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THE REGENT
A FIVE TOWNS STORY OF ADVENTURE IN LONDON
BY
ARNOLD BENNETT
1913
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAPTER
I. DOG-BITE.II. THE BANK-NOTEIII. WILKINS'SIV. ENTRY INTO THE THEATRICAL WORLDV. MR SACHS TALKSVI. LORD WOLDO AND LADY WOLDO
PART II
CHAPTER
VII. CORNER-STONEVIII. DEALING WITH ELSIEIX. THE FIRST NIGHTX. ISABEL
THE REGENT
PART I
CHAPTER I
DOG-BITE
I
"And yet," Edward Henry Machin reflected as at six minutes to sixhe approached his own dwelling at the top of Bleakridge, "and yet--Idon't feel so jolly after all!"
The first two words of this disturbing meditation had reference to thefact that, by telephoning twice to his stockbrokers at Manchester,he had just made the sum of three hundred and forty-one pounds in apurely speculative transaction concerning Rubber Shares. (It was inthe autumn of the great gambling year, 1910.) He had simply opened hislucky and wise mouth at the proper moment, and the money, like ripe,golden fruit, had fallen into it, a gift from benign heaven, surelya cause for happiness! And yet--he did not feel so jolly! He wassurprised, he was even a little hurt, to discover by introspectionthat monetary gain was not necessarily accompanied by felicity.Nevertheless, this very successful man of the world of the Five Towns,having been born on the 27th of May 1867, had reached the age offorty-three and a half years!
"I must be getting older," he reflected.
He was right. He was still young, as every man of forty-three willagree, but he was getting older. A few years ago a windfall of threehundred and forty-one pounds would not have been followed by morbidself-analysis; it would have been followed by unreasoning, instinctiveelation, which elation would have endured at least twelve hours.
As he disappeared within the reddish garden wall which shelteredhis abode from the publicity of Trafalgar Road, he half hoped to seeNellie waiting for him on the famous marble step of the porch, for thewoman had long, long since invented a way of scouting for his adventfrom the small window in the bathroom. But there was nobody on themarble step. His melancholy increased. At the mid-day meal he hadcomplained of neuralgia, and hence this was an evening upon which hemight fairly have expected to see sympathy charmingly attired in theporch. It is true that the neuralgia had completely gone. "Still," hesaid to himself with justifiable sardonic gloom, "how does she know myneuralgia's gone? She doesn't know."
Having opened the front-door (with the thinnest, neatest latch-keyin the Five Towns), he entered his home and stumbled slightly over abrush that was lying against the sunk door-mat. He gazed at that brushwith resentment. It was a dilapidated hand-brush. The offensive objectwould have been out of place, at nightfall, in the lobby of any house.But in the lobby of his house--the house which he had planned a dozenyears earlier, to the special end of minimizing domestic labour, andwhich he had always kept up to date with the latest devices--in hislobby the spectacle of a vile, outworn hand-brush at tea-time amountedto a scandal. Less than a fortnight previously he had purchased andpresented to his wife a marvellous electric vacuum-cleaner, surpassingall former vacuum-cleaners. You simply attached this machine by a cordto the wall, like a dog, and waved it in mysterious passes over thefloor, like a fan, and the house was clean! He was as proud of thismachine as though he had invented it, instead of having merely boughtit; every day he inquired about its feats, expecting enthusiasticreplies as a sort of reward for his own keenness: and be it said thathe had had enthusiastic replies.
And now this obscene hand-brush!
As he carefully removed his hat and his beautiful new Melton overcoat(which had the colour and the soft smoothness of a damson), heanimadverted upon the astounding negligence of women. There wereNellie (his wife), his mother, the nurse, the cook, the maid--five ofthem; and in his mind they had all plotted together--a conspiracy ofcarelessness--to leave the inexcusable tool in his lobby for him tostumble over. What was the use of accidentally procuring three hundredand forty-one pounds?
Still no sign of Nellie, though he purposely made a noisy rattle withhis ebon walking-stick. Then the maid burst out of the kitchen with atray and the principal utensils for high tea thereon. She had a guiltyair. The household was evidently late. Two steps at a time he rushedupstairs to the bathroom, so as to be waiting in the dining-room atsix precisely, in order, if possible, to shame the household and fillit with remorse and unpleasantness. Yet ordinarily he was not a veryprompt man, nor did he delight in giving pain. On the contrary, he wasapt to be casual, blithe and agreeable.
The bathroom was his peculiar domain, which he was always modernizing,and where his talent for the ingenious organization of comfort, andhis utter indifference to aesthetic beauty, had the fullest scope.By universal consent admitted to be the finest bathroom in the FiveTowns, it typified the whole house. He was disappointed on thisoccasion to see no untidy trace in it of the children's ablution;some transgression of the supreme domestic law that the bathroom mustalways be free and immaculate when father wanted it would havesuited his gathering humour. As he washed his hands and cleansed hiswell-trimmed nails with a nail-brush that had cost five shillings andsixpence, he glanced at himself in the mirror, which he was splashing.A stoutish, broad-shouldered, fair, chubby man, with a short brightbeard and plenteous bright hair! His necktie pleased him; the eleganceof his turned-back wristbands pleased him; and he liked the rich downon his forearms.
He could not believe that he looked forty-three and a half. And yethe had recently had an idea of shaving off his beard, partly to defytime, but partly also (I must admit) because a friend had suggested tohim, wildly, perhaps--that if he dispensed with a beard his hair mightgrow more sturdily ... Yes, there was one weak spot in the middleof the top of his head, where the crop had of late disconcertinglythinned! The hairdresser had informed him that the symptomwould vanish under electric massage, and that, if he doubted the_bona-fides_ of hairdressers, any doctor would testify to the value ofelectric massage. But now Edward Henry Machin, strangely discouraged,inexplicably robbed of the zest of existence, decided that it was notworth while to shave off his beard. Nothing was worth while. If he wasforty-three and a half, he was forty-three and a half! To become baldwas the common lot. Moreover, beardless, he would need the service ofa barber every day. And he was absolutely persuaded that not a barberworth the name could be found in the Five Towns. He actually went toManchester--thirty-six miles--to get his hair cut. The operationnever cost him less than a sovereign and half a day's time ... And hehonestly deemed himself to be a fellow of simple tastes! Such is theeffect of the canker of luxury. Happily he could afford these simpletastes, for, although not rich in the modern significance of the term,he paid income tax on some five thousand pounds a year, without quiteconvincing the Surveyor of Taxes that he was an honest man.
He brushed the thick hair over the weak spot, he turned down hiswristbands, he brushed the collar of his jacket, and lastly, hisbeard; and he put on his jacket--with a certain care, for he wasvery neat. And then, reflectively twisting his moustache to militarypoints, he spied through the smaller window to see whether the newhigh hoarding of the football-ground really did prevent a seriousobserver from descrying wayfarers as they breasted the hill fromHanbridge. It did not. Then he spied through the larger window uponthe yard, to see whether the wall of the new rooms which he had latelyadded to his house showed any further trace of damp, and whether thenew chauffeur was washing the new motor car with all his heart. Thewall showed no further trace of damp, and the new chauffeur's bentback seemed to symbolize an extreme consc
ientiousness.
Then the clock on the landing struck six and he hurried off to put thehousehold to open shame.
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