The Children's Book - A. S. Byatt [95]
Benedict Fludd said “Ah, there you are. We are looking at your handiwork. At what you have made.”
Philip said “Excuse me, this is my sister Elsie, from Burslem. She come to look for me. She walked. All the way from Burslem.”
The gathering took stock of Elsie. Elsie was intimidated by Olive’s hat, which was black and ample, decorated with scarlet bows and fruit. Olive said “Extraordinary.” Seraphita said “Really?” Frank Mallett observed that the young woman looked ready to faint with exhaustion and should be given a chair, and some tea, perhaps, or a glass of water. Dobbin brought a chair which he set down near the back door. Elsie collapsed onto it. Everyone went on staring. Seraphita absently poured a cup of tea, which Dobbin gave to Elsie. Elsie handed it back to him: she was shaking too much to hold on to it genteelly.
It was somehow clear that Seraphita had no idea of what to do, and did not propose to do anything.
That left Olive, who was a grown woman, and Frank Mallett, who was a clergyman. He consulted Olive, and it was agreed that Miss Warren should be found a place to rest, and perhaps some temporary fresh clothing. Olive bent over Elsie and said it was very odd to be present at the discovery of two runaways in one family. She was thinking what a good story it would make, the girl who had walked across half England to find her brother. She smiled at Elsie, absently, studying her intently. Elsie said later to Philip that there was something witchy about the woman with the hat. Somewhere under the gratified storyteller in Olive stirred a memory of her own flight from indigence in the north. Philip had no intention of telling the assembled gathering that his mother was dead, so Olive had no clue that Elsie was, in some ways, close to her own younger self. But she sensed it, she sensed something, of which she would not speak.
A display had been arranged—it was Geraint’s idea—of some of the new vessels, and one or two different layouts of Philip’s newly designed tiles. Fludd called Philip over to talk to Prosper Cain about the glazes, and about how he had chosen the designs, the Dungeness flora, seakale and bladderwrack, crane-flies and fennel. Prosper spoke knowledgeably about the glazes, and admired the steely blue-green, and the rich red, with surprising pinky-white wings in it. Humphry said—as it was hoped he would say—that a fortune could be made, if these were properly marketed. He had been to the Martin Brothers’ showroom in Brownlow Street. Something like that might help. Geraint said “There are lots of little shops in Rye showing all sorts of crafts. There could be a better shop, for better work.” Humphry said Geraint had the right ideas—was he a potter? No, said Geraint, no, he should like to work in a bank, or some such place, he was interested in that sort of life. Humphry smiled. He had just become reconciled with his brother Basil, who had, after all, heeded his warnings about Barnato’s bank and the Kaffir shares, and was indeed, as his friends were ruined, or committed suicide, prepared to show gratitude to Humphry, and had offered to pay all Tom’s fees at public school. Humphry told Geraint that he should ask advice of his brother the banker. He would take him to see him, when they were both in Town. Basil would advise, might even find a suitable position, in due course. Geraint flushed, and thanked him.
Tom had told Julian that he was to take the exam for Marlowe next summer. He said it had looked as though he might not go there, lately, but now they were looking for tutors,