Iris Murdoch - The Bell

The Land-Rover slowed down. The gates appear to be shut,” said Paul. “I left them open, but someone has obligingly shut them.” He stopped the car beside the wall, its wheels deep in the grass, and hooted the horn twice. Dora could see two immense globe-surmounted pillars and tall iron gates a little further on in the wall.

“Don’t hoot,” said James. “Toby will open the gates.”

“Oh, yes!” said Toby, scrabbling hastily to get out of the car.

As he busied himself with the gates, lifting the huge pin out of its hole in the concrete, two sheets of newspaper blew out of the drive, one wrapping itself round his legs, and the other rearing and cavorting across the road. Paul, whose glance remained sternly ahead, not turning toward Dora, said, “I wish Brother Nicholas could be persuaded to make the place look less like a slum.”

James was silent. Toby returned and jumped in. Paul swung the car wide into the road and round at right angles into the drive. Dora saw that there was a little stone-built Lodge cottage on the left as they came in. The door stood open and another sheet of newspaper was in process of making its escape. A dog began to bark somewhere inside. A further movement caught her eye and she turned round to see that a thick-set man with long straggling dark hair had emerged from the door and was looking after the car. James was turning round too. Paul, looking into the driving mirror, said“Well, well.”

Dora turned back to the front and gave a gasp of surprise. A large house faced them, from a considerable distance away, down an avenue of trees. The avenue was dark, but the house stood beyond it with the declining sun slanting across its front. It was a very pale grey, and with a colourless sky of evening light behind it, it had the washed brilliance of a print. In the centre of the façade a high pediment supported by four pillars rose over the line of the roof. A green copper dome curved above. At the first floor level the pillars ended at a balustrade, and from there a pair of stone staircases swept in two great curves to the ground.

“That’s Imber Court,” said James. “It’s very fine, isn’t it? Can you see, Toby?”

“Palladian,” said Paul.

“Yes,” said Dora. It was their first exchange since the railway station.

“That’s where we live,” said James. “Us straight ahead, and them away to the left. The drive doesn’t go right on to the house, of course. The lake lies in between. You’ll see it in a moment. Over there you’ll get a glimpse of the Abbey wall. The Abbey itself is quite hidden in trees. The tower can be seen from our side of the lake, but you can’t see anything from here, except in winter.”

Dora and Toby looked to the left and saw distantly between tree trunks a high wall, like the one which skirted the road. As they looked the car turned away to the right, following the drive, and a stretch of water came into view.

“I didn’t realize the Abbey would be so close,” said Toby. “Oh look, there’s the lake! Can one swim in it?”

“One can if one doesn’t mind the mud!” said James.“It’s not very safe in parts, actually, because of the weeds. Better get Michael to advise you, he’s the lake expert.”

The Land-Rover was running along now close to the water, which beyond a marshy area of bulrushes was smooth and glossy, refining the last colours of the day into a pale enamel. Dora saw that it was an immense lake. Looking back along the length of it she dimly saw what must be the Abbey wall at the far end. From here Imber Court was hidden by trees. The lake was narrowing to a point, and the car began to swing back to the left. Paul slowed it down to walking pace and passed gingerly over a wooden bridge which clattered under the wheels.

“The lake is fed by three little rivers,” said James, “which come into it at this end. Then there’s one river leading out at the other end. Well, hardly a river, it seeps away through the marsh, actually.”

The Land-Rover clattered very slowly over a second bridge. Dora looked down and saw the stream, glittering green and weedy, through the slats of the bridge.

“You can’t see the far end of the lake from here,”said James, “because it turns round to the other side of the house. The lake is shaped like an L, an L upside down from here, of course. The house is in the crook of the L.”

They passed over the third bridge. The Land-Rover was turning to the left again, and Dora began to look for the house. It was immediately visible, presenting its side view to them, a rectangle of grey stone with three rows of windows. Below it, and set back a little from the drive, was a courtyard of stable buildings, surmounted by an elegant clock tower.

“And there’s our market garden,” said James, pointing away to the right.

Dora saw an expanse of vegetable patches and greenhouses. Far beyond there was park land with great trees scattered upon it. The air was close and dusky. The distant greens were heavy with the final light of day, fading already and hazy.

The Land-Rover ran onto gravel and came to a standstill. They had reached the front of the house. Dora, suffocating with nervousness, felt the blood glowing in her face. Stiffly she began to get out of the car. James vaulted out at the back and came to help her. Her high-heeled shoes crunched onto the gravel. She stepped back and looked up at the house.

From here it looked less huge than it had seemed in the distance. Dora saw that the Corinthian pillars supported a wide portico over a balcony behind which the rooms of the first floor were set back. The twin flights of steps swept outward from the balcony, overlapping the two side wings of the house, and twisted back again to reach the ground not far from each other near the central point of the façade. Stone lions, sitting complacently cat-like, crowned the end of each stone banister, and between them could be seen a line of French windows, put in by some impious late nineteenth century hand, leading into a large room on ground level. An elaborate stone medallion above these doors contained the message Amor via mea . A similar medallion surmounted the tall doorway up above on the balcony, above which a swathe of carved garlands led the eye upward to the stone flowers under the portico roof, dimly alive with the last reflections from the lake. Turning away from the house Dora saw that the gravel drive on which they stood was a terrace which ended at a stone balustrade, surmounted by urns, and a wide shallow flight of steps, cracked and somewhat overgrown by moss and grasses. A gentle grass slope led down to the lake, which lay close in front of the house, and from the steps a roughly mown path, flanked by precariously leaning yew trees, went to the water’s edge.

“It’s marvellous,” said Dora.

“It’s not a bad example of its kind,” said Paul.

Dora knew from experience that nothing put Paul in a good humour so quickly as being able to show her something. He was looking up at the house with satisfaction, as if he had made it himself.

“A pupil of Inigo Jones,” he began.

“Better bustle up if we’re going to make Compline,”said James. “So sorry.” He started off up one of the flights of steps. The others began to trail after him.

James stopped, looking down on them from above. “I suppose the newcomers would like to join us?” he said.

“Yes, please,” said Toby. This seemed to be the right answer.

Dora supposed that Compline must be some sort of religious service. At least this would put off the moment when she had to meet all those people, and the worse moment when she would be alone with Paul. She nodded.

Paul said nothing, following her silent and preoccupied.

Dora climbed the steps, trailing her hand upon the wide sloping stone banister. It was warm from the sun. She shivered slightly as she touched the house. In a moment she found herself upon the wide paved balcony under the portico. The tall doorway ahead of her led into a large hall. All was rather dark within, as no lights had been turned on yet. Dora followed James and Toby through the door, and got an impression of a great staircase, and of people hurrying through the hall and out by another door at the far end. There was a stale smell, like the smell of old bread, the smell of an institution.