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The Princess Priscilla's Fortnight

Автор Элизабет фон Арним

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Дата написания1970-01-01

Язык книгиen

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Жанры

зарубежная классика зарубежная старинная литература

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"I see," said the Prince.

There was a silence.

"I don't suppose you really do," said Priscilla, full of strange feelings.

"My dear cousin?"

"I don't know if you've come to laugh at me?"

"Do I look as if I had?"

"I dare say you think—because you've not been through it yourself—that it—it's rather ridiculous."

"My dear cousin," protested the Prince.

Her lips quivered. She had gone through much, and she had lived for two days only on milk.

"Do you wipe the puddles up, or does old Fritzing?"

"You see you have come to laugh."

"I hope you'll believe that I've not. Must I be gloomy?"

"How do you know Fritzing's here?"

"Why everybody knows that."

"Everybody?" There was an astonished pause. "How do you know we're here—here, in Creeper Cottage?"

"Creeper Cottage is it? I didn't know it had a name. Do you have so many earwigs?"

"How did you know we were in Symford?"

"Why everybody knows that."

Priscilla was silent. Again she felt she was being awakened from a dream.

"I've met quite a lot of interesting people since I saw you last," he said. "At least, they interested me because they all knew you."

"Knew me?"

"Knew you and that old scound—the excellent Fritzing. There's an extremely pleasant policeman, for instance, in Kunitz—"

"Oh," said Priscilla, starting and turning red. She could not think of that policeman without crisping her fingers.

"He and I are intimate friends. And there's a most intelligent person—really a most helpful, obliging person—who came with you from Dover to Ullerton."

"With us?"

"I found the conversation, too, of the ostler at the Ullerton Arms of immense interest."

"But what—"

"And last night I slept at Baker's Farm, and spent a very pleasant evening with Mrs. Pearce."

"But why—"

"She's an instructive woman. Her weakest point, I should say, is her junkets."

"I wonder why you bother to talk like this—to be sarcastic."

"About the junkets? Didn't you think they were bad?"

"Do you suppose it's worth while to—to kick somebody who's down? And so low down? So completely got to the bottom?"

"Kick? On my soul I assure you that the very last thing I want to do is to kick you."

"Then why do you do it?"

"I don't do it. Do you know what I've come for?"

"Is my father round the corner?"

"Nobody's round the corner. I've muzzled your father. I've come quite by myself. And do you know why?"

"No," said Priscilla, shortly, defiantly; adding before he could speak, "I can't imagine." And adding to that, again before he could speak, "Unless it's for the fun of hunting down a defenceless quarry."

"I say, that's rather picturesque," said the Prince with every appearance of being struck.

Priscilla blushed. In spite of herself every word they said to each other made her feel more natural, farther away from self-torment and sordid fears, nearer to that healthy state of mind, swamped out of her lately, when petulance comes more easily than meekness. The mere presence of the Prince seemed to set things right, to raise her again in her own esteem. There was undoubtedly something wholesome about the man, something everyday and reassuring, something dependable and sane. The first smile for I don't know how long came and cheered the corners of her mouth. "I'm afraid I've grown magniloquent since—since—"

"Since you ran away?"

She nodded. "Fritzing, you know, is most persistently picturesque. I think it's catching. But he's wonderful," she added quickly,—"most wonderful in patience and goodness."

"Oh everybody knows he's wonderful. Where is the great man?"

"In the next room. Do you want him?"

"Good Lord, no. You've not told me what you suppose I've come for."

"I did. I told you I couldn't imagine."

"It's for a most saintly, really nice reason. Guess."

"I can't guess."

"Oh but try."

Priscilla to her extreme disgust felt herself turning very red. "I suppose to spy out the nakedness of the land," she said severely.

"Now you're picturesque again. You must have been reading a tremendous lot lately. Of course you would, with that learned old fossil about. No my dear, I've come simply to see if you are happy."

She looked at him, and her flush slowly died away.

"Simply to convince myself that you are happy."

Her eyes filling with tears she thought it more expedient to fix them on the table-cloth. She did fix them on it, and the golden fringe of eyelashes that he very rightly thought so beautiful lay in long dusky curves on her serious face. "It's extraordinarily nice of you if—if it's true," she said.

"But it is true. And if you are, if you tell me you are and I'm able to believe it, I bow myself out, dear cousin, and shall devote any energies I have left after doing that to going on muzzling your father. He shall not, I promise you, in any way disturb you. Haven't I kept him well in hand up to this?"

She raised her eyes to his. "Was it you keeping him so quiet?"

"It was, my dear. He was very restive. You've no notion of all the things he wanted to do. It wanted a pretty strong hand, and a light one too, I can tell you. But I was determined you should have your head. That woman Disthal—"

Priscilla started.

"You don't like her?" inquired the Prince sympathetically.

"No."

"I was afraid you couldn't. But I didn't know how to manage that part. She's in London."

Priscilla started again. "I thought—I thought she was in bed," she said.

"She was, but she got out again. Your—departure cured her."

"Didn't you tell me nobody was round the corner?"

"Well, you don't call London round the corner? I wouldn't let her come any nearer to you. She's waiting there quite quietly."

"What is she waiting for?" asked Priscilla quickly.

"Come now, she's your lady in waiting you know. It seems natural enough she should wait, don't it?"

"No," said Priscilla, knitting her eyebrows.

"Don't frown. She had to come too. She's brought some of your women and a whole lot"—he glanced at the blue serge suit and put his hand up to his moustache—"a whole lot of clothes."

"Clothes?" A wave of colour flooded her face. She could not help it at the moment any more than a starving man can help looking eager when food is set before him. "Oh," she said, "I hope they're the ones I was expecting from Paris?"

"I should think it very likely. There seem to be a great many. I never saw so many boxes for one little cousin."

Priscilla made a sudden movement with her hands. "You can't think," she said, "how tired I am of this dress."

"Yes I can," the Prince assured her.

"I've worn it every day."

"You must have."

"Every single day since the day I—I—"

"The day you ran away from me."

She blushed. "I didn't run away from you. At least, not exactly. You were only the last straw."

"A nice thing for a man to be."

"I ran because—because—oh, it's a long story, and I'm afraid a very foolish one."

A gleam came into the Prince's eyes. He took a step nearer her, but immediately thinking better of it took it back again. "Perhaps," he said pleasantly, "only the beginning was foolish, and you'll settle down after a bit and get quite fond of Creeper Cottage."

She looked at him startled.

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