"Had n't you better go and find your Mr. Wilbraham?" she interrupted.
"So I had," said Denry; "I was forgetting him."
She heard him wandering over the house and calling in divers tones uponMr. Wilbraham. But she heard no other voice. Meanwhile she examined thekitchen in detail, appreciating some of its devices and failing tocomprehend others.
"I expect he 's missed the train," said Denry, coming back. "Anyhow, heis n't here. I may as well show you the rest of the house now."
He led her into the hall, which was radiantly lighted.
"It's quite warm here," said Mrs. Machin.
"The whole house is heated by steam," said Denry. "No fireplaces."
"No fireplaces!"
"No! No fireplaces. No grates to polish, ashes to carry down, coals tocarry up, mantelpieces to dust, fire-irons to clean, fenders to polish,chimneys to sweep."
"And suppose he wants a bit of fire all of a sudden in summer."
"Gas stove in every room for emergencies," said Denry.
She glanced into a room.
"But," she cried, "It's all complete, ready! And as warm as toast."
"Yes," said Denry. "He gave orders. I can't think why on earth he isn't here."
At that moment an electric bell rang loud and sharp, and Mrs. Machinjumped.
"There he is!" said Denry, moving to the door.
"Bless us! What will he think of us being here like?" Mrs. Machinmumbled.
"Pooh!" said Denry carelessly.
And he opened the door.
V
Three persons stood on the newly washed marble step--Mr. and Mrs.Cotterill and their daughter Nellie.
"Oh! Come in! Come in! Make yourselves quite at home. That's what_we 're_ doing," said Denry in blithe greeting; and added, "I suppose he's invited you too?"
And it appeared that Mr. Cecil Wilbraham had indeed invited them too.He had written from London saying that he would be glad if Mr. and Mrs.Cotterill would "drop in" on this particular evening. Further, he hadmentioned that, as he had already had the pleasure of meeting MissCotterill, perhaps she would accompany her parents.
"Well, he is n't here," said Denry, shaking hands. "He must have missedhis train or something. He can't possibly be here now till to-morrow.But the house seems to be all ready for him...."
"Yes, my word! And how 's yourself, Mrs. Cotterill?" put in Mrs.Machin.
"So we may as well look over it in its finished state. I suppose that'swhat he asked us up for," Denry concluded.
Mrs. Machin explained quickly and nervously that she had not beencomprised in any invitation; that her errand was pure business.
"Come on up-stairs," Denry called out, turning switches and addingradiance to radiance.
"Denry!" his mother protested. "I 'm sure I don't know what Mr. andMrs. Cotterill will think of you! You carry on as if you ownedeverything in the place. I wonder _at_ you!"
"Well," said Denry, "if anybody in this town is the owner's agent I am.And Mr. Cotterill has built the blessed house. If Wilbraham wanted tokeep his old shanty to himself he should n't send out invitations. It'ssimple enough not to send out invitations. Now Nellie!"
He was hanging over the balustrade at the curve of the stairs.
The familiar ease with which he said "Now Nellie," and especially thespontaneity of Nellie's instant response, put new thoughts into the mindof Mrs. Machin. But she neither pricked up her ears, nor started back,nor accomplished any of the acrobatic feats which an ordinary mother ofa wealthy son would have performed under similar circumstances. Herears did not even tremble. And she just said:
"I like this balustrade knob being of black china."
"Every knob in the house is of black china," said Denry. "Never showsdirt. But if you should take it into your head to clean it, you can doit with a damp cloth in a second."
Nellie now stood beside him. Nellie had grown up since the Llandudnoepisode. She did not blush at a glance. When spoken to suddenly shecould answer without torture to herself. She could, in fact, maintain aconversation without breaking down for a much longer time than, a fewyears ago, she had been able to skip without breaking down. She nolonger imagined that all the people in the street were staring at her,anxious to find faults in her appearance. She had temporarily ruinedthe lives of several amiable and fairly innocent young men by refusingto marry them. (For she was pretty, and her father cut a figure in thetown, though her mother did not.) And yet, despite the immenseaccumulation of her experiences and the weight of her varied knowledgeof human nature, there was something very girlish and timidly roguishabout her as she stood on the stairs near Denry, waiting for the eldergeneration to follow. The old Nellie still lived in her.
The party passed to the first floor.
And the first floor exceeded the ground floor in marvels. In eachbedroom two aluminum taps poured hot and cold water respectively into amarble basin, and below the marble basin was a sink. No porterage ofwater anywhere in the house. The water came to you, and every roomconsumed its own slops. The bedsteads were of black enamelled iron andvery light. The floors were covered with linoleum, with a few rugs thatcould be shaken with one hand. The walls were painted with grey enamel.Mrs. Cotterill, with her all-seeing eye, observed a detail that Mrs.Machin had missed. There were no sharp corners anywhere. Every corner,every angle between wall and floor or wall and wall, was rounded, tofacilitate cleaning. And every wall, floor, ceiling, and fixture couldbe washed, and all the furniture was enamelled and could be wiped with acloth in a moment instead of having to be polished with three cloths andmany odours in a day and a half. The bathroom was absolutelywaterproof; you could spray it with a hose, and by means of a gasapparatus you could produce an endless supply of hot water independentof the general supply. Denry was apparently familiar with each detailof Mr. Wilbraham's manifold contrivances, and he explained them with anenormous gusto.
"Bless us!" said Mrs. Machin.
"Bless us!" said Mrs. Cotterill (doubtless the force of example).
They descended to the dining-room, where a supper table had been laid byorder of the invisible Mr. Cecil Wilbraham. And there the ladies laudedMr. Wilbraham's wisdom in eschewing silver. Everything of the tableservice that could be of earthenware was of earthenware. The forks andspoons were electro-plate.
"Why!" Mrs. Cotterill said, "I could run this house without a servantand have myself tidy by ten o'clock in a morning."
And Mrs. Machin nodded.
"And then when you want a regular turnout, as you call it," said Denry,"there's the vacuum cleaner."
The vacuum cleaner was at that period the last word of civilisation, andthe first agency for it was being set up in Bursley. Denry explainedthe vacuum cleaner to the housewives, who had got no further than aEwbank. And they again called down blessings on themselves.
"What price this supper?" Denry exclaimed. "We ought to eat it. I 'msure he 'd like us to eat it. Do sit down, all of you. I 'll take theconsequences."
Mrs. Machin hesitated even more than the other ladies.
"It's really very strange, him not being here!" She shook her head.
"Don't I tell you he 's quite mad," said Denry.
"I should n't think he was so mad as all that," said Mrs. Machin dryly."This is the most sensible kind of a house I 've ever seen."
"Oh! Is it?" Denry answered. "Great Scott! I never noticed thosethree bottles of wine on the sideboard."
At length he succeeded in seating them at the table. Thenceforwardthere was no difficulty. The ample and diversified cold supper began todisappear steadily, and the wine with it. And as the wine disappearedso did Mr. Cotterill (who had been pompous and taciturn) grow talkative,offering to the company the exact figures of the cost of the house andso forth. But ultimately the sheer joy of life killed arithmetic.
Mrs. Machin, however, could not quite rid herself of the notion that shewas in a dream that outraged the proprieties.
The entire affair, for anunromantic spot like Bursley, was too fantastically and wickedlyromantic.
"We must be thinking about home, Denry," said she.
"Plenty of time," Denry replied. "What! All that wine gone! I 'll seeif there 's any more in the sideboard."
He emerged, with a red face, from bending into the deeps of theenamelled sideboard, and a wine-bottle was in his triumphant hand. Ithad already been opened.
"Hooray!" he proclaimed, pouring a white wine into his glass and raisingthe glass: "Here 's to the health of Mr. Cecil Wilbraham."
He made a brave tableau in the brightness of the electric light.
Then he drank. Then he dropped the glass, which broke.
"Ugh! What's that?" he demanded, with the distorted features of agargoyle.
His mother, who was seated next to him, seized the bottle. Denry'shand, in clasping the bottle, had hidden a small label, which said:"_Poison. Nettleship's Patent Enamel-Cleaning Fluid. One wipe doesit._"
Confusion! Only Nellie Cotterill seemed to be incapable of realisingthat a grave accident had occurred. She had laughed throughout thesupper, and she still laughed, hysterically, though she had drunkscarcely any wine. Her mother silenced her.
Denry was the first to recover.
"It 'll be all right," said he, leaning back in his chair. "They alwaysput a bit of poison in those things. It can't hurt me, really. I nevernoticed the label."
Mrs. Machin smelt at the bottle. She could detect no odour, but thefact that she could detect no odour appeared only to increase her alarm.
"You must have an emetic instantly," she said.
"Oh, no!" said Denry. "I shall be all right." And he did seem to besuddenly restored.
"You must have an emetic instantly," she repeated.
"What can I have?" he grumbled. "You can't expect to find emeticshere."
"Oh, yes, I can," said she. "I saw a mustard tin in a cupboard in thekitchen. Come along now, and don't be silly."
Nellie's hysteric mirth surged up again.
Denry objected to accompanying his mother into the kitchen. But he wasforced to submit. She shut the door on both of them. It is probablethat during the seven minutes which they spent mysteriously together inthe kitchen, the practicability of the kitchen apparatus for carryingoff waste products was duly tested. Denry came forth, very pale andvery cross, on his mother's arm.
"There's no danger now," said his mother easily.
Naturally the party was at an end. The Cotterills sympathised, andprepared to depart, and inquired whether Denry could walk home.
Denry replied, from a sofa, in a weak, expiring voice, that he wasperfectly incapable of walking home, that his sensations were in thehighest degree disconcerting, that he should sleep in that house, as thebedrooms were ready for occupation, and that he should expect his motherto remain with him.
And Mrs. Machin had to concur. Mrs. Machin sped the Cotterills from thedoor as though it had been her own door. She was exceedingly angry andagitated. But she could not impart her feelings to the suffering Denry.He moaned on a bed for about half an hour, and then fell asleep. And inthe middle of the night, in the dark strange house, she also fellasleep.
VI
The next morning she arose and went forth, and in about half-an-hourreturned. Denry was still in bed, but his health seemed to have resumedits normal excellence. Mrs. Machin burst upon him in such a state ofcomplicated excitement as he had never before seen her in.
"Denry," she cried. "What do you think?"
"What?" said he.
"I 've just been down home, and they 're--they 're pulling the housedown. All the furniture 's out, and they 've got all the tiles off theroof, and the windows out. And there's a regular crowd watching."
Denry sat up.
"And I can tell you another piece of news," said he. "Mr. CecilWilbraham is dead."
"Dead!" she breathed.
"Yes," said Denry. "_I think he 's served his purpose_. As we 'rehere, we 'll stop here. Don't forget it's the most sensible kind of ahouse you 've ever seen. Don't forget that Mrs. Cotterill could run itwithout a servant and have herself tidy by ten o'clock in a morning."
Mrs. Machin perceived then, in a flash of terrible illumination, thatthere never had been any Cecil Wilbraham; that Denry had merely inventedhim and his long moustaches and his wall eye for the purpose of gettingthe better of his mother. The whole affair was an immense swindle uponher. Not a Mr. Cecil Wilbraham, but her own son had bought her cottageover her head and jockeyed her out of it beyond any chance of gettinginto it again. And to defeat his mother the rascal had not simplyperverted the innocent Nellie Cotterill to some co-operation in hisscheme, but he had actually bought four other cottages because thelandlord would not sell one alone, and he was actually demolishingproperty to the sole end of stopping her from re-entering it!
Of course, the entire town soon knew of the upshot of the battle, of theyear-long battle, between Denry and his mother, and the means adopted byDenry to win. The town also had been hoodwinked, but it did not mindthat. It loved its Denry the more, and, seeing that he was now properlyestablished in the most remarkable house in the district, it soonafterwards made him a town councillor as some reward for his talent inamusing it.
And Denry would say to himself:
"Everything went like clockwork, except the mustard and water. I didn't bargain for the mustard and water. And yet, if I was clever enoughto think of putting a label on the bottle and to have the beds prepared,I ought to have been clever enough to keep mustard out of the house."It would be wrong to mince the unpleasant fact that the sham poisoningwhich he had arranged to the end that he and his mother should pass thenight in the house had finished in a manner much too realistic forDenry's pleasure. Mustard and water, particularly when mixed by Mrs.Machin, is mustard and water.
She had that consolation.
CHAPTER IX. THE GREAT NEWSPAPER WAR
I
When Denry and his mother had been established a year and a month in thenew house at Bleakridge, Denry received a visit one evening whichperhaps flattered him more than anything had ever flattered him. Thevisitor was Mr. Myson. Now Mr. Myson was the founder, proprietor, andeditor of the _Five Towns Weekly_, a new organ of public opinion whichhad been in existence about a year; and Denry thought that Mr. Myson hadpopped in to see him in pursuit of an advertisement of the Thrift Club,and at first he was not at all flattered.
But Mr. Myson was not hunting for advertisements, and Denry soon saw himto be the kind of man who would be likely to depute that work to others.Of middle height, well and quietly dressed, with a sober, assureddeportment, he spoke in a voice and accent that were not of the FiveTowns; they were superior to the Five Towns. And in fact Mr. Mysonoriginated in Manchester and had seen London. He was not provincial,and he beheld the Five Towns as part of the provinces, which no nativeof the Five Towns ever succeeds in doing. Nevertheless, his manner toDenry was the summit of easy and yet deferential politeness.
He asked permission "to put something before" Denry. And when, rathertaken aback by such smooth phrases, Denry had graciously accorded thepermission, he gave a brief history of the _Five Towns Weekly_, showinghow its circulation had grown, and definitely stating that at thatmoment it was yielding a profit. Then he said:
"Now my scheme is to turn it into a daily."
"Very good notion!" said Denry instinctively.
"I 'm glad you think so," said Mr. Myson. "Because I 've come here inthe hope of getting your assistance. I 'm a stranger to the district,and I want the co-operation of some one who is n't. So I 've come toyou. I need money, of course, though I have myself what most peoplewould consider sufficient capital. But what I need more than moneyis--well--moral support."
"And who put you on to me?" asked Denry.
Mr. Myson smiled. "I put myself on to you," said he. "I think I maysay I 'v
e got my bearings in the Five Towns, after over a year'sjournalism in it, and it appeared to me that you were the best man Icould approach. I always believe in flying high."
Therein was Denry flattered. The visit seemed to him to seal hisposition in the district in a way in which his election to the BursleyTown Council had failed to do. He had been somehow disappointed withthat election. He had desired to display his interest in the seriouswelfare of the town, and to answer his opponent's arguments with betterones. But the burgesses of his ward appeared to have no passionate loveof logic. They just cried "Good old Denry!" and elected him--with amajority of only forty-one votes. He had expected to feel a differentDenry when he could put "Councillor" before his name. It was not so.He had been solemnly in the mayoral procession to church, he hadattended meetings of the council, he had been nominated to the WatchCommittee. But he was still precisely the same Denry, though theyoungest member of the council. But now he was being recognised fromthe outside. Mr. Myson's keen Manchester eye, ranging over the quarterof a million inhabitants of the Five Towns in search of a representativeindividual force, had settled on Denry Machin. Yes, he was flattered.Mr. Myson's choice threw a rose light on all Denry's career; his wealthand its origin; his house and stable, which were the astonishment andthe admiration of the town; his Universal Thrift Club; yea, and hiscouncillorship. After all, these _were_ marvels. (And possibly thegreatest marvel was the signed presence of his mother in that wondroushouse, and the fact that she consented to employ Rose Chudd, theincomparable Sappho of charwomen, for three hours every day.)