A Laodicean

Chapter 3

By half-past ten the next morning Somerset was once more

approaching the precincts of the building which had interested

him the night before. Referring to his map he had learnt that

it bore the name of Stancy Castle or Castle de Stancy; and he

had been at once struck with its familiarity, though he had

never understood its position in the county, believing it

further to the west. If report spoke truly there was some

excellent vaulting in the interior, and a change of study from

ecclesiastical to secular Gothic was not unwelcome for a

while.

The entrance-gate was open now, and under the archway the

outer ward was visible, a great part of it being laid out as a

flower-garden. This was in process of clearing from weeds and

rubbish by a set of gardeners, and the soil was so encumbered

that in rooting out the weeds such few hardy flowers as still

remained in the beds were mostly brought up with them. The

groove wherein the portcullis had run was as fresh as if only

cut yesterday, the very tooling of the stone being visible.

Close to this hung a bell-pull formed of a large wooden acorn

attached to a vertical rod. Somerset's application brought a

woman from the porter's door, who informed him that the day

before having been the weekly show-day for visitors, it was

doubtful if he could be admitted now.

'Who is at home?' said Somerset.

'Only Miss de Stancy,' the porteress replied.

His dread of being considered an intruder was such that he

thought at first there was no help for it but to wait till the

next week. But he had already through his want of effrontery

lost a sight of many interiors, whose exhibition would have

been rather a satisfaction to the inmates than a trouble. It

was inconvenient to wait; he knew nobody in the neighbourhood

from whom he could get an introductory letter: he turned and

passed the woman, crossed the ward where the gardeners were at

work, over a second and smaller bridge, and up a flight of

stone stairs, open to the sky, along whose steps sunburnt

Tudor soldiers and other renowned dead men had doubtless many

times walked. It led to the principal door on this side.

Thence he could observe the walls of the lower court in

detail, and the old mosses with which they were padded--mosses

that from time immemorial had been burnt brown every summer,

and every winter had grown green again. The arrow-slit and

the electric wire that entered it, like a worm uneasy at being

unearthed, were distinctly visible now. So also was the

clock, not, as he had supposed, a chronometer coeval with the

fortress itself, but new and shining, and bearing the name of

a recent maker.

The door was opened by a bland, intensely shaven man out of

livery, who took Somerset's name and politely worded request

to be allowed to inspect the architecture of the more public

portions of the castle. He pronounced the word 'architecture'

in the tone of a man who knew and practised that art; 'for,'

he said to himself, 'if she thinks I am a mere idle tourist,

it will not be so well.'

No such uncomfortable consequences ensued. Miss De Stancy had

great pleasure in giving Mr. Somerset full permission to walk

through whatever parts of the building he chose.

He followed the butler into the inner buildings of the

fortress, the ponderous thickness of whose walls made itself

felt like a physical pressure. An internal stone staircase,

ranged round four sides of a square, was next revealed,

leading at the top of one flight into a spacious hall, which

seemed to occupy the whole area of the keep. From this

apartment a corridor floored with black oak led to the more

modern wing, where light and air were treated in a less

gingerly fashion.

Here passages were broader than in the oldest portion, and

upholstery enlisted in the service of the fine arts hid to a

great extent the coldness of the walls.

Somerset was now left to himself, and roving freely from room

to room he found time to inspect the different objects of

interest that abounded there. Not all the chambers, even of

the habitable division, were in use as dwelling-rooms, though

these were still numerous enough for the wants of an ordinary

country family. In a long gallery with a coved ceiling of

arabesques which had once been gilded, hung a series of

paintings representing the past personages of the De Stancy

line. It was a remarkable array--even more so on account of

the incredibly neglected condition of the canvases than for

the artistic peculiarities they exhibited. Many of the frames

were dropping apart at their angles, and some of the canvas

was so dingy that the face of the person depicted was only

distinguishable as the moon through mist. For the colour they

had now they might have been painted during an eclipse; while,

to judge by the webs tying them to the wall, the spiders that

ran up and down their backs were such as to make the fair

originals shudder in their graves.

He wondered how many of the lofty foreheads and smiling lips

of this pictorial pedigree could be credited as true

reflections of their prototypes. Some were wilfully false, no

doubt; many more so by unavoidable accident and want of skill.

Somerset felt that it required a profounder mind than his to

disinter from the lumber of conventionality the lineaments

that really sat in the painter's presence, and to discover

their history behind the curtain of mere tradition.

The painters of this long collection were those who usually

appear in such places; Holbein, Jansen, and Vandyck; Sir

Peter, Sir Geoffrey, Sir Joshua, and Sir Thomas. Their

sitters, too, had mostly been sirs; Sir William, Sir John, or

Sir George De Stancy--some undoubtedly having a nobility

stamped upon them beyond that conferred by their robes and

orders; and others not so fortunate. Their respective ladies

hung by their sides--feeble and watery, or fat and

comfortable, as the case might be; also their fathers and

mothers-in-law, their brothers and remoter relatives; their

contemporary reigning princes, and their intimate friends. Of

the De Stancys pure there ran through the collection a mark by

which they might surely have been recognized as members of one

family; this feature being the upper part of the nose. Every

one, even if lacking other points in common, had the special

indent at this point in the face--sometimes moderate in

degree, sometimes excessive.

While looking at the pictures--which, though not in his

regular line of study, interested Somerset more than the

architecture, because of their singular dilapidation, it

occurred to his mind that he had in his youth been

schoolfellow for a very short time with a pleasant boy bearing

a surname attached to one of the paintings--the name of

Ravensbury. The boy had vanished he knew not how--he thought

he had been removed from school suddenly on account of ill

health. But the recollection was vague, and Somerset moved on

to the rooms above and below. In addition to the

architectural details of which he had as yet obtained but

glimpses, there was a great collection of old movables and

other domestic art-work--all more than a century old, and

mostly lying as lumber. There were suites of tapestry

hangings, common and fine; green and scarlet leather-work, on

which the gilding was still but little injured; venerable

damask curtains; quilted silk table-covers, ebony cabinets,

worked satin window-cushions, carved bedsteads, and

embroidered bed-furniture which had apparently screened no

sleeper for these many years. Downstairs there was also an

interesting collection of armour, together with several huge

trunks and coffers. A great many of them had been recently

taken out and cleaned, as if a long dormant interest in them

were suddenly revived. Doubtless they were those which had

been used by the living originals of the phantoms that looked

down from the frames.

This excellent hoard of suggestive designs for wood-work,

metal-work, and work of other sorts, induced Somerset to

divert his studies from the ecclesiastical direction, to

acquire some new ideas from the objects here for domestic

application. Yet for the present he was inclined to keep his

sketch-book closed and his ivory rule folded, and devote

himself to a general survey. Emerging from the ground-floor

by a small doorway, he found himself on a terrace to the

north-east, and on the other side than that by which he had

entered. It was bounded by a parapet breast high, over which

a view of the distant country met the eye, stretching from the

foot of the slope to a distance of many miles. Somerset went

and leaned over, and looked down upon the tops of the bushes

beneath. The prospect included the village he had passed

through on the previous day: and amidst the green lights and

shades of the meadows he could discern the red brick chapel

whose recalcitrant inmate had so engrossed him.

Before his attention had long strayed over the incident which

romanticized that utilitarian structure, he became aware that

he was not the only person who was looking from the terrace

towards that point of the compass. At the right-hand corner,

in a niche of the curtain-wall, reclined a girlish shape; and

asleep on the bench over which she leaned was a white cat--the

identical Persian as it seemed--that had been taken into the

carriage at the chapel-door.

Somerset began to muse on the probability or otherwise of the

backsliding Baptist and this young lady resulting in one and

the same person; and almost without knowing it he found

himself deeply hoping for such a unity. The object of his

inspection was idly leaning, and this somewhat disguised her

figure. It might have been tall or short, curvilinear or

angular. She carried a light sunshade which she fitfully

twirled until, thrusting it back over her shoulder, her head

was revealed sufficiently to show that she wore no hat or

bonnet. This token of her being an inmate of the castle, and

not a visitor, rather damped his expectations: but he

persisted in believing her look towards the chapel must have a

meaning in it, till she suddenly stood erect, and revealed

herself as short in stature--almost dumpy--at the same time

giving him a distinct view of her profile. She was not at all

like the heroine of the chapel. He saw the dinted nose of the

De Stancys outlined with Holbein shadowlessness against the

blue-green of the distant wood. It was not the De Stancy face

with all its original specialities: it was, so to speak, a

defective reprint of that face: for the nose tried hard to

turn up and deal utter confusion to the family shape.

As for the rest of the countenance, Somerset was obliged to

own that it was not beautiful: Nature had done there many

things that she ought not to have done, and left undone much

that she should have executed. It would have been decidedly

plain but for a precious quality which no perfection of

chiselling can give when the temperament denies it, and which

no facial irregularity can take away--a tender

affectionateness which might almost be called yearning; such

as is often seen in the women of Correggio when they are

painted in profile. But the plain features of Miss De Stancy-

-who she undoubtedly was--were rather severely handled by

Somerset's judgment owing to his impression of the previous

night. A beauty of a sort would have been lent by the

flexuous contours of the mobile parts but for that unfortunate

condition the poor girl was burdened with, of having to hand

on a traditional feature with which she did not find herself

otherwise in harmony.

She glanced at him for a moment, and showed by an

imperceptible movement that he had made his presence felt.

Not to embarrass her Somerset hastened to withdraw, at the

same time that she passed round to the other part of the

terrace, followed by the cat, in whom Somerset could imagine a

certain denominational cast of countenance, notwithstanding

her company. But as white cats are much alike each other at a

distance, it was reasonable to suppose this creature was not

the same one as that possessed by the beauty.