Читать книгу The Watersplash - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 5

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Emmeline Random was giving a tea-party. When Susan Wayne came in the room appeared to be already quite full of people, but then it was so full of other things to start with that there wasn’t as much space for the human visitor as there might have been if Emmeline and her drawing-room had been different. For one thing, it wasn’t really a drawing-room. It had begun life as the front parlour of the south lodge at the Hall, and when Emmeline was left a widow her brother-in-law, James Random, installed her there. He gave the parlour a bay window, and since she had always been accustomed to a drawing-room, it never occurred to her to call it anything else. The bay window certainly let in a good deal more light. It had also made it possible to admit the cottage piano with green silk flutings which she had inherited from her grandmother. But it did not really increase the wall space, which was a good deal taken up with ancestral portraits of a rather dark and forbidding nature. There was an Admiral whose features could hardly be distinguished from the maroon curtain against which he stood. There was a lady in black velvet and black ringlets whose features could not really be distinguished at all. They were Emmeline’s great-grandparents, and she was very proud of them, because the Admiral had served with Nelson and was reputed to have had a better command of forcible language than anyone in the British Navy either before or since.

Jonathan Random, her late husband, whose portrait occupied the place of honour on the jutting chimney-breast was neither dark nor forbidding. He smiled upon the room in the same charming manner in which he had smiled his way through life. He had been fifty when Emmeline married him, and he had never managed either to make or to keep any money. If he had lived a year or two longer, Emmeline would not have had any money either. As it was, there remained a pittance, and the hospitality of the south lodge, where she had now been living for so long that she quite felt as if it belonged to her.

She was a small, slight person with a quantity of fair hair which was turning grey and a sweet inconsequent manner. Her finely arched eyebrows enhanced the effect of a pair of misty blue eyes. When Edward was about seven he had once remarked, “It’s there, but she sees through it.” Pressed as to what he meant, he had burst out indignantly, “The mist of course! It’s there, but it doesn’t stop her seeing things!”

A great deal had happened since Edward was seven years old. James Random had gone the way of Jonathan, and Arnold reigned at the Hall in his stead. There had been a world war, and an air raid which had killed Mr. Plowden’s prize pig and a cherished cat belonging to Dr. Croft’s housekeeper. Edward grew up, and when the war was over he took a course in estate management. Then he fell in love with Verona Grey, had a furious row with his Uncle James, and was seen no more in Greenings. He did not come back, and according to the postmistress he did not write. Emmeline cried a good deal, and comforted herself with cats. She would rather have been making believe that Edward’s children were her own grandchildren, but you must have something, and kittens were better than not having anything at all. At least there were always plenty of them.

After what seemed like a very long time there was a report that Edward was dead. It was quite circumstantial, and James Random believed it. He told Emmeline that he had talked with a man who had seen Edward lying dead, but he wouldn’t tell her anything more than that. He said it would only distress her. And then he went away very grave and shocked, and made the will which left everything to his brother Arnold. He had been dead six months when Edward Random came back, walking in upon Emmeline in the late dusk of a winter evening and telling her nothing. She cried a great deal, but she didn’t ask any questions—she didn’t really want to. He had been away and he had come back, he had been hurt and he must be comforted. It was enough. She was therefore able to meet the storm of questioning that broke upon her with an invariable “My dear, I really don’t know.” And since this was a bedrock fact, it did ultimately put the questioners to silence—that is, as far as Emmeline was concerned.

They naturally went on talking to one another. Edward had been in China—he had been in Russia. Mrs. Deacon who did for Miss Blake, and whose daughter was housemaid at the Hall, was quite sure that Mr. James Random, had been saying something about Russia the day his solicitor came down and he signed his will. Doris had heard the word quite plain when she was going past the study door, which wasn’t quite shut. “Russia”—that was what she heard, but nothing more that she could swear to. It was not much, but like the kittens it was better than nothing. Some very interesting and dramatic stories were built up on it.

And then the great China myth came into circulation. Someone had a cousin who had a friend who had seen—actually seen—Edward Random in hospital at Shanghai. Or was it Singapore? Eastern names, you know—all so very much alike.

Edward did nothing to resolve the rumours. Everyone was interested and sympathetic. Arnold Random would certainly have to do something for his nephew. He would never have come in for the property if his brother James had not believed that Edward was dead. The least, the very least, that he could do was to hand over the estate and, well, half the money. And when Arnold did nothing of the sort, there were some very harsh things said about his conduct. It was not as if he had not enough money of his own, because he had, or as if there could have been the slightest doubt as to James Random’s intentions. And it wasn’t as if Arnold had a wife and family. He had no one but Edward, and the least he could do...

Edward had been back for a month or two, when a more sinister rumour began to go round. Nobody knew where it had started, and most of those who passed it on were careful to explain that they didn’t believe it themselves. But of course there is no smoke without fire. People don’t disappear unless there is a reason. Possible reasons for Edward’s disappearance crept into the news. It was at first hinted, then introduced as a matter of speculation, and finally whispered as a fact, that he had been in prison.

It was when these rumours reached Lord Burlingham that he came across the High Street at Embank and, joining the fish queue, told Emmeline at the top of his voice how glad he was to have been able to offer her stepson the job of land agent. He was a large, energetic person, and his voice was an extremely carrying one. “Old Barr is retiring. He has only stayed on the last six months to oblige me. Edward can take right over. I told him he had better have a refresher course—latest up-to-date methods and all that kind of thing. Must produce more food for the nation—everyone’s duty. Always liked the boy—been away too long. Always glad to do a good turn to a neighbour. Tell your brother-in-law I said so.” At which he burst into hearty laughter and went back across the road to buttonhole old Mr. Plowden, leaving the ladies in the queue to pause, gasp, look at one another, and then rush into asking Emmeline a great many more questions than she could answer.

Lord Burlingham was a self-made man. He had run barefoot, he had sold papers in the streets. He had acquired a fortune, bought a country estate, joined the Labour Party and been wafted to the House of Lords upon one of those occasions when the Tory majority there was proving more than usually irritating. There may have been other reasons. It was said that he did not bow very complacently to the Party yoke, and that he was developing an inconvenient habit of getting up in the Commons and saying what he really thought. There may have been a feeling that it would be safer to let him say it somewhere else.

He stood in the village street polishing his face with a red and green bandanna and telling Mr. Plowden that Edward Random was going to succeed old Barr.

“And someone had better tell Arnold Random before we all meet on the Bench next week, or I shall do it myself, and perhaps I had better not! He might have a fit! Hates my guts, you know—thinks I’m common! And so I am! What’s wrong with it? Common sense, common law, the common people of England—what’s the matter with any of them?”

His voice with its broad accent and occasional uncertainty over an aitch rang out vigorously and reached the ladies in the fish queue. Old Mr. Plowden’s quavering “Certainly—certainly, my dear fellow,” was carried away by the wind.

That was a little time ago. And now Emmeline sat behind her gimcrack table and counted heads. “The Vicar and Mrs. Ball—Mildred Blake—Dr. Croft and Cyril—four, and myself five—and Susan should be here at any moment, only of course she may have taken the later train—six—or is it seven? Then Edward——” Impossible to say. So nice if he and Susan could have met and come up together. But on the other hand Edward wouldn’t be at all pleased about the tea-party. Such a pity, because they were all so kind—even Mildred, though of course she could be very trying too. But it wasn’t good for Edward to shut himself away, and of course the more he did it, the more talk there would be. You couldn’t expect anything else—“Seven cups—but I seem to have eight on the tray—oh dear, there’s another little crack, and I must have done it myself, because nobody else touches this set!”

She said, “Oh dear no, I don’t think so,” to Miss Blake, who was complaining of the increasing lack of manners amongst the young, but she had heard it all so often before that her real attention was given to considering whether the milk would go round. Of course it must be made to—but would there be any left over for the cats?

Fortunately, only two of them were present. On the window-ledge Scheherazade the matriarch, a magnificent tortoiseshell. On the top of the piano Lucifer, who was turning out so well that she had dropped the plebeian name of Smut. His coal-black fur fluffed out, his fire-opal eyes ablaze, the tip of his tail just twitching, he followed the exciting play of Cyril’s fingers as they rushed, glissaded, and scrambled from one end of the keyboard to the other and the black keys and the white keys kept jumping up and down. Since he was not yet six months old he might so far forget himself as to pounce. Emmeline gazed at him fondly. It would be very hard to resist him if he came and mewed for milk. She could do without any herself, but Scheherazade must come first.

She began to count all over again, and the numbers came out quite differently. There always seemed to be a cup too many or a cup too few, and if Edward——She sent a bewildered look across the room and saw Susan Wayne come in, her fair hair shining and her face fresh and rosy.