Living Alone by Stella Benson

S >> Stella Benson >> Living Alone

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

It seemed that the stars were devoured by the flame, so far did it
outshine them. The flame shrank in upon itself and collapsed. There was
no more House of Living Alone.

"Oh, Richard," said Sarah Brown. "Your mother and Miss Ford and----"

"Was mother in there?" asked Richard placidly. "Wonders will never
cease. Well, well, it is fortunate that no magic of any sort could ever
touch mother."

And indeed, as they pushed through the crowd, they saw all the recent
occupants of the Shop arguing at the front gate.

"I didn't blow it," Mr. Tovey was saying in an aggrieved voice. "I was
singing, not blowing."

"Well, all I know is that while you were on that high note something
seemed to scatter the flames, and the drawer full of explosives caught
fire," said Mr. Darnby Frere aggressively, flourishing his empty biscuit
tin.

"It doesn't matter," said Miss Ford calmly. "We are all going across the
sea to-morrow." She roused herself a little, and said to Mr. Frere with
a smile: "You know, I inherit the sea tradition. My father commanded
H.M.S. _Indigestible_ in '84."

"I wonder what put out the flame so suddenly?" asked Mr. Tovey, who was
still dreamily beating time to imaginary music with one hand.

"I put it out," said Richard.

"I wonder whose house it is?" added Mr. Tovey, turning vaguely to face
Richard.

"It is my house," said Richard.

They all discovered his presence.

"Your house, dear Rrchud?" exclaimed Lady Arabel. "Are you sure? I
didn't know the Higginses had any house property on Mitten Island."

"They haven't now," replied Richard. "But never mind. It has always
seemed to me that there were too many houses in the world. Most houses
are traps into which everything enters, and out of which nothing comes.
It always grieves me to see tradesmen pouring sustenance in at the back
door, and no result or justification coming out of the front door. I
often think that only the houses that men's bodies have deserted are
really inhabited."

"It was I who burnt your house down, Richard," said Miss Ford. "But it
doesn't matter. It wasn't a real house."

"You are right," said Richard. "To such as you, dear Meta, it was not a
real house. It was the House of Living Alone, and only to people who
live alone was it real. It is dark and deserted now, and levelled with
the cold ground; it is as though it were a tent, being moved from its
position to follow the fortunes of those dwellers alone who wander
continually in silence up and down the world...."

He looked at Sarah Brown.

"Talking of wandering," said Miss Ford. "We are all going to America,
Richard. Can you get us passports?"

"Certainly," agreed Richard. "To America, eh? A nice little trip for you
all. America, you know, would be entirely magic, if it weren't for the
Americans...."

"I have quite a circle of friends in New York," said Miss Ford, who
seemed to be recovering from her nerve-storm.

"Beware," said Richard, "lest you all forget the magic of to-night, and
change from adventurers to tourists."

"I am not going to America," said Lady Arabel. "I am going home. I never
heard such dretful nonsense. I was only in fun when I agreed to the
plan."

"I never agreed to the plan at all," said Mr. Frere. "I shall be truly
thankful to get to bed, and wake up to-morrow sober. I will never go out
to tea in Kensington again if this is the result."

"I am going to America," said Mr. Tovey, fixing his innocent eyes,
obscured by hair, upon Miss Ford.

"I am going to America," echoed the unseen Mayor from an unexpected
direction. Nobody had yet dared to tell him of the misfortune that had
overtaken him. "I'll give up this Mayor job to-morrer. Catch me stayin'
be'ind if--oh, by the way, that reminds me----"

"I didn't need reminding," interrupted Sarah Brown. "It seems to me that
everybody has forgotten why they came here. Please, Richard, do you know
of a spell to find a missing person?"

"Yes, several," answered Richard, who was always as eager as a
travelling salesman to recommend his wares. "There is an awfully
ingenious little spell I can show you, if you happen to have a
telephone book and a compass and a toad's heart and a hair from a black
goat's beard about you. Or again, if you stand on a sea-beach at low
tide on Christmas night with the moon at your back and a wax candle in
your left hand, and write upon the sand the name--by the way, who is it
you want to find?"

"The witch," answered Sarah Brown.

Richard's face fell. "Oh, only the witch?" he said. "I can tell you
where she is without any spell at all. She's with my True Love at
Higgins Farm, helping--oh, by the way, mother, I forgot to tell you. You
are a grandmother."

"RRCHUD!" said Lady Arabel. She sat down suddenly on the smooth grass
slope between the road and the garden hedge. "Ah, it is too cruel," she
cried, burying her face in her hands. "It is too cruel. Is this my son?
I meant so well, and all my life I did the things that other people did,
the natural things. Except just once. And for that once, I am so cruelly
punished.... I am given a son who is no son to me, who says only things
I mustn't understand ... who does only things I mustn't see...." She
paused, and, taking her hands from her face, looked round aghast at
Richard, who was sitting beside her on the bank, stroking her arm. "_A
faery son_ ..." she added in a terrified whisper, and then broke out
again crying: "Ah, it is too cruel...."

Richard continued to stroke her arm without comprehension. "Yes, mother,
and Peony, my True Love, insists on calling him Elbert," he said.
"Mother, listen, Elbert your faery grandson...."

But Lady Arabel still sobbed.

CHAPTER X

THE DWELLER ALONE

"Well, Sarah Brown, here we are," said the witch, her Byronic hair
flying as she sat perilously on the rail of the deck. The distant flying
buttresses of New York were supporting a shining sky, and north and east
lay the harbour and sea, and many ships moving with the glad gait of
home-comers after perilous voyaging.

Every minute upon the sea is a magic minute, but the voyage of the witch
and Sarah Brown had been unmarked by any supernatural activities on the
part of the witch. She had been more or less extinguished by the
presence of five hundred Americans, not one of whom had ever heard the
word "magic" used, except by advertisers in connection with their wares.

Miss Ford had been left behind, cured for ever of nerve-storms. She had
become unexpectedly engaged to Mr. Bernard Tovey while looking for a
porter on Lime Street Station, Liverpool, and had returned with him to
London to celebrate the event by means of a Super-Wednesday. The Mayor
also had failed to embark. Indeed the unfortunate man had not been
heard of since his seizure on the night of the fire, and I believe that
the London police are still trying to arrest him as a German spy.

"Here we are," said the witch to Sarah Brown. "At least, I suppose this
City on its Tiptoes is New York. Do you think I ought to call the
attention of the Captain to that largish lady on our left, who seems to
be marooned upon a rock, and signalling to us for help?"

"That is the Statue of Liberty," said three neighbouring Americans in
chorus.

"How d'you mean--Liberty?" asked the witch.

The three Americans froze her with three glances.

"America is the home of Liberty," they said all together.

"Oh yes, of course, how stupid of me," said the witch. "I ought to have
remembered that every country is the Home of Liberty. Such a pity that
Liberty never seems to begin at home. Every big shop in London, you
know, is labelled Patronised by Royalty, yet I have bought haberdashery
by the hour without running across a single queen. I suppose if you
didn't have this big label sticking up in your harbour, you Americans
might forget that America is the Home of Liberty. I know quite a lot
about America from a grey squirrel who rents my may-tree on Mitten
Island. It is a long time since he came over, but he still chitters with
a strong New England accent. He came away because he was a socialist. I
gather America is too full of Liberty to leave room for socialism, isn't
that so? My squirrel says there are only two parties in America,
Republicans and Sinners--at least I think that was what he said--and
anybody who belongs to neither of these parties is given penal servitude
for life. So I understood, but I may be wrong. I am not very good at
politics. Anyway, my squirrel had to leave the Home of Liberty and come
to England, so as to be able to say what he thought. I wish I were there
too. Sarah Brown, I don't yet know why you brought me here."

"I brought you here to escape the Law," said Sarah Brown.

"How d'you mean--escape the Law? Didn't you know that all magic lives
and thrives on the wrath of the Law? Have you forgotten our heroic
tradition of martyrdom and the stake? Isn't the world tame enough
already? What do you want Magic to become? A branch of the Civil
Service?"

"I spent all I had in bringing you here," said Sarah Brown. "I left all
I loved to bring you here. I am as if dead in England now. Nobody there
will ever think of me again, except as a thing that has been heard the
last of."

The witch looked kindly at her. "You know," she said, "when you first
told me to go away, after Harold made that bad landing on a policeman, I
thought perhaps you were a sort of cinema villainess, driving me away
from my house and heritage. At first I thought of arguing the matter,
but then I remembered that villains always have a rotten time, without
being bullied and persecuted by the rest of us. Besides solid things are
never worth fighting over. So I have been patient with you all this
time, and have fallen in courteously with all your fiendish plans--as I
thought--and now I am glad I was patient, for I see you meant well.
Dear Sarah Brown, you did mean well. How sad it is that people who have
once lived in the House of Living Alone can never make a success of
friendship. You say you left all you loved--what business have you with
love? Thank you, my dear, for meaning so well, and for these fair days
at sea. But I mustn't stay with you. I mustn't set foot on this land--I
can smell cleverness and un-magic even from here. I must go back to my
little Spring island, and my parish of Faery...."

"Ah, witch, don't leave me, don't leave me like this, ill and bewildered
and so far from home...."

"How can you ever be far from home, you, a dweller in the greatest home
of all. Did you think you had destroyed the House of Living Alone? Did
you think you could escape from it?"

Sarah Brown said nothing. She watched the witch call Harold her
Broomstick to her, and adjust the saddle and tighten the strap round his
middle. She watched her mount and embark upon the sunny air. The three
Americans were talking politics, and did not notice anything but each
other. The witch alighted for a moment on one spike of the crown of
Liberty, and climbing carefully down on to the lady's parting, was seen
by Sarah Brown to bend down till her head hung apoplectically upside
down, and gaze long and curiously into that impassive bronze eye.
Presently she remounted Harold, and, with a flippant and ambiguous
gesture of her foot, launched herself eastward. She disappeared without
looking back.

The dock was reached. Sarah Brown collected David her Dog, and Humphrey
her Suit-case. Hers was a very wieldy family. An official asked her
something, using one side of his mouth only to do so, in the alarming
manner of American officials.

"I cannot hear you," said Sarah Brown. "I am stone deaf."

And she stepped over the threshold of the greater House of Living Alone.

THE END

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh._

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10