Part 10 (1/2)
”'Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height,”' he quoted, and touched her knee with his own.
She flushed again and said: ”What height?”
”'Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height, What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang), In height and in the splendour of the hills?'w Let us take Mrs. Honeychurch's advice and hate clergymen no more. What's this place?”
”Summer Street, of course,” said Lucy, and roused herself.
The woods had opened to leave s.p.a.ce for a sloping triangular meadow. Pretty cottages lined it on two sides, and the upper and third side was occupied by a new stone church, expensively simple, with a charming s.h.i.+ngled spire. Mr. Beebe's house was near the church. In height it scarcely exceeded the cottages. Some great mansions were at hand, but they were hidden in the trees. The scene suggested a Swiss Alp rather than the shrine and centre of a leisured world, and was marred only by two ugly little villas-the villas that had competed with Cecil's engagement, having been acquired by Sir Harry Otway the very afternoon that Lucy had been acquired by Cecil.
”Cissie” was the name of one of these villas, ”Albert” of the other. These t.i.tles were not only picked out in shaded Gothic on the garden gates, but appeared a second time on the porches, where they followed the semicircular curve of the entrance arch in block capitals. ”Albert” was inhabited. His tortured garden was bright with geraniums and lobelias and polished sh.e.l.ls. His little windows were chastely swathed in Nottingham lace. ”Cissie” was to let. Three notice-boards, belonging to Dorking agents, lolled on her fence and announced the not surprising fact. Her paths were already weedy; her pocket-handkerchief of a lawn was yellow with dandelions.
”The place is ruined!” said the ladies mechanically. ”Summer Street will never be the same again.”
As the carriage pa.s.sed, ”Cissie's” door opened, and a gentleman came out of her.
”Stop!” cried Mrs. Honeychurch, touching the coachman with her parasol. ”Here's Sir Harry. Now we shall know. Sir Harry, pull those things down at once!”
Sir Harry Otway-who need not be described-came to the carriage and said: ”Mrs. Honeychurch, I meant to. I can't, I really can't turn out Miss Flack.”
”Am I not always right? She ought to have gone before the contract was signed. Does she still live rent free, as she did in her nephew's time?”
”But what can I do?” He lowered his voice. ”An old lady, so very vulgar, and almost bedridden.”
”Turn her out,” said Cecil bravely.
Sir Harry sighed, and looked at the villas mournfully. He had had full warning of Mr. Flack's intentions, and might have bought the plot before building commenced: but he was apathetic and dilatory. He had known Summer Street for so many years that he could not imagine it being spoilt. Not till Mrs. Flack had laid the foundation stone, and the apparition of red and cream brick began to rise, did he take alarm. He called on Mr. Flack, the local builder,-a most reasonable and respectful man-who agreed that tiles would have made a more artistic roof, but pointed out that slates were cheaper. He ventured to differ, however, about the Corinthian columns which were to cling like leeches to the frames of the bow windows, saying that, for his part, he liked to relieve the facade by a bit of decoration. Sir Harry hinted that a column, if possible, should be structural as well as decorative. Mr. Flack replied that all the columns had been ordered, adding, ”and all the capitals different-one with dragons in the foliage, another approaching to the Ionian style, another introducing Mrs. Flack's initials-every one different.” For he had read his Ruskin. He built his villas according to his desire; and not until he had inserted an immovable aunt into one of them did Sir Harry buy.
This futile and unprofitable transaction filled the knight with sadness as he leant on Mrs. Honeychurch's carriage. He had failed in his duties to the country-side, and the country-side was laughing at him as well. He had spent money, and yet Summer Street was spoilt as much as ever. All he could do now was to find a desirable tenant for ”Cissie”-some one really desirable.
”The rent is absurdly low,” he told them, ”and perhaps I am an easy landlord. But it is such an awkward size. It is too large for the peasant cla.s.s, and too small for any one the least like ourselves.”
Cecil had been hesitating whether he should despise the villas or despise Sir Harry for despising them. The latter impulse seemed the more fruitful.
”You ought to find a tenant at once,” he said maliciously. ”It would be a perfect paradise for a bank clerk.”
”Exactly!” said Sir Harry excitedly. ”That is exactly what I fear, Mr. Vyse. It will attract the wrong type of people. The train service has improved-a fatal improvement, to my mind. And what are five miles from a station in these days of bicycles?”
”Rather a strenuous clerk it would be,” said Lucy.
Cecil, who had his full share of mediaeval mischievousness, replied that the physique of the lower middle cla.s.ses was improving at a most appalling rate. She saw that he was laughing at their harmless neighbour, and roused herself to stop him.
”Sir Harry!” she exclaimed. ”I have an idea. How would you like spinsters?”
”My dear Lucy, it would be splendid. Do you know any such?”
”Yes; I met them abroad.”
”Gentlewomen?” he asked tentatively.
”Yes, indeed, and at the present moment homeless. I heard from them last week-Miss Teresa and Miss Catharine Alan. I'm really not joking. They are quite the right people. Mr. Beebe knows them, too. May I tell them to write to you?”
”Indeed you may!” he cried. ”Here we are with the difficulty solved already. How delightful it is! Extra facilities-please tell them they shall have extra facilities, for I shall have no agents' fees. Oh, the agents! The appalling people they have sent me! One woman, when I wrote-a tactful letter, you know-asking her to explain her social position to me, replied that she would pay the rent in advance. As if one cares about that! And several references I took up were most unsatisfactory -people swindlers, or not respectable. And oh, the deceit! I have seen a good deal of the seamy side this last week. The deceit of the most promising people. My dear Lucy, the deceit!”
She nodded.
”My advice,” put in Mrs. Honeychurch, ”is to have nothing to do with Lucy and her decayed gentlewomen at all. I know the type. Preserve me from people who have seen better days, and bring heirlooms with them that make the house smell stuffy. It's a sad thing, but I'd far rather let to some one who is going up in the world than to some one who has come down.”
”I think I follow you,” said Sir Harry; ”but it is, as you say, a very sad thing.”
”The Miss Alans aren't that!” cried Lucy.
”Yes, they are,” said Cecil. ”I haven't met them but I should say they were a highly unsuitable addition to the neighbourhood.”
”Don't listen to him, Sir Harry-he's tiresome.”
”It's I who am tiresome,” he replied. ”I oughtn't to come with my troubles to young people. But really I am so worried, and Lady Otway will only say that I cannot be too careful, which is quite true, but no real help.”
”Then may I write to my Miss Alans?”
”Please!”
But his eye wavered when Mrs. Honeychurch exclaimed: ”Beware! They are certain to have canaries. Sir Harry, beware of canaries: they spit the seed out through the bars of the cages and then the mice come. Beware of women altogether. Only let to a man.”
”Really-” he murmured gallantly, though he saw the wisdom of her remark.
”Men don't gossip over tea-cups. If they get drunk, there's an end of them-they lie down comfortably and sleep it off. If they're vulgar, they somehow keep it to themselves. It doesn't spread so. Give me a man-of course, provided he's clean.”
Sir Harry blushed. Neither he nor Cecil enjoyed these open compliments to their s.e.x. Even the exclusion of the dirty did not leave them much distinction. He suggested that Mrs. Honeychurch, if she had time, should descend from the carriage and inspect ”Cissie” for herself. She was delighted. Nature had intended her to be poor and to live in such a house. Domestic arrangements always attracted her, especially when they were on a small scale.
Cecil pulled Lucy back as she followed her mother.
”Mrs. Honeychurch,” he said, ”what if we two walk home and leave you?”
”Certainly!” was her cordial reply.
Sir Harry likewise seemed almost too glad to get rid of them. He beamed at them knowingly, said, ”Aha! young people, young people!” and then hastened to unlock the house.
”Hopeless vulgarian!” exclaimed Cecil, almost before they were out of earshot.
”Oh, Cecil!”
”I can't help it. It would be wrong not to loathe that man.”
”He isn't clever, but really he is nice.”
”No, Lucy, he stands for all that is bad in country life. In London he would keep his place. He would belong to a brainless club, and his wife would give brainless dinner parties. But down here he acts the little G.o.d with his gentility, and his patronage, and his sham aesthetics, and every one-even your mother-is taken in.”
”All that you say is quite true,” said Lucy, though she felt discouraged. ”I wonder whether-whether it matters so very much.”
”It matters supremely. Sir Harry is the essence of that garden-party. Oh, goodness, how cross I feel! How I do hope he'll get some vulgar tenant in that villa-some woman so really vulgar that he'll notice it. Gentlefolks! Gentlefolks! Ugh! with his bald head and retreating chin! But let's forget him.” Ugh! with his bald head and retreating chin! But let's forget him.”