A Laodicean : A Story of To-day. Thomas Hardy
Читать онлайн книгу.
a morally culpable thing – to place such an historically valuable building in his hands.’
‘Has Mr. Havill ever been led to expect the commission?’ he asked.
‘He may have guessed that he would have it. I have spoken of my intention to him more than once.’
Somerset thought over his conversation with Havill. Well, he did not like Havill personally; and he had strong reasons for suspecting that in the matter of architecture Havill was a quack. But was it quite generous to step in thus, and take away what would be a golden opportunity to such a man of making both ends meet comfortably for some years to come, without giving him at least one chance? He reflected a little longer, and then spoke out his feeling.
‘I venture to propose a slightly modified arrangement,’ he said. ‘Instead of committing the whole undertaking to my hands without better proof of my ability to carry it out than you have at present, let there be a competition between Mr. Havill and myself – let our rival plans for the restoration and enlargement be submitted to a committee of the Royal Institute of British Architects – and let the choice rest with them, subject of course to your approval.’
‘It is indeed generous of you to suggest it.’ She looked thoughtfully at him; he appeared to strike her in a new light. ‘You really recommend it?’ The fairness which had prompted his words seemed to incline her still more than before to resign herself entirely to him in the matter.
‘I do,’ said Somerset deliberately.
‘I will think of it, since you wish it. And now, what general idea have you of the plan to adopt? I do not positively agree to your suggestion as yet, so I may perhaps ask the question.’
Somerset, being by this time familiar with the general plan of the castle, took out his pencil and made a rough sketch. While he was doing it she rose, and coming to the back of his chair, bent over him in silence.
‘Ah, I begin to see your conception,’ she murmured; and the breath of her words fanned his ear. He finished the sketch, and held it up to her, saying —
‘I would suggest that you walk over the building with Mr. Havill and myself, and detail your ideas to us on each portion.’
‘Is it necessary?’
‘Clients mostly do it.’
‘I will, then. But it is too late for me this evening. Please meet me to-morrow at ten.’
At ten o’clock they met in the same room, Paula appearing in a straw hat having a bent-up brim lined with plaited silk, so that it surrounded her forehead like a nimbus; and Somerset armed with sketch-book, measuring-rod, and other apparatus of his craft.
‘And Mr. Havill?’ said the young man.
‘I have not decided to employ him: if I do he shall go round with me independently of you,’ she replied rather brusquely.
Somerset was by no means sorry to hear this. His duty to Havill was done.
‘And now,’ she said, as they walked on together through the passages, ‘I must tell you that I am not a mediaevalist myself; and perhaps that’s a pity.’
‘What are you?’
‘I am Greek – that’s why I don’t wish to influence your design.’
Somerset, as they proceeded, pointed out where roofs had been and should be again, where gables had been pulled down, and where floors had vanished, showing her how to reconstruct their details from marks in the walls, much as a comparative anatomist reconstructs an antediluvian from fragmentary bones and teeth. She appeared to be interested, listened attentively, but said little in reply. They were ultimately in a long narrow passage, indifferently lighted, when Somerset, treading on a loose stone, felt a twinge of weakness in one knee, and knew in a moment that it was the result of the twist given by his yesterday’s fall. He paused, leaning against the wall.
‘What is it?’ said Paula, with a sudden timidity in her voice.
‘I slipped down yesterday,’ he said. ‘It will be right in a moment.’
‘I – can I help you?’ said Paula. But she did not come near him; indeed, she withdrew a little. She looked up the passage, and down the passage, and became conscious that it was long and gloomy, and that nobody was near. A curious coy uneasiness seemed to take possession of her. Whether she thought, for the first time, that she had made a mistake – that to wander about the castle alone with him was compromising, or whether it was the mere shy instinct of maidenhood, nobody knows; but she said suddenly, ‘I will get something for you, and return in a few minutes.’
‘Pray don’t – it has quite passed!’ he said, stepping out again.
But Paula had vanished. When she came back it was in the rear of Charlotte De Stancy. Miss De Stancy had a tumbler in one hand, half full of wine, which she offered him; Paula remaining in the background.
He took the glass, and, to satisfy his companions, drank a mouthful or two, though there was really nothing whatever the matter with him beyond the slight ache above mentioned. Charlotte was going to retire, but Paula said, quite anxiously, ‘You will stay with me, Charlotte, won’t you? Surely you are interested in what I am doing?’
‘What is it?’ said Miss De Stancy.
‘Planning how to mend and enlarge the castle. Tell Mr. Somerset what I want done in the quadrangle – you know quite well – and I will walk on.’
She walked on; but instead of talking on the subject as directed, Charlotte and Somerset followed chatting on indifferent matters. They came to an inner court and found Paula standing there.
She met Miss De Stancy with a smile. ‘Did you explain?’ she asked.
‘I have not explained yet.’ Paula seated herself on a stone bench, and Charlotte went on: ‘Miss Power thought of making a Greek court of this. But she will not tell you so herself, because it seems such dreadful anachronism.
‘I said I would not tell any architect myself,’ interposed Paula correctingly. ‘I did not then know that he would be Mr. Somerset.’
‘It is rather startling,’ said Somerset.
‘A Greek colonnade all round, you said, Paula,’ continued her less reticent companion. ‘A peristyle you called it – you saw it in a book, don’t you remember? – and then you were going to have a fountain in the middle, and statues like those in the British Museum.’
‘I did say so,’ remarked Paula, pulling the leaves from a young sycamore-tree that had sprung up between the joints of the paving.
From the spot where they sat they could see over the roofs the upper part of the great tower wherein Somerset had met with his misadventure. The tower stood boldly up in the sun, and from one of the slits in the corner something white waved in the breeze.
‘What can that be?’ said Charlotte. ‘Is it the fluff of owls, or a handkerchief?’
‘It is my handkerchief,’ Somerset answered. ‘I fixed it there with a stone to attract attention, and forgot to take it away.’
All three looked up at the handkerchief with interest. ‘Why did you want to attract attention?’ said Paula.
‘O, I fell into the turret; but I got out very easily.’
‘O Paula,’ said Charlotte, turning to her friend, ‘that must be the place where the man fell in, years ago, and was starved to death!’
‘Starved to death?’ said Paula.
‘They say so. O Mr. Somerset, what an escape!’ And Charlotte De Stancy walked away to a point from which she could get a better view of the treacherous turret.
‘Whom did you think to attract?’ asked Paula, after a pause.
‘I thought you might see it.’
‘Me personally?’ And, blushing faintly, her eyes rested upon him.
‘I hoped for anybody. I thought of you,’ said Somerset.
She