England's Lane

by Joseph Connolly

  There used to be in the old part of Henley at the time a rather pretty bow-fronted and quaintly old-fashioned little toyshop—for all I know, it well might still be there—and under cover of acquiring for Amanda the sweetest miniature china-faced doll, the chubby limbs suffused by lace (Amanda, she christened her Emily, and still she is very much cherished), I purchased also this rather garish large and colored card alive with depictions of Wild West saloons, stagecoaches, covered wagons and desert cactuses, attached to which by means of a series of twists of wire were variously a pair of silvered cap pistols in their fringed and leatherette holsters, a sheriff’s star, a pair of plastic spurs, a thin tin Bowie knife, and a bank robber’s mask in the form of a black conceivably vinyl and elongated oval, and bearing a loop of elastic. This last item being all that I required. I detached it, and during the course of my amble back to the house I incidentally became the instrument of bringing considerable unanticipated happiness to a little schoolboy in blazer and cap, who highly optimistically was dangling over the parapet of the bridge and into the Thames a long length of knotted parcel string crudely tied on to a bamboo garden pole. At first he hesitated—almost palpably grappling with the echo of a long ago dinned-in parental warning concerning the necessity for rejection of any sort of gift when proffered by a stranger—and then with a whoop of joy, he seized with eagerness all of his cowboy loot.

  Fiona being Fiona, the balaclava was ready and done in really next to no time at all, and rather a splendid thing it turned out to be: triple-ply cashmere, and so very gentle to the touch. And when, in my study, I placed it adjacent to the bank robber’s mask … well of course I was quite perfectly aware of the apparent absurdity: for should I next be pressing into service a pillowslip and daubing on to it the word “swag,” that I might sling this across the shoulder of my black-and-white and horizontally striped jersey …? Yes but more than this, I was very aware also that soon—though maybe not immediately—such disguise would become absolutely necessary. Not, of course, that I harbored even the slightest intention of conveying any such insight to the unspeakable excrescence that was Adam, my putative partner in crime. And I was quite intent too upon somehow ensuring that during each of our future escapades, I would maneuver myself with considerable delicacy and care so as never to be seen by him to be wearing these things, while also making similarly certain that no invaded householder should ever even so much as be able to glimpse me without them.

  The first house we visited later in the week was a rather pleasing sort of Elizabethan manor house on the fringes of a village called Woodcote that I had noted during the course of a Sunday afternoon drive in the Bentley with Fiona. The house was easily old enough to offer the likelihood of treasures long untouched and forgotten by successive generations, yet the garden was unkempt and verging upon wildness, the ivy on the stonework quite rampant, the leaded glass mullions darkly clouded over and the guttering decidedly rickety: all of which suggested to me that the inhabitant doomed to reside here in perpetual chilly twilight and a martyr to even the very fundaments of upkeep might very probably be desperate for ready money. I always carried about me in excess of one hundred pounds, though extremely seldom was anything aproaching such a sum remotely required of me: the sight, however, of a thickish stack of fivers being riffled in my fingers was frequently sufficient to trigger in some or other skeletal and passed-over pensioner an eagerness to part with a proportion of his lumber. I swung the Bentley as close to the house as I could possibly engineer, while gunning the engine having drawn to a stop. This to render highly likely the rubbing of hard and ancient fingers against the grime of an upper window pane, followed by the dart of curious eyes. The sight then of a beautiful and famously expensive two-tone motor car, from deep amid the gleaming walnut and Connolly leather interior of which there now emerges with well-shod grace a pair of extremely handsomely dressed gentlemen, the like of whom this sad and neglected pile cannot have played host to for at least a generation. And so it did prove—I had no more than raised up the great and weighty bronze knocker on the close-grained oak and Gothic door, when it creaked its way open so terribly slowly, and from around the edge of it there gradually appeared the bright-eyed and inquiring scarf-covered head, then shoulders, and now the remainder of a diminutive and snow-haired old lady wearing a man’s large military greatcoat, fingerless gloves, a Donegal slouch and mismatched galoshes.

  “Ye-e-es …?” she eventually managed, and so very tremulously. It occurred to me, I recall, that following how many long years of abstinence, she might so very easily have been struggling to remember quite how to speak. “May I be of assistance to you gentlemen in any way …?”

  “Madam,” I said to her—my eyes so genial, the voice so very mellow and affable. “I beg you to forgive us, my friend here and myself, for so outrageous and unwarranted an intrusion upon your privacy in this, might I say, quite perfectly splendid example of rural Elizabethan architecture. How favored you are, madam, to dwell in so indisputable a masterpiece as this.”

  Her invisible lips then fluttered into an unaccustomed smile of quite girlish pleasure as her fingers were straying toward the lank and powdery tufts of hair that had eluded the confines of her great and lovat hat.

  “Oh … how exceedingly kind you are. It is a fine house, yes it is. I was born here, you know. So many of the family were. All gone away now, of course. Those that we didn’t lose in the war, may God watch over them. Only me. Just me left, now. Would you, I wonder … perhaps care to view what we call the great hall …? I expect you are most fearfully busy and so please do feel quite free to decline, should you think it at all an imposition … though I do feel that in particular the gallery might be of some small passing interest to you, should you be a student of the period. It is, I am informed, quite unique to the whole of southern England …”

  “Oh my dear madam—I am overwhelmed, perfectly overwhelmed by your extraordinary generosity and hospitality. I can think of nothing I should care for more. My name is Arnold Barton, incidentally—please do call me Arnold. And my friend here—this is William Vyle. And I am sure I speak for him as well—yes, William?—when I say what a signal and enormous pleasure and honor it is to have met you.”

  “Oh well in that case, come in—come in do. The state of the place is rather, um … well I no longer am really in the habit of receiving callers is the truth of the matter, don’t you see? That side of things has rather fallen away, of late. So I fear you must take the house just as you find it. So unlike the old days. The parties we held here! Oh what fun! I simply can’t tell you. They were famous throughout the county. Oh yes, that’s right—you just leave your coats on the settle just there, if that is quite convenient. That’s it. That’s it. I do so apologize for the cold. I haven’t made up the fire. I tend not to, now. Seems rather silly, don’t you know, just for one person. And then of course there is always the expense to be considered. These old houses, you know. Possibly you will take tea …? Oh yes and how dreadfully rude of me—my name is Miss Myrtle Rivington, yes, though do please call me Myrtle, won’t you? I am not too sure, however, now I come to think of it, that I find myself in a position to be able to offer you two gentlemen a biscuit …”

  Proceedings thus far, I am compelled to admit, were entirely commensurate with the customary pattern. And as a consequence, Adam was raising his eyebrow in a thoroughly discourteous manner—wagging his head and baring his teeth as if in total and utter despair and contempt of me—though naturally, one would have expected hardly more. And so then it was evident to me that very soon indeed our Miss Myrtle Rivington, charming and so very tender though she most undoubtedly was, must perforce form the basis of my shining example: clearly I had to summon into being a demonstration, both swift and seamless, to convince this utterly vile and sneering young man with whom, for at least the time being, I was forced to cooperate, of our immediate and future direction. For a rapid glance about me already had assuaged any palpitating qualm over Miss Rivington’s ancestors and
periodically departing siblings having severally quite denuded the interior. Even to my less than tutored eye, here indeed was bounty. And so while Adam now deftly excused himself from the company, as was customary behavior, I quite effortlessly waxed enthusiastic over all that was brought to my attention: the minstrel’s gallery—a particular source of pride, perfectly evidently—with its finely carved newels and stringing … the escutcheon over the broad and massive mantel … a refectory table, Miss Rivington rather thought Stuart, around which in the glory days, they could so very easily accommodate up to twenty, thirty revelers, and even sometimes more. She seemed of a sudden so very much more youthful—well, less evidently aged, shall we say—this eager and birdlike guide of mine. And she continued to babble quite delightedly of the dark and dank little priest’s hole so startlingly well concealed just the one step down from the upper half-landing … the tester bed that now lay wrapped and in parts in the ante-cellar, and within which, it had long been believed, one of the Henrys, she rather hoped the Eighth, had slept for the duration of just the one night, during the course of a county hunt. In the garden, beyond the parterre—alas, she regretted, now so terribly grown over—her grandfather had detected the foundations of a much earlier residence once upon the site, and evidence too of the likelihood of a moat. For my part, I had been concentrating—but subtly—upon a small vitrine set into a window bay, its surface of glass near felted with dust, this filled with a motley of what appeared to be beribboned seals, various badges, medals and other decorations—and also a cluster of oval portraits, the tiniest imaginable. While hard by the boot rack in the vestibule, there hung an umber oil no larger than a hand, and much of the type I had witnessed Adam pounce hard on before. And when that man returned—his eyes agleam with greed—I indicated to him in the agreed and tested manner those items which I considered to be of significant interest: he held my eyes, and nodded once.

  “Madam—Miss Rivington … may I presume, upon the strength of so very brief an acquaintance, to be so bold as to tender a proposal …?”

  “Myrtle, please Arnold. I insist that you call me Myrtle. The tea, I fear, is gone quite cold. A proposal, you say …? Why, what a thing. Whatever can you mean, I wonder? Ought I to make us a nice fresh pot …?”

  “Alas, madam—Myrtle, do forgive me—my friend and myself, we soon must take our leave. Now please, I beg of you, do not be in the slightest offended by what I am next about to say to you, for I earnestly assure you that I harbor at the center of my heart none but the very best interests for yourself, and this very mighty edifice.”

  “I see … well how very delicately put. Do please go on, Arnold, won’t you …?”

  “Well, Myrtle … as you yourself have intimated, the upkeep of so grand a building as this … the concern, the responsibility, it must indeed be considerable, no? Ah yes—I see by your expression that indeed that is the case. Not to mention the continuous expense …”

  “Continuous! Oh yes, yes indeed. That is so precisely the word! If it isn’t the roof—and usually it is, I have to say: quite like a sieve—then it is the plumbing, what little there is of it. Heating … well, nigh on impossible, if I’m being perfectly candid with you, Arnold.”

  “Quite. I so understand. Then it occurs to me that you might then care to relinquish one or two of your possessions in order to realize some small capital for yourself, you know …?”

  “Relinquish …? Oh—sell, do you mean? Oh no. I couldn’t possibly. It has been suggested before, of course. Often by my sisters. And I cannot pretend that the money would not be most enormously welcome. But no. I feel, you see, less of a resident here, these days, and rather more of a, well—custodian, I suppose I mean …”

  “And so attuned a sense of loyalty does you nothing less than the very highest credit, I do so assure you, Myrtle. But is one not forced to ask oneself … for whom, in fact, is the house in custody …? Do you see?”

  “Well of course it is true that I have no children … but I am an aunt, you know. Oh yes—many times over. A great-aunt too. More than I can count. So you see, even if I wished it, the things here, all these old things that surround me—they are not wholly mine to part with.”

  “I see. Well in that case, Myrtle—I am going to behave as a friend to you. An outsider, yes of course—but a friend from the outside can very often be possessed of the sharpest vision. The way I now have come to view this … you owe it to yourself, Myrtle, to part with just a few little oddments, the occasional knickknack—you would barely register their absence. You shake your head—ah but listen to me, Myrtle. Such small action on your part would at once so very hugely improve your day-to-day existence. A roaring fire—just think of it! Biscuits galore! And then would you find yourself in so far stronger a position, the better to be able to actively conserve the overwhelming remainder. Do you see the reason in it? Please do believe me when I say that I wish no less than the best for you, dear Myrtle. You do so very clearly deserve it.”

  “You are kind. And I sincerely thank you for all your consideration. I am sure it is meant with the very finest intent. But I am firm, I am afraid. No doubt the mind of a foolish and old-fashioned woman, oh yes I have no doubt, who is spiting no one but herself. Ah yes—I can quite see that that is how it well might appear. But there—that is me. And so there’s an end on it. And you say you must be leaving now, Arnold …? How terribly sad. And you are quite sure, are you, that you won’t change your mind about tea …? No? Well I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed the company of you both. I do so apologize, William—we barely have exchanged two words. Quite frightfully exciting to have callers again though, I must say. Oh yes, Arnold … why did you, in fact? Come here in the first place? Did you ever say …? Silly of me, you know, but I simply cannot recall …”

  This, in my experience, was an altogether singular circumstance. During the normal course of things, you see, the householder would naturally by now be quite wholly seduced, at least by the barest principle of trade. At which point it would become my task to bid with both eagerness and generosity for every manner of horror and nonsense that no doubt said householder anyway had long detested, solely in order surreptitiously to bag the one true prize. Although sometimes, rather annoyingly often as a matter of fact, there was no prize to be taken—whereupon we immediately turned and left, often with the now quite frantically avaricious owner in fervent and unseemly pursuit—imploring us to buy now for even just a handful of shillings that which I should not have deigned even to put to the torch. But in our Miss Myrtle Rivington we had a lady quite implacably opposed even to the very fundamental idea: she would not fall victim to the art of persuasion. Which did rather make things, I freely confess, just very slightly more awkward and provoking than ideally I could have wished for—and Adam by now, he was of course quite openly mocking: he had about him this very awful method of jeering me silently by way of his animal eyes, that acidic great twist of his ugly mouth. While on the other hand … this lady’s quite blank rebuttal of each of my overtures could only render the eventual rout, my approaching victory over any such scruples, much the sweeter: ample demonstration of the total plausibility of all now that I was insisting upon. And so in the hallway, I simply was smiling down at her with considerable and not utterly feigned fondness, as she held out now to me my overcoat.

  “Myrtle, dearest—did I really not inform you of the reason for my visit? How very remiss of me—I thought I had. Why—I called in order to rob you.”

  Her action was momentarily arrested, though then she relaxed into an easy indulgence.

  “Oh Arnold—really! What a thing to say! Isn’t he awful, William? Perfectly awful. You really are a very naughty fellow, Arnold. Now tell me—do you have very far to go, the two of you? Your motor car is very handsome, I have to say. Daddy had one of the very same marque. Before the Great War, of course …”

  “No distance at all, dear Myrtle. And as soon as young William here has transferred to the boot of my—yes it is, isn’t it? Quite han
dsome motor car—the contents of this little vitrine here, then the rather—to my mind—lowering oil painting hanging just over there … in addition to, I do believe, some other little items of beauty which independently he has espied elsewhere … am I correct in this, William …? Yes, I surmised so. Well then after all of that, we shall, I promise you, take up not one more moment of your time. I cannot tell you what a pleasure it has been.”

  Still she seemed hesitant: her eyes were hedging the quite shocking novelty of this situation—rapidly deciding now which way they should jump. Then, as Adam was filling his pockets with the medals and seals, the badges and the miniatures, and while I proceeded to take down from the wall the small brown picture … the brightness in her eyes just immediately faded—her frail little chest beneath the bulk of the greatcoat, it really did appear to deflate. She touched my arm and looked up at me pleadingly.

  “Arnold … please. You must not do this to me. Is it a joke …? Some kind of I must say rather cruel sort of a joke that you are playing on me, yes …? No …! William—put those back this instant! Do you hear me? How dare you! Arnold—I beseech you! I took you to be a gentleman …! They are honors—the family’s honors! All of our history is in that case …! Arnold—I beg of you … do not do this. Please … oh please, Arnold! How could you …? How could you …? I do not understand … I trusted you! I invited you into my house! Oh dear Lord, oh dear Lord …! I would offer you money, but you know that I have none …!”