by E. Nesbit
XVI
CAERNARVON
SOMEHOW or other Chester failed to charm. Neither of them couldunderstand why. Perhaps the Stratford Hotel had given them a momentarysurfeit of half-timber; perhaps the fact that the skies turned gray andsubstituted drizzle for sunshine had something to do with it; perhaps itwas the extreme badness of the hotel to which ill-luck led them, a hotelthat smelt of stale seed-cake and bad coffee and bad mutton-fat, and wasfurnished almost entirely with bentwood chairs and wicker tables;perhaps it was the added aggravation of seeing a river which might havebeen to them a second Medway, and seeing it quite impossible andmiserably pitted with little rain-spots. Whatever the reason, even nextmorning's sunshine and the beauty of the old walls and the old walksfailed to dispel the gloom. They bought rain-coats and umbrellas in ashop that had known ruffs and farthingales, paid their hotel bill,which was as large as the hotel was bad, and took the afternoon trainto Caernarvon.
The glimpse of Conway Castle from the train cheered them a little. Thesight of the sea did more--but still he felt a cloud between them, andstill she felt more and more that he was aware of it. Charles satbetween them, as before, and over that stout white back his eyes methers.
"What is it?" he asked, suddenly. "Yesterday I thought it was thehalf-timber and the rain--this morning I thought it was yesterday, butit isn't. Something's happened that you haven't told me."
She turned her eyes from his and stroked the flappy white ears ofCharles.
"Hasn't it?" he urged. "Ah, you will tell me, won't you? Was itsomething from the aunts?"
For there had been letters that morning, sent on from Warwick.
"No, the letters were all right. Everybody's furious except Aunt Alice,but she's the only one that matters."
"Then what is it?"
"It's almost gone," she said. "Oh, look at the rocks and the heather onthat great hill."
"Then there was something," he said; "something you won't tell me."
"Not won't," she said, gently.
"Can't? Something that's happened and you can't tell me?"
He remembered how on the last night at Warwick he had held that hand ofhers against his face. They had seemed so very near then. And now therewas a gulf suddenly opened between them--the impassable gulf of asecret--a secret that was hers and not his.
"Yes, something did happen and I have promised not to tell you. If everI can, I will."
"Something has come between us and you have promised not to tell me whatit is?"
"Oh no--no!" she said, very earnestly, and her dear eyes looked full inhis. "Nothing has come between us--nothing could--"
He realized, with some impatience, that Charles, at least, was betweenthem. But for Charles he could, quite naturally and _ayant l'air derien_ have leaned a little toward her as he spoke--so that his shouldermight, perhaps, if she had leaned also, have just touched hers. Butacross Charles this could not be. And to lean, after the removal ofCharles, would bear an air of premeditation not to be contemplated foran instant.
"If it's nothing that comes between us--" he said. "But even then, it'ssomething that's made you sad, made you different. I suppose, though,it's unreasonable to expect that there shall be no secrets between anytwo human beings, no matter how--how friendly they are," he ended, withconscious lameness.
"Of course it's unreasonable," she said; "it would mean, wouldn't it,that neither of us could ever be trusted by any one else? Whereas nowpeople can tell you things they wouldn't want to tell me, and tell methings they wouldn't care about telling you."
"Then this--I'm not worrying you to tell me--but if it is somebodyelse's secret--"
"Well, it is," she said. "Now, are you satisfied? And if you'll only letme look at the sea and the mountains and the heather the Chester cloudwill go right away. It's nearly gone now. And I've never seen any realmountains before, not mountains like these, with warm colors and softshapes--only the Pyrenees and the Maritime Alps, and they look just likewhite cardboard cut into points and pasted on blue sugar-paper--that'sthe sky."
"It's prettier at sunrise, with the mountains like pink and white sugar,and Corsica showing like a little cloud over the sea. We had a villa atAntibes when I was a little chap, before we lost our money. We'll gothere again some day, shall we, and see if the mountains have changed atall? Not this winter, I think. I've never had an English winter freefrom work I didn't like. I must have just this one. You don't mind?"
What he hoped she wouldn't mind was less the English winter than hiscalm assumption that there was plenty of time, that they would always betogether and might go where they would and when--since all the futurewas before them--all the future, and each other's companionship allthrough it.
"Why should I mind?" she answered. "I've never had a free winter inEngland, either, or anywhere else, for that matter."
"Then that's settled," said he, comfortably, "and you can't think what acomfort it is to me that you don't hate Charles. You might so easilyhave hated dogs."
"If I'd been that sort of person I shouldn't be here."
"Ah, but Charles might so easily have been the one kind of dog youcouldn't stand. He's not everybody's dog, by any means. Are you,Charles? Of course it's almost incredible that this earth should containpeople who don't like Charles, yet so it is."
"The people he's bitten?"
"Oh, those!" said Edward, adding, with a fine air of tolerance, "I couldalmost find excuses for them--they've not seen the finer aspects of hischaracter. No, there are actually human beings to whom Charles'spersonality does not appeal--persons whom he has borne with patiently,whom he has refrained from biting, or even sniffing at the trousers legsof. Prejudice is a mysterious and terrible thing. Oh, but it's a goodworld--all the same."
"Isn't it," she said, "with the sun shining and the mountains and therocks and the sea all there, just like a picture? Oh, there's no doubtbut it's a beautiful world."
"And you and I and Charles going out to see it all together. It's a fineworld, every bit of it--and the little bit we're just coming to isCaernarvon."
Caernarvon it was, and they spent nearly a week there. The castle is allthat a castle should be; and as for the sea, what can be better, unlessit's in Cornwall; and there is Anglesea, lying flat against the sky, andthe Elephant Mountain and the Seven Sisters, and old Snowdon toppingall.
The inn was comfortable, the weather had grown kind again, the hostlerwas one of those to whom Charles's personality so much appealed that thedog was almost too replete with good living to appreciate the ratsprovided for his recreation. This hostler, Owen Llewellyn, became suchan enthusiast in the service of Charles that Mr. Basingstoke was onlyable by a fortunate chance, the strong exercise of authority, and agolden offering for the soothing of wounded feelings to stop theentertainment which Owen had arranged with several of his friends in ahandy field and the cool of the evening: a quiet little dog-fight, asthe friends indignantly explained, with Charles and a worthy antagonistfilling the leading roles.
"It isn't as if the dogs wouldn't enjoy it more than any one else, andme putting all my money on your dog, sir," one of the friends (fromLondon) complained. "There ain't nothing that that there dog 'u'd lovebetter nor a bit of a scrap. An' you to go agin the animal's naturaldesires and keep him for a lap-dog for the lady. It ain't right," heended, feelingly, as the lap-dog was led off, yapping defiance at theadversary whom, so his admirers swore, he could have licked hollow withone paw tied behind him.
It was at Caernarvon that Edward and his princess lived the quiet lifethat does not lead to sight-seeing. There was something poignantlydomestic to his mind in those long mornings in green fields or among thebroken and still beautiful colonnades of the castle, he with a book fromwhich he read to her, she with some work of embroidery in which a brightneedle flashed among pleasant-colored silks. It was in the castle, inone of those mysterious narrow passages, that they came face to facewith a tall, handsome man of middle age, who shook Edward's hand withextreme vigor, clapped him on the back, and announce
d that he would haverun a mile for the sake of seeing him. Edward would have run two toavoid the meeting, because the eyes of the back-clapper were turned onKatherine, awaiting the introduction which must come. Colonel Bertram,an old friend of Edward's father's, knew well enough that Edward was anonly child. No brother-and-sister tale was possible here.
"Do you hang out in these parts?" Edward asked. "I wonder you knew me. Idon't believe we've met since I was about sixteen."
While he spoke he looked a question at her, and read the slightestpossible sign with which she answered.
"Colonel Bertram--my wife. Katherine, the Colonel used to tip mesovereigns when I was at school, and he gave me my first pony."
The colonel's grip ground her rings into her hand. "'Pon my word!" hesaid, "I don't know when I've been so pleased. You must come and dinewith us, my boy, to-night-- To-morrow? Make him come, Mrs. Basingstoke.I know it's not manners to intrude on a honeymoon, but I am such an oldfriend, and our meeting like this is such a remarkable coincidence,almost like the finger of Providence--upon my soul it is."
"It's very, very nice of you to ask us," she said, in a voice of honey,"but, unfortunately, we're leaving this afternoon."
"Well, at any rate, let's lunch together. No, of course; too late forthat. Well, look here, you've seen the castle, of course; come and seeover the prison. I'm governor there, for my sins. Come and let me showyou my prison!"
His simple pride in the only sight he had to show prevailed even againstthe shrinking she felt and did not wholly understand.
"When are you leaving? The six o'clock train? Plenty of time. We've madewonderful reforms, I can tell you. The cells are pictures, perfectpictures. 'Pon my word, I never was so glad to see any one. And soyou're married. Dear, dear, dear! Makes me feel an old boy, that itdoes! The young ones growing up around us--eh, what?"
He led the way out of the castle, and Edward and Katherine exchangedbehind his cordial back glances almost of despair. They had not wantedto leave Caernarvon, but Edward could only bless Katherine for herdecision. The relations of Mr. and Mrs. Basingstoke could never havestood the affectionate cross-questionings of Mrs. Bertram. They must go;Katherine was right.
Katherine, meantime, was wishing she had invented a headache, anappointment at the local dentist's, had even simulated a swoon atColonel Bertram's feet, before she had consented to visit a prison.
From the first moment of her entrance there the prison appalled her. Itwas a very nice prison, as prisons go. But the grating at the door, thelocks that clicked, the polished keys, the polished handcuffs, theprison records which their host exhibited with so much ingenuousenthusiasm; the cells, one little cage after another in which humanbirds were pent. . . .
"What have they all done?" she asked, as they walked along a stone-pavedgallery; and wished she had not asked, for the details of horriblecrimes were the last things she wished to hear.
"Oh, petty felonies, mostly," said the governor, airily.
It seemed more and more horrible to her that she and he and the governorshould tread the mazes of this place free to come and go as they chose,while these other human beings, for whatever fault--and it seemed thefaults could hardly rank as crimes--should be here encaged, never moreto go out free till their penance should have purged them.
"I suppose one mustn't give them anything?"
"A little good advice wouldn't be amiss. 'Don't do it any more,' and soon. Would you like to give them an address, Mrs. Basingstoke?"
She hated his badinage. "I mean tobacco or chocolate or books, oranything that they'd _like_," she explained, patiently.
"No, no," said the governor. "They aren't pets, you know. Mustn't feedthem through the bars as though they were rabbits or guinea-pigs. Thetownspeople _will_ throw tobacco over into the yard. Can't stop them.But of course we punish the offenders very severely whenever we manageto bring it home to them."
The horrible sense of slavery grew on her--the prisoners were slaves tothe warders, the warders slaves, and super-subservient slaves, to thegovernor, the governor himself a slave to some power unseen butall-potent.
She watched her opportunity and while Colonel Bertram was explaining toEdward the method of the manufacture of post-office bags she opened herpurse in her pocket and let all its contents fall loose, therein. Thenshe gathered the money in a handful, careful that no rattle or chinkshould betray her, and when the governor was explaining how wirenetting, spread over each gallery to catch any object thrown from aboverendered suicide difficult, if not impossible, she knotted the money inher handkerchief. Then she watched for further opportunity, hopingagainst hope, for it seemed that her chance would never come. There wereeyes everywhere.
"If I can't do it here, I'll buy tobacco and throw it over the wall,"she told herself.
It was in the kitchen that the chance came. Three prisoners were thereacting as cooks, and the governor had sent the attendant warder on someerrand, to order tea for them in his office, as events showed.
"Very nice--very neat--very clean." She praised all in the simplest andmost direct words.
The governor again addressed himself to Edward. It was a tale ofpoaching that he told--the theft of two hares and a pheasant--adesperate crime duly punished. He and Edward left the kitchen, talking.She followed, but first she laid her hand on a table near the door andlooked full at the nearest prisoner. Then she smiled. The three smiledback at her. Then she opened her hand, showing plainly the knottedhandkerchief. "Good luck!" she said, low, but so that they all heardher.
Then she followed the governor and Edward, but at the door she turnedand kissed her hand to the three prisoners. The faces they turned to herwill stay with her as long as she lives. Wonder, delight,incredulity--that any one--that _she_ should have cared to say "goodluck," should have smiled at them, should have left them herhandkerchief, though they did not yet know what was in it. The wonderand worship in their eyes brought tears to her own.
They were still there when the governor turned.
"A cup of tea, now, Mrs. Basingstoke," he said, "it's all ready."
She answered hurriedly, "It's very kind of you, but, do you know, if youdon't mind, I think we ought to be going. We've got to pack and allthat."
Colonel Bertram, who was no fool, heard the quivering voice and saw theswimming eyes. "So sorry," he said, "but charmed to have metyou--charmed," and stood back for her to pass the door of the corridor."_I_ understand," he said; "your wife's a bit upset. Ladies often are;they don't understand the law, you know, the great principles ofproperty and the law. Don't mention it; I like them soft-hearted. You'rea fortunate man, my boy--deuced fortunate. Good-by. So very, verypleased we happened to meet. Good-by."
The well-oiled locks clicked to let them out. In the street she caughthis arm and clung to it.
"There, there!" he spoke as one speaks to a frightened child. "It's allover; don't distress yourself."
"It's not all over for them," she said.
"Prisons have to be," said Edward.
"Have they?" said she. "I suppose they do, but such little things. Totake a pair of boots because your feet are cold and you have no money,and to pay for what you've done--with _that_. Horrible! horrible!"
Neither of them spoke again till they were nearly at the hotel. Then hesaid, "What did you give them?"
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you knotting something in that little scented handkerchief ofyours. What was it you gave them."
"Every penny I had. And I said, 'Good luck to you,' and I kissed my handto them. There!" she said, defiantly.
"It was like you," he said, and took her arm. "But I wish I hadn't letyou go inside the place. I didn't realize how it would be to you. Ididn't realize what it would be to me."
"It was silly of me, I suppose," she said.
"I dare say. But you were lucky; I only managed to drop my tobacco-pouchamong the post-office bags, but our guilt is equal. The sooner we getout of Caernarvon the better. By the way, don't let's catch thesix-o'clock train t
o nowhere in particular. Let's take a carriage anddrive to Llanberis and see the slate-quarries and go up Snowdon."
"Don't let's ever go into another prison," she said, blinking so thatthe tears should drop off her eyelashes and not run down her face, "ithurts so horribly, and we can't do any good."
"Not do any good?" he said. "Do you suppose that life can ever be thesame to a man to whom you've smiled and kissed your hand? Ah, I don'tmean it for empty gallantry, my dear. I mean that to know that you, freeand beautiful, care for them in their misery and imprisonment--don't youthink that's worth something?"
"If it is, I'm glad we went," said she.
Their departure for Llanberis, though sudden, was the less deplored bythe hotel management because of a regrettable misunderstanding which hadarisen during the afternoon between Charles and the house cat.