Hungry Hill

  "Oh, very nice. A large garden, with flowers and trees. I saw some of the people sitting about. And I chose a most comfortable room for her, as you said no expense was to be spared. It was twenty francs more than the rest, but I suppose you don't mind that?"

  "God, no."

  "Of course they won't let her mess it up as she did her room in the villa," said Mrs.

  Price. "They have to have certain rules, and that is one of them. You can't blame them. The place was so beautifully clean and tidy, you could eat your food off the floor. The nurses wear a nice green uniform, which gives a very bright effect. I was introduced to the one who is in charge of your mother's room. A sensible creature, with a nice expression."

  "Did she seem to understand-why my mother was going?"

  "Oh, yes. And one thing which is rather clever in a way is that she will be allowed to play roulette, if she wants to. They have a room for that sort of thing.

  Only of course it will all be pretence, no money or anything. She won't know. These modern methods are very ingenious."

  Henry got up from his chair, and wandered once more to the window.

  "Don't you want your tea?" she said.

  "How can one tell that she won't know?" he said.

  "It's not as though she is completely insane. She will know that the thing is a blind. And that she's shut up there, in a glorified prison."

  Mrs. Price was pouring out the tea.

  "She'll be told the place is a hotel," she said, "a kind of annexe of the casino. It's quite all right. I arranged it all with the doctor. He is going to say that you were worried about her being all alone at the villa, and have arranged for her to go there instead.

  He says she will settle down as happily as anything, after a few days."

  Henry picked up a book restlessly, and threw it down again.

  "If only I could be certain I'm doing the right thing," he said. "She seemed happy enough in that little villa, even if it was dirty and unattractive.

  And I don't grudge her the money she lost at the casino. If it kept her happy, if it kept her from thinking…"

  Adeline Price blew out the flame from underneath the kettle.

  "Of course if that's your attitude, there's no sense in sending her there," she said; "but after what you have been through the last ten days I should have thought you would have learnt reason. Do you want them to throw her out of the casino, as they did five days ago? And then, she's not responsible for what she says. Those awful lies. She told you she was going to bed last Tuesday, and we found she had gone down there again.

  Of course if you want her to end in the police-court that's your affair. Because that's how it will end, I don't mind telling you."

  Henry flung himself down in the chair once more.

  "You're right." he said, "I know you're right. And yet it hurts so terribly to do this thing. Oh God, my mother. She was so lovely, so amusing, such a darling. I can't begin to explain what I feel."

  Adeline Price poured out his tea.

  "Come on," she said, "have a cup of tea. Nothing like a cup of tea to make a person feel better, man or woman. I can assure you that your mother will be perfectly happy in this place. She'll make friends, and chatter about the past, and you can go home with the knowledge that she is in good hands and that everything possible is being done for her. Oh, they asked me if you wanted her to have a little wine in the evenings. Apparently that's an extra, and so is a fire in the bedroom on cold nights. I said I would let them know. They'll send you an account of course every month, or you can pay direct through your bank. That would save you a lot of bother."

  She spread some of the guava jelly on to her bread-and-butter.

  "You've taken so much trouble over all this," said Henry, watching her. "I tell you frankly, I don't know what I should have done without your help. The whole thing has been a nightmare."

  Adeline Price smiled.

  "Men are helpless creatures in a crisis," she said. "My husband was just the same. Unable to cope with an emergency. Directly I saw you struggling with the front door of the villa the day you arrived I could tell the sort of person you were.

  I'm glad I happened to be looking out of my window. But it rather beats me how you've struggled along these last few years without anyone to look after you."

  "I don't know," said Henry. "I suppose I drifted. All I know is that I felt damned lonely."

  "I've been lonely too," she said, "but in a different sort of way. And anyway I always found plenty to do. I've never been one of those people to mope, thank goodness. I always think it shows such a lack of character." She collected the tea-things on the tray, and rang the bell for the maid. "Now I hope you don't think I've taken too much on my shoulders," she said, "but the doctor agreed with me that the sooner we got your mother moved into the Home the better. I quite realise it's a painful business for you to face, so I'm perfectly willing to take her there myself. I'm more or less a stranger, so there will be no emotional complication. So, if you agree, I'll go across to the villa now, help her with the few odds and ends she will want with her there, and take her along in a fiacre. I can explain about the hotel idea, the annexe of the casino, and you will see I shall have no fuss with her at all. I shall say you had to go out, but will go round and see if she's comfortable in the morning.

  Don't you think that's the best way of arranging it all?"

  She smiled at him again, capable, efficient, and he was aware of a sense of helplessness, of utter dependence upon her judgement.

  "I don't know," he said in despair; "I seem to have lost grip. I can't make a decision without questioning it five seconds later."

  "Don't worry," she said, "leave it to me. And I suggest you go along now and order dinner at the restaurant. I'll join you there after I've taken her to the Home. It will take your mind off this business."

  She gave him his hat and his stick and pushed him out of the room.

  "You're as bad as a child," she said; "I don't believe you trust me at all."

  "I do trust you," he protested, "I have implicit faith in everything you do."

  "Go on then," she said, "and don't look so crushed."

  He walked along the road mechanically, and down the twisting streets and avenues to the sea-front. It was like a dream, the houses were phantom things, the people were shadows. Nice was a city that he did not know, alien and unfriendly. It seemed to him that this shock of his mother's weakness had shown to him, in ugliness and force, that his own life was also without foundation. There was no security any more. Nothing was sure or solid.

  Even the children back in London lacked reality.

  They were like little ghosts who had drifted with him through the years. Nothing had been real or living since he had left Clonmere and turned the key upon the past.

  As he heard the flat sea break on the dull beach he thought of the swift tide in the creek at home, and the surf running upon Doon Island. He remembered the soft winds and the pale sun, and the white clouds above the top of Hungry Hill. He thought of the little churchyard at Ardmore, and the robin who sang in winter. And all that was finished and done with, he had no part in it, he did not belong there any more.

  He went and sat in the lounge in one of the big hotels and waited for Adeline Price. He waited one hour, two hours, and she did not come.

  Finally he could stand it no longer; he went outside and jumped into a fiacre, and ordered the driver to take him to the Home.

  It was dark now, and he could not see much, except the endless avenues, and the trees. The sea kept breaking on the shore in the distance. The frogs set up their nightly croaking. The wind was cold.

  The fiacre drove past a high wall and came to a great gate. It was shut. The driver rang the bell, and presently a concierge looked through the narrow grille.

  "It's prison," thought Henry. "I don't care what they say, it's prison."

  After a few minutes the concierge opened the gates. The fiacre drove up a long, winding avenue, closely shut by tall tr
ees. They came at last to the building. Few lights showed. The curtains were drawn for the night. Another fiacre was waiting outside the front door. Henry recognised the driver. He was one of the men who kept his vehicle in the little square near his mother's villa. Henry got out and enquired if Mrs.

  Price and Mrs. Brodrick had gone inside the building. The man said they had been there for over an hour. He said something about extra time, and he hoped he was going to be paid for it. Henry gave him ten francs at once, and the man pocketed them, muttering to himself. Henry went and rang the bell of the front-door. It was opened by a man in a white coat.

  "My name is Brodrick," said Henry. "I'm the son of Mrs. Brodrick who arrived here this evening."

  "Oh, yes, number 34," said the man, in good English. "If you'll come to the reception room, I'll make enquiries for you. Do you want to see your mother?"

  "If you please," said Henry. "And there was a lady with her, Mrs. Price. Perhaps she could come down and speak to me?"

  The man showed Henry into a large room on the right of the entrance. It was comfortably furnished- with chairs, and tables, and books. There was nobody in it. As he waited a loud bell clanged for dinner. Through the half-open door he could hear people file along the corridor to the dining-room. He caught a glimpse of a green uniform, and the white cap of a nurse. A little old man was walking with the aid of crutches.

  "Come on, Mr. Vines, don't be all day about it," said someone sharply.

  Other people were talking. Someone laughed in a high, silly way. The footsteps and the voices died away, and a door shut in the distance.

  Henry went on waiting. Then a man in a grey frock-coat, with a monocle hanging down the front on a black cord, came through the door and held out his hand.

  "I am Doctor Wells," he said. "I'm afraid my superior is dining in Nice, but I am in charge here for the evening. You are Mrs. Brodrick's son, I understand. We've had just a little difficulty, but nothing for you to worry about. Your friend Mrs. Price has been so sensible."

  "What do you mean, difficulty?" said Henry.

  "Mrs. Brodrick was a trifle bewildered on arrival. Very natural. They often are, you know. But your friend is with her, and the nurse on duty is an excellent woman. We thought it better she should have her supper upstairs the first evening, and then she will be able to go into the dining-room tomorrow. I think Mrs.

  Price is coming down now."

  He turned towards the door as Adeline Price came into the room. She seemed quite unruffled and composed, as though nothing had disturbed her.

  "It's all right," she said, "she's quite quiet now. I've left her showing photographs to the nurse. And such a nice dinner has gone up to her on a tray. Well cooked, well served. I must say you look after them well, doctor."

  Doctor Wells smiled, and toyed with his monocle.

  "The little things are so important," he said.

  Adeline Price was staring at Henry.

  "Why did you come?" she said reproachfully. "I thought I told you to go and wait for me at the hotel?"

  The doctor smiled.

  "No doubt Mr. Brodrick was anxious," he said smoothly, "and perhaps as he is here it would be more satisfactory if he just popped his head round the door and said goodnight to his mother. He would know then that she was quite comfortable."

  "Yes, I should like to do that," said Henry.

  Adeline Price frowned.

  "Is it wise?" she said. "Wouldn't it upset her?"

  "I don't think so," said the doctor; "it might be just the right touch. Of course we shall give her a small sleeping draught, as it's her first evening and everything will seem a little strange."

  "I'll wait for you in the fiacre," said Adeline Price abruptly. "No point in my going up there again."

  She swung out of the room, a tall, confident figure in her grey coat and gown. Henry followed the doctor upstairs. The corridors were of shiny wood, scrubbed clean, and carpetless. The walls were green, like the uniforms of the nurses. A young nurse at the top of the stairs smiled at him.

  She looked kindly, sympathetic. Henry clung to this like a straw.

  "Are many of the nurses young?" he asked. "That one who passed, will she have much to do for my mother?"

  "The matron would tell you that better than I could," said the doctor. "I can make enquiries for you, of course. Number 34. This is your mother's room."

  He tapped on the door. It was opened by a stout, middle-aged nurse in glasses.

  "What is it?" she said sharply. "Oh, it's you, doctor; I'm sorry. Will you come in?"

  Doctor Wells murmured in her ear.

  "Mr. Brodrick," he said, "just come to say goodnight to his mother. He won't stay more than a few minutes."

  "All right," said the nurse, "but I want to get her washed and settled down for the night as soon as possible. We're short-handed this evening."

  "It's only eight o'clock," said Henry. "My mother's been used to staying up until midnight or after."

  The nurse began to speak, but the doctor cut her short. "It's only for tonight," he said. "Tomorrow she will be with the others, leading quite a normal life."

  Henry went into the room. It was green like the corridor, but had a large window, and there were coloured mats upon the floor. The curtains were yellow, with green flowers upon them. The room was smaller than he had imagined. There was one easy chair in the corner. His mother was sitting up in bed, counting some money in her bag. She did not see him come in. She was scattering coins over the bedclothes, and talking to herself. Her hair hung in a cloud over her shoulders, silver white. Suddenly she saw him, and held out her arms.

  "My darling," she said; "they told me you had gone away, that I couldn't see you."

  He bent over the bed, and took her hand.

  "I thought I would just come along and say goodnight," he said, She nodded her head, and then winked, pointing to the door.

  "Such extraordinary people," she whispered. "I think they're all mad. The maid, I'm sure she's a nurse, insisted on taking my temperature. I suppose it's one of these new hydros I've heard about, but I never heard that the casino had anything to do with one before. Mrs. Price says I can go to the roulette rooms in the morning."

  "Yes, dear."

  "Is it all going to be very expensive? You know what a fool I am about money.".

  "No, darling. I'm arranging for that."

  "Dear boy, so good to me always. But I should have been quite all right at the villa, you know. There was no need for you to fuss." She tumbled her coins back into her bag. "Mrs. Price says they have a queer system here," she said. "They give you so many chips, and you don't have to give up your money in exchange.

  Sounds crazy to me. What about the boys, Henry darling? Will somebody remember to feed the boys?"

  "What boys?"

  "The dogs, sweetheart. They'll miss me so, they won't understand why I don't come back. A week will seem a long time."

  Henry did not say anything. He stood there, holding his mother's hand.

  "Put Johnnie's photograph on the mantelpiece," she said suddenly, "so that it faces me. Yes, that's better. He always looked so sulky in uniform, and so lovable… Henry."

  "Yes, mother."

  "Take care of that boy of yours. I didn't take care of Johnnie." She was staring up at him, her green eyes wide and frightened. "I can't forget it, you know," she said; "that's why I go to the casino. One must do something. John was such a darling-your father, I mean. So gentle, so kind. He understood so much. I've been very lost without him, very lonely. You were all such little boys when he died.

  Sometimes I think it would have been better if I'd married again." Then she smiled, she ran her fingers through her hair. "What an idiot I am!" she said, "raving on like an old lunatic. I tell you what, Henry. I'm damned if I'm going to let these people get my money, even if their system is a new one. I'll show them how to play roulette. They won't get the better of me here as they did at the casino."

  The nurse came in, and stood by the
bed.

  "Now, Mrs. Brodrick," she said, "we've got to think about that big wash, haven't we?"

  Fanny-Rosa winked at Henry.

  "Such a fool!" she whispered; "treats one like a baby. What does it matter though, if it keeps her amused?"

  Henry kissed the top of her head. He knew he would never see her again.

  "Goodnight, darling, and sleep well," he said.

  For a moment she clung to him, and then she laughed, and let him g.

  "Life is so amusing," said Fanny-Rosa; "try not to look serious, Henry boy. Thinking never did anybody any good."

  She followed him with her eyes as he went out of the room…

  The doctor was still waiting outside the door.

  "You see," he said, "she is quite comfortable, quite settled. There is nothing whatever for you to worry about.

  And I understand Mrs. Price has made certain arrangements for her extra comforts."

  "Thank you," said Henry, "thank you… yes."

  He shook hands with the man, he took his hat and stick. He climbed into the waiting fiacre.

  Adeline Price was sitting in the corner.

  "I paid the other one," she said. "It seemed pointless to keep the two. Well, did she seem all right?"

  "Yes," he said, "yes, I think so."

  The driver whipped up his horse. They drove away down the long, dark avenue.

  "You must be very tired," said Henry.

  "Not a bit. I want my dinner, though. I expect you do too."

  The fiacre turned out of the avenue into the road.

  The heavy gate clanged behind them.

  "I was wondering, while I sat waiting," said Adeline Price, "whether there is anything else I can do for you. What are your plans?"

  Henry turned to her in the darkness.

  "Plans?" he said wearily. "I have none.

  What plans should I possibly have?"

  The horse trotted down the cobbled stones. The driver cracked his whip. In the distance the sea broke upon the shore. He thought of the long train journey, the sea crossing, the house in Lancaster Gate, and Molly, and Kitty, and Hal, and the poor little lame Lizette. He felt very lonely, very tired.

  "I suppose," he said slowly, "you wouldn't care to marry me, would you?"