Kitabı oku: «Katharine Frensham: A Novel», sayfa 9

CHAPTER IV

So Katharine started off to Norway, taking the boat from the London Docks. By a curious chance Mrs Stanhope was on board too, and the presence of this bigot, Marianne's friend, Clifford Thornton's enemy, stirred Katharine to her depths. They had bowed stiffly, and then had contented themselves with glaring at each other.

It was a rough passage, and they were the only two women who did not retreat to their cabins. They sat side by side, in silence, in a sheltered part of the boat, having no choice to go elsewhere.

But although no words were spoken between them, an active warfare went on unceasingly: encounter after encounter, and the victory to neither.

The voyage came to an end, Christiania was reached, and the two women went, each her own way; each thankful to be free of the other.

But Mrs Stanhope, without knowing it, had sown fresh seeds of love and protection in Katharine's heart for Clifford Thornton. More than ever her thoughts turned to him. More than ever she found herself weaving a fancy fabric of happiness and love. Then she rent it in pieces and began it over again. She had to begin it again each time she had destroyed it, and each time some new beauty was added.

And thus busy with her work of destroying and restoring, the train bore her past beautiful Lake Mjösen, the biggest lake in Norway, and into the Gudbrandsdal, where she at once made the acquaintance of the river Laagen, the glacier river which Knutty, Ejnar, and Gerda were learning to love in their upland Gaard. She thought of them as old friends. It seemed to be quite natural that she was coming to them. She longed to see Knutty. She knew that she would not have one minute's shyness with Clifford's old Dane.

But she had not any idea how eagerly she was awaited. Tante was most impatient to see her, and kept on murmuring to herself, "By St Olaf, I see daylight through a leper's squint!" And when asked to explain these mysterious words, she only said:

"Keep to your own department, botanists. Don't interfere with the section marked human nature."

And Ejnar and Gerda were wild with delight, and even spoke soft words together about "Salix." Of course they only looked upon Katharine as the bringer of the parcel: having no value in herself, being, as it were, only a base instrument. It made no difference to them whether she was fair or dark, tall or short, agreeable or disagreeable, electric or soporific, with an attractive aura or an antipathetic personality.

"What on earth does it matter so long as she brings the parcel safely?" said Ejnar, in answer to Tante's repeated, "I wonder whether."

"That sort of thing matters very much to people who are alive," replied Tante sternly. "Of course to people who are prematurely dead, like botanists, nothing matters except the parcel. My belovèd Ejnar, I am delighted to see you so happy; but I must entreat you not to sing. You are frightening the horse; he looked round then to see whether an ostrich was driving him. And you observe we are on the most dangerous part of the cliff. Don't let us have an accident until we have embraced the parcel and received the bringer of it with indulgence. – And do remember to thank her, Gerda. And don't let Ejnar ask for the parcel the minute he sees her. Let us show the English barbarian woman that we know how to behave. – Ah, here we are on the level. Now, Ejnar, you can sing as much as you please. What a curious voice – not human! The sort of voice you would expect a decaying plant to have. But how happy you must be! You don't often sing, I think."

"Ja, I am very happy," said Ejnar, smiling radiantly. "I only sang once before in my life, after Gerda accepted me, when I was alone in the woods."

"A good thing she didn't hear you, or else she might have changed her mind," remarked Tante.

"Dear ones, dear ones," said Gerda, "here is the train. Oh, Ejnar, how I hope we shall not quarrel over the parcel. I know we shall, though."

They hurried out of the carriage, all of them in a state of great excitement, and Tante, very red and hot, but her face beaming with kindness and pleasant expectancy. She looked up and saw Katharine standing at the window.

"That is Miss Frensham," she said.

"How do you know?" said Gerda and Ejnar. "You've never seen her."

"Instinct, stupid ones!" answered Knutty breathlessly. "Of course it is Miss Frensham. Come along now, and remember to say nothing about the parcel, Ejnar."

Then she pressed forward, and just as Katharine was stepping out of the train, she put out her hand and said: "Welcome, Miss Frensham. I am Fröken Knudsgaard, and these are my botanists – your friends. We are so glad to see you."

"Ja, ja!" cried Ejnar and Gerda.

"And I to see you," Katharine answered. "It is like coming to see old friends. And I have the parcel quite safely here in my little travelling-box. I put it there so that there might not be one moment's delay. For, of course, you must be feeling impatient. I am sure I should."

With those simple but magic words Katharine immediately won her way into the botanical hearts of the botanists; and Knutty, looking at her dear frank face and delightful appearance, felt a glow of pleasure such as she had not been conscious of for many long years.

Then the clever Norwegian ponies, those yellow little fellows, full of mountain-wisdom and resource, drew the carriage slowly up the winding road which led to the Solli Gaard. Like all true Norwegians, they did exactly what they wished: rested when they wished, and went on when they wished: went very near the edge when they felt so inclined, or paused to drink of the brook running into the hollow tree-trunk placed there for their benefit. As Knutty said, they allowed plenty of time to look at the graceful birches which crept up from the valley, lined the hillside, were shimmering in the sunlight, trembling in the breezes, and sending out their own delicious fragrance laden with subtle sweetness.

"Ja, ja," said Knutty, "the birches are at their best to-day, to welcome the Englishwoman to beautiful Norway!"

CHAPTER V

The contents of the parcel exceeded the botanists' wildest expectations. They were radiantly happy over it, and delighted with Katharine. She had stamped herself on their minds as a woman of sense, who had understood that the parcel had been the entity and herself the non-entity.

"Obviously a person of discernment," Ejnar remarked several times to Tante, who laughed secretly when she observed that the impersonal botanist was beginning to show distinct signs of human appreciation as well. He even left his study once or twice, and came to sit with the ladies on the balcony, bringing his long pipe with him. He did not speak much, of course, and when he did he never touched on human affairs. But Katharine had seen these flowers, and in an unscientific but vivid way she could tell him a little about them, and a great deal about the botanists who had sent the precious gift. Gerda and he listened with rapt attention while she described to them the Colorado botanists' herbarium. She told them that they were rich, but that they did not care for a grand house. They lived in a small 'frame house,' and had built a princely herbarium, which, together with their wonderful botanic garden, was the chief feature of their property.

"They do not care about human grandeur," Katharine said, in conclusion.

"That is as it ought to be," exclaimed Ejnar and Gerda approvingly.

"All the same," remarked Tante, "I would prefer to inhabit that herbarium, and put the stupid dried plants in the cottage. But then I know I have a base human soul. Always have had – isn't it so, dear ones?"

"Yes, yes," said Ejnar and Gerda. "And you've always liked comfort."

"Yes," replied Tante – "good English comfort. Give me good English comfort and mange tak!⁶ Let me be base and comfortable, like my darling, much-abused English people."

"Are you really so fond of them, Fröken Knudsgaard?" Katharine said warmly; for every one feels a glow of pleasure at hearing one's country praised in a foreign land.

"Ja, I love them," Knutty replied, smiling at her; "and I spend half my time in fighting their battles. Even here I have several deadly conflicts every day with a Norwegian magistrate and a fur-merchant from the north. But now you've come, you can defend your own country much better than I can. But I shall always be delighted to help."

"Ja, she loves them," said Gerda. "And that Englishman of hers is the only person for whom she cares in the whole world. Ejnar and I have been jealous of that Englishman ever since I can remember."

"I have told you hundreds of times that it is absurd to be jealous of an iceberg," Knutty said, with a twinkle in her eye. – "You know, Miss Frensham, they are speaking of my dear Clifford Thornton, whom I've known and loved ever since he was seven years old. There is no one like him on earth – "

"Ak," said Gerda, "if she begins to talk to you about her Englishman, all is lost. Don't encourage her, Fröken. Take my advice. Tell us something more about the Colorado botanists and their garden. Moreover, the Englishman is soon coming himself. That will make her happy."

"He is coming," Katharine said eagerly, turning to Tante; "he is coming here?"

"Yes," said Tante, nodding at her.

And the quick old Dane glanced at her and saw how the light of a great happiness had come into her eyes.

"Yes," Tante said; "he has given up the journey to Japan, and I suppose he and his boy will be here in a week or so."

"In a week or so?" Katharine repeated, as though she could scarcely believe it.

Then, with a gaiety which delighted them all, she turned impulsively to the botanists and continued telling them all the details she could remember of that wonderful garden and the interesting collection of cactuses, and the different kinds of pepper-trees. And Gerda and Ejnar, entranced, kept on saying:

"Ja, and what more?" And Tante kept on thinking:

"Surely I see daylight! But, good heavens, what can we do to get rid of these botanists? Wretched creatures! Why don't they go back to their study provided so thoughtfully by me? And what a darling she is, and how delightful to look upon, and with a fine temperament. Simple and easy as a child. Built on a big scale, mind and body. Like the Gaard itself. Ja, ja. And then to think of that Marianne! Ak, what a brute I am! Never mind. Let me remain a brute! Oh, those botanists! If only they would go to their study and quarrel about the Mariposa lily, or cactuses, or salix, or something. And just look at Ejnar! He is becoming human. He is leaving the vegetable and entering the animal kingdom. By St Olaf, he has picked up her handkerchief! Ah, and here is Ragnhild coming to the Stabur to ring the bell for dinner. Nå, after dinner, we can have a talk about my Clifford."

So after dinner Tante took entire possession of Katharine, but much against the botanists' wishes. And Gerda said privately:

"Well, at least, don't bore her by talking about your Englishman all the time. You yourself saw how glad she was to get away from a subject which could not possibly interest her, and to continue to talk to us about Arizona and Colorado."

In answer Tante had a mysterious attack of laughter, and gave Gerda a specially affectionate hug; and, having assured her that she would use moderation, walked off with Katharine to show her, so she said, the principal sights of the Gaard, and to introduce her to some of her intimate friends, all of whom were interested in the arrival of the Englishwoman, the first English person they had ever seen. Knutty was proud that Katharine had such a fine appearance and such a charming way with every one. The Sollis, Johann himself, and Mor Inga, in their grave, reserved fashion, were kindly to her; and Karl, a most unemotional creature, was quite excited when she spoke some German to him. Bedstemor arrived on the scene, having heard that an English guest had come to the Gaard; and when Katharine was presented to her, she greeted her with great dignity, and said to Tante:

"She is nice looking, this Englishwoman. But thou shouldst have seen me when I was young."

This was translated to Katharine, who said to Tante:

"Tell her that I can see her in my mind's eye as a beautiful young girl; but she has not forgotten how to be beautiful in her old age."

Bedstemor was gratified, patted her on the back, and told her that she might come one day and drink coffee with her and see her wedding-cap.

Then she was introduced to old Kari, whom they passed on their way to Tante's favourite resting-place, an old black barn near a group of mountain-ashes. Kari was standing outside the great cowhouse; she looked at Katharine critically, seemed to approve of her, and said:

"She is nice looking, and strong too. She could do a good day's work in the fields. And how many children has she got?"

"Well, I suppose she has not any," laughed wicked old Tante. "She is not married."

"Perhaps she will find a husband here," said Kari reflectively.

"Perhaps she will," laughed Tante; and she was passing on when Kari came a little nearer to her and said mysteriously:

"If thou wilt come into the cowhouse to-morrow, I think I can tell thee something thou wilt like to hear – about the Huldre,⁷ the beautiful long-tailed one – but thou must come alone. And I will sing to thee again very willingly, for thou art a kind one. And to-morrow Mette makes Fladbröd.⁸ If thou dost wish to see her make the Fladbröd, thou shalt most certainly. Ja, and Mette can sing too. Thou shalt hear her also."

Then she nodded and disappeared into the cowhouse. Tante and Katharine paused for a moment to look at the picturesque winter-house of the seventy cows, and its long, grass-grown roof, its two bridges leading up to the top floor, where some of the hay was stored, and its most curious gap in the centre of the upper floor, through which one could see enclosed in a great oblong frame the valley below, the rivers, and the distant mountains. Tante pointed out this beautiful picture to Katharine and said:

"You know, I really enjoy Nature very much, although I pretend not to do so just to tease Ejnar and Gerda. Ah, they are dears, both of them. It was good of you to come and bring them their parcel. You do not know how eagerly you have been looked for – by them and by me. Of course they wanted their parcel; but I had another reason for being eager to receive you. May a wicked old woman tell you something some day?"

"Tell me now," Katharine said, turning to her.

"Well," said Tante recklessly, "it may be only an old woman's fancy; but he said in his letter that you did not really need a letter of introduction to me, since you were coming to see Ejnar and Gerda, and therefore me."

"But he felt that he could not be left out in the cold where you were concerned."

"Did he say that?" asked Katharine, with a tremor in her voice.

"Yes," answered Tante; and they strolled on together in silence until they came to the hay-barn on the hillside, near the mountain-ashes, Tante's terminus. There they sat, still in silence, but with their hearts and thoughts charged with the remembrance of Clifford Thornton. It was a long silence, probably the longest which Knutty had ever endured without impatience; for an instinctive comradeship had sprung up between her and this Englishwoman in whose eyes the light of love had come when Clifford Thornton's name was spoken. They were both glad to be together, and they knew it. At last Knutty said:

"My dear, since we are both thinking of him all the time, shall we not speak of him?"

And Katharine looked up and answered simply:

"Yes, let us speak of him."

So they spoke of him: Knutty with warm affection and pity; Katharine with sympathetic interest. That was all. She spoke of him as one traveller might speak of another traveller, both of them having met on some mountain-path in a distant land, spoken some words of greeting, and then passed on. That was all the personal part she thought she put into it.

But Knutty listened, and heard distinct unspoken words.

CHAPTER VI

Katharine spoke a fair amount of German, and some of the guests at the Gaard spoke a little English. The fur-merchant from Tromsö spoke English well; but he scorned at first to show any sign of friendliness to any one from such an abominable country; and the Sorenskriver was consistently careful not to be betrayed into the most primitive form of politeness to this Englishwoman. He knew, of course, that she spoke and understood German; and he went out of his way on several occasions to make in his aggressive voice disparaging remarks about England, using for this purpose the language of Germany. At first Katharine took no notice; but after a day or two of quiet forbearance she said to him at dinner, fearlessly but politely:

"Herr Sorenskriver, you insult my country every time we sit down to dinner. I am sure you do not intend to insult me personally. But you see, Englishwomen love their country passionately, although they may know and share its faults. May I ask you to use the Norwegian language, which I do not understand, when you feel particularly insulting? If, however, you want to discuss England with me, then let us speak German together; and I will tell you all I know, and listen to all you have to say. That is quite another matter. Then you shall say all you have to say against us; and I will answer you if I can, and bear with your criticisms if I cannot."

Her words were so simple, her manner was so direct, and her own temperamental charm was so irresistible, that England, personified in her, went up twenty-five per cent. in every one's estimation. There was quite a stir amongst the guests; they all left off eating their beloved cloudberries (multebaer), of which the Norwegians think so much, and turned expectantly to the Sorenskriver. The gruff old Norwegian did something unexpected, both to himself and the whole company.

"Ah," he said, "you carry your flag better than I carry mine, Fröken. You are right and I am wrong."

Then he lifted his half-filled glass and turned to her with an almost shy smile on his face.

"Skaal!"⁹ he said.

"Skaal!" she answered, raising her glass too, and smiling at him.

"Bravo – skaal to them both!" said every one with one accord; and no one was surprised afterwards to see the Englishwoman and the Sorenskriver strolling off together in the direction of the foss in the birch-woods above the Gaard.

Katharine had conquered him, and the fur-merchant was the next person to capitulate. He was heard saying to the Swedish professor that, when all was said and done, the English were people of spirit, and whatever their politics might be, they were honourable people to trade with. Ejnar, too, forgot for the moment about the barbarian authorities at Kew Gardens, and gave such remarkable signs of wanting Katharine's companionship, not at all from botanical reasons, that Gerda began to complain to Tante that he was neglecting his work and not taking the least interest in the Romney poppy. And once he came back from a short expedition which he himself had planned, leaving poor Gerda to look for the little rare plant which was the object of the expedition. He said he was tired and wanted to go home; and he fetched his long pipe and established himself in a corner of the verandah where Tante and Katharine were sitting. Gerda came back angry and wanted a divorce; but Tante laughed and said to her:

"Don't be with him. It is only an aberration. It won't do you or him any harm. He will soon be ready to quarrel with you over the Romney poppy. And you cannot possibly be angry with her. She knows nothing about it. Every one likes her; she wins every one. It is her nature; her temperament; her aura. If she has won the Sorenskriver, she could win the most ferocious Trold ever heard of in Norwegian lore. Don't be angry with anybody. I think I ought to be the one to be angry. He always interrupts our conversations. And you always want her when you can get her. Everybody wants her. Even Bedstemor likes to talk with her. I can scarcely get a word in. Poor old Tante."

"You wicked old woman, you were talking to her for hours yesterday," said Gerda, laughing.

"Nå," said Tante, "yesterday is not to-day."

"I cannot think what you want to talk to her about," said Gerda.

"There are other subjects besides the 'botanik,'" remarked Tante sternly.

"And, after all, you are both strangers," said Gerda.

"Strangers very often have a great deal to say to each other," answered Tante. "Ah, and here she comes. Now I insist on you dragging your wretched Ejnar off to your study and keeping him there. Have a quarrel. I mean a real botanical quarrel. Do, kjaere. You have not had one for quite two days. Talk about Salix. That is always a safe subject for a quarrel. And you need not be afraid that I will bore the barbarian woman. I will speak only of subjects which interest her."

No, Katharine was not bored. She drifted to Tante on every possible occasion; and they spoke on many different subjects, but always ended with Clifford Thornton. It was curious how he came into everything. If they began about the customs of the peasants, they finished up with Clifford and his boy. If they started off with Bedstefar's illness, which was becoming more and more serious, they ended with Clifford Thornton. If they spoke of England, it was natural enough that they should speak of Tante's Englishman. If they spoke of America, it was natural enough that Clifford and his boy should slip into the conversation. And if they spoke of Scandinavia, and especially of little Denmark, where he and his boy would soon be arriving, it was natural enough to refer to the two travellers now on their way home to Europe.

"Ja, ja," said Tante, "he always loved the North. I, who taught him, took care about that. And his father before him had loved the North. That was why I was chosen to be the little lad's governess; because I was a Dane – and not a bad-looking one either in those days, let me tell you! Yes, I was chosen out of about ten Englishwomen. I shall never forget that day."

"Tell me about it," Katharine said eagerly; and the old Danish woman, nothing loth, put down her knitting and gazed dreamily out on the great valley below. It was about six in the afternoon. All the other guests had finished their coffee and left the balcony, and Katharine and Tante were in sole possession. There were no sounds except the never-ceasing roar of the foss in the Vinstra Valley.

"It was many years ago," Tante said, – "about thirty eight, I think. He was seven years old when I was called to look after him. I journeyed to a desolate house in the country, in Surrey, and waited in a dismal drawing-room with several other ladies, who were all on the same errand. A tall, stern-looking man came into the room, greeted us courteously, but scanned us closely. And then he said, 'And which is the Danish lady?' And I said, 'I am the Dane.' And he said, 'Do you speak English very badly?' And I said, 'No, I speak it remarkably well.' And he smiled and said, 'Ah, you're a true Dane, I see. You have a good opinion of your powers.' And I said, 'Yes, of course I have.' Then I went with him alone into his study, another depressing room, and we had an interview of about an hour. I saw he loved the North. It was a passion with him. He was a lonely impersonal sort of creature; but his face lit up when he spoke of the North. He asked me to wait whilst he spoke with the other ladies. Lunch was served in the dining-room; and those of us who were not being interviewed, tried to enjoy an excellent meal. But every one was anxious, for the salary was exceptionally high, indeed princely. When all the interviewing was over, he did a curious thing; but I thought it considerate and kind to the little person for whose care he was providing. He went upstairs and brought down to us a desolate-looking little boy, and said:

"'Clifford, my little son, one of these ladies is going to be good enough to come and take care of you. I wonder which is the one you would like best of all.'

"The little fellow shrank back, for he was evidently shy; but he looked up into his father's stern face, and knew that he had to make an answer. Then very shyly he glanced round, and his eye rested on me.

"'That one, father,' he said, almost in a whisper.

"So that was how I came to be his governess. He knew what he wanted when he chose me. I have always wished that he could have known just as cleverly what he wanted when he chose his wife – that poor Marianne."

And here Tante paused, and gave that sort of pious regulation-sigh which we are always supposed to offer to the memory of all dead people, good, bad, or indifferent.

Katharine waited impatiently. She longed to know something about that dead wife. She longed to know something of Clifford's childhood, of his youth, his early career – but chiefly of that dead wife: whether he had loved her, whether she had loved him. She did not try to conceal her eagerness. She bent forward and touched Tante's hands.

"Tell me about her," she said. "I have only heard what Mrs Stanhope said of her."

"Ah," said Knutty, "she was her friend. If you have only heard what Mrs Stanhope said, you have heard only unjust things about my Clifford."

"Yes," replied Katharine, "and believed them to be impossible, and told her so."

"My dear," said Knutty warmly, "you have a mind that understands. Well, about this Marianne. She has gone her way, and I suppose custom demands that one should speak of her respectfully. But I cannot help saying that she had a Billingsgate temperament. That was the whole trouble. She had a great deal of beauty, and something of a heart. Indeed, she was not bad-hearted. I always wished she had been a downright devil; for then my poor Clifford would have known how to decide on a definite course of action. I own that I often wished she would run away with another man. But of course he would have forgiven her. Bah! It was so like her not to run away. Excuse me, my dear. But I have never learnt not to be impatient, even with her memory; for she preyed on his kindness and his great sense of chivalry. I don't know where she originally came from, and whether it was her original entourage which gave her the Billingsgate temperament, or whether it was just her natural possession independent of surroundings. I did not see her until he had married her. When I saw her, I knew of course that it was her physical charm with which he had fallen in love. It could not have been her mind. She had none."

Knutty paused a moment, took off her spectacles to clean them, and then continued:

"He married her in Berlin, and took her to Aberystwith College, where he was Professor of Chemistry for two years. Alan was born there. Then his father died and he gave up teaching. He settled down at 'Falun,' his country-house, and devoted himself to research-work: as far as she would let him. But she was jealous of his work, and I believe did her best to thwart it. I saw that as the time went on. He used to come over to Denmark partly to see me, and partly on his way to Sweden, which is a grand hunting-ground for mineralogists. He had always been interested in mineralogy; indeed, as a child he played with minerals as most children play with soldiers. Well, one morning he walked into my room unexpectedly and said, 'Knutty, I came to tell you I've discovered a new mineral. You know I've had a lot of disappointments over them; but this one has not cheated me. He is a new fellow beyond all doubt. And I felt I must have some one to be glad with me.' That was all he said; but there was something so pathetic about his obvious need of sympathy that I felt sure things were not going well with him at home. When I went over to stay with them, I understood. I had not been three days at 'Falun' before I discovered that Marianne had this unfortunate temperament, the very worst in the world for his peculiar sensitiveness and his curiously delicate brain. I knew his brain well. As a child, if not harassed, he could do wonders at his studies. But he needed an atmosphere of peace, in which to use his mental machinery successfully. I learnt to know this, and I gave him peace, dear little chap, and spared him most of the petty tyrannies which the grown-up impose on youngsters. But Marianne could give him no peace. Peace was not in her; nor did she wish for it; nor could she understand that any one wished for it. Life to her meant scenes: scenes over anything and everything. Day after day I saw the delicate balance of his brain, so necessary for the success of his investigations, cruelly disturbed. But to be just to Marianne, she did not know. And if she had been told, she would not have understood. I tried to hint at it once or twice; and I might as well have spoken in the Timbuctoo original dialect. I did not even offend her. She did not even understand that much of this foreign language. It was all hopeless. Her aura was impossible. So I said 'Farvel,' and I never went to stay with them again for any length of time. But occasionally I went for a day or two to please him. I saw as time went on, that he was getting some comfort out of the boy. That was a comfort to me. But I also saw that the brilliant promises of his early manhood were being unfulfilled. I heard that his scientific friends wondered and mourned. They did not know the disadvantages with which he had to cope. Probably they would not have allowed themselves to be thus harassed. But he was not they, and they were not he. And, after all, a man can only be himself. And if he is born with a heart as well as a brain, and with an almost excessive chivalry for the feelings of other people, then he is terribly at the mercy of his surroundings.

"Yes," she repeated, "at the mercy of his surroundings. And poor Marianne had no mercy on him: none."

"But if she had no understanding, then it was not that she was unmerciful, but only ignorant," Katharine said gently.