DICK COMES HOME
As the time came near for Dick's visit the Squire's mood changed from
one of genial satisfaction to a nervous irascibility, which, as Joan
said to Nancy, made him very difficult to live with.
"I know," Nancy agreed. "It is really rather degrading to have to try
and keep him in a good temper."
"Good temper!" repeated Joan. "It is as much as one can do to keep him
from snapping off one's head for nothing at all; in fact, one can't do
it."
"I think," said Nancy reflectively, "that a time will come when we
shall have to take father in hand and teach him how to behave. That's
darling mother's mistake--that she's never done it. My view is that a
woman has got to keep a man in order, or he will tyrannise over her.
Don't you think that is so, Joan?"
"From what I have observed," replied Joan--they were sitting on the big
sofa before the schoolroom fire--"I should say it was. And it's a bad
thing for men themselves. Of course, we know quite well that father is
frightened to death of what Dick will say to him when he comes, but if
we were old enough--and mother cared to do it--to make him hide it up
when he's with us, it wouldn't have nearly such a bad effect on him.
He would have to forget it sometimes; now he never does."
Whether or no the Squire was frightened to death of what Dick would say
to him when he came, he was certainly upset at the idea of what lay
before him. Although he had as yet taken no definite steps, he had
come to the decision that Dick, as far as was possible, should be
disinherited, if he made the marriage that now seemed inevitable. The
news of Humphrey's desirable engagement had made the other look still
more undesirable, and it had taken off the edge of his strong aversion
to act in a way so opposed to all his life-long intentions. It seemed
almost to have justified his decision, and it had certainly softened to
himself the sting of it.
But it was one thing to allow his mind to dwell on the unhoped-for
compensations of his decision, when Dick by his own choice had cut
himself off from Kencote and remained away from it, and it was quite
another to contemplate his coming back, before the decision was made
irrevocable, on a footing so different from the one he had hitherto
occupied. The Squire was made intensely uncomfortable at the thought
of how he should bear himself. He did now want to see his eldest son
again, and to be friends with him. That desire had been greatly
weakened while his mind had occupied itself with Humphrey's affair, but
he saw, dimly, that it had only been sleeping, that he would always
want Dick, however much he might have reason to be pleased with
Humphrey, and that he was laying up for himself unhappiness in the
future in working to put Humphrey into Dick's place, as he had rashly
promised himself that he would do.
Humphrey, perhaps unwisely as regards his own interest, had announced
his departure for London soon after it was known that Dick was coming
down, and the Squire was left to turn things over in his mind with the
distraction of Humphrey's affairs and Humphrey's presence withdrawn
from him.
The twins went in the carriage to meet Dick at the station. They
squeezed in on either side of him and made their pleasure at seeing him
both vocal and tangible.
"Dear, darling old Dick," said Joan, trying to seize his hand under the
bearskin rug, "it is very wrong of you to stay away from home. We've
missed you awfully."
"You seem more of a fluffy angel than ever now we have got you back,"
said Nancy. "How true it is what the old Starling used to say, that we
don't know our blessings till they have left us."
"Thanks very much," replied Dick. "What's this I hear about Humphrey
being engaged? But I suppose they wouldn't have told you yet."
"Told us!" echoed Joan.
"We told _them_!" said Nancy.
"Oh, you did! Trust you for nosing out a secret."
"It wasn't much of a secret," said Joan. "Silky Susan--oh, I beg her
pardon, we mustn't call her that now--I mean sweet Sue, was all
eyes--big round ones."
"And she took a great deal of trouble to ingratiate herself with us,"
said Nancy. "We're not considered worth it as a rule, and of course we
see through it in a moment, because we're not really her sort."
"But we're going to be," said Joan. "Humphrey told us that we ought to
copy her in the way we behave, and we said we would."
"Jolly glad to get the chance," added Nancy. "We want to be sweet
girls, but nobody has ever shown us how, before."
"Oh, you're all right," said Dick. "You needn't try to alter."
"Thank you, dear Dick," replied Joan. "You are blind to our faults,
and it is very sweet of you. But there is room for improvement, and
what with Miss Phipp to train our brains and sweet Sue Clinton to
improve our manners, we feel we're getting a tremendous chance, don't
we, Nancy?"
"Rather!" acquiesced Nancy; "the chance of a life time. We lie awake
at night thinking about it."
Dick let them chatter on, and retired into his own thoughts. He would
have liked to know how his father had taken the news of his coming, but
was unwilling to question them, and he had never allowed them to
exercise their critical faculties on their father before him; so they
were not likely now to volunteer enlightenment. As the carriage rolled
smoothly over the gravel of the drive through the park, he too, like
his father, felt some discomfort at the thought of the meeting that lay
before him.
Except that he had come out of his room and was waiting in the hall to
receive his son, which had not been his usual custom, there was nothing
in the Squire's greeting which could arouse comment amongst the
servants who were present at it. This was always a great point at
Kencote. "For God's sake, don't let the servants talk," was a phrase
often on the Squire's lips; but he himself, in any crisis, provided
them with more food for talk than anybody else.
"How are you, Dick?" he said, shaking hands. "We were beginning to
think we should never see you again." (This was for the benefit of the
servants.) "The meet's at Horley Wood to-morrow, but I'm not going
out. I've got a touch of rheumatism. Come in and have a cup of tea."
They all went into the morning-room. "Mother, can't we begin to have
tea downstairs now?" asked Joan. "We're quite old enough. We don't
make messes any more."
Thus by a timely stroke a long-desired concession was won, for the only
obstacle hitherto in the way had been the Squire's firm pronouncement
that children ought to be kept in their proper place as long as they
were children, and the proper place for Joan and Nancy at tea-time was
the schoolroom. But he was now so greatly relieved at having them
there to centre conversation on that he said with a strong laugh,
taking Joan by the shoulder and drawing her to him, "Now, there's
impudence for you! But I think we might let them off the chain now,
mother, eh?"
"In holiday time," acquiesced Mrs. Clinton, "and on the days when
they're not at lessons."
"But if they get sticky with jam," said Dick, "they lose their
privilege for a week."
"And any one who drops crumbs on the carpet must have tea with us in
the schoolroom for a week," said Nancy.
The subject was discussed at some length on those lines until Mrs.
Clinton sent the twins up to take off their hats, when their elders
still went on discussing them.
"So you've chosen the blue-stocking, mother," said Dick.
"Yes; she is coming next week," said Mrs. Clinton.
"Mother didn't want anybody dangerously attractive about the house,"
said the Squire, hastening to take up that subject, which was continued
until the twins returned, when they were allowed to dominate the
conversation to an unusual degree.
But at last the time came when the Squire had always been accustomed to
say, "Well, we'll go into my room and have a cigar," or to go out
without saying anything, with the certainty of Dick's following him.
He could not now go out of the room without saying anything, for that
would have amounted to a declaration made before the children that he
did not want Dick's company, and he shirked the usual formula which
would precipitate the "talk" that he dreaded.
Dick relieved him for the time being. "I'll go into the smoking-room
and write a few letters," he said.
"Ah, well, I'll go into my room and smoke a cigar," said the Squire,
making a move.
Mrs. Clinton asked Joan to ring the bell. "They may not have lit the
fire in the smoking-room," she said.
The Squire looked back. "Eh? What!" he said sharply. "Of course
they've lit it, if one of the boys is at home."
But it appeared that they had not lit it, and "they," in the person of
a footman, were instructed to repair the oversight immediately. It was
a disturbing episode. Dick had used the smoking-room less than the
others, having usually shared the Squire's big room with him as if it
were his own, and they had probably omitted to light the smoking-room
fire when he only of the boys was at home, on occasions before, without
the omission being noticed. But it looked as if differences were
beginning to be made, as if the dread "they" had begun to talk; and the
Squire hated the suspicion of their talk like poison. At any rate, it
drew attention to Dick's announcement that he would write his letters
in the smoking-room instead of in the library, and that would be food
for talk. He said with a frown, "Hadn't you better come into my room?
You can write your letters there. You generally do."
So Dick followed him, and the door was shut on them.
The spurt of annoyance had brought the Squire up to the point of
"tackling the situation." After all, it had to be talked out between
them, and it was useless to put off the moment and pretend that things
were as usual.
"I suppose your mind is still made up?" he said, with his back to his
son.
"Yes," replied Dick. "We needn't go over all that again."
"I don't want to," said the Squire. "Only we had better have things
plain. I won't receive her, either before marriage or after."
Dick put constraint on himself, but his face grew red. "If you are
going to talk like that," he said after a pause, "I had better not have
come."
The Squire turned and faced him. The frown was still on his face, but
it was one of trouble. "Oh, my dear boy," he said, "I'm glad enough to
see you. I wish you had never gone away. I wish to God you'd drop it
all and come back, and let us be as we were before. But if you won't
change, I won't change, and if we're to be comfortable together these
few days, let's know at the beginning where we stand. That's all I
meant."
"All right," said Dick rather ungraciously. "But I should like to know
how I stand in other matters as well. You've sent me messages. You're
going to make me pay pretty heavily for marrying the woman I've chosen.
I'm not complaining and I'm not asking you to change your mind. But I
think I've a right to know exactly where I stand."
"Well, then, sit down," said the Squire, "and I'll tell you."
They were confronted in a way neither of them had been prepared for.
Certainly Dick had not come home to ask for explanations, nor had his
father meant to open up the now closed dispute. Some underling in the
back regions, with his mouth full of bread and butter and tea and his
mind relaxed from his duties to his own insignificant enjoyments, was
responsible for what was now going to be said in his master's sanctum.
A match struck and put to the smoking-room fire would have altered the
course of affairs at Kencote, perhaps only for an hour or two, perhaps
for Dick's lifetime. Now, at any rate, there was to be a discussion
which would otherwise have been deferred, and for their own future
comfort neither the Squire nor Dick was in the most tractable mood for
discussion.
"You know how the property stands and what goes with it?" the Squire
began.
"Yes, I know all that," said Dick. "There's about eight thousand
acres, and a rent-roll in good times of perhaps a couple of thousand a
year. Then there are a couple of livings to present to, a house which
might be let with the shooting by a fellow who couldn't afford to live
in it for, let's say, a thousand a year. So I shall be fairly
comfortably off somewhere else as long as I do let, and I dare say
there won't be much difficulty about that. There are plenty of rich
manufacturers who would like to take a place like Kencote."
Although his mind had been on other plans, and he had no sort of
intention of living anywhere but at Kencote after he should have
succeeded his father, still, in the background of his thoughts there
had lain great bitterness at this preposterous punishment that his
father was preparing for him; and the bitterness now showed plainly
enough in his speech.
It aroused in the Squire a curious conflict of emotions. The picture
of a rich outsider settled in the house which had sheltered none but
Clintons for unnumbered years appalled him, and, if Dick had presented
it for his inspection without heat, must have turned him from his
purpose then and there; for that purpose had never been examined in its
ultimate bearings, and would not have been formed except with the view
of bending Dick to his will. But, already ruffled, he became more so
at Dick's tone, and his uneasiness at the fearful idea which had been
evolved, although it was rejected for the moment, translated itself
into anger.
"You've no right to talk like that," he said hotly. "If you would come
to your senses you could be as well off living here as I am."
"I know I could," said Dick more quietly, "if I were blackguard enough
to give up a woman for the sake of money. But there's no use at all in
talking about that. I'm quite prepared for what you are going to do,
and I haven't come here, as I told you, to ask you to change your mind.
It's your affair; only if you haven't looked what you're going to do in
the face yet, I'm interested enough to say that I think you ought to."
"You'll have enough money," snapped the Squire, not at all mollified by
this speech, "to make it possible for you to live at Kencote--you'll
have much more than enough money, as I told you--if you give up this
marriage. You say you won't give it up. Very well, then, you can go
and live somewhere else and Humphrey can take your place here."
Dick's astonished stare recalled him to his senses. He had spoken out
of his anger. He had never meant to go so far as this. But having
gone so far he went on to make his position good.
"Now we won't beat about the bush any more," he said judicially. "As
far as I'm concerned--what I'm going to leave him, I mean--Humphrey
couldn't afford to live at Kencote. I'm not going to rob others to put
him in your place, although I tell you this, he's going to be put in
your place as soon as you get married, until my death. I dare say you
have heard he's going to be married himself, and it's a marriage I'm
pleased with. She won't bring him much money, I dare say, but that
will be put right in another quarter. He'll be well off from the
first, and I shouldn't wonder if he weren't better off still before
long. He'll live at the dower-house and work with me at the management
of the place, just as you have always done. And when you succeed,
you'll probably find him a richer man than you are."
Dick rose from his chair. "Thank you," he said. "I know where I stand
now. And as there doesn't seem to be much more to stop here for, I'll
get back to London."
It was the Squire's turn now to stare. "What do you mean?" he gasped.
"You're not going!"
But Dick had already left the room.
The Squire remained sitting forward in his chair looking into the fire.
His face, which had been red and hard, gradually changed its colour and
expression. He looked a tried and troubled old man. He had burnt his
boats now. He had allowed his anger to dictate words which he would
not have used in cold blood. He had insulted his son, as well as
injured him. Dick was going out of his father's house in anger, and he
would not return to it. As long as he lived he would not see him again.
These thoughts were too much for him. His own anger had disappeared.
He could not let his son go away from him like that. He had not meant
what he had said--at least, he had not meant to say it in that way. He
rose quickly and went out of the room.
When Dick had left him he had gone into the smoking-room, where the
belated fire was burning briskly, summoned his servant and ordered his
cart. His intention was to drive straight over to Bathgate and wait
there for a train to London. Virginia was not at Blaythorn, or he
would have gone there. He had told her that he was going down to
Kencote to make one last effort at reconciliation with his father, and
she had said that she would pay an overdue weekend visit at the same
time, so that he should not complicate matters by coming over to see
her from Kencote. "For I'm sure you won't be able to keep away if you
are so close to me," she had said, holding him by the lapels of his
coat and smiling up in his face. It had been an old engagement between
them that he should have spent this particular week-end with her at
Blaythorn, and he now wished heartily that he had not changed his
plans. "Kicked out of the house within ten minutes!" he said to
himself, standing in front of the fire, when he had given his orders.
He was consumed with anger against his father, and had an impulse to
get away from the house at once, to start on foot, and let his cart
catch him up. But it was raining hard, and there were a couple of
notes that he had to write for the evening post. He might as well
write them now, and he sat down at the table to do so.
The door opened, and Mrs. Clinton came in. "Dick dear," she said in
her quiet voice, which hardly betokened the trouble that could be seen
in her face, "you are not going to leave us like this!"
He turned in his seat and faced her. "I'm going in a few minutes," he
said, "and I'm not coming back again. It's good-bye this time, mother."
"Oh, why can't you be a little patient with him?" she cried. "He
wanted so to see you here again. If he has said anything to offend you
he will be very sorry for it. Dick, don't go like this. It will be
the end of everything."
He got up from the table and put his arm round her shoulder, leading
her up to the hearth. "You and I will see each other," he said kindly.
"It isn't the end of everything between us, mother. But with him, and
with Kencote, it is. There's no help for it. He's definitely against
me now. He's told me he's going to put Humphrey in my place--straight
out. I can't stand that, you know. If he's going to say things like
that--and do them--what's the good of my staying here?"
"He can't mean it," she pleaded. "He is pleased with Humphrey now, but
he has always loved you best of all his sons. It isn't in his power to
put any one in your place."
"I dare say he'll be sorry for having done it," he said, "but he's
going to do it, all the same. I can put up with the idea, mother, as
long as I'm not at Kencote, but it's a bit too much to stay here and
have that sort of thing said to you."
He dropped his arm and turned round sharply, for the door had opened
again, and now it was his father who came into the room.
"Dick," he said, shutting the door and coming forward, "I said too much
just now. For God's sake forget it!"
There was a moment's pause. Then Dick said in a hard voice, "What am I
to forget?"
The Squire looked at him with his troubled, perplexed frown. "Can't
you give it up, my boy?" he asked.
Dick turned away with an impatient shrug of the shoulders.
"God knows I don't want to make any changes," said his father. "It's
worse for me than it is for you, Dick. Humphrey won't be to me what
you have been. If you would only meet me half-way, I----"
Dick turned suddenly. "Yes, I'll meet you half-way," he said. "It is
what I came here to say I would do, only you went so far beyond
everything that there was nothing left for me to say. If you are going
to set yourself to make Humphrey a richer man than I, as you
said--well, that is beyond anything I had thought of--that you should
be thinking of it in that way, I mean."
"Dick, I've never thought of it in that way," said his father. "And
you must forget that I said it."
Mrs. Clinton spoke. "You have heard of Humphrey's engagement," she
said. "Your father's idea is that he shall live here, at the
dower-house, and help him with the estate management."
"That's it," said the Squire. "It was either that or getting a regular
agent in the place of Haydon. I can't do it all myself. But if you
would only come back, Dick----"
"I can't do that," said Dick, "at least, not now. I'm tied. And I
can't object to your getting Humphrey in, if you think he'll take to
the job. It isn't that. And it isn't that I mind much your leaving
money to the others instead of to me--as long as you don't leave it all
to one of them."
"I told you I wasn't going to do that," said the Squire. "I'd never
thought of it. What I said about Humphrey I said on the spur of the
moment, and I'm sorry for it."
"Oh, all right," said Dick; "we needn't worry about that any more. Do
what you like for Humphrey. I've no wish to put a spoke in his wheel,
and I wish I thought he felt the same about putting one in mine. I'll
tell you what I told you at the beginning--I've more or less reconciled
myself to the change you're going to make. At any rate, I shan't
grumble at it. It'll only mean doing a bit more for myself instead of
looking to you for everything."
The Squire did not like this. "You couldn't do much," he said, "to
make up for the loss of the unsettled property, if I left it away from
you."
"I could do something," replied Dick, "and I'm going to."
"Let us sit down," Mrs. Clinton said. "Dick, if you have anything to
tell us, if you are going to meet us half-way, as you say, let us hear."
They sat down, and Dick considered for a moment, and then looked up at
his father. "Neither of us has given way an inch yet," he said.
The Squire frowned. "There can be no giving way on the point of your
marriage," he said.
Dick was about to reply, but Mrs. Clinton put her hand on his knee.
"Let him tell us what he has in his mind, Edward," she said.
"I was going to say," said Dick, with a gulp, "that I am quite prepared
to give way on the question of the property. I wanted you to receive
Virginia, and to give me everything you were going to give me. I don't
ask that now. Do what you have said you would do. I shan't grouse
about it. I shan't let it make any difference between you and me. I
promise you that. That's where I'll give way."
The Squire felt very uncomfortable. Conciliation was in the air, and
he was prepared to be conciliatory. But how was he to meet this?
"What do you want me to do, then?" he asked, "short of----"
Dick took him up. "I'm going to marry Virginia Dubec," he said
decisively. "That is settled, and you can't stop me. You haven't been
fair either to me or to her about it. You have never given her a
chance to prove to you, as she could prove, that she is as unlike the
woman you take her for as any woman on earth could be. And you have
gone to greater lengths in trying to stop me doing what I'm going to do
than I think you were justified in going."
The Squire broke in on him. "Oh, if you're going to open up----" he
began; but Mrs. Clinton said, "Edward, let Dick finish what he has to
say"; and Dick went on quickly, "It's the last time I need mention all
that. I'm ready to forget it, every bit of it, and you'll never hear a
single word more about it, if--if----"
The words that rose to his lips were, "If you'll undertake to behave
yourself from now onwards," but since he had to find other words to
express his meaning, and paused for a moment, the Squire put in, "Well,
if what? I'm waiting to hear."
"You can't stop my marriage," said Dick. "The only thing you can do is
to recognise it now, unless you deliberately choose that this shall be
the last time we are to see one another."
The Squire's frown of perplexity became a frown of displeasure. "If
those are your terms----" he began; but again Mrs. Clinton interrupted
him.
"When Dick has been married some time," she said, "you will not want to
keep him at arm's length. You will make the best of it. It is
senseless for either you or him to talk of an estrangement that will
last a lifetime. Such a thing could not happen. There would be no
grounds for it. Edward, you have done what you could to prevent Dick
from following his will. Now you must accept his decision, and not go
on to make further unhappiness."
He turned on her a reproachful eye. "What, you on his side, against
me!" he exclaimed.
"As long as there was a chance of your having your way," she said, "I
would not act in any way against you. But now I say that I have seen
for myself, and I do not believe that you have anything to fear. Dick
has chosen for himself, and we ought now to respect his choice."
Dick put out his hand and pressed his mother's. The Squire, faced with
decision, almost with authority, from a quarter in which he had
hitherto expected and obtained nothing but submission, showed neither
surprise nor resentment. He sat looking on to the ground, his frown of
displeasure now once again changed into a frown of perplexity.
In a moment or two he looked up and spoke, but without indignation.
"You want me, now, after all I've said and done," he said, "to give in
altogether and receive this Lady George Dubec as my daughter-in-law?"
"I think," said Mrs. Clinton, "that the time has come when you must."
"Oh, for God's sake, let's have an end of it, father," said Dick.
"Give her a chance. It's all I ask of you. Let me bring her here. If
you haven't changed your mind after her visit--then both of us will
have done what we can for each other--and you need never see her again
as long as you live."
The Squire sat without replying for a long time. Then he got up and
turned to leave the room. "Very well, Dick," he said, "you may bring
her here."