RECONCILIATION
The Earl of Crowborough, though he lived in a Castle, and enjoyed a
rent-roll which provided him with everything that was suitable to his
rank in the way of elaborate living, yet shared many simple tastes with
people of less exalted station. Among them was that of propelling
himself about on a tricycle. He had acquired one of those machines in
their early days of solid rubber tires, before the invention of the
safety bicycle, and ridden it for many years, until it became almost a
curiosity, or what the shops call an "antique." He would probably have
continued to ride it until it could be repaired no longer; but riding
through the village of Pershore one morning he had heard somebody--he
never wished to inquire whom--call out: "Here comes that old fool on his
bone-shaker!" After that he had bought a new tricycle of the latest
pattern and its pneumatic tires and easy running had given him a new
delight in his chosen form of exercise and locomotion; so that he could
hardly be persuaded to drive in a motor-car or behind horses when he was
in the country, and would have ridden his tricycle in London if he had
not shrunk from the comments that might reach his ears.
It was on his tricycle that he rode over to Hayslope one afternoon to
look up his old friend, Colonel Eldridge. He did want this
unpleasantness between them ended, and though he believed that he had
been the chiefly injured party, his kindness of heart prompted him to
have done with it all and forget it. He was a creature of habit, and
Hayslope and the people who lived there had come into his life in the
country ever since his childhood. At the height of the recent
disturbances he had never got rid of the feeling of discomfort when
custom had suggested to him that he should ride over to Hayslope, as he
had so often been wont to do, and he had realized that the familiar road
was closed to him. He had continued to visit the Grange, but it was not
the same thing. The Grange was new, at least in its present aspect; the
Hall was the same as he had always known it--a nice comfortable place
full of old memories which kept alive old friendships. There was no
other house within reach of his that he liked so much. And though he
liked William Eldridge, it was Edmund towards whom his deeper feelings
went out. They had been friends for nearly fifty years. Lord Crowborough
did not possess many intimate friends, and there was no special
community of taste between him and Colonel Eldridge, or even of
interest, outside their common interests as neighbouring landowners. But
a tie had grown up between them. Edmund Eldridge did not make the
demands upon his substantial but slow moving intellect that William did;
they were always at ease together.
He could not do without his old friend. Speculation was alien to his
habit of mind, but he did sometimes wonder, during the course of their
estrangement, whether the same sense of blankness might not be working
in Edmund as well. At last he decided to go over and see. He made no
plans as to what he should do if he were received coldly, nor did he
intend to make any appeal. He wanted Edmund again, and it was in his
mind, though not consciously defined as an expectation, that Edmund
would be glad to see him.
Behold him, then, laboriously pedalling up the drive to Hayslope Hall on
a warm afternoon, a not undignified figure, though his large form
lurched and swayed as he took the rise, and his chosen form of country
costume was a suit of pepper and salt and a high-crowned felt hat. But
for his coloured tie, he might have been taken for a country parson of
the older school, and he would not have been displeased at the
comparison, for he was a pillar of the church on its official side, and
had a greater regard for its religious significance than many of its
supporters in that aspect.
Life was pursuing its ordinary course at Hayslope Hall on a summer
afternoon. In these leaner times lawn tennis was apt to be the chief of
its recreations, and the excuse for the gathering together of
neighbours. There were several of them in the garden as Lord Crowborough
was convoyed across the lawn, mopping his super-heated brow, and wishing
that his first appearance were a little less public. Colonel Eldridge
was playing; but he left off immediately, and after greeting his old
friend called to somebody else to take his place in the game, though
Lord Crowborough begged him to continue it.
Colonel Eldridge was not a man to show his emotions except occasionally
that of annoyance, but they were strong within him as his eyes fell upon
the familiar figure advancing towards him, and would have made it
impossible for him to continue the game, though he was in the middle of
his service.
He had never realized until that moment--perhaps he had forbidden
himself the realization--how warm a corner there was in his heart for
this tall, bulky figure, and how empty that place had been of late. The
last vestiges of resentment against him melted away completely. He was
as glad to see him as he had ever been to see anybody.
But nothing of this showed in his face, hardly even the pleasure, as he
shook hands with him, and said: "Halloa! Tricycled over? Afraid you've
got rather warm."
A little later they were sitting together indoors, in grateful coolness,
and there was a tumbler at Lord Crowborough's elbow, which, however,
contained nothing alcoholic. No word had been said about the late
dispute, but the two men were on their old terms. There was gratitude in
the minds of both of them, but it did not show in their speech, which
was level and unconcerned.
They talked first chiefly about the land, and the difficulties of
landlords, with special reference to Mr. Henry Vincent, and whether he
knew anything about the conditions of landowning at all or was only out
to screw as much as possible out of the unfortunate landlord. The
question admitted of some doubt, and there were instances to be brought
forward in support of either view. The matter that was engaging Colonel
Eldridge's attention at this time, which also affected Lord Crowborough,
was fully discussed, and Sir William's name came up in the course of
discussion.
"I don't think he knows Vincent," said Colonel Eldridge; "but I suppose
it would be easy for him to get an introduction. He has the whole
business at his fingers' ends, and is keen to get it settled on the
lines we've agreed upon."
"William's a very capable fellow," said Lord Crowborough. "If he throws
himself into a question of this sort he's likely to get it put
through--unless he puts their backs up."
"Why should he do that?"
"Well, I've a great admiration for William, and of course it has been a
pleasure to me, knowing him ever since he was a boy, to see him climb up
the ladder; he did extraordinary good work during the war; I've heard
fellows say so. But I've met people who say that--well, that he does put
people's backs up; that he's got a way of pushing his own ideas, and
won't listen to anything against them. _I_ don't say it, mind you."
"I think it's a very unfair accusation." Colonel Eldridge spoke warmly,
and it delighted Lord Crowborough's heart to hear him. He even disposed
himself to increase his indignation, because if they two could dispute
upon a subject, as they always had done, and still remain fast friends,
the larger dispute which had set them at enmity for a time must hold out
no further danger.
"Well, that's what a number of people do say," he said dogmatically.
"Then you ought to contradict it if they say it to you. You know
William."
"Oh, yes; and I like William. Nobody likes William more than I do, but
he does set great store by his own opinion. It's a very good thing, if
you're running a business or whatever it may be. Make up your mind what
you want done and don't listen to the people who want it done
differently. I dare say that's all it really means. Still, that's the
general opinion of William, and there's no good shutting your eyes to
it. Besides, you must have had experience of it yourself. You and
William get on very well here--better than most brothers would, I dare
say--but if William wants his own way I'll bet he takes it."
Lord Crowborough went rather beyond what he had grounds for saying here,
for the sake of keeping up that mood of opposition which under the
circumstances was gratifying to him, and was not prepared to give
chapter and verse for his statement, as he was now requested to do.
"Has anybody told you that? What do you mean by it exactly? Is there any
gossip about any dispute between William and me? It would annoy me very
much if it were so."
"Oh, I don't say that, Edmund. You know best what's passing between you
and William."
Colonel Eldridge jumped to conclusions. "It's damnably annoying how
things get put about, and exaggerated," he said. "William and I are the
best of friends--always have been; but each of us has got his own way
of looking at things and sometimes I don't say we don't have a little
breeze, which makes no difference, or we shouldn't have chosen to live
here close together for so many years."
"That's true enough; though of course it's William who has chosen to
live here, for you can't help yourself."
"That's a foolish way of putting it. If I hadn't let William do what he
liked with the Grange he wouldn't have wanted to live here; there
wouldn't have been a house for him. It hasn't altogether suited me what
he has done there, but I've let him do it because I like having him
there."
"I suppose as he and his boy will come after you it doesn't so much
matter what he does. I must say I shouldn't like, myself, to have a
house of that sort growing up within a stone's throw of my own. I should
think the Grange is as big as this house now, isn't it? And with William
I should never be surprised to see it a good deal bigger. He's a fellow
who likes spending his money and never seems satisfied with what he's
got."
"There's some truth in what you say there, and as a matter of fact
William and I have discussed that very question. He is making an
addition to his garden there at this very minute. I dare say gossip has
got about that I objected. Well, I did tell him that I thought it had
gone quite far enough, and I shouldn't care for any further additions to
be made."
"But you didn't stop him making this one?"
"Of course I didn't. I tell you that we understand one another
thoroughly."
"There you are then. In the long run it comes to this, that he does
exactly what he likes, which is what I said at the beginning. Still,
William's a good fellow, and I know he's devoted to you; I've reason to
know it. I should like to have a brother of that sort myself, but my
brother Alfred has always been a nuisance to me, with his schemes for
making enormous fortunes which never came off. It's different when your
brother has a lot more money than you have. It's a very good thing, with
all the burdens they're heaping on land nowadays, to have money brought
into a property from outside. I suppose William could buy another place
now, if he wanted to. I rather admire him for sticking to Hayslope, and
if it amuses him to spend money on the Grange--well, it's because he
likes it better than any other place."
Colonel Eldridge walked to the lodge gates with Lord Crowborough, who,
mounted on his machine, suited his pace to his. They parted with much
good will on either side, though with no more than a "Good-bye then for
the present" to show it.
As he walked slowly back to the house, his heart was tender within him.
It was almost worth while to have quarrelled with this old friend to
have him back on the old terms again. But quarrelling was never worth
while. He had come rather near to quarrelling with William over that
affair of Barton's Close. He remembered with some compunction that he
had spoken angrily to his wife about it, and had written to William
with more irritation than he now liked to think about; though he had
shown in the latter part of his letter that the strength of his protest
was not meant to go deeper than its expression. William had not yet
answered his letter, as there would have been just time for him to do,
which seemed to show that he had not taken it in offence; and the work
of his garden was still going on. Colonel Eldridge had been inclined to
take exception to that, although he was quite prepared for it to go on.
It would have been better if William had written, saying that he had not
understood his objection as serious, or something of that sort. It gave
some colour to Crowborough's criticism of his way of pushing through his
intentions. But it was true, what Crowborough had also said, that he
loved Hayslope, and preferred to spend his money there rather than to
make another place to his liking. Colonel Eldridge well knew that itch
for improvement, and more improvement, and had acted upon it himself in
the days when there had been money to spare for that sort of thing. He
now thought of his protest as altogether exaggerated, and wished he
hadn't made it. He was even inclined to be interested in the new garden
that William had designed, and thought that he might be able to suggest
some slight improvement in the details of the design when they came
together on it, with the protest put aside and forgotten.
As he walked slowly along on the grass by the drive, with the wide acres
of his park surrounding him, the sheep and cattle feeding peacefully, or
lying in the shade of the trees in which he took pride, he thought of
himself as too apt to get annoyed about trifles.
It had not always been so. He was rigid in the demands he made upon
others, but he thought about them kindly too--even his servants, whom he
treated with old-fashioned stiffness, but whose welfare he would take
pains to promote; much more the members of his family, in whose
happiness his was bound up. He was the head of his house, and that must
be recognized by everybody around him. But his rule was not exercised
for his own exclusive benefit, and it had been his pride not to make it
irksome by indulgence in transitory moods.
He was more at peace with himself at this moment than he had been since
his troubles had come upon him. He saw that the trouble about money had
loomed too large in his mind. There was enough money to have in the
quiet way in which life had been going at Hayslope Hall, now for some
time past. Cynthia was making herself happy in it; the children were
happy. Why shouldn't he be? For the first time he caught a glimpse of a
life lived more closely to the soil than it had come to be lived in such
houses as his before the war. In the time of his great-grandfather,
before a rich marriage had brought more money into the family, when a
London house had been added to the country one, and the country house
keyed up to a more elaborate style, Hayslope had been occupied for by
far the greater part of the year, with a rare visit to London or Bath,
or to the country houses of friends or relations. There were old letters
and diaries in the library which told of the life that had centred at
Hayslope in those days. It was far simpler than the life that he and his
had lived there before the war, but it seemed to have contented those
who lived it.
They saw the seasons in and out, and each had its duties as well as
pleasures. Guests would be entertained for weeks together, and live the
daily life of their hosts; they seemed to see even more of their country
neighbours, who lived in the same way as they did, with their recognized
indoor and outdoor pursuits to fill the days, and their merry-makings in
company, more eagerly looked forward to than the more frequent and
elaborate amusements of to-day. The great charm of those days seemed in
part actually to rest upon the difficulty of communication with the
world outside, which concentrated the sweets of life upon the country
home. And where the home was of the spacious and well-provided kind of
Hayslope Hall, it must have been more cherished than if it were only
resorted to for periods in the year, and even those periods broken up by
frequent departures elsewhere.
Perhaps that old stay-at-home life of the country house would come back
of compulsion, now that so many people were straitened in circumstances.
It would be a good thing in many ways if it did; if the men who owned
the land lived more closely to it, and identified themselves with those
who were bound to it. That was a larger question; but there was no doubt
that it could be made a satisfying life, if the necessary changes were
squarely faced and accepted, and the life was arranged on a new basis.
It came to his mind, with a gratifying sense of discovery, that for him
and his family that basis had already been found. It only remained to
cease always casting back towards what had been before and could now be
no longer. The best part remained, and life for him and his at Hayslope
might be happy as it had ever been.
And the other deeper trouble was clearing too. He was glad that it had
been mentioned between him and his old friend, whom for a time it had
parted. At the last, as they had gone down the drive together, Lord
Crowborough had said to him, quite simply: "We fell out about your poor
boy, Edmund. I don't want to go away and leave him as something that
must never be mentioned between us. It was a sad business, but for him
it was wiped out when he fought well and was killed. He was your only
son, and you've lost him. I've been more lucky in keeping mine."
That had put the finishing touch to their reconciliation. Hugo's lapses
could be forgotten now, as they had been forgiven. They had been bad.
For a long time after his death one trouble after another had come
because of him, one revelation after another had been made. He had kept
them nearly all to himself. Only his brother knew something of them, and
he knew by no means all. His wife knew nothing. But an end seemed to
have come to it at last. The burden on his mind was lifting, though it
still lay heavy upon his purse, and would mean rigid economy for years
to come.
How good William had been about it all! A real consolation and support
in his troubles, and willing, as he was able, to lift even the money
burden of them from him. He blamed himself for having shown the
irritability that had grown upon him, under the stress he had gone
through, towards his brother. It was a poor return for what he had been
so ready to do for him, to make a mountain out of that little molehill
of irritation over Barton's Close. But William would not make too much
of that. Perhaps the very best way to show him that it had been only a
surface irritation, which did not affect the permanent tie of affection
between them, would be to accept the help that he had so freely offered.
Only pride had held him back, and that had prevented him from even
acknowledging the generosity of the offer. He had simply put it aside.
With that burden removed, scarcely any trouble would remain to him at
all. He had already everything that was necessary to his own life for
the remainder of his years. It was only upon Cynthia and the children
that the economies which now had to be practised bore hardly. With this
relief, which it was open to him to take at any time, he could give them
more--if not all that he would have been able to give them but for the
war. And he knew that William would be pleased if he were to go to him
and say that he would accept his help. It would bind them together still
more closely, for it would mean the merging of pride in affection.
He saw it all in that moment of enlightenment and softer feeling, and
lingered on his way back to the house to taste the serener air which his
vision brought him. His well-loved home would be a source of delight to
him once more, and no longer a source of anxiety, if he were to take the
freedom that he could have at any time by a word of surrender. He looked
about him before he entered the house, and the sunshine that steeped the
wide spaces of the park seemed brighter and lovelier than before. There
had lain a veil over the beauties of his home. But it only needed a
gesture of his to have it removed altogether.
The parlour-maid met him as he went into the hall. "Mr. Coombe, Sir
William's gardener, would like to see you, sir."
He went into his business room, where the man was waiting for him.
"I've had this telegram from Sir William, sir."
He handed over the pink sheet, and stood respectfully, cap in hand,
while Colonel Eldridge read it. But his eyes rested upon him with an
expression that had nothing pleasant in it.
"Stop work on new garden at once; pay outside labourers week's wages and
dismiss them."
Colonel Eldridge's eyes, resting upon the paper, remained there longer
than it required to take in its meaning. Coming immediately upon the
thoughts with which his mind had been full, they gave him an unpleasant
shock, the effect of which he could not entirely hide from the man who
had administered it to him.
"There's a mistake," he said shortly. "I never intended that the work
should be stopped."
Coombe did not take this up. "I've come to ask, sir," he said, "if
anything can be done about the men I got in to help with the work. I
had a good deal of difficulty in finding them, and I told them it was
likely to be at least a two months' job. Sir William said I could count
it as that. They're mostly men who've been in the army--unemployed.
There's dissatisfaction among them, and I--"
Colonel Eldridge had allowed him to go on because he wanted time to
collect himself; but he now interrupted brusquely: "There's no need to
make trouble at all. You can tell them there's been a mistake, and they
can go on."
Coombe's eyes dropped. He was a youngish man, with a self-confident air,
but with something secretive in his appearance and demeanour which
seemed to contradict his quiet respectful manner. "I've given them
notice, sir, on that telegram," he said. "I couldn't do anything else."
"You ought to have come and seen me first. It seems to me that you've
been glad of the opportunity to make trouble."
It was a relief to him to speak like this. He disliked the man who stood
before him with his sleek, respectful air, which he suspected to hide
hostility that would show itself in insolence if it dared.
"I didn't come to see you about that, sir. My instructions are plain
enough from that telegram, and I'd only got to carry them out."
"Then why do you come to me at all?"
"Because I thought you might be able to do something to keep these men
from making trouble, sir, as Sir William isn't here. Only two of them
belong to Hayslope--Jackson and Pegg. The others are lodging here. I've
paid them their wages, as instructed, and with no work to do they're
likely to get drinking and--"
"Oh, it's out of consideration for the good behaviour of the village
you've come to me, is it?"
"Yes, sir. And because Sir William isn't here to deal with it."
Colonel Eldridge was getting more and more annoyed with him. But his
training prevented his showing more annoyance with men of this class
than he could make effectual. "Sir William is your master," he said,
"and you are quite right to take your orders from him. But you know
perfectly well that it's for me as a magistrate to deal with anything of
that sort, whether he is here or not."
"Yes, sir, that's why I have come to you. I only meant that as the men
are upset-like at Sir William's turning them off, he might have done
something to quiet them."
There was no offence apparent in this. Colonel Eldridge thought for a
moment. "The best thing to do is to tell them that there has been a
mistake," he said. "They can go back to their work. You can tell them
that on my authority, and I'll make it right with Sir William."
Coombe hesitated, and then came plump out with a refusal. "I can't do
that, sir, without instructions from Sir William himself."
There was a moment's pause. Coombe kept his eyes on the ground, but his
face became a shade paler. Colonel Eldridge looked at him as if he would
have annihilated him, and then turned away, and said quietly: "Very
well, then. You can go."
Coombe threw a glance at him, seemed as if he were going to say
something further, but went out without a word.