Though "The Hurst" was, as befitted its Chatelaine, the most
Elizabethanly complete abode in Riseholme, the rest of the village in
its due degree, fell very little short of perfection. It had but its
one street some half mile in length but that street was a gem of
mediaeval domestic architecture. For the most part the houses that
lined it were blocks of contiguous cottages, which had been converted
either singly or by twos and threes into dwellings containing the
comforts demanded by the twentieth century, but externally they
preserved the antiquity which, though it might be restored or
supplemented by bathrooms or other conveniences, presented a truly
Elizabethan appearance. There were, of course, accretions such as old
inn signs above front-doors and old bell-pulls at their sides, but the
doors were uniformly of inconveniently low stature, roofs were of stone
slabs or old brick, in which a suspiciously abundant crop of
antirrhinums and stone crops had anchored themselves, and there was
hardly a garden that did not contain a path of old paving-stones, a
mulberry-tree and some yews cut into shape.
Nothing in the place was more blatantly mediaeval than the village
green, across which Georgie took his tripping steps after leaving the
presence of his queen. Round it stood a row of great elms, and in its
centre was the ducking-pond, according to Riseholme tradition, though
perhaps in less classical villages it might have passed merely for a
duck-pond. But in Riseholme it would have been rank heresy to dream,
even in the most pessimistic moments, of its being anything but a
ducking-pond. Close by it stood a pair of stocks, about which there was
no doubt whatever, for Mr Lucas had purchased them from a neighbouring
iconoclastic village, where they were going to be broken up, and, after
having them repaired, had presented them to the village-green, and
chosen their site close to the ducking pond. Round the green were
grouped the shops of the village, slightly apart from the residential
street, and at the far end of it was that undoubtedly Elizabethan
hostelry, the Ambermere Arms, full to overflowing of ancient tables and
bible-boxes, and fire-dogs and fire-backs, and bottles and chests and
settles. These were purchased in large quantities by the American
tourists who swarmed there during the summer months, at a high profit
to the nimble proprietor, who thereupon purchased fresh antiquities to
take their places. The Ambermere Arms in fact was the antique furniture
shop of the place, and did a thriving trade, for it was much more
interesting to buy objects out of a real old Elizabethan inn, than out
of a shop.
Georgie had put his smart military cape over his arm for his walk, and
at intervals applied his slim forefinger to one nostril, while he
breathed in through the other, continuing the practice which he had
observed going on in Mrs Quantock's garden. Though it made him a little
dizzy, it certainly produced a sort of lightness, but soon he
remembered the letter from Mrs Quantock which Lucia had read out,
warning her that these exercises ought to be taken under instruction,
and so desisted. He was going to deliver Lucia's answer at Mrs
Quantock's house, and with a view to possibly meeting the Guru, and
being introduced to him, he said over to himself "Guru, Guru, Guru"
instead of doing deep breathing, in order to accustom himself to the
unusual syllables.
It would, of course, have been very strange and un-Riseholme-like to
have gone to a friend's door, even though the errand was so impersonal
a one as bearing somebody else's note, without enquiring whether the
friend was in, and being instantly admitted if she was, and as a matter
of fact, Georgie caught a glimpse, when the knocker was answered (Mrs
Quantock did not have a bell at all), through the open door of the
hall, of Mrs Quantock standing in the middle of the lawn on one leg.
Naturally, therefore, he ran out into the garden without any further
formality. She looked like a little round fat stork, whose legs had not
grown, but who preserved the habits of her kind.
"Dear lady, I've brought a note for you," he said, "it's from Lucia."
The other leg went down, and she turned on him the wide firm smile that
she had learned in the vanished days of Christian Science.
"Om," said Mrs Quantock, expelling the remainder of her breath. "Thank
you, my dear Georgie. It's extraordinary what Yoga has done for me
already. Cold quite gone. If ever you feel out of sorts, or depressed
or cross you can cure yourself at once. I've got a visitor staying with
me."
"Have you indeed?" asked Georgie, without alluding to the thrilling
excitements which had trodden so close on each other's heels since
yesterday morning when he had seen the Guru in Rush's shop.
"Yes; and as you've just come from dear Lucia's perhaps she may have
said something to you about him, for I wrote to her about him. He's a
Guru of extraordinary sanctity from Benares, and he's teaching me the
Way. You shall see him too, unless he's meditating. I will call to him;
if he's meditating he won't hear me, so we shan't be interrupting him.
He wouldn't hear a railway accident if he was meditating."
She turned round towards the house.
"Guru, dear!" she called.
There was a moment's pause, and the Indian's face appeared at a window.
"Beloved lady!" he said.
"Guru dear, I want to introduce a friend of mine to you," she said.
"This is Mr Pillson, and when you know him a little better you will
call him Georgie."
"Beloved lady, I know him very well indeed. I see into his clear white
soul. Peace be unto you, my friend."
"Isn't he marvellous? Fancy!" said Mrs Quantock, in an aside.
Georgie raised his hat very politely.
"How do you do?" he said. (After his quiet practice he would have said
"How do you do Guru?" but it rhymed in a ridiculous manner and his red
lips could not frame the word.)
"I am always well," said the Guru, "I am always young and well because
I follow the Way."
"Sixty at least he tells me," said Mrs Quantock in a hissing aside,
probably audible across the channel, "and he thinks more, but the years
make no difference to him. He is like a boy. Call him 'Guru.'"
"Guru,--" began Georgie.
"Yes, my friend."
"I am very glad you are well," said Georgie wildly. He was greatly
impressed, but much embarrassed. Also it was so hard to talk at a
second-story window with any sense of ease, especially when you had to
address a total stranger of extraordinary sanctity from Benares.
Luckily Mrs Quantock came to the assistance of his embarrassment.
"Guru dear, are you coming down to see us?" she asked.
"Beloved lady, no!" said the level voice. "It is laid on me to wait
here. It is the time of calm and prayer when it is good to be alone. I
will come down when the guides bid me. But teach our dear friend what I
have taught you. Surely before long I will grasp his earthly hand, but
not now. Peace! Peace! and Light!"
"Have you got some Guides as well?" asked Georgie when the Guru
disappeared from the window. "And are they Indians too?"
"Oh, those are his spiritual guides," said Mrs Quantock, "He sees them
and talks to them, but they are not in the body."
She gave a happy sigh.
"I never have felt anything like it," she said. "He has brought such an
atmosphere into the house that even Robert feels it, and doesn't mind
being turned out of his dressing-room. There, he has shut the window.
Isn't it all marvellous?"
Georgie had not seen anything particularly marvellous yet, except the
phenomenon of Mrs Quantock standing on one leg in the middle of the
lawn, but presumably her emotion communicated itself to him by the
subtle infection of the spirit.
"And what does he do?" he asked.
"My dear, it is not what he does, but what he is," said she. "Why, even
my little bald account of him to Lucia has made her ask him to her
garden-party. Of course I can't tell whether he will go or not. He
seems so very much--how shall I say it?--so very much sent to Me. But I
shall of course ask him whether he will consent. Trances and meditation
all day! And in the intervals such serenity and sweetness. You know,
for instance, how tiresome Robert is about his food. Well, last night
the mutton, I am bound to say, was a little underdone, and Robert was
beginning to throw it about his plate in the way he has. Well, my Guru
got up and just said, 'Show me the way to kitchen'--he leaves out
little words sometimes, because they don't matter--and I took him down,
and he said 'Peace!' He told me to leave him there, and in ten minutes
he was up again with a little plate of curry and rice and what had been
underdone mutton, and you never ate anything so good. Robert had most
of it and I had the rest, and my Guru was so pleased at seeing Robert
pleased. He said Robert had a pure white soul, just like you, only I
wasn't to tell him, because for him the Way ordained that he must find
it out for himself. And today before lunch again, the Guru went down in
the kitchen, and my cook told me he only took a pinch of pepper and a
tomato and a little bit of mutton fat and a sardine and a bit of
cheese, and he brought up a dish that you never saw equalled.
Delicious! I shouldn't a bit wonder if Robert began breathing-exercises
soon. There is one that makes you lean and young and exercises the
liver."
This sounded very entrancing.
"Can't you teach me that?" asked Georgie eagerly. He had been rather
distressed about his increasing plumpness for a year past, and about
his increasing age for longer than that. As for his liver he always had
to be careful.
She shook her head.
"You cannot practise it except under tuition from an expert," she said.
Georgie rapidly considered what Hermy's and Ursy's comments would be
if, when they arrived tomorrow, he was found doing exercises under the
tuition of a Guru. Hermy, when she was not otter-hunting, could be very
sarcastic, and he had a clear month of Hermy in front of him, without
any otter-hunting, which, so she had informed him, was not possible in
August. This was mysterious to Georgie, because it did not seem likely
that all otters died in August, and a fresh brood came in like
caterpillars. If Hermy was here in October, she would otter-hunt all
morning and snore all afternoon, and be in the best of tempers, but the
August visit required more careful steering. Yet the prospect of being
lean and young and internally untroubled was wonderfully tempting.
"But couldn't he be my Guru as well?" he asked.
Quite suddenly and by some demoniac possession, a desire that had been
only intermittently present in Mrs Quantock's consciousness took full
possession of her, a red revolutionary insurgence hoisted its banner.
Why with this stupendous novelty in the shape of a Guru shouldn't she
lead and direct Riseholme instead of Lucia? She had long wondered why
darling Lucia should be Queen of Riseholme, and had, by momentary
illumination, seen herself thus equipped as far more capable of
exercising supremacy. After all, everybody in Riseholme knew Lucia's
old tune by now, and was in his secret consciousness quite aware that
she did not play the second and third movements of the Moonlight
Sonata, simply because they "went faster," however much she might cloak
the omission by saying that they resembled eleven o'clock in the
morning and 3 p.m. And Mrs Quantock had often suspected that she did
not read one quarter of the books she talked about, and that she got up
subjects in the Encyclopaedia, in order to make a brave show that
covered essential ignorance. Certainly she spent a good deal of money
over entertaining, but Robert had lately made twenty times daily what
Lucia spent annually, over Roumanian oils. As for her acting, had she
not completely forgotten her words as Lady Macbeth in the middle of the
sleep-walking scene?
But here was Lucia, as proved by her note, and her A. D. C. Georgie,
wildly interested in the Guru. Mrs Quantock conjectured that Lucia's
plan was to launch the Guru at her August parties, as her own
discovery. He would be a novelty, and it would be Lucia who gave
Om-parties and breathing-parties and standing-on-one-leg parties, while
she herself, Daisy Quantock, would be bidden to these as a humble
guest, and Lucia would get all the credit, and, as likely as not,
invite the discoverer, the inventress, just now and then. Mrs
Quantock's Guru would become Lucia's Guru and all Riseholme would flock
hungrily for light and leading to The Hurst. She had written to Lucia
in all sincerity, hoping that she would extend the hospitality of her
garden-parties to the Guru, but now the very warmth of Lucia's reply
caused her to suspect this ulterior motive. She had been too
precipitate, too rash, too ill-advised, too sudden, as Lucia would say.
She ought to have known that Lucia, with her August parties coming on,
would have jumped at a Guru, and withheld him for her own parties,
taking the wind out of Lucia's August sails. Lucia had already suborned
Georgie to leave this note, and begin to filch the Guru away. Mrs
Quantock saw it all now, and clearly this was not to be borne. Before
she answered, she steeled herself with the triumph she had once scored
in the matter of the Welsh attorney.
"Dear Georgie," she said, "no one would be more delighted than I if my
Guru consented to take you as a pupil. But you can't tell what he will
do, as he said to me today, apropos of myself, 'I cannot come unless
I'm sent.' Was not that wonderful? He knew at once he had been sent to
me."
By this time Georgie was quite determined to have the Guru. The measure
of his determination may be gauged from the fact that he forgot all
about Lucia's garden-party.
"But he called me his friend," he said. "He told me I had a clean white
soul."
"Yes; but that is his attitude towards everybody," said Mrs Quantock.
"His religion makes it impossible for him to think ill of anybody."
"But he didn't say that to Rush," cried Georgie, "when he asked for
some brandy, to be put down to you."
Mrs Quantock's expression changed for a moment, but that moment was too
short for Georgie to notice it. Her face instantly cleared again.
"Naturally he cannot go about saying that sort of thing," she observed.
"Common people--he is of the highest caste--would not understand him."
Georgie made the direct appeal.
"Please ask him to teach me," he said.
For a moment Mrs Quantock did not answer, but cocked her head sideways
in the direction of the pear-tree where a thrush was singing. It fluted
a couple of repeated phrases and then was silent again.
Mrs Quantock gave a great smile to the pear-tree.
"Thank you, little brother," she said.
She turned to Georgie again.
"That comes out of St. Francis," she said, "but Yoga embraces all that
is true in every religion. Well, I will ask my Guru whether he will
take you as a pupil, but I can't answer for what he will say."
"What does he--what does he charge for his lesson?" asked Georgie.
The Christian Science smile illuminated her face again.
"The word 'money' never passes his lips," she said. "I don't think he
really knows what it means. He proposed to sit on the green with a
beggar's bowl but of course I would not permit that, and for the
present I just give him all he wants. No doubt when he goes away, which
I hope will not be for many weeks yet, though no one can tell when he
will have another call, I shall slip something suitably generous into
his hand, but I don't think about that. Must you be going? Good night,
dear Georgie. Peace! Om!"
His last backward glance as he went out of the front door revealed her
standing on one leg again, just as he had seen her first. He remembered
a print of a fakir at Benares, standing in that attitude; and if the
stream that flowed into the Avon could be combined with the Ganges, and
the garden into the burning ghaut, and the swooping swallows into the
kites, and the neat parlour-maid who showed him out, into a Brahmin,
and the Chinese gong that was so prominent an object in the hall into a
piece of Benares brassware, he could almost have fancied himself as
standing on the brink of the sacred river. The marigolds in the garden
required no transmutation....
Georgie had quite "to pull himself together," as he stepped round Mrs
Quantock's mulberry tree, and ten paces later round his own, before he
could recapture his normal evening mood, on those occasions when he was
going to dine alone. Usually these evenings were very pleasant and much
occupied, for they did not occur very often in this whirl of Riseholme
life, and it was not more than once a week that he spent a solitary
evening, and then, if he got tired of his own company, there were half
a dozen houses, easy of access where he could betake himself in his
military cloak, and spend a post-prandial hour. But oftener than not
when these occasions occurred, he would be quite busy at home, dusting
a little china, and rearranging ornaments on his shelves, and, after
putting his rings and handkerchief in the candle-bracket of the piano,
spending a serious hour (with the soft pedal down, for fear of
irritating Robert) in reading his share of such duets as he would be
likely to be called upon to play with Lucia during the next day or two.
Though he read music much better than she did, he used to "go over" the
part alone first, and let it be understood that he had not seen it
before. But then he was sure that she had done precisely the same, so
they started fair. Such things whiled away very pleasantly the hours
till eleven, when he went to bed, and it was seldom that he had to set
out Patience-cards to tide him over the slow minutes.
But every now and then--and tonight was one of those occasions--there
occurred evenings when he never went out to dinner even if he was
asked, because he "was busy indoors." They occurred about once a month
(these evenings that he was "busy indoors")--and even an invitation
from Lucia would not succeed in disturbing them. Ages ago Riseholme had
decided what made Georgie "busy indoors" once a month, and so none of
his friends chatted about the nature of his engagements to anyone else,
simply because everybody else knew. His business indoors, in fact, was
a perfect secret, from having been public property for so long.
June had been a very busy time, not "indoors," but with other
engagements, and as Georgie went up to his bedroom, having been told by
Foljambe that the hair-dresser was waiting for him, and had been
waiting "this last ten minutes," he glanced at his hair in the
Cromwellian mirror that hung on the stairs, and was quite aware that it
was time he submitted himself to Mr Holroyd's ministrations. There was
certainly an undergrowth of grey hair visible beneath his chestnut
crop, that should have been attended to at least a fortnight ago. Also
there was a growing thinness in the locks that crossed his head; Mr
Holroyd had attended to that before, and had suggested a certain
remedy, not in the least inconvenient, unless Georgie proposed to be
athletic without a cap, in a high wind, and even then not necessarily
so. But as he had no intention of being athletic anywhere, with or
without a cap, he determined as he went up the stairs that he would
follow Mr Holroyd's advice. Mr Holroyd's procedure, without this added
formula, entailed sitting "till it dried," and after that he would have
dinner, and then Mr Holroyd would begin again. He was a very clever
person with regard to the face and the hands and the feet. Georgie had
been conscious of walking a little lamely lately; he had been even more
conscious of the need of hot towels on his face and the "tap-tap" of Mr
Holroyd's fingers, and the stretchings of Mr Holroyd's thumb across
rather slack surfaces of cheek and chin. In the interval between the
hair and the face, Mr Holroyd should have a good supper downstairs with
Foljambe and the cook. And tomorrow morning, when he met Hermy and
Ursy, Georgie would be just as spick and span and young as ever, if not
more so.
Georgie (happy innocent!) was completely unaware that the whole of
Riseholme knew that the smooth chestnut locks which covered the top of
his head, were trained like the tendrils of a grapevine from the roots,
and flowed like a river over a bare head, and consequently when Mr
Holroyd explained the proposed innovation, a little central wig, the
edges of which would mingle in the most natural manner with his own
hair, it seemed to Georgie that nobody would know the difference. In
addition he would be spared those risky moments when he had to take off
his hat to a friend in a high wind, for there was always the danger of
his hair blowing away from the top of his head, and hanging down, like
the tresses of a Rhine-maiden over one shoulder. So Mr Holroyd was
commissioned to put that little affair in hand at once, and when the
greyness had been attended to, and Georgie had had his dinner, there
came hot towels and tappings on his face, and other ministrations. All
was done about half past ten, and when he came downstairs again for a
short practice at the bass part of Beethoven's fifth symphony,
ingeniously arranged for two performers on the piano, he looked with
sincere satisfaction at his rosy face in the Cromwellian mirror, and
his shoes felt quite comfortable again, and his nails shone like pink
stars, as his hands dashed wildly about the piano in the quicker
passages. But all the time the thought of the Guru next door, under
whose tuition he might be able to regain his youth without recourse to
those expensive subterfuges (for the price of the undetectable
_toupet_ astonished him) rang in his head with a melody more
haunting than Beethoven's. What he would have liked best of all would
have been to have the Guru all to himself, so that he should remain
perpetually young, while all the rest of Riseholme, including Hermy and
Ursy, grew old. Then, indeed, he would be king of the place, instead of
serving the interests of its queen.
He rose with a little sigh, and after adjusting the strip of flannel
over the keys, shut his piano and busied himself for a little with a
soft duster over his cabinet of bibelots which not even Foljambe was
allowed to touch. It was generally understood that he had inherited
them, though the inheritance had chiefly passed to him through the
medium of curiosity shops, and there were several pieces of
considerable value among them. There were a gold Louis XVI snuff box, a
miniature by Karl Huth, a silver toy porringer of the time of Queen
Anne, a piece of Bow china, an enamelled cigarette case by Faberge. But
tonight his handling of them was not so dainty and delicate as usual,
and he actually dropped the porringer on the floor as he was dusting
it, for his mind still occupied itself with the Guru and the practices
that led to permanent youth. How quick Lucia had been to snap him up
for her garden-party. Yet perhaps she would not get him, for he might
say he was not sent. But surely he would be sent to Georgie, whom he
knew, the moment he set eyes on him to have a clean white soul....
The clock struck eleven, and, as usual on warm nights Georgie opened
the glass door into his garden and drew in a breath of the night air.
There was a slip of moon in the sky which he most punctiliously
saluted, wondering (though he did not seriously believe in its
superstition) how Lucia could be so foolhardy as to cut the new moon.
She had seen it yesterday, she told him, in London, and had taken no
notice whatever of it.... The heavens were quickly peppered with pretty
stars, which Georgie after his busy interesting day enjoyed looking at,
though if he had had the arrangement of them, he would certainly have
put them into more definite patterns. Among them was a very red planet,
and Georgie with recollections of his classical education, easily
remembered that Mars, the God of War, was symbolized in the heavens by
a red star. Could that mean anything to peaceful Riseholme? Was
internal warfare, were revolutionary movements possible in so serene a
realm?