The Enchanted April, Chapter 18

In this latest chapter of Elizabeth von Arnim's wonderful novel, the arrival of Mr Briggs, the owner of the Italian castle, has a strong effect on all the ladies, Mrs Fisher included.

Find all the chapters together on the playlist Book at Bedtime: The Enchanted April.

Transcript

Hello,

It's Mandy here.

Thanks for joining me this evening.

I'm going to be listening to the very latest chapter of The Enchanted April,

The wonderful book by Elizabeth von Arnim.

Before I begin,

Please go right ahead and make yourself really comfortable.

That's it,

Just settle down into whatever surface you happen to be sitting or lying on.

Okay,

Then I'll begin.

Chapter 18.

They had a very pleasant walk,

With a great deal of sitting down in warm,

Time-fragrant corners,

And if anything could have helped Rose to recover from the bitter disappointment of the morning,

It would have been the company and conversation of Mr Briggs.

He did help her to recover,

And the same process took place as that which Lottie had undergone with her husband,

And the more Mr Briggs thought Rose charming,

The more charming she became.

Briggs was a man incapable of concealments,

Who never lost time if he could help it.

They had not got to the end of the headland where the lighthouse is.

Briggs asked her to show him the lighthouse,

Because the path to it he knew was wide enough for two to walk abreast and fairly level,

Before he had told her of the impression she made on him in London.

Since even the most religious,

Sober women like to know that they have made an impression,

Particularly the kind that has nothing to do with character or merits,

Rose was pleased.

Being pleased,

She smiled.

Smiling,

She was more attractive than ever.

Colour came into her cheeks,

And brightness into her eyes.

She heard herself saying things that really sounded quite interesting,

And even amusing.

If Frederick were listening now,

She thought,

Perhaps he would see that she couldn't after all be such a hopeless bore,

For here was a man,

Nice looking,

Young and surely clever.

He seemed clever,

And she hoped he was,

For then the compliment would be still greater.

He was evidently quite happy to spend the afternoon just talking to her.

And indeed Mr Briggs seemed very much interested.

He wanted to hear all about everything she had been doing from the moment she got there.

He asked her if she had seen this,

That and the other in the house,

What she liked best,

Which room she had,

If she were comfortable,

If Francesca was behaving,

If Domenico took care of her,

And whether she didn't enjoy using the yellow sitting room,

The one that got all the sun and looked out towards Genoa.

Rose was ashamed how little she had noticed in the house,

And how few of the things he spoke of as curious or beautiful in it she had even seen.

Swamped in thoughts of Frederick,

She appeared to have lived in San Salvatore blindly,

And more than half the time had gone,

And what had been the good of it?

She might just as well have been sitting hankering on Hampstead Heath.

No,

She mightn't.

Through all her hankerings she'd been conscious that she was at least in the very heart of beauty,

And indeed it was this beauty,

This longing to share it,

That had first started her off hankering.

Mr Briggs,

However,

Was too much alive for her to be able to spare any attention at this moment for Frederick,

And she praised the servants in answer to his questions.

She praised the yellow sitting room without telling him she had only been in it once,

And then was ignominiously ejected,

And she told him she knew hardly anything about art and curiosities,

But she thought perhaps if somebody would tell her about them she would know more,

And she said she'd spent every day since her arrival out of doors,

Because out of doors there was so very wonderful and different from anything she had ever seen.

Briggs walked by her side along his paths,

That we yet so happily for the moment her paths,

And felt all the innocent blows of family life.

He was an orphan,

And an only child,

And had a warm domestic disposition.

He would have adored a sister,

And spoiled a mother,

And was beginning at this time to think of marrying,

For though he had been very happy with his various loves,

Each of whom,

Contrary to the usual experience,

Turned ultimately into his devoted friend,

He was fond of children,

And thought he had perhaps now got to the age of settling,

If he didn't wish to be too old by the time his eldest son was twenty.

San Salvatore had latterly seemed a little forlorn.

He fancied it echoed when he walked about it.

He had felt lonely there,

So lonely that he had preferred this year to miss out a spring,

And let it.

It wanted a wife in it,

It wanted that final touch of warmth and beauty,

For he never thought of his wife except in terms of warmth and beauty.

She would of course be beautiful and kind.

It amused him how much in love with this vague wife he was already.

At such a rate was he making friends with the lady with the sweet name,

As he walked along the path towards the lighthouse,

That he was sure presently he would be telling her everything about himself,

And his past doings,

And his future hopes,

And the thought of such a swiftly developing confidence made him laugh.

Why are you laughing?

She asked,

Looking at him and smiling.

It's so like coming home,

He said.

But it is coming home for you to come here.

I mean like really coming home to one's one's family.

I never had a family.

I'm an orphan.

Oh are you?

Said Rose with proper sympathy.

I hope you've not been one very long.

No,

I don't mean I hope you've been one very long.

No,

I don't know what I mean,

What I mean except to say that I'm sorry.

He laughed again.

Oh,

I'm used to it.

I haven't anybody.

No sisters or brothers.

Then you're an only child,

She observed intelligently.

Yes,

And there's something about you that's exactly my idea of of a family.

She was amused.

So cozy,

He said,

Looking at her and searching for a word.

You wouldn't think so if you saw my house in Hampstead,

She said.

A vision of that austere and hard seated dwelling presenting itself to her mind with nothing soft in it except the shunned and neglected Dubarry sofa.

No wonder she thought for a moment clear brained that Frederick voided it.

There was nothing cozy about his family.

I don't believe any place you lived in could be anything but exactly like you,

He said.

You're not going to pretend San Salvatore is like me,

She said.

Indeed,

I do pretend it.

Surely you admit that it is beautiful.

He said several things like that.

She enjoyed the walk.

She could not recollect any walk so pleasant since her courting days.

She came back to tea,

Bringing Mr.

Briggs and looking quite different,

Mr.

Wilkins noticed from what she had looked till then.

Trouble here,

Trouble here,

Thought Mr.

Wilkins,

Mentally rubbing his professional hands.

He could see himself being called in presently to advise.

On the one hand,

There was our buthnot.

On the other hand,

Here was Briggs.

Trouble brewing,

Trouble,

Sooner or later.

But why Briggs's telegram acted on the lady like a blow?

If she had turned pale from excess of joy,

Then trouble was nearer than he had supposed.

She was not pale now.

She was more like her name than he had yet seen her.

Well,

He was the man for trouble.

He regretted,

Of course,

That people should get into it,

But being in,

He was their man.

And Mr.

Wilkins,

Invigorated by these thoughts,

His career being very precious to him,

Proceeded to assist in doing the honours to Mr.

Briggs,

Both in his quality of sharer in the temporary ownership of San Salvatore,

And of probable helper out of difficulties,

With great hospitality,

And pointed out the various features of the place to him,

And led him to the parapet,

And showed him Metzago across the bay.

Mrs.

Fisher too was gracious.

This was the young man's house.

He was a man of property.

She liked property,

And she liked men of property.

Also,

There seemed a peculiar merit in being a man of property so young.

Inheritance,

Of course,

And inheritance was more respectable than acquisition.

It did indicate fathers,

And in an age where most people appeared neither to have them nor to want them,

She liked this too.

Accordingly,

It was a pleasant meal,

With everybody amiable and pleased.

Briggs thought Mrs.

Fisher a dear old lady,

And showed her he thought so,

And again the magic worked,

And she became a dear old lady.

She developed benignity with him,

With a kind of benignity which was almost playful.

Actually,

Before tea was over,

Including in some observations she made him,

The words,

My dear boy,

Strange words in Mrs.

Fisher's mouth.

It is doubtful whether in her life she had used them before.

Rose was astonished.

How nice people really were.

When would she leave off making mistakes about them?

She hadn't suspected this side of Mrs.

Fisher,

And she began to wonder whether those other sides of her,

With which alone she was acquainted,

Had not perhaps after all been the effect of her own militant and irritating behaviour.

Probably they were.

How horrid then she must have been.

She felt very penitent when she saw Mrs.

Fisher beneath her eyes blossoming out into real amiability the moment someone came along who was charming to her,

And she could have sunk into the ground with shame when Mrs.

Fisher presently laughed,

And she realised by the shock it gave her that the sound was entirely new.

Not once before had she or anyone else there heard Mrs.

Fisher laugh.

What an indictment of the lot of them.

For they had all laughed,

The others,

Some more and some less,

At one time or another since their arrival,

And only Mrs.

Fisher had not.

Clearly,

Since she could enjoy herself as she was now enjoying herself,

She had not enjoyed herself before,

And nobody had cared whether she did or did not,

Except perhaps Lottie.

Yes,

Lottie had cared and had wanted her to be happy,

But Lottie seemed to produce a bad effect on Mrs.

Fisher.

While as for Rose herself,

She had never been with her for five minutes without wanting,

Really wanting,

To provoke and oppose her.

How very horrid she had been.

She had behaved unpardonably.

Her penitence showed itself in a shy and deferential solicitude towards Mrs.

Fisher,

Which made the observant Briggs think her still more angelic,

And wish for a moment that he were an old lady himself,

In order to be behaved to by Rose Arbuthnot,

Just like that.

There was evidently no end,

He thought,

To the things she could do sweetly.

He would even not mind taking medicine,

Really nasty medicine,

If it were Rose Arbuthnot bending over him with the dose.

She felt his bright blue eyes,

The brighter because he was so sunburnt,

Fixed on her,

With a twinkle in them,

And smiling,

Asked him what he was thinking about.

But he couldn't very well tell her that,

He said,

And added,

Someday.

Trouble,

Trouble,

Thought Wilkins at this,

Again mentally rubbing his hands.

Well,

I'm their man.

I'm sure,

Said Mrs.

Fisher benignly,

You have no thoughts that we may not hear.

I'm sure,

Said Briggs,

I would be telling you every one of my secrets in a week.

You would be telling someone very safe then,

Said Mrs.

Fisher benevolently.

Just such a son would she have liked to have had,

And in return,

She went on,

I dare say,

I would tell you mine.

Ah,

No,

Said Mr.

Wilkins,

Adapting himself to this tone of easy badinage.

I must protest,

I really must.

I have a prior claim.

I am the older friend.

I have known Mrs.

Fisher ten days,

And you Briggs have not yet known her one.

I assert my right to be told her secret.

One,

I assert my right to be told her secrets first.

That is,

He added,

Bowing gallantly,

If she has any,

Which I beg leave to doubt.

Oh,

Haven't I,

Exclaimed Mrs.

Fisher,

Thinking of those green leaves.

That she should exclaim at all was surprising,

But that she should do it with gaiety was miraculous.

Rose could only watch her in wonder.

Then I shall worm them out,

Said Briggs,

With equal gaiety.

They won't need much worming out,

Said Mrs.

Fisher.

My difficulty is to keep them from bursting out.

It might have been Lottie talking.

Mr.

Wilkins adjusted the single eyeglass he carried with him for occasions like this,

And examined Mrs.

Fisher carefully.

Rose looked on,

Unable not to smile too,

Since Mrs.

Fisher seemed so much amused,

Though Rose did not quite know why,

And her smile was a little uncertain.

For Mrs.

Fisher amused was a new sight,

Not without its awe-inspiring aspects,

And had to be got accustomed to.

What Mrs.

Fisher was thinking was how much surprised they would be if she told them of her very odd and exciting sensation of going to come out all over with buds.

They would think she was an extremely silly old woman,

And so would she have thought as lately as two days ago,

But the bud idea was becoming familiar to her.

She was more apprivoisé now,

As dear Matthew Arnold used to say,

And though it would undoubtedly be best if one's appearance and sensations matched,

Yet supposing they did not,

And one couldn't have everything,

Was it not better to feel young somewhere rather than old everywhere?

Time enough to be old everywhere again,

Inside as well as out,

When she got back to her sarcophagus in Prince of Wales Terrace.

Yet it is probable that without the arrival of Briggs,

Mrs.

Fisher would have gone on secretly fermenting in her shell.

The others only knew her as severe.

It would have been more than her dignity could bear suddenly to relax,

Especially towards the three young women.

But now came the stranger Briggs,

A stranger who at once took to her as no young man had ever taken to her in her life,

And it was the coming of Briggs and his real and manifest appreciation for just such a grandmother,

Thought Briggs,

Hungry for home life and its concomitants,

Would he have liked to have,

That released Mrs.

Fisher from her shell.

And here she was at last,

As Lottie had predicted,

Pleased,

Good-humoured and benevolent.

Lottie,

Coming back half an hour later from her picnic and following the sound of voices into the top garden in the hope of still finding tea,

Saw at once what had happened,

For Mrs.

Fisher at that very moment was laughing.

She's burst her cocoon,

Thought Lottie,

And swift as she was in all her movements and impulsive,

And also without any sense of propriety to worry and delay her,

She bent over the back of Mrs.

Fisher's chair and kissed her.

Good gracious,

Cried Mrs.

Fisher,

Starting violently,

For such a thing had not happened to her since Mr.

Fisher's earlier days,

And then only gingerly.

This kiss was a real kiss,

And rested on Mrs.

Fisher's cheek a moment with a strange soft sweetness.

When she saw whose it was,

A deep flush spread over her face.

Mrs.

Wilkins kissing her,

And the kiss feeling so affectionate,

Even if she had wanted to,

She could not,

In the presence of the appreciative Mr.

Briggs,

Resume her cast-off severity and begin rebuking again,

And she didn't want to.

Was it possible Mrs.

Wilkins liked her,

Had liked her all this time,

While she had been so much disliking her herself?

A queer little trickle of warmth filtered through the frozen defences of Mrs.

Fisher's heart.

Somebody young kissing her,

Somebody young wanting to kiss her.

Very much flushed,

She watched the strange creature,

Apparently quite unconscious she'd done anything extraordinary,

Shaking hands with Mr.

Briggs on her husband's introducing him,

And immediately embarking on the friendliest conversation with him,

Exactly as if she had known him all her life.

What a strange creature,

What a very strange creature.

It was natural,

She being so strange,

That one should have perhaps misjudged her.

I'm sure you want some tea,

Said Briggs,

With eager hospitality to Lottie.

He thought her delightful,

Freckles,

Picnic untidiness and all,

Just such a sister would he.

This is cold,

He said,

Feeling the teapot,

I'll tell Francesca to make you some fresh.

He broke off and blushed.

Aren't I forgetting myself,

He said,

Laughing and looking round at them.

Very natural,

Very natural,

Mr.

Wilkins reassured him.

I'll go and tell Francesca,

Said Rose,

Getting up.

No,

No,

Said Briggs,

Don't go away,

And he put his hands to his mouth and shouted.

Francesca,

Shouted Briggs.

She came running.

No summons in their experience had been answered by her with such celerity.

Her master's voice,

Remarked Mr.

Wilkins,

Aptly he considered.

Make fresh tea,

Ordered Briggs in Italian,

Quick,

Quick,

And then remembering himself,

He blushed again and begged everybody's pardon.

Very natural,

Very natural,

Mr.

Wilkins reassured him.

Briggs then explained to Lottie what he had explained twice already,

Once to Rose and once to the other two,

That he was on his way to Rome and thought he would get out at Metzago and just look in to see if they were comfortable and continue his journey the next day,

Staying the night in a hotel at Metzago.

But how ridiculous,

Said Lottie.

Of course you must stay here.

It's your house.

There's Kate Lumley's room,

She added,

Turning to Mrs.

Fisher.

You wouldn't mind Mr.

Briggs having it for one night.

Kate Lumley isn't in it,

You know,

She said,

Turning to Briggs again and laughing.

And Mrs.

Fisher,

To her immense surprise,

Laughed too.

She knew that at any other time,

This remark would have struck her as excessively unseemly,

And yet now she only thought it funny.

No,

Indeed,

She assured Briggs,

Kate Lumley was not in that room.

Very fortunately,

For she was an excessively wide person and the room was excessively narrow.

Kate Lumley might get into it,

But that was about all.

Once in,

She would fit in it so tightly that probably she would never be able to get out again.

It was entirely at Mr.

Briggs's disposal,

And she hoped he would do nothing so absurd as go to a hotel,

He the owner of the whole place.

Rose listened to this speech wide-eyed with amazement.

Mrs.

Fisher laughed very much as she made it.

Lottie laughed very much too,

And at the end of it,

Bent down and kissed her again,

Kissed her several times.

So you see,

My dear boy,

Said Mrs.

Fisher,

You must stay here and give us all a great deal of pleasure.

A great deal indeed,

Corroborated Mr.

Wilkins heartily.

A very great deal,

Repeated Mrs.

Fisher,

Looking exactly like a pleased mother.

Do,

Said Rose,

On Briggs turning inquiringly to her.

How kind of you all,

He said,

His face broad with smiles.

I'd love to be a guest here.

What a new sensation,

And with three such.

He broke off and looked around.

I say,

He asked,

Oughtn't I to have a fourth hostess?

Francesca said she had four mistresses.

Yes,

There's Lady Caroline,

Said Lottie.

Then,

Hadn't we better find out first if she invites me too?

Oh,

But she's sure,

Began Lottie.

The daughter of the droit,

Which is Briggs,

Said Mr.

Wilkins,

Is not likely to be wanting in the proper hospitable impulses.

The daughter of the,

Repeated Briggs,

But he stopped dad,

For there in the doorway was the daughter of the droit,

Which is herself,

Or rather coming towards him out of the dark doorway into the brightness of the sunset,

Was that which he had not in his life yet seen,

But only dreamed of,

His ideal of absolute loveliness.

To be continued.

Reviews

This reading of your is so fun Mandy. You tell it well! Thank you 🙏 ❤️

Fabulous
As per your usual Mandy
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Oh Mandy, how I enjoy hearing you read, and this story in particular. Thank you, so grateful. Sending good wishes. 🌻

I told myself to stay awake because it’s such a delightful story, but alas, I was asleep and missed the end of the chapter! Fortunately I can listen again! 🙏🏻😊🩷

Oh my, the Little twister at the end!! Delightful story and reading🙏🏽❤️🥰

Another great chapter! Thanks Mandy. I always feel excited when I see there is another one to listen to 💜x