THE MONEY QUESTION
Walter Clinton, with his wife and two little girls, arrived at Kencote
an hour or so before dinner-time, and the Squire instantly seized upon
him for a confabulation. "George Senhouse is in my room," he said,
"and the rest are playing pool. Come into the smoking-room. I want to
speak to you."
Walter followed him through the baize door and down the stone passage.
He was not so handsome as Dick nor so smart-looking as Humphrey, but he
was tall and well set up, with an air of energy and good-humour that
was attractive. "It's jolly to be here for a bit again," he said.
"I've been working like a nigger. We've got a regular plague of
influenza at Melbury Park."
The Squire grunted. He was pleased enough to see his son, but he
always shied at the words Melbury Park, and rather disliked mention of
Walter's profession, which had been none of his choosing.
"Well, I suppose you've heard of this wretched business of Dick's," he
said, as he lighted a big cigar.
Walter filled his pipe, standing by the fire. "Yes. I've seen him,"
he said.
The Squire held the match in his hand as he exclaimed, "You've seen
him, eh?"
"Yes, he spent Christmas with us," said Walter.
The Squire threw the match, which had begun to burn his fingers, into
the grate. "Why on earth didn't you let me know?" he asked.
"He didn't want me to," replied Walter, taking his seat in one of the
shabby easy-chairs.
The Squire thought this over. It affected him disagreeably, making him
feel very far from his son. "Was he all right?" he asked.
"Of course, he was worried," said Walter. "He was all right otherwise."
"Well, now, don't you think he's behaving in a most monstrous way?"
asked the Squire, anxious to substitute a mood of righteous anger for
one of painful longing.
"Well, I can't say I do," replied Walter.
"Oh, he's talked you over. But I'll tell you this, Walter, he shall
_not_ marry this woman, and drag us all in the mud. You ought to be
doing what you can to stop it, too, instead of encouraging him."
"I'm not encouraging him," said Walter. "It wouldn't make any
difference whether I encouraged him or discouraged him, either. He has
made up his mind to marry her and he's going to do it."
"I tell you he is _not_ going to do it." The Squire hitched himself
forward out of the depths of his chair to give more weight to his
pronouncement.
Walter remained silent, with a mental shrug, and the Squire was rather
at a loss to know how to proceed. "Do you know what this woman is
like?" he asked.
"I've seen her photograph and heard what Dick has to say about her,"
said Walter.
"Oh, Dick! Dick's infatuated, of course. I should have thought you
would have had more sense than to swallow his description of her
blindly. She's--oh, I can't trust myself to say what she is. But I'll
tell you this. I'd rather Kencote passed out of the Clinton family
altogether than that she came to be mistress of it."
"Well, that won't happen for a great many years, I hope," said Walter.
"It will _never_ happen," said the Squire, with immense emphasis.
Again Walter was silent, and his father slightly embarrassed. "How is
he going to get married, I should like to know," he asked presently,
"if I don't help him? I've told him that the moment he does marry I
shall help him no longer. I don't suppose he's got a couple of hundred
pounds in the world. He can marry with that, but he can't live on it.
He's not going to live on her money, I suppose."
"No, he's got a job," said Walter calmly.
Again the Squire stared. "Got a job!" he repeated. "What sort of a
job?"
"Quite a good one. Agent to John Spence up in Norfolk--the chap who
was in his regiment."
The Squire's surprise, and what must be called, in view of his thwarted
diplomacy, discomposure, were indicated by his dropped jaw. Walter
went on in even tone. "He's to get six hundred a year and a house.
There's a place in Warwickshire too, which he'll have to look after.
He was just going to take quite a small thing in Ireland, but Spence
heard he was available and rushed up and booked him. You see, he knows
his job well."
Of course he knew his job well. Hadn't the Squire taken a pride ever
since he had been the smallest of small boys in initiating him into it?
Hadn't he seen to it that if he learned nothing else during his long
and expensive school and university education, he should learn all that
could be learnt about the land and the intricacies of estate
management? And hadn't he rejoiced in seeing him take kindly to it
ever since? He had been quite content to spend the greater part of his
leave at home, often working as hard as if he were a paid agent, even
taking papers up to London, working at them there, and writing long
letters. He had not been content to take a general interest in the
property to which he was one day to succeed, riding or walking about
the place and leaving details to the agent and the estate staff. Why,
it had been possible, ten years before, when the old agent had been
superannuated, to dispense with one altogether for six months, nobody
suitable having come forward; and the present one, Mr. Haydon, was
hardly more than a bailiff. And more convincingly still, lately, had
the Squire discovered that Dick knew his job. He thought he knew it
himself, but he had been lost without him, and if Dick continued to
keep away from Kencote, he would have to make new arrangements
altogether, and get some one in the place of Mr. Haydon to help him.
And now all Dick's knowledge and experience were to be used to thwart
him. It would no longer be available for the benefit of Kencote. That
was bad enough in itself, but it was far worse to know that it had made
Dick independent of him and himself powerless. For the first time in
this unhappy business he felt an impulse of pure anger against his son.
Hitherto he had been grieved about him, and only angry against others.
Now, as these thoughts passed through his mind, he broke out, "That's
the most disgraceful thing I've heard of yet. Going to throw the whole
place over, is he, and leave me to do the best I can, while he goes and
takes service under somebody else? Very well, then. If he is going to
throw Kencote over, Kencote will throw him over. I've had as much as I
can stand. Now I'll act, and act in a way that will surprise him."
Walter looked up in alarmed surprise. He thought he knew his father,
and exactly how far he would go. He had known in discussing matters
with Dick that he would make a fuss, and go on making it, until things
were accomplished which would make it useless for him to fuss any
further. But he had always taken it for granted that Dick had the
cards in his hand, and that in the long run he must win the game. But
this looked as if they had both miscalculated Dick's hand, and that a
trump they had thought to be in his possession was really in his
father's.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean," said the Squire boldly, "that if Dick persists in the course
he is taking, I shall make a new will, and I shan't leave him a penny
or an acre of land beyond what he gets under the entail."
This was plain enough, but Walter could scarcely believe his ears as he
heard it, so entirely subversive was it of all ideas in which he had
been brought up. He had never bothered himself much about money. He
knew that he would have something by and by, something probably more
substantial than the average younger son's portion, that there was,
indeed, plenty of money for all of them. But he had taken it for
granted, in the same way that he took the daily rise of the sun for
granted, that the bulk of it would go with the place--go, that is, to
Dick. And, knowing his father as he did, and the principles that
guided him, he could not, even now, believe that he really meant to act
in a way so destructive of all Kencote ideals as he had indicated.
"Surely you're not going to break the place up!" he said.
"If Dick doesn't come to his senses that's what I will do," said the
Squire. "And if I once do it I shan't alter it. I shall have the will
prepared, and the day Dick marries this woman I shall sign it. You can
tell him that. I'll have nothing more to do with him, directly. He
has behaved disgracefully to me, never sending a line for over a month,
and letting me know his plans through you. Now you can tell him mine,
and you can tell him I'm in earnest." He marched out of the room
without further words, leaving Walter with the feeling of a man who has
just passed through an earthquake.
Late that night when everybody had gone up to bed Walter went into
Humphrey's room. They had not had a chance of speaking together
before. He told him of what had happened, of what Dick had told him at
Melbury Park, and the Squire that evening downstairs.
Humphrey received the news in silence, and with mixed sensations. "I
didn't know Dick had been with you," he said presently.
"He won't come here," said Walter. "He doesn't say much about the
governor, but he's furious with him."
"I'm afraid he's furious with me too," said Humphrey. "And really it's
rather unreasonable."
"He didn't say much about you," replied Walter perfunctorily.
"Well, I can't help it. I've done nothing I'm ashamed of, as far as
he's concerned. And as for Virginia Dubec, I don't care if he marries
her to-morrow."
Walter was busy with his own thoughts. "I say, do you think the
governor can really mean it?" he asked.
Humphrey gave rather an unpleasant little laugh. "I hope he does, for
our sakes," he said.
Walter looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"Well, I suppose if Dick doesn't get whatever it is, we shall. I could
do with it very well."
Walter eyed him askance. "I never thought of that," he said rather
coldly. "I should be very sorry to have Dick cut out for my sake."
"It's all very well for you," Humphrey said. "You have your job, which
you like, and plenty to get on with. And you're married."
"There's no reason why you shouldn't get married if you want to," said
Walter.
"I don't know whether it would surprise you to know that I do want to,"
replied Humphrey.
Walter looked at him in surprise. "My dear chap," he said, "I'm
awfully glad. Who is it?"
"Well, I hadn't meant to say anything until I saw how the land lay, so
keep it to yourself for the present. It's Susan Clinton."
Walter looked a little blank. He had not been particularly charmed
either with Lady Aldeburgh or her daughter, and he was too
straightforward to feign an enthusiasm which he did not feel. "Will
she have you?" he asked.
"Oh, I think so," said Humphrey. "We're very good pals. But, of
course, there's Aldeburgh to settle with, or rather her ladyship,
because he lets 'em go their own way and he goes his. It can't be said
to be much of a match. Still, there are four other girls, two of them
out and about, and if the governor sees his way to greasing the wheels,
I ought to be able to pull it off."
There was something about this speech which displeased Walter. He knew
Humphrey's way of talking and he knew that his dwelling on the
financial side of a marriage, even before he was engaged, might
possibly hide a feeling which he would not want to express. But
somehow he found it difficult to believe that this speech did hide any
particular feeling for Lady Susan Clinton, and equally difficult to
infuse any particular warmth into his congratulations.
"Well, I'm glad you told me," he said. "If you want to pull it off I
hope you will, and I shouldn't think there would be much difficulty
about money. Besides, you want far less when you're married than you'd
think. Muriel and I aren't spending anything like what we've got, and
we're as happy as possible. I'd advise every fellow to get married, if
he finds a girl who'll fit in with him."
"Susan and I will fit in together all right," replied Humphrey, "but
we've both been used to crashing about a good deal, and I'm afraid we
shouldn't save much on your income. Besides, Muriel brought you
something, and I don't think Aldeburgh will be likely to cough up much
with Susan. We shall be as poor as church mice, anyhow. But if she
don't mind that I don't particularly, as long as we have enough to get
along on."
Walter knew well enough that Humphrey hated above all things to feel
poor, and decided that if he was not wishing to marry Susan Clinton for
what she could bring him, he must really love her, in spite of his
mercenary speech. "Well, old chap," he said, with more warmth, "I'm
sure I hope you'll be happy. I haven't spoken to her much, but she
seems a jolly good sort, and she's a sort of relation already, I
suppose. So we ought all to get on with her. Well, I think I'll go
and lie down for a bit before breakfast."
But Humphrey still had something to say, something which he seemed to
find it rather difficult to say. "Dick and I are not particularly good
friends now," he began.
"Oh, he was annoyed at your letting out something or other about his
Lady George," said Walter. "But he's all right, really."
"I shouldn't like him to think," said Humphrey, "that I was working
against him with the governor. But, of course, if he does marry her,
and the governor does what he's threatened to do--well, it would make a
lot of difference to me."
"He's not likely to think you worked that," said Walter rather coldly.
"And I hope it won't happen. Good-night."
The next morning the whole party went to church, with the exception of
Lady Aldeburgh, who was averse to making engagements as early as eleven
o'clock. The Squire was displeased at this defection on her part, and
when Bobby Trench came into the hall, as they were setting out, on his
way to the smoking-room, with a pipe in his mouth and a novel under his
arm, he said to him, "Haven't you got a watch? It's ten minutes to
eleven. You'll be late for church."
"To tell you the truth, I wasn't thinking of going," replied Bobby
Trench. "Still, I may as well. I can write my bits of letters
afterwards."
The Squire grunted and went out. "I'll see that that young cub behaves
himself as long as he's here, at any rate," he said to Mrs. Clinton.
Bobby Trench winked at Lady Susan, who was standing alone in the hall.
"Cheery sort of place to come to, isn't it?" he said. "Makes you think
yourself back at school again."
She turned away from him without smiling. "I'm enjoying myself very
much," she said.
"The deuce you are," said Bobby Trench to himself as he went to deposit
his pipe and his book in the smoking-room. "Sits the wind in that
quarter? But never again, Robert, never again!"
After church Humphrey said to Susan Clinton, "Come and see old Aunt
Laura with me. She can't get out much in the winter, but she likes to
see people."
So they went to the little house in the village and found Aunt Laura
nursing the fire, with a Shetland shawl round her bent old shoulders
and a large Church Service on the table by her side.
She was flattered by the visit of Lady Susan, but a little anxious lest
she should be carrying about any false impression of the relative
importance of the various families of Clinton. "It must be very nice
for you to come to Kencote, my dear," she said. "I dare say you have
often thought about it and wished to see the place. Your
great-grandfather--oh, but I suppose he was much more than that,
great-great-great, very likely--did not behave at all well, but that is
all forgiven and forgotten now, and I am sure there is nobody at
Kencote now who is not pleased to see you."
"What did my great-great-grandfather do, Miss Clinton?" enquired Lady
Susan indulgently. "I'm sorry he didn't behave well."
"Oh, my dear, haven't you read about it? It is all in the book about
the Clintons--a very interesting book indeed. He was a younger son and
he fought for the Dissenters against King Charles the First, and when
King Charles was beheaded Oliver Cromwell turned his eldest brother,
who of course was a Royalist, out of Kencote and gave it to your
ancestor. When King Charles the Second came to the throne he gave it
back to its rightful owner, but your ancestor had made a good deal of
money, I'm sure I don't know how, and he was ennobled in the reign of
King William and Queen Mary, but I don't know what for. I dare say the
Clintons of Kencote could have been ennobled many times over if they
had liked, but for my part I am glad they never were. There are very
few commoners' families in England who have gone on for so many years
in one place."
"Oh, I know," said Lady Susan, with an arch glance at Humphrey. "I
have been told that."
"Only once by me," replied Humphrey. "I thought you had better know
where you stood once for all. You belong to quite the junior branch,
you know, and you must be properly humbled when you come to Kencote."
"Oh, there is no necessity for humility," said Aunt Laura, who so long
as she felt that matters were thoroughly understood was anxious that
her visitor should not be unduly cast down. "There are other good
families in England besides the Clintons, and of course you do belong
to us in a way, my dear."
"We like her to feel that she belongs to us, don't we, Aunt Laura?"
said Humphrey, looking at the girl and not at the old lady.
Lady Susan blushed. "Oh, of course I belong to you," she said
hurriedly, not meeting his gaze. "And I think Kencote is a lovely
place, much better than Thatchover, where we live."
"Ah, I have never seen that," said Aunt Laura. "I have seen Kemsale,
my cousin Humphrey's place. I hear there is to be a ball there
to-morrow night, and I suppose you are all going. I shall not be able
to be present, although I have received an invitation. It was very
thoughtful of Eleanor Kemsale to send me one. She must have known that
my advanced age would make it impossible for me to accept, but she knew
also that I should feel it if I were left out, for for a number of
years there was no entertainment of that sort at Kemsale to which I and
my dear sisters, who are now all dead, were not invited."
Lady Susan had been looking round the room. "What lovely old prints
you have!" she said.
"They are old-fashioned things," replied Aunt Laura, "but I like them.
They do not actually belong to me. I brought them from the
dower-house, where I and my sisters lived for a number of years. But
wait--if you will come into the dining-room, where there is a fire and
you need not be afraid of catching cold, I will show you something that
does belong to me, and very pleased I am to have it."
"Oh, I think we'd better stay here, Aunt Laura," said Humphrey.
But Aunt Laura had already risen. "No, Humphrey," she said. "I must
show Lady Susan the present you gave me, which has afforded me the
greatest pleasure."
So they followed her into the little square, panelled dining-room,
where she led them to an old engraving of "Kencote Park, Meadshire, the
Seat of John Clinton, Esq.," which showed, besides the many-windowed,
rectangular house, a large sheet of water with a Grecian temple on its
banks, and certain gentlemen in tall hats and ladies with parasols
feeding swans and apparently refusing the invitation of one of their
number, who was seated in a boat, to go for a nice row.
"That is the house," explained Aunt Laura, "as it was when my
grandfather altered it, and made the lake, which is now all grown round
with rhododendrons and other trees, so that you cannot see it, as it is
represented there. But I think it is a fine picture."
She put her little grey head crowned by its cap of lace and ribbons on
one side, bird-like, as if she were trying to judge how the house might
strike a stranger. "It was not in that house your ancestor lived," she
told Lady Susan. "That was burnt down, more's the pity, for I believe
it was still larger and finer than the present one. I should like to
possess a picture of it, but that is impossible because none exists.
At any rate, it was very kind of Humphrey to find this one for me and
have it well framed, as you see, and give it to me for a Christmas
present. It is such little attentions as that that people value, my
dear, when they come to my age."
As they walked away along the village street Lady Susan said to
Humphrey, "I do think it was nice of you to give the old lady that
picture. It seems to have pleased her very much."
"Oh, it was nothing," said Humphrey. "And she's worth pleasing."
"Yes, I think she's very nice," Lady Susan agreed.
"I'm glad you like her," said Humphrey, "and I think she's disposed to
like you. I say, I wish you'd go and look her up with the twins some
time to-morrow--without me, I mean. They go to see her every day, and
she'd take it as a compliment if you went again of your own accord."
"Oh, certainly I will," said Lady Susan.