The foundation novels 7.., p.5
Love Eternal (1918), page 5
This was the last time that Godfrey spoke with Isobel for a long while. Next morning he received a note addressed in her clear and peculiar writing, which from the angular formation of the letters and their regularity, at a distance looked not unlike a sheet of figures.
It was short and ran: —
Dear Old Godfrey, — Don’t be vexed with me because I was so cross this evening. Something in that old church upset me, and you know I have a dreadful temper. I didn’t mean anything I said. I daresay it is a good thing you should go away and see the world instead of sticking in this horrid place. Leave your address with Mother Parsons, and I will write to you; but mind you answer my letters or I shan’t write any more. Good-bye, old boy.
Your affectionate Isobel. Who is always thinking of you.
P.S. — I’ll get this to the Abbey with your milk. Can’t leave it myself, as we are starting for town at half-past seven to-morrow morning to catch the early train.
CHAPTER IV
THE GARDEN IN THE SQUARE
AS IT CHANCED Godfrey did see Isobel once more before he left England. It was arranged that he was to leave Charing Cross for Switzerland early on a certain Wednesday morning. Late on the Tuesday afternoon, Mr. Knight brought the lad to the Charing Cross Hotel. There, having taken his ticket and made all other necessary arrangements, he left him, returning himself to Essex by the evening train. Their farewell was somewhat disconcerting, at any rate to the mind of the youth.
His father retired with him to his room at the top of the hotel, and there administered a carefully prepared lecture which touched upon every point of the earnest Christian’s duty, ending up with admonitions on the dangers of the world, the flesh, and the devil, and a strong caution against frivolous, unbelieving and evil-disposed persons, especially such as were young, good-looking and wore petticoats.
“Woman,” said Mr. Knight, “is the great danger of man. She is the Devil’s favourite bait, at least to some natures of which I fear yours is one, though that is strange, as I may say that on the whole I have always disliked the sex, and I married for other reasons than those which are supposed to be common. Woman,” he went on, warming to his topic, “although allowed upon the world as a necessary evil, is a painted snare, full of [he meant baited with] guile. You will remember that the first woman, in her wicked desire to make him as bad as herself, tempted Adam until he ate the apple, no doubt under threats of estranging herself from him if he did not, and all the results that came from her iniquity, one of which is that men have had to work hard ever since.”
Here Godfrey reflected that there was someone behind who tempted the woman, also that it is better to work than to sit in a garden in eternal idleness, and lastly, that a desire for knowledge is natural and praiseworthy. Had Isobel been in his place she would have advanced these arguments, probably in vigorous and pointed language, but, having learnt something of Adam’s lesson, he was wiser and held his tongue.
“There is this peculiarity about women,” continued his parent, “which I beg you always to remember. It is that when you think she is doing what you want and that she loves you, you are doing what she wants and really she only loves herself. Therefore you must never pay attention to her soft words, and especially beware of her tears which are her strongest weapon given to her by the father of deceit to enable her to make fools of men. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Godfrey, with hesitation, “but — —” this burst from him involuntarily, “but, Father, if you have always avoided women, as you say, how do you know all this about them?”
For a moment Mr. Knight was staggered. Then he rose to the occasion.
“I know it, Godfrey, by observing the effect of their arts on others, as I have done frequently.”
A picture rose in Godfrey’s mind of his father with his eye to keyholes, or peering through fences with wide-open ears, but wisely he did not pursue the subject.
“My son,” continued and ended Mr. Knight, “I have watched you closely and I am sure that your weakness lies this way. Woman is and always will be the sin that doth so easily beset you. Even as a child you loved Mrs. Parsons much more than you did me, because, although old and unsightly, she is still female. When you left your home this morning for the first time, who was it that you grieved to part from? Not your companions, the other boys, but Mrs. Parsons again, whom I found you embracing in that foolish fashion, yes, and mingling your tears with hers, of which at your age you should be ashamed. Indeed I believe that you feel being separated from that garrulous person, who is but a servant, more than you do from me, your father.”
Here he waited for Godfrey’s contradiction, but as none came, went on with added acerbity:
“Of that anguis in herba, that viper, Isobel, who turns the pure milk of the Word to poison and bites the hand that fed her, I will say nothing, nothing,” (here Godfrey reflected that Isobel would have been better described as a lion in the path rather than as a snake in the grass) “except that I rejoice that you are to be separated from her, and I strictly forbid any communication between you and her, bold, godless and revolutionary as she is. I had rather see any man for whose welfare I cared, married to a virtuous and pious-minded housemaid, than to this young lady, as she is called, with all her wealth and position, who would eat out his soul with her acid unbelief and turn the world upside down to satisfy her fancy. Now I must go or I shall miss my train. Here is a present for you, of which I direct you to read a chapter every day,” and he produced out of a brown paper parcel a large French Bible. “It will both do you good and improve your knowledge of the French tongue. I especially commend your attention to certain verses in Proverbs dealing with the dangers on which I have touched, that I have marked with a blue pencil. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Father. Solomon wrote Proverbs, didn’t he?”
“It is believed so and his wide — experience — gives a special value to his counsel. You will write to me once a week, and when you have had your dinner get to bed at once. On no account are you to go out into the streets. Goodbye.”
Then he planted a frosty kiss upon Godfrey’s brow and departed, leaving that youth full of reflections, but to tell the truth, somewhat relieved.
Shortly afterwards Godfrey descended to the coffee-room and ate his dinner. Here it was that the universal temptress against whom he had been warned so urgently, put in a first appearance in the person of a pleasant and elderly lady who was seated alongside of him. Noting this good-looking and lonely lad, she began to talk to him, and being a woman of the world, soon knew all about him, his name, who he was, whither he was going, etc. When she found out that it was to Lucerne, or rather its immediate neighbourhood, she grew quite interested, since, as it happened, she — her name was Miss Ogilvy — had a house there where she was accustomed to spend most of the year. Indeed, she was returning by the same train that Godfrey was to take on the following morning.
“We shall be travelling companions,” she said when she had explained all this.
“I am afraid not,” he answered, glancing at the many evidences of wealth upon her person. “You see,” he added colouring, “I am going second and have to spend as little as possible. Indeed I have brought some food with me in a basket so that I shall not need to buy any meals at the stations.”
Miss Ogilvy was touched, but laughed the matter off in her charming way, saying that he would have to be careful that the Custom-house officers did not think he was smuggling something in his basket, and as she knew them all must look to her to help him if he got into difficulties on the journey. Then she went on chatting and drawing him out, and what is more, made him take several glasses of some delicious white wine she was drinking. It was not very strong wine, but except for a little small beer, practically Godfrey had been brought up as a teetotaller for economy’s sake, and it went to his head. He became rather effusive; he told her of Sir John Blake about whom she seemed to know everything already, and something of his friendship with Isobel, who, he added, was coming out that very night at a fancy dress ball in London.
“I know,” said Miss Ogilvy, “at the de Lisles’ in Grosvenor Square. I was asked to it, but could not go as I am starting to-morrow.”
Then she rose and said “Good-night,” bidding him be sure not to be late for the train, as she would want him to help her with her luggage.
So off she went looking very charming and gracious, although she was over forty, and leaving Godfrey quite flattered by her attention.
Not knowing what to do he put on his hat and, walking across the station yard, took his stand by a gateway pillar and watched the tide of London life roll by. There he remained for nearly an hour, since the strange sight fascinated him who had never been in town before, the object of some attention from a policeman, although of this he was unaware. Also some rather odd ladies spoke to him from time to time which he thought kind of them, although they smelt so peculiar and seemed to have paint upon their faces. In answer to the inquiries of two of them as to his health he told them that he was very well. Also he agreed cordially with a third as to the extreme fineness of the night, and assured a fourth that he had no wish to take a walk as he was shortly going to bed, a statement which caused her to break into uncalled-for laughter.
It was at this point that the doubting policeman suggested that he should move on.
“Where to?” asked Godfrey of that officer of the law.
“To ‘ell if you like,” he replied. Then struck with curiosity, he inquired, “Where do you want to go to? This pillar ain’t a leaning post.”
Godfrey considered the matter and said with the verve of slight intoxication:
“Only two places appeal to me at present, heaven (not hell as you suggested), and Grosvenor Square. Perhaps, however, they are the same; at any rate, there is an angel in both of them.”
The policeman stared at him but could find no fault with the perfect sobriety of his appearance.
“Young luny, I suspect,” he muttered to himself, then said aloud: “Well, the Strand doesn’t lead to ‘eaven so far as I have noticed, rather t’other way indeed. But if you want Grosvenor Square, it’s over there,” and he waved his hand vaguely towards the west.
“Thank you,” said Godfrey, taking off his hat with much politeness. “If that is so, I will leave heaven to itself for the present and content myself with Grosvenor Square.”
Off he started in the direction indicated, and, as it seemed to him, walked for many miles through a long and bewildering series of brilliant streets, continually seeking new information as to his goal. The end of it was that at about a quarter to eleven he found himself somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Edgware Road, utterly stranded as it were, since his mind seemed incapable of appreciating further indications of locality.
“Look here, young man,” said a breezy costermonger to whom he had appealed, “I think you had better take a ‘ansom for the ‘orse will know more about London than you seem to do. There’s one ‘andy.”
“That is an idea,” said Godfrey, and entered the cab, giving the address of Grosvenor Square.
“What number?” asked the driver.
“I don’t know,” replied Godfrey, “the Ball, Grosvenor Square.”
Off they went, and in due course, reaching the square, drove round it until they came to a great house where there were signs of festivity in the shape of an awning above the entrance and a carpet on the pavement.
The cab stopped with a jerk and a voice from above — never having been in a hansom before, at first Godfrey could not locate it — exclaimed:
“Here’s your Ball, young gent. Now you’d better hop out and dance.”
His fare began to explain the situation through the little trap in the roof, demonstrating to the Jehu that his object was to observe the ball from without, not to dance at it within, and that it was necessary for him to drive on a little further. That worthy grew indignant.
“Blowed if I don’t believe you’re a bilk,” he shouted through the hole. “Here, you pay me my fare and hook it, young codger.”
Godfrey descended and commenced a search for money, only to remember that he had left his purse in his bag at the hotel. This also he explained with many apologies to the infuriated cabby, two gorgeous flunkeys who by now had arrived to escort him into the house, and a group of idlers who had collected round the door.
“I told yer he was a bilk. You look after your spoons, Thomas; I expect that’s wot he’s come for. Now you find that bob, Sonny, or I fetches the perlice.”
Then an inspiration flashed on Godfrey’s bewildered mind. Suddenly he recollected that, by the direction of heaven, Mrs. Parsons had sewn a ten shilling piece into the lining of his waistcoat, “in case he should ever want any money sudden-like.” He undid that garment and heedless of the mockery of the audience, began to feel wildly at its interior calico. Joy! there it was in the lefthand corner.
“I have money here if only I can get it out,” he gasped.
A woman in the gathering crowd, perhaps from pity, or curiosity, in the most unexpected way produced a pair of scissors from her pocket with which he began to hack at the waistcoat, gashing it sadly. At length the job was done and the half-sovereign appeared wrapped in a piece of cotton wool.
“Take it,” said Godfrey, “and go away. Let it teach you to have more trust in your fellow creatures, Mr. Cabman.”
The man seized the coin, examined it by the light of his lamp, tasted it, bit it, threw it on the top of the cab to see that it rang true, then with a “Well, I’m blowed!” whipped up his horse and went off.
Godfrey followed his example, as the flunkeys and the audience supposed to recover his change, though the last thing he was thinking of at that moment was change — except of locality. He ran a hundred yards or more to a part of the square where there was no lamp, then paused to consider.
“I have made a fool of myself,” he reflected, “as Isobel always says I do when I get the chance. I have come all this way and been abused and laughed at for nothing.”
Then his native determination began to assert itself. Why should it be for nothing? There was the house, and in it was Isobel, and oh! he wanted to see her. He crossed to the square-garden side and walked down in the shadow of the trees which grew there.
Under one of these he took his stand, squeezing himself against the railings, and watched the glowing house that was opposite, from which came the sounds of music, of dancing feet, of laughter and the tinkling of glasses. It had balconies, and on these appeared people dressed in all sorts of costumes. Among them he tried to recognise Isobel, but could not. Either she did not come or he was too far off to see her.
A dance was ending, the music grew faster and faster, then ceased with a flourish. More people appeared on the balconies. Others crowded into the hall, which he could see, for the door was open. Presently a pair came onto the steps. One of them was dressed as a knight in shining armour. He was a fine, tall young man, and his face was handsome, as the watcher could perceive, for he had taken off his plumed helm and carried it in his hand. The other was Isobel in her Plantagenet costume, to which were added one rose and a necklet of pink pearls. They stood on the steps a little while laughing and talking. Then he heard her say:
“Let us go into the square. It will be cooler. The key is hanging on the nail.”
She vanished for a moment, doubtless to fetch the key. Then they walked down the steps, over the spread carpet, and across the roadway. Within three paces of where Godfrey stood there was a gate. She gave the key to the knight, and after one or two attempts the gate swung open. Whilst he was fumbling at the lock she stood looking about her, and presently caught sight of Godfrey’s slim figure crouched against the railings in the deepest of the shadows.
“There is someone there, Lord Charles,” she said.
“Is there?” he answered, indifferently. “A cab-tout or a beggar, I expect. They always hang about parties. Come on, it is open at last.”
They passed into the garden and vanished. A wild jealousy seized Godfrey, and he slipped after them with the intention of revealing himself to Isobel. Inside the railings was a broad belt of shrubs bordered by a gravel path. The pair walked along the path, Godfrey following at a distance, till they came to a recessed seat on which they sat down. He halted behind a lilac bush ten paces or so away, not that he wanted to listen, but because he was ashamed to show himself. Indeed, he stopped his ears with his fingers that he might not overhear their talk. But he did not shut his eyes, and as the path curved here and the moon shone on them, he could see them well. They seemed very merry and to be playing some game.
At any rate, first with her finger she counted the air-holes in the knight’s helmet which he held up to her. Then with his finger he counted the pearls upon her neck. When he had finished she clapped her hands as though she had won a bet. After this they began to whisper to each other, at least he whispered and she smiled and shook her head. Finally, she seemed to give way, for she unfastened the flower which she wore in the breast of her dress, and presented to him. Godfrey started at the sight which caused him to take his fingers from his ears and clutch the bush. A dry twig broke with a loud crack.
“What’s that?” said Isobel.
“Don’t know,” answered Lord Charles. “What a funny girl you are, always seeing and hearing things. A stray cat, I expect; London squares are full of them. Now I have won my lady’s favour and she must fasten it to my helm after the ancient fashion.”
“Can’t,” said Isobel. “There are no pins in Plantagenet dresses.”
“Then I must do it for myself. Kiss it first, that was the rule, you know.”
“Very well,” said Isobel. “We must keep up the game, and there are worse things to kiss than roses.”
He held the flower to her and she bent forward to touch it with her lips. Suddenly he did the same, and their lips came very close together on either side of the rose.
This was too much for Godfrey. He glided forward, as the stray cat might have done, of which the fine knight had spoken, meaning to interrupt them.
