NORTH!
The footman got all my luggage together, and bought me a first-class
ticket, and whilst he was getting me the ticket I went into the
refreshment room and bought half a dozen packets of cigarettes and a
little box of matches; smoking soothes my nerves.
Then I walked to the B platform, if I remember right, where the
Leeds express was standing, the footman following with my dressing
bag. Gracious! how civil the guard was: he made me get into a saloon
carriage, and called me "my lady," and told me I could have a luncheon
basket or tea if I liked, he would telegraph on to Normanton about
it. I began wondering, was it my face or the footman that made him so
civil, perhaps it was both--heigh-ho.
I write a fearful hand. I was never intended for an author. I'm so lazy
and so weak just now, that it's almost too much trouble to dip the pen
in the ink pot; however, on I must go.
There was a great fat man and a great fat woman in the saloon carriage,
immensely rich, I suppose--cotton spinners or something of that sort.
How these idiots stared at me out of the corners of their eyes; they
had heard the old guard calling me "my lady." They would have licked my
boots, those people would. I spoke to them, asked them did they object
to smoking, and they said "no," both together, so I lit a cigarette.
That made them certain I was a duchess. They got out at Normanton, and
the guard brought me a luncheon basket, and a little tea tray, teapot
and all, which he said I could take on in the carriage to Leeds; so
I had luncheon, and then I had tea, and then I smoked cigarettes and
dreamed, whilst the train whirled away north, north, north. Oh this
north, why did I ever come here?
It was late in the day when we reached Leeds, the air was chill; it
was like finding oneself in a new world. Women were standing about the
platform with their heads covered with shawls; they had clogs on their
feet, and one could hear them go click, clack. I gave the old guard
a sovereign. I felt sorry to part with him, he seemed the last thing
connecting me with the south. I felt like a lost dog. I had never felt
so all that horrible time in London: that is strange, is not it? Now,
when I was rich and bowed down to, I felt like a lost dog.
I had to wait two hours for the branch train, and as it left Leeds I
looked out of the window. It was a vile place, all manufactories, long
chimneys, furnaces, smoke.
Then, after a bit, I saw the country, all hills and twilight, dark
stone walls, desolate-looking fields, and then--a shiver ran through
me--I had seen this country before. Where? Never in this life. It was
the first time I had ever been north.
We stopped at little tiny stations, and I felt tired as death when at
last we drew up at a station with "Ashworth" on the lamps.
I put my head out of the window, and I saw a tall footman standing on
the platform amongst a lot of porters, and country women with their
heads covered with shawls. I beckoned to him, and he came at a run.
"Are you Mr Wilder's footman?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh, just see to my luggage, please," I said, getting out. I followed
him to the road beside the station where a carriage was waiting, a
closed carriage and pair, just like the one that had driven me to the
station in London.
We passed four desolate-looking crossroads. The moon, which had risen,
was lighting all the scenery round about, and I pulled down the
left-hand window to get a glimpse of the view and a breath of the keen,
pure air.
On a hill opposite I saw the ruins of a castle cut sharp against the
sky. I had seen that castle before. Was I positive? _Positive._ Look!
I said to myself. Look at that white zig-zag pathway down the hill,
look at the hill itself. Then, as I looked, an indescribable feeling
came over me, a delightful, far-away sort of feeling. It seemed dawn,
bright, clear, and cold. I thought I could catch the sound of a distant
horn, I thought I could feel the claws of a falcon on my wrist. I
seemed riding on a horse, not as a woman rides, but as a man. I felt
unutterably happy. It was the happiness of love. You understand me, I
was perfectly well awake, but this feeling, how can I describe it, so
dim, sweet, and far-away.
Then the carriage stopped. It seems that I had put my finger through
the little ivory ring of the check-string, and had pulled it without
knowing. The footman came to the window, and touched his hat.
"Can you tell me the name of that castle?" I asked. "That castle on the
hill."
"Castle Sinclair, ma'am."
"Oh! drive on, please." I think I said "Drive on, please," but I cannot
be sure; at all events we drove on. I was not terrified, I was dazed.
Then, through the rumbling of the carriage wheels I thought I could
again catch the sound of the distant horn. I tried--how I tried--to
catch the feeling of early dawn, to feel again the tiny claws of the
falcon upon my wrist.
What hunting morning was that, so dim and far away? To where was I
riding? With whom was I in love? And I was a man then, so it seemed to
me.