Five Windows

by D. E. Stevenson

  “ Yes,” I said. It was rather embarrassing to be stared at by those very pale blue eyes.

  “ But there’s Kirke in you, too. There’s a distinct look of my father in you, David. It’s your brow, I think. You ought to be proud of being like my father; he was a very fine man. I sometimes wonder what he would think of the world if he were alive to-day … but of course he would be over ninety. Do you remember him, David? ”

  “ No, he died before I was born.”

  “ That’s a pity,” said Aunt Etta, shaking her head sadly. “ I wish you had seen him. But I remember now. He died before you were born. Then Matthew and James had a quarrel. That was a pity too.”

  “ What did they quarrel about? ” I asked with interest.

  “ Let me see,” she said. “ It was so long ago. You were a baby at the time so of course you couldn’t know about it, could you? ” She looked vague for a few moments and then her face cleared. “ Matthew wanted James to go to London. Yes, that was it.”

  “ To London? ”

  She nodded. “ James had the offer of a Presbyterian Church in London but he went to Haines instead and Matthew thought it was very stupid of him. “ Yes, that was it,” repeated Aunt Etta. “ There was a great deal of unpleasantness about it. You see James would have got quite a lot more money if he had gone to London, but James never minded about money. Matthew likes money, you know.”

  “ Yes, I know.”

  “ He’s clever about it, too. He manages all my business affairs for me. To tell you the truth, David, I don’t know what I would do if I had to manage my own affairs. I’m not very good at business.”

  This was easy to believe.

  So far she had not opened the letter, she had been turning it over and over in her fat white hands, but now she held it up and looked at it. “ This is from Matthew? ” she exclaimed in surprise.

  “ Yes, he gave it to me to bring you.”

  “ Oh dear, it will be business! Is it about the house, David? ”

  “ I don’t know what it’s about,” I said.

  “ I’m sure it’s about the house,” declared Aunt Etta, looking at the envelope with distaste. “ I know that’s what it’s about—so I don’t think I’ll open it.”

  “ But Uncle Matt wants an answer! ”

  “ Listen, David,” said Aunt Etta, leaning forward and dropping her voice confidentially. “ Matthew wants me to sell the house. You don’t think I should, do you? ”

  “ I don’t know anything about it, I’m afraid.”

  “ I’ll tell you,” she said. “ I’ll tell you all about it and then you can advise me what to do. It’s a little house near London and it’s called Green Beech Cottage; isn’t that a pretty name? It used to belong to a great friend of mine and long ago I went to stay with her. It was a dear little house with a veranda at the back and it had a lovely view. We had tea on the veranda sometimes. Vera was very badly off, poor thing, so I gave her some money. Then when she died she left me Green Beech Cottage in her will. It was nice of her, wasn’t it? So you see, David, Green Beech Cottage belongs to me. You understand don’t you? ”

  “ Yes,” I said.

  “ You’re a very clever boy! ” declared Aunt Etta admiringly.

  “ It’s quite easy to understand,” I told her.

  “ You don’t think I should sell it, do you? ”

  “ Well, it’s yours,” I said. “ You can do what you like with it, can’t you? ”

  “ It’s my very own,” she agreed. “ Matthew thinks I ought to sell it, but some day, when the war’s over, I might want to go and live near London and then I would have no house.”

  “ But would you want to? ” I asked. It seemed to me that if Aunt Etta never went out it would be all the same where she lived, whether here or in London.

  “ I won’t sell it,” she declared, pursing her lips stubbornly. “ No, I won’t. Matthew can’t make me sell it.” She looked at the letter and added, “ I won’t open the letter, either.”

  “ I think you’d better open it. I mean it might be about something else. Uncle Matt said it was important.”

  “ No, David, it will just upset me.”

  I looked at her and wondered what to do. “ I shall get into trouble if you don’t open it,” I told her.

  “ Will you? ” she asked. “ Well, you open it. That’s the best way. Then, if it’s just telling me to sell the house I needn’t read it.” She gave me the letter and sat back with her hands folded. Uncle Matt had said she was daft—and she was—but there was a sort of sense in her. I had been a bit scared of her at first but now I just felt sorry.

  “ Open it, David,” she said. “ Read it and see what it says.”

  There was nothing for me to do but open it.

  19 Ruthven Crescent

  Edinburgh

  Dear Etta,

  Since seeing you I have instituted inquiries regarding the small property bequeathed to you by Mrs. Marsden and have received a report on same by a competent valuator. The house stands in its own garden of about half an acre surrounded by a beech hedge. The building is of red brick and is in reasonably good repair. The accommodation consists of two public rooms—one large and one small—and two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, etc. As you do not require the house yourself you have no option but to sell. It will deteriorate if it is allowed to stand empty. This being so I propose putting the property into the hands of a House Agent in London and shall be obliged if you will write me a short note giving me permission to act for you in the matter. This will save you further trouble. When I spoke to you about this before you seemed unwilling to sell but I hope you have considered the matter carefully and will take a sensible view. The property should have a ready sale and the money therefrom will be useful to you.

  Believe me,

  your affec—ate brother,

  Matthew Kirke

  “ Well,” demanded Aunt Etta. “ It’s about the house, isn’t it? Matthew wants me to sell it.”

  “ Yes,” I said. “ He thinks you should sell it. The property will deteriorate if it is left standing empty. That’s what he says.”

  “ I know. That’s what he said before; but it’s mine and I can do what I like with it.” She chuckled and added, “ Matthew will be very cross. He likes people to do exactly as he tells them.”

  “ But perhaps he’s right. I mean——”

  “ He’s usually right,” agreed Aunt Etta. “ That’s what’s so annoying—and usually I do what he tells me because it’s easier and more pleasant, but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I dig in my toes and refuse to budge; I just have a feeling that I want to. Do you never have that feeling, David? ”

  I could not help smiling because she looked so like a naughty child with her round fat cheeks and the mischievous glint in her eyes. “ Yes,” I admitted. “ Yes, I sometimes feel like that—but what am I to say to Uncle Matt? ”

  “ Tell him the truth,” she replied and she leant forward and seized the letter and threw it into the fire. “ There,” she said, dusting her hands together. “ That’s finished with. Now we can talk about other things, can’t we? You haven’t told me about James. Tell me all about him.”

  “ He’s—quite well,” I said feebly.

  “ That’s not telling me about him! I want to know lots more. He’s my brother, you know. I remember when James was born. He was small and red and quite, quite bald. I cried when I saw him. You see, David, I was very disappointed because Mother had told me I was going to have a little sister. I had two brothers already.”

  “ Two brothers? ” I asked.

  “ Henry died,” she explained. “ He died when he was eight years old. It was dreadfully sad. You won’t remember Henry, I’m afraid.”

  “ No, he must have died long before I was born.”

  “ Such a lot of things happened before you were born,” said Aunt Etta, and she looked so sad I was afraid she was going to cry.

  Fortunately at that moment tea was brought in and Aunt Etta cheer
ed up a lot. She enjoyed her tea; she ate scones and jam and cakes and chocolate biscuits. I had a very good tea myself but Aunt Etta ate twice as much as I did; no wonder she was fat! While she ate she talked all the time and she was really very amusing; she told me about Father when he was a little boy. According to Aunt Etta, Father was very naughty indeed and was never out of mischief. Somehow it gave me a new idea of Father to hear that he was not always good and grave.

  “ You’ll come again, won’t you, David? ” said Aunt Etta when I rose to go. “ Come again soon.”

  “ Yes, of course. I’d like to come again,” I told her—and it was true.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When I returned from having tea with Aunt Etta it was nearly six o’clock. Uncle Matt came out of his study and met me in the hall.

  “ Goodness, David, I thought you were lost! ” he exclaimed. “ You haven’t been all this time with Etta, have you? Where’s the letter? ”

  I had forgotten all about the wretched letter.

  “ Don’t stand there gaping like a fish,” said Uncle Matt testily. “ You’ve got that note for me, I suppose.”

  “ She didn’t—write a note.”

  He glared at me. “ Why didn’t you wait for an answer? I told you to wait for an answer, didn’t I? ”

  “ Yes, but she wouldn’t——” I began.

  “ What did she say? ”

  “ She said she didn’t want to sell the house,” I replied. I could see Uncle Matt was getting very angry and I was not going to tell him that his letter had been thrown into the fire. Aunt Etta could tell him that herself if she wanted to.

  “ What on earth do you mean! ” exclaimed Uncle Matt. “ You know perfectly well I wanted a proper answer to the letter. You should have waited until she had written it. I can’t do anything until I get that note. What’s she going to do with the damned house! ”

  “ She just said she doesn’t want to sell the house. That’s all.”

  “ That’s all! ” he cried. “ I write her a business letter and she sends a verbal message that she doesn’t want to sell the house! That’s all, is it! That’s gratitude! I toil and moil and do her business for her and all I get in return is this infernal nonsense. What does she think she’s going to do with the place? She can’t go and live there! She can’t leave it to rot! ”

  “ I couldn’t help it, Uncle Matt! ”

  “ You couldn’t help it! ” he exclaimed scornfully. “ Of course you could have helped it. You should have made her write an answer. You’re a perfect fool! ”

  Uncle Matt’s face was as red as fire; he called his sister every name under the sun. “ The stubborn old mule! ” he shouted. “ She’s crazy! I could have her locked up to-morrow! That would teach her a lesson and save a deal of trouble——”

  I had never seen anybody in such a fury before and to tell the truth I was terrified. I had heard that people sometimes had fits when they flew into rages and I expected that any minute Uncle Matt might fall down dead. I dodged past him and ran up the stairs, pursued by the sound of his voice, hoarse with anger.

  For a long time I sat on the end of my bed thinking about Uncle Matt, and the funny mixture he was, wondering what it was going to be like living with him for years. People had been angry with me before (sometimes old Meg was furious with me) but never unless I deserved it. Uncle Matt had raged at me for something I could not help; that was what upset me. I thought of Haines and the manse and the gentle voices of Mother and Father. I began to realise that the world was different from what I had thought. Perhaps my home had been too sheltered. Perhaps I had been coddled—not coddled physically but mentally. Perhaps Mother had been right in saying that only children were too sensitive and it was much harder for them when they went out into the world and had their corners rubbed off. Uncle Matt had rubbed off one of my corners effectually; he had destroyed the illusion that you could depend upon grown-up people to be sensible and just.

  When the gong rang for dinner I crept softly down the stairs and listened. Voices were coming from the study, cheerful voices, and I heard Uncle Matt’s hearty laugh. I opened the door and saw him standing with his back to the fire in his favourite position looking as pleased as Punch; a tall thin man with long legs and a long sad face was sitting on the sofa.

  “ Here’s David! ” cried Uncle Matt. “ I told you about him, didn’t I? David, this is Mr. Blackworth.”

  It was obvious that Uncle Matt and Mr. Blackworth were great friends (indeed afterwards I discovered they had been at school together); they called one another Tom and Matt and talked hard all the time. Mr. Blackworth’s long sad face was deceptive; he was extremely funny and made the most comical remarks without the ghost of a smile. I never heard him laugh once all the time I knew him; but he was very good at making other people laugh, especially Uncle Matt.

  We went in to dinner. Uncle Matt had opened a bottle of especially good claret for the benefit of his friend and they insisted that I should have some too. The first sip surprised me, for I had never tasted wine before, but when I had drunk half a glass I decided that I liked it. Uncle Matt was pleased, he said claret was a gentleman’s drink and every gentleman should have a cultivated palate. Mr. Blackworth said sadly that if Uncle Matt thought it a necessary constituent in my education it would come pretty expensive. They talked about claret at length and I found it interesting. Long ago claret had become a favourite drink in Edinburgh because the town had such a close connection with France. The finest French wines and spirits were brought over by smugglers and found their way free of duty to the tables of the good Edinburgh burghers. In those days it was thought no crime to have dealings with the Free Traders (as they were called more politely by those who enjoyed their wares). The smugglers and the Jacobites worked together and it was natural that they should for they both worked under cover of darkness and both worked against the law of the land. The Free Traders smuggled in their wines and smuggled out the followers of Prince Charles. It was convenient and a matter of principle as well.

  “ There’s a wee poem about claret,” said Uncle Matt. “ My father was fond of quoting it—your grandfather, David—I’m not very sure that I’ve got it right but it went something like this:

  “ Guid claret best keeps oot the cauld

  And rives awa’ the winter sune.

  It mak’s a manny wise and bauld

  And heaves his saul beyond the mune.”

  “ I’ve heard it somewhere,” Mr. Blackworth said. “ Maybe I heard it from your father, Matt.”

  Like Uncle Matt, Mr. Blackworth was a solicitor and when they had finished discussing claret they began to talk about a law suit which had been tried quite recently in the Edinburgh courts. I did not understand all they were saying but I listened and went on with my dinner. Uncle Matt and Mr. Blackworth were dissatisfied with the verdict and they were especially annoyed with a man called McFluster who had asked one of the witnesses a leading question and got away with it.

  “ What’s a leading question, Uncle Matt? ” I said.

  “ Bless me, I’d forgotten the boy! ” he exclaimed. “ What do you make of all this rigamrole, eh? ”

  They both looked at me and waited for an answer. “ Not very much,” I said. “ I didn’t understand all of it but it sounds to me as if there had been a miscarriage of justice.”

  “ A Daniel come to judgment,” said Mr. Blackworth.

  Uncle Matt was laughing uproariously. I think he had forgotten that he had taught me the term himself. “ A miscarriage of justice! ” he cried. “ Did you hear that, Tom! That’s rich! McFluster would like that.”

  “ You haven’t explained the term ‘ leading question,’ ” said Mr. Blackworth. “ Our young friend, Daniel, asked you what it meant.”

  “ You tell him,” said Uncle Matt feebly. “ You tell him what it means. I’m nearly killed.”

  “ Well, Daniel,” said Mr. Blackworth. “ I would have you know that when a witness is being examined in court he may be asked a great man
y questions about what he saw and heard, but these questions must be straightforward and must on no account give him a lead or presuppose an answer. For instance——”

  But Uncle Matt had recovered now and interrupted him. “ You’re not making it clear, Tom. The boy doesn’t know what you’re talking about.” And with that he began to explain the matter himself.

  Soon they had forgotten me again and were hard at it, arguing with one another about questions which they had heard being put to witnesses and debating hotly whether or not they were leading questions. To tell the truth I was not much wiser at the end of the discussion than I was at the beginning and it seemed to me that it must be very difficult for a judge to decide what was a leading question and what was not.

  When I went up to bed at nine o’clock, which was my usual time on Sundays, the two of them were still talking. They were sitting beside the fire in the study and as I paused at the door and looked back at them I thought they made a good picture; they were so different from one another and yet there was something about them the same.

  As time passed I got to know Mr. Blackworth quite well for he often came to dinner with Uncle Matt; they both loved talking but they were quite fair about it and willing to listen to what each other had to say. Mr. Blackworth always called me Daniel; it had started as a joke but after a bit I believe he forgot about the joke and was under the impression that Daniel was my name. I used to look at him and wonder—his face was so inscrutable that it was impossible to tell whether he was making a joke or not.

  Mr. Blackworth had a nephew called Miles, a big upstanding fellow with dark curly hair. Miles Blackworth went to the same school as I did; he was in my form and we became fast friends. I had always been small for my age and I had mousy fair hair, so I admired Miles tremendously; he was exactly the sort of fellow I should have liked to be. He was a back at rugger, he was dashing and gay, he never suffered from shyness. Sometimes I used to wonder why Miles bothered about me; he could have had anybody he liked as a friend. One afternoon—it was a half holiday—we went to the Zoo together and he came back and had tea. Another day we went to a film and enjoyed it tremendously. Miles never asked me to go to his house, he explained that his family were “ a nuisance.”