A HOUSE-WARMING
Much has been written of the blessed state of them that go a
house-partying in England, and certain it is that no pleasanter pastime
has been devised by civilised man, and that in no other country in the
world has it been brought to a like degree of perfection.
Two great canons govern these functions, which it would be exceedingly
well did the hostesses of all lands "mark, learn and inwardly digest."
The first is that all guests are on speaking terms of intimacy with each
other from the time they arrive till they depart. My Lady may not know
you next time you meet her in Bond Street, and the Countess perchance
will have forgotten to put your name on her visiting list for the
remainder of this or any other season, but during the blessed interval
of your sojourn at that hospitable Hall in Berks, you knew them both,
and they were very gracious and charming. The second rule is none the
less framed for your comfort and convenience, and it reads: "Thou shalt
be in all things thine own master."
Most admirable of rules. The amusements of the place, and most English
country places are framed for some particular amusement, are put
unreservedly at your disposal. Are you on the Thames? Boats and boatmen
are at your beck and call. Are you North in the shooting season? A
keeper waits your orders. Do you hunt? Grooms and horses are yours to
command. But none of these things are you ever compelled to do. Should
you fear the water, though you are on an island, no one will ever
suggest to you the possibility of leaving it. While your ecclesiastical
host, Bishop though he be, would never take it for granted that you were
predisposed to week-day services and charity bazaars.
Mrs. Roberts was a perfect hostess, and there was no doubt that her
house would shortly be a favourite on many lists.
I say, "would be," advisedly, for she had quite recently come into the
possession of her own, which had been another's; a distant cousin, in
short, the last of his branch of the family, who had the good sense to
drink himself to death, shortly before the opening of this narrative,
and leave his fine old Elizabethan manor house to his very charming
relative, an action which did him no credit, because the estate was
entailed, and he could not help it.
Roberts Hall had more than one attraction: indeed, it was blessed with
an unusual number of delightful adjuncts for a country place, which does
not pretend to be a demesne. For one thing, a number of miles intervened
between the lodge gates and the Hall, and that, in England, is a great
consideration. As long as one has plenty of land, the manner of one's
habitation is of little account, while in America houses must be as
large or larger than one can afford, and if when they are built they
cover most of our land, we are none the worse off in our neighbour's
estimation.
The estate, moreover, could boast of many fallow fields, and more than
one avenue of fine old oaks, while it had a deer park of which many a
larger place might have been proud. There was also a private chapel, for
the use of the family and tenantry, boasting a great square family pew,
fenced round on two sides with queer little leaden-paned windows, giving
a view of the enclosure which contained the family monuments. It was
farther enriched by a pretentious piece of carving in high relief,
vigorously coloured, representing the resurrection, wherein generations
of defunct Roberts were depicted popping up, with no clothes on, out of
a pea-green field, much after the manner of the gopher of the prairie.
The gardens were extensive, including two artificial ponds, which for
age and solidity might have been constructed from the beginning,
tenanted by a number of swans, all very proud and controversial, and
surrounded by an eight-foot hedge of holly which was a crimson glory in
winter.
But if the place was fascinating without, it was still more so within.
It had a long low entrance hall with a tesselated pavement, panelled to
the ceiling with the blackest of oak, and boasting a rail screen of the
same material dividing the apartment, which many a church might have
envied. There was moreover a library filled with a priceless collection
of old volumes, chiefly perused, for some fifty years past, by the
rodents of the establishment.
Mrs. Roberts was in the great hall when Stanley arrived, and so received
him in person. She was a most vivacious little woman, to whom a long
sojourn on the Continent, coupled with a diplomatic marriage, had given
the touch of cosmopolitanism, which was all that had been needed to make
her perfect.
"I'm awfully glad to see you, though you are the last comer," she said
cordially. "The Marchioness and Lady Isabelle, under the escort of
Lieutenant Kingsland, reached here in time for lunch, and Miss
Fitzgerald came a few hours later, while Mr. Riddle has just driven
over."
"Mr. Riddle," asked the Secretary, "who is he?"
"Oh, Arthur Riddle, don't you know him? He is one of our county magnates
and a near neighbour. I hope you'll all like each other, but you must
realise that you have come to the veriest sort of pot-luck. I haven't
begun to get settled yet, or know where anything is."
"You speak as if you were a visitor," he said, laughing.
"Indeed, I feel so. I'm constantly getting lost in this rambling old
house, and having to be rescued by the butler."
"Have you really never been here before?"
"It's my first appearance. It was quite impossible to visit here during
the lifetime of the late owner. Why, I don't even know the traditions of
the place, and it positively teems with them. I shall organise you all
into an exploring party, with free permission to rummage from garret to
cellar."
"I suppose there's plenty to discover?"
"Discover! My dear Mr. Secretary, this place is fairly alive with
ghosts, and sliding panels, and revolving pictures; and there's a great
tiled, underground passage leading off from the kitchens into the
country somewhere, which everyone is afraid to explore, and which the
last incumbent had nailed up because it made him nervous."
"I hope you've reserved a nice cork-screwy staircase with a mouldering
skeleton at the top, for my especial discovery and delectation."
"First come, first served," she replied; "but there's something in this
very hall that's worthy of your mettle, the greatest prize puzzle a
hostess ever possessed, only I shan't forgive you if you solve it, for
it's one of the standard attractions of the house, and has amused guests
innumerable."
"Trot it out forthwith. I'm all impatience."
"I shall do nothing of the kind unless you treat it with more respect.
An oaken door, studded with silver nails, that has not condescended to
open itself for at least two centuries, cannot be 'trotted out'!"
"I beg its humble pardon," said the Secretary, approaching the door and
putting his shoulder against it. "It's as steady as a rock."
"Oh, yes. Nothing but dynamite or the proper combination could ever move
it the fraction of an inch."
Stanley regarded it as it stood framed in its low Saxon portal, a
magnificent piece of black oak, sprinkled from top to bottom with at
least a hundred huge, silver-headed nails, driven in without any
apparent design. Another peculiarity was that neither lock, hinges, nor
keyhole were visible.
"Does it lead anywhere?" he asked, greatly interested.
"To an unexplored tower," she replied. "To which this appears to be the
only entrance; at least it has no windows."
"How interesting. I wonder how they ever got it open."
"Tradition says that this is the original of our modern combination
lock. No human strength can move it; but once exert the slightest
pressure on the proper combination of those silver nails, five I
believe, one for every digit, and the portal swings open of itself."
"And discloses, what?"
"Open it and see," she answered.
"Are you sure the house won't tumble down if I do, or that you'll never
smile again--or that some unpleasant ancestral prognostication isn't
only awaiting the opening of that door to fall due and take effect?"
"I can't insure you," she replied, "and I wish you wouldn't talk such
nonsense," and she shivered slightly.
"You surely don't believe, in the nineteenth century----" he began; but
she interrupted him, saying almost petulantly:
"You'd grow to believe anything if you lived in a place like this. On
the whole, I think you'd better leave the door alone," she added, as he
began to finger the nails thoughtfully, "you're too clever, you might
succeed."
"If I do," he assured her, "I'll promise to keep my discoveries to
myself."
"You'd better confine your attentions to the library; it's much more
worthy of your consideration," she replied, evidently wishing to change
the subject.
"With pleasure," acquiesced Stanley, following her lead. "And what am I
to discover there?"
"Nothing. Now I come to think of it, it's already pre-empted."
"Who are our literary lights?"
"Lady Isabelle McLane and Lieutenant Kingsland."
"I should never have suspected it of either of them," he replied,
manifestly surprised, for Kingsland's literary tastes, as evidenced on
the Thames, had not been of an elevated nature; and Lady Isabelle was
too conventional and well-ordered a person to care to read much or
widely.
"Nor should I," agreed his hostess; "but they remain glued to the
bookcases, and to see them going into raptures over an undecipherable
black letter volume, adorned with illustrations that no self-respecting
householder would admit to his family circle, is, considering the young
lady's antecedents at least, rather amusing. They've the room entirely
to themselves."
"Oh!" said Stanley, and they both laughed.
"But the Marchioness is certain that it is literary enthusiasm," she
assured him.
"My dear Mrs. Roberts," said the Secretary, "that is merely the wisdom
of age." And they laughed again.
"And now," he added, "if you'll permit, I'll begin my tour of
exploration, by finding where my belongings are bestowed."
As he spoke, a footman was at his side, and his hostess, nodding
cheerfully to him, left him to his own devices.
Stanley's room was charming, and he was so busy examining its
curiosities that the sound of the dressing-bell awoke him to the
realities of the situation with a start of surprise that he could have
unconsciously idled away so much time.
But then there was a fireplace, almost as large as a modern bedroom,
ornamented with blue tiles of scriptural design, blatantly Dutch and
orthodox; and the great logs resting on fire-dogs, that happened to be
lions, which caused most of the guests to break the tenth commandment in
thought, and neglect to break it in deed, only because they were
unsuited both by weight and design for surreptitious packing in bags or
boxes. Also there was the wall paper, rejoicing in squares of camels,
and groves of palm trees, amidst which surroundings fully a hundred
Solomons received a hundred blushing Queens of Sheba. Moreover, there
was a huge four-poster into which you ascended by a flight of steps, and
from the depths of whose feather-beds you were only rescued the
following morning by the muscular exertions of your valet, which, as
Kingsland aptly remarked at dinner, was a tremendous cinch for the
family ghosts, as they could haunt you all night long if they liked,
without your ever being able to retaliate.
Altogether, it is doubtful if Stanley would ever have remembered to
dress for dinner, had not his meditations been interrupted by a series
of astonishing sounds in the hall, which seemed to betoken the movements
of great weights with strenuous exertions. Just at that moment the valet
entered with his freshly brushed dress clothes, and a question as to the
cause of the disturbance elicited the fact that:
"They was Mr. Riddle's chests, sir," and though it wasn't his place to
say it, "he's a mighty queer old gentleman, gives magic lantern shows
and entertainments free for charity, sir."
"From his luggage, I should imagine he was supporting an opera troupe."
"They was labelled 'stereopticon,' sir, but they was that heavy----"
"Thanks," broke in the Secretary. "That's quite sufficient."
He never approved of encouraging gossip, and was not interested in the
description of the benevolent county magnate--still less in the weight
of his chests--yet he smiled quietly to himself as he dressed for
dinner.