The Misses Mallett (The Bridge Dividing) Part 11

-- 2

This was not, she told herself, disloyalty to her mother, for had not that mother, whom she loved and painfully missed, sent her to this place? Her mother was generous and sweet; she would grudge no late-found allegiance to Reginald Mallett. Had she not said they must remember him at his best, and would she not be glad if Henrietta could find bits of that best in this old house, in the streets where he had walked, in the sights which had fed his eyes?

Henrietta started out, gently closing the front door behind her. The wide street was almost empty; a milkcart bearing the legend, 'Sales Hall Dairy,' was being drawn at an easy pace by a demure pony, his harness adorned with jingling bells. The milkman whistled and, as the cart stopped here and there, she missed the London milkman's harsh cry, and missed it pleasurably. This man was in no hurry, there was no impatience in his knock; the whole place seemed to be half asleep, except where children played on The Green under the old trees. This comparatively small s.p.a.ce, mounting in the distance to a little hill backed by the sky, was more wonderful to Henrietta than Hyde Park when the flowers were at their best. There were no flowers here; she saw gra.s.s, two old stone monuments, tall trees, a miniature cliff of grey rock, and sky. On three sides of The Green there were old houses and there were seats on the gra.s.s, but houses and seats had the air of being mere accidents to which the rest had grown accustomed, and it seemed to Henrietta that here, in spite of bricks, she was in the country. The trees, the gra.s.s, the rocks and sky were in possession.

She followed one of the small paths round the hill and found herself in a place so wonderful, so unexpected, that she caught back her breath and let it out again in low exclamations of delight. She was now on the other side of the hill and, though she did not know it, she was on the site of an ancient camp. The hill was flat-topped; there were still signs of the ramparts, but it was not on these she gazed.

Far below her was the river, flowing sluggishly in a deep ravine, formed on her right hand and as far as she could see by high grey cliffs. These for the most part were bare and sheer, but they gave way now and then to a gentler slope with a rich burden of trees, while, on the other side of the river, it was the rocks that seemed to encroach on the trees, for the wall of the gorge, almost to the water's edge, was thick with woods. Here and there, on either cliff, a sudden red splash of rock showed like an unhealed wound, amid the healthier grey.

And all around her there seemed to be limitless sky, huge fluffy clouds and gulls as white.

At the edge of the cliff where she stood, gorse bushes bloomed and, looking to the left, she saw the slender line of a bridge swung high across the abyss. Beyond it the cliffs lessened into banks, then into meadows studded with big elms and, on the city side, there were houses red and grey, as though the rocks had simply changed their shapes. The houses were cl.u.s.tered close to the water, they rose in terraces and trees mingled with their chimneys. Below there were intricate waterways, little bridges, warehouses and ships and, high up, the fairy bridge, delicate and poised, was like a barrier between that place of business and activity and this, where Henrietta stood with the trees, the cliffs, the swooping gulls. It was low tide and the river was bordered by banks of mud, grey too, yet opalescent. It almost reflected the startling white of the gulls' wings and, as she looked at it, she saw that its colour was made up of many; there was pink in it and blue and, as a big cloud pa.s.sed over the sun, it became subtly purple; it was a palette of subdued and tender shades.

Henrietta heaved a sigh. This was too much. She could look at it but she could not see it all. Yet this marvellous place belonged to her, and she knew now whence had come the glamour in the stories her father had told her when she was a child. It had come from here, where an aged city had tried to conquer the country and had failed, for the spirit of woods and open s.p.a.ces, of water and trees and wind, survived among the very roofs. The conventions of the centuries, the convention of puritanism, of worldliness, of impiety, of materialism and of charity had all a.s.sailed and all fallen back before the strength of the apparently peaceful country in which the city stood. The air was soft with a peculiar, undermining softness; it carried with it a smell of flowers and fruit and earth, and if all the many miles on the farther side of the bridge should be ravished by men's hands, covered with buildings and strewn with the ugly luxuries they thought they needed, the spirit would remain in the tainted air and the imprisoned earth. It would whisper at night at the windows, it would smile invisibly under the sun, it would steal into men's minds and work its will upon them. And already Henrietta felt its power. She was in a new world, dull but magical, torpid yet alert.

She turned away and, walking down another little path threaded through the rocks, she stood at the entrance to the bridge and watched people on foot, people on bicycles, people in carts coming and going over it.

She could not cross herself for she had not a penny in her pocket, but she stood there gazing and sometimes looking down at the road two hundred feet below. This made her slightly giddy and the people down there had too much the appearance of pigmies with legs growing from their necks, going about perfectly unimportant business with a great deal of fuss. It was pleasanter to see these country people in their carts, school-girls with plaits down their backs, rosy children in perambulators and an exceedingly handsome man on a fine black horse, a fair man, bronzed like a soldier, riding as though he had done it all his life.

She looked at him with admiration for his looks and envy for his possessions, for that horse, that somewhat sulky ease. And it was quite possible that he was an acquaintance of her aunts! She laughed away her awed astonishment. Why, her own father had been such as he, though she had never seen him on a horse. She had, after all, to adjust her views a little, to remember that she was a Mallett, a member of an honoured Radstowe family, the granddaughter of a General, the daughter of a gentleman, though a scamp. She was ashamed of the something approaching reverence with which she had looked at the man on the horse, but she was also ashamed of her shame; in fact, to be ashamed at all was, she felt, a degradation, and she cast the feeling from her.

Here was not only a new world but a new life, a new starting point; she must be equal to the place, the opportunity and the occasion; she was, she told herself, equal to them all.

In this self-confident mood she returned to Nelson Lodge and found Caroline, in a different frock, seated behind the tea-table and in the act of putting the tea into the pot.

'Just in time,' she remarked, and added with intense interest, 'You have brushed back your hair. Excellent! Look, Sophia, what an improvement! And more like Reginald than ever. Take off your hat, child, and let us see. My dear, I was going to tell you, when I knew you better, that those curls made you look like an organ-grinder.

Don't hush me, Sophia; I always say what I think.'

Henrietta was hurt; this, though Caroline did not know it, was a rebuff to the mother who loved the curls; but the daughter would not betray her sensibility, and as Rose was not present she dared to say, 'An organ-grinder with square feet.'

'Oh, you heard that, did you? Sophia said you would. Well, you must be careful about your shoes. Men always look at a woman's feet.' She displayed her own, elegantly arched, in l.u.s.trous stockings and very high-heeled slippers. 'Sophia and I--Sophia's are nearly, but not quite as good as mine--are they Sophia?--Sophia and I have always been particular about our feet. I remember a ball, when I was a girl, where one of my partners--he ended by marrying a ridiculously fat woman with feet like cannon b.a.l.l.s--insisted on calling me Cinderella because he said n.o.body else could have worn my shoes. Delightful creature! Do you remember, Sophia?'

Sophia remembered very well. He had called her Cinderella, too, for the same reason, but as Caroline had been the first to report the remark, Sophia had never cared to spoil her pleasure in it. And now Caroline did not wait for a reply, Rose entering at that moment, and her attention having to be called to the change in Henrietta's method of doing her hair. Henrietta stiffened at once, but Rose threw, as it were, a smile in her direction, and said, 'Yes, charming,' and helped herself to cake.

'And now,' said Caroline, settling herself for the most interesting subject in the world, 'your clothes, Henrietta.'

'I haven't any,' Henrietta said at once; 'but I think they'll do until I go away. I thought I should like to be a nurse, Aunt Caroline.'

'Nurse! Nonsense! What kind? Babies? Rubbish! You're going to stay here if you like us well enough, and we've made a little plan'--she nodded vigorously--'a little plan for you.'

'We ought to say at once,' Sophia interrupted with painful honesty, 'that it was Rose's idea.'

'Rose? Was it? I don't know. Anyhow, we're all agreed. You are to have a sum of money, child; yes, for your father's sake, and perhaps for your own too, a sum of money to bring you in a little income for your clothes and pleasures, so that you shall be independent like the rest of us. Yes, it's settled. I've written to our lawyer, James Batty. Did your father ever mention James Batty? But, of course, he wouldn't. He married a fat woman, too, but a good soul, with a high colour, poor thing. Don't say a word, child. You must be independent. Nursing! Bah!

And if we don't take care we shall have you marrying for a home.'

'This is your home,' Sophia said gently.

'No sentiment, Sophia, please. You're making the child cry. The Malletts don't marry, Henrietta. Look at us, as happy as the day is long, with all the fun and none of the trouble. We've been terrible flirts, Sophia and I. Rose is different, but at least she hasn't married. The three Miss Malletts of Nelson Lodge! Now there are four of us, and you must keep up our reputation.'

Overwhelmed by this generosity, by this kindness, Henrietta did not know what to say. She murmured something about her mother's wish that she should earn her living, but Caroline scouted the idea, and Sophia, putting her white hand on one of Henrietta's, a.s.sured her that her dear mother would be glad for her child to have the comforts of a home.

'I'm not used to them,' Henrietta said. 'I've always taken care of people. I shan't know what to do.'

They would find plenty for her to do; there were many gaieties in Radstowe and she would be welcomed everywhere. 'And now about your clothes,' Caroline repeated. 'You are wearing black, of course. Well, black can be very pretty, very French. Look at Rose. She rarely wears anything else, but when Sophia and I were about your age, she used to wear blue and I wore pink, or the other way round.'

'You do so still,' Rose remarked.

'A pink muslin,' Caroline went on in a sort of ecstasy, 'a Leghorn hat wreathed with pink roses--when was I wearing that, Sophia?'

'Last summer,' Rose said dryly.

'So I was,' Caroline agreed in a matter-of-fact voice. 'Now, Henrietta. Get a piece of paper and a pencil, Sophia, and we'll make a list.'

The discussion went on endlessly, long after Henrietta herself had tired of it. It was lengthened by the insertion of anecdotes of Caroline's and Sophia's youth, and hardly a colour or a material was mentioned which did not recall an incident which Henrietta found more interesting than her own sartorial affairs.

Rose had disappeared, and the dressing-bell was rung before the subject languished. It would never be exhausted, for Caroline, and even Sophia, less vivid than her sister in all but her affections, grew pink and bright-eyed in considering Henrietta's points. And all the time Henrietta had her own opinions, her own plans. She intended as far as possible to preserve her likeness to her father, which was, as it were, her stock-in-trade. She pictured herself, youthfully slim, gravely petulant, her round neck rising from a Byronic collar fastened with a broad, loose bow, and she fancied the society of Radstowe exclaiming with one voice, 'That must be Reginald Mallett's daughter!'

She was to learn, however, that in Radstowe the memories of Reginald Mallett were somewhat dim, and where they were clear they were neglected. It was generally a.s.sumed that his daughter would not care to have him mentioned, while praises of her aunts were constant and enthusiastic and people were kind to Henrietta, she discovered, for their sakes.

The stout and highly-coloured Mrs. Batty was an early caller. She arrived, rather wheezy, compressed by her tailor into an expensive gown, a basket of spring flowers on her head. She and Henrietta took to each other, as Mrs. Batty said, at once. Here was a motherly person, and Henrietta knew that if she could have Mrs. Batty to herself she would be able to talk more freely than she had done since her arrival in Radstowe. There would be no criticism from her, but unlimited good nature, a readiness to listen and to confide and a love for the details of operations and illnesses in which she had a kinship with Mrs. Banks. Indeed, though Mrs. Batty was fat where Mrs. Banks was thin, cheerful where she was gloomy, and in possession of a flourishing husband where Mrs. Banks irritably mourned the loss of a suicide, they had characteristics in common and the chief of these was the way in which they took to Henrietta.

'You must come to tea on Sunday,' Mrs. Batty said. 'We are always at home on Sunday afternoons after four o'clock. I have two big boys,'

she sighed, 'and all their friends are welcome then.' She lowered her voice. 'We don't allow tennis--the neighbours, you know, and James has clients looking out of every window--but there's no harm, as the boys say, in knocking the billiard b.a.l.l.s about. I must say the click carries a good way, so I tell the parlourmaid to shut the windows. And music--my boy Charles,' she sighed again, 'is mad on music. I like a tune myself, but he never plays any. You'll hear for yourself if you come on Sunday. Now you will come, won't you, Miss Henrietta?'

'Yes, she'll come,' Caroline said. 'Do her good to meet young people.

We're getting old in this house, Mrs. Batty,' and she guffawed in antic.i.p.ation of the usual denial, but for once Mrs. Batty failed. Her thoughts were at home, at Prospect House, that commodious family mansion situate in its own grounds, and in one of the most favourable positions in Upper Radstowe. So the advertis.e.m.e.nt had read before Mr.

Batty bought the property, and it was all true.

'John,' Mrs. Batty went on, 'is more for sport, though he's in the sugar business, with an uncle. Not my brother--Mr. Batty's.' She was anxious to give her husband all the credit. 'They are both good boys,'

she added, 'but Charles--well, you'll see on Sunday. You promise to come.'

Henrietta promised, and with Mrs. Batty's departure Caroline spoke her mind. She was convinced that the lawyer and his wife were determined to secure Henrietta as a daughter-in-law.

'He knows all our affairs, my dear, and James Batty never misses a chance of improving his position. Good as it is, it would be all the better for an alliance with our family, but I shall disown you at once if you marry one of those hobbledehoys. The Batty's, indeed! Why, Mrs.

Batty herself--'

'Caroline, don't!' Sophia pleaded. 'And I'm sure the young men are very nice young men, and if Henrietta should fall in love--'

'She won't get any of my money!' Caroline said.

'But Henrietta won't be in a hurry,' Sophia announced; and so, over her head, the two discussed her possible marriage as they had discussed her clothes, but with less interest and at less length and, as before, Henrietta had her own ideas. A rich man, a handsome one, a gay life; no more bas.e.m.e.nt kitchens, no more mutton bones! Already the influence of Nelson Lodge was making itself felt.

-- 3

It was at dinner that the charm of the house was most apparent To Henrietta. Even on these spring evenings the curtains were Drawn and the candles lighted, for Caroline said she could not Dine comfortably in daylight. The pale flames were repeated in The mahogany of the table; the tall candlesticks, the silver appointments, were reflected also in a blur, like a grey mist; the furniture against the walls became merged into the shadows and Susan, hovering there, was no more than an attentive spirit.

There was little talking at this meal, for Caroline and Sophia loved good food and it was very good. Occasionally Caroline murmured, 'Too much pepper,' or 'One more pinch of salt and this would have been perfect,' and bending over her plate, the diamonds in her ears sparkled to her movements, the rings on her fingers glittered; and opposite to her Sophia drooped, her pale hair looking almost white, the big sapphire cross on her breast gleaming richly, her resigned att.i.tude oddly at variance with the busy handling of her knife and fork.