much alive for her to be able to spare anyattention at this moment for Frederick, and she praised the servants inanswer to his questions, and praised the yellow sitting-room withouttelling him she had only been in it once and then was ignominiouslyejected, and she told him she knew hardly anything about art andcuriosities, but thought perhaps if somebody would tell her about themshe would know more, and she said she had spent every day since herarrival out-of-doors, because out-of-doors there was so very wonderfuland different from anything she had ever seen.

  Briggs walked by her side along his paths that were yet sohappily for the moment her paths, and felt all the innocent glows offamily life. He was an orphan and an only child, and had a warm,domestic disposition. He would have adored a sister and spoilt amother, and was beginning at this time to think of marrying; for thoughhe had been very happy with his various loves, each of whom, contraryto the usual experience, turned ultimately into his devoted friend, hewas fond of children and thought he had perhaps now got to the age ofsettling if he did not wish to be too old by the time his eldest sonwas twenty. San Salvatore had latterly seemed a little forlorn. Hefancied 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 letit. It wanted a wife in it. It wanted that final touch of warmth andbeauty, for he never thought of his wife except in terms of warmth andbeauty--she would of course be beautiful and kind. It amused him howmuch in love with this vague wife he was already.

  At such a rate was he making friends with the lady with the sweetname as he walked along the path towards the lighthouse, that he wassure presently he would be telling her everything about himself and hispast doings and his future hopes; and the thought of such a swiftlydeveloping 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--one's family. Inever had a family. I'm an orphan."

  "Oh, are you?" said Rose with the proper sympathy. "I hopeyou've not been one very long. No--I don't mean I hope you have beenone 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. Nosisters or brothers."

  "Then you're an only child," she observed intelligently.

  "Yes. And there's something about you that's exactly my idea ofa--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," shesaid, a vision of that austere and hard-seated dwelling presentingitself to her mind, with nothing soft in it except the shunned andneglected Du Barri sofa. No wonder, she thought, for a momentclear-brained, that Frederick avoided it. There was nothing cosyabout his family.

  "I don't believe any place you lived in could be anything butexactly like you," he said.

  "You're not going to pretend San Salvatore is like me?"

  "Indeed I do pretend it. Surely you admit that it is beautiful?"

  He said several things like that. She enjoyed her walk. Shecould not recollect any walk so pleasant since her courting days.

  She came back to tea, bringing Mr. Briggs, and looking quitedifferent, Mr. Wilkins noticed, from what she had looked till then.Trouble here, trouble here, thought Mr. Wilkins, mentally rubbing hisprofessional hands. He could see himself being called in presently toadvise. On the one hand there was Arbuthnot, on the other hand herewas Briggs. Trouble brewing, trouble sooner or later. But why hadBriggs's telegram acted on the lady like a blow? If she had turnedpale 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 seenher. Well, he was the man for trouble. He regretted, of course, thatpeople should get into it, but being in he was their man.

  And Mr. Wilkins, invigorated by these thoughts, his career beingvery precious to him, proceeded to assist in doing the honours to Mr.Briggs, both in his quality of sharer in the temporary ownership of SanSalvatore and of probable helper out of difficulties, with greathospitality, and pointed out the various features of the place to him,and led him to the parapet and showed him Mezzago 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 ofproperty. Also there seemed a peculiar merit in being a man ofproperty so young. Inheritance, of course; and inheritance was morerespectable than acquisition. It did indicate fathers; and in an agewhere most people appeared neither to have them nor to want them sheliked this too.

  Accordingly it was a pleasant meal, with everybody amiable andpleased. Briggs thought Mrs. Fisher a dear old lady, and showed hethought so; and again the magic worked, and she became a dear old lady.She developed benignity with him, and a kind of benignity which wasalmost playful--actually before tea was over including in someobservation she made him the words "My dear boy."

  Strange words in Mrs. Fisher's mouth. It is doubtful whether inher life she had used them before. Rose was astonished. Now nicepeople really were. When would she leave off making mistakes aboutthem? She hadn't suspected this side of Mrs. Fisher, and she began towonder whether those other sides of her with which alone she wasacquainted had not perhaps after all been the effect of her ownmilitant 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 bloss
oming out into real amiability the momentsome one came along who was charming to her, and she could have sunkinto the ground with shame when Mrs. Fisher presently laughed, and sherealized by the shock it gave her that the sound was entirely new. Notonce before had she or any one else there heard Mrs. Fisher laugh.What an indictment of the lot of them! For they had all laughed, theothers, some more and some less, at one time or another since theirarrival, and only Mrs. Fisher had not. Clearly, since she could enjoyherself as she was now enjoying herself, she had not enjoyed herselfbefore. Nobody had cared whether she did or not, except perhaps Lotty.Yes; Lotty had cared, and had wanted her to be happy; but Lotty seemedto produce a bad effect on Mrs. Fisher, while as for Rose herself shehad never been with her for five minutes without wanting, reallywanting, to provoke and oppose her.

  How very horrid she had been. She had behaved unpardonably. Herpenitence showed itself in a shy and deferential solicitude towardsMrs. Fisher which made the observant Briggs think her still moreangelic, and wish for a moment that he were an old lady himself inorder to be behaved to by Rose Arbuthnot just like that. There wasevidently no end, he thought, to the things she could do sweetly. Hewould even not mind taking medicine, really nasty medicine, if it wereRose Arbuthnot bending over him with the dose.

  She felt his bright blue eyes, the brighter because he was sosunburnt, fixed on her with a twinkle in them, and smiling asked himwhat 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 mentallyrubbing his hands. "Well, I'm their man."

  "I'm sure," said Mrs. Fisher benignly, "you have no thoughts wemay not hear."

  "I'm sure," said Briggs, "I would be telling you every one of mysecrets in a week."

  "You would be telling somebody very safe, then," said Mrs. Fisherbenevolently--just such a son would she have liked to have had. "Andin return," she went on, "I daresay I would tell you mine."

  "Ah no," said Mr. Wilkins, adapting himself to this tone of easybadinage, "I must protest. I really must. I have a prior claim, I amthe 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 secretsfirst. That is," he added, bowing gallantly, "if she has any--which Ibeg leave to doubt."

  "Oh, haven't I!" exclaimed Mrs. Fisher, thinking of those greenleaves. That she should exclaim at all was surprising, but that sheshould do it with gaiety was miraculous. Rose could only watch her inwonder.

  "Then I shall worm them out," said Briggs with equal gaiety.

  "They won't need much worming out," said Mrs. Fisher. "Mydifficulty is to keep them from bursting out."

  It might have been Lotty talking. Mr. Wilkins adjusted thesingle eyeglass he carried with him for occasions like this, andexamined Mrs. Fisher carefully. Rose looked on, unable not to smiletoo since Mrs. Fisher seemed so much amused, though Rose did not quiteknow why, and her smile was a little uncertain, for Mrs. Fisher amusedwas a new sight, not without its awe-inspiring aspects, and had to begot accustomed to.

  What Mrs. Fisher was thinking was how much surprised they wouldbe if she told them of her very odd and exciting sensation of going tocome out all over buds. They would think she was an extremely sillyold woman, and so would she have thought as lately as two days ago; butthe bud idea was becoming familiar to her, she was more apprivoiseenow, as dear Matthew Arnold used to say, and though it wouldundoubtedly be best if one's appearance and sensations matched, yetsupposing they did not--and one couldn't have everything--was it notbetter to feel young somewhere rather than old everywhere? Time enoughto be old everywhere again, inside as well as out, when she got back toher sarcophagus in Prince of Wales Terrace.

  Yet it is probable that without the arrival of Briggs Mrs. Fisherwould have gone on secretly fermenting in her shell. The others onlyknew her as severe. It would have been more than her dignity couldbear suddenly to relax--especially towards the three young women. Butnow came the stranger Briggs, a stranger who at once took to her as noyoung man had taken to her in her life, and it was the coming of Briggsand his real and manifest appreciation--for just such a grandmother,thought Briggs, hungry for home life and its concomitants, would hehave liked to have--that released Mrs. Fisher from her shell; and hereshe was at last, as Lotty had predicted, pleased, good-humoured andbenevolent.

  Lotty, coming back half an hour later from her picnic, andfollowing the sound of voices into the top garden in the hope of stillfinding tea, saw at once what had happened, for Mrs. Fisher at thatvery moment was laughing.

  "She's burst her cocoon," thought Lotty; and swift as she was inall her movements, and impulsive, and also without any sense ofpropriety 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 sucha thing had not happened to her since Mr. Fisher's earlier days, andthen 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 whose 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 theappreciative Mr. Briggs resume her cast-off severity and begin rebukingagain; 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 herherself? A queer little trickle of warmth filtered through the frozendefences of Mrs. Fisher's heart. Somebody young kissing her--somebodyyoung wanting to kiss her. . . Very much flushed, she watched thestrange creature, apparently quite unconscious she had done anythingextraordinary, shaking hands with Mr. Briggs, on her husband'sintroducing him, and immediately embarking on the friendliestconversation 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 hospitalityto Lotty. He thought her delightful,--freckles, picnic-untidiness andall. Just such a sister would he--

  "This is cold," he said, feeling the teapot. "I'll tellFrancesca 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 tohis mouth and shouted.

  "Francesca!" shouted Briggs.

  She came running. No summons in their experience had beenanswered by her with such celerity.

  "'Her Master's voice,'" remarked Mr. Wilkins; aptly, heconsidered.

  "Make fresh tea," ordered Briggs in Italian. "Quick--quick--"And then remembering himself he blushed again, and begged everybody'spardon.

  "Very natural, very natural," Mr. Wilkins reassured him.

  Briggs then explained to Lotty what he had explained twicealready, once to Rose and once to the other two, that he was on his wayto Rome and thought he would get out at Mezzago and just look in to seeif they were comfortable and continue his journey the next day, stayingthe night in an hotel at Mezzago.

  "But how ridiculous," said Lotty. "Of course you must stay here.It's your house. There's Kate Lumley's room," she added, turning toMrs. 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 againand laughing.

  And Mrs. Fisher to her immense surprise laughed too. She knewthat any other time this remark would have struck her as excessivelyunseemly, 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 roomwas excessively narrow. Kate Lumley might get into it, but that wasabout all. Once in, she would fit it so tightly that probably shewould n
ever be able to get out again. It was entirely at Mr. Briggs'sdisposal, and she hoped he would do nothing so absurd as go to anhotel--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. Lotty laughed very much too,and at the end of it bent down and kissed her again--kissed her severaltimes.

  "So you see, my dear boy," said Mrs. Fisher, "you must stay hereand give us all a great deal of pleasure."

  "A great deal indeed," corroborated Mr. Wilkins heartily.

  "A very great deal," repeated Mrs. Fisher, looking exactly like apleased mother.

  "Do," said Rose, on Briggs's turning inquiringly to her.

  "How kind of you all," he said, his face broad with smiles. "I'dlove to be a guest here. What a new sensation. And with three such--"

  He broke off and looked round. "I say," he asked, "oughtn't I tohave a fourth hostess? Francesca said she had four mistresses."

  "Yes. There's Lady Caroline," said Lotty.

  "Then hadn't we better find out first if she invites me too?"

  "Oh, but she's sure--" began Lotty.

  "The daughter of the Droitwiches, Briggs," said Mr. Wilkins, "isnot likely to be wanting in the proper hospitable impulses."

  "The daughter of the--" repeated Briggs; but he stopped dead, forthere in the doorway was the daughter of the Droitwiches herself; orrather, coming towards him out of the dark doorway into the brightnessof the sunset, was that which he had not in his life yet seen but onlydreamed of, his ideal of absolute loveliness.