Somerset was deeply engaged with his draughtsmen and builders during
the three following days, and scarcely entered the occupied wing of the
castle.
At his suggestion Paula had agreed to have the works executed as
such operations were carried out in old times, before the advent of
contractors. Each trade required in the building was to be represented
by a master-tradesman of that denomination, who should stand responsible
for his own section of labour, and for no other, Somerset himself as
chief technicist working out his designs on the spot. By this means the
thoroughness of the workmanship would be greatly increased in comparison
with the modern arrangement, whereby a nominal builder, seldom present,
who can certainly know no more than one trade intimately and well, and
who often does not know that, undertakes the whole.
But notwithstanding its manifest advantages to the proprietor, the plan
added largely to the responsibilities of the architect, who, with
his master-mason, master-carpenter, master-plumber, and what not, had
scarcely a moment to call his own. Still, the method being upon the face
of it the true one, Somerset supervised with a will.
But there seemed to float across the court to him from the inhabited
wing an intimation that things were not as they had been before; that
an influence adverse to himself was at work behind the ashlared face of
inner wall which confronted him. Perhaps this was because he never saw
Paula at the windows, or heard her footfall in that half of the building
given over to himself and his myrmidons. There was really no reason
other than a sentimental one why he should see her. The uninhabited
part of the castle was almost an independent structure, and it was quite
natural to exist for weeks in this wing without coming in contact with
residents in the other.
A more pronounced cause than vague surmise was destined to perturb
him, and this in an unexpected manner. It happened one morning that he
glanced through a local paper while waiting at the Lord-Quantock-Arms
for the pony-carriage to be brought round in which he often drove to the
castle. The paper was two days old, but to his unutterable amazement he
read therein a paragraph which ran as follows:--
‘We are informed that a marriage is likely to be arranged between
Captain De Stancy, of the Royal Horse Artillery, only surviving son of
Sir William De Stancy, Baronet, and Paula, only daughter of the late
John Power, Esq., M.P., of Stancy Castle.’
Somerset dropped the paper, and stared out of the window. Fortunately
for his emotions, the horse and carriage were at this moment brought to
the door, so that nothing hindered Somerset in driving off to the spot
at which he would be soonest likely to learn what truth or otherwise
there was in the newspaper report. From the first he doubted it: and
yet how should it have got there? Such strange rumours, like paradoxical
maxims, generally include a portion of truth. Five days had elapsed
since he last spoke to Paula.
Reaching the castle he entered his own quarters as usual, and after
setting the draughtsmen to work walked up and down pondering how he
might best see her without making the paragraph the ground of his
request for an interview; for if it were a fabrication, such a reason
would wound her pride in her own honour towards him, and if it were
partly true, he would certainly do better in leaving her alone than in
reproaching her. It would simply amount to a proof that Paula was an
arrant coquette.
In his meditation he stood still, closely scanning one of the
jamb-stones of a doorless entrance, as if to discover where the old
hinge-hook had entered the stonework. He heard a footstep behind him,
and looking round saw Paula standing by. She held a newspaper in her
hand. The spot was one quite hemmed in from observation, a fact of which
she seemed to be quite aware.
‘I have something to tell you,’ she said; ‘something important. But you
are so occupied with that old stone that I am obliged to wait.’
‘It is not true surely!’ he said, looking at the paper.
‘No, look here,’ she said, holding up the sheet. It was not what he had
supposed, but a new one--the local rival to that which had contained
the announcement, and was still damp from the press. She pointed, and he
read--
‘We are authorized to state that there is no foundation whatever for the
assertion of our contemporary that a marriage is likely to be arranged
between Captain De Stancy and Miss Power of Stancy Castle.’
Somerset pressed her hand. ‘It disturbed me,’ he said, ‘though I did not
believe it.’
‘It astonished me, as much as it disturbed you; and I sent this
contradiction at once.’
‘How could it have got there?’
She shook her head.
‘You have not the least knowledge?’
‘Not the least. I wish I had.’
‘It was not from any friends of De Stancy’s? or himself?’
‘It was not. His sister has ascertained beyond doubt that he knew
nothing of it. Well, now, don’t say any more to me about the matter.’
‘I’ll find out how it got into the paper.’
‘Not now--any future time will do. I have something else to tell you.’
‘I hope the news is as good as the last,’ he said, looking into her face
with anxiety; for though that face was blooming, it seemed full of a
doubt as to how her next information would be taken.
‘O yes; it is good, because everybody says so. We are going to take a
delightful journey. My new-created uncle, as he seems, and I, and my
aunt, and perhaps Charlotte, if she is well enough, are going to Nice,
and other places about there.’
‘To Nice!’ said Somerset, rather blankly. ‘And I must stay here?’
‘Why, of course you must, considering what you have undertaken!’ she
said, looking with saucy composure into his eyes. ‘My uncle’s reason for
proposing the journey just now is, that he thinks the alterations
will make residence here dusty and disagreeable during the spring. The
opportunity of going with him is too good a one for us to lose, as I
have never been there.’
‘I wish I was going to be one of the party!... What do YOU wish about
it?’
She shook her head impenetrably. ‘A woman may wish some things she does
not care to tell!’
‘Are you really glad you are going, dearest?--as I MUST call you just
once,’ said the young man, gazing earnestly into her face, which struck
him as looking far too rosy and radiant to be consistent with ever so
little regret at leaving him behind.
‘I take great interest in foreign trips, especially to the shores of
the Mediterranean: and everybody makes a point of getting away when the
house is turned out of the window.’
‘But you do feel a little sadness, such as I should feel if our
positions were reversed?’
‘I think you ought not to have asked that so incredulously,’ she
murmured. ‘We can be near each other in spirit, when our bodies are far
apart, can we not?’ Her tone grew softer and she drew a little closer to
his side with a slightly nestling motion, as she went on, ‘May I be sure
that you will not think unkindly of me when I am absent from your sight,
and not begrudge me any little pleasure because you are not there to
share it with me?’
‘May you! Can you ask it?... As for me, I shall have no pleasure to be
begrudged or otherwise. The only pleasure I have is, as you well know,
in you. When you are with me, I am happy: when you are away, I take no
pleasure in anything.’
‘I don’t deserve it. I have no right to disturb you so,’ she said, very
gently. ‘But I have given you some pleasure, have I not? A little more
pleasure than pain, perhaps?’
‘You have, and yet.... But I don’t accuse you, dearest. Yes, you have
given me pleasure. One truly pleasant time was when we stood together
in the summer-house on the evening of the garden-party, and you said you
liked me to love you.’
‘Yes, it was a pleasant time,’ she returned thoughtfully. ‘How the rain
came down, and formed a gauze between us and the dancers, did it not;
and how afraid we were--at least I was--lest anybody should discover us
there, and how quickly I ran in after the rain was over!’
‘Yes’, said Somerset, ‘I remember it. But no harm came of it to you....
And perhaps no good will come of it to me.’
‘Do not be premature in your conclusions, sir,’ she said archly. ‘If you
really do feel for me only half what you say, we shall--you will make
good come of it--in some way or other.’
‘Dear Paula--now I believe you, and can bear anything.’
‘Then we will say no more; because, as you recollect, we agreed not to
go too far. No expostulations, for we are going to be practical young
people; besides, I won’t listen if you utter them. I simply echo your
words, and say I, too, believe you. Now I must go. Have faith in me, and
don’t magnify trifles light as air.’
‘I THINK I understand you. And if I do, it will make a great difference
in my conduct. You will have no cause to complain.’
‘Then you must not understand me so much as to make much difference; for
your conduct as my architect is perfect. But I must not linger longer,
though I wished you to know this news from my very own lips.’
‘Bless you for it! When do you leave?’
‘The day after to-morrow.’
‘So early? Does your uncle guess anything? Do you wish him to be told
just yet?’
‘Yes, to the first; no, to the second.’
‘I may write to you?’
‘On business, yes. It will be necessary.’
‘How can you speak so at a time of parting?’
‘Now, George--you see I say George, and not Mr. Somerset, and you may
draw your own inference--don’t be so morbid in your reproaches! I have
informed you that you may write, or still better, telegraph, since the
wire is so handy--on business. Well, of course, it is for you to judge
whether you will add postscripts of another sort. There, you make me
say more than a woman ought, because you are so obtuse and literal. Good
afternoon--good-bye! This will be my address.’
She handed him a slip of paper, and flitted away.
Though he saw her again after this, it was during the bustle of
preparation, when there was always a third person present, usually in
the shape of that breathing refrigerator, her uncle. Hence the few
words that passed between them were of the most formal description, and
chiefly concerned the restoration of the castle, and a church at Nice
designed by him, which he wanted her to inspect.
They were to leave by an early afternoon train, and Somerset was invited
to lunch on that day. The morning was occupied by a long business
consultation in the studio with Mr. Power and Mrs. Goodman on what rooms
were to be left locked up, what left in charge of the servants, and
what thrown open to the builders and workmen under the surveillance of
Somerset. At present the work consisted mostly of repairs to existing
rooms, so as to render those habitable which had long been used only as
stores for lumber. Paula did not appear during this discussion; but
when they were all seated in the dining-hall she came in dressed for
the journey, and, to outward appearance, with blithe anticipation at
its prospect blooming from every feature. Next to her came Charlotte
De Stancy, still with some of the pallor of an invalid, but wonderfully
brightened up, as Somerset thought, by the prospect of a visit to a
delightful shore. It might have been this; and it might have been that
Somerset’s presence had a share in the change.
It was in the hall, when they were in the bustle of leave-taking, that
there occurred the only opportunity for the two or three private words
with Paula to which his star treated him on that last day. His took the
hasty form of, ‘You will write soon?’
‘Telegraphing will be quicker,’ she answered in the same low tone; and
whispering ‘Be true to me!’ turned away.
How unreasonable he was! In addition to those words, warm as they were,
he would have preferred a little paleness of cheek, or trembling of
lip, instead of the bloom and the beauty which sat upon her undisturbed
maidenhood, to tell him that in some slight way she suffered at his
loss.
Immediately after this they went to the carriages waiting at the door.
Somerset, who had in a measure taken charge of the castle, accompanied
them and saw them off, much as if they were his visitors. She stepped
in, a general adieu was spoken, and she was gone.
While the carriages rolled away, he ascended to the top of the tower,
where he saw them lessen to spots on the road, and turn the corner out
of sight. The chances of a rival seemed to grow in proportion as Paula
receded from his side; but he could not have answered why. He had bidden
her and her relatives adieu on her own doorstep, like a privileged
friend of the family, while De Stancy had scarcely seen her since the
play-night. That the silence into which the captain appeared to have
sunk was the placidity of conscious power, was scarcely probable; yet
that adventitious aids existed for De Stancy he could not deny. The link
formed by Charlotte between De Stancy and Paula, much as he liked the
ingenuous girl, was one that he could have wished away. It constituted a
bridge of access to Paula’s inner life and feelings which nothing could
rival; except that one fact which, as he firmly believed, did actually
rival it, giving him faith and hope; his own primary occupation of
Paula’s heart. Moreover, Mrs. Goodman would be an influence favourable
to himself and his cause during the journey; though, to be sure, to set
against her there was the phlegmatic and obstinate Abner Power, in whom,
apprised by those subtle media of intelligence which lovers possess, he
fancied he saw no friend.
Somerset remained but a short time at the castle that day. The light
of its chambers had fled, the gross grandeur of the dictatorial towers
oppressed him, and the studio was hateful. He remembered a promise made
long ago to Mr. Woodwell of calling upon him some afternoon; and a
visit which had not much attractiveness in it at other times recommended
itself now, through being the one possible way open to him of hearing
Paula named and her doings talked of. Hence in walking back to
Markton, instead of going up the High Street, he turned aside into the
unfrequented footway that led to the minister’s cottage.
Mr. Woodwell was not indoors at the moment of his call, and Somerset
lingered at the doorway, and cast his eyes around. It was a house which
typified the drearier tenets of its occupier with great exactness.
It stood upon its spot of earth without any natural union with it: no
mosses disguised the stiff straight line where wall met earth; not
a creeper softened the aspect of the bare front. The garden walk was
strewn with loose clinkers from the neighbouring foundry, which rolled
under the pedestrian’s foot and jolted his soul out of him before he
reached the porchless door. But all was clean, and clear, and dry.
Whether Mr. Woodwell was personally responsible for this condition of
things there was not time to closely consider, for Somerset perceived
the minister coming up the walk towards him. Mr. Woodwell welcomed
him heartily; and yet with the mien of a man whose mind has scarcely
dismissed some scene which has preceded the one that confronts him. What
that scene was soon transpired.
‘I have had a busy afternoon,’ said the minister, as they walked
indoors; ‘or rather an exciting afternoon. Your client at Stancy Castle,
whose uncle, as I imagine you know, has so unexpectedly returned, has
left with him to-day for the south of France; and I wished to ask her
before her departure some questions as to how a charity organized by
her father was to be administered in her absence. But I have been very
unfortunate. She could not find time to see me at her own house, and I
awaited her at the station, all to no purpose, owing to the presence of
her friends. Well, well, I must see if a letter will find her.’
Somerset asked if anybody of the neighbourhood was there to see them
off.
‘Yes, that was the trouble of it. Captain De Stancy was there, and quite
monopolized her. I don’t know what ‘tis coming to, and perhaps I have no
business to inquire, since she is scarcely a member of our church now.
Who could have anticipated the daughter of my old friend John Power
developing into the ordinary gay woman of the world as she has done? Who
could have expected her to associate with people who show contempt for
their Maker’s intentions by flippantly assuming other characters than
those in which He created them?’
‘You mistake her,’ murmured Somerset, in a voice which he vainly
endeavoured to attune to philosophy. ‘Miss Power has some very rare and
beautiful qualities in her nature, though I confess I tremble--fear lest
the De Stancy influence should be too strong.’
‘Sir, it is already! Do you remember my telling you that I thought the
force of her surroundings would obscure the pure daylight of her spirit,
as a monkish window of coloured images attenuates the rays of God’s sun?
I do not wish to indulge in rash surmises, but her oscillation from
her family creed of Calvinistic truth towards the traditions of the De
Stancys has been so decided, though so gradual, that--well, I may be
wrong.’
‘That what?’ said the young man sharply.
‘I sometimes think she will take to her as husband the present
representative of that impoverished line--Captain De Stancy--which she
may easily do, if she chooses, as his behaviour to-day showed.’
‘He was probably there on account of his sister,’ said Somerset, trying
to escape the mental picture of farewell gallantries bestowed on Paula.
‘It was hinted at in the papers the other day.’
‘And it was flatly contradicted.’
‘Yes. Well, we shall see in the Lord’s good time; I can do no more for
her. And now, Mr. Somerset, pray take a cup of tea.’
The revelations of the minister depressed Somerset a little, and he did
not stay long. As he went to the door Woodwell said, ‘There is a worthy
man--the deacon of our chapel, Mr. Havill--who would like to be friendly
with you. Poor man, since the death of his wife he seems to have
something on his mind--some trouble which my words will not reach. If
ever you are passing his door, please give him a look in. He fears that
calling on you might be an intrusion.’
Somerset did not clearly promise, and went his way. The minister’s
allusion to the announcement of the marriage reminded Somerset that she
had expressed a wish to know how the paragraph came to be inserted. The
wish had been carelessly spoken; but he went to the newspaper office to
make inquiries on the point.
The reply was unexpected. The reporter informed his questioner that in
returning from the theatricals, at which he was present, he shared a fly
with a gentleman who assured him that such an alliance was certain,
so obviously did it recommend itself to all concerned, as a means of
strengthening both families. The gentleman’s knowledge of the Powers was
so precise that the reporter did not hesitate to accept his assertion.
He was a man who had seen a great deal of the world, and his face was
noticeable for the seams and scars on it.
Somerset recognized Paula’s uncle in the portrait.
Hostilities, then, were beginning. The paragraph had been meant as the
first slap. Taking her abroad was the second.