TOWNLINSON & SHEPPARD
During the whole course of her interesting life--and she had always
found life interesting--Betty Vanderpoel decided that she had known
no experience more absorbing than this morning spent in going over the
long-closed and deserted portions of the neglected house. She had never
seen anything like the place, or as full of suggestion. The greater
part of it had simply been shut up and left to time and weather, both of
which had had their effects. The fine old red roof, having lost tiles,
had fallen into leaks that let in rain, which had stained and rotted
walls, plaster, and woodwork; wind and storm had beaten through broken
window panes and done their worst with such furniture and hangings as
they found to whip and toss and leave damp and spotted with mould. They
passed through corridors, and up and down short or long stairways, with
stained or faded walls, and sometimes with cracked or fallen plastering
and wainscotting. Here and there the oak flooring itself was uncertain.
The rooms, whether large or small, all presented a like aspect of
potential beauty and comfort, utterly uncared for and forlorn. There
were many rooms, but none more than scantily furnished, and a number of
them were stripped bare. Betty found herself wondering how long a time
it had taken the belongings of the big place to dwindle and melt away
into such bareness.
“There was a time, I suppose, when it was all furnished,” she said.
“All these rooms were shut up when I came here,” Rosy answered. “I
suppose things worth selling have been sold. When pieces of furniture
were broken in one part of the house, they were replaced by things
brought from another. No one cared. Nigel hates it all. He calls it a
rathole. He detests the country everywhere, but particularly this part
of it. After the first year I had learned better than to speak to him of
spending money on repairs.”
“A good deal of money should be spent on repairs,” reflected Betty,
looking about her.
She was standing in the middle of a room whose walls were hung with
the remains of what had been chintz, covered with a pattern of loose
clusters of moss rosebuds. The dampness had rotted it until, in some
places, it had fallen away in strips from its fastenings. A quaint,
embroidered couch stood in one corner, and as Betty looked at it, a
mouse crept from under the tattered valance, stared at her in alarm
and suddenly darted back again, in terror of intrusion so unusual. A
casement window swung open, on a broken hinge, and a strong branch of
ivy, having forced its way inside, had thrown a covering of leaves over
the deep ledge, and was beginning to climb the inner woodwork. Through
the casement was to be seen a heavenly spread of country, whose rolling
lands were clad softly in green pastures and thick-branched trees.
“This is the Rosebud Boudoir,” said Lady Anstruthers, smiling faintly.
“All the rooms have names. I thought them so delightful, when I first
heard them. The Damask Room--the Tapestry Room--the White Wainscot
Room--My Lady's Chamber. It almost broke my heart when I saw what they
looked like.”
“It would be very interesting,” Betty commented slowly, “to make them
look as they ought to look.”
A remote fear rose to the surface of the expression in Lady Anstruthers'
eyes. She could not detach herself from certain recollections of
Nigel--of his opinions of her family--of his determination not to allow
it to enter as a factor in either his life or hers. And Betty had come
to Stornham--Betty whom he had detested as a child--and in the course of
two days, she had seemed to become a new part of the atmosphere, and to
make the dead despair of the place begin to stir with life. What other
thing than this was happening as she spoke of making such rooms as the
Rosebud Boudoir “look as they ought to look,” and said the words not
as if they were part of a fantastic vision, but as if they expressed a
perfectly possible thing?
Betty saw the doubt in her eyes, and in a measure, guessed at its
meaning. The time to pause for argument had, however not arrived. There
was too much to be investigated, too much to be seen. She swept her on
her way. They wandered on through some forty rooms, more or less; they
opened doors and closed them; they unbarred shutters and let the sun
stream in on dust and dampness and cobwebs. The comprehension of the
situation which Betty gained was as valuable as it was enlightening.
The descent into the lower part of the house was a new experience. Betty
had not before seen huge, flagged kitchens, vaulted servants' halls,
stone passages, butteries and dairies. The substantial masonry of the
walls and arched ceilings, the stone stairway, and the seemingly
endless offices, were interestingly remote in idea from such domestic
modernities as chance views of up-to-date American household workings
had provided her.
In the huge kitchen itself, an elderly woman, rolling pastry, paused to
curtsy to them, with stolid curiosity in her heavy-featured face. In her
character as “single-handed” cook, Mrs. Noakes had sent up uninviting
meals to Lady Anstruthers for several years, but she had not seen her
ladyship below stairs before. And this was the unexpected arrival--the
young lady there had been “talk of” from the moment of her appearance.
Mrs. Noakes admitted with the grudgingness of a person of uncheerful
temperament, that looks like that always would make talk. A certain
degree of vague mental illumination led her to agree with Robert, the
footman, that the stranger's effectiveness was, perhaps, also, not
altogether a matter of good looks, and certainly it was not an affair
of clothes. Her brightish blue dress, of rough cloth, was nothing
particular, notwithstanding the fit of it. There was “something else
about her.” She looked round the place, not with the casual indifference
of a fine young lady, carelessly curious to see what she had not seen
before, but with an alert, questioning interest.
“What a big place,” she said to her ladyship. “What substantial walls!
What huge joints must have been roasted before such a fireplace.”
She drew near to the enormous, antiquated cooking place.
“People were not very practical when this was built,” she said. “It
looks as if it must waste a great deal of coal. Is it----?” she looked
at Mrs. Noakes. “Do you like it?”
There was a practical directness in the question for which Mrs. Noakes
was not prepared. Until this moment, it had apparently mattered little
whether she liked things or not. The condition of her implements of
trade was one of her grievances--the ancient fireplace and ovens the
bitterest.
“It's out of order, miss,” she answered. “And they don't use 'em like
this in these days.”
“I thought not,” said Miss Vanderpoel.
She made other inquiries as direct and significant of the observing eye,
and her passage through the lower part of the establishment left Mrs.
Noakes and her companions in a strange but not unpleasurable state of
ferment.
“Think of a young lady that's never had nothing to do with kitchens,
going straight to that shameful old fireplace, and seeing what it meant
to the woman that's got to use it. 'Do you like it?' she says. If she'd
been a cook herself, she couldn't have put it straighter. She's got
eyes.”
“She's been using them all over the place,” said Robert. “Her and her
ladyship's been into rooms that's not been opened for years.”
“More shame to them that should have opened 'em,” remarked Mrs. Noakes.
“Her ladyship's a poor, listless thing--but her spirit was broken long
ago.
“This one will mend it for her, perhaps,” said the man servant. “I
wonder what's going to happen.”
“Well, she's got a look with her--the new one--as if where she was
things would be likely to happen. You look out. The place won't seem so
dead and alive if we've got something to think of and expect.”
“Who are the solicitors Sir Nigel employs?” Betty had asked her sister,
when their pilgrimage through the house had been completed.
Messrs. Townlinson & Sheppard, a firm which for several generations
had transacted the legal business of much more important estates than
Stornham, held its affairs in hand. Lady Anstruthers knew nothing of
them, but that they evidently did not approve of the conduct of their
client. Nigel was frequently angry when he spoke of them. It could be
gathered that they had refused to allow him to do things he wished to
do--sell things, or borrow money on them.
“I think we must go to London and see them,” Betty suggested.
Rosy was agitated. Why should one see them? What was there to be
spoken of? Their going, Betty explained would be a sort of visit of
ceremony--in a measure a precaution. Since Sir Nigel was apparently not
to be reached, having given no clue as to where he intended to go, it
might be discreet to consult Messrs. Townlinson & Sheppard with regard
to the things it might be well to do--the repairs it appeared necessary
to make at once. If Messrs. Townlinson & Sheppard approved of the doing
of such work, Sir Nigel could not resent their action, and say that in
his absence liberties had been taken. Such a course seemed businesslike
and dignified.
It was what Betty felt that her father would do. Nothing could be
complained of, which was done with the knowledge and under the sanction
of the family solicitors.
“Then there are other things we must do. We must go to shops and
theatres. It will be good for you to go to shops and theatres, Rosy.”
“I have nothing but rags to wear,” answered Lady Anstruthers, reddening.
“Then before we go we will have things sent down. People can be sent
from the shops to arrange what we want.”
The magic of the name, standing for great wealth, could, it was true,
bring to them, not only the contents of shops, but the people who showed
them, and were ready to carry out any orders. The name of Vanderpoel
already stood, in London, for inexhaustible resource. Yes, it was simple
enough to send for politely subservient saleswomen to bring what one
wanted.
The being reminded in every-day matters of the still real existence of
the power of this magic was the first step in the rebuilding of Lady
Anstruthers. To realise that the wonderful and yet simple necromancy
was gradually encircling her again, had its parallel in the taking of
a tonic, whose effect was cumulative. She herself did not realise the
working of it. But Betty regarded it with interest. She saw it was good
for her, merely to look on at the unpacking of the New York boxes, which
the maid, sent for from London, brought down with her.
As the woman removed, from tray after tray, the tissue-paper-enfolded
layers of garments, Lady Anstruthers sat and watched her with normal,
simply feminine interest growing in her eyes. The things were made
with the absence of any limit in expenditure, the freedom with delicate
stuffs and priceless laces which belonged only to her faint memories of
a lost past.
Nothing had limited the time spent in the embroidering of this
apparently simple linen frock and coat; nothing had restrained the
hand holding the scissors which had cut into the lace which adorned in
appliques and filmy frills this exquisitely charming ball dress.
“It is looking back so far,” she said, waving her hand towards them with
an odd gesture. “To think that it was once all like--like that.”
She got up and went to the things, turning them over, and touching them
with a softness, almost expressing a caress. The names of the makers
stamped on bands and collars, the names of the streets in which their
shops stood, moved her. She heard again the once familiar rattle of
wheels, and the rush and roar of New York traffic.
Betty carried on the whole matter with lightness. She talked easily
and casually, giving local colour to what she said. She described the
abnormally rapid growth of the places her sister had known in her teens,
the new buildings, new theatres, new shops, new people, the later
mode of living, much of it learned from England, through the unceasing
weaving of the Shuttle.
“Changing--changing--changing. That is what it is always doing--America.
We have not reached repose yet. One wonders how long it will be before
we shall. Now we are always hurrying breathlessly after the next
thing--the new one--which we always think will be the better one. Other
countries built themselves slowly. In the days of their building, the
pace of life was a march. When America was born, the march had already
begun to hasten, and as a nation we began, in our first hour, at the
quickening speed. Now the pace is a race. New York is a kaleidoscope.
I myself can remember it a wholly different thing. One passes down a
street one day, and the next there is a great gap where some building
is being torn down--a few days later, a tall structure of some sort
is touching the sky. It is wonderful, but it does not tend to calm the
mind. That is why we cross the Atlantic so much. The sober, quiet-loving
blood our forbears brought from older countries goes in search of rest.
Mixed with other things, I feel in my own being a resentment
against newness and disorder, and an insistence on the atmosphere of
long-established things.”
But for years Lady Anstruthers had been living in the atmosphere of
long-established things, and felt no insistence upon it. She yearned to
hear of the great, changing Western world--of the great, changing city.
Betty must tell her what the changes were. What were the differences
in the streets--where had the new buildings been placed? How had Fifth
Avenue and Madison Avenue and Broadway altered? Were not Gramercy
Park and Madison Square still green with grass and trees? Was it all
different? Would she not know the old places herself? Though it seemed a
lifetime since she had seen them, the years which had passed were really
not so many.
It was good for her to talk and be talked to in this manner Betty saw.
Still handling her subject lightly, she presented picture after picture.
Some of them were of the wonderful, feverish city itself--the place
quite passionately loved by some, as passionately disliked by others.
She herself had fallen into the habit, as she left childhood behind her,
of looking at it with interested wonder--at its riot of life and power,
of huge schemes, and almost superhuman labours, of fortunes so colossal
that they seemed monstrosities in their relation to the world. People
who in Rosalie's girlhood had lived in big ugly brownstone fronts, had
built for themselves or for their children, houses such as, in other
countries, would have belonged to nobles and princes, spending fortunes
upon their building, filling them with treasures brought from foreign
lands, from palaces, from art galleries, from collectors. Sometimes
strange people built such houses and lived strange lavish, ostentatious
lives in them, forming an overstrained, abnormal, pleasure-chasing world
of their own. The passing of even ten years in New York counted itself
almost as a generation; the fashions, customs, belongings of twenty
years ago wore an air of almost picturesque antiquity.
“It does not take long to make an 'old New Yorker,'” she said. “Each
day brings so many new ones.”
There were, indeed, many new ones, Lady Anstruthers found. People who
had been poor had become hugely rich, a few who had been rich had
become poor, possessions which had been large had swelled to unnatural
proportions. Out of the West had risen fortunes more monstrous than all
others. As she told one story after another, Bettina realised, as she
had done often before, that it was impossible to enter into description
of the life and movements of the place, without its curiously involving
some connection with the huge wealth of it--with its influence, its
rise, its swelling, or waning.
“Somehow one cannot free one's self from it. This is the age of
wealth and invention--but of wealth before all else. Sometimes one is
tired--tired of it.”
“You would not be tired of it if--well, if you were I, said Lady
Anstruthers rather pathetically.
“Perhaps not,” Betty answered. “Perhaps not.”
She herself had seen people who were not tired of it in the sense in
which she was--the men and women, with worn or intently anxious faces,
hastening with the crowds upon the pavements, all hastening somewhere,
in chase of that small portion of the wealth which they earned by their
labour as their daily share; the same men and women surging towards
elevated railroad stations, to seize on places in the homeward-bound
trains; or standing in tired-looking groups, waiting for the approach of
an already overfull street car, in which they must be packed together,
and swing to the hanging straps, to keep upon their feet. Their way of
being weary of it would be different from hers, they would be weary
only of hearing of the mountains of it which rolled themselves up, as it
seemed, in obedience to some irresistible, occult force.
On the day after Stornham village had learned that her ladyship and Miss
Vanderpoel had actually gone to London, the dignified firm of Townlinson
& Sheppard received a visit which created some slight sensation in
their establishment, though it had not been entirely unexpected. It had,
indeed, been heralded by a note from Miss Vanderpoel herself, who
had asked that the appointment be made. Men of Messrs. Townlinson &
Sheppard's indubitable rank in their profession could not fail to know
the significance of the Vanderpoel name. They knew and understood its
weight perfectly well. When their client had married one of Reuben
Vanderpoel's daughters, they had felt that extraordinary good fortune
had befallen him and his estate. Their private opinion had been that Mr.
Vanderpoel's knowledge of his son-in-law must have been limited, or
that he had curiously lax American views of paternal duty. The firm was
highly reputable, long established strictly conservative, and somewhat
insular in its point of view. It did not understand, or seek
to understand, America. It had excellent reasons for thoroughly
understanding Sir Nigel Anstruthers. Its opinions of him it reserved
to itself. If Messrs. Townlinson & Sheppard had been asked to give a
daughter into their client's keeping, they would have flatly refused to
accept the honour proposed. Mr. Townlinson had, indeed, at the time of
the marriage, admitted in strict confidence to his partner that for his
part he would have somewhat preferred to follow a daughter of his own to
her tomb. After the marriage the firm had found the situation confusing
and un-English. There had been trouble with Sir Nigel, who had plainly
been disappointed. At first it had appeared that the American magnate
had shown astuteness in refraining from leaving his son-in-law a free
hand. Lady Anstruthers' fortune was her own and not her husband's. Mr.
Townlinson, paying a visit to Stornham and finding the bride a gentle,
childish-looking girl, whose most marked expression was one of growing
timorousness, had returned with a grave face. He foresaw the result, if
her family did not stand by her with firmness, which he also foresaw her
husband would prevent if possible. It became apparent that the family
did not stand by her--or were cleverly kept at a distance. There was
a long illness, which seemed to end in the seclusion from the world,
brought about by broken health. Then it was certain that what Mr.
Townlinson had foreseen had occurred. The inexperienced girl had been
bullied into submission. Sir Nigel had gained the free hand, whatever
the means he had chosen to employ. Most improper--most improper, the
whole affair. He had a great deal of money, but none of it was used for
the benefit of the estate--his deformed boy's estate. Advice, dignified
remonstrance, resulted only in most disagreeable scenes. Messrs.
Townlinson & Sheppard could not exceed certain limits. The manner
in which the money was spent was discreditable. There were avenues
a respectable firm knew only by rumour, there were insane gambling
speculations, which could only end in disaster, there were things one
could not decently concern one's self with. Lady Anstruthers' family
had doubtless become indignant and disgusted, and had dropped the whole
affair. Sad for the poor woman, but not unnatural.
And now appears a Miss Vanderpoel, who wishes to appoint an interview
with Messrs. Townlinson & Sheppard. What does she wish to say? The
family is apparently taking the matter up. Is this lady an elder or a
younger sister of Lady Anstruthers? Is she an older woman of that strong
and rather trying American type one hears of, or is she younger than her
ladyship, a pretty, indignant, totally unpractical girl, outraged by
the state of affairs she has discovered, foolishly coming to demand
of Messrs. Townlinson & Sheppard an explanation of things they are not
responsible for? Will she, perhaps, lose her temper, and accuse and
reproach, or even--most unpleasant to contemplate--shed hysterical
tears?
It fell to Mr. Townlinson to receive her in the absence of Mr. Sheppard,
who had been called to Northamptonshire to attend to great affairs. He
was a stout, grave man with a heavy, well-cut face, and, when Bettina
entered his room, his courteous reception of her reserved his view of
the situation entirely.
She was not of the mature and rather alarming American type he had
imagined possible, he felt some relief in marking at once. She was also
not the pretty, fashionable young lady who might have come to scold him,
and ask silly, irrational questions.
His ordinarily rather unillumined countenance changed somewhat in
expression when she sat down and began to speak. Mr. Townlinson was
impressed by the fact that it was at once unmistakably evident that
whatsoever her reason for coming, she had not presented herself to ask
irrelevant or unreasonable questions. Lady Anstruthers, she explained
without superfluous phrase, had no definite knowledge of her husband's
whereabouts, and it had seemed possible that Messrs. Townlinson &
Sheppard might have received some information more recent that her own.
The impersonal framing of this inquiry struck Mr. Townlinson as being in
remarkably good taste, since it conveyed no condemnation of Sir Nigel,
and no desire to involve Mr. Townlinson in expressing any. It refrained
even from implying that the situation was an unusual one, which might
be open to criticism. Excellent reserve and great cleverness, Mr.
Townlinson commented inwardly. There were certainly few young ladies who
would have clearly realised that a solicitor cannot be called upon to
commit himself, until he has had time to weigh matters and decide upon
them. His long and varied experience had included interviews in which
charming, emotional women had expected him at once to “take sides.” Miss
Vanderpoel exhibited no signs of expecting anything of this kind, even
when she went on with what she had come to say. Stornham Court and
its surroundings were depreciating seriously in value through need of
radical repairs etc. Her sister's comfort was naturally involved, and,
as Mr. Townlinson would fully understand, her nephew's future. The
sooner the process of dilapidation was arrested, the better and with
the less difficulty. The present time was without doubt better than an
indefinite future. Miss Vanderpoel, having fortunately been able to come
to Stornham, was greatly interested, and naturally desirous of seeing
the work begun. Her father also would be interested. Since it was not
possible to consult Sir Nigel, it had seemed proper to consult his
solicitors in whose hands the estate had been for so long a time. She
was aware, it seemed, that not only Mr. Townlinson, but Mr. Townlinson's
father, and also his grandfather, had legally represented the
Anstruthers, as well as many other families. As there seemed no
necessity for any structural changes, and the work done was such as
could only rescue and increase the value of the estate, could there be
any objection to its being begun without delay?
Certainly an unusual young lady. It would be interesting to discover
how well she knew Sir Nigel, since it seemed that only a knowledge of
him--his temper, his bitter, irritable vanity, could have revealed
to her the necessity of the precaution she was taking without even
intimating that it was a precaution. Extraordinarily clever girl.
Mr. Townlinson wore an air of quiet, business-like reflection.
“You are aware, Miss Vanderpoel, that the present income from the
estate is not such as would justify anything approaching the required
expenditure?”
“Yes, I am aware of that. The expense would be provided for by my
father.”
“Most generous on Mr. Vanderpoel's part,” Mr. Townlinson commented. “The
estate would, of course, increase greatly in value.”
Circumstances had prevented her father from visiting Stornham, Miss
Vanderpoel explained, and this had led to his being ignorant of a
condition of things which he might have remedied. She did not explain
what the particular circumstances which had separated the families had
been, but Mr. Townlinson thought he understood. The condition existing
could be remedied now, if Messrs. Townlinson & Sheppard saw no obstacles
other than scarcity of money.
Mr. Townlinson's summing up of the matter expressed in effect that he
saw none. The estate had been a fine one in its day. During the last
sixty years it had become much impoverished. With conservative decorum
of manner, he admitted that there had not been, since Sir Nigel's
marriage, sufficient reason for the neglect of dilapidations. The firm
had strongly represented to Sir Nigel that certain resources should not
be diverted from the proper object of restoring the property, which
was entailed upon his son. The son's future should beyond all have been
considered in the dispensing of his mother's fortune.
He, by this time, comprehended fully that he need restrain no dignified
expression of opinion in his speech with this young lady. She had
come to consult with him with as clear a view of the proprieties and
discretions demanded by his position as he had himself. And yet each,
before the close of the interview, understood the point of view of the
other. What he recognised was that, though she had not seen Sir Nigel
since her childhood, she had in some astonishing way obtained an
extraordinary insight into his character, and it was this which had led
her to take her present step. She might not realise all she might have
to contend with, but her conservative and formal action had surrounded
her and her sister with a certain barrier of conventional protection, at
once self-controlled, dignified, and astutely intelligent.
“Since, as you say, no structural changes are proposed, such as an owner
might resent, and as Lady Anstruthers is the mother of the heir, and as
Lady Anstruthers' father undertakes to defray all expenditure, no sane
man could object to the restoration of the property. To do so would be
to cause public opinion to express itself strongly against him. Such
action would place him grossly in the wrong.” Then he added with
deliberation, realising that he was committing himself, and feeling
firmly willing to do so for reasons of his own, “Sir Nigel is a man who
objects strongly to putting himself--publicly--in the wrong.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Vanderpoel.
He had said this of intention for her enlightenment, and she was aware
that he had done so.
“This will not be the first time that American fortunes have restored
English estates,” Mr. Townlinson continued amiably. “There have been
many notable cases of late years. We shall be happy to place ourselves
at your disposal at all times, Miss Vanderpoel. We are obliged to you
for your consideration in the matter.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Vanderpoel again. “I wished to be sure that I
should not be infringing any English rule I had no knowledge of.”
“You will be infringing none. You have been most correct and courteous.”
Before she went away Mr. Townlinson felt that he had been greatly
enlightened as to what a young lady might know and be. She gave him
singularly clear details as to what was proposed. There was so much to
be done that he found himself opening his eyes slightly once or twice.
But, of course, if Mr. Vanderpoel was prepared to spend money in
a lavish manner, it was all to the good so far as the estate was
concerned. They were stupendous, these people, and after all the heir
was his grandson. And how striking it was that with all this power and
readiness to use it, was evidently combined, even in this beautiful
young person, the clearest business sense of the situation. What was
done would be for the comfort of Lady Anstruthers and the future of her
son. Sir Nigel, being unable to sell either house or lands, could not
undo it.
When Mr. Townlinson accompanied his visitor to her carriage with
dignified politeness he felt somewhat like an elderly solicitor who had
found himself drawn into the atmosphere of a sort of intensely modern
fairy tale. He saw two of his under clerks, with the impropriety of
middle-class youth, looking out of an office window at the dark blue
brougham and the tall young lady, whose beauty bloomed in the sunshine.
He did not, on the whole, wonder at, though he deplored, the conduct
of the young men. But they, of course, saw only what they colloquially
described to each other as a “rippin' handsome girl.” They knew nothing
of the interesting interview.
He himself returned to his private room in a musing mood and thought
it all over, his mind dwelling on various features of the international
situation, and more than once he said aloud:
“Most remarkable. Very remarkable, indeed.”