Vanessa E-Book

Hugh Walpole

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The book begins with the celebration of the 100th anniversary of Judith, and we regret her death, as she was one of the most dominant and memorable characters in this series, starting with the second volume. During the conspiracy, Vanessa’s father dies in tragic circumstances and the love triangle between Vanessa, Ellis and Benji deepens. Two new characters will appear in this book: the younger brothers Sally and Tom. And let’s hope someone post Judith’s memories. As a historical background, we have the Boer War, the Great War and the period between the first and second wars.

Leseprobe

Contents

PART I

THE RASCAL

THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY

FOUNTAIN AT THE ROADSIDE

HERRIES DRAWING-ROOM

THE SEASHORE

FALL OF THE HOUSE OF ULDALE

WILD NIGHT IN THE HILLS

INSIDE THE FORTRESS

THE DUCHESS OF WREXE’S BALL

PART II

THE HUSBAND

JUBILEE

THE FLITTING

VIOLET BELLAIRS IS PREVENTED

A JOURNAL AND SOME LETTERS

ELLIS IN PRISON

THE GREAT TIMOTHY SCANDAL

VANESSA IN PRISON

ESCAPE INTO DANGER

PART III

THE LOVER

HAPPINESS IN RAVENGLASS

THE KOPJE

YOUNG TOM IN NEWLANDS

STORM COMING UP

PERFECT LOVE

TIMOTHY BELLAIRS PAYS SOME VISITS

WHITE WITH SWANS

PART IV

THE GHOST

KALEIDOSCOPE

KALEIDOSCOPE

SALLY AND TOM

MEN AT WAR

BELOVED MOUNTAIN

FAMILY DINNER

COUNTRY FAIR

THE EAGLE

PART I

THE RASCAL

THE HUNDREDTH BIRTHDAY

At the sight of her son Judith’s eyes and mouth broke into the loveliest smile that any member of the Herries family, there present, had ever seen. It was Judith Paris’ hundredth birthday. The Family was making a Presentation.

Adam bent down and kissed her. Her tiny, trembling hand rested on the velvet collar of his coat, then lay against his cheek. Her triumph was complete; her exceeding happiness overflowed so that, laughing though she was, tears rolled down her cheeks.

Afterwards, at the luncheon downstairs, Adam was to make the speech, but when the time came, the one that he made was very feeble. Everyone (except of course Adam’s wife, Margaret, and Adam’s young daughter, Vanessa) agreed that he was no speaker; the speech of the occasion came, oddly enough, from Amery Herries, of whom no one had expected very much. There were more speeches at the dinner later in the day–Timothy, Barney Newmark, Carey Rockage, Captain Will Herries, all spoke–but it was Amery who was afterwards recalled.

“Damned good speech, d’you remember?’ years later one Herries would say to another. “At old Madame’s Hundredth Birthday party up in Cumberland.... Best speech ever I heard in my life.’

Adam was a failure. He never could say anything in public, even long ago in his Chartist days. More than that, he was thinking of his mother, the old lady upstairs, all the time. And more than that again, he couldn’t sound the right Herries note. He was only quarter Herries anyway, and he simply wasn’t able to think of them in the grand historical light that all the family, expectant round the luncheon table, desired.

But Amery could. He thought of them all (including himself) in precisely the grand manner.

All Adam said was:

“I am sure we are all very happy to be here to-day for my mother’s hundredth birthday. You’ll forgive me, I know, if I don’t say very much. Not very good at expressing my feelings. Yes–well–I know what you’re all feeling. We’re all very proud of my mother and we all ought to be. She’s like the Queen–nothing can beat her. I don’t need to tell you how good she is. Of course I know that better than the rest of you–naturally I would. There’s no one like her anywhere. I ask you all to drink her health.’

And so they did–with the greatest enthusiasm. Nevertheless there was a feeling of disappointment, for he had said nothing about the Family–not a word. It was expected of him. After all, even though he was illegitimate, his father had been of Herries blood. They knew, they had always known, that Adam Paris failed at anything that he tried. What could you expect of a fellow who had once been a Chartist and approved of these Trades Unions, was always on the wrong side, against Disraeli, in favour of tiresome agitators like Mr. Plimsoll? (They disliked any and every agitator. They disapproved of agitation.)

But Amery made everything right again with his speech. He didn’t look his sixty-five years, so spare of figure and straight in the back; he had not run to seed like poor Garth, who led, it was feared, a most improvident and dissolute life. Amery’s speech was short but entirely to the point:

“Only a word. I won’t take more than a minute. But I do want to say that my friend Adam is quite right–this is a great occasion for all of us! There is not, I venture to say, another family in England with so remarkable a lady at the head of it as Madame whom we are gathered together to honour. It is not only that she has reached her hundredth year–although that is an achievement in itself–but that she has reached it with such vigour, such health, such courage! It is interesting to remember that nearly a hundred and fifty years ago her father, as a young man, rode pack-horse into this district, a stranger and almost you might say homeless. There were, I suppose, members of our family scattered about England at that time, but no one, I fear, had ever heard of any of them. Now, sitting round this table to-day we have one of England’s most famous novelists–spare your blushes, Barney Newmark–the widow of one of England’s most prominent financiers–I bow to you, Lady Herries–whose son is following worthily in his father’s footsteps–I drink to the City, Ellis–the son of one of England’s leading Divines, the gallant Captain here–one of the most active members, I’m told, of the House of Peers–never been there myself, but that’s what they tell me, Carey, my son–and one of the loveliest women in the whole of England, Mrs. Robert Forster–I bow towards you, Veronica!

“I promised that I would be short, so I will not point out to you how unusual a family ours is. You know it already (loud and happily complacent laughter). We are a remarkable family. Why should we not say so? We have done, we are doing something for England. England, glorious England, Mistress of the World as she deserves to be.’ (He was going on to say something about foreigners but remembered just in time that Madame’s husband had been a Frenchman and that Adam had married a German.) “So here’s to Madame and here’s to England and here’s to the Herries family! May they all three live, prosper, and help the world along the way that it should go!’

What cheers, what enthusiasm, what excitement! He had said exactly what they were all longing for someone to say–the one thing needed to make the day a perfect success!

Judith’s granddaughter, Adam’s daughter, little Vanessa Paris, aged fifteen, sat between her mother and father and was so happily excited that she found it difficult to keep still. Some of the ladies thought that it was not quite correct that she should be there. In 1874 the golden rule was that children should be seen (at intervals) and never heard. She was Madame’s granddaughter and it was proper that she should have been present at the moving ceremony when the presentation was made to the old lady, but the right thing then was for her mother to send her back to Cat Bells where she lived. Nevertheless Lady Herries agreed with Emily Newmark that the child was tall for her age, was certainly pretty in her blue dress, and behaved with decorum. “It’s only to be hoped,’ Lady Herries said with foreboding, “that indulgence like this won’t spoil her. But what can you expect? Her mother’s a German. Adam Paris can have no idea of how to bring up a child. I never allowed,’ Lady Herries added, “Ellis any liberties, and no mother could wish for a more perfect son.’

Vanessa, of course, neither knew nor cared what anyone was saying. She trusted the whole world and everything and everyone in it. She loved everybody and especially her mother, her father, her grandmother, Aunt Jane Bellairs, Benjamin, Will Leathwaite (how she wished that he was here and could see all that was going on! She was storing everything up to tell him when she was home again).

From where she sat she could watch everything that Benjamin did and said. For the rest she was sharply observant. She noticed the large and very hideous yellow brooch that Lady Herries wore on her meagre bosom, the beautiful colour of Aunt Elizabeth’s hair (many of the ladies were her aunts, although not strictly so in chronology), the way that fat Garth Herries swallowed his wine and smacked his lips at intervals, the funny way that Aunt Jane (who had just come down from upstairs and reported that Madame was doing splendidly–not the least tired by all the fuss) made little pellets of her bread, Aunt Amabel’s suspicious manner of eating as though she suspected poison in every mouthful, and the shy frightened air of Ellis. (She supposed that that was because his mother was watching him!)

Of them all there were two who especially interested her. One was Benjamin, whom she loved with all her heart, and the other was a lady whose name she did not know, whom she had never seen before, who appeared to her the perfection of grace and beauty.

First Benjamin, whom she knew so well that he was like part of herself. She had loved him from the first moment of seeing him when, himself between six and seven, and she somewhere about two, he had made her first sticky and afterward sick with toffee that he had made against orders at the kitchen fire. Her first memory of him was connected with disobedience; so she had known him ever after, always against the law, always doing things of which she shouldn’t approve, but she kept sacred to the death every secret confided to her. She would never betray him; she would always love him for ever and ever. It was as simple as that. She knew with that intuitive quickness given to children that her mother did not approve of him. She knew more–that no one approved of him. He lived up at the Fortress with his mother, the lovely Elizabeth, and his grandfather, old broken-down Sir Walter, and it was supposed that Benjamin looked after the estate. In a way, as Vanessa knew, he did. In his own way. He would work like a saint and a hero for a week, really work and with good solid common sense. Then he would have a mad spell, disappear for days to the sorrow and grief of his mama. He told Vanessa that he simply couldn’t help it. “Must breathe fresh air,’ he said. He never told anyone where he went. He was already, as Vanessa knew, “suspect’ by the Family. He had been a failure at Rugby: there were stories of scandalous doings in Town. “He’s going to be no good.’ “The makings of a fine Rascal,’ and, as always with the Herries family when speaking of someone of whom they disapproved, their voices took on a sort of ceremonial ring, a kind of chanting sound. “But what can you expect? His grandfather shot himself, and his uncle murdered his father. What an inheritance! And look at his other grandfather!–up at the Fortress–what a life he’s led! Nothing better now than an idiot!’

No, poor Benjie has no chance at all, they decide with satisfaction. Nevertheless they could not help but like him–when they were with him. Of course it was different when their backs were turned. But in his company it was difficult not to smile. He was so merry, so gay, always laughing. So generous too. “No one’s enemy but his own,’ Barney Newmark, who liked him greatly, said–and poor old Garth Herries, who had been no one’s enemy but his own to such an extent that he was a complete wreck and ruin, sighed sadly in reply.

Vanessa was aware of much of this, although no one had ever told her. She was always hot in Benjie’s defence, no matter what the charge might be. When someone accused him it was as though she herself were accused; she was conscious at such times of a strange pain in her heart–a feeling of tenderness, sympathy and apprehension. Now, as she looked across the table at him, she knew that he had no need of her sympathy. He was at his very gayest. He was not large–he would be rather a small man–but his shoulders were broad, his head round, bullet-shaped, his colour red and brown like a healthy pippin, his nose snub, his blue eyes bright and sparkling. If all the Herries were like horses, as someone had said, then Benjie was like a racy little pony, ready for anything and especially mischief. “He’s wild and, I’m sure, wicked. In fact I know he’s wicked,’ Lady Herries said. “And Ellis doesn’t like him at all. But what can you expect with such a family history?’ Then dropping her voice and looking into Emily Newmark’s eyes with that intimate confidence felt by one upright woman for another: “Women! Of course–I hear that already....’

Nevertheless he was happy, he loved his beautiful mother, he feared no man, he was generous, almost everything–even the tiniest things–gave him pleasure. What if he did find women enchanting, forgot to pay his debts, possessed no sense of class at all so that a tramp was exactly the same to him as a Herries, found it difficult to work at a thing for more than a week at a time, took no thought for the morrow, saw a joke in everything?–there he was, enjoying life to the uttermost, which was more than could be said for some of the other Herries seated round the table.

As to the very beautiful lady whom Vanessa so greatly admired, her name was Rose Ormerod.

After the luncheon Vanessa flung her arms round her father and kissed him.

“Happy, my darling?’

“Oh yes. Oh yes, I’ve never been so happy–’

“That’s right. I didn’t make much of a speech, did I, my pet?’

“Oh yes, Papa! It was much better than the other one because you were thinking of Grandmama.’

“Thank you, darling. So I was. But I’m not good at speeches. That’s a fact.’

She laid her cheek against his. Then, remembering, straightened up.

“Papa, may I go for a walk with Benjie? He’s asked me to.’

Adam hesitated. Then, taking her small white hand between his, he said:

“All right.’

He could trust her with Benjamin. And yet–

She clapped her hands and ran off, crying: “Yes, Benjie, I can. Papa says I can.’ She ran into Ellis Herries and looked up laughing. “I beg your pardon.’ She put her hand for a moment on his sleeve.

His thin anxious face looked down at her.

“My fault, I’m sure. It’s–it’s a nice day, isn’t it?’

“Yes, it is.’ She stood there, waiting, but longing to get off to Benjie. It was good manners, though, if a gentleman wished to talk to you, to wait while he did so.

Ellis Herries was tall, thin and pale. She noticed that he had a little brown mole in the middle of his left cheek.

“A very happy party we’re having,’ he said in his stiff anxious voice. He always spoke as though he were afraid that the words he used would betray him, laugh at him behind his back, as it were.

“Oh, it is nice!’ She smiled, felt that she had done her duty, and ran off.

When they walked out on to the road they saw that they had but an hour before dark. Frost was sharpening the air. They mounted straight on to the moor and moved swiftly through a moth-grey world where mountains were gigantic and the turf was crisping under their feet. The house stood behind them like a lighted ship. The candles were burning in every room. Vanessa had sometimes to run to keep up with Benjamin, but in any case she ran because she was so happy, deeply excited and enchanted to be alone with him. Soon they slowed down, stood on a hillock and looked over to Scotland.

“There’s Criffel,’ he said, pointing.

“I can’t see it,’ Vanessa said.

“No, but it’s there all the same.’ He took her hand. “I approve of you in that fine hat. Where did you find the feather?’

“Mama bought the hat in Keswick.’

He stood close to her.

“You are almost as tall as I am, Vanessa. You are going to be very tall.’

“Papa says I am. Will you never be taller, Benjie?’

“No, I hope not. You see, it’s very useful to be short.’

“Useful?’

“Yes–if there’s a row you can crawl under tables or hide behind a curtain or creep into the clock. I remember once in London–’ He stopped.

Vanessa’s innocence must be protected.

“Oh, do tell me about London!’

“One day, when you’ve been there. It wouldn’t mean anything to you if you don’t know the places.’

They walked on. They were both strong, sturdy, filled with health and excitement.

Benjamin flung out his arms.

“Don’t you love this country? But of course you do. We belong to it. There’ll never be any other country for either of us. Your father once told me that when he was a boy he had a tutor called Rackstraw who knew more about this country than anyone. He said it was all stones and clouds. One stone wall running up a hill, one sky with the clouds pouring over it, and you’re happy. It’s so old. There are Romans’ bones under your foot. It’s so strong–Border fights and Picts and Scots. It’s so wide and smells so good. Don’t you like the smell of dry bracken, of the trees, of the stream-water when you lie flat and drink it? Which hill do you like best?’

“Cat Bells,’ said Vanessa promptly.

“Oh, I mean a real hill. Skiddaw has wings, Saddleback’s like a shark, Gable is a helmet...’ He stopped suddenly, put his arms round her and kissed her. “Oh, Vanessa, I do love you!’

“And I love you,’ she said, a little breathless.

“Will you marry me when you grow up?’

“Of course I will,’ she said, laughing.

They walked on, more slowly, he keeping his arm around her.

“Well, you’d better not. Everyone disapproves of me.’

“What does that matter?’

Her trust touched him most deeply.

“Would you marry me if your father and mother forbade it?’

That was an awful question. She stopped to consider it.

“Yes,’ she said.

“Oh, you darling! But I won’t allow you to marry me. Ask anyone. No woman ought to marry me. I couldn’t be faithful.’

“You would be,’ said Vanessa, “if we had children.’

“Will you like to have children?’ he asked her, wondering what she would say.

“Of course. But you can’t help it. God brings you a baby. You wake up in the morning and find it lying there beside you. That must be wonderful. Mama says that God knows just when you want one.’

“So you believe in God?’

Vanessa laughed. “Why, of course. What a silly question, Benjie! Everybody does.’

“Everybody doesn’t–’ He pulled up. He must not disturb her.

“Of course everyone does!’ she answered indignantly. “Why, who made everything if God didn’t? God’s everywhere. Will Leathwaite says that when he has been swearing too much God gives him the rheumatism just to remind him.’

Benjie thought some other topic wiser.

“Well–but if I was in disgrace with everyone, had done something shameful and no one would speak to me, would you still marry me?’

“Of course I would.’

“But if you yourself thought it shameful?’

“I shouldn’t think anything you did shameful,’ she answered.

“If I killed someone as my uncle killed my father?’

She stood, puzzled, staring into the grey cold landscape.

“Yes,’ she said, nodding her head. “I would know why you did it. There would be some reason that I should understand.’

He caught her hands in his.

“Will you promise me that whatever happens you will always stand by me?’

“Yes, I promise.’

“Always and for ever?’

“Yes.’

“Whatever I did?’

“Yes.’

“I’ll remind you of that one day.’ He turned round. “Now we’ll go back to all the cats and monkeys,’ he said.

They were both quiet returning. They had to go arm-in-arm, very close together, because it was growing dark. For a brief while there was a faint orange glow over Skiddaw like the reflection of a distant fire; the air grew with every moment more frosty.

Once as they were nearing the house he said:

“Don’t you hate Ellis? I do. And his old pig of a mother.’

In the hall, standing for a moment to accustom herself to the lights and splendour after the half-dark, Vanessa found her father. He had been standing there, waiting for her, hearing the voices and laughter all over the house, the distant click of billiard-balls, someone singing to the piano sentimental songs like Drink to me only and My hero, my Troubadour, Elizabeth coming back from the Fortress where she had deposited poor old Walter, quite in pieces. She had put him to bed. He had fallen almost at once to sleep; all he had said, she told Adam, just before he went off to sleep, was: “Wake me when Uhland comes in.’ Very touching, but, as she said, a comfort for him to think that Uhland was still alive. Sometimes, Elizabeth confessed, she thought that he was and she could hear the tap-tap of his lame leg mounting to his tower.... Then along the passage from the kitchen came bursting Barney Newmark and Garth and Timothy, stout, noisy and triumphant. Why triumphant? Had they been kissing the maids? But the Herries men got like that very easily if things were going well and there were no ghosts about.

In the middle of all this Adam waited anxiously for his little daughter. His wife, Margaret, was sitting in the parlour trying to be on terms with Lady Herries and that fascinating Rose Ormerod from Harrogate (she wasn’t beautiful, Adam decided–not to be compared with Elizabeth or Veronica–her nose was a little crooked, she had a faint, a very faint moustache on her upper lip. It was her colour, dark, black, crimson, like a gipsy: and then she was silent–she spoke very rarely, only smiled and used her eyes). Poor Margaret would not be happy in there; he knew how anxious she was about Vanessa! When he told her that the child had gone for a walk with Benjamin she gave a little cry of dismay.

“Oh, Adam! You should not have allowed her!’

“Pooh, my dear! Benjamin’s safe!’

“No, he isn’t! You know he isn’t! And Vanessa’s growing!’

“She is only fifteen.’

He had calmed her a little, but his own fears had increased. What was he to do about this? He knew that Vanessa loved Benjamin with all the fire, loyalty, ignorance of an adoring child. Benjamin’s reputation was bad, very bad. And yet he liked him. He could not help it. He had always had a weakness for sinners.... But Benjamin and his own child! No, no!

As the darkness strengthened about the house his alarm grew. He was about to get his coat and go after them when in they came, Vanessa glowing with colour, her eyes shining, her body so alive that it could not keep still.

He told her that she was to come up and say good-night to her grandmother.

“We must not stay for more than a moment. She is in bed and tired, of course, after such a fatiguing day. It’s something to be a hundred, you know!’

Vanessa was at once subdued and still. She lived so entirely, at present, in her interest in other people that, in a moment, she became what they wanted her to be. That is if she loved them. She was quite otherwise, it is to be feared, with one or two–Aunt Amabel, for instance, whom she couldn’t abide, and Timothy’s fiancée, who had aggravated her by talking to her in baby language.

Judith’s bedroom seemed now a mysterious place, quite different from the bright sunlit room of the morning, crowded with happy faces, and the old lady sitting so erect in her chair, smiling as they brought her their presents.

The curtains were drawn now, the room dark save for the fire and the dim lamplight beside the bed. That old four-poster with its dark hangings appeared like a little room in itself. Aunt Jane was moving softly about. When Adam and Vanessa appeared in the doorway she put her finger to her lips.

She went over to the bed, leant over.

“Aunt Judith! Aunt Judith!’

“Yes, my dear,’ said a very lively voice. “What is it?’

“Adam and Vanessa are here to say good-night.’

“Turn up the lamp.’ Judith sat up, put out her hand for her spectacles, and, her eyes as sharp behind them as a bird’s, said: “That’s right. Very kind of you, Adam. Come over here, my dears.’

They crossed the room, and Jane put the crimson armchair for Adam. Vanessa stood close to him, her hand on his shoulder.

The old lady seemed a little breathless. She was wearing a cap as white as snow with the sun on it, and over her shoulders Jane laid a thick white cashmere shawl. Her little face was drawn and lined, waxen in the lamplight. It was her eyes and hands that were alive, and her enchanting, humorous, slightly ironical smile.

“So I’m a hundred at last!’ she said with a sigh of satisfaction. “That’s something, Adam, isn’t it?’

“Indeed it is, mother.’

“Yes, and a very nice day it’s been.’

“You’re not tired?’

“Well–a little. Yes, a little tired. My heart’–she put her hand to her breast–”jumps. There’s nothing odd about that though. It’s been jumping for a hundred years. It was never so steady as it ought to be.’

Vanessa smiled.

“Have you had a happy day, my darling?’ She put her hand out and took Vanessa’s. How hot and dry it was, Vanessa thought–burning bones under parchment, and at the touch of it the child had a moment’s realisation of what it was to be old, to be a hundred years old, to be burnt up with life and all the things that you had seen and done!

“It was nice,’ Judith said, “poor old Walter coming. Very nice. He’s sadly broken up, I’m afraid. Sadly aged.’ She spoke with tenderness, satisfaction and triumph. She had beaten Walter at last. She was older than he and yet here she was as lively as you like and he a poor old man who had to be led about, weak in the head, uncertain where he was!

Yet she herself was suddenly weary. She lay back on her pillow, her spectacles falling to the edge of her nose.

“I hope everyone is happy,’ she murmured.

“Very happy, mother dearest,’ Adam answered, catching a command from Jane’s watchful eye. “You must go to sleep now. You will be fresh as anything to-morrow.’

“Yes, dear,’ Judith murmured.

Vanessa bent forward and kissed her. Then Adam, moved by the deepest emotion, tears rising to his eyes, kissed her, felt her hand lift for a moment and touch his cheek in the old familiar way.

Before they had stolen from the room she was, it seemed, asleep.

The first Ball of Vanessa’s life!

Was Ball too grand a word to give to it? There was for orchestra Mrs. Blader from Troutbeck at the piano; Mr. Murdy of Keswick, violin; old Mr. Bayliss of Keswick, “cello. There were perhaps in all thirty couples, and the dining-room, cleared, within the hour following dinner, miraculously of its table and chairs, had a perfect floor. It had often been tested. The room looked lovely, Vanessa thought, with the gleaming, glittering candelabra, the candles in their silver candlesticks, the coloured paper streamers slung from corner to corner against the ceiling. It was colours everywhere, dresses–pink, white, blue, orange–billowing and surging as the dancers moved, necks and shoulders bare, jewels sparkling; almost everyone to Vanessa seemed beautiful–even old Lady Herries, although she was absurdly painted and had a neck like a writhing chicken, had diamonds in her hair that must, Vanessa thought, be worth a fortune.

Three of the women were beautiful beyond compare–Elizabeth Herries who was fifty-nine years of age but had the arms and shoulders of a girl; and Veronica, now proudly Mrs. Forster, “a queen of a woman, by Gad,’ Will Herries murmured somewhat unwisely to his wife, who was a good woman but no beauty. The third was Ruth Cards, who went shortly after this to live in the wilds of Northumberland and but seldom left them.

At first Vanessa had felt a devastating shyness. At dinner she had been very quiet. She was wearing her first grand evening dress and only she and her mother knew what consultations there had been with Miss Kew of Keswick, how often they had paid visits to Miss Kew’s stuffy little room near St. John’s, how important it had been that it should be half grown-up–Miss Kew had been alarmed: girls of fifteen did not go to Balls, but then of course this was a family affair, a little different... nevertheless, as Miss Kew confided to her brother, Mrs. Paris was a German woman–”Such things might be well in Germany’ just as though she had said Shanghai!

So they had planned between them something very original, the neck and shoulders bare–”Miss Vanessa has such beautiful shoulders’–the skirt full, but not too full. A pale pink silk and round her slender neck her only piece of jewelry, a necklace of crystal beads that her father had brought her from London.

At dinner she was certain that they must all be saying: “And what is this child doing here?’ All day she had been so happy that she had not given herself a thought, but at dinner Garth Herries had been on the one side of her and Ellis on the other.

Rose Ormerod was Garth’s other companion and very quickly he surrendered to her as apparently all men did. He did not speak to Vanessa once. And Ellis! Well, Ellis was very strange. He stared at her in the oddest way. He spoke to her confusedly as though he were afraid of her. He said: “I hope you are enjoying yourself,’ and then later: “I do hope, most sincerely, that you are enjoying yourself.’ He made her embarrassed. It was he perhaps who made her self-conscious. He looked at her shoulders and hands, and once he said, in a strangled fashion as though food were choking him: “I hope you will give me a dance.’ Very bravely she asked him once whether he liked to live in London. “Oh yes, indeed yes. Very pleasant. Lived there all my life, you know.’

She coloured; she felt that it had been a very silly question; she looked about her to find her father, but he was sitting on the same side of the table as herself.

Then, at first, no one asked her to dance. She sat on a little sofa with her mother, feeling that everyone must be looking at her bare shoulders, not very far, if the truth must be known, from tears. It had been a lovely day, but she had no right to be here. She thought that, in a little while, she would whisper something to her mother and slip away to bed....

It was Benjie who came to her rescue. The most beautiful valse had just begun and he charged down upon them, had her on her feet before she knew, and then they were lost in Paradise.

She was a lovely dancer. She had danced all her life, danced up and down the parlour at Cat Bells while her father whistled the tunes, danced by the Lake in Manesty, danced in the kitchen with Will, had had dancing lessons in Keswick at Mr. Kew’s (brother to Miss Kew) dancing class. She was a dancer by all the light of her nature.

“That child dances well,’ said Lady Herries to Rose Ormerod. “Very pretty.’

“That child will be a beautiful woman,’ said Miss Ormerod. The two were passing them at the moment. Miss Ormerod’s intense gaze followed them round the room. In a second of time Vanessa’s misery had been changed to timeless, priceless delight. They did not speak. Benjamin also loved dancing. He knew at once whether his partner was worthy of him. Already many a young woman had found herself, after a round or two, sitting to her own surprise on the sofa, and Benjie beside her, charming but static.

“You dance better than anyone else in the room, Vanessa.’

“Oh, do I?’ Vanessa whispered. “Oh, Benjie, do I really?’

He did not tell her that he had said that to many a partner in the past. He knew that he would say it to thousands in the future. But to-night he meant every word of it. When the dance was over and they were sitting on the stairs she confided to him how unhappy she had been at dinner.

“You will often be unhappy again,’ he instructed her. “Everyone is so. Dinners are the devil. You never know whom you will get. It’s a game, you see, Vanessa, and the worse ninny you have beside you the better the game is. Flatter them. That’s the way. Everyone likes to be flattered. You can’t put it on too thick. And do it as though you meant it. Then you’ll discover you do mean it, for the moment anyway.’

“What do you flatter them about?’ she asked.

“Oh, you’ll soon discover their weak point. Everyone has them. Ask them first what they like best–games or travelling or adding up sums in a stuffy office as Ellis does. After that, all you’ve got to do is listen. Nobody wants you to do anything but listen, no men anyway. Women are different. They like you to tell them that they are beautiful or clever. And why shouldn’t they? We all get enough of the other thing. Parties are meant to cheer you up and make you feel for a moment that all the things the people who know you best think about you aren’t true.’

“Well,’ said Vanessa, “whatever happens now it won’t matter. I’ve had one lovely dance.’

But she need not have been afraid. Soon Amery came to ask her, then Will Herries, then young Richard Cards, then Carey Rockage and, at last, Ellis.

She gave them all places on her flowery programme. She swung round the room in an ecstasy. “Isn’t this lovely?’ she murmured to Amery.

Amery, who was anxious about his brother Garth, now rather drunk and quarrelsome in the parlour, answered at first absent-mindedly, then realised that he was moving with a grace and charm that he hadn’t known for years. “By Gad,’ he thought, “I’m more of a dancer than I knew I was,’ and wondered whether if he had been more gay in his past and his brother less gay, it wouldn’t have been better for both of them! “Poor Sylvia!’ he thought, seeing Garth’s wife, painted, raddled and weary as she bumped round with Rockage, who was no dancer. “She’s had a rotten life!’ He was suddenly charitable to everyone. This charming child, light as a fairy–by Jove, she was bewitching! Why had he known nothing like this? He had married late, and it hadn’t lasted long. There had been others, of course–Doris, whom he had had to keep so long after he was tired of her, and Alice Mason, who’d smashed all his china one night in a fit of temper, and the Frenchwoman, Marguerite Calvin, whose father’s debts he had paid. Had he had much in return? No, not very much. As he felt Vanessa’s hand on his arm he sighed. What was the use? He would be just the same to-morrow.

Vanessa, to her own great amusement, began at once to put Benjie’s advice into practice with all these gentlemen. It worked like a miracle. Amery talked to her about money, horses, and the Family. Will Herries talked to her about the Navy, the sea, the West Indies, Glebeshire, dogs, Polchester, the sea, the Family. Young Richard (whom she liked greatly) talked about books (Middlemarch, Mrs. Browning, Hawley Smart), gardening, riding, and the Family, and Carey talked about the place in Wiltshire, the weather, the weather, the weather, the place in Wiltshire, and the Family. She found that they soon forgot that they were talking to a child. She found that they all wanted comforting, consoling, reassuring, and so learnt one very useful never-to-be-forgotten lesson about Men. She discovered too that all of them, except young Richard, felt that in one way or another an injustice had been done. They hadn’t had fair treatment. Someone was to blame. Carey Rockage in especial was like a blinded bewildered animal whom unseen persecutors were prodding with pitchforks.

“Oh, I am so sorry!’ she found herself saying over and over again.

And Ellis? Ellis was another matter. She had noticed that he watched her. Often, feeling that someone’s eye was upon her, she saw that it was his. When their dance came it was “Sir Roger,’ and he asked her whether she would mind sitting with him instead. She did mind because she loved “Sir Roger’ and something in her was afraid of a long talk with Ellis, but she followed him meekly out into the hall and to a top corner of the stairs.

Here the sounds of the music were very dim, the house was still, and she thought of her darling grandmother, not far away, deep in sleep. It was as though for a moment something drew her into that bedroom. She stood there, looking at the dim light by the bed.

“Are you asleep, Grandmamma?’ she seemed to say.

“Yes, dear. I’m sleeping beautifully,’ the answer came. She put her hand on Ellis’ thin arm. “Did you hear anything? Anyone call?’

“No,’ he said.

There seemed to her a sound of light steps along the passage above them. Then she was compelled to give all her attention to Ellis. He forced her to do so. She did not know how old he was (he was in fact close on thirty-two), but he seemed to her both very old and very young.

He was unhappy, she was sure, and, like her grandmother, she could not bear that anyone should be unhappy. So, wanting to console him, she felt older than he. He was not exactly plain; he was distinguished in his thin, pale, quiet way; very serious; he scarcely ever smiled. But when he did his smile was rather beautiful. It lit up his thin face and his colourless eyes. It was as though he were pleading to be liked. He wants feeding up, she thought. His eyes were sometimes a little mad.

For a while he could do nothing but stammer out disconnected sentences. Then, following Benjie’s advice, she asked him questions, about London, the City, theatres, and what he did in his spare time.

“I haven’t any spare time,’ he assured her. “You see, my father had so many affairs in the City, and it all devolves upon me. I like it, you know. The City is a very agreeable place, it is indeed. Yes.’ Then he said, staring at her with all his eyes: “You must come one day, Cousin Vanessa, and stay with my mother and myself in Hill Street.’

“Thank you,’ she said. “I should love to go to London. I have never been to a theatre or a circus, and oh! how I should like to see the Queen!’

“The Queen is very much in retirement,’ he said solemnly, as though he kept her in his pocket, “but the Prince of Wales and the Princess are often to be seen driving.’

Then there was another awkward pause, until he broke out:

“I do hope you will come, Cousin Vanessa. Our house is not very gay, but if you came it would be–’ He choked in his throat. “Will you, please, not forget me? Will you think of me sometimes?’

“Of course I will think of you, Cousin Ellis,’ she answered, laughing because she felt, for some strange reason, uncomfortable.

“Will you indeed? That will make me very happy.... I have not many friends,’ he added. “My own fault of course. I am shy. You may not have guessed it, but I am very shy indeed.’

She certainly had guessed it–not only was he shy but he made others who were with him shy too. Then the music, to her relief, began again.

“Oh, we must go!’ she cried, jumping up.

“You promise to think of me?’ he asked again urgently. “I shall think of you often–very often indeed.’

When she was with them all again she sat for a while among the ladies and was aware of something that she had never thought of before (she was making so many discoveries to-night!), namely, that this family to which she belonged contained the real benefactors of the human race. Dorothy Bellairs, Veronica, Emily Newmark, even Sylvia Herries–they were all the same! If it were not for them the Poor, the Unprotected, almost everyone in fact who wasn’t Herries, would perish. Vanessa had a strange picture of all the cottage women of England seeing through their window the arrival in a carriage and pair of Dorothy, Veronica, Emily, Sylvia. These ladies were armed magnificently against the cold, their hands were in muffs, the high collars of their coats reached to their bonnets. Majestically they moved down the cottage path, John, James, William following behind with basket on arm. Then the cottage woman hastens, straightens her apron, puts the children in their places, arranges grandfather by the fire, hurries to the door.

“Good afternoon, my lady.’

“Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Cottage Woman. How are you this afternoon?’ The seat of the chair is dusted, even the cottage clock, the cottage cat, the cottage table are deferential. Glory has descended upon the cottage woman!

Vanessa had never thought of this before. The life that they enjoyed at Cat Bells was so very different; she had never had on every side of her so many Herries women. She had never, never realised that were it not for the Ladies of England the Poorer Classes would fade away. She had never known that there were any Poorer Classes.

Even Veronica! Beautiful, lovely Aunt Veronica!

“Oh, well, I told her... that if she didn’t drink the soup... would give it to her worthless old father....’

And Rockage’s wife: “They complained about the drains, but Carey explained to them....’

She turned it all over in her mind while she was dancing with young Richard.

Afterwards, when they were talking, she asked him:

“Are you glad you’re partly a Herries?’

“Glad?’ he said, turning round and smiling.

“Yes. Is it better being a Herries than being a Jones or Smith?’

(While she spoke she thought: What is happening to me? I’ve never thought of these things before.)

“Well, don’tcherknow,’ said Richard slowly, “there is something fine in being one of the oldest families–’

“But are we one of the oldest? I mean, aren’t the Jones and the Smiths just as old really?’

“I suppose they are. It’s being English that counts.’

“Is it better to be English than German or French?’

Richard, who had no notion that Vanessa’s mother was a German, answered with no hesitation at all:

“By Gad, yes–I should jolly well think it is.’ So that settled it.

As the evening went on she was aware that she had seen but little of Benjamin. She went to look for him and found him in the billiard-room dancing solemnly up and down with Barney Newmark, both of them swaying a little as they moved.

Vanessa–quite suddenly a child again–stood hesitating in the doorway, and Benjamin, looking up, saw two Vanessas, both lovely, both darlings, both the beloved of his heart. But he was never so much a gentleman as when he had drunk too much, so he disengaged himself from Barney and gave a courtly bow.

“Sit down, Vanessa, and I will fetch you some lemonade.’

She stood there, bitterly disappointed. She had often seen gentlemen who drank too much, but never Benjamin. She saw that his hair was ruffled, his eyes shining, and that he swayed on his feet, but she knew also that she loved him as dearly as ever, that her impulse was to go to him, smooth his hair, straighten his tie....

“No, thank you,’ she said.

He came up to her and took her hand. He saw that she was frightened.

“Come and we’ll dance, Vanessa,’ he said.

“I am afraid that this one is engaged,’ she answered, looking over his shoulder at Barney Newmark, who was gently singing to himself. She hurried away, leaving Benjamin staring after her.

In the dining-room again she danced once more with Amery and soon she was happy. How could she help it? Everyone was so happy around her. The musicians played like mad, the candles shone like stars, the noise filled the room so that it was like a paper-bag on the point of bursting. The valse was a lovely tune. They began to sing to it. The “Blue Danube.’ Oh! the “Blue Danube’! How lovely! One was not on earth but swinging, swaying in an azure heaven, limitless, lit with radiance. The wide, full dresses eddied and billowed, the naked shoulders and arms were gleaming, there was that gentle undertone of music rocking, rocking....

Wait! What’s the matter? The music has stopped! With a surge the room has reasserted itself, the candles have lost their radiance, everyone is silent, standing looking....

Vanessa, near to the door, saw that Aunt Jane, white-faced, shaking, Rockage’s arm around her, was speaking. Amery turned to the child.

“How sad! How tragic! Madame!... dead!’ Then realising that it was Vanessa: “Your grandmother....’

The silence that followed was so strange. Life had fled from the house.

“Yes, in her sleep.... Jane went up five minutes ago.... Quite quietly... in her sleep.... They have sent for Doctor Bettany.’

As they stared, conscious, every one of them, of the precariousness of this moment of existence, of the folly of their pretences of safety, thinking at the same time of the figure of the morning, so upright, so grand in her pleasure and happiness, all this only a moment ago, they themselves, perhaps, before the morning....

But she was A Hundred! She had reached her Hundred! Nothing could deprive her of that. A great age. Best of all to go quietly in your sleep.... A wonderful woman!

But beyond the windows the snow has begun to fall. Are there figures there on the frosty road? Old Herries, with the scar on his cheek, upright on his horse as when, so many many years ago, he had ridden up to that same gate to tell his son that his wife had run away; stout David, young again, riding on the wind to his beloved hills; Georges, waiting now for Judith who had been, in spite of his many infidelities, his only love; Charlie Watson waiting too, after so long an uncomplaining patience; poor Warren with that one hour of happiness to remember–and for those silent motionless watchers was there a sudden opening of the gates, a running out of a little figure, happy, daring, triumphant, a moment’s stare up and down the road, and then a cry?

“Georges! Georges!... Charlie! Warren!... Father!’

Vanessa felt an arm around her as Adam drew her away with him, murmuring:

“Don’t cry, my darling. It was the happiest way. Quietly, without any fuss–while we were all dancing.’

FOUNTAIN AT THE ROADSIDE

Walter Herries died in April 1880.

For the last five years of his life he was unaware of all that was happening in the world and perfectly happy. His daughter Elizabeth nursed him with infinite kindness and care and he was an infant in her hands. The Fortress, during those years, was a very quiet place. Benjamin, Elizabeth’s son, managed the estate, which was not now large in extent–two farms and a cottage or two in Lower Ireby were the full extent of it.

He managed it, that is to say, when he was there. For much of that period he was away; he visited the East, was said to have left his young mark on Shanghai and to have invaded the sanctities of Indian temples, to have assisted pirates in the South Seas and to have been knifed within an inch of his life in Sarawak: it was whispered even that he had five Chinese wives, numberless Asiatic concubines. He returned, however, looking very much as he went–brown, stubby, solid, cheerful and without a conscience. “I care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody cares for me’ was said, by all his friends and relations, to be his daily song.

He did, however, care for his mother, and after his third in “79 swore that he would settle down and become the Cumberland squire. He loved Cumberland with passion and he had a good head on his shoulders, so that, for a while, he was successful. Everyone liked him; for a brief time it seemed that he might be the most popular man in Cumberland. But soon stories were everywhere. He could not, it appeared, see a woman without kissing her, could not tell the truth (was it possible that his acquaintances had no humour?), had no social sense at all, so that he invited farmers’ wives to meet Mrs. Osmaston and took a shepherd with him to supper at Uldale. He was also, it was said, an atheist and openly defended Bradlaugh. He visited London frequently and never returned thence without a scandal hanging to his tail. It was said that the lowest ground in that city was his ground, that he drank, gambled, spent a fortune over horses and cheeked his relations. How many of these stories came from Hill Street, from old Lady Herries and her son Ellis, who both hated him, no one could say, but certain it was that he was himself responsible for many of them because he never denied anything and never admitted anything, cherished no grudges, accused no one and told anyone who asked him that yes, it must be true if everyone said so; he had no morals, he supposed; he would like to have some; they must be useful things, but he simply didn’t know where they were to be found.

On the other hand everyone was forced to admit that, as he grew older, he did not look dissipated. His colour was of the healthiest, his body of the toughest, his eyes bright and glowing. When he bathed in the Lake or a mountain stream in the summer with young Osmaston or Timothy Bellairs or Robert Forster it could be seen that his limbs were brown and supple as though he lived for ever in the open air. He was never drunk now as many of his neighbours were; smutty stories never appealed to him in the least, and if girls were the worse for his friendliness nobody knew of it for a fact. It was said that he walked vast distances over the hills and alone. Nobody ever saw him out of spirits or out of temper. He was generous to a fault. With all this nobody really knew him and nobody trusted him. “He’s a rascal,’ said the Herries in London, in Bournemouth, in Harrogate, in Manchester, in Carlisle, “and he’ll come to no good.’ In fact they longed, many of them, that he should come to no good as quickly as possible.

His only friends among his relations were Aunt Jane at Uldale, Adam Paris and his daughter Vanessa, Barney Newmark, and Rose Ormerod at Harrogate, who always said she’d marry him to-morrow if he asked her.

His one saving grace, they all said, was that he loved his mother–loved her, they added, quite selfishly because he left her whenever he pleased and for months she had not a line from him. It was not hard, they added, for him to love his mother, for she was the sweetest and gentlest of ladies and gave him everything that he wanted.

It was also added that he possessed that strange and mysterious quality known as “charm’–which meant that when you were with him you could not help but like him and that, as soon as his back was turned, you wondered whether he had meant a word that he said.

He happened to be at home when his grandfather died. Walter was sleeping late on a spring afternoon, and his room was bathed in sunshine. Wrapped in a padded crimson dressing-gown, his long white hair falling over his face as he slept, he seemed a bundle of clothes topped by a wig. Then he looked up, blinked at the sunlight, called for his son Uhland, saw him come slowly tap-tapping with his stick across the floor to him, grinned joyfully at the long-expected sight, and died–or, if you prefer it, went from the room, leaning on his son’s arm, happy as he had not been for many a day.

That night, when the old man had been decently laid out on the four-poster in the room upstairs, Elizabeth and her son sat in the little parlour off the hall and talked. The evening was very warm and a window was open. The trees faintly rustled; there came the occasional late fluting of a bird; the scent of early spring flowers, dim and cool with the night, hung about the room.

Benjamin sat opposite his mother, his legs stretched wide, and thought how beautiful she still was, how dearly he loved her, how selfish and restless he was, how quiet and unselfish was she! Elizabeth’s beauty had always been shy, delicately coloured, fragile. She was a Herries only in her strength of will and a certain opposition to new ideas. She had never cared for ideas but always for persons–and then for very few persons. As she looked across at her son she thought: “He is all that I have left. I know that he loves me and I know that I have no power over him.’ Then she raised her hand ever so slightly as though she were touching someone who bent above her chair. John Herries, her husband, had been dead for more than twenty years to everyone but herself. It was not sentiment nor vague superstition nor longing that made her aware that he was always alive at her side. It was plain fact–and as it was her own concern, her own experience, it was of no importance that others should say that this was absurd, or weak, or against facts. She worried no one else about the matter, not even her son.

Benjamin loved her so dearly that evening, thought she looked so lovely in her full black dress, felt so intensely how lonely she would be, that he was ready to do anything for her–except sacrifice anything that threatened his liberty. Everything threatened his liberty.

“So your long service is over, Mother. How wonderful you were to him! Everyone marvelled at it. I’m terribly proud of you.’

She looked at him, smiled (and with perhaps a touch of affectionate irony):

“And now, Benjie, I suppose you’ll go away again?’

“Oh no, Mother. Of course not! Leave you now!’

“Well, perhaps not just now–but soon. Jane is coming to stay later. And Vanessa. Vanessa is coming to-morrow for a week.’

He looked up sharply.

“Vanessa!’

“Yes. You didn’t know that she was here this evening? It was quite by chance. She had ridden over to Uldale. She had stayed the night with the Grigsbys. She came up to ask how everyone was. I told her the news, and like the darling she is she said that she would come to-morrow. Adam is away at Kendal, so it suits very well.’

“Oh, I’m glad!’ He drummed his heels into the carpet.

“You know, of course, that she loves you?’

“And I love her.’

Elizabeth smiled. “You say that very easily, Benjie.’

“Well, you know how it is.’ He got up and stood in front of the fireplace. “We’ve loved one another all our lives. Whatever else happens she always comes first. There’s no one in the world to put beside her. But she’s too fine for me to marry her. You know she is. No one knows it better than you do.’

He came and sat at her feet, his hand resting on her knee.

“How too fine?’

“You know what everyone says of me; that I’m no good, that I spoil everything I touch–a rascal, a vagabond, all the rest. And it’s true, I suppose. I’m no man to marry anyone.’

She stroked his hair gently.

“Is it true what they say?’

“You know me better than anyone else, Mother–or rather you and Vanessa do. I don’t think about myself. I take myself as I am. But I know that I can’t stick–to anyone or anything. It grows worse as I’m older. I want to do a thing–and I do it!’

“Is there any harm in that–if you don’t do bad things?’

“But perhaps I do–things that you’d call bad. I can’t tell. I don’t think that I know the difference between right and wrong. Or rather my ideas of right and wrong are different from other people’s. I’m too interested in everything to stop and think. I think when it’s too late.’

He laughed and looked up into her face.

“I’m a bad lot–but I love you and Vanessa with all my heart.’

“Yes–but not enough to do things for us?’

“Anything you like. Tell me to fetch you something from Pekin now and I’ll go and get it. But I can’t be tied, I can’t be told what to do, I can’t be preached at by anybody.’

“Perhaps,’ Elizabeth said quietly, “if you married Vanessa that would steady you.’

He shook his head vehemently.

“Vanessa is so good and so fine. She isn’t strait-laced. She’s wise and tolerant, but she’s high-minded. She believes in God, you know, Mother.’

“And don’t you?’

“You know that I don’t. Not as she does. Not as she does. I may be wrong. I dare say I am. But I must be honest. I don’t see things that way. I’m ignorant. I don’t know any more than the next fellow and I want the next fellow to believe as he sees, but I must be allowed to see for myself. I can’t see God anywhere. The things that people believe are fine for them but nonsense to me. To me as I am now. I’ve got all my life in front of me and everything to learn. God may be proved to me yet. I hope He will be.’

“Proved!’ Elizabeth laid her cheek for a moment against his. “God can’t be proved, Benjie. He must be felt.’

“Yes, I suppose so. That may come to me one day. Meanwhile–a heathen and a vagabond can’t marry Vanessa.’

She thought for a little and then said: “Have you talked of these things to Vanessa?’

“No. I don’t want to hurt her.’

“I don’t think you would hurt her. She’s very wise and very tolerant. She doesn’t want everyone’s experience to be hers. Her father isn’t religious in her way, but she understands him perfectly. So she may you.’

“Oh, she understands me, as much as she knows of me. But I know things about myself that I’d be ashamed for her to know. I’m not ashamed of myself, Mother. I’d like to be different–settled, noble, unselfish. Or would I? I can’t tell. I’m not proud of myself, but I’m not ashamed of myself either. I’m simply what I am. All the same I don’t see why I should burden someone else with the care of me. That at least I can do. Save others from troubling about me.’

“Yes,’ said Elizabeth. “But if someone loves you they want to trouble. They can’t help but trouble.’

He flung his arms around her and kissed her.