Read Ebook: Mammon and Co. by Benson E F Edward Frederic

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INDEX 63

FACING PAGE 2. SANDOWN BAY 9

THE ISLE OF WIGHT

THE ISLAND

Islands have always exercised a peculiar fascination over Englishmen, perhaps because, accustomed as they are to a sense of security induced by the surrounding sea, they never feel more comfortable than when the sea is on all sides at a measurable distance. It has been the ambition of many an Englishman to possess an island, however small, of his own. But England is not particularly blessed in this matter, and we may look with envy at the fringe of islands, large and small, precipitous and flat, scattered along the rugged shores of the west coast of Scotland. The only two English islands which can claim exceptional interest are the Isle of Man and the Isle of Wight. Of the other well-known ones, the Scilly Isles and Channel Isles are too inaccessible to count, Sheppey and Thanet and Holy Island too small, and Anglesea is separated by so very diminutive a channel from the mainland that it hardly seems like an island at all.

In Sir John Oglander's Memoirs he says: "It is, and hathe bene a tax layd on this island, that it never produced any extraordinary fayr handsome woman, nor a man of any super-eminent gwyftes in witt or wisdome, or a horse excellent for goodness. I can answer that no part of England in generall, the quantitie considered, hath produced more exquisite in either species than this island."

As for visitors, honeymoon couples and invalids have a special predilection for the island, and are to be found there at all times of the year enjoying the glorious sweep and firm sands of Sandown Bay, with its record for sunshine, the sheltered warmth of Ventnor, with its mild winter and equable climate, or the many beauties of Shanklin, which claims a better summer season than its rival--apt to be, perhaps, a trifle too warm at times. The island has been called "The Garden of England," a title by which it is referred to so long ago as 1781.

The narrow lanes crowded in by high, many-flowering hedges, the sharp descents and sudden turns, are not conducive to ease in motoring or cycling, and cyclists who ride as an end in itself, and not as a means to enjoyment, will find they had better go elsewhere. A capable cyclist could run all round the island in a day, but much would he miss thereby! For the attractions of the island are varied, appealing to historian, antiquarian, geologist, and botanist, man of letters, and lover of scenery, no less than the sportsman, and he who loves a game. From the historic castle of Carisbrooke, with its pathetic memories, to the yachting week at Cowes, almost every kind of man can find something to interest him.

The facilities for getting about are good, for though in the northern part of the island the roads are sometimes a little rough, with stones not deeply enough set, they are always dry, being sandy; and west of Newport, and south, and also in the south-eastern corner, over quite three-quarters of the island in fact, they are excellent, dry, smooth, and firm. In spite of the hills and sudden turns, therefore, there is much to be commended to cyclists.

In this general survey we have not so far touched upon one aspect of the island which in the minds of some people looms so large as altogether to eclipse all others, and that is its attractions as a health resort.

The fortune of Ventnor was made by the celebrated physician, Dr. James Clark , who pronounced it to be the English Madeira. From a little fishing hamlet it grew prodigiously fast into a fashionable watering-place, with good shops and fine buildings. Numerous sanatoria for consumptives, ranging downwards from the Royal National Hospital, show the opinion of its climate held by medical men in our own day.

The town, which stands on the side of a steep incline, is extremely picturesque, and some of the streets seem absolutely to tumble downwards. The different levels, however much they may add to its beauty from an artist's point of view, are, however, a little trying to the large number of invalids who come to Ventnor. Bathing, golf, tennis, and all the usual recreations are found in abundance, and the number of coaches starting for different excursions on a summer's day are legion. Shanklin differs from Ventnor in having houses above and below the cliff, instead of being planted on its side--a feat here rendered impossible by the precipitous nature of the cliffs. The two parts are connected with a lift, which does not in itself add to the beauties of the landscape, and there are also, of course, zigzag paths and graded roads, and the famous chine already referred to, by which one can reach the higher level from the lower. Shanklin faces eastward, and is "round the corner" from Ventnor, which makes it not quite so warm in summer.

Sandown, again, which is northward, faces, like Shanklin, over a wide bay, and it boasts a high record in sunshine, having been, in fact, first for the whole of the United Kingdom in 1908. The sands are also exceptionally good.

These three are the best known health resorts, but visitors throng equally to the rapidly rising Totland Bay on the west, and Freshwater, Cowes, Ryde, and other places are seldom altogether deserted to their own inhabitants.

CARISBROOKE AND ITS MEMORIES

Carisbrooke is the central attraction for visitors, just as, by position, it is well-nigh the centre of the island. Even from childish days the picture of the patient donkey walking in a wheel to draw up water from the well, or the touching tale of the little Princess Elizabeth, who pined to death in the castle, has been familiar to everyone. The donkey who now holds the office is probably just as great an interest to the thousands of tourists--one Whit-Monday has been known to bring ten thousand--as the historical associations with which the castle is so richly endowed. The well is 150 feet deep, but that the work is not unduly hard is evidenced by the longevity of the donkeys, one of which lived to the age of thirty-two and another to twenty-one years. There are two at present, who relieve each other, both comparatively young and much petted.

Carisbrooke is bound up with the history of the island. Its origin goes back into the dim mists of antiquity, and the earliest record is of a British fort which stood on the site. This was eventually succeeded by a Roman camp. The Romans called the island Vecta, or Vectis, and held it from A.D. 43 to A.D. 530, when Cedric the Saxon seized it. The Saxons used Carisbrooke as a strong place and fortified it, but when William the Conqueror established himself in England he bestowed it upon William Fitz-Osborne. One little incident which stands out in William's reign is that of the seizure of his half-brother Odo at Carisbrooke, where he had taken refuge. King William himself crossed over on this occasion and dragged out the rebel with a strong hand. .

In the time of King Stephen, "Baldwin de Redvers made an insurrection against Stephen at Exeter, was there besieged and starved out, and then fled to the Wight, an island situate between Normandy and England, but nearer to England than to Normandy. He there occupied his castle, which was most grand built of stone and strengthened by very great fortifications. It was considered impregnable, and being well stored with provisions and plenty of water, Baldwin determined to defy the King, but by the providence of God intervening the well was dried up suddenly. Baldwin on this was so discouraged that he fled to the King to ask forgiveness and to be allowed to retain his own property; but he did not get his request granted. He then repaired to the Court of Anjou, which received him with much honour" .

With the treaty which provided for the succession of Henry came the re-establishment of Baldwin at Carisbrooke, whereupon he at once sank a much deeper and better well, the one which is now in existence, probably with an eye to future contingencies! The family of de Redvers, which continued long in possession, was Norman, and the description of the island as lying "between Normandy and England" is not really so absurd as it sounds in view of the fact that it was an appanage of Normandy, and when Normandy was lost to England it continued toth her--that he might not be desirable as a friend, would certainly have warned the prudent that he would assuredly be much more undesirable as an enemy. On the whole, a prudent prude would have tried to keep on good terms with him. He appeared, in fact, even on so hasty and informal a glance as that which we are giving him as he arranges his tie, to be one of those lucky people to whom it is well to be pleasant, for it was difficult to imagine that he was afraid of anything or cared for anybody. Certain happily-constituted folk have never had any doubt about the purpose of the world, so clearly was it designed to feed and amuse them. Lord Conybeare was one of these; and in justice to the world we must say that it performed its altruistic part very decently indeed.

Jack Conybeare was still on the sunny side of thirty-five. He and Kit had been married some seven years, and had no children, a privation for which they were touchingly thankful. They had, both of them, quite sufficient responsibilities, or, to speak more precisely, liabilities; and to be in any way responsible for any liabilities beyond their own would have seemed to them a vicarious burden of the most intolerable sort. Their own, it is only fair to add, sat but lightly on them; Kit, in particular, wore hers most gracefully, like a becoming mantle. Chronic conditions, for the most part, tend to cease being acutely felt, and both she and Jack would far sooner have had a couple of thousand pounds in hand, and fifty thousand pounds in debt, than not to have owed or owned a penny. Kit had once even thought of advertising in the morning papers that a marchioness of pleasing disposition was willing to do anything in the world for a thousand pounds, and Jack had agreed that there was something in the idea, though the flaw in it was cheapness: you should not give yourself away. He himself had mortgaged every possible acre of his property, and sold all that was available to sell, and the close of every day exhibited to a wondering world how it was possible to live in the very height of fashion and luxury without any means of living at all. Had he and Kit sat down for a moment by the side of a road, or loitered in Park Lane, they would probably have been haled, by the fatherly care of English law, to the nearest magistrate, for that they had no apparent means of sustenance. Luckily they never thought of doing anything of the kind, finding it both safer and pleasanter to entertain princes and give the best balls in London.

But though both he and Kit were fond of appearing other than they were to sets other than their own, they were on the whole singularly unsecretive to each other. In the first place, they both knew that the other was reasonably sharp, and while each respected the other for this sharpness, they realized that any attempt to deceive would probably be detected. In the second place, a far better reason, even on the lowest grounds, on which they took it, they knew that mutual lying is a rotten basis for married life. Each allowed the other a wide latitude, and in consequence they were excellent friends, and always lent each other a helping hand if there was any scheme of mutual aggrandizement to be put through. There were just a few questions that Kit never put to Jack, nor he to her; each had a cupboard, a very little one, to which there was only one key, and they were wise enough never to ask each other for it. Such, hitherto, had been their married life--a great deal of frankness and confidence, and an absolute respect for the privacy of the other's innermost sanctum.

To-night there was a beautiful scheme in the egg ready to be hatched, or neither of them would have dreamed of dining in the City at half-past seven. Attention was just beginning to be directed to West Australian gold-mining, and the public had awoke to the fact that there were large fortunes to be made, or lost, in that direction. Thus Jack, having no fortune to lose, went into it with a light heart; he was clearly marked out as one of those who were destined to win. In pursuance of the laudable idea of avoiding a really serious financial crisis, they were dining at the Drapers' Company, where they would meet a Mr. Frank Alington, who had a whole fleet of little paper companies, it was understood, ready to be floated. Jack had met him once, and had taken this opportunity of meeting him again, hoping to find bread upon the waters. It was to be Kit's business to make herself inimitably agreeable, ask him to Park Lane, and leave the rest to Jack. She, of course, would have a finger in the profits.

Kit was delighted to take the part assigned to her. Jack had looked into her bedroom as she was dressing, and through the half-open door had said, "Very gorgeous, please, Kit," and she had understood that this was a really important operation, and that a dazzling wife was part of the apparatus necessary. She had not meant to dress very particularly; plush and cairngorms, she had once said to Jack, was the sort of thing the City really appreciated, but she was always ready, within reason, to do as Jack wished, and she told her maid to get out a dress that had arrived from Paris only that morning. But Jack's remark to her as she was dressing was the sort of hint that Kit always took. It cost so little to be pleasant in these ways, and how wise it was to obey one's husband in such matters! She had intended to keep this dress for a royal dinner a week hence, but she put it on without a murmur, and, indeed, her wifely devotion had its immediate reward.

"A touch of rouge," she said to Hortense, and when that was unerringly applied, "There," she murmured, "that will double up the City. And Jack," she added to herself, "will then proceed to pick its pockets."

She rustled across the floor, and tapped at the door of her husband's dressing-room.

"Are you ready, Jack?" she asked.

"Yes, just. Come in, Kit."

Kit took from her table the orange-red fan which Worth had sent with the dress, threw the door open and held her head very high.

"The gold-miner's wife," she remarked.

Her husband looked at her a moment in blank admiration. Seven years' husband as he was, Kit still occasionally "knocked him over" as he expressed it, and she knocked him over now. Then he laughed outright.

"That ought to fetch 'em," he said frankly.

"So I think," said Kit; "but really, Jack, it was a sacrifice putting this on. Remember that, please. I was keeping it for the royalties next week, but you said 'very gorgeous,' and I obeyed."

"Oh, blow the royalties!" said Jack. "Dress in tartan plaid for them, or a kilt even. Besides, it is bad form for a hostess to be better dressed than her guests. That dress wouldn't do at all, Kit, in your own house. They would think you were an advanced Radical."

All down Piccadilly she was silent, looking devouringly from the window of the brougham at the kaleidoscope outside, but when they turned out of Trafalgar Square down Northumberland Avenue, to avoid the Strand, which at that hour spouts and bubbles with traffic like a weir in spring, she turned to her husband with a sigh of regret at leaving the fuller streets.

"The outline of the plot, Jack?" she said.

"But we give a dance to-morrow," said Kit, "and we feed only the very brightest and best."

"All the more reason for Alington coming, perhaps," said Jack. "I have heard it said that there are still a few people who care for a duke as such. It sounds odd, but let us hope he is one."

"Yes, those people are so easy to deal with," said Kit thoughtfully. "But it will upset the table, Jack."

"Of course, if you put your table as more important than possible thousands," said Jack.

"It is really a big thing then?" asked Kit.

"It is possibly a very big thing. I know no more than you yet. It may even run to a Saturday till Monday or more."

"Very good. I'll upset the whole apple-cart for it, as Mr. Rhodes says. Here we are. Let's get away early, Jack. I said we'd go to Berkeley Street afterwards."

"We'll go as early as we can," he replied. "But you mustn't risk not landing your fish because you don't play him long enough."

"Oh, Jack, I am not a fool," she said. "Order the carriage for ten. I'd undertake in this gown to land the whole house of laymen by ten without a gaff. Dear Jean Worth! What a lot of money I owe him, and what a lot of pleasure he gives me! I should be puzzled to say which was the greater."

SUNDAY MORNING

Mr. Frank Alington turned out to be a star of greater magnitude, in fact a Saturday till Monday star, almost a comet. Lord Conybeare found that the whirl and bustle of London did not allow of his seeing enough of him, so he phrased it, and thus it happened that, some ten days after the dinner at the Drapers' Company , Mr. Alington arrived on a Saturday afternoon in June at what Kit called their "cottage" in Buckinghamshire.

Strictly speaking--though she did not often speak strictly--it was not a cottage at all; and it was certainly not in Buckinghamshire, but in Berkshire. But there was a rustic, almost Bohemian, sound to Kit's mind in Buckinghamshire, whereas Berkshire only reminded one of bacon, and a few miles either way made a very little difference. "And if I choose to call Berkshire the Malay Archipelago," said Kit, "who is to stop me?"

The analogy is obvious, and Kit's admirable taste had made the likeness almost glaring. There was a grandfather's clock there, a couple of large oak settles on each side of the fireplace, which had bronze dogs for the fire-irons, and homely Chippendale and basket chairs. A few Persian rugs, it is true, which it would have tasked a connoisseur to price, happened to be lying on the floor, but otherwise it was quite uncarpeted, and you trod on real naked wooden boards of polished oak. In all the windows but one there were tiny diamond panes of old wavy glass, which made the features of the landscape outside go up and down like a switchback as you walked across the room; and in the other window, which gave light to the serving-up-room , were real bottom-of-glasses panes, which looked charming. The roof was gabled and not even whitewashed , and altogether an unexacting labourer might have spent very fairly comfortable evenings in this simple room.

The cottage idea was carried out in the garden also. The beds were all of old-fashioned flowers, hollyhocks, London-pride, poppies, wallflowers, dahlias, mignonette, quite rustic and herbaceous, with no pincushion Italian beds, which Kit said were very expensive and out of keeping with the prevalent simplicity. They also reminded her of badly-mixed salads. Stern frugality further showed itself in the clothing of the red-brick walls which bounded the garden. Here were no flaunting, flaming creepers, bright and profitless, but homely pear-trees and apricots, which bore quite excellent fruit. A common wooden punt lay moored at the end of the garden, useful and homely, fit for the carrying of the produce of the labourer's garden to market. A pile of embroidered cushions happened at that moment to be lying in it, and Kit had also left her jewelled Russian cigarette-case there, but that was all. Even the cigarette-case was made of simple plaited straw, and the monogram and coronet set in very blue turquoises at one corner seemed to have got there by accident, as if they had been chips which had fallen out of the sky, and might be shortly expected to float back there again.

It was Sunday morning, obviously Sunday morning, and Nature was proceeding as usual on her simple but pleasant way. A brilliant sun, a gentle wind, the smooth, unruffled river, all testified to the tenderness and benignity of the powers of the air. Spring, the watery, impetuous spring of the North, had now a month ago definitely given place to summer, leaving another year in which poets, with their extraordinary want of correct observation, might forget what it had really been like, and rhyme it a hundred undeserved and unfounded courtesies. But summer had come in earnest in the latter days of May, with a marked desire to make itself pleasant, and give to the sturdy British yeoman, who had till then complained of the wetness of the spring, another excellent opportunity of vilifying the dryness of the summer. Over such Providence watches with a special care, and, knowing that the one thing worse than having a grievance is to have none, gives them a kindly interchange of wet springs, dry summers, wet summers, dry springs, secure of never pleasing anybody.

A soft blue haze of heat and moisture hung over the river and the low-lying water-meadows on the far side, but as the hills beyond climbed upwards from the valley, they rose into an atmosphere extraordinarily clear. Though the day was hot, there was a precision of outline about the woods that cut the sky almost suggestive of a frosty morning, and even here below the heat was of a brisk quality. Everything was steeped in Sunday content, and from the gray church-tower standing guardian among the huddled hamlet-roofs came the melodious jangle of bells ringing for the eleven o'clock service. The labourers' garden was in full luxuriance of midsummer flower , and a rainbow of colour bounded the close-shaven lawn. Nothing, as is right, was ever done on this lawn, mossy to the foot, restful to the eye; no whitewash lines cut it up into horrible squares and oblongs, no frenzied tennis-balls ever did decapitation among the flower-beds that framed it, and you could wander about it at dusk immune from anxiety as to whether your next step would be tripped in a croquet-hoop or entangled in the snares of a drooped tennis-net. During the weeks of spring it had been a star-sown space of crocuses, like the meadow in Fra Angelico's Annunciation, but these were over, and it had again become a green, living velvet.

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