DISCUSSION
Lady Eldridge was as direct in her speech and her ways as any woman
could be. Yet it did not seem possible to her to embark directly upon
the subject of which her mind was full, when Norman and Pamela had gone
off, and she and her sister-in-law were left alone together. Clothes
were the topic which Mrs. Eldridge seemed eager to discuss, and as if it
were the one upon which she had only been waiting to unburden herself.
Lady Eldridge allowed herself to drift with the stream, until some
landing-place should appear upon which she could set her foot. She was
used to humouring Cynthia in this way, who was not easily diverted from
any subject in which she was interested, though she would pursue it with
many amusing twists and turns, and never made her longest speeches
tiresome to listen to. She seemed to be full of spirit this afternoon,
and made Lady Eldridge laugh more than once, though she was increasingly
anxious to come to terms with her upon the question which must surely be
disturbing them both equally.
For nothing had been heard from Hayslope in answer to William's letter.
Coombe had written to say that he had paid off the labour, according to
instructions, and that was all. She had summoned him that morning on her
arrival at the Grange, about plants and flowers for the house, and he
had volunteered the information that most of the men who had been
working at the garden had been taken on by Colonel Eldridge. This had
given her an unpleasant shock, but she had made no comment upon it to
him, nor encouraged him to any further disclosures. She had divined from
his manner that he was hostile to her brother-in-law, and did not want
to hear about what had been happening from him first; nor to let him see
that she knew nothing.
At last she found an opening. "Cynthia dear," she said, "I must talk to
you about the garden. You must remember that I know nothing yet of what
has happened since William wrote."
Mrs. Eldridge did not lay aside the light manner in which she had been
carrying on the conversation. "Well, dear," she said, "if you must talk
about it I suppose you must. But it's such a tiresome business
altogether that I should have thought it would have been better to leave
it to the two men. If they are going to fall out about such a thing, I'm
sure you and I needn't; and of course they will come together again."
Lady Eldridge thought for a moment. "Of _course_ you and I shan't fall
out about it," she said with decision. "But it must have gone a good
deal farther than it ought to have done for you to think of such a
thing. Why didn't Edmund answer William's letter?"
"Well, there's no difficulty in answering that. His first letter to
William seemed to have been so misunderstood that he thought it better
not to write any more, but to wait till he came down. Of course he
didn't know that he wasn't coming down this week, or perhaps he _would_
have written. I think he was quite right, you know. I advised him
myself, when he wrote first of all, not to show irritation. I'm afraid
the poor old darling must have done so, and unfortunately he didn't show
me what he had written before he sent it. Oh, I think it's so much
better _not_ to write letters which may be misunderstood. I didn't
answer yours for the same reason, though I know _you_ wouldn't
misunderstand. Well, perhaps that wasn't _quite_ the reason. I didn't
want to mix myself up in it."
Lady Eldridge's spirits had lightened during the course of this speech.
"I'm so glad it was like that," she said. "I thought it must have been
something of the sort. But do you mean that Edmund didn't want William
to give up making the garden?"
"Of course he didn't. He only thought he ought to have been consulted
first. I'm bound to say I thought he had been, and I told him so. I was
as much in it as you were, in a sort of way. I was interested in the
scheme, as you know. _I_ certainly didn't want it given up, and I was
disappointed when William threw it all over."
"But--Edmund did object, you know; and pretty strongly. I saw his
letter. William felt that he couldn't go on, in the face of that."
"Ye--es. But Edmund would have told him that he hadn't meant him to
stop, if he had been given the chance. Men do act hastily when they are
a little upset with one another; but it was a pity that William took up
the attitude he did, I think. With just a _little_ consideration for
Edmund's feelings the trouble would have blown over entirely. Now I'm
afraid there is quite a lot to put straight, and it has tried Edmund
very much."
"I don't understand it, Cynthia. William wired at once to have the work
stopped, according to what he thought were Edmund's wishes. It was a
good deal to do under the circumstances, and what could he have done
more? Surely, Edmund could easily have put it all straight by firing
back that William had misunderstood him, and then--"
"Wiring back, dear! William didn't wire to Edmund. He took no notice of
Edmund at all. The first Edmund knew was that Coombe came to tell him
that he had dismissed the men. After that what _could_ he do?"
"What he seems to have done was to take the men on himself."
"I'm rather sorry he did do that, because of course he can't afford it,
and it will only add to his worries, poor dear! Still, there they were
dismissed at a moment's notice, in a fit of temper, you might say,
and--"
"Oh, _no_, Cynthia. It wasn't so. You mustn't say that."
"My dear child, we must be reasonable on both sides if we are to talk it
over at all. I've admitted quite frankly on my part that Edmund was
hasty in what he first wrote to William, and you ought to admit on yours
that William acted in the same way."
"But, Cynthia dear, I _know_. William _was_ annoyed, but after he had
talked it all over he got rid of his annoyance. I _know_ that it had
passed when he wrote."
"Very well, then. But if that is so you must admit that he took an
unfortunate way of showing it. To dismiss the men off-hand by wire, to
let Edmund hear of it first from Coombe, and then--"
"I do admit that that was unfortunate. I'm quite sure that it never
occurred to him--it didn't to me--that it would look as if--"
"And then his letter the next morning! That put Edmund's back up more
than anything."
Lady Eldridge threw out her hands in a gesture of despair. "Oh, I give
it up," she said. "Everything seems to have been taken in the wrong way.
I did think that two brothers who have been so much to each other as
Edmund and William ought to be able to settle an absurd dispute of this
sort without all this misunderstanding."
"That's exactly what I think. And if you and I are to mix ourselves up
in it at all, we ought to try to clear up the misunderstandings."
"Yes, I want to do that. Tell me _why_ William's letter should have put
Edmund's back up more than anything."
"It's rather difficult, you see. You mustn't be impatient with me. You
know that I am very fond of William, but you can't expect me to see him
in quite the same light as you do, any more than you can see Edmund in
the same light as I do. And you must remember that I'm trying to make
peace all the time. Still, I see things with Edmund's eyes to some
extent, and after what had happened the day before I don't think it was
unreasonable of him to object to being told in so many words that
William couldn't be expected to take seriously things that _he_ thought
so important, especially Hayslope, which was only a very small corner of
the world."
"Oh, Cynthia, what an absurd coil it all is! William _can't_ have
written that. I know the mood he was in when he went away to write."
"Well, dear, he did write it, and you must forgive me for saying that
that attitude in him is continually coming out. This bother about the
garden is only a symptom of it. It is the attitude itself that so annoys
Edmund. I know that William is much higher up in the world now than my
poor old man. But he ought not to want to rub it in, Eleanor. After all,
Edmund _is_ the older brother, and the head of the family. You can't
defend William telling _him_ that Hayslope is of very little importance.
It's all he has in the world. Poor dear, he did his duty as a soldier
during the war. I'm not saying he did _more_ than William; but just look
at the difference in the rewards they have got! Edmund will be a poor
man for the rest of his life, because of the war, while William is rich
and honoured."
"He isn't rich _because_ of the war."
"Oh, no! I don't mean that at all. I should never say such a thing, or
think it. And as for his knighthood, one knows that honours are given to
the men who do the sort of work that he did, while a soldier's work is
just taken as a matter of course. _You_ know that it would never occur
to me to feel jealousy on that score, which is why I can put it quite
plainly. Edmund doesn't feel it either, and he is proud of William's
success; he has often said so. But still, _here_, Edmund ought not to be
considered of less account than William. There! I have said it quite
plainly, and you mustn't be offended."
"No, I'm not offended; though it makes me rather sad that all that
should have to be said, because it is practically the same as William
says himself, and tries to act upon. He did so in this very matter of
the garden; but see how it has turned out! Edmund takes it as an offence
that he should instantly have carried out what he thought were his
wishes."
"But did he really mean to give up the garden, Eleanor? I will tell you
frankly now, as we have gone so far, that Edmund's idea is that he hoped
he would beg him not to. _You_ wrote to me, you know, asking me to
influence Edmund to do that."
"Not quite, Cynthia. At least--well--"
"You did, dear; and I should have tried to make the peace in that way,
if it hadn't gone so far. I'm afraid you must admit that William acted
hastily--I don't say more than that--and if he _did_ expect Edmund to
climb down, as Edmund believes--well, that's just exactly the spirit
that I've been trying to point out to you is so objectionable to
Edmund."
"Oh, it's all so different, Cynthia, from what happened on our side.
Climb down! There was no such idea in William's mind. _Can't_ we get it
straight? Supposing William apologizes to Edmund for anything that may
have displeased him! I believe he would be ready to do that. And you
mustn't forget Edmund's first letter to him, which you have acknowledged
yourself--and I saw--was very dictatorial, and even offensive, though
perhaps it was not meant to be so."
"Offensive! No, I shouldn't quite admit that."
"You say you didn't see it, dear. Among other things, he accused William
of vulgarity."
"Vulgarity!" Mrs. Eldridge showed some surprise. "Well, of course that
would be rather strong. But--"
"William is careless about Edmund's position here, you say. Very well.
He doesn't mean to be, and perhaps Edmund doesn't mean to be
dictatorial. But he is, you know, towards William; and considering the
high estimation in which William is held, and the kind of people he
mixes with, upon equal terms, it _is_ sometimes rather difficult to put
up with."
"Isn't all that rather apt to be pressed home upon us, dear? Not by
you--I don't mean that. Naturally you are proud of the estimation in
which William is held. I should be myself if I were in your place. But
Edmund feels, I think, that he might be spared some of William's
reminders on that point. In the very letter he wrote about the garden,
in which he said that Hayslope couldn't be expected to be of such
importance to him as it was to Edmund, he prepared the way by telling
him of all the great people he was consorting with--as you say, upon
equal terms."
"Which is exactly what I did, when I wrote to you after we had come back
from Wellsbury. We _were_ there on equal terms, you know; we didn't dine
in the servants' hall."
"Oh, my dear, you mustn't take it in that way, or we may as well leave
off talking about it altogether. _I_ didn't show annoyance when you
accused Edmund just now of being dictatorial and offensive. Don't let
_us_ fall out with one another, or _every_thing is lost."
Lady Eldridge sat more erect in her chair. "We _must_ end it all," she
said. "Neither you nor I want it to go on. Let us leave off finding
faults in the other side, and admit that both sides have made mistakes.
It _was_ unfortunate that William should have wired to Coombe, and sent
no message to Edmund at the same time. It's easy enough to see that now;
but at the time it didn't occur to me, who was very anxious that offence
should not be given, and I'm sure it didn't occur to William. I have
told you, anyhow, that his resentment over Edmund's letter had passed
over; so _that_ can be cleared out of the way. Edmund need think no more
about it. Now let us get William's mistake cleared out of the way. Tell
Edmund that it was only carelessness on William's part that led to this
new trouble, that _I_ much regret it, now it has been pointed out to me,
and that I'm sure William will when he knows the effect it had. Will you
do that, Cynthia?"
"Yes, dear, of course I will. Don't let us have any more letters. Let us
wait until you come down again next week, and then Edmund and William
can talk it all over together, and I'm sure at the end of it they will
be as good friends as before."
Lady Eldridge breathed an audible sigh of relief, and smiled. "_We_ have
talked pretty plainly to one another," she said. "I am so glad that we
can. What a lot of trouble that unfortunate garden plan of ours has
made! And it looked as if we were all going to amuse ourselves so much
with it."
"Oh, and I hope we shall. Do you know, I think Edmund is as much
disappointed at the idea of its being given up as anybody. I haven't
told you yet--we seem to have been talking about all sorts of outside
things--that he _was_ going to send a long telegram to William asking
him to go on with it, even _after_ Coombe had come to him and refused to
take his orders."
Lady Eldridge seemed quite at a loss. She stared at her and said
quietly: "No, you never told me that. I didn't know that Coombe had been
to Edmund at all."
"How did you think he knew, then, that the men had been paid off? You
haven't done my poor old Edmund quite justice, you know, Eleanor--but I
don't want to begin on that again. He was naturally upset at hearing of
it first from Coombe, and _yet_ he was going to wire to William. In
fact, he was going to climb down."
Lady Eldridge passed this by with a slight contraction of the brows.
"What prevented him from writing?" she asked.
"Oh, I haven't told you that. The labourers who had been dismissed came
to him, and said they wouldn't go on working under Coombe. I'm afraid
William will have to get rid of that man, Eleanor. The way he has
behaved is perfectly outrageous. In fact, but for him, the garden might
have been half finished by this time."
There was a moment's pause. Then Lady Eldridge said: "This is something
quite new again. You must tell me everything, please, Cynthia."
"I don't know that there's much more to tell, dear. Coombe quite
obviously came to Edmund to crow over him, though of course he
_pretended_ to be respectful. But when Edmund told him that there had
been a mistake and that the work was to go on, he said he had had his
orders and must abide by them. So what else could he have come for?"
"What did he say he had come for? I'm not defending him, but this is
serious. I want to know exactly what happened."
"Oh, he pretended that the men who had been dismissed might make a
disturbance in the village. So ridiculous! Two of them are Edmund's own
tenants, and the other two are most respectable men, and one of them is
a teetotaller. Edmund says he has seldom had work better done than they
are doing it now."
"I wish William were here. Coombe has never given us any cause for
dissatisfaction, and this is quite a new light on him."
"And afterwards it came out that he had spoken in the most impertinent
way about Edmund to these very men; so much so, that old Jackson
wouldn't put up with it, and _all_ of them would have refused to go on
working under him if he _had_ been told to go on--by William, I mean,
for he had been told to go on by Edmund and had refused to do so. The
fact is, I suppose he had got into a mess with his men, and thought he
could shift the blame on to Edmund. You see, dear,--take it all
round--it was really impossible that the work should be taken up again.
Still, I quite hope that it may be, later, and be finished in time for
the autumn planting. There isn't any violent hurry, is there?"
"No. But whether the garden is made or not seems so unimportant now in
the face of all these complications. I think I won't say anything to
Coombe myself, but will wait until William comes down. What was it
actually that he said to the men about Edmund?"
"Oh, it was outrageous; but it shows the sort of feeling that has grown
up with regard to Edmund and William. He told them that Edmund was
desperately jealous of William on account of his title and his money,
and that if this work they were doing was stopped they would have him to
thank for it, for he hated William doing anything at Hayslope. Then of
course he had been paying them more than the current rate of wages--I
suppose William didn't know that--which made it difficult for Edmund
when it came to employing them himself. But there they are, working for
us at less than they were paid here, and refusing to go on under Coombe
at the higher rate. So you see that Edmund _is_ still respected by the
villagers and work-people, in spite of all the difficulties that have
been made."
Lady Eldridge arose somewhat abruptly. "We seem to have got back to
general criticism," she said, "which I thought we had put behind us. I
am not going on with that, Cynthia. I think we had better leave it alone
altogether until William comes down. See, the rain has stopped. Let us
go out."