That evening Somerset was so preoccupied with these things that he left
all his sketching implements out-of-doors in the castle grounds. The
next morning he hastened thither to secure them from being stolen or
spoiled. Meanwhile he was hoping to have an opportunity of rectifying
Paula’s mistake about his personality, which, having served a very good
purpose in introducing them to a mutual conversation, might possibly be
made just as agreeable as a thing to be explained away.
He fetched his drawing instruments, rods, sketching-blocks and other
articles from the field where they had lain, and was passing under the
walls with them in his hands, when there emerged from the outer archway
an open landau, drawn by a pair of black horses of fine action and
obviously strong pedigree, in which Paula was seated, under the shade of
a white parasol with black and white ribbons fluttering on the summit.
The morning sun sparkled on the equipage, its newness being made all the
more noticeable by the ragged old arch behind.
She bowed to Somerset in a way which might have been meant to express
that she had discovered her mistake; but there was no embarrassment in
her manner, and the carriage bore her away without her making any sign
for checking it. He had not been walking towards the castle entrance,
and she could not be supposed to know that it was his intention to enter
that day.
She had looked such a bud of youth and promise that his disappointment
at her departure showed itself in his face as he observed her. However,
he went on his way, entered a turret, ascended to the leads of the great
tower, and stepped out.
From this elevated position he could still see the carriage and the
white surface of Paula’s parasol in the glowing sun. While he watched
the landau stopped, and in a few moments the horses were turned, the
wheels and the panels flashed, and the carriage came bowling along
towards the castle again.
Somerset descended the stone stairs. Before he had quite got to the
bottom he saw Miss De Stancy standing in the outer hall.
‘When did you come, Mr. Somerset?’ she gaily said, looking up surprised.
‘How industrious you are to be at work so regularly every day! We didn’t
think you would be here to-day: Paula has gone to a vegetable show at
Markton, and I am going to join her there soon.’
‘O! gone to a vegetable show. But I think she has altered her--’
At this moment the noise of the carriage was heard in the ward, and
after a few seconds Miss Power came in--Somerset being invisible from
the door where she stood.
‘O Paula, what has brought you back?’ said Miss De Stancy.
‘I have forgotten something.’
‘Mr. Somerset is here. Will you not speak to him?’
Somerset came forward, and Miss De Stancy presented him to her friend.
Mr. Somerset acknowledged the pleasure by a respectful inclination of
his person, and said some words about the meeting yesterday.
‘Yes,’ said Miss Power, with a serene deliberateness quite noteworthy in
a girl of her age; ‘I have seen it all since. I was mistaken about you,
was I not? Mr. Somerset, I am glad to welcome you here, both as a friend
of Miss De Stancy’s family, and as the son of your father--which is
indeed quite a sufficient introduction anywhere.’
‘You have two pictures painted by Mr. Somerset’s father, have you not?
I have already told him about them,’ said Miss De Stancy. ‘Perhaps Mr.
Somerset would like to see them if they are unpacked?’
As Somerset had from his infancy suffered from a plethora of those
productions, excellent as they were, he did not reply quite so eagerly
as Miss De Stancy seemed to expect to her kind suggestion, and Paula
remarked to him, ‘You will stay to lunch? Do order it at your own time,
if our hour should not be convenient.’
Her voice was a voice of low note, in quality that of a flute at
the grave end of its gamut. If she sang, she was a pure contralto
unmistakably.
‘I am making use of the permission you have been good enough to grant
me--of sketching what is valuable within these walls.’
‘Yes, of course, I am willing for anybody to come. People hold these
places in trust for the nation, in one sense. You lift your hands,
Charlotte; I see I have not convinced you on that point yet.’
Miss De Stancy laughed, and said something to no purpose.
Somehow Miss Power seemed not only more woman than Miss De Stancy, but
more woman than Somerset was man; and yet in years she was inferior to
both. Though becomingly girlish and modest, she appeared to possess a
good deal of composure, which was well expressed by the shaded light of
her eyes.
‘You have then met Mr. Somerset before?’ said Charlotte.
‘He was kind enough to deliver an address in my defence yesterday. I
suppose I seemed quite unable to defend myself.’
‘O no!’ said he. When a few more words had passed she turned to Miss De
Stancy and spoke of some domestic matter, upon which Somerset withdrew,
Paula accompanying his exit with a remark that she hoped to see him
again a little later in the day.
Somerset retired to the chambers of antique lumber, keeping an eye
upon the windows to see if she re-entered the carriage and resumed her
journey to Markton. But when the horses had been standing a long time
the carriage was driven round to the stables. Then she was not going to
the vegetable show. That was rather curious, seeing that she had only
come back for something forgotten.
These queries and thoughts occupied the mind of Somerset until the bell
was rung for luncheon. Owing to the very dusty condition in which he
found himself after his morning’s labours among the old carvings he was
rather late in getting downstairs, and seeing that the rest had gone in
he went straight to the dining-hall.
The population of the castle had increased in his absence. There were
assembled Paula and her friend Charlotte; a bearded man some years older
than himself, with a cold grey eye, who was cursorily introduced to him
in sitting down as Mr. Havill, an architect of Markton; also an
elderly lady of dignified aspect, in a black satin dress, of which she
apparently had a very high opinion. This lady, who seemed to be a mere
dummy in the establishment, was, as he now learnt, Mrs. Goodman by
name, a widow of a recently deceased gentleman, and aunt to Paula--the
identical aunt who had smuggled Paula into a church in her helpless
infancy, and had her christened without her parents’ knowledge. Having
been left in narrow circumstances by her husband, she was at present
living with Miss Power as chaperon and adviser on practical matters--in
a word, as ballast to the management. Beyond her Somerset discerned
his new acquaintance Mr. Woodwell, who on sight of Somerset was for
hastening up to him and performing a laboured shaking of hands in
earnest recognition.
Paula had just come in from the garden, and was carelessly laying down
her large shady hat as he entered. Her dress, a figured material in
black and white, was short, allowing her feet to appear. There was
something in her look, and in the style of her corsage, which reminded
him of several of the bygone beauties in the gallery. The thought for a
moment crossed his mind that she might have been imitating one of them.
‘Fine old screen, sir!’ said Mr. Havill, in a long-drawn voice across
the table when they were seated, pointing in the direction of the
traceried oak division between the dining-hall and a vestibule at the
end. ‘As good a piece of fourteenth-century work as you shall see in
this part of the country.’
‘You mean fifteenth century, of course?’ said Somerset.
Havill was silent. ‘You are one of the profession, perhaps?’ asked the
latter, after a while.
‘You mean that I am an architect?’ said Somerset. ‘Yes.’
‘Ah--one of my own honoured vocation.’ Havill’s face had been not
unpleasant until this moment, when he smiled; whereupon there instantly
gleamed over him a phase of meanness, remaining until the smile died
away.