‘You don’t understand! His treatment of my mother—’
Hilda said gravely:
‘There is a certain kind of meekness—of submission— brings out the worst in a man—whereas that same man, faced by spirit and determination, might be a different creature!’
‘So you say it was her fault—’
Hilda interrupted him.
‘No, of course I don’t! I’ve no doubt your father treated your mother very badly indeed, but marriage is an extraordinary thing—and I doubt if any outsider—even a child of the marriage—has the right to judge. Besides, all this resentment on your part now cannot help your mother. It is all gone—it is behind you! What is left now is an old man, in feeble health, asking his son to come home for Christmas.’
‘And you want me to go?’
Hilda hesitated, then she suddenly made up her mind. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do. I want you to go and lay the bogy once and for all.’
V
George Lee, M.P. for Westeringham, was a somewhat corpulent gentleman of forty-one. His eyes were pale blue and slightly prominent with a suspicious expression, he had a heavy jowl, and a slow pedantic utterance.
He said now in a weighty manner:
‘I have told you, Magdalene, that I think it my duty to go.’
His wife shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
She was a slender creature, a platinum blonde with plucked eyebrows and a smooth egg-like face. It could, on occasions, look quite blank and devoid of any expression whatever. She was looking like that now.
‘Darling,’ she said, ‘it will be perfectly grim, I am sure of it.’
‘Moreover,’ said George Lee, and his face lit up as an attractive idea occurred to him, ‘it will enable us to save considerably. Christmas is always an expensive time. We can put the servants on board wages.’
‘Oh, well!’ said Magdalene. ‘After all, Christmas is pretty grim anywhere!’
‘I suppose,’ said George, pursuing his own line of thought, ‘they will expect to have a Christmas dinner? A nice piece of beef, perhaps, instead of a turkey.’
‘Who?’ The servants? Oh, George, don’t fuss so. You’re always worrying about money.’
‘Somebody has to worry,’ said George.
‘Yes, but it’s absurd to pinch and scrape in all these little ways. Why don’t you make your father give you some more money?’
‘He already gives me a very handsome allowance.’
‘It’s awful to be completely dependent on your father, as you are! He ought to settle some money on you outright.’
‘That’s not his way of doing things.’
Magdalene looked at him. Her hazel eyes were suddenly sharp and keen. The expressionless egg-like face showed sudden meaning.
‘He’s frightfully rich, isn’t he, George? A kind of millionaire, isn’t he?’
‘A millionaire twice over, I believe.’
Magdalene gave an envious sigh.
‘How did he make it all? South Africa, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, he made a big fortune there in his early days. Mainly diamonds.’
‘Thrilling!’ said Magdalene.
‘Then he came to England and started in business and his fortune has actually doubled or trebled itself, I believe.’
‘What will happen when he dies?’ asked Magdalene.
‘Father’s never said much on the subject. Of course one can’t exactly ask. I should imagine that the bulk of his money will go to Alfred and myself. Alfred, of course, will get the larger share.’
‘You’ve got other brothers, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, there’s my brother David. I don’t fancy he will get much. He went off to do art or some tomfoolery of that kind. I believe Father warned him that he would cut him out of his will and David said he didn’t care.’
‘How silly!’ said Magdalene with scorn.
‘There was my sister Jennifer too. She went off with a foreigner—a Spanish artist—one of David’s friends. But she died just over a year ago. She left a daughter, I believe. Father might leave a little money to her, but nothing much. And of course there’s Harry—’
He stopped, slightly embarrassed.
‘Harry?’ said Magdalene, surprised. ‘Who is Harry?’
‘Ah—er—my brother.’
‘I never knew you had another brother.’
‘My dear, he wasn’t a great—er—credit—to us. We don’t mention him. His behaviour was disgraceful. We haven’t heard anything of him for some years now. He’s probably dead.’
Magdalene laughed suddenly.
‘What is it? What are you laughing at?’
Magdalene said:
‘I was only thinking how funny it was that you—you, George, should have a disreputable brother! You’re so very respectable.’
‘I should hope so,’ said George coldly.
Her eyes narrowed.
‘Your father isn’t—very respectable, George.’
‘Really, Magdalene!’
‘Sometimes the things he says make me feel quite uncomfortable.’
George said:
‘Really, Magdalene, you surprise me. Does—er—does Lydia feel the same?’
‘He doesn’t say the same kind of things to Lydia,’ said Magdalene. She added angrily, ‘No, he never says them to her. I can’t think why not.’
George glanced at her quickly and then glanced away.
‘Oh, well,’ he said vaguely. ‘One must make allowances. At Father’s age—and with his health being so bad—’
He paused. His wife asked:
‘Is he really—pretty ill?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He’s remarkably tough. All the same, since he wants to have his family round him at Christmas, I think we are quite right to go. It may be his last Christmas.’
She said sharply:
‘You say that, George, but really, I suppose, he may live for years?’
Slightly taken aback, her husband stammered:
‘Yes—yes, of course he may.’
Magdalene turned away.
‘Oh, well,’ she said, ‘I suppose we’re doing the right thing by going.’
‘I have no doubt about it.’
‘But I hate it! Alfred’s so dull, and Lydia snubs me.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘She does. And I hate that beastly manservant.’
‘Old Tressilian?’
‘No, Horbury. Sneaking round like a cat and smirking.’
‘Really, Magdalene, I can’t see that Horbury can affect you in any way!’
‘He just gets on my nerves, that’s all. But don’t let’s bother. We’ve got to go, I can see that. Won’t do to offend the old man.’
‘No—no, that’s just the point. About the servants’ Christmas dinner—’
‘Not now, George, some other time. I’ll just ring up Lydia and tell her that we’ll come by the five-twenty tomorrow.’
Magdalene left the room precipitately. After telephoning she went up to her own room and sat down in front of the desk. She let down the flap and rummaged in its various pigeon-holes. Cascades of bills came tumbling out. Magdalene sorted through them, trying to arrange them in some kind of order. Finally, with an impatient sigh, she bundled them up and thrust them back whence they had come. She passed a hand over her smooth platinum head.
‘What on earth am I to do?’ she murmured.
VI
On the first floor of Gorston Hall a long passage led to a big room overlooking the front drive. It was a room furnished in the more flamboyant of old-fashioned styles. It had heavy brocaded wallpaper, rich leather armchairs, large vases embossed with dragons, sculptures in bronze…Everything in it was magnificent, costly and solid.
In a big grandfather armchair, the biggest and most imposing of all the chairs, sat the thin, shrivelled figure of an old man. His long clawlike hands rested on the arms of the chair. A gold-mounted stick was by his side. He wore an old shabby blue dressing-gown. On his feet were
carpet slippers. His hair was white and the skin of his face was yellow.
Ashabby, insignificant figure, one might have thought. But the nose, aquiline and proud, and the eyes, dark and intensely alive, might cause an observer to alter his opinion. Here was fire and life and vigour.
Old Simeon Lee cackled to himself, a sudden, high cackle of amusement.
He said:
‘You gave my message to Mrs Alfred, hey?’
Horbury was standing beside his chair. He replied in his soft deferential voice:
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Exactly in the words I told you? Exactly, mind?’
‘Yes, sir. I didn’t make a mistake, sir.’
‘No—you don’t make mistakes. You’d better not make mistakes either—or you’ll regret it! And what did she say, Horbury? What did Mr Alfred say?’
Quietly, unemotionally, Horbury repeated what had passed. The old man cackled again and rubbed his hands together.
‘Splendid…First rate…They’ll have been thinking and wondering—all the afternoon! Splendid! I’ll have ’em up now. Go and get them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Horbury walked noiselessly across the room and went out.
‘And, Horbury—’
The old man looked round, then cursed to himself.
‘Fellow moves like a cat. Never know where he is.’
He sat quite still in his chair, his fingers caressing his chin till there was a tap on the door, and Alfred and Lydia came in.
‘Ah, there you are, there you are. Sit here, Lydia, my dear, by me. What a nice colour you’ve got.’
‘I’ve been out in the cold. It makes one’s cheeks burn afterwards.’
Alfred said:
‘How are you, Father, did you have a good rest this afternoon?’
‘First rate—first rate. Dreamt about the old days! That was before I settled down and became a pillar of society.’
He cackled with sudden laughter.
His daughter-in-law sat silently smiling with polite attention.
Alfred said:
‘What’s this, Father, about two extra being expected for Christmas?’
‘Ah, that! Yes, I must tell you about that. It’s going to be a grand Christmas for me this year—a grand Christmas. Let me see, George is coming and Magdalene—’
Lydia said:
‘Yes, they are arriving tomorrow by the five-twenty.’
Old Simeon said:
‘Poor stick, George! Nothing but a gasbag! Still, he is my son.’
Alfred said:
‘His constituents like him.’
Simeon cackled again.
‘They probably think he’s honest. Honest! There never was a Lee who was honest yet.’
‘Oh, come now, Father.’
‘I except you, my boy. I except you.’
‘And David?’ asked Lydia.
‘David now. I’m curious to see the boy after all these years. He was a namby-pamby youngster. Wonder what his wife is like? At any rate he hasn’t married a girl twenty years younger than himself, like that fool George!’
‘Hilda wrote a very nice letter,’ said Lydia. ‘I’ve just had a wire from her confirming it and saying they are definitely arriving tomorrow.’
Her father-in-law looked at her, a keen, penetrating glance.
He laughed.
‘I never get any change out of Lydia,’ he said. ‘I’ll say this for you, Lydia, you’re a well-bred woman. Breeding tells. I know that well enough. A funny thing, though, heredity. There’s only one of you that’s taken after me—only one out of all the litter.’
His eyes danced.
‘Now guess who’s coming for Christmas. I’ll give you three guesses and I’ll bet you a fiver you won’t get the answer.’
He looked from one face to the other. Alfred said frowning:
‘Horbury said you expected a young lady.’
‘That intrigued you—yes, I dare say it did. Pilar will be arriving any minute now. I gave orders for the car to go and meet her.’
Alfred said sharply:
‘Pilar?’
Simeon said:
‘Pilar Estravados. Jennifer’s girl. My granddaughter. I wonder what she’ll be like.’
Alfred cried out:
‘Good heavens, Father, you never told me…’
The old man was grinning.
‘No, I thought I’d keep it a secret! Got Charlton to write out and fix things.’
Alfred repeated, his tone hurt and reproachful:
‘You never told me…’
His father said, still grinning wickedly:
‘It would have spoilt the surprise! Wonder what it will be like to have young blood under this roof again? I never saw Estravados. Wonder which the girl takes after—her mother or her father?’
‘Do you really think it’s wise, Father,’ began Alfred. ‘Taking everything into consideration—’
The old man interrupted him.
‘Safety—safety—you play for safety too much, Alfred! Always have! That hasn’t been my way! Do what you want and be damned to it! That’s what I say! The girl’s my granddaughter—the only grandchild in the family! I don’t care what her father was or what he did! She’s my flesh and blood! And she’s coming to live here in my house.’
Lydia said sharply: ‘She’s coming to live here?’
He darted a quick look at her. ‘Do you object?’
She shook her head. She said smiling:
‘I couldn’t very well object to your asking someone to your own house, could I? No, I was wondering about—her.’
‘About her—what d’you mean?’
‘Whether she would be happy here.’
Old Simeon flung up his head.
‘She’s not got a penny in the world. She ought to be thankful!’
Lydia shrugged her shoulders.
Simeon turned to Alfred:
‘You see? It’s going to be a grand Christmas! All my children round me. All my children! There, Alfred, there’s your clue. Now guess who the other visitor is.’
Alfred stared at him.
‘All my children! Guess, boy! Harry, of course! Your brother Harry!’
Alfred had gone very pale. He stammered:
‘Harry—not Harry—’
‘Harry himself!’
‘But we thought he was dead!’
‘Not he!’
‘You—you are having him back here? After everything?’
‘The prodigal son, eh? You’re right. The fatted calf! We must kill the fatted calf, Alfred. We must give him a grand welcome.’
Alfred said:
‘He treated you—all of us—disgracefully. He—’
‘No need to recite his crimes! It’s a long list. But Christmas, you’ll remember, is the season of forgiveness! We’ll welcome the prodigal home.’
Alfred rose. He murmured:
‘This has been—rather a shock. I never dreamt that Harry would ever come inside these walls again.’
Simeon leaned forward.
‘You never liked Harry, did you?’ he said softly.
‘After the way he behaved to you—’
Simeon cackled. He said:
‘Ah, but bygones must be bygones. That’s the spirit for Christmas, isn’t it, Lydia?’
Lydia, too, had gone pale. She said dryly:
‘I see that you have thought a good deal about Christmas this year.’
‘I want my family round me. Peace and goodwill. I’m an old man. Are you going, my dear?’
Alfred had hurried out. Lydia paused a moment before following him.
Simeon nodded his head after the retreating figure.
‘It’s upset him. He and Harry never got on. Harry used to jeer at Alfred. Called him old Slow and Sure.’
Lydia’s lips parted. She was about to speak, then, as she saw the old man’s eager expression, she checked herself. Her self-control, she saw, disappointed him. The perception of that fact enabled her to say:
&n
bsp; ‘The hare and the tortoise. Ah, well, the tortoise wins the race.’
‘Not always,’ said Simeon. ‘Not always, my dear Lydia.’
She said, still smiling:
‘Excuse me, I must go after Alfred. Sudden excitements always upset him.’
Simeon cackled.
‘Yes, Alfred doesn’t like changes. He always was a regular sobersides.’
Lydia said:
‘Alfred is very devoted to you.’
‘That seems odd to you, doesn’t it?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Lydia, ‘it does.’
She left the room. Simeon looked after her.
He chuckled softly and rubbed his palms together. ‘Lots of fun,’ he said. ‘Lots of fun still. I’m going to enjoy this Christmas.’
With an effort he pulled himself upright, and with the help of his stick, shuffled across the room.
He went to a big safe that stood at the corner of the room. He twirled the handle of the combination. The door came open and, with shaking fingers, he felt inside.
He lifted out a small wash-leather bag, and opening it, let a stream of uncut diamonds pass through his fingers.
‘Well, my beauties, well…Still the same—still my old friends. Those were good days—good days…They shan’t carve you and cut you about, my friends. You shan’t hang round the necks of women or sit on their fingers or hang on their ears. You’re mine! My old friends! We know a thing or two, you and I. I’m old, they say, and ill, but I’m not done for! Lots of life in the old dog yet. And there’s still some fun to be got out of life. Still some fun—’
Part 2
December 23rd
Tressilian went to answer the doorbell. It had been an unusually aggressive peal, and now, before he could make his slow way across the hall, it pealed out again.
Tressilian flushed. An ill-mannered, impatient way of ringing the bell at a gentleman’s house! If it was a fresh lot of those carol singers he’d give them a piece of his mind.
Through the frosted glass of the upper half of the door he saw a silhouette—a big man in a slouch hat. He opened the door. As he had thought—a cheap, flashy stranger—nasty pattern of suit he was wearing—loud! Some impudent begging fellow!