Читать книгу Lycanthrope: The Mystery of Sir William Wolf - Eden Phillpotts - Страница 6

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The ceremonial gates of Stormbury were seldom opened. They led, by a wide grass avenue, between red-woods and other conifers to the southern front of the manor, and rose in two massive pediments between which hung gates of scrolled iron brought by a former baronet from Italy. On each of the supporting pillars sat a wolf, also the work of an Italian artist. They were carved of grey marble in a realistic fashion and taken from the family coat of arms. On the coat, indeed, the wolves stalked one above the other—twain wolves passant—but here the monsters were separated and each from his lofty perch looked down, with bared teeth, alert and alive, upon the passer-by. Neither lichen nor moss was permitted to adorn them and for a hundred years they had preserved their formidable and threatening animation. Between his wolves Sir Porteus had passed, upon a wain from the home farm to the grave, amid a sorrowing company, and now the gates were shut again and those who came and went from the mansion proceeded by other ways. But a little side entrance existed and through this on a November day, William and his cousin, Telford, entered and strolled up to the house. A month had passed since the funeral and life was settling down in familiar fashion, but certain vital changes confronted the heir and his father's land-agent now desired to retire. He and his father and grandfather before him had fulfilled their traditional task, but there was none of the family left to succeed Michael Forrester, and the fact had been welcomed by William for personal reasons. Had a Forrester existed to follow in succession, the work had gone to him as a matter of course, but Michael, now an old man, was childless and the place would soon remain to fill.

"I'm going to get John Malfroy," said William to his cousin. "I always intended to do something for him sooner or later and here's the chance."

Telford demurred.

"I remember him when he came here on a visit, and I know he's about your only friend besides myself," he said.

"You have nothing against him?"

"Nothing in the world. I took to the chap. He's powerful and has character and a grip on life. A bit of an opportunist I'd say, though none the worse for that. But a land agent's job in a place like this is a pretty big order. Stormbury's not the sort of estate for anybody to learn his work in. You want an expert and a man of pretty extensive experience. He liked the country and he's a sportsman and a shrewd, dominant sort of chap; but would he know enough?"

"He'd pick it up very quickly. He has great powers of management and control. In Russia he's already one of their leading men in a big mine. One can't be dead sure yet if he'll come, but I think he will. He's devoted to me and I am, as you know, devoted to him. It was always my hope to get him here one day. As to the work, he'll have Forrester at his elbow and old Michael will 'put him wise,' as they say. Malfroy's a brainy chap as well as a muscular one. I want him and that's a fact. I should be much the happier for his companionship."

"Then I hope he'll come," said Telford, "and I also hope that Forrester will stick on for six months, or a year. There's always such a lot of difficulty in a huge place like this when a very rich man drops out."

"Father looked ahead and knew what was coming to him. It was one of his jokes that it would soon be impossible to pay for the luxury of being an Englishman. 'The ghouls will have more than half a million of money out of me when I drop,' he often told me. Five years ago he made me a present of two hundred thousand pounds. He had to live for three years afterwards, himself, however, before it came to be mine."

Telford regarded his cousin respectfully.

"Never heard that!" he said. "I suppose you haven't spent a bean?"

William did not reply and they returned to the subject of John Malfroy. The friendship had arisen out of two opposite natures as friendships are apt to do. To the well-born lad when at Eton, his fellow-student had presented just those qualities that he himself lacked, and lacking, most admired. John was a big-boned, exceedingly powerful boy and excelled at games. Moreover, he possessed an element of assurance and self-confidence so vital to success in any field. He was tough and knew not fear, yet a good sportsman and never seen to use his exceptional strength unfairly—the type of boy who becomes a hero without any trouble on his own part. When, therefore, young Wolf, who was junior at Eton to Malfroy, found John friendly and even disposed to chum, he swiftly joined the ranks of his admirers. The elder knew that 'Bat' was going to be a baronet and a rich man some day, and the fact did not lessen his good-will; but boys are seldom concerned very deeply with the main chance and John's friendship could not be called wholly mercenary. The attraction of opposites influenced him too. He was handsome, while William had no claim to good looks; he was tremendously strong with a natural bent for athletics, while William, though energetic, lacked the weight and toughness to excel. But Malfroy found him agreeable and interesting. They were in the same form, for John's learning fell considerably short of his powers in the playing-fields. He had plenty of brains, but not the sort that advance scholarship, and William could help his hero in 'prep' and felt proud to do so.

But it was the youngster's attitude to life that chiefly interested Malfroy. He came of plebeian stock himself and Wolf opened a new angle of vision for him. This made the elder jealous and sometimes exasperated him, for it seemed easy to take William's line in William's circumstances. If you are born to roll in money, then noble sentiments are easily supported; but John's father was a self-made man and had fought his way to wealth. His outlook on life, as revealed to his son, differed very widely from that of young Wolf, and the boys often argued about it. The elder had been taught to value money for itself; the younger to regard it as an eternal obligation and trust: the difference between earning and inheriting.

They had gone to Oxford together and then trouble descended upon Malfroy. His father, a stock-broker, failed in business and destroyed himself, leaving a wife and two children ruined and disgraced; while, in reach of his coveted 'blue,' John was called to leave college and face reality. The blow had been severe, for it fell without warning; but whatever such a shock may have wrought in the texture of the young man's conviction, he did not go down under it. Native courage served him in good stead and he set about the unexpected business of earning his living and looking after a mother and sister now dependent upon him. It did not lie in William's power to help him immediately, but their friendship was close woven and Malfroy knew that his misfortune had not shaken it. There existed henceforth an understanding between them that, when opportunity arose, John might count upon some permanent occupation, probably at his friend's home. Meantime they did not lose touch with each other. Friends of his father found work for Malfroy and obtained a minor clerkship in business. An Oil Company afforded the opening, and he addressed himself to his work with such determination and attention to detail that he was sent to Russia eighteen months after his apprenticeship. With his energies thus pent and the sport he loved reduced to narrowest dimensions, John abandoned it and concentrated on his present task. He devoted his wits to the difficult business of learning Russian. Meanwhile he also learned the significance of poverty and acquired a respect and desire for money that the rich can never know.

There was always William Wolf in the background and, while pouring his energies into the present, a more congenial and affluent future promised. John loved the country and the life of a countryman with its element of varied sport and open air, and his devotion to William did not abate. He had spent a holiday at Stormbury and could see himself happy enough in such surroundings; but what as yet he could not see was the possibility of work commensurate with his immense energies, or worth the money it was his ambition to earn. William he found looked at life with other eyes and other values. His destiny was to pay for service and his training had always been not to waste money, or pay for things more than they were worth. The young men had actually argued this point when William spent a month in Siberia and marked Malfroy's strength of character and power of controlling labour. He had praised these gifts and spoken of their promise for John's future, revealing a doubt whether his wish for the elder's companionship was ever likely to be gratified.

For five years Malfroy had worked and waited in Russia, and now the challenge was about to come to him. William saw the problem and guessed at a difficulty while he spoke to Telford.

The cousins proceeded on their way and stopped a moment to admire a herd of fallow deer making delicious colour where they stood in drifts of russet brake fern. Then William spoke and returned to his friend.

"I'm not really hopeful he'll come," he said. "He's cut out for the command of men and might rise to be a merchant prince himself some day. He has the gifts and he only wants all that money can command. John is a realist and the supreme power that money can't command, lies outside his scope."

"Money's no object to you in any case," replied Telford. "You can buy him if you feel you'll get your money's worth in friendship and all that sort of thing."

"I might; but there's another side. He's not the sort of chap that would be satisfied with big money alone—at least I don't think so. He's ambitious and, of course, there can be no outlet or hope for ambition as a land agent. One has to think of what's right too. I shouldn't be justified in paying him much more than a proper salary just for my own satisfaction and the pleasure of having him under my roof."

"You ought to have thought of that before you wrote," said Telford.

"I know—just an impulsive thing you might expect from me. Money's a trust. I'm going to spend some and I'm going to save some by doing things I might easily pay another to do for me. But I've written to Malfroy and offered him the post now. He can but decline it. He'll have heard of father's death and expect to get news from me. It was a compact."

"He'll want to know the salary, of course. What's he getting in his business?"

"Three hundred a year and certain privileges; but the prospects are the point. He believes in the future of Soviet Russia, and meantime stomachs a good deal more than you or I could."

"Well, you can offer him more than that. What shall you suggest if it turns on a question of cash? Friendship may help to influence him. He thought a lot of you."

"That makes it the more difficult. I don't want to be selfish and it would be no act of real friendship to come between Johnny and his career. But it would be wrong to pay my land agent a fancy salary."

Telford laughed.

"You're a morbid bloke," he said. "There's nothing wrong in giving your first friend an annual Christmas present of cash if you want to, and letting him know behind the scenes that he can always count upon it. If Malfroy's a realist as you say, there ought to be no difficulty. I liked him. He has got what you and I have not—guts and the power to make money. As a poor man myself I understood him perhaps better than it is possible for you to do."

William was concerned.

"I don't like to hear you say you're poor, old chap. What is poverty exactly?" he asked.

"A relative term," answered the other. "I'm poor from your point of view surely?"

"Sir Porteus left Aunt Daphne five thousand."

"Yes: he didn't leave me anything."

"I rather wondered why he didn't. But if you have any ideas, or need anything in your workshop, or want to travel, do tell me, old man. You and I are alone in the world in a manner of speaking and we've got a lot in common."

"Thank you, Bill. I won't forget. Perhaps I'll ask you to finance another 'one-man' show for me next year."

"Gladly. You're making some jolly fine things," answered his cousin. "I wish I could make something. But I always knew there wouldn't be time."

"And what are you going to do to save some precious money?" asked the other.

"I'm going to do spade work in the library. I'm going to spend my leisure there. The whole mass wants attention. It's chaos at present. A year's work for a skilled librarian. Tons of stuff, utterly worthless inside and out, and valuable books muddled up with rubbish—enough to make old Sir Walter Wolf turn in the family mausoleum. By doing the work myself I shall save five hundred pounds, Telford."

"Thrifty devil!"

The southern front of William's home now lay ahead of them and he looked up at it without pleasure.

"What a hideous pile it is!" he said.

"Not your fault. Our ancestors couldn't let it alone," answered Telford.

In truth the mass of muddled architecture that was Stormbury mansion had little to commend it. The original old fortified manor, which ancient engravings showed as a shapely and massive dwelling, was swallowed up in eighteenth-century additions added thereto by energetic and tasteless possessors. The great main entrance and forecourt lay to the east, and over this William's grandfather had erected the final outrage and lifted a huge portico of pseudo-Italian fashion. Young Wolf alluded to it now.

"That abortion over the big doors is the last straw," he grumbled. "I hope the wretch who made it has gone like Mulciber, to build in hell. Sometimes I think I'll pull it down, but the governor always liked it, so no doubt the horror must stop there."

"If you once begin tinkering you'll never stop," warned his cousin. "Better leave it alone and boast that you live in the ugliest house in England."

They went to luncheon presently and as yet the Victorian traditions, strictly preserved by Sir Porteus, were maintained. The table, though portly enough, seemed but a spot in a vast dining-room that gave through six windows upon the south and was hung with a hundred portraits of the family, good, bad and indifferent. The late baronet in his war-paint appeared at full length over a lofty bronze and marble mantelpiece. Herkomer had painted him with customary gusto; but his uniform and medals rather obscured the sharp-nosed, proud little warrior who peered out of them. Two liveried footmen and a grey-headed butler waited upon the table, but Bob Meadows tended William, who always liked him behind his chair at lunch and dinner.

Alone again with their coffee, they returned to John Malfroy.

"Father liked him, you may remember," began William. "Johnny's the sort of definite, determined chap that father did like. And he liked his courtesy and tact. Tact was always John's strong suit."

"What I admired," replied Telford, "was the man's cleverness. Clever people are often singularly lacking in tact and all that you and I understand by fine feeling. Stupid people are often distinguished by very fine feeling, and that makes you forgive them for being idiots. But Malfroy's clever—uncommonly able in fact. He has a grasp and knows his own mind. A bit of an opportunist as I said—all his sort are; but if he does come, he'll have your people eating out of his hand in six months."

"He's very just," said William. "In sport he was always scrupulously fair. Of course he's seen the hard side of life since then and he can be bitter sometimes. I think Russia has made him rather inclined to advanced socialism. He might hate our archaic atmosphere, but so do I for that matter. We should make changes and move with the times."

"When he asks you what you're going to pay, what shall you tell him?"

"He'll live with me—that was always determined—and, of course, he'll have everything he wants—horses or cars to go about and the governor's old study for business. My study's going to be upstairs opening out of my bedroom. I like it up there in the west wing. I shall say a thousand a year and leave it at that."

"Absurd screw for a land agent; still you can't expect him to come for less."

"I hope I'm not doing wrong," said William. "Somehow I feel he'd be a tower of strength. No doubt selfishness is at the bottom of it."

Time showed that he was to have his way. Malfroy did write to learn particulars of his salary and agreed that it was good enough. He despatched a grateful letter, declaring his good pleasure at the thought of living with William and being of some practical service to him. He hoped and believed that they were going to pull well together. 'I'd like to share your palatial diggings till you get a wife, old boy,' he wrote, 'and then, if you're not tired of me, I must start an establishment of my own. To be frank I'm divided in mind between the impulse to make a pile, which lies in my power, and the very great privilege of sharing your existence and returning to the joys of the country. But, seeing that one can only live one's life once, I'm well content to take the substance of the job you've got to offer and let the shadow of a fortune in time to come go hang. We're young yet and maybe in another generation there will be no fortunes left, or means of making them; for great constitutional changes are in the air and a shrewd east wind blows from Russia with gathering impetus over the rest of Europe.'

William was elated and when his cousin heard the news, he, too, showed satisfaction.

"If he does you good and makes you take a cheerfuller conceit of yourself, Bill, then he'll find none but friends here," he said. "He looks ahead—he would. He guesses you'll marry some day and I hope he guesses right. Probably he'll do the same, if he can find a girl with tons of money. He protests that your society will be all the fortune he wants—rather unctuous that, but we shall see. Did he meet the Boyds when he was here? I forget. Alma might fall for him."

William flushed. He felt the warmth rise to his cheek and wondered at it, as we often wonder at some sudden message from our 'unconscious' which conveys no direct meaning at its impact.

"I don't know that I should like that much," he said.

"They wouldn't ask you, Bill. It isn't very likely, come to think of it. Only one sees they'd make rather a fine pair—both striking animals. But Alma's got nothing, so I hope she won't feel any attraction, for he'd disappoint her."

Alone that night William asked himself the cause for his aversion at Telford's jest, but found an explanation readily enough. It was a mistaken one, yet satisfied him. He determined that the thought of John Malfroy being separated from him by marriage had awakened this passing uneasiness. For marriage must certainly separate them and end their bachelor friendship to some extent. Malfroy might well marry and would be in a position to do so. William himself regarded marriage as an event of the future—a duty among his other obligations. But he troubled no more as to that, feeling the business of matrimony still happily remote. He distrusted it, but only as those distrust it who have not loved.

In six weeks John Malfroy arrived and his friend found him unchanged save in minor particulars.

"I've burned my boats, Bill," he said, "and very well pleased to do so. They rather hated me for going and told me I was chucking a great career, but that's tripe. There are no great careers for commerce in Russia. There can be no great, individual careers in a nation like that except political careers, and I hate politics. The big men there think all the English are congenital idiots. They only take our money seriously and find we're easily milked. I've got no use for 'five-year' Muscovite plans myself, and remember the Lena Gold Field."

"Glad you hate them," declared William. "It's a hereditary instinct with my family to do so. Wolfs have fought them and helped to lick them—may have to again some day."

John Malfroy in his thirtieth year was a fine, Saxon specimen of a man—tall and very perfectly proportioned with a deep chest and long legs. The set of his head was upright, his blue eyes surveyed steadily. He had one little action that hinted at vanity, for unconsciously he drew himself up when among other tall men and liked to feel his six feet, three inches generally topped them. Immense self-confidence characterized him, but he was possessed of good sense also and never asserted himself when ignorant of the subject in hand. His clean-shaven, florid face was genial and his expression wide-awake and receptive. His mouth was hard and his chin heavy. Though courteous and considerate and generally alive to other points of view than his own, he showed a patient art—remarkable in a young man—to compromise, together with acute appreciation of the things that really mattered. Thus, while appearing to concede, he would often manage to retain details that were vital to his own purpose. John's voice was deep and he spoke slowly. Students of character recognized reserves of power in him and a gift for diplomacy. He did not carry his heart upon his sleeve, yet displayed a genial and cordial manner with all classes. He was a good listener, yet stupid people might have often discerned a far-away look in his eyes that showed, while he heard what they were saying, he attached not the least importance to it. That, however, was a subtlety which stupid people would have been the last to observe.

Young Malfroy's self-estimate was summed up in a generality he would often utter concerning sport. 'A good big 'un is always better than a good little 'un,' he liked to say; and when he said it he was thinking of himself.

The friends rejoiced at meeting again and from the time of Malfroy's arrival William appeared to develop some return to cheerfulness. John knew him well and always asserted of him that he was too modest of his fine qualities and would not take himself seriously enough. He lectured William on the first night of his arrival.

"I always told you that you were heading for an inferiority complex, old lad," he said. "I've warned you, knowing what was in store for you. And now you're up against it, and if anybody was ever fitted with the natural gifts and ancestry and all the rest of it to run Stormbury, then you're the man. Look at me. If a thick-headed, commonplace fellow like me can have a good conceit of himself, then how much the more should you? Your little finger's cleverer than all my wits put together."

"Oh no it isn't, Johnny, and nobody knows that better than you. And if I didn't know it, you wouldn't be here. You're going to run Stormbury. Years ago I thought of the possibility, so you can guess what I felt, when I heard you thought it good enough."

"I'm going to see if I can do what you want; and I shall know damned soon if I can't. Or, if I don't grasp it, there will be plenty of neighbours to give me a hint. A land agent's all right; but I'm not a machine and the human element has got to count for success or failure. All the same you're going to run Stormbury—as your father ran it in the main no doubt, with a little allowance for the laws of evolution. And if I'm anybody, Bill, you're going to get more out of it than the rather insipid satisfaction of doing your duty. That's a poor-spirited ambition for a man in your position. All your forbears had their own particular tastes and the luck to be able to gratify them. So have you; and I hope you'll go on getting pleasure out of your own hobbies—art and history and all that."

"Like you to think of those things, old chap."

"Naturally I do. Your happiness means a good bit to me. So does my own for that matter. I'm not going to kill myself with work even for you. I trust you to look after my happiness and let me hunt and shoot and play about, because you know I love those things. You'll have imagination enough to give me a good time; but it's the same here. I want you to take a big view of life and let your own interests get a chance. You always had an itch to write I remember. Well, why not? You try your luck, Bill, and write a book."

The other shook his head.

"Sporting of you, Johnny; but you're always sporting. No, I shan't write—too late. You've got to learn to write, and Stormbury would always be coming between. As you say, what sport we've got is yours. The governor only cared for hunting and I never wanted to shoot, but the keepers will bless you if you stock our neglected covers. So will plenty of other men."

"I'm a learner, but I picked up a good deal about game in Russia."

They talked far into the night and next morning John Malfroy went to see the retiring agent and begin his work.

He said very little concerning it at first, but devoted himself to William and created that sense of satisfaction and assurance he always awakened. It was typical of young Wolf that he often sought the opinions of those whom he esteemed and was not seldom tempted to change his own mind after hearing them. None had ever changed his mind concerning Malfroy, for the admiration of boyhood was now become an enduring thing and he felt the power of the elder in a salutary fashion; but he longed to hear the opinion of others and took pains to do so after John was well in the saddle and had become acquainted with the life and the people of Stormbury. The newcomer and his attitude to the work was also a subject of profound interest, and he soon heard John telling a thousand aspects and possibilities of his inheritance that he had never thought upon.

Small details Malfroy swept away without wasting time in discussing them. His own requirements he assumed would be met instantly and incidental expenses never troubled him. He took large views and, having once grasped the agricultural and other resources of the estate, set about to mend them and enlarge them. He found a thousand channels of betterment and two dozen farmers for the most part on his side. With the exception of a few small properties, Stormbury village was part of the estate, and political changes at this season with various new enactments challenged the revenues.

One man spoke with no uncertain voice of Johnny from the first. Mr. Forrester was delighted with him and assured William that his successor had brought very exceptional ability to his task. "There's a man," said the old agent, "who would give a good account of himself in any company, Sir William. It's a privilege to work with him, and much that is very desirable I should have liked to do, but Sir Porteus failed to approve, will now with your permission be done, to immense advantage."

And on his side Malfroy praised the veteran.

"Jolly old bird," he said, "and clever as they make 'em. Stormbury's in his blood. He'll save me a tremendous lot of trouble and help me to put money in your purse, old chap. You've got a huge machine here full of power and promise; but it wants reconditioning, and that's going to be my job. Tightening up, more efficiency and resultant proceeds. The Devonshire predilection for the old paths and slackness in general is a bit of a libel. I find your folk quite as much alive to the main chance as most other sensible people, after you've performed the operation of making them grasp it."

"You understand them already in a way I should have thought would take years," answered his friend. "They think the world of you, because you've got the art to see their side."