‘The innocent suffer with the guilty.’
‘They do indeed. Cecil’s two children will be coming to Stanney Royd.’
‘Oh, good!’ said Jonathan, brightening.
13. Grandchildren
With her customary tact Jennifer gave Chuff a bedroom of the same dimensions and view as Jonathan’s, and allotted to Susie old Mrs Morcar’s large front room. When she requested Morcar’s approval for these decisions, he thought the latter arrangement would have pleased his mother, but the room rather large for so young a girl. He said so.
‘But she’ll grow up. They grow up so quickly, Uncle Harry,’ said Jennifer.
‘Too true,’ said Morcar grimly, remembering Jonathan’s overnight transformation.
He stood now on the London dock and watched his grandchildren descending the ship’s gangway. Chuff seemed to have grown rather large and tall, and his reddish hair had settled into a not unpleasing tawny. If he held himself better, developed better manners and (for heaven’s sake! thought Morcar, looking with disgust at the lad’s cheap striped suit) wore better clothes, he would be quite good-looking in a heavy way. Susie hung her head, so that her fair hair drooped about her face; Chuff, Morcar noticed, held her arm tightly. Stepping off the gangway, they stood looking round, uncertain, buffeted a little by other disembarking passengers. Morcar had cabled to the ship that he would meet them, and was a little disappointed, though he told himself that this was unreasonable, that they did not at once perceive him. He stepped forward and waved. Chuff’s face at once lighted.
‘Grandfather!’ he exclaimed.
Morcar shook hands, and stooped to kiss Susie. She did not raise her head, and Morcar’s lips touched her cheek only through a veil of hair. Even this slight contact, however, disconcerted him; the cheek which Morcar remembered as warm, round, firm, seemed now slack, pale, and limp.
‘Have you had a bad voyage? Rough, I mean? The English Channel can be rough, I know.’
‘No,’ said Chuff. ‘Not rough. But long.’
‘It would have been better perhaps to come by air,’ said Morcar.
‘Uncle Hubert thought otherwise.’
He spoke on a note of sarcasm which Morcar had never heard in Cecil’s voice. Morcar glanced at him sharply. The boy’s face was sullen with pain. Natural, of course.
‘I’m very glad you’ve decided to come home to England, Chuff. A bit surprised, perhaps. But glad.’
‘Well, it will be different,’ said Chuff, glum.
They piled into the taxi which Morcar had pre-engaged and began their long drive west. Morcar pointed out objects of historic interest: the Tower, St Paul’s, the various bridges. Chuff looked at them with a certain sulky interest which however seemed to increase, Susie did not move or speak.
‘I thought you might want to stay out in Africa with your Uncle Hubert, but I’m glad you didn’t,’ resumed Morcar, trying to ensure that the boy felt welcomed.
Chuff’s face hardened. ‘Uncle Hubert didn’t want me. He’s only my great-uncle, father’s uncle, after all. I just call him Uncle—’
‘By courtesy. Yes.’
‘He’s got plenty of children and grandchildren of his own to look after. He doesn’t want me. I don’t want to go where I’m not wanted.’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Morcar with emphasis, remembering a time in his youth when he had felt just the same.
‘I don’t think much of the Shaws, Grandfather.’
Morcar bit back his own strong agreement with this proposition.
‘Of course,’ said Chuff slowly, ‘Father was different.’
‘Yes.’
‘He was only half a Shaw, he wasn’t like them at all. Never went after his own advantage. He was too good, really. I see that now. Mom was a bit hard on him, I think.’
‘Your father and mother were very much attached to each other.’
‘Yes, I think they were, really,’ said Chuff, a hint of question, however, in his tone.
‘I know they were,’ said Morcar emphatically.
Chuff seemed reassured.
‘Are we,’ he began slowly, ‘are we going to live with you or with Grandmother? You don’t live together, I believe.’ He blushed in embarrassment.
‘With me,’ said Morcar.
‘Oh. Well,’ said Chuff, brightening.
‘You don’t mind me asking?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I just wondered. Susie wondered.’
Susie, sitting between Morcar and her brother, made a very slight movement, the first sign of life she had shown. Morcar put his arm round her shoulders, which he found painfully thin.
‘Your Aunt Jennifer is looking forward to seeing you, Susie. She really is your aunt, you know; she was married to your mother’s brother – well, half-brother. But they were very close.’
Susie said nothing.
They were just in time to catch the Pullman to the north. Chuff seemed decidedly cheered by the amenities of this train, and ate heartily of the luncheon, which fortunately happened to be of good quality. Susie had to be coaxed to choose the dish she wanted, said one word in a whisper, and ate almost nothing. Morcar, remembering her merry little face, her former gay laughter, was growing disturbed. When she was absent for a few minutes in the lavatory, he took the opportunity to ask Chuff quickly:
‘What’s the matter with Susie? She seems so different.’
‘She seems as though she can’t get over it, you see,’ said Chuff. ‘She was very fond of Father.’
‘I know.’
‘She saw him, you see. He was all - sliced up,’ said Chuff. His voice held pain, and tears stood in his eyes.
‘Oh, no!’
‘Yes. Well, it was like this, you see. Susie and I had been to Uncle Hubert’s for a week in the holidays, and Father and Mom were coming to fetch us back. They didn’t come and they didn’t come, and there was no reply on the phone, and finally Uncle Hubert got annoyed and said he’d drive us back himself. Well, he did, and we came to this village and there were police all about and they wouldn’t let us through, and we got out and went into the police station, and Susie ran ahead, and they were lying there - Father and Mom, I mean. Susie was dreadfully upset, and she’s hardly spoken a word since. It was a mistake, you know, letting her in, but she slipped by.’
‘Good heavens! It certainly was a mistake.’
‘They didn’t mean it,’ said Chuff, frankly weeping. ‘They wouldn’t let me go in. It was a mistake. Susie ran ahead. It upset Susie. A shock, you know. She’s only young.’
‘You must have had a difficult time on the ship with her.’
‘Yes, I did really,’ said Chuff with a sniff.
‘Well, that’s over now. We’ll look after her. Your Aunt Jennifer will know what to do. We’ll have the doctor. We’ll get her well.’
‘I think Susie was kind of hoping she would live with Grandmamma - being Father’s mother, you see.’
The thought of the pale, delicate Susie in Winnie’s coarse hands made Morcar feel quite sick, and he was about to say firmly that it had been decided that Chuff and Susie should live with him, when he remembered Jonathan’s comment on old Hardaker’s arrangement of the younger generation’s lives. Yet uncertainty, he felt sure, would be the worst possible thing at the moment for these two homeless children.
‘I don’t want to,’ put in Chuff.
He sounded anxious. Morcar said cheerfully:
‘I want you and Susie to live with me, and it’s been decided with your grandmother that you shall do so. But if after a year you or Susie want to change, you can do so. I hope you won’t, but I shan’t take it amiss if you do.’
‘Shall we see Grandmamma, then?’
‘Yes. Next Sunday,’ said Morcar grimly.
Chuff relaxed and became quite talkative and friendly. He explained what Morcar had said, to Susie on her return. She gave a faint smile but said nothing.
‘I didn’t recognize you when we first came off the ship, Grandfather,’
said Chuff cheerfully. ‘With your hair being so much more grey in front now, you know. That’s how it was.’
Morcar sighed.
14. Susie and Jonathan
Jonathan, returning from voluntary personal service in Jugoslavia, in dirty khaki shorts and shirt, very brown and dusty, and tired with the weight of the heavy knapsack on his back, emerged from Annotsfield railway station and climbed thankfully into the Marthwaite bus. To be at home and in a hot bath was his great desire at the moment, and as the bus rolled along the Ire Valley, quiet and empty on this hot summer Sunday afternoon, he could think of little else, though he tried hard to direct his mind to nobler subjects.
The bus paused at one of its appointed stopping-places. An old man dismounted. Jonathan glancing out idly saw a child standing at the other side of the road; when the bus drew up she started forward as if perhaps she suddenly realized that that vehicle was the one for her purpose. Neither driver nor conductor saw her, and the bus moved on. The child returned to the pavement and stood there listlessly, with hanging head. Jonathan felt idly sorry for her. The bus complementary to his own, on its way back into Annotsfield, passed by and drew up beside the child; she exchanged a few words with the conductor, but did not mount, and the bus moved on. The child gazed yearningly after Jonathan’s bus. The road was now empty, the old man who had left the bus had vanished. There was something so forlorn in the child’s stance that compassion stirred uncomfortably in Jonathan’s heart. She’s lost, he thought; she doesn’t know which bus to take. There’s nobody for her to ask. Oh, Lord, what a nuisance, thought Jonathan crossly. I shall have to get out. All that way back in this heat! He rose.
‘Next stop, please.’
‘It’s a long way on,’ said the Jamaican conductor, grinning ruefully.
‘Oh, Lord!’
‘You’se missed your right stop?’
‘Yes,’ said Jonathan with a sigh.
‘Bus slow down round this curve, if you’se hop off while I not looking—’
‘A good time will be had by all.’
The conductor laughed, showing his fine white teeth, and hauled Jonathan’s pack out from behind the steps by one strap.
‘I best throw this out after you. Too heavy to jump with.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jonathan. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
The descent of man and pack was safely accomplished, and Jonathan trudged back along the hot road. The child was still standing exactly where the bus had left her; it struck Jonathan that she was perhaps a little older than he had imagined. He crossed the road to her.
‘Can I help you?’ he began politely.
The child leaped back and cowered against the wall. She actually trembled, and there was a look of such naked fear in her eyes that Jonathan was shocked.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he urged. ‘I only want to help you. You’re lost, aren’t you?’
The child nodded, her very fair hair rippling in the sunshine as it swung.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Stanney Royd,’ whispered the child.
‘Stanney Royd! Why, that’s where I live. You must be Mr Morcar’s grand-daughter. Are you? Are you Susan Morcar?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Susan.
‘Well, that’s very nice,’ said Jonathan heartily. ‘Very nice indeed. Because I’m your cousin, you see. Half-cousin if you want to be exact. Your mother and my father were stepbrother and sister. I’m Jonathan Oldroyd.’
To his disappointment this statement did not seem to reassure Susie; indeed she turned on him a look of pale despair which was quite heartbreaking.
‘We shall have to wait for the next Marthwaite bus,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m afraid it will be a long time. The service is poor on Sundays. It comes on the other side of the road. We’ll go across.’
As she made no attempt to stir he took her hand in his and led her across to the bus stop. Here he shed his pack with relief, but looking at his watch saw with dismay how long they would have to wait before the next bus came. She looks as though she would faint, thought Jonathan in alarm.
‘Let’s lean against the wall. Well, why don’t we sit on it?’ suggested Jonathan. Susie looked at the wall as though to mount it were quite beyond her powers. ‘Turn round and bend your arms and keep your elbows in,’ he commanded.
She did this with a prompt accuracy which showed Jonathan that she knew this method of lifting. He put his hands under her elbows and heaved. A sinewy young man, he had yet expected to be obliged to a considerable effort, but Susie’s weight was so slight that she came off the ground with ease. She gave a wriggle and was comfortably seated on the wall. Jonathan heaved himself up beside her.
‘Well, this is pleasant,’ he said, kicking his heels against the wall. ‘Don’t you think so, Susie?’
She rewarded him with a faint smile.
‘That’s Syke Mills,’ said Jonathan, encouraged, pointing to the large block which lay between them and the beginnings of Annotsfield. ‘The mill your grandfather owns. My grandfather used to own it. That hill is Scape Scar.’
He wondered whether to embark on the story of the Luddites, to pass the time. But no, he checked himself hurriedly; there was a murder in that story, and Susie had had enough of murders lately.
‘Do you see that small mill chimney over there, in the distance, up valley?’ he said. ‘Down by the river.’
She turned her head, but was not looking in the right direction for Old Mill. He took her hand and pointed it; she made a faint sound which might have been the beginning of a laugh.
‘That’s my mill,’ said Jonathan with a sigh. ‘Do you work there?’ breathed Susie.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want to.’
Susie turned and gazed at him. Her eyes were such a deep, pure blue and their expression so astonished that Jonathan was glad to turn away his attention to a car which just rushed round the distant curve. What a piece of luck! It was the white Jag which belonged to Nat Armitage. Jonathan leaped across the pavement and flagged it down. Nat looked particularly bad-tempered, and spoke crisply as he rolled the window down.
‘Well, Jonathan?’
‘Would you be so awfully kind as to drive Susie and myself home? She’s Mr Morcar’s grand-daughter from South Africa.’
‘I know.’
‘She’s been lost and she seems rather - distressed.’
‘I know. They’re all out looking for her. Get in.’
Susie had slipped down from the wall but was cowering against it; large tears rolled slowly down her cheek. She pulled back when Jonathan tried to urge her towards the car.
‘Don’t be afraid, Susie, there’s nothing to be afraid about, Nobody is cross with you, dear,’ he said. ‘This is Mr Armitage, a friend of ours, who’s going to drive us home, so we shan’t have to wait for the bus. Come along.’
‘Poor kid,’ said Nat briefly, opening the rear door.
Trembling and quietly weeping, as if afraid to make a noise, Susie was coaxed into the car. Jonathan beside her put his arm round her and drew her down to his shoulder. The trembling of her slight body against his seemed to him the most harrowing experience he had ever undergone. Nat Armitage drew up at the gate of Stanney Royd and Jonathan dismounted.
‘Won’t you come in?’
‘I think not,’ said Nat drily. ‘Look out! She’s off again.’
Swinging round, Jonathan saw that Susie was running away towards the summer-house in the corner of the garden. He slammed the door and raced after her. A shout behind him made him turn; Nat stood beside the car with Jonathan’s pack in his hand. Jonathan waved dismissively; surely he can just drop it inside the gate, he thought with irritation. The notion passed through his mind that Nat had been proposing to his mother again and been again rejected; but this was only a fleeting thought, he had no time to give it consideration.
Susie was on her knees beside the garden seat, her face buried in her hands. Jonathan dragged her up t
o sit beside him and folded her in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nat Armitage stamping up the drive with Jonathan’s knapsack slung awkwardly over his shoulder, irritation in every movement.
That’s good,’ thought Jonathan, relieved. ‘He’ll tell Mother that Susie and I are here. Now, Susie,’ he went on in a warm loving tone. ‘What’s the matter, love? Tell me all about it.’
In a wild burst of tears and incoherent words Susie brought out the whole story. She sobbed, she wailed, she even screamed; now that the barriers of her repression were broken, her emotions were quite out of control.
‘Daddy is dead. They killed him. His face was cut in half.’
‘I’m terribly, terribly sorry, Susie,’ said Jonathan, rocking her against his breast. ‘But it wouldn’t hurt him long, you know.’
‘Yes, it would.’
‘Well, he is at rest now, nothing can hurt him any more,’ said Jonathan, horrified to hear himself uttering the conventional clichés of consolation, but finding them on the whole the best things to say. ‘How unhappy it would make him if he could see you now!’
‘Why?’ shrilled Susie, raising her head to glare at him.
The sight of her small young face, now red and swollen with weeping, smote Jonathan like a blow across his heart.
‘To see you so unhappy, Susie, to see his little daughter so unhappy. He was very fond of you.’
‘Yes.’
‘It would make him very unhappy to see you crying so.’
‘He can’t see me. He’s dead,’ wailed Susie, striking a clenched fist against Jonathan’s chest.
Jonathan agreed with her but could not find enough brutality in himself to say so. He laid his cheek against hers and kissed her, instead.
‘I wanted to live with Grannie Morcar,’ muttered Susie, muffled against his shoulder. ‘I thought she would be like Daddy’
‘I’m sure your grandfather will allow you to do so if you wish,’ said Jonathan. He felt ready to fight for her rights in this respect, but knew he should feel deprived of something if this palpitating little creature left Stanney Royd.
‘I don’t wish! She isn’t like Daddy!’
A Man of His Time Page 10
