THE BUNCH OF GRAPES
Raymond proceeded with his business at Bridetown oblivious of persons
and personalities. He puzzled those who were prepared to be his enemies,
for it seemed he was becoming as impersonal as the spinning machines,
and one cannot quarrel with a machine.
It appeared that he was to be numbered with those who begin badly and
retrieve the situation afterwards. So, at least, hoped Ernest
Churchouse, yet, since the old man was called to witness and endure a
part of the sorrows of Sabina and her mother, it demanded large faith on
his part to anticipate brighter times. He clung to it that Raymond would
yet marry Sabina, and he regretted that when the young man actually
offered to see Sabina, she refused to see him. For this happened. He
came to stop at North Hill House for two months, while certain experts
were inspecting the works, and during this time he wished to visit 'The
Magnolias' and talk with Sabina, but she declined.
The very active hate that he had awakened sank gradually to smouldering
fires of bitter resentment and contempt. She spoke openly of destroying
their babe when it should be born.
Then the event happened and Sabina became the mother of a man child.
Raymond was still with Arthur Waldron when Estelle brought the news, and
the men discussed it.
"I hope she'll be reasonable now," said Ironsyde. "It bothered me when
she refused to see me, because you can't oppose reason to stupidity of
that sort. If she's going to take my aunt's line, of course, I'm done,
and shall be powerless to help her. I spoke to Uncle Ernest about it two
days ago. He says that it will have to be marriage, or nothing, and
seemed to think that would move me to marriage! Some people can't
understand plain English. But why should she cut off her nose to spite
her face and refuse my friendship and help because I won't marry her?"
"She's that sort, I suppose. Of course, plenty of women would do the
same."
"I'm not convinced it's Sabina really who is doing this. That's why I
wanted to see her. Very likely Aunt Jenny is inspiring such a silly
attitude, or her mother. They may think if she's firm I may yield. They
don't seem to realise that love's as dead as a doornail now. But my duty
is clear enough and they can't prevent me from doing it, I imagine."
"You want to be sporting to the child, of course."
"And to the mother of the child. Damn it all, I'm made of flesh and
blood. I'm not a fiend. But with women, if you have a grain of
common-sense and reasoning power, you become a fiend the moment there's
a row. I want Sabina and my child to have a good show in the world,
Arthur."
"Well, you must let her know it."
"I'll see her, presently. I'll take no denial about that. It may be a
pious plot really, for religious people don't care how they intrigue, if
they can bring off what they want to happen. It was very strange she
refused to see me. Perhaps they never told her that I offered to come."
"Yes, they did, because Estelle heard Churchouse tell her. Estelle was
with her at the time, and she said she was so sorry when Sabina refused.
It may have been because she was ill, of course."
"I must see her before I go away, anyway. If they've been poisoning her
mind against me, I must put it right."
"You're a rum 'un! Can't you see what this means to her? You talk as if
she'd no grievance, and as though it was all a matter of course and an
everyday thing."
"So it is, for that matter. However, there's no reason for you to bother
about it. I quite recognise what it is to be a father, and the
obligations. But because I happen to be a father, is no reason why I
should be asked to do impossibilities. Because you've made a fool of
yourself once is no reason why you should again. By good chance I've had
unexpected luck in life and things have fallen out amazingly well--and
I'm very willing indeed that other people should share my good luck and
good fortune. I mean that they shall. But I'm not going to negative my
good fortune by doing an imbecile thing."
"As long as you're sporting I've got no quarrel with you," declared
Waldron. "I'm not very clever myself, but I can see that if they won't
let you do what you want to do, it's not your fault. If they refuse to
let you play the game--but, of course, you must grant the game looks
different from their point of view. No doubt they think you're not
playing the game. A woman's naturally not such a sporting animal as a
man, and what we think is straight, she often doesn't appreciate, and
what she thinks is straight we often know is crooked. Women, in fact,
are more like the other nations which, with all their excellent
qualities, don't know what 'sporting' means."
"I mean to do right," answered Raymond, "and probably I'm strong enough
to make them see it and wear them down, presently. I'm really only
concerned about Sabina and her child. The rest, and what they think and
what they don't think, matter nothing. She may listen to reason when
she's well again."
Two days later Raymond received a box from London and showed Estelle an
amazing bunch of Muscat grapes, destined for Sabina.
"She always liked grapes," he said, "and these are as good as any in the
world at this moment."
On his way to the Mill he left the grapes at 'The Magnolias,' and spoke
a moment with Mr. Churchouse.
"She is making an excellent recovery," said Ernest, "and I am hoping
that, presently, the maternal instinct will assert itself. I do
everything to encourage it. But, of course, when conditions are
abnormal, results must be abnormal. She's a very fine and brave woman
and worthy of supreme admiration. And worthy of far better and more
manly treatment than she has received from you. But you know that very
well, Raymond. Owing to the complexities created by civilisation
clashing with nature, we get much needless pain in the world. But a
reasonable being should have recognised the situation, as you did not,
and realise that we have no right to obey nature if we know at the same
time we are flouting civilisation. You think you're doing right by
considering Sabina's future. You are a gross materialist, Raymond, and
the end of that is always dust and ashes and defeated hopes. I won't
bring religion into it, because that wouldn't carry weight with you; but
I bring justice into it and your debt to the social order, that has made
you what you are and to which you owe everything. You have done a grave
and wicked wrong to the new-born atom of life in this house, and though
it is now too late wholly to right that wrong, much might yet be done. I
blame you, but I hope for you--I still hope for you."
He took the grapes, and Raymond, somewhat staggered by this challenge,
found himself not ready to answer it.
"We'll have a talk some evening, Uncle Ernest," he answered. "I don't
expect your generation to see this thing from my point of view. It's
reasonable you shouldn't, because you can't change; and it's also
reasonable that I shouldn't see it from your point of view. If I'm
material, I'm built so; and that won't prevent me from doing my duty."
"I would talk the hands round the clock if I thought I could help you
to see your duty with other eyes than your own," replied the old man. "I
am quite ready to speak when you are to listen. And I shall begin by
reminding you that you are a father. You expect Sabina to be a mother in
the full meaning of that beautiful word; but a child must have a father
also."
"I am willing to be a father."
"Yes, on your own values, which ignore the welfare of the community,
justice to the next generation, and the respect you should entertain for
yourself."
"Well, we'll thresh it out another time. You know I respect you very
much, Uncle Ernest; and I'm sure you'll weigh my point of view and not
let Aunt Jenny influence you."
"I have a series of duties before me," answered Mr. Churchouse; "and not
least among them is to reconcile you and your aunt. That you should have
broken with your sole remaining relative is heart-breaking."
"I'd be friends to-morrow; but you know her."
He went away to the works and Ernest took the grapes to Mrs. Dinnett.
"You'd better not let her have them, however, unless the doctor permits
it," said Mr. Churchouse, whereupon, Mary, not trusting herself to
speak, took the grapes and departed. The affront embodied in the fruit
affected a mind much overwrought of late. She took the present to
Sabina's room.
"There," she said. "He's sunk to sending that. I'd like to fling them in
his face."
"Take them away. I can't touch them."
"Touch them! And poisoned as likely as not. A man that's committed his
crimes would stick at nothing."
"He uses poison enough," said the young mother; "but only the poison he
can use safely. It matters nothing to him if I live or die. No doubt
he'd will me dead, and this child too, if he could; but seeing he can't,
he cares nothing. He'll heap insult on injury, no doubt. He's made of
clay coarse enough to do it. But when I'm well, I'll see him and make it
clear, once for all."
"You say that now. But I hope you'll never see him, or breathe the same
air with him."
"Once--when I'm strong. I don't want him to go on living his life
without knowing what I'm thinking of him. I don't want him to think he
can pose as a decent man again. I want him to know that the road-menders
and road-sweepers are high above him."
"Don't you get in a passion. He knows all that well enough. He isn't
deceiving himself any more than anybody else. All honest people know
what he is--foul wretch. Yes, he's poisoned three lives, if no more, and
they are yours and mine and that sleeping child's."
"He's ruined his aunt's life, too. She's thrown him over."
"That won't trouble him. War against women is what you'd expect. But
please God, he'll be up against a man some day--then we shall see a
different result. May the Almighty let me live long enough to see him in
the gutter, where he belongs. I ask no more."
They poured their bitterness upon Raymond Ironsyde; then a thought came
into Mary Dinnett's mind and she left Sabina. Judging the time, she put
on her bonnet presently and walked out to the road whence Raymond would
return from his work at the luncheon hour.
She stood beside the road at a stile that led into the fields, and as
Raymond, deep in thought, passed her without looking up, he saw
something cast at his feet and for a moment stood still. With a soft
thud his bunch of grapes fell ruined in the dust before him and,
starting back, he looked at the stile and saw Sabina's mother gazing at
him red-faced and furious. Neither spoke. The woman's countenance told
her hatred and loathing; the man shrugged his shoulders and, after one
swift glance at her, proceeded on his way without quickening or
slackening his stride.
He heard her spit behind him and found time to regret that a woman of
Mary's calibre should be at Sabina's side. Such concentrated hate
astonished him a little. There was no reason in it; nothing could be
gained by it. This senseless act of a fool merely made him impatient.
But he smiled before he reached North Hill House to think that but for
the interposition of chance and fortune, this brainless old woman might
have become his mother-in-law.