Читать книгу Denry the Audacious - Arnold Bennett - Страница 14

The next night he made another visit to the Club, about ten o'clock. The reading-room, that haunt of learning, was as empty as ever; but the bar was full of men, smoke, and glasses. It was so full that Denry's arrival was scarcely observed. However, the Secretary and Steward observed him, and soon he was chatting with a group at the bar, presided over by the Secretary and Steward's shirt-sleeves. He glanced around, and was satisfied. It was a scene of dashing gaiety and worldliness that did not belie the Club's reputation. Some of the most important men in Bursley were there. Charles Fearns, the solicitor who practised at Hanbridge, was arguing vivaciously in a corner. Fearns lived at Bleakridge and belonged to the Bleakridge Club, and his presence at Hillport (two miles from Bleakridge) was a dramatic tribute to the prestige of Hillport's Club.

Fearns was apparently in one of his anarchistic moods. Though a successful business man, who voted right, he was pleased occasionally to uproot the fabric of society and rebuild it on a new plan of his own. To-night he was inveighing against landlords – he who by "conveyancing" kept a wife and family, and a French governess for the family, in rather more than comfort. The Fearnses' French governess was one of the seven wonders of the Five Towns. Men enjoyed him in these moods; and as he raised his voice, so he enlarged the circle of his audience.

"If the bye-laws of this town were worth a bilberry," he was saying, "about a thousand so-called houses would have to come down to-morrow. Now there's that old woman I was talking about just now – Hullins. She 's a Catholic – and my governess is always slumming about among Catholics – that's how I know. She 's paid half a crown a week for pretty near half a century for a hovel that isn't worth eighteen pence, and now she's going to be pitched into the street because she can't pay any more. And she 's seventy if she 's a day! And that's the basis of society. Nice, refined society, eh?"

"Who's the grasping owner?" some one asked.

"Old Mrs. Codleyn," said Fearns.

"Here, Mr. Machin, they 're talking about you," said the Secretary and Steward genially. He knew that Denry collected Mrs. Codleyn's rents.

"Mrs. Codleyn is n't the owner," Denry called out across the room, almost before he was aware what he was doing. There was a smile on his face and a glass in his hand.

"Oh!" said Fearns. "I thought she was. Who is?"

Everybody looked inquisitively at the renowned Machin, the new member.

"I am," said Denry.

He had concealed the change of ownership from the Widow Hullins. In his quality of owner he could not have lent her money in order that she might pay it instantly back to himself.

"I beg your pardon," said Fearns, with polite sincerity. "I'd no idea!.." He saw that unwittingly he had come near to committing a gross outrage on club etiquette.

"Not at all!" said Denry. "But supposing the cottage was yours, what should you do, Mr. Fearns? Before I bought the property I used to lend her money myself to pay her rent."

"I know," Fearns answered with a certain dryness of tone.

It occurred to Denry that the lawyer knew too much.

"Well, what should you do?" he repeated obstinately.

"She 's an old woman," said Fearns. "And honest enough, you must admit. She came up to see my governess, and I happened to see her."

"But what should you do in my place?" Denry insisted.

"Since you ask, I should lower the rent, and let her off the arrears," said Fearns.

"And supposing she didn't pay then? Let her have it rent free, because she's seventy? Or pitch her into the streets?"

"Oh – Well – "

"Fearns would make her a present of the blooming house and give her a conveyance free!" a voice said humorously, and everybody laughed.

"Well, that's what I 'll do," said Denry. "If Mr. Fearns will do the conveyance free, I 'll make her a present of the blooming house. That's the sort of grasping owner I am."

There was a startled pause. "I mean it," said Denry firmly, even fiercely, and raised his glass. "Here's to the Widow Hullins!"

There was a sensation, because, incredible although the thing was, it had to be believed. Denry himself was not the least astounded person in the crowded smoky room. To him, it had been like somebody else talking, not himself. But, as always when he did something crucial, spectacular, and effective, the deed had seemed to be done by a mysterious power within him, over which he had no control.

This particular deed was quixotic, enormously unusual; a deed assuredly without precedent in the annals of the Five Towns. And he, Denry, had done it. The cost was prodigious, ridiculously and dangerously beyond his means. He could find no rational excuse for the deed. But he had done it. And men again wondered. Men had wondered when he led the Countess out to waltz. That was nothing to this. What! A smooth-chinned youth giving houses away – out of mere, mad, impulsive generosity!

And men said, on reflection: "Of course that's just the sort of thing Machin would do!" They appeared to find a logical connection between dancing with a Countess, and tossing a house or so to a poor widow. And the next morning every man who had been in the Sports Club that night was remarking eagerly to his friends: "I say, have you heard young Machin's latest?"

And Denry, inwardly aghast at his own rashness, was saying to himself: "Well, no one but me would ever have done that!"

He was now not simply a card; he was the card.