dream," and I don't think she exaggerates; but for myself, the things
least forgettable in the Cathedral will be the Chapter House Stairs and
the beautiful fourteenth century glass. The ascent of the staircase is
an exquisite experience, and, as Ellaline cried out in her joy, "it must
be like going up a snow mountain by moonlight." The old clock in the
transept, too, holds one hypnotized, waiting always to see what will
happen next. Peter Lightfoot, the Glastonbury monk, who made it in the
fourteenth century, must have had a lively imagination, and have loved
excitement--"something doing," as Americans say. Ellaline and I are
overcome with sympathy for one of four desperately fighting knights who
never gets the colours. Hard luck to work like that for hundreds of
years, and never succeed!
At last Emily has seen the Glastonbury Thorn, and obtained her slip, as
an exceptional favour. She longs for Christmas to come, to know if it
will bloom, as it does regularly every year in the gardens of the
Bishop's palace.
Until now I couldn't have imagined envying a bishop, but to live in the
palace at Wells, and own the palace gardens for life, would be worth a
few sacrifices. I should think there could have been never a more
poetical or charming garden on earth--not excepting Eden or a few Indian
gardens I have admired. It is perfect; as Ellaline says, even
pluperfect, in its contrast with the gray ruins, and the mellow, ancient
house. There is an embattled wall, which makes a terrace walk, above the
fair lawns and jewelled flower beds, and from the top as you walk, the
hills girdling the old city go waving in gradations of blue to an opal
horizon. There's an old Well House in the garden, which is one of its
chief ornaments, and has adorned it since the fifteenth century. Bishop
Beckington--the Beckington of the punning rebus (Beacon and Tun) built
it to supply water to the city. But there were plenty of other springs,
always--seven famous ones--which suggested the name, Wells; and had they
not existed, perhaps King Ina (who flourished in the eighth century, and
was mixed up in Glastonbury history) would not have founded a cathedral
here. Blessed be the seven wells, then, for without them one of the
fairest places in England might never have existed.
I had heard of the celebrated swans, and as I knew she would like them,
I determined to pay the birds a morning call (the day after we arrived)
with Ellaline. From any obtrusion of Emily's I felt safe, for her mind
whirls here with old oak carvings, Flaxman sculptures, ancient
vestments, carven tombs, and, above all, choral services. Indeed, Emily
is never at her best except in a cathedral; and I knew that swans would
not be ecclesiastic enough to please her. But of Mrs. Senter and Dick I
had to be more wary; for the lady, no doubt because she is my guest,
feels it polite to give me a good deal of her society; and Dick
naturally considers that Ellaline's time is wasted on me, especially
when he isn't by to alleviate the boredom.
My one chance was to lure the girl out early, for neither Mrs. Senter
nor Burden loves the first morning hours. With all the guilty tremors of
one who cooks an intrigue, I sent a note to Ellaline's room, just after
she had gone to bed, asking if she were "sporting enough" to come for a
walk at seven-thirty. I thought that way of putting the invitation would
fetch her, and it did; but perhaps a card I enclosed had something to do
with her prompt acceptance. I printed, in my best imitation of engraved
text, "Mr. and Mrs. Swan and the Misses Cygnet, At Home, In the Moat,
Bishop's Palace. Ring for Refreshments. R.S.V.P."
Five minutes later came down a scrap of paper (all she had, no doubt)
with a little pencil scrawl, saying that Miss Lethbridge was delighted
to accept Mr. and Mrs. Swan's kind invitation for seven-thirty, and
thanked Sir Lionel Pendragon for obtaining it. I have put this away with
my treasures, of course.
I was at the place appointed before the time, and she didn't keep me
waiting. As a matter of fact, she's always extraordinarily prompt.
Modern school training, I suppose, as Ellaline the First was never known
to be in time for anything. And the swans were worth getting up for.
They are magnificent creatures; but, unlike many professional beauties,
they're as clever as they are handsome. For generations they and their
ancestors have been trained to ring a bell when they breakfast; and to
see the whole family, mother, babies, and cousins, breasting the clear,
lilied water, and waiting in a dignified, not too eager, row while
father pulls a bell in the old palace wall, tweaking the string
impatiently with his beak, is better than any theatrical performance of
this season in London.
Ellaline was entranced, and would have the play played over and over
again by the swan actors and the stage manageress, a kindly and polite
woman who conducted the entertainment. When we were both ashamed to beg
for more, Ellaline suggested a walk round the town, which is of an
unspoiled beauty, and you can guess whether or no I was glad to be her
guide. I'm certain I should have proposed before breakfast (I wonder if
any other man was ever in love enough for that?) if Dick Burden and his
aunt hadn't turned a corner at the critical moment. But perhaps it was
just as well. In spite of what you say, I am certain she would have
refused me.
Nevertheless, for your encouragement, my dear old Pat, I am
Yours ever gratefully,
Pen.
XXVI
MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN
_Empire Hotel, Bath_,
_August Without End, Amen!_
My Dear Sis: Talk about a land where it is always afternoon!
Seems to me it will never stop being August. I'm dead sick of motoring
in present company, and so furious with Sir Lionel that the only revenge
I can think of is to marry him. Would that I could say, "Vengeance is
mine"; but it's still a bird in the bush, I regret to say, while in my
hand is nothing save the salt which I'm trying to sprinkle on its tail.
Curious feeling one has on a motor tour. I have the sensation of being
detached from my own past (good thing that, for _some_ ladies of our
acquaintance!) like a hook that's come out of its eye. The hook,
however, is quite ready to fit into any new eye that happens to be
handy, or dig out any eye that happens to be in the way. And that brings
me back to Mademoiselle Lethbridge. It really can't be good for one's
liver to dislike anyone as much as I have grown to dislike that girl;
but unfortunately I can't afford to despise her. She is clever; almost
too clever, for cherished, protected, schoolgirl nineteen. Would that I
could find a screw loose in her history! Wouldn't I make it rattle? I
thought I had got hold of one, through the Tyndals, but Sir Lionel
wouldn't listen to the rattling, wouldn't let it rattle for an instant.
It is only the change of climate and English food that prevents his
manners from being (as no doubt they were in Eastern climes) those of a
Bashaw; and if he were one's husband he couldn't be more disagreeable
than he is at times.
Not that he means to be disagreeable. If he did, one would know how to
take him--or not to take him. But it is his polite indifference to which
I object. I'm not used to it in men. It's like a brick wall you're dying
to kick against, only it's no use. I don't take all the trouble I do
with my hair and complexion not to be looked at, I assure you. Why, my
waist might just as well be two inches bigger for all he notices! It is
too trying. And then, to see the way he looks at that girl, who doesn't
know enough about physical economy to make powder stick on her nose when
it rains!
It does me good to talk to you like this. Dick isn't sympathetic,
because he happens to be in love with the young female, and though he
occasionally abuses her himself, on the spur of a snub, he won't let me
do it.
Don't think, however, that I give up hope. By no means. I have heaps of
tricks up my sleeve, small and fashionable as it is, and lots of strings
to my bow. But I just wish one was a "bowstring" and round a girl's
neck. I'd give a tiny, tiny pull. In fact, I _did_ give one
yesterday--one which I've been wanting to give ever since I received
your letter. But actually, till yesterday, I never got a chance. I
"made" several, but they always went to bits, like a child's house of
cards. Poor me! That is part of the creature's cleverness. I think she
knew by instinct that I had something nasty to say, and she kept dodging
about, preventing me from laying hands (I won't say claws) on her.
Dick, too, she has kept in the same position, waiting for an opportunity
to pounce. Indeed, she has handled us both surprisingly well,
considering her age and bringing up. I have a certain respect for her.
But one often respects people one dislikes, doesn't one? At least,
really nice, amusing people of my type do.
Exactly what Dick wants to do with his white mouse when he has pounced
on it I have no means of knowing, for since a slight misunderstanding,
not to say row, which we had on the night of his return from Scotland
and you, a certain reserve has fallen between us, like a stage curtain.
He is on the stage side; I am in the position of audience. But I was
never in doubt for a moment as to what would follow _my_ pounce,
provided the mouse didn't prove too strong for me--and I don't think it
has. My pretty little ladylike bite must have left a mark on the velvet
fur.
I dare say I have excited your curiosity by referring to a "row" with
Dick, and lest you neglect my interests in the rest of the letter, to
brood upon his, I'd better pander at once to your maternal anxiety.
He wouldn't have confessed to me anything you had told him about Miss
Lethbridge's antecedents, for the very good reason that he hangs onto
her with the grip of a bulldog on a marrow-bone; but as I was armed with
your letter (I found it waiting for me at Bideford) containing full
information, he saw it was no use to keep anything back.
If I had had the letter a little earlier I might not have racked my
valuable brain as violently as I did to give him a chance alone with
Ellaline. I arranged for him to find her deserted at King Arthur's
Castle, like Mariana in her moated grange; but on reading what you had
to say, I admit I had qualms as to the wisdom of my policy where Dick's
future was concerned. However, even then I trusted to myself to save him
if it came to the worst; and it might have been valuable for my future
if things had happened "according to schedule"--just because Sir Lionel
_is_ such a Bashaw. He would never again have felt the same to the girl
if she had schemed to be left behind in order to meet Dick. However--I
can control most men, and many women, but I can't control trains; and it
was through their missing connections that Dick missed rescuing his
ladylove. As it has turned out, no harm has been done to him. I wish I
could be as sure of myself; for Sir Lionel, I fancy, hasn't been quite
as nice since. He can't guess what I had to do with the affair; but--I
suppose even men have instinct, inferior to ours though it be.
Dick came to my room at Bideford, and was cross because things had gone
wrong; I was cross because he was cross (I hate injustice in anyone but
myself), and then he was crosser because I told him it would never do
for him to marry the girl, knowing what we now know. He said he would
have her, and hang everybody else, especially Sir Lionel; I argued that
hanging people would do no good; and he then said that it would be all
right anyhow about the _dot_, as he knew a way of getting something
decent out of Sir Lionel for her. What he knew he firmly refused to
divulge, and when I asked if he'd told you, he replied that he jolly
well hadn't. Also he accused me of "stinginess," in not wanting
"Pendragon to part," and wishing to keep the "whole hog" for myself; his
delicate way of expressing my desire to retain the means of purchasing
tiaras, etc., suitable to my rank, in case I should become the future
Lady Pendragon.
At this point in the conversation our family relations were somewhat
strained, but before they reached snapping point, with my accustomed
tact (partly learned from you) I smoothed my nephew down, regardless of
my own injured feelings. Nothing could be better for me than that he
should be engaged to Miss Lethbridge, though, of course, nothing could
be worse for us all than that he should marry her. Trust me, I say
again, as I have said before, to prevent that. I assure you, I can
easily do it. Meanwhile, I encourage Dick to believe that he has
softened my hard heart; and though he doesn't believe in me absolutely,
or tell me all the workings of his mind, I'm certain you need have no
anxiety about your son and heir.
Now to my own affairs, which, after Dick's future and your neuralgia, I
flatter myself are dear to you.
You've often remarked that I'm nothing if not dramatic, and perhaps when
I tell you what I did yesterday you will think I've proved it for the
hundredth--or is it the thousandth?--time.
We left Wells (which depressed me as all cathedral towns do, because
everybody, and even every building, seems so unco guid) to run through
the Cheddar ravine, which, I fancy, though I don't know and care less,
is among the Mendip Hills. I woke up with a headache, not having slept
on account of a million church clocks and bells which were deadly busy
all night, and I felt I should be no better until I'd had it out with
the enemy.
Sir Lionel, as you know, can be a pleasant companion when he chooses,
and he's so good-looking in his soldier way that I can't help admiring
him when I'm not hating him, but it is a strain on the nerves, headache
or no headache, sitting next a man and trying every minute to make him
like you better than he does the woman he wants to be with, who is
sitting behind him. It means that you must be amusing and witty and
interested in everything he says. But how can you be witty when the only
thing you want to say is "devil and damn," of which he would violently
disapprove from a lady's lips (or pen)? And how can you be interested in
all he says when he discourses about mouldy old saints, and legends, and
history, and things over and done with long ago, like that? What do I
care if St. Dunstan--of whom I heard too much at Glastonbury--saved King
Edmund, hunting in the Mendips, from falling over Cheddar Cliff, horse
and man? Why, I don't even know who Edmund was, or when he happened.
Celtic relics, found in caves, are less than nothing to me, and Roman
coins are a mere aggravation when one is bothered how to get current
coin of the realm. Botany bores me, too, though I have been studying it,
together with many other dull things which, unfortunately for me, Sir
Lionel likes.
Well, we went up the Mendip Hills by way of an obscure little village
called Priddy, which seemed important to Sir L. because they found some
lead pigs in a mine there marked Imp. Vespasianus, and a few old Roman
dice, and brooches like safety-pins. It would be much more to the point
if he would take an interest in what _I_ wear, rather than concentrating
his attention on the way b. c. Roman miners or soldiers
contrived to fasten their rags together. It would console one for
invariably losing one's pins and hatpins when one wants them most, if
one could think future generations would grow emotional over them. Yet,
on the whole, I should prefer it done by a certain man in my own
generation.
The moment we got away from Priddy, where a lot of starfish roads come
together, my spirits rose. The country began to look theatrical, which
was a pleasant change after Wells, and all my native dramaticness began
to surge in me. I felt on my mettle; and when Sir Lionel talked about
visiting the Cheddar Caverns I said to myself: "My name isn't Gwen
Senter if I don't get hold of the girl in a cave, and tell her a thing
or two." It can't be easy to escape from people in caves, I thought; and
so it proved. But I haven't come to that, yet.
I really enjoyed the Cheddar Ravine. It is the sort of scenery that
appeals to me. Hills rose, wild and rocky, shutting in our road, and
brigands would have been appropriate, as in some mountain pass of Spain.
There were sheer gray cliffs like castles and burnt-out churches, and
watch-towers.
Said Sir Lionel: "Here we come, straight from one of the finest
cathedrals made by man, to see what Nature can do in the way of
ecclesiastical architecture; façades here as fine as any west front, and
vaguely rich with decoration." I purred, of course, agreeing, and
pointing out graceful spires, empty niches for saints, tombs for
cardinals, and statues of kings and bishops with crowned and mitred
heads, babbling on thus with hurried intelligence, lest Ellaline should
jump in ahead.
It's the kind of place--this weird alley of colourful rock--where you
feel things must happen, and I determined they _should_ happen; a hidden
place you are surprised at being able to enter, as if the door had been
shut by enchantment a few million years, and then forcibly opened for
modern motorists. I used this idea on Sir Lionel, in a form too
elaborate to waste on a sister, and made a distinct hit. But Ellaline
got in a little deadly work at the first cave. She began talking fairy
talk with Sir Lionel, and that not being my style, I had to let her have
her head.
Fancy _my_ pretending to be a child who, having lost itself, suddenly
sees a hole in a rock, crawls in for shelter from beasts of the forest,
and finds that by accident it has stumbled on the entrance to fairyland!
But Miss Lethbridge had quite a fairy game with Sir Lionel, who, she
played, was his ancestor King Arthur, carried to this strange place by
the four queens who rowed his body across the lake. "You can be one of
the queens, if you like," she graciously said to me. "And dear Mrs.
Norton another?" I suggested. That turned the budding drama into farce,
as I meant it should.
It was a weird cave, and would have served excellently for my purpose;
but when I heard there was another to follow--as servants say of the
next course for dinner--I thought it would be an anti-climax to use this
one. Besides, there were a good many people in it. There were tricky
illuminations to show off the best formations, one of which was King
Solomon's Temple, King S. sitting with folded arms at the entrance, his
knees up as if he had a pain; but being only a pink stalagmite, he
couldn't be expected to behave.
Having done justice to Gough's Cavern, we returned to the car, and
skimmed along the splendid, rock-walled road to the next cave, which, it
appears, is a deadly rival of the first. One advertises visits of
Martel, the explorer; the other boasts the approval of royalty. I'm sure
they would love to have a notice up: "By appointment to the King," as if
they were tailors. But what could a king do with a cave nowadays? At one
time, it might have been handy to hide in, but those days and those
kings are changed. I believe, by the way, Britons did hide in one or two
of the Cheddar Caverns, when the Saxons were uncomfortably interested in
their whereabouts, and there are bones, but I'm glad to say we didn't
see them. I hate to be reminded of what I'm built on, and can't bear to
look in the glass after seeing a skull, with or without cross-bones.
In this second cave, when Mrs. Norton was putting an appropriate
prehistoric question I'd coached her up to ask her brother, I linked a
friendly arm in Ellaline's, and bore her off under convoy.
"What a sweet, illuminated stalactite curtain!" said I, rapturously.
"Doesn't it look like translucent coral, and wouldn't you like to have a
dress exactly that colour?"
Thus I managed to keep her with me, and fall behind the others, glaring
at Dick so meaningly as to frighten him away when he showed signs of
lingering.
My scene thus effectively set, and the two leading characters on the
stage together, I lost no time in beginning to recite my lines. It was
in a dark sort of rock-parlour, with some kind of an illuminated
witches' kitchen or devil's cauldron to look at, and give us an excuse
to pause--all very effective.
"Miss Lethbridge," I said, "I have rather a disagreeable duty to
perform."
"When people tell you they have a duty to perform, it goes without
saying that it's disagreeable," she replied, with a flippancy on which I
consider I have the patent.
"Have I a black on my nose, or is my dress undone at the back?"
"There is a black," said I, "but it's not on your nose."
"On my character, perhaps?" she insinuated.
"Not exactly," said I. "But it will be on my conscience if I don't get
it off. You see, you ought to know. If you don't know, you're
handicapped, and it isn't fair that a girl like you should be
handicapped. I've been trying for days to screw up my courage to speak.
In this queer place, I feel suddenly as if I could. Shall we talk here,
while we have the chance?"
"You talk, please," said she. "I will do the rest." (Pert thing.)
However, I took her at her word, and did what I had to do, with neatness
and dispatch, as an executioner should. But the odd part was, that when
I had chopped off her head with the axe you sharpened for me and posted
from Scotland, registered and expressed, she hardly seemed to know it
was off. She did look a little pale, though that might have been the
effect of the strange light, but she thanked me pleasantly for telling
her the truth, and said she quite appreciated my motive.
"I was prompted entirely by my interest in you, and because of my
nephew's friendship," I said.
"Oh, yes," said she, in a voice like cream. "What else _could_ it be?"
"It could be nothing else," I replied emphatically. "I'm sure I hated
distressing you, but it was that good might come. I do hope it hasn't
upset you too much?"
"No, not too much," said she. "But it has made me horribly--hungry!"
Really, that did stagger me! I must confess I can't tell what to make of
the girl. Anyhow, she _knows_, which is the principal thing, and no
matter how remarkable an actress she may be for her age, she must care.
It wouldn't be human not to care for such a story about her own mother
and father. Yet she took it so impersonally! I can't get over that. And
she actually ate a good luncheon! I wonder she could swallow. But, of
course, I'd put everything as politely as I could put such things,
because I didn't want her to scream or faint. Well, I needn't have
worried!
We had lunch at an inn near Cox's Cavern, with two cascades in the back
garden, which is shut in by quite a private and special gorge of its
own. I watched the girl as much as I dared, but she looked about as
usual so far as I could make out. The only noticeable effect of our
conversation was that she seemed somewhat suppressed, sat silent and
thoughtful, and attempted no sallies.
Dozens of motors arrived while we were eating, gorgeous cars with
resplendent chauffeurs, but there wasn't one to put the bonnet of
"Apollo" (as someone has named ours) out of joint; and not one chauffeur
as striking as our extraordinary Bengali in his native dress.
I forgot to mention that I bound Ellaline to secrecy before I began my
tale, saying that I'd had the information in confidence. She has her
faults, but I don't think she'd break her word. She is one of those
tall, upstanding, head-in-the-air creatures who pride themselves on
keeping a promise till it's mouldy.
My headache was better, after relieving my mind, and I enjoyed the run
to Clifton and Bristol. We had to go through the queer old gray village
of Cheddar, which was as cheesy looking as one would expect it to be;
and I suppose the Market Cross we passed must have been good, as Sir
Lionel would stop and take a photograph. As we turned out of the place
for Axbridge, I threw a glance over my shoulder, back at the exit of the
queer valley, and a carved bronze screen seemed already to have been
drawn across it.
It was a fine road; Axbridge a sort of toy village whose houses might
have been made for good little girls to play with; and to avoid the
traffic in the main road we went by way of Congresbury, where the
Milford-Joneses live. I was glad we didn't meet them driving their old
pony-chaise. I should have been ashamed to bow. There was a turn which
led us into a charming road, winding high among woods, then coming out
where the gorge of the Avon burst upon our view. It always pleases Sir
Lionel if one is enthusiastic over scenery, so I was, though I really
hated going over that awfully high suspension bridge, as I detest
looking down from heights. So does Mrs. Norton; but I can't afford to be
classed with her, therefore I joined Ellaline in exclaiming that the
bridge was glorious. I suppose it is fine, if one could only look
without fear of being seasick.