The Lady of the Red Admirals
"All day within the dreamy houseThe doors upon their hinges creak'd,The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouseBehind the mouldering wainscot shrieked,Or from the crevice peer'd about,Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,Old footsteps trod the upper floors,Old voices called her from without."--MARIANA.My eyes had been occupied with the grey chimneys below, among theSpanish chestnuts, at the very moment when I slipped on the northernface of Skirrid and twisted my ankle. This indeed explains theaccident; and the accident explains why my interest in the house withthe grey chimneys suddenly became a personal one. Five miles separatedme from my inn in Aber town. But the white smoke of a goods train wentcrawling across the green and cultivated plain at my feet; and I knew,though I carried no map, that somewhere under the slope to my left musthide the country station of Llanfihangel. To reach it I must pass thehouse, and there, no doubt, would happen on someone to set me on theshortest way.So I picked up my walking-stick and hobbled down the hillside, albeitwith pain. Where the descent eased a little I found and followed afoot-track, which in time turned into a sunk road scored deep with oldcart-ruts, and so brought me to a desolate farmstead, slowly dropping toruin there in the perpetual shadow of the mountain. The slates that hadfallen from the roof of byre and stable lay buried already under thegrowth of nettle and mallow and wild parsnip; and the yard-wall was downin a dozen places. I shuffled through one of these gaps, and almost atonce found myself face to face with a park-fence of split oak--in yetworse repair, if that were possible. It stretched away right and leftwith promise of a noble circumference; but no hand had repaired it forat least twenty years. I counted no less than seven breaches throughwhich a man of common size might step without squeezing; availed myselfof the nearest; and having with difficulty dragged my disabled foot upthe ha-ha slope beyond, took breath at the top and looked about me.The edge of the ha-ha stood but fifty paces back from an avenue of themost magnificent Spanish chestnuts I have ever seen in my life. A fewof them were withering from the top; and under these many dead boughslay as they had fallen, in grass that obliterated almost all trace ofthe broad carriage-road. But nine out of ten stood hale and stout, andapparently good for centuries to come. Northward, the grey facade ofthe house glimmered and closed their green prospective, and towards it Inow made my way.But, I must own, this avenue daunted me, as a frame altogether toolordly for a mere limping pedestrian. And therefore I was relieved, asI drew near, to catch the sound of voices behind the shrubberies on myright hand. This determined me to take the house in flank, and Idiverged and pushed my way between the laurels in search of thespeakers."A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse! Lobelia, how many horseshas your father in stable? Red, white, or grey?""One, Miss Wilhelmina; an' that's old Sentry-go, and father says he'llhave to go to the knacker's before another winter.""Then he shall carry me there on his back: with rings on my fingers andbells on my toes"--She rode unto the knacker's yard,And tirled at the pin:Right glad were then the cat's-meat menTo let that lady in!--especially, Lobelia, when she alighted and sat upon the ground andbegan to tell them sad stories of the death of kings. But they cut offSentry-go's head and nailed it over the gate. So he died, and she veryimprudently married the master knacker, who had heard she was an heiressin her own right, and wanted to decorate his coat-of-arms with anescutcheon of pretence; and besides, his doctor had recommended acomplete change "--"Law, miss, how you do run on!"The young lady who had given utterance to this amazing rigmarole stoodat the top of a terrace flight (much cracked and broken) between twoleaden statuettes (headless)--a willowy child in a large-brimmed hat,with a riding-switch in one hand and the other holding up an old tartanshawl, which she had pinned about her to imitate a horse-woman's habit.As she paced to and fro between the leaden statuettes--pedes vestis defluxit ad imosEt vera incessu patuit dea,--and I noted almost at once that two or three butterflies ("redadmirals" they were) floated and circled about her in the sunlight.A child of commoner make, and perhaps a year older, dressed in a buffprint frock and pink sunbonnet, looked up at her from the foot of thesteps. The faces of both were averted, and I stood there for at least aminute on the verge of the laurels, unobserved, considering the picturethey made, and the ruinous Jacobean house that formed its background.Never was house more eloquent of desolation. Unpainted shutters,cracking in the heat, blocked one half of its windows. Weather-stainsran down the slates from the lantern on the main roof. The lantern overthe stable had lost its vane, and the stable-clock its minute-hand.The very nails had dropped out of the gable wall, and the wistaria andGloire de Dijons they should have supported trailed down in tangles,like curtains. Grass choked the rain-pipes, and moss dappled the gravelwalk. In the border at my feet someone had attempted a clearance of theweeds; and here lay his hoe, matted with bindweed and ring-streaked withthe silvery tracks of snails."Very well, Lobelia. We will be sensible house-maid and cook, and talkof business. We came out, I believe, to cut a cabbage-leaf to make anapple-pie"--At this point happening to turn her head she caught sight of me, andstopped with a slight, embarrassed laugh. I raised my hat."I beg your pardon, sir, but no strangers are admitted here.""I beg your pardon"--I began; and with that, as I shifted mywalking-stick, my foolish ankle gave way, and plump I sat in the verymiddle of the bindweed."You are ill?" She came quickly towards me, but halted a pace or twooff. "You look as if you were going to faint.""I'll try not to," said I. "The fact is, I have just twisted my ankleon the side of Skirrid, and I wished to be told the shortest way to thestation.""I don't believe you can walk; and"--she hesitated a second, then wenton defiantly--"we have no carriage to take you.""I should not think of putting you to any such trouble.""Also, if you want to reach Aber, there is no train for the next twohours. You must come in and rest.""But really "--"I am mistress here. I am Wilhelmina Van der Knoope."Being by this time on my feet again, I bowed and introduced myself byname. She nodded. The child had a thoughtful face--thoughtful beyondher years--and delicately shaped rather than pretty."Lobelia, run in and tell the Admirals that a gentleman has called, withmy permission."Having dismissed the handmaiden, she observed me in silence for a fewmoments while she unpinned her tartan riding-skirt. Its removaldisclosed, not--as I had expected--a short frock, but one of quitewomanly length; and she carried it with the air of a grown woman."You must make allowances, please. I think," she mused, "yes, I reallythink you will be able to help. But you must not be surprised, mind.Can you walk alone, or will you lean a hand on my shoulder?"I could walk alone. Of what she meant I had of course no inkling; but Isaw she was as anxious now for me to come indoors as she had been promptat first to warn me off the premises. So I hobbled after her towardsthe house. At the steps by the side-door she turned and gave me a hand.We passed across a stone-flagged hall and through a carpetless corridor,which brought us to the foot of the grand staircase: and a magnificentstaircase it was, ornate with twisted balusters and hung with finepictures, mostly by old Dutch masters. But no carpet covered the broadsteps, and the pictures were perishing in their frames for lack ofvarnish. I had halted to stare up at a big Hondecoeter that hung in thesunlight over the first short flight of stairs--an elaborate "Parliamentof Fowls"--when the girl turned the handle of a door to my right andentered."Uncle Peter, here is the gentleman who has called to see you."As I crossed the threshold I heard a chair pushed back, and a very oldgentleman rose to welcome me at the far end of the cool and shadowyroom; a tall white-haired figure in a loose suit of holland. He did notadvance, but held out a hand tentatively, as if uncertain from whatdirection I was advancing. Almost at once I saw that he wasstone-blind."But where is Uncle Melchior?" exclaimed Wilhelmina."I believe he is working at accounts," the old gentleman answered--addressing himself to vacancy, for she had already run from the room.He shook hands courteously and motioned me to find a chair, while heresumed his seat beside a little table heaped with letters, or ratherwith bundles of letters neatly tied and docketed. His right hand restedon these bundles, and his fingers tapped upon them idly for a minutebefore he spoke again."You are a friend of Fritz's? of my grandson?""I have not the pleasure of knowing him, sir. Your niece's introductionleaves me to explain that I am just a wayfarer who had the misfortune totwist an ankle, an hour ago, on Skirrid, and crawled here to ask hisway."His face fell. "I was hoping that you brought news of Fritz. But youare welcome, sir, to rest your foot here; and I ask your pardon for notperceiving your misfortune. I am blind. But Wilhelmina--my grandniece--will attend to your wants.""She is a young lady of very large heart," said I. He appeared toconsider for a while. "She is with me daily, but I have not seen hersince she was a small child, and I always picture her as a child.To you, no doubt, she is almost a woman grown?""In feeling, I should say, decidedly more woman than child; and inmanner.""You please me by saying so. She is to marry Fritz, and I wish that tohappen before I die."Receiving no answer to this--for, of course, I had nothing to say--hestartled me with a sudden question. "You disapprove of cousinsmarrying?"I could only murmur that a great deal depended on circumstances."And there are circumstances in this case. Besides, they are secondcousins only. And they both look forward to it. I am not one to forcetheir inclinations, you understand--though, of course, they know it tobe my wish--the wish of both of us, I may say; for Melchior is at onewith me in this. Wilhelmina accepts her future--speaks of it, indeed,with gaiety. And as for Fritz--though they have not seen each othersince he was a mere boy and she an infant--as for Fritz, he writes--butyou shall judge from his last letter."He felt among the packets and selected one. "I know one from t'other bythe knots," he explained. "I am an old seaman! Now here is his last,written from the South Pacific station. He sends his love to 'Mina, andjokes about her being husband-high: 'but she must grow, if we are to docredit to the Van der Knoopes at the altar.' It seems that he issomething below the traditional height of our family; but a thoroughseaman, for all his modesty. There, sir: you will find the passage onthe fourth page, near the top."I took the letter; and there, to be sure, read the words the old Admiralhad quoted. But it struck me that Fritz Van der Knoope used a veryladylike handwriting, and of a sort not usually taught on H.M.S.Britannia."In two years' time the lad will be home, all being well. And then, ofcourse, we shall see.""Of what rank is he?""At present a second lieutenant. His age is but twenty-one. The Vander Knoopes have all followed the sea, as the portraits in this housewill tell you. Ay, and we have fought against England in our time. Aslate as 1672, Adrian Van der Knoope commanded a ship under De Ruyterwhen he outgeneralled the English in Southwold Bay. But since 1688 ourswords have been at the service of our adopted country; and she has usedthem, sir."I am afraid I was not listening. My chair faced the window, and as Iglanced at the letter in my hands enough light filtered through thetransparent "foreign" paper to throw up the watermark, and it bore thename of an English firm.This small discovery, quite unwillingly made, gave me a sudden sense ofshame, as though I had been playing some dishonourable trick. I washastily folding up the paper, to return it, when the door opened andWilhelmina came in, with her uncle Melchior.She seemed to divine in an instant what had happened; threw a swiftglance at the blind Admiral, and almost as swiftly took the letter frommy hand and restored it to the packet. The next moment, with perfectcoolness she was introducing me to her uncle Melchior.Melchior Van der Knoope was perhaps ten years younger than his brother,and carried his tall figure buttoned up tightly in an old-fashionedfrockcoat: a mummy of a man, with a fixed air of mild bewilderment and atrick of running his left hand through his white hair--due, no doubt, toeverlasting difficulty with the family accounts. He shook hands asceremoniously as his brother."We have been talking of Fritz," said old Peter."Oh yes--of Fritz. To be sure." Melchior answered him vaguely, andlooked at me with a puzzled smile. There was silence in the room tillhis brother spoke again. "I have been showing Mr.--Fritz's lastletter.""Fritz writes entertainingly," murmured Melchior, and seemed to castabout for another word, but repeated, "--entertainingly. If the stateof your ankle permits, sir, you will perhaps take an interest in ourpictures. I shall be happy to show them to you."And so, with the occasional support of Melchior's arm, I began a tour ofthe house. The pictures indeed were a sufficient reward--seascapes byWillem Van der Velde, flower-portraits by Willem Van Aslet,tavern-scenes by Adrian Van Ostade; a notable Cuyp; a small Gerard Dowof peculiar richness; portraits--the Burgomaster Albert Van der Knoope,by Thomas de Keyser--the Admiral Nicholas, by Kneller--the Admiral Peter(grand-uncle of the blind Admiral), by Romney. . . . My guide seemed ashonestly proud of them as insensible of their condition, which was inalmost every case deplorable. By-and-by, in the library we came upon amodern portrait of a rosy-faced boy in a blue suit, who held (strangecombination!) a large ribstone pippin in one hand and a cricket bat inthe other--a picture altogether of such glaring demerit that I wonderedfor a moment why it hung so conspicuously over the fireplace, whileworthier paintings were elbowed into obscure corners. Then with asudden inkling I glanced at Uncle Melchior. He nodded gravely."That is Fritz."I pulled out my watch. "I believe," I said, "it must be time for me tobid your brother good-bye.""You need be in no hurry," said Miss Wilhelmina's voice behind me."The last train to Aber has gone at least ten minutes since.You must dine and sleep with us to-night."I awoke next morning between sheets of sweet-smelling linen in a carvedfour-post bed, across the head-board of which ran the motto "STEMMATAQVID FACIVNT" in faded letters of gilt. If the appearance of the room,with its tattered hangings and rickety furniture, had counted foranything, my dreams should certainly have been haunted. But, as amatter of fact, I never slept better. Possibly the lightness of thedinner (cooked by the small handmaid Lobelia) had something to do withit; possibly, too, the infectious somnolence of the two Admirals, whospoke but little during the meal, and nodded, without attempt atdissimulation, over the dessert. At any rate, shortly after nineo'clock--when Miss Wilhelmina brought out a heavy Church Service, andUncle Melchior read the lesson and collect for the day and a fewprayers, including the one "For those at Sea"--I had felt quite readyfor bed. And now, thanks to a cold compress, my ankle had mendedconsiderably. I descended to breakfast in very cheerful mind, and foundMiss Wilhelmina alone at the table."Uncle Peter," she explained, "rarely comes down before mid-day; andUncle Melchior breakfasts in his room. He is busy with the accounts.""So early?"She smiled rather sadly. "They take a deal of disentangling."She asked how my ankle did. When I told her, and added that I mustcatch an early train back to Aber, she merely said, "I will walk to thestation with you, if I may."And so at ten o'clock--after I had bidden farewell to Uncle Melchior,who wore the air of one interrupted in a long sum of compound addition--we set forth. I knew the child had something on her mind, and waited.Once, by a ruinous fountain where a stone Triton blew patiently at aconch-shell plugged with turf, she paused and dug at the mortared jointsof the basin with the point of her sunshade; and I thought theconfidence was coming. But it was by the tumble-down gate at the end ofthe chestnut avenue that she turned and faced me."I knew you yesterday at once," she said. "You write novels.""I wish," said I feebly, "the public were as quick at discovering me.""Somebody printed an 'interview' with you in '--'s Magazine a month ortwo ago.""There was not the slightest resemblance.""Please don't be silly. There was a photograph.""Ah, to be sure.""You can help me--help us all--if you will.""Is it about Fritz?"She bent her head and signed to me to open the gate. Across thehigh-road a stile faced us, and a little church, with an acre framed inelms and set about with trimmed yews. She led the way to the low andwhitewashed porch, and pushed open the iron-studded door. As Ifollowed, the name of Van der Knoope repeated itself on many muraltablets. Almost at the end of the south aisle she paused and lifted afinger and pointed.I read--SACREDTo the Memory ofFRITZ OPDAM DE KEYSER VAN DER KNOOPEA Midshipman of the Royal NavyWho was born Oct. 21st MDCCCLXVII.And DrownedBy the Capsizing of H.M.S. Viperoff the North Coast of IrelandOn the 17th of January MDCCCLXXXV.A youth of peculiar promise who lackedbut the greater indulgence ofan all-wise Providenceto earn the distinction of his forefathers(of whom he was the last male representative)in his Country's servicein whichhe laid down his young life----------Heu miserande puer! Si qua fata aspera rumpasTu Marcellus eris."Uncle Melchior had it set up. I wonder what Fritz was really like.""And your Uncle Peter still believes--?""Oh yes. I am to marry Fritz in time. That is where you must help us.It would kill Uncle Peter if he knew. But Uncle Melchior gets puzzledwhenever it comes to writing; and I am afraid of making mistakes.We've put him down in the South Pacific station at present--that willlast for two years more. But we have to invent the gossip, you know.And I thought that you--who wrote stories--""My dear young lady," I said, "let me be Fritz, and you shall have aletter duly once a month."And my promise was kept--until, two years ago, she wrote that there wasno further need for letters, for Uncle Peter was dead. For aught Iknow, by this time Uncle Melchior may be dead also. But regularly, asthe monthly date comes round, I am Fritz Opdam de Keyser van der Knoope,a young midshipman of Her Majesty's Navy; and wonder what my affiancedbride is doing; and see her on the terrace steps with those butterfliesfloating about her. In my part of the world it is believed that thesouls of the departed pass into these winged creatures. So might thesouls of those many pictured Admirals: but some day, before long, I hopeto cross Skirrid again and see.
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