Chapter 2 - A Pair of Blue Eyes

It was on the evening of a winter's day. When two or three additional hours had merged the same afternoon and evening, some moving outlines might have been observed against the sky on the summit of a wild lone hill in that district. They circumscribed two men, having at present the aspect of silhouettes, sitting in a dog-cart and pushing along in the teeth of the wind. Scarcely a solitary house or man had been visible along the whole dreary distance of open country they were traversing. And now that night had begun to fall, the faint twilight, which still gave an idea of the landscape to their observation, was enlivened by the quiet appearance of the planet Jupiter, momentarily gleaming in intenser brilliancy in front of them, and by Sirius shedding its rays in rivalry from his position over their shoulders. The only lights apparent on earth were some spots of dull red glowing here and there upon the distant hills, which, as the driver of the vehicle gratuitously remarked to the hirer, were smouldering fires for the consumption of peat and gorse-roots where the common was being broken up for agricultural purposes. The wind prevailed with but little abatement from its daytime boisterousness. Three or four small clouds, delicate and pale, creeping along under the sky southward to the channel. Fourteen of the sixteen miles intervening between the railway terminus and the end of their journey had been gone over when they began to pass along the brink of a valley, some miles in extent, wherein the wintry skeletons of a more luxuriant vegetation than had hitherto surrounded them proclaimed an increased richness of soil, which showed signs of far more careful enclosure and management than had any slopes they had yet passed. A little farther, and an opening in the elm stretching up from this fertile valley, revealed a mansion. "'That's Endelstow House—Lord Luxellian's,' said the driver. "'Endelstow House—Lord Luxellian's,' repeated the other mechanically. He then turned himself sideways, and keenly scrutinized the almost invisible house, with an interest which the indistinct picture itself seemed far from adequate to create. "'Yes, that's Lord Luxellian's,' he said yet again after a while, as he still looked in the same direction. "'What? Be we going there?' "'No. Endelstow Vicarage, as I have told you.' "'I thought you may have altered your mind, sir, as you stared that way yet nothing so long.' "'Oh no. I am interested in the house, that's all. Most people be, as the saying is—but not in the sense that I am.' "'Oh! Well, his family is no better than my own, I believe.' "'How is that?' "'Hedgers and Ditchers, by rights.' But once in ancient times one of them, when he was at work, changed clothes with King Charles II, and saved the king's life. King Charles came up to him like a common man, and said offhand—'Man in the smock-frock, my name is Charles II, and that's the truth on it. Will you lend me your clothes?' "'I don't mind if I do,' said Hedger Luxellian, and they changed there and then. Now, mind ye, King Charles II said like a common man as he rode away,—'If ever I come to the crown, you come to court, knock at the door, and say out bold,—'Is King Charles II at home?' Tell him your name, and they shall let you in, and you shall be made a lord.' Now that was very nice of Master Charlie.' "'Very nice indeed.' Well, as the story is, the king came to the throne, and some years after that away went Hedger Luxellian. He knocked at the king's door, and asked if King Charles II was in. No, he isn't, they said. Then is Charles III?' said Hedger Luxellian. "'Yes,' said a young feller, standing by like a common man, only he had a crown on. My name is Charles III, and—'I really fancy that must be a mistake. I don't recollect anything in English history about Charles III,' said the other, in a tone of mild remonstrance. Oh, that's right history enough, only it wasn't printed. He was rather a queer-tempered man, if you remember.' "'Very well. Go on.' And by hook or by crook Hedger Luxellian was made a lord, and everything went on well till some time after, when he got into a most terrible row with King Charles IV. I can't stand Charles IV, upon my word. That's too much.' "'Why? There was a George IV, wasn't there?' "'Certainly.' "'Well, Charleses be as common as Georges. However, I'll say no more about it. Ah, well, tis the funniest world I ever lived in, upon my life it is. Ah, that such should be!' The dusk had thickened into darkness while the dusk conversed, and the outlying surface of the mansion gradually disappeared. The windows, which had before been as black blots on a lighter expanse of wall, became illuminated, and were transfigured into squares of light on the general dark body of the night landscape as it absorbed the outlines of the edifice into its bloomy monochrome. Not another word was spoken for some time, and they climbed a hill, then another hill piled on the summit of the first. An additional mile of plateau followed, from which could be discerned two lighthouses on the coast they were nearing, reposing on the horizon with a calm luster of benignity. Another oasis was reached. A little dell lay like a nest at their feet, towards which the driver pulled the horse at a sharp angle, and descended a steep slope which dived under the trees like a rabbit's burrow. They sank lower and lower. "'Endelstow Vicarage is inside here,' continued the man with the reins. This part about here is West Endelstow. Lord Luxellian's is East Endelstow, and has the church to itself. Passing Swancourt is the passing for Boat, and Bob's backward and forward. Ah, well, tis a funny world. I believe there was once a quarry here, where this house stands.' The man who built it in pastime scraped all the glebe for earth to put round the vicarage, and laid out a little paradise of flowers and trees in the soil he had got together in this way, whilst the field he scraped had been good for nothing ever since. "'How long has the present incumbent been here?' "'Maybe about a year—a year and a half. Tisn't two years, for they don't scandalize him yet, and, as a rule, the parish begins to scandalize the parson at the end of two years, among them familiar. But he's a very nice party—aye, Parson Swancourt knows me pretty well from off and driving over, and I know Parson Swancourt.' They emerged from the bower, swept round in a curve, and the chimneys and gables of the vicarage became darkly visible. Not a light showed anywhere. They alighted. The man felt his way to the porch, and rang the bell. At the end of three or four minutes, spent in patient waiting without hearing any sounds of a response, the stranger advanced and repeated the call in a more decided manner. He then fancied he heard footsteps in the hall, and sundry movements of the doorknob, but nobody appeared. Perhaps they'd been to home, sighed the driver, and I promised myself a bit of supper in Parson Swancourt's kitchen. Such lovely meat-pies, and fig-cakes, and cider, and drops of cordial that they do keep here. All right, neighbors, be you rich men, or be you poor men, that you must needs come to the world's end at this time o' night! exclaimed a voice at this instant. And turning their heads, they saw a rickety individual, shambling round from the back door, with a horn-lantern dangling from his hand. Time o' night, I believe, and the clock only gone seven o' them. Shall a lighten let us in, William Worm?' Oh, that you, Robert Lickpan? Nobody else, William Worm. And is the visiting-man a-come?' Yes, said the stranger. Is Mr. Swancourt at home? That he is, sir. And would you mind coming round by the back way? The front door's got stuck with the west. As you will do sometimes, and the turk can't open it. I know I'm only a poor wamblin' man, and I'll never pay the lord for my makin', sir. But I can show you the way in, sir. The new arrival followed his guide through a little door in a wall, and they promenaded a scullery and a kitchen, along which he passed with eyes rigidly fixed in advance, an inbred horror of prying forbidding him to gaze round the apartments that formed the back side of the household tapestry. Entering the hall, he was about to be shown to his room, when from the inner lobby of the front entrance, whither she had gone to learn the cause of the delay, sailed forth the form of Elfride. Her start of amazement at the sight of the visitor coming forth from under the stairs proved that she had not been expecting this surprising flank movement which had been originated entirely by the ingenuity of William Worm. She appeared in the prettiest of all feminine guises—that is to say, in demi-toilette, with plenty of loose curly hair tumbling down about her shoulders. An expression of uneasiness pervaded her countenance, and altogether she scarcely appeared woman enough for the situation. The visitor removed his hat, and the first words were spoken, Elfride prelusively looking with a great deal of interest, not unmixed with surprise, at the person towards whom she was to do the duties of hospitality. "'I am Mr. Smith,' said a stranger, in a musical voice. "'I am Miss Swancourt,' said Elfride. Her constraint was over. The great contrast between the reality she beheld before her, and the dark, taciturn, sharp elderly man of business who had lurked in her imagination—a man with clothes smelling of city-smoke, skin sallow from want of sun, and talk flavoured with epigram—was such a relief to her that Elfride smiled, almost laughed, in the newcomer's face. Stephen Smith, who has hitherto been hidden from us by the darkness, was at this time of his life but a youth in appearance, and barely a man in years. Judging by his look, London was the last place in the world that one would have imagined to be the scene of his activities. Such a face surely could not be nourished amid smoke and mud and fog and dust. Such an open countenance could never even have seen anything of the weariness, the fever, and the fret of Babylon II. His complexion was as fine as Elfride's own, the pink of his cheeks as delicate, his mouth as perfect as Cupid's bow in form, and as cherry-red in colour as hers. Bright curly hair, bright sparkling blue-grey eyes, a boy's blush and manner, neither whisker nor moustache—unless a little light-brown fur on his upper lip deserved the latter title. This composed the London professional man, the prospect of whose advent had so troubled Elfride. Elfride hastened to say she was sorry to tell him that Mr. Swancourt was not able to receive him that evening, and gave the reason why. Mr. Smith replied, in a voice boyish by nature and manly by art, that he was very sorry to hear this news, but that, as far as his reception was concerned, it did not matter in the least. Stephen was shown up to his room, and in his absence Elfride stealthily glided into her father's. "'He's come, papa. Such a young man for a businessman.' "'No, indeed.' "'His face is, well, pretty, just like mine.' "'What next?' "'Nothing. That's all I know of him yet. It is rather nice, is it not?' "'Well, we shall see when we know him better. Go down and give the poor fellow something to eat and drink, for Heaven's sake. And when he is done eating, say I should like to have a few words with him, if he doesn't mind coming up here.' The young lady glided downstairs again, and while she awaits young Smith's entry the letters referring to his visit had better be given. 1. Mr. Swancourt to Mr. Hubie. Enderstow Vicarage, February 18, 18-something. Sir, we are thinking of restoring the Tower and Isle of the Church in this parish, and Lord Luxellian, the patron of the living, has mentioned your name as that of a trustworthy architect, whom it would be desirable to ask to superintend the work. I am exceedingly ignorant of the necessary preliminary steps. Probably, however, the first is, that should you be, as Lord Luxellian says you are, disposed to assist us, yourself or some member of your staff come and see the building, and report thereupon for the satisfaction of parishioners and others. The spot is a very remote one—we have no railway—within fourteen miles, and the nearest place for putting up at—call it town, though merely a large village—is Castle Boterel, two miles further on, so that it would be most convenient for you to stay at the vicarage, which I am glad to place at your disposal, instead of pushing on to the hotel at Castle Boterel, and coming back again in the morning. Any day of the next week that you like to name for your visit will find us quite ready to receive you. Yours very truly, Christopher Swancourt. II. Mr. Hubie to Mr. Swancourt. Percy Place, Charing Cross. February 20th, 18-something. Dear Sir, Agreeably to your request of the eighteenth instant, I have arranged to survey and make drawings of the aisle and tower of your parish church, and of the dilapidations which have been suffered to accrue thereto, with a view to its restoration. My assistant, Mr. Stephen Smith, will leave London by the early train to-morrow morning, for the purpose. Many thanks for your proposal to accommodate him. He will take advantage of your offer, and will probably reach your house at some hour of the evening. You may put every confidence in him, and may rely upon his discernment in the matter of church architecture. Trusting that the plans for the restoration, which I shall prepare from the details of his survey, will prove satisfactory to yourself and Lord Oxelian, I am, dear Sir, yours faithfully, Walter Hubie.