Chapter 54

Isabel’s arrival at Gardencourt on this second occasion was even quieter than it had been on the first. Ralph Touchett kept but a small household, and to the new servants Mrs Osmond was a stranger; so that instead of being conducted to her own apartment she was coldly shown into the drawing-room and left to wait while her name was carried up to her aunt. She waited a long time; Mrs Touchett appeared in no hurry to come to her. She grew impatient at last; she grew nervous and scared—as scared as if the objects about her had begun to show for conscious things, watching her trouble with grotesque grimaces. The day was dark and cold; the dusk was thick in the corners of the wide brown rooms. The house was perfectly still—with a stillness that Isabel remembered; it had filled all the place for days before the death of her uncle. She left the drawing-room and wandered about—strolled into the library and along the gallery of pictures, where, in the deep silence, her footstep made an echo. Nothing was changed; she recognized everything she had seen years before; it might have been only yesterday she had stood there. She envied the security of valuable ‘pieces’ which change by no hair’s breadth, only grow in value, while their owners lose inch by inch youth, happiness, beauty; and she became aware that she was walking about as her aunt had done on the day she had come to see her in Albany. She was changed enough since then—that had been the beginning. It suddenly struck her that if her Aunt Lydia had not come that day in just that way and found her alone, everything might have been different. She might have had another life and she might have been a woman more blest. She stopped in the gallery in front of a small picture—a charming and precious Bonington—upon which her eyes rested a long time. But she was not looking at the picture; she was wondering whether if her aunt had not come that day in Albany she would have married Caspar Goodwood.

Mrs Touchett appeared at last, just after Isabel had returned to the big uninhabited drawing-room. She looked a good deal older, but her eye was as bright as ever and her head as erect; her thin lips seemed a repository of latent meanings. She wore a little grey dress of the most undecorated fashion, and Isabel wondered, as she had wondered the first time, if her remarkable kinswoman resembled more a queen- regent or the matron of a gaol. Her lips felt very thin indeed on Isabel’s hot cheek.

‘I’ve kept you waiting because I’ve been sitting with Ralph,’ Mrs Touchett said. ‘The nurse had gone to luncheon and I had taken her place. He has a man who’s supposed to look after him, but the man’s good for nothing; he’s always looking out of the window—as if there were anything to see! I didn’t wish to move, because Ralph seemed to be sleeping and I was afraid the sound would disturb him. I waited till the nurse came back I remembered you knew the house.’

‘I find I know it better even than I thought; I’ve been walking everywhere,’ Isabel answered. And then she asked if Ralph slept much.

‘He lies with his eyes closed; he doesn’t move. But I’m not sure that it’s always sleep.’

‘Will he see me? Can he speak to me?’

Mrs Touchett declined the office of saying. ‘You can try him,’ was the limit of extravagance. And then she offered to conduct Isabel to her room. ‘I thought they had taken you there; but it’s not my house, it’s Ralph’s; and I don’t know what they do. They must at least have taken your luggage; I don’t suppose you’ve brought much. Not that I care, however. I believe they’ve given you the same room you had before; when Ralph heard you were coming he said you must have that one.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Ah, my dear, he doesn’t chatter as he used!’ cried Mrs Touchett as she preceded her niece up the staircase.

It was the same room, and something told Isabel it had not been slept in since she occupied it. Her luggage was there and was not voluminous; Mrs Touchett sat down a moment with her eyes upon it. ‘Is there really no hope?’ our young woman asked as she stood before her.

  By PanEris using Melati.

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