Miss Joliffe must have had a protracted conversation with Lord
Blandamer. To Anastasia, waiting in the kitchen, it seemed as if her
aunt would never come down. She devoted herself to "Northanger Abbey"
with fierce resolution, but though her eyes followed the lines of type,
she had no idea what she was reading, and found herself at last turning
the pages so frequently and with so much rustling as to disturb her own
reverie. Then she shut the book with a bang, got up from her chair, and
paced the kitchen till her aunt came back.
Miss Joliffe was full of the visitor's affability.
"It is _always_ the way with these really great people, my dear," she
said with effusion. "I have _always_ noticed that the nobility are
condescending; they adapt themselves so entirely to their surroundings."
Miss Joliffe fell into a common hyperbole in qualifying an isolated
action as a habit. She had never before been brought face to face with
a peer, yet she represented her first impression of Lord Blandamer's
manner as if it were a mature judgment based upon long experience of
those of his rank and position.
"I insisted on his using the presentation inkstand, and took away that
shabby little black thing; and I could see at once that the silver one
was far more like what he had been accustomed to use. He seemed to know
something about us, and even asked if the young lady who had shown him
in was my niece. That was you; he meant you, Anastasia; he asked if it
was _you_. I think he must have met dear Martin somewhere, but I really
was so agitated by such a very unexpected visit that I scarcely took in
all he said. Yet he was so careful all the time to put me at my ease
that at last I ventured to ask him if he would take some light
refreshment. `My lord,' I said, `may I be so bold as to offer your
lordship a cup of tea? It would be a great honour if you would partake
of our humble hospitality.' And what _do_ you think he answered, my
dear? `Miss Joliffe'--and he had such a winning look--`there is nothing
I should like better. I am very tired with walking about in the church,
and have still some little time to wait, for I am going to London by the
evening train.' Poor young man! (for Lord Blandamer was still young in
Cullerne, which had only known his octogenarian predecessor) he is no
doubt called to London on some public business--the House of Lords, or
the Court, or something like that. I wish he would take as much care of
himself as he seems to take for others. He looks so very tired, and a
sad face too, Anastasia, and yet is most considerate. `I should like a
cup of tea very much'--those were his exact words--`but you must not
trouble to come all the way upstairs again to bring it to me. Let me
come down and take it with you.'
"`Forgive me, my lord,' was my answer, `but I could not permit that.
Our establishment is much too homely, and I shall feel it a privilege to
wait on you, if you will kindly excuse my walking-clothes, as I have
just come back from an afternoon meeting. My niece often wishes to
relieve me, but I tell her my old legs are more active than her young
ones even still.'"
Anastasia's cheeks were red, but she said nothing, and her aunt went on:
"So I will take him some tea at once. You can make it, my dear, if you
like, but put a great deal more in than we use ourselves. The upper
classes have no call to practise economy in such matters, and he is no
doubt used to take his tea very strong. I think Mr Sharnall's teapot
is the best, and I will get out the silver sugar-tongs and one of the
spoons with the `J' on them."
As Miss Joliffe was taking up the tea, she met Westray in the hall. He
had just come back from the church, and was not a little concerned at
his landlady's greeting. She put down her tray, and, with a fateful
gesture and an "Oh, Mr Westray, what do you think?" beckoned him aside
into Mr Sharnall's room. His first impression was that some grave
accident had happened, that the organist was dead, or that Anastasia
Joliffe had sprained an ankle; and he was relieved to hear the true
state of affairs. He waited a few minutes while Miss Joliffe took the
visitor his tea, and then went upstairs himself.
Lord Blandamer rose.
"I must apologise," he said, "for making myself at home in your room;
but I hope your landlady may have explained who I am, and how I come to
take so great a liberty. I am naturally interested in Cullerne and all
that concerns it, and hope ere long to get better acquainted with the
place--and the people," he added as an after-thought. "At present I
know disgracefully little about it, but that is due to my having been
abroad for many years; I only came back a few months ago. But I need
not bother you with all this; what I really wanted was to ask you if you
would give me some idea of the scheme of restoration which it is
proposed to undertake at the minster. Until last week I had not heard
that anything of the kind was in contemplation."
His tone was measured, and a clear, deep, voice gave weight and
sincerity to his words. His clean-shaven face and olive complexion, his
regular features and dark eyebrows, suggested a Spaniard to Westray as
he spoke, and the impression was strengthened by the decorous and grave
courtesy of his manner.
"I shall be delighted to explain anything I can," said the architect,
and took down a bundle of plans and papers from a shelf.
"I fear I shall not be able to do much this evening," Lord Blandamer
said; "for I have to catch the train to London in a short time; but, if
you will allow me, I will take an early opportunity of coming over
again. We might then, perhaps, go to the church together. The building
has a great fascination for me, not only on account of its own
magnificence, but also from old associations. When I was a boy, and
sometimes a very unhappy boy, I used often to come over from Fording,
and spend hours rambling about the minster. Its winding staircases, its
dark wall-passages, its mysterious screens and stalls, brought me
romantic dreams, from which I think I have never entirely wakened. I am
told the building stands in need of extensive restoration, though to the
outsider it looks much the same as ever. It always had a dilapidated
air."
Westray gave a short outline of what it was considered should ultimately
be done, and of what it was proposed to attack for the present.
"You see, we have our work cut out for us," he said. "The transept roof
is undoubtedly the most urgent matter, but there are lots of other
things that cannot be left to themselves for long. I have grave doubts
about the stability of the tower, though my Chief doesn't share them to
anything like the same extent: and perhaps that is just as well, for we
are hampered on every side by lack of funds. They are going to have a
bazaar next week to try to give the thing a lift, but a hundred bazaars
would not produce half that is wanted."
"I gathered that there were difficulties of this kind," the visitor said
reflectively. "As I came out of the church after service to-day I met
the organist. He had no idea who I was, but gave his views very
strongly as to Lord Blandamer's responsibilities for things in general,
and for the organ in particular. We are, I suppose, under some sort of
moral obligation for the north transept, from having annexed it as a
burying-place. It used to be called, I fancy, the Blandamer Aisle."
"Yes, it is called so still," Westray answered. He was glad to see the
turn the conversation had taken, and hoped that a _deus ex machina_ had
appeared. Lord Blandamer's next question was still more encouraging.
"At what do you estimate the cost of the transept repairs?"
Westray ran through his papers till he found a printed leaflet with a
view of Cullerne Minster on the outside.
"Here are Sir George Farquhar's figures," he said. "This was a circular
that was sent everywhere to invite subscriptions, but it scarcely paid
the cost of printing. No one will give a penny to these things
nowadays. Here it is, you see--seven thousand eight hundred pounds for
the north transept."
There was a little pause. Westray did not look up, being awkwardly
conscious that the sum was larger than Lord Blandamer had anticipated,
and fearing that such an abrupt disclosure might have damped the
generosity of an intended contributor.
Lord Blandamer changed the subject.
"Who is the organist? I rather liked his manner, for all he took me so
sharply, if impersonally, to task. He seems a clever musician, but his
instrument is in a shocking state."
"He _is_ a very clever organist," Westray answered. It was evident that
Lord Blandamer was in a subscribing frame of mind, and if his generosity
did not extend to undertaking the cost of the transept, he might at
least give something towards the organ. The architect tried to do his
friend Mr Sharnall a service. "He is a very clever organist," he
repeated; "his name is Sharnall, and he lodges in this house. Shall I
call him? Would you like to ask him about the organ?"
"Oh no, not now; I have so little time; another day we can have a chat.
Surely a very little money--comparatively little money, I mean--would
put the organ in proper repair. Did they never approach my grandfather,
the late Lord Blandamer, on the question of funds for these
restorations?"
Westray's hopes of a contribution were again dashed, and he felt a
little contemptuous at such evasions. They came with an ill grace after
Lord Blandamer's needlessly affectionate panegyric of the church.
"Yes," he said; "Canon Parkyn, the Rector here, wrote to the late Lord
Blandamer begging for a subscription to the restoration fund for the
church, but never got any answer."
Westray flung something like a sneer into his tone, and was already
sorry for his ungracious words before he had finished speaking. But the
other seemed to take no offence, where some would have been offended.
"Ah," he said, "my grandfather was no doubt a very sad old man indeed.
I must go now, or I shall miss my train. You shall introduce me to Mr
Sharnall the next time I come to Cullerne; I have your promise,
remember, to take me over the church. Is it not so?"
"Yes--oh yes, certainly," Westray said, though with less cordiality
perhaps than he had used on the previous occasion. He was disappointed
that Lord Blandamer had promised no subscription, and accompanied him to
the foot of the stairs with much the same feelings as a shop-assistant
entertains for the lady who, having turned over goods for half an hour,
retreats with the promise that she will consider the matter and call
again.
Miss Joliffe had been waiting on the kitchen stairs, and so was able to
meet Lord Blandamer in the hall quite accidentally. She showed him out
of the front-door with renewed professions of respect, for she knew
nothing of his niggardly evasions of a subscription, and in her eyes a
lord was still a lord. He added the comble to all his graces and
courtesies by shaking her hand as he left the house, and expressing a
hope that she would be so kind as to give him another cup of tea, the
very next time he was in Cullerne.
The light was failing as Lord Blandamer descended the flight of steps
outside the door of Bellevue Lodge. The evening must have closed in
earlier than usual, for very soon after the visitor had gone upstairs
Anastasia found it too dark to read in the kitchen; so she took her
book, and sat in the window-seat of Mr Sharnall's room.
It was a favourite resort of hers, both when Mr Sharnall was out, and
also when he was at home; for he had known her from childhood, and liked
to watch the graceful girlish form as she read quietly while he worked
at his music. The deep window-seat was panelled in painted deal, and
along the side of it hung a faded cushion, which could be turned over on
to the sill when the sash was thrown up, so as to form a rest for the
arms of anyone who desired to look out on a summer evening.
The window was still open, though it was dusk; but Anastasia's head,
which just appeared above the sill, was screened from observation by a
low blind. This blind was formed of a number of little green wooden
slats, faded and blistered by the suns of many summers, and so arranged
that, by the turning of a brass, urn-shaped knob, they could be made to
open and afford a prospect of the outer world to anyone sitting inside.
It had been for some time too dark for Anastasia to read, but she still
sat in the window-seat; and as she heard Lord Blandamer come down the
stairs, she turned the brass urn so as to command a view of the street.
She felt herself blushing in the dusk, at the reiterated and voluminous
compliments which her aunt was paying in the hall. She blushed because
Westray's tone was too off-handed and easy towards so important a
personage to please her critical mood; and then she blushed again at her
own folly in blushing. The front-door shut at last, and the gaslight
fell on Lord Blandamer's active figure and straight, square shoulders as
he went down the steps. Three thousand years before, another maiden had
looked between the doorpost and the door, at the straight broad back of
another great stranger as he left her father's palace; but Anastasia was
more fortunate than Nausicaa, for there is no record that Ulysses cast
any backward glance as he walked down to the Phaeacian ship, and Lord
Blandamer did turn and look back.
He turned and looked back; he seemed to Anastasia to look between the
little blistered slats into her very eyes. Of course, he could not have
guessed that a very foolish girl, the niece of a very foolish landlady
in a very commonplace lodging-house, in a very commonplace country town,
was watching him behind a shutter; but he turned and looked, and
Anastasia stayed for half an hour after he had gone, thinking of the
hard and clean-cut face that she had seen for an instant in the
flickering gaslight.
It was a hard face, and as she sat in the dark with closed eyes, and saw
that face again and again in her mind, she knew that it was hard. It
was hard--it was almost cruel. No, it was not cruel, but only
recklessly resolved, with a resolution that would not swerve from
cruelty, if cruelty were needed to accomplish its purpose. Thus she
reasoned in the approved manner of fiction. She knew that such
reasonings were demanded of heroines. A heroine must be sadly unworthy
of her lofty role if she could not with a glance unmask even the most
enigmatic countenance, and trace the passions writ in it, clearly as a
page of "Reading without Tears." And was she, Anastasia, to fall short
in such a simple craft? No, she had measured the man's face in a
moment; it was resolved, even to cruelty. It was hard, but ah! how
handsome! and she remembered how the grey eyes had met hers and blinded
them with power, when she first saw him on the doorstep. Wondrous
musings, wondrous thought-reading, by a countrified young lady in her
teens; but is it not out of the mouths of babes and sucklings that
strength has been eternally ordained?
She was awakened from her reverie by the door being flung open, and she
leapt from her perch as Mr Sharnall entered the room.
"Heyday! heyday!" he said, "what have we here? Fire out, and window
open; missy dreaming of Sir Arthur Bedevere, and catching a cold--a very
poetic cold in the head."
His words jarred on her mood like the sharpening of a slate-pencil. She
said nothing, but brushed by him, shut the door behind her, and left him
muttering in the dark.
The excitement of Lord Blandamer's visit had overtaxed Miss Joliffe.
She took the gentlemen their supper--and Mr Westray was supping in Mr
Sharnall's room that evening--and assured Anastasia that she was not in
the least tired. But ere long she was forced to give up this pretence,
and to take refuge in a certain high-backed chair with ears, which stood
in a corner of the kitchen, and was only brought into use in illness or
other emergency. The bell rang for supper to be taken away, but Miss
Joliffe was fast asleep, and did not hear it. Anastasia was not allowed
to "wait" under ordinary circumstances, but her aunt must not be
disturbed when she was so tired, and she took the tray herself and went
upstairs.
"He is a striking-looking man enough," Westray was saying as she entered
the room; "but I must say he did not impress me favourably in other
respects. He spoke too enthusiastically about the church. It would
have sat on him with a very good grace if he had afterwards come down
with five hundred pounds, but ecstasies are out of place when a man
won't give a halfpenny to turn them into reality."
"He is a chip of the old block," said the organist.
"`_Leap year's February twenty-nine days,
And on the thirtieth Blandamer pays_.'
"That's a saw about here. Well, I rubbed it into him this afternoon,
and all the harder because I hadn't the least idea who he was."
There was a fierce colour in Anastasia's cheeks as she packed the dirty
plates and supper debris into the tray, and a fiercer feeling in her
heart. She tried hard to conceal her confusion, and grew more confused
in the effort. The organist watched her closely, without ever turning
his eyes in her direction. He was a cunning little man, and before the
table was cleared had guessed who was the hero of those dreams, from
which he had roused her an hour earlier.
Westray waved away with his hand a puff of smoke which drifted into his
face from Mr Sharnall's pipe.
"He asked me whether anyone had ever approached the old lord about the
restoration, and I said the Rector had written, and never got an
answer."
"It wasn't to the _old_ lord he wrote," Mr Sharnall cut in; "it was to
this very man. Didn't you know it was to this very man? No one ever
thought it worth ink and paper to write to _old_ Blandamer. I was the
only one, fool enough to do that. I had an appeal for the organ printed
once upon a time, and sent him a copy, and asked him to head the list.
After a bit he sent me a cheque for ten shillings and sixpence; and then
I wrote and thanked him, and said it would do very nicely to put a new
leg on the organ-stool if one should ever break. But he had the last
word, for when I went to the bank to cash the cheque, I found it
stopped."
Westray laughed with a thin and tinkling merriment that irritated
Anastasia more than an honest guffaw.
"When he stuck at seven thousand eight hundred pounds for the church, I
tried to give _you_ a helping hand with the organ. I told him you lived
in the house; would he not like to see you? `Oh no, not _now_,' he
said; `some other day.'"
"He is a chip of the old block," the organist said again bitterly.
"Gather figs of thistles, if you will, but don't expect money from
Blandamers."
Anastasia's thumb went into the curry as she lifted the dish, but she
did not notice it. She was only eager to get away, to place herself
outside the reach of these slanderous tongues, to hide herself where she
could unburden her heart of its bitterness. Mr Sharnall fired one more
shaft at her as she left the room.
"He takes after his grandfather in other ways besides close-fistedness.
The old man had a bad enough name with women, and this man has a worse.
They are a poor lot--lock, stock, and barrel."
Lord Blandamer had certainly been unhappy in the impression which he
created at Bellevue Lodge; a young lady had diagnosed his countenance as
hard and cruel, an architect had detected niggardliness in his
disposition, and an organist was resolved to regard him at all hazards
as a personal foe. It was fortunate indeed for his peace of mind that
he was completely unaware of this, but, then, he might not perhaps have
troubled much even if he had known all about it. The only person who
had a good word for him was Miss Euphemia Joliffe. She woke up flushed,
but refreshed, after her nap, and found the supper-things washed and put
away in their places.
"My dear, my dear," she said deprecatingly, "I am afraid I have been
asleep, and left all the work to you. You should not have done this,
Anastasia. You ought to have awakened me." The flesh was weak, and she
was forced to hold her hand before her mouth for a moment to conceal a
yawn; but her mind reverted instinctively to the great doings of the
day, and she said with serene reflection: "A very remarkable man, so
dignified and yet so affable, and _very_ handsome too, my dear."