Free The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim Page B

path wound round to the other side of what appeared to be a little peninsula; the jetty and the red light disappeared; across the emptiness on their left were distant lights.
    â€œMezzago,” said the man, waving his lantern at the lights.
    â€œ
Si, si
,” they answered, for they had by now learned
si, si
. Upon which the man congratulated them in a great flow of polite words, not one of which they understood, on their magnificent Italian; for this was Domenico, the vigilant and accomplished gardener of San Salvatore, the prop and stay of the establishment, the resourceful, the gifted, the eloquent, the courteous, the intelligent Domenico. Only they did not know that yet; and he did in the dark, and even sometimes in the light, look, with his knife-sharp swarthy features and swift, panther movements, very like somebody wicked.
    They passed along another flat bit of path, with a black shape like a high wall towering above them on their right, and then the path went up again under trellises, and trailing sprays of scented things caught at them and shook raindrops on them, and the light of the lantern flickered over lilies, and then came a flight of ancient steps worn with centuries, and then another iron gate, and then they were inside, though still climbing a twisting flight of stone steps with old walls on either side like the walls of dungeons, and with a vaulted roof.
    At the top was a wrought-iron door, and through it shone a flood of electric light.
    â€œ
Ecco
,” said Domenico, lithely running up the last few steps ahead and pushing the door open.
    And there they were, arrived; and it was San Salvatore; and their suit-cases were waiting for them; and they had not been murdered.
    They looked at each other’s white faces and blinking eyes very solemnly.
    It was a great, wonderful moment. Here they were, in their mediaeval castle at last. Their feet touched its stones.
    Mrs. Wilkins put her arms round Mrs. Arbuthnot’s neck and kissed her.
    â€œThe first thing to happen in this house,” she said softly, solemnly, “shall be a kiss.”
    â€œDear Lotty,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot.
    â€œDear Rose,” said Mrs. Wilkins, her eyes brimming with gladness.
    Domenico was delighted. He liked to see beautiful ladies kiss. He made them a most appreciative speech of welcome, and they stood arm in arm, holding each other up, for they were very tired, blinking smilingly at him, and not understanding a word.

6
    W HEN MRS. Wilkins woke next morning she lay in bed a few minutes before getting up and opening the shutters. What would she see out of her window? A shining world, or a world of rain? But it would be beautiful; whatever it was would be beautiful.
    She was in a little bedroom with bare white walls and a stone floor and sparse old furniture. The beds—there were two —were made of iron, enamelled black and painted with bunches of gay flowers. She lay putting off the great moment of going to the window as one puts off opening a precious letter, gloating over it. She had no idea what time it was; she had forgotten to wind up her watch ever since, centuries ago, she last went to bed in Hampstead. No sounds were to be heard in the house, so she supposed it was very early, yet she felt as if she had slept a long while—so completely rested, so perfectly content. She lay with her arms clasped round her head thinking how happy she was, her lips curved upwards in a delighted smile. In bed by herself: adorable condition. She had not been in bed without Mellersh once now for five whole years; and the cool roominess of it, the freedom of one’s movements, the sense of recklessness, of audacity, in giving the blankets a pull if one wanted to, or twitching the pillows more comfortable! It was like the discovery of an entirely new joy.
    Mrs. Wilkins longed to get up and open the shutters, but where she was was really so very delicious. She gave a sigh of contentment, and went on lying