Chapter VII.
Is this that haughty gallant, gay Lothario?
-Rowe
Is this that haughty gallant, gay Lothario?
-Rowe
SO SUDDENLY did the door give way that Sophia was obliged to run forward through the opening to keep from falling upon her face. The person who had opened it ran in, too; then turning, he placed his shoulder against the stones and heaved it shut again. He seemed to say something, but Sophia could not hear what it was above the thunder of the rain on the roof of the tower.
The next instant she was nearly buried by a travelling cloak which the person had thrown over her head and shoulders. He strode past her to the door leading into the garden, jerked it open, and turning back again, caught Sophia’s hand in his.
‘Come on!’ he said and led her at a rapid pace through the wet garden, out into the courtyard, and through the oaken door into the keep.
They entered the hall dripping. Sophia caught her breath with a gasp and blinked her eyes in the gloom.
‘I say, it’s wet, isn’t it?’ the voice declared, as its owner shut the great oaken door with a bang. ‘Somebody’s let the fire go out, too. Jacob! Gertruda! Hullo, Jacob! Odd’s fish, there’s nobody about.’
He set to building up the fire himself and had it burning brightly in a trice. Then he turned towards her.
It was the first opportunity Sophia had had of properly observing him. He was not the man she had seen in the forest. He carried a pistol and sabre as the other man had, but his face was much younger and he had a different sort of air about him. He wore a military uniform and a helmet with a point on the top, such as one often sees in pictures of the Kaiser of Germany. His eyes were a light brown colour in the firelight, a narrow moustache ran over his lip, and his brown hair stuck in damp rings to his forehead.
He was handsome, yet it was not his appearance alone that was so striking. It was more a manner that he had: when he moved, it was always with certainty and set purpose; he never made an awkward motion, but carried himself with easy confidence; and even when at rest his limbs stood ready to snap to attention at the first notice. Yet at the same time he seemed so careless, as if it did not matter what happened—he was prepared for it.
This was the impression that Sophia got from her observation, although she could not have put it down in words as I have done. He observed her in turn and saw a little girl—as fair and slight as a fairy child—with great eyes like two grey moons and hair like beaten flax, coming unplaited on her shoulders. His cloak still hung about her neck and, being made for a tall man while she was a very small girl, lay about her feet in great black folds.
‘So this is the Princess Sophia,’ he said with an amused smile.
It did not seem a strange thing for him to say. Sophia did not know how he could know her name when she had never seen him before, and she was certainly not a princess, yet at the moment it seemed the thing he ought to say.
‘I daresay you’re surprised to see me.’
‘Yes,’ said Sophia truthfully, and then waited for him to explain.
‘So you found a secret door out of the castle, eh?’ he asked, putting his helmet under one arm and resting the other arm upon the mantelpiece. ‘I didn’t know there was one there. How did you find it?’
‘I was playing in the tower,’ explained Sophia. ‘I meant to keep it a secret. You won’t tell them, will you?—they’d be very cross with me.’
‘Who are “they”?’ he asked.
Before she could reply there came the sound of footsteps in the passage and Jacob entered.
‘Well, the castle isn’t entirely deserted, anyway,’ said the man by the fire. ‘Where is everybody, Jacob?’
‘Gertruda went into town, sir, and Borrit and Muncaster are out.’
‘Out where?’
‘They didn’t say, sir.’
‘So you’re the only one here, eh, Jacob?’
Not a nerve in Jacob’s face moved as he nodded in reply.
‘Go out and bring my horse in then; it’s outside the west wall.’
‘Outside the wall, sir?’
‘I should think you’d know by now not to question unaccountable circumstances, Jacob; isn’t that what my uncle hired you for?’
Without a word Jacob crossed the room and exited by the great door. The stranger watched him go until the door closed after him, then turned back to Sophia.
‘Not too wet, I hope?’ he said, helping her off with the cloak. ‘Stand by the fire and dry a bit while I fetch some supper.’
So saying, he went to the kitchen and returned in a few moments with a loaf of bread and a stone pitcher of milk. He poured himself a glass from a bottle of wine which stood half empty on the table, then stuck a candle into the bottle-neck and lit it.
‘Here we are,’ he said cheerfully, fetching a chair for Sophia. ‘Cosy, isn’t it? It’s only black bread,’ he went on, cutting the loaf with a knife Borrit had left stuck in the table. ‘I’m afraid they don’t keep a very well-stocked larder here—but I’m sure you’re aware of that by now.’
Sophia didn’t mind. She was fond of the heavy, sweet black bread and when it was spread with butter and eaten with quantities of milk it made a very nice supper.
The stranger himself ate only a little. He leaned back in his chair with his legs stretched out towards the fire and every now and then whistled snatches of a song.
Sophia watched him wonderingly. He was a very mysterious person and though he seemed to know a great deal about Sophia she herself didn’t know anything at all about him—not even so much as his name.
Yet she did not dare to ask him any questions. In the little time that she had lived in the mysterious castle she had learned not to ask questions because whenever she did, she had either been ignored or scolded. She did not feel that this person would either scold or ignore her, but he was so strange and unexpected that a spell seemed to hang about him and Sophia was half frightened that he would suddenly vanish. There was something about him that seemed quite different from other people and which gave her an odd, excited feeling, but she didn’t know what it was.
‘Well, how do you like it here?’ he asked to break the silence. He seemed to be the sort of person who had rather be talking or doing than sitting still.
‘I like it very much,’ said Sophia. ‘Only, I miss England sometimes. It’s very different here.’
‘Do you like it better, or not as much?’
‘I think,’ said Sophia slowly, remembering that afternoon’s excursion, ‘I like it better than England—only I’m not certain yet.’
Then she paused, for she wasn’t used to talking about important things to people who mightn’t understand.
‘It’s beginning to feel like home,’ she said. ‘I think it may feel more like home soon. I’ve never been anywhere that felt quite, all the way like Home.’
She watched him to see if he understood, or if he would laugh.
‘It feels like home, does it?’ he said in a mysterious way, as if he knew something she didn’t.
Her pigeon had stayed all day in the castle (perhaps it had known it was going to rain). It was hopping about under the table now, picking at the cracks in the stone floor. Sophia’s companion regarded it curiously as Sophia dropped crumbs for it.
‘Never seen an all-white pigeon before,’ he remarked. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘I brought her with me from England. Her name’s Constance.’
‘Extraordinary name for a bird, I must say.’
‘But she isn’t an ordinary bird,’ Sophia explained. ‘Mr. Morton found her last winter near St. Paul’s Cathedral. Have you ever seen St Paul’s Cathedral?’
‘In pictures.’
‘I saw it once on a walk with Father—that was before he was too ill to go out—there were lots of pigeons all around it. They built their nests up in the stone ledges. I suppose she must have fallen out of her nest because Mr. Morton found her near the steps one afternoon with a broken wing, and he brought her home to me to nurse. She wouldn’t leave me even after her wing grew well again, and that’s why I named her Constance.’
‘I see,’ he said, and began to whistle ‘The Fair-Haired Boy’.
His whistle had a light-hearted sound that was thoughtful at the same time. He stopped in the middle of a phrase and spoke to Sophia again.
‘And what do you think of this old castle? Gloomy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Sophia. ‘But I love it, anyway.’
‘Love it?’
‘It seems to want me,’ said Sophia.
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t make you gloomy as well. I never cared for it, myself.—They say it’s haunted.’
‘By ghosts?’
‘Of course. Every proper castle has ghosts, you know.’
His eyes looked straight into hers and he smiled, and Sophia knew that there was nothing really to be frightened of.
‘Is there a dungeon, too?’ she asked.
‘There’s the wine cellar. I suppose you’ve been down there?’
‘Yes—but only with Jacob.’
‘That’s a good idea. Jacob won’t let any spooks get to you. The wine cellar used to be the dungeon.’
‘And were there Captives Held in Thrall there, long ago?’ asked Sophia with bright eyes.
‘Yes,’ he said, entering into the game, ‘and an Evil Lord of the Castle who fed them on Bread and Water.’
‘But their friends came and saved them?’ asked Sophia confidently.
‘Oh yes, eventually.—Or ransomed them.’
‘Were there dragons back then, too?’
‘I daresay—that Pillaged the Countryside.’
‘And were there knights?’
‘In Shining Armour.’
Sophia often found it hard to talk to people and so she was not sure why she found it so easy to talk to this strange person. Perhaps it was because she had had no one to talk to for so long, or perhaps it was because he seemed interested in what she said and didn’t laugh at her, or perhaps it was because Sophia found herself liking him so much.—Perhaps it was all these reasons put together. She didn’t know, and wondered about it.
Jacob came back soon after this, shaking the rain from his clothes. He scarcely looked at them and went straight into the kitchen.
‘Jacob!’ called the stranger after him. ‘Did Borrit or Muncaster tell you when they would come back?’
‘No, sir,’ said Jacob coming in again. ‘They told me nothing at all.’
‘When did they leave?’
There was a sudden rattle of the great gate followed by a clatter of hooves in the courtyard.
‘That’ll be them, sir,’ said Jacob. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go out and see to the horses.’
He left and in a few minutes the two refractory ones entered, looking rather flushed and irritable. The discovery of the stranger’s presence did nothing to improve their mood. Borrit especially seemed displeased at sight of him.
‘Well, what are you doing here?’ he demanded.
The young man had tacitly ignored their entrance and sat calmly smoking. On being accosted by Borrit’s loud voice, he took his cigarette from his mouth and turned his attention to the two.
‘Bit late, aren’t you?’ he asked idly. ‘I rather expected you to be here when I arrived.—But then, I didn’t expect you to leave the castle in the first place.’
Muncaster hung up his cloak in the corner without a word and looked slightly ashamed, but Borrit only grew angrier.
‘Why shouldn’t we leave the castle?’ he asked. ‘You go where you please: why shouldn’t we?’
‘I’ve been carrying out my orders. Pity the same can’t be said for you. Raymond will be pleased to hear how you’ve been spending your time.’
‘I suppose you mean to tell him?’ asked Borrit pointedly.
‘Was Fritz’s beer as good as it usually is?’ asked the other irrelevantly.
‘You spy on Hergyll and you think you can spy on me as well! I won’t be spied on by anyone.’
‘That’s just as you please.’
There seemed nothing more to be said between them, but Borrit was still boiling with rage. His gaze fell upon Sophia who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes.
‘Go to your room!’ he said peremptorily.
She obeyed at once, catching up her pigeon and hurrying silently through the door into the long corridor that led to the wide staircase. She wished she might have stayed. She almost thought, if Borrit had not been so cross, that she would have asked him to let her stay longer and hear them talk. But as it was, she knew she must do as Borrit said.
The stranger watched the door close behind her.
‘Yet another for you to order about,’ he remarked to Borrit. ‘I wouldn’t be so cock-sure if I were you.’
‘But you are all the same, although you are not me,’ said Borrit.
Sophia groped her way up and up through the dark corridors with her bird clutched tightly in one arm. The darkness had fallen and she had no candle. Yet there was a light feeling in her heart, for she had found two good things that day. One was a way out of the castle which was not locked and barred. The other was—could he be a friend? He was so strange and mysterious, yet there was something about him that wasn’t strange at all. She rather thought he was a friend, and she smiled to herself when she remembered that he had not told.
But the next morning he was gone. Sophia, though she was not quite sure why, felt strangely disappointed.
‘He left late last evening,’ Jacob said when she asked him.
‘What did he come for?’
Jacob only lifted his shoulders and shook his head.
‘Well, when do you think he’ll be back?’
‘There’s no telling with him.’
‘But what was his name, Jacob?’
Jacob seemed surprised.
‘That was young Rupert,’ he said.
The next instant she was nearly buried by a travelling cloak which the person had thrown over her head and shoulders. He strode past her to the door leading into the garden, jerked it open, and turning back again, caught Sophia’s hand in his.
‘Come on!’ he said and led her at a rapid pace through the wet garden, out into the courtyard, and through the oaken door into the keep.
They entered the hall dripping. Sophia caught her breath with a gasp and blinked her eyes in the gloom.
‘I say, it’s wet, isn’t it?’ the voice declared, as its owner shut the great oaken door with a bang. ‘Somebody’s let the fire go out, too. Jacob! Gertruda! Hullo, Jacob! Odd’s fish, there’s nobody about.’
He set to building up the fire himself and had it burning brightly in a trice. Then he turned towards her.
It was the first opportunity Sophia had had of properly observing him. He was not the man she had seen in the forest. He carried a pistol and sabre as the other man had, but his face was much younger and he had a different sort of air about him. He wore a military uniform and a helmet with a point on the top, such as one often sees in pictures of the Kaiser of Germany. His eyes were a light brown colour in the firelight, a narrow moustache ran over his lip, and his brown hair stuck in damp rings to his forehead.
He was handsome, yet it was not his appearance alone that was so striking. It was more a manner that he had: when he moved, it was always with certainty and set purpose; he never made an awkward motion, but carried himself with easy confidence; and even when at rest his limbs stood ready to snap to attention at the first notice. Yet at the same time he seemed so careless, as if it did not matter what happened—he was prepared for it.
This was the impression that Sophia got from her observation, although she could not have put it down in words as I have done. He observed her in turn and saw a little girl—as fair and slight as a fairy child—with great eyes like two grey moons and hair like beaten flax, coming unplaited on her shoulders. His cloak still hung about her neck and, being made for a tall man while she was a very small girl, lay about her feet in great black folds.
‘So this is the Princess Sophia,’ he said with an amused smile.
It did not seem a strange thing for him to say. Sophia did not know how he could know her name when she had never seen him before, and she was certainly not a princess, yet at the moment it seemed the thing he ought to say.
‘I daresay you’re surprised to see me.’
‘Yes,’ said Sophia truthfully, and then waited for him to explain.
‘So you found a secret door out of the castle, eh?’ he asked, putting his helmet under one arm and resting the other arm upon the mantelpiece. ‘I didn’t know there was one there. How did you find it?’
‘I was playing in the tower,’ explained Sophia. ‘I meant to keep it a secret. You won’t tell them, will you?—they’d be very cross with me.’
‘Who are “they”?’ he asked.
Before she could reply there came the sound of footsteps in the passage and Jacob entered.
‘Well, the castle isn’t entirely deserted, anyway,’ said the man by the fire. ‘Where is everybody, Jacob?’
‘Gertruda went into town, sir, and Borrit and Muncaster are out.’
‘Out where?’
‘They didn’t say, sir.’
‘So you’re the only one here, eh, Jacob?’
Not a nerve in Jacob’s face moved as he nodded in reply.
‘Go out and bring my horse in then; it’s outside the west wall.’
‘Outside the wall, sir?’
‘I should think you’d know by now not to question unaccountable circumstances, Jacob; isn’t that what my uncle hired you for?’
Without a word Jacob crossed the room and exited by the great door. The stranger watched him go until the door closed after him, then turned back to Sophia.
‘Not too wet, I hope?’ he said, helping her off with the cloak. ‘Stand by the fire and dry a bit while I fetch some supper.’
So saying, he went to the kitchen and returned in a few moments with a loaf of bread and a stone pitcher of milk. He poured himself a glass from a bottle of wine which stood half empty on the table, then stuck a candle into the bottle-neck and lit it.
‘Here we are,’ he said cheerfully, fetching a chair for Sophia. ‘Cosy, isn’t it? It’s only black bread,’ he went on, cutting the loaf with a knife Borrit had left stuck in the table. ‘I’m afraid they don’t keep a very well-stocked larder here—but I’m sure you’re aware of that by now.’
Sophia didn’t mind. She was fond of the heavy, sweet black bread and when it was spread with butter and eaten with quantities of milk it made a very nice supper.
The stranger himself ate only a little. He leaned back in his chair with his legs stretched out towards the fire and every now and then whistled snatches of a song.
Sophia watched him wonderingly. He was a very mysterious person and though he seemed to know a great deal about Sophia she herself didn’t know anything at all about him—not even so much as his name.
Yet she did not dare to ask him any questions. In the little time that she had lived in the mysterious castle she had learned not to ask questions because whenever she did, she had either been ignored or scolded. She did not feel that this person would either scold or ignore her, but he was so strange and unexpected that a spell seemed to hang about him and Sophia was half frightened that he would suddenly vanish. There was something about him that seemed quite different from other people and which gave her an odd, excited feeling, but she didn’t know what it was.
‘Well, how do you like it here?’ he asked to break the silence. He seemed to be the sort of person who had rather be talking or doing than sitting still.
‘I like it very much,’ said Sophia. ‘Only, I miss England sometimes. It’s very different here.’
‘Do you like it better, or not as much?’
‘I think,’ said Sophia slowly, remembering that afternoon’s excursion, ‘I like it better than England—only I’m not certain yet.’
Then she paused, for she wasn’t used to talking about important things to people who mightn’t understand.
‘It’s beginning to feel like home,’ she said. ‘I think it may feel more like home soon. I’ve never been anywhere that felt quite, all the way like Home.’
She watched him to see if he understood, or if he would laugh.
‘It feels like home, does it?’ he said in a mysterious way, as if he knew something she didn’t.
Her pigeon had stayed all day in the castle (perhaps it had known it was going to rain). It was hopping about under the table now, picking at the cracks in the stone floor. Sophia’s companion regarded it curiously as Sophia dropped crumbs for it.
‘Never seen an all-white pigeon before,’ he remarked. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘I brought her with me from England. Her name’s Constance.’
‘Extraordinary name for a bird, I must say.’
‘But she isn’t an ordinary bird,’ Sophia explained. ‘Mr. Morton found her last winter near St. Paul’s Cathedral. Have you ever seen St Paul’s Cathedral?’
‘In pictures.’
‘I saw it once on a walk with Father—that was before he was too ill to go out—there were lots of pigeons all around it. They built their nests up in the stone ledges. I suppose she must have fallen out of her nest because Mr. Morton found her near the steps one afternoon with a broken wing, and he brought her home to me to nurse. She wouldn’t leave me even after her wing grew well again, and that’s why I named her Constance.’
‘I see,’ he said, and began to whistle ‘The Fair-Haired Boy’.
His whistle had a light-hearted sound that was thoughtful at the same time. He stopped in the middle of a phrase and spoke to Sophia again.
‘And what do you think of this old castle? Gloomy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Sophia. ‘But I love it, anyway.’
‘Love it?’
‘It seems to want me,’ said Sophia.
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t make you gloomy as well. I never cared for it, myself.—They say it’s haunted.’
‘By ghosts?’
‘Of course. Every proper castle has ghosts, you know.’
His eyes looked straight into hers and he smiled, and Sophia knew that there was nothing really to be frightened of.
‘Is there a dungeon, too?’ she asked.
‘There’s the wine cellar. I suppose you’ve been down there?’
‘Yes—but only with Jacob.’
‘That’s a good idea. Jacob won’t let any spooks get to you. The wine cellar used to be the dungeon.’
‘And were there Captives Held in Thrall there, long ago?’ asked Sophia with bright eyes.
‘Yes,’ he said, entering into the game, ‘and an Evil Lord of the Castle who fed them on Bread and Water.’
‘But their friends came and saved them?’ asked Sophia confidently.
‘Oh yes, eventually.—Or ransomed them.’
‘Were there dragons back then, too?’
‘I daresay—that Pillaged the Countryside.’
‘And were there knights?’
‘In Shining Armour.’
Sophia often found it hard to talk to people and so she was not sure why she found it so easy to talk to this strange person. Perhaps it was because she had had no one to talk to for so long, or perhaps it was because he seemed interested in what she said and didn’t laugh at her, or perhaps it was because Sophia found herself liking him so much.—Perhaps it was all these reasons put together. She didn’t know, and wondered about it.
Jacob came back soon after this, shaking the rain from his clothes. He scarcely looked at them and went straight into the kitchen.
‘Jacob!’ called the stranger after him. ‘Did Borrit or Muncaster tell you when they would come back?’
‘No, sir,’ said Jacob coming in again. ‘They told me nothing at all.’
‘When did they leave?’
There was a sudden rattle of the great gate followed by a clatter of hooves in the courtyard.
‘That’ll be them, sir,’ said Jacob. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go out and see to the horses.’
He left and in a few minutes the two refractory ones entered, looking rather flushed and irritable. The discovery of the stranger’s presence did nothing to improve their mood. Borrit especially seemed displeased at sight of him.
‘Well, what are you doing here?’ he demanded.
The young man had tacitly ignored their entrance and sat calmly smoking. On being accosted by Borrit’s loud voice, he took his cigarette from his mouth and turned his attention to the two.
‘Bit late, aren’t you?’ he asked idly. ‘I rather expected you to be here when I arrived.—But then, I didn’t expect you to leave the castle in the first place.’
Muncaster hung up his cloak in the corner without a word and looked slightly ashamed, but Borrit only grew angrier.
‘Why shouldn’t we leave the castle?’ he asked. ‘You go where you please: why shouldn’t we?’
‘I’ve been carrying out my orders. Pity the same can’t be said for you. Raymond will be pleased to hear how you’ve been spending your time.’
‘I suppose you mean to tell him?’ asked Borrit pointedly.
‘Was Fritz’s beer as good as it usually is?’ asked the other irrelevantly.
‘You spy on Hergyll and you think you can spy on me as well! I won’t be spied on by anyone.’
‘That’s just as you please.’
There seemed nothing more to be said between them, but Borrit was still boiling with rage. His gaze fell upon Sophia who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes.
‘Go to your room!’ he said peremptorily.
She obeyed at once, catching up her pigeon and hurrying silently through the door into the long corridor that led to the wide staircase. She wished she might have stayed. She almost thought, if Borrit had not been so cross, that she would have asked him to let her stay longer and hear them talk. But as it was, she knew she must do as Borrit said.
The stranger watched the door close behind her.
‘Yet another for you to order about,’ he remarked to Borrit. ‘I wouldn’t be so cock-sure if I were you.’
‘But you are all the same, although you are not me,’ said Borrit.
Sophia groped her way up and up through the dark corridors with her bird clutched tightly in one arm. The darkness had fallen and she had no candle. Yet there was a light feeling in her heart, for she had found two good things that day. One was a way out of the castle which was not locked and barred. The other was—could he be a friend? He was so strange and mysterious, yet there was something about him that wasn’t strange at all. She rather thought he was a friend, and she smiled to herself when she remembered that he had not told.
But the next morning he was gone. Sophia, though she was not quite sure why, felt strangely disappointed.
‘He left late last evening,’ Jacob said when she asked him.
‘What did he come for?’
Jacob only lifted his shoulders and shook his head.
‘Well, when do you think he’ll be back?’
‘There’s no telling with him.’
‘But what was his name, Jacob?’
Jacob seemed surprised.
‘That was young Rupert,’ he said.
* * *
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