Welcome to sleep stories with Steph your go-to podcast.
That offers you a calm and relaxing transition into sleep.
Into a great night's sleep.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Close your eyes.
And feel yourself sink into the support beneath you.
And let all the worries of the day go.
Drift away.
This is your time.
And your space.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
And let it out with a long sigh.
That's it!
There is nothing you need to be doing now.
And know where you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 15 the disaster within.
The Sunday after Miss Bartlett's arrival was a glorious day,
Like most of the days of that year.
In the weald autumn approached,
Breaking up the green monotony of summer,
Touching the parks with the grey bloom of mist,
The beech trees with russet,
The oak trees with gold.
Upon the heights,
Battalions of black pines witnessed the change themselves unchangeable.
Aye,
The country was spanned by a cloudless sky.
And in either arose the tinkle of church bells.
The Garden of Windy Corners was deserted except for a red book which lay sunning itself upon the gravel path.
From the house came incoherent sounds.
The men say they won't go.
Well,
I don't blame them.
Need she go?
Tell her no!
Mary,
Hook me behind.
Dearest Lucia,
May I trespass you for a pin?
Miss Bartlett had announced that she at all events was one for church.
The other females were preparing for worship.
The sun rose higher on its journey,
Guided not by Photon but by Apollo,
Competent and swerving and divine.
Its rays fell on the ladies whenever they advanced towards the bedroom windows.
On Mr.
B down at Somers Street as he smiled over a letter from Miss Catherine Allen.
On George Emerson cleaning his father's boots and lastly to complete the catalogue of memorable things on the red book mentioned previously The rays fell.
The ladies move,
Mr.
Beeb moves,
George moves,
And movement may engender shadow.
But this red book.
Lame motion list to be caressed all the morning by the sun and to raise its cover slightly.
As though acknowledging the caress.
Presently,
Lucy stepped out of the drawing room window.
Her new cerise dress had been a failure and made her look tawdry and wan.
At her throat was a garnet brooch,
On her finger a ring set with rubies.
An engagement ring.
Her eyes are bent to the wheel now and she frowns a little,
Not in danger,
But as a brave child frowns when he's trying not to cry.
In all that expanse no human eye is looking at her,
And she may frown unrebuked.
And measure the spaces that yet survive between Apollo and the western hills.
Lucy,
What's that book?
Who's been taking a book out of the shelf and leaving it to spoil?
It's only the library book Cecil's been reading.
Pick it up and don't stand there idling like a flamingo.
Lucy picked up the ball.
She no longer read novels herself,
Devoting all her spare time to solid literature in the hope of catching Cecil Arc.
It was dreadful how little she knew,
And even when she thought she knew a thing like the Italian painters,
She found she'd already forgotten it.
Lucy,
Have you a sixpence for Minnie and a shilling for yourself?
Lucy hastened into her mother,
Who was rapidly working herself into a Sunday fluster.
It's a special collection,
I forget what for.
I do beg no vulgar clinking in the plate with half pennies.
See that Minnie has a bright sixpence.
Where is that child?
Minnie?
Books or what?
Gracious how plain you look Put it onto the Atlas to press Mini.
Oh,
Mrs Honeychurch!
A voice came from the upper regions.
Mini,
Don't be late.
Here comes the horse.
It was always the horse,
Never the carriage.
Run up and hurry her.
Why is she so low?
She had nothing to do.
She never brings anything but blouses.
Poor Charlotte,
How I detest blouses!
Mini!
Paganism is infectious.
And the rector's niece was taken to church protesting.
As usual,
She didn't see why.
Why shouldn't she sit in the sun with the young men?
The young men who had now appeared mocked her with ungenerous words.
Mrs.
Honeychurch defended orthodoxy and in the midst of the confusion,
Miss Bartlett,
Dressed in the very height of the fashion,
Came strolling down the stairs.
Dear Marion,
I'm very sorry,
But I have no small change,
Nothing but sovereigns and half-crowns.
Could anyone give.
.
.
Yes,
Easily.
Now jump in.
Gracious me how smart you look.
What a lovely frog you put us all to shame.
I did not wear my best rags and tatters now.
When should I wear them?
" said Miss Barklet reproachfully.
Goodbye.
Be good.
Called out Cecil.
Lucy bit her lip for the tone was sneering.
On the subject of church and so on,
They had rather an unsatisfactory conversation.
Cecil had said people ought to overhaul themselves and she did not want to overhaul herself.
She did not know how it was done.
Honest,
Orthodoxy,
Cecil respected,
But he always assumed honesty is the result of a spiritual crisis.
He could not imagine it as a natural birthright that might grow heavenward like flowers.
All that he said on this subject pained her,
Though he exuded tolerance from every pore.
Somehow the Emersons were different.
Lucy saw the Emersons after church.
There was a line of carriages down the road and the Honey Church vehicle happened to be opposite Sissy Villa.
To save time,
They walked over to the green to it and found father and son smoking in the garden.
Introduce me,
Said her mother,
Unless the young man considers he knows me already.
He probably did,
But Lucy ignored the sacred lake and introduced them formally.
Old Mr Emerson claimed her with much warmth and said how glad he was she was going to be married.
She said yes,
She was glad too.
And then,
As Miss Bartlett and Minnie were lingering behind with Mr Bean.
.
.
She turned the conversation to a less disturbing topic and asked him how he liked his new house.
Very much,
" he replied.
But there was a note of offence in his voice.
She had never known him offended before.
We find,
Though,
That the Miss Allen's were coming and we've turned them out.
Women mind such a thing.
I'm very upset about it.
I believe there was some misunderstanding,
" said Mrs.
Honeychurch uneasily.
Our landlord was told we should be a different type of person,
Said George,
Who seemed disposed to carry the matter further.
He thought we should be artistic.
He's disappointed.
I wonder whether we ought to write to the Miss Allens and offer to give it up?
What do you think?
He appealed to Lucy.
Oh stop now you've come,
Said Lucy lightly.
She must avoid censuring Cecil.
It was on Cecil the little episode turned.
Though his name was never mentioned.
So George says,
He says the Miss Allen's must go to the war,
And it does seem unkind.
There's only a certain amount of kindness in the world,
" said George.
Yes,
Exclaimed Mrs Honeychurch,
That's exactly what I say.
What is this twiddling and twaddling over the tomb,
Miss Allens?
There's a certain amount of kindness,
Just as there's a certain amount of light.
George continued in measured tones.
We cast a shadow on something whenever we stand and it's no good moving from place to place to save things.
Because the shadow always follows us.
Choose a place where you won't do harm.
And then stand in it for all you're worth facing the sunshine.
Oh,
Mr Emerson,
I see you're clever.
I see you're going to be clever.
I hope you didn't go behaving like that to poor Freddy.
George's eyes laughed.
And Lucy suspected he and her mother would get on rather well.
No,
I didn't.
He said he behaved that way to me.
It's his philosophy.
Only he starts life with it.
And I've tried the note of interrogation first.
What do you mean?
Never mind what you mean,
Don't explain.
He looks forward to seeing you this afternoon.
Do you play tennis,
George?
Do you mind tennis on Sunday?
George Mind,
Tennis on Sunday.
George,
After his education,
Distinguished between Sunday Very well,
George doesn't mind tennis on Sunday.
No more do I.
Then that's settled.
Miss Emerson,
If you could come with your son,
We should be so pleased.
Old Mr.
Emerson thanked her.
But the walk sounded rather far,
And he could only potter about these days.
She turned to George.
And then he wants to give up his house to the Miss Allens?
I know,
" said George,
Putting his arm round his father's neck.
The kindness that Mr.
Beeb and Lucy had always known to exist in him came out suddenly,
Like sunlight touching a vast landscape.
Lucy remembered that in all his perversities,
He had never spoken against affection.
Miss Bartlett approached.
You know our cousin Miss Bartlett?
" said Mrs Honeychurch pleasantly.
You met her with my daughter in Florence.
Yes indeed,
Said the old man and made as if he would come out of the garden to meet the lady.
Miss Bartlett,
However,
Promptly got into the Victoria.
Thus entrenched,
She emitted a full bow.
It was the pension Bertolini again.
The dining table with the decanters of water and wine.
It was the old,
Old battle of the room with a view.
George did not respond to the bow.
Like any boy,
He blushed and was ashamed.
He knew that the chaperone remembered.
He said.
I'll come to Tennis if I can manage it.
Then he went into the house.
Perhaps anything that he did would have pleased Lucy,
But this awkwardness went straight to her heart.
Men were not gods after all,
But as human and clumsy as girls.
Even men might suffer from unexplained desires and need help.
To one of her upbringing and of her destination.
The weakness of men was a truth unfamiliar.
But she had surmised it at Florence when George threw her photographs into the River Arno.
George,
Don't go!
" cried his father,
Who thought it a great treat for people if his son would talk to them.
He's been in such good spirits today.
I'm sure he'll end up coming this afternoon.
Lucy caught her cousin's eye.
Something in its mute appeal made her reckless.
Yes,
" she said,
Raising her voice.
I do hope that he will.
Then she went to the carriage and murmured,
The old man hasn't been told.
I knew it was all right.
And when Miss Honeychurch drove away with them.
Lucy was satisfied that Mr.
Emerson had not been told that the Florence Escapade He has not told,
He has not told,
Her brain expanded the melody,
He has not told his father,
To whom he tells all things.
It was not an exploit.
He didn't laugh at me when I had gone.
Then she raised her hand to her cheek.
He does not love me.
No.
How terrible if he did!
But he has not told.
And he will not hear.
It is all right.
It is a secret between us two forever.
Cecil will never hear.
Only three English people knew of it in the world.
And thus Lucy interpreted her joy.
She greeted Cecil with unusual radiance because she felt so safe.
And as he helped her out of the carriage she said The Emersons have been so nice.
And George Emerson has improved enormously.
