A Laodicean : A Story of To-day Read online

  VIII.

  That evening Somerset was so preoccupied with these things that he leftall his sketching implements out-of-doors in the castle grounds. Thenext morning he hastened thither to secure them from being stolen orspoiled. Meanwhile he was hoping to have an opportunity of rectifyingPaula's mistake about his personality, which, having served a very goodpurpose in introducing them to a mutual conversation, might possibly bemade just as agreeable as a thing to be explained away.

  He fetched his drawing instruments, rods, sketching-blocks and otherarticles from the field where they had lain, and was passing under thewalls with them in his hands, when there emerged from the outer archwayan open landau, drawn by a pair of black horses of fine action andobviously strong pedigree, in which Paula was seated, under the shade ofa white parasol with black and white ribbons fluttering on the summit.The morning sun sparkled on the equipage, its newness being made all themore noticeable by the ragged old arch behind.

  She bowed to Somerset in a way which might have been meant to expressthat she had discovered her mistake; but there was no embarrassment inher manner, and the carriage bore her away without her making any signfor checking it. He had not been walking towards the castle entrance,and she could not be supposed to know that it was his intention to enterthat day.

  She had looked such a bud of youth and promise that his disappointmentat her departure showed itself in his face as he observed her. However,he went on his way, entered a turret, ascended to the leads of the greattower, and stepped out.

  From this elevated position he could still see the carriage and thewhite surface of Paula's parasol in the glowing sun. While he watchedthe landau stopped, and in a few moments the horses were turned, thewheels and the panels flashed, and the carriage came bowling alongtowards the castle again.

  Somerset descended the stone stairs. Before he had quite got to thebottom he saw Miss De Stancy standing in the outer hall.

  'When did you come, Mr. Somerset?' she gaily said, looking up surprised.'How industrious you are to be at work so regularly every day! We didn'tthink you would be here to-day: Paula has gone to a vegetable show atMarkton, and I am going to join her there soon.'

  'O! gone to a vegetable show. But I think she has altered her--'

  At this moment the noise of the carriage was heard in the ward, andafter a few seconds Miss Power came in--Somerset being invisible fromthe door where she stood.

  'O Paula, what has brought you back?' said Miss De Stancy.

  'I have forgotten something.'

  'Mr. Somerset is here. Will you not speak to him?'

  Somerset came forward, and Miss De Stancy presented him to her friend.Mr. Somerset acknowledged the pleasure by a respectful inclination ofhis person, and said some words about the meeting yesterday.

  'Yes,' said Miss Power, with a serene deliberateness quite noteworthy ina girl of her age; 'I have seen it all since. I was mistaken about you,was I not? Mr. Somerset, I am glad to welcome you here, both as a friendof Miss De Stancy's family, and as the son of your father--which isindeed quite a sufficient introduction anywhere.'

  'You have two pictures painted by Mr. Somerset's father, have you not?I have already told him about them,' said Miss De Stancy. 'Perhaps Mr.Somerset would like to see them if they are unpacked?'

  As Somerset had from his infancy suffered from a plethora of thoseproductions, excellent as they were, he did not reply quite so eagerlyas Miss De Stancy seemed to expect to her kind suggestion, and Paularemarked to him, 'You will stay to lunch? Do order it at your own time,if our hour should not be convenient.'

  Her voice was a voice of low note, in quality that of a flute atthe grave end of its gamut. If she sang, she was a pure contraltounmistakably.

  'I am making use of the permission you have been good enough to grantme--of sketching what is valuable within these walls.'

  'Yes, of course, I am willing for anybody to come. People hold theseplaces in trust for the nation, in one sense. You lift your hands,Charlotte; I see I have not convinced you on that point yet.'

  Miss De Stancy laughed, and said something to no purpose.

  Somehow Miss Power seemed not only more woman than Miss De Stancy, butmore woman than Somerset was man; and yet in years she was inferior toboth. Though becomingly girlish and modest, she appeared to possess agood deal of composure, which was well expressed by the shaded light ofher eyes.

  'You have then met Mr. Somerset before?' said Charlotte.

  'He was kind enough to deliver an address in my defence yesterday. Isuppose I seemed quite unable to defend myself.'

  'O no!' said he. When a few more words had passed she turned to Miss DeStancy and spoke of some domestic matter, upon which Somerset withdrew,Paula accompanying his exit with a remark that she hoped to see himagain a little later in the day.

  Somerset retired to the chambers of antique lumber, keeping an eyeupon the windows to see if she re-entered the carriage and resumed herjourney to Markton. But when the horses had been standing a long timethe carriage was driven round to the stables. Then she was not going tothe vegetable show. That was rather curious, seeing that she had onlycome back for something forgotten.

  These queries and thoughts occupied the mind of Somerset until the bellwas rung for luncheon. Owing to the very dusty condition in which hefound himself after his morning's labours among the old carvings he wasrather late in getting downstairs, and seeing that the rest had gone inhe went straight to the dining-hall.

  The population of the castle had increased in his absence. There wereassembled Paula and her friend Charlotte; a bearded man some years olderthan himself, with a cold grey eye, who was cursorily introduced to himin sitting down as Mr. Havill, an architect of Markton; also anelderly lady of dignified aspect, in a black satin dress, of which sheapparently had a very high opinion. This lady, who seemed to be a meredummy in the establishment, was, as he now learnt, Mrs. Goodman byname, a widow of a recently deceased gentleman, and aunt to Paula--theidentical aunt who had smuggled Paula into a church in her helplessinfancy, and had her christened without her parents' knowledge. Havingbeen left in narrow circumstances by her husband, she was at presentliving with Miss Power as chaperon and adviser on practical matters--ina word, as ballast to the management. Beyond her Somerset discernedhis new acquaintance Mr. Woodwell, who on sight of Somerset was forhastening up to him and performing a laboured shaking of hands inearnest recognition.

  Paula had just come in from the garden, and was carelessly laying downher large shady hat as he entered. Her dress, a figured material inblack and white, was short, allowing her feet to appear. There wassomething in her look, and in the style of her corsage, which remindedhim of several of the bygone beauties in the gallery. The thought for amoment crossed his mind that she might have been imitating one of them.

  'Fine old screen, sir!' said Mr. Havill, in a long-drawn voice acrossthe table when they were seated, pointing in the direction of thetraceried oak division between the dining-hall and a vestibule at theend. 'As good a piece of fourteenth-century work as you shall see inthis part of the country.'

  'You mean fifteenth century, of course?' said Somerset.

  Havill was silent. 'You are one of the profession, perhaps?' asked thelatter, after a while.

  'You mean that I am an architect?' said Somerset. 'Yes.'

  'Ah--one of my own honoured vocation.' Havill's face had been notunpleasant until this moment, when he smiled; whereupon there instantlygleamed over him a phase of meanness, remaining until the smile diedaway.

  Havill continued, with slow watchfulness:--

  'What enormous sacrileges are committed by the builders every day, Iobserve! I was driving yesterday to Toneborough where I am erecting atown-hall, and passing through a village on my way I saw the workmenpulling down a chancel-wall in which they found imbedded a uniquespecimen of Perpendicular work--a capital from some old arcade--themouldings wonderfully undercut. They were smashing it up as filling-infor the new wall.'

  'It must have been un
ique,' said Somerset, in the too-readilycontroversial tone of the educated young man who has yet to learndiplomacy. 'I have never seen much undercutting in Perpendicularstone-work; nor anybody else, I think.'

  'O yes--lots of it!' said Mr. Havill, nettled.

  Paula looked from one to the other. 'Which am I to take as guide?' sheasked. 'Are Perpendicular capitals undercut, as you call it, Mr. Havill,or no?'

  'It depends upon circumstances,' said Mr. Havill.

  But Somerset had answered at the same time: 'There is seldom or neverany marked undercutting in moulded work later than the middle of thefourteenth century.'

  Havill looked keenly at Somerset for a time: then he turned to Paula:'As regards that fine Saxon vaulting you did me the honour to consult meabout the other day, I should advise taking out some of the old stonesand reinstating new ones exactly like them.'

  'But the new ones won't be Saxon,' said Paula. 'And then in time tocome, when I have passed away, and those stones have become stained likethe rest, people will be deceived. I should prefer an honest patch toany such make-believe of Saxon relics.'

  As she concluded she let her eyes rest on Somerset for a moment, as ifto ask him to side with her. Much as he liked talking to Paula, hewould have preferred not to enter into this discussion with anotherprofessional man, even though that man were a spurious article; but hewas led on to enthusiasm by a sudden pang of regret at finding that themasterly workmanship in this fine castle was likely to be tinkered andspoilt by such a man as Havill.

  'You will deceive nobody into believing that anything is Saxon here,' hesaid warmly. 'There is not a square inch of Saxon work, as it is called,in the whole castle.'

  Paula, in doubt, looked to Mr. Havill.

  'O yes, sir; you are quite mistaken,' said that gentleman slowly. 'Everystone of those lower vaults was reared in Saxon times.'

  'I can assure you,' said Somerset deferentially, but firmly, 'that thereis not an arch or wall in this castle of a date anterior to the year1100; no one whose attention has ever been given to the study ofarchitectural details of that age can be of a different opinion.'

  'I have studied architecture, and I am of a different opinion. I havethe best reason in the world for the difference, for I have historyherself on my side. What will you say when I tell you that it is arecorded fact that this was used as a castle by the Romans, and that itis mentioned in Domesday as a building of long standing?'

  'I shall say that has nothing to do with it,' replied the young man.'I don't deny that there may have been a castle here in the time ofthe Romans: what I say is, that none of the architecture we now see wasstanding at that date.'

  There was a silence of a minute, disturbed only by a murmured dialoguebetween Mrs. Goodman and the minister, during which Paula was lookingthoughtfully on the table as if framing a question.

  'Can it be,' she said to Somerset, 'that such certainty has been reachedin the study of architectural dates? Now, would you really risk anythingon your belief? Would you agree to be shut up in the vaults and fed uponbread and water for a week if I could prove you wrong?'

  'Willingly,' said Somerset. 'The date of those towers and arches ismatter of absolute certainty from the details. That they should havebeen built before the Conquest is as unlikely as, say, that therustiest old gun with a percussion lock should be older than the date ofWaterloo.'

  'How I wish I knew something precise of an art which makes one soindependent of written history!'

  Mr. Havill had lapsed into a mannerly silence that was only sullennessdisguised. Paula turned her conversation to Miss De Stancy, who hadsimply looked from one to the other during the discussion, though shemight have been supposed to have a prescriptive right to a few remarkson the matter. A commonplace talk ensued, till Havill, who had notjoined in it, privately began at Somerset again with a mixed manner ofcordiality, contempt, and misgiving.

  'You have a practice, I suppose, sir?'

  'I am not in practice just yet.'

  'Just beginning?'

  'I am about to begin.'

  'In London, or near here?'

  'In London probably.'

  'H'm.... I am practising in Markton.'

  'Indeed. Have you been at it long?'

  'Not particularly. I designed the chapel built by this lady's latefather; it was my first undertaking--I owe my start, in fact, to Mr.Power. Ever build a chapel?'

  'Never. I have sketched a good many churches.'

  'Ah--there we differ. I didn't do much sketching in my youth, nor have Itime for it now. Sketching and building are two different things, to mymind. I was not brought up to the profession--got into it through sheerlove of it. I began as a landscape gardener, then I became a builder,then I was a road contractor. Every architect might do worse than havesome such experience. But nowadays 'tis the men who can draw prettypictures who get recommended, not the practical men. Young prigs winInstitute medals for a pretty design or two which, if anybody triedto build them, would fall down like a house of cards; then they gettravelling studentships and what not, and then they start as architectsof some new school or other, and think they are the masters of usexperienced ones.'

  While Somerset was reflecting how far this statement was true, he heardthe voice of Paula inquiring, 'Who can he be?'

  Her eyes were bent on the window. Looking out, Somerset saw in the meadbeyond the dry ditch, Dare, with his photographic apparatus.

  'He is the young gentleman who called about taking views of the castle,'said Charlotte.

  'O yes--I remember; it is quite right. He met me in the village andasked me to suggest him some views. I thought him a respectable youngfellow.'

  'I think he is a Canadian,' said Somerset.

  'No,' said Paula, 'he is from the East--at least he implied so to me.'

  'There is Italian blood in him,' said Charlotte brightly. 'For he spoketo me with an Italian accent. But I can't think whether he is a boy or aman.'

  'It is to be earnestly hoped that the gentleman does not prevaricate,'said the minister, for the first time attracted by the subject. 'Iaccidentally met him in the lane, and he said something to me abouthaving lived in Malta. I think it was Malta, or Gibraltar--even if hedid not say that he was born there.'

  'His manners are no credit to his nationality,' observed Mrs. Goodman,also speaking publicly for the first time. 'He asked me this morning tosend him out a pail of water for his process, and before I had turnedaway he began whistling. I don't like whistlers.'

  'Then it appears,' said Somerset, 'that he is a being of no age, nonationality, and no behaviour.'

  'A complete negative,' added Havill, brightening into a civil sneer.'That is, he would be, if he were not a maker of negatives well known inMarkton.'

  'Not well known, Mr. Havill,' answered Mrs. Goodman firmly. 'For I livedin Markton for thirty years ending three months ago, and he was neverheard of in my time.'

  'He is something like you, Charlotte,' said Paula, smiling playfully onher companion.

  All the men looked at Charlotte, on whose face a delicate nervous blushthereupon made its appearance.

  ''Pon my word there is a likeness, now I think of it,' said Havill.

  Paula bent down to Charlotte and whispered: 'Forgive my rudeness, dear.He is not a nice enough person to be like you. He is really more likeone or other of the old pictures about the house. I forget which, andreally it does not matter.'

  'People's features fall naturally into groups and classes,' remarkedSomerset. 'To an observant person they often repeat themselves; thoughto a careless eye they seem infinite in their differences.'

  The conversation flagged, and they idly observed the figure of thecosmopolite Dare as he walked round his instrument in the mead andbusied himself with an arrangement of curtains and lenses, occasionallywithdrawing a few steps, and looking contemplatively at the towers andwalls.