Chuff, however, did not seem dismayed. He laid aside his grey wedding topper with care, picked up the fragile morsel, and offered it to his sister, saying mildly:
‘Come on, now. You know you’ve got to wear it, Susie.’
Susie made a slight grimace and tossed her head - her pale hair rippling in the sun was charming - and snatching the hat from Chuff’s hand, ran out, murmuring something about getting ‘the woman’ to arrange it for her.
‘She means the milliner. It’ll be all right,’ said Chuff soothingly.
‘But what was all that about?’ asked the bewildered Morcar.
‘They never have got on. They both try but they can’t manage it,’ said Chuff as before.
‘Jennifer and Susie? But why?’
‘Jealousy, I suppose,’ said Chuff with a shrug.
The words ‘Of Jonathan?’ came to Morcar’s lips, but he managed not to utter them. Chuff, however, appeared to understand them unspoken, for he nodded slightly.
Almost immediately Jonathan came in to announce that the groomsmen’s car was waiting. Susie came in with the position of her headdress much improved. Jennifer came in, now wearing an agreeable grey hat and carrying a bouquet of freesias. Chuff picked up his hat and gloves. Morcar was so eager for the whole affair to be over that these actions seemed to him to take place in slow motion.
‘We must be going, I think,’ said Jonathan.
He went to his mother, laid his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her very tenderly.
‘Next time he does that she’ll be the wife of another man,’ thought Morcar.
The young people went to the waiting car, and Morcar and Jennifer were left alone. They sat in silence for a while.
‘I have tried to repay you for all your great kindness to me, Uncle Harry,’ said Jennifer at length.
Her voice shook, her eyes looked moist. Morcar perceived that - as usual, he reflected sardonically - the oldest member of the party would have to provide the courage and tenacity required by the occasion.
‘My dear, you have repaid me a thousandfold,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m delighted that this happiness should come to you. It is your duty to be happy now,’ he added, congratulating himself on the shrewdness of this utterance, for he knew his Jennifer and her belief in the calls of duty. He smiled at her reassuringly, and concluded: ‘That’s a delicious hat.’
‘Rather gay, perhaps?’
‘Not in my opinion,’ said Morcar, laughing.
At long last the car came and they drove up the valley to the church. A small crowd had collected round the church gate, and when he entered the building and saw the congregation, Morcar was not surprised. They’ve had their money’s worth, he reflected. For the number of mink stoles, petal hats, bright new suits, pale suède gloves, strings of real pearls, grey toppers, and morning coats, was quite phenomenal; the textile aristocracy of the West Riding was assembled there.
‘I wish Edwin could have come,’ said Jennifer, alluding to her brother, as they stood in the porch.
‘The demands of the service,’ Morcar reminded her mechanically, hoping that he was using the right phrase -Edwin was at sea off Malaysia.
The ceremony was carried through in excellent style. The groomsmen had sorted the guests efficiently, Susie had recovered her temper and smiled sweetly (Jonathan had perhaps said a word, reflected Morcar); the organ notes rolled, the choir’s trebles soared admirably through the air; the sacred words were pronounced with proper dignity, the inaudible address to the married pair was brief; there was an uncomfortable moment in the vestry, when Jennifer’s hand, signing Oldroyd for the last time, shook, but this was soon over; the wedding march sounded in triumph, Nat Armitage appeared as happy as a dog with two tails as he limped down the aisle with his wife on his arm, and Jennifer all of a sudden, to Morcar’s relief, began to look very young and very happy.
Involved at Stanney Royd with Armitage sisters and cousins and aunts, Morcar played the genial host with verve - it was a performance, but one he acted well, taking pleasure in his own virtuosity. Speeches were made, toasts drunk; voices grew shrill and loud; the bridal pair went off to change, and Morcar suddenly felt a hundred years old and totally exhausted. He sank down into the deep settee in his den; he badly needed a drink, and Jonathan was near, leaning against the mantelpiece engaged in earnest talk with a thin bearded young man so like Ruth Mellor that he must be her brother. But it was no use asking Jonathan for a drink, Morcar thought; Jonathan would bring him tomato juice, or perhaps, conceding a point, a very pale whisky, with a disapproving air. Above the heads of milling guests, he caught sight of Chuff and held up a finger; Chuff replied with a gesture indicating a glass and Morcar nodded. A waiter almost immediately came smiling to him with a double whisky, neat, alone on a tray; Morcar drank and felt better. But now, unfortunately, Chuff loomed in front of him with an unknown female in tow; she was in middle life, tall, thin, rather sallow, rather sharp in feature but not unhandsome, with dark grey eyes, and mid-brown hair going grey.
‘This is my grandfather, Mrs Mellor,’ began Chuff.
Morcar heaved himself up reluctantly from his corner in the settee.
‘Pray don’t rise. I’m G. B. Mellor’s widow, Mr Morcar.’
‘Ruth’s mother,’ confirmed Chuff.
‘Ah, I’m very glad to meet you,’ lied Morcar, eyeing her shrewdly. She was clad austerely in a navy blue suit of poor cloth, with navy blue gloves - ‘a good match but made of fabric,’ observed Morcar - a very plain hat and a very small brooch. ‘Can’t afford real pearls and won’t stoop to artificial ones. No beads, thank goodness.’
‘You treated me very honourably after my husband’s death, Mr Morcar.’
‘I hope I always behave honourably, Mrs Mellor,’ said Morcar, annoyed.
‘I am referring to your purchase of my husband’s interests in Old Syke Mill.’
‘It was at the market price.’
‘Slightly above, I think.’
Unable to deny this, Morcar slightly bowed. The value has risen since,’ he said.
‘But of course the pound has dropped.’
‘Unfortunately.’
‘You hold all the shares now.’
‘Did Chuff tell you that?’ said Morcar, vexed.
‘No, indeed. He would think it improper to discuss your affairs, and so, I assure you, would I. It’s just common talk in Annotsfield, you know. Grapevine.’
‘A tongue like a needle,’ thought Morcar, and it occurred to him that Chuff’s slow speech, even his slow sulks, might be welcome to a girl whose mother had a tongue of such sharpness. Mrs Mellor was certainly, however, a woman of intelligence, who expressed herself with lucidity.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ he said, trying not to sound reluctant.
Mrs Mellor had clearly been expecting this, and the two sat down together.
‘Run away, Chuff,’ said Mrs Mellor pleasantly, waving him off. ‘I want to talk to your grandfather.’
Chuff and Morcar exchanged a glance of sympathy, which revealed that their opinions of Mrs Mellor coincided; Mrs Mellor regarded them with a smile which revealed that she was aware of this.
‘I’ve taken an afternoon off work so as to have this opportunity of a talk with you, Mr Morcar.’
‘Very kind of you,’ said Morcar sardonically.
‘I teach domestic science at the Annotsfield Technical College,’ said Mrs Mellor briskly. ‘I have taught all my adult life. Except for the few months when my children were born, naturally.’
‘Naturally,’ murmured Morcar as before.
‘I expect you knew at once I was a teacher,’ said Mrs Mellor. ‘One’s profession marks one, I am told.’
‘Well,’ said Morcar, torn between respect for the widow who had brought her children up successfully on her earnings - even with the help of the Welfare State and the money from the sale of Old Mill - and dislike for her type: ‘I must confess I thought you were a do-gooder of some kind.’
Mrs Mellor look
ed at him sharply. Morcar gave her a kind if teasing smile. After a pause she smiled in turn. Her smile was agreeable.
‘I can see that you are genuinely formidable, Mr Morcar,’ said she.
‘I was thinking just the same of you.’
They laughed together amicably.
‘Well now, what about my Ruth and your Chuff?’
‘Ah,’ said Morcar non-committally.
‘I’m sure you’re just as disappointed about the attachment as I am.’
‘Why are you disappointed, Mrs Mellor?’
‘I don’t think Chuff is Ruth’s mental equal, Mr Morcar. Ruth is a serious, intelligent girl. I hoped she would become a teacher, and she could easily have found a place in a training college - her examination results were excellent. But she declined. It was a severe disappointment to me.’
‘She wanted to see a bit more life, I expect,’ said Morcar comfortably.
‘No life is nobler than a teacher’s,’ said Mrs Mellor.
‘Theoretically I agree with you,’ began Morcar, ‘but—’
‘And now Chuff,’ went on Mrs Mellor. That too, Mr Morcar, is a disappointment.’
Morcar observed with amusement and pleasure that Mrs Mellor’s lack of interest in Chuff’s extremely favourable financial prospects was genuine. He began to like the woman. But he must defend Chuff, yet avoid committing him.
‘If only it had been his cousin, now,’ Mrs Mellor was saying.
Morcar, startled, grunted interrogatively.
‘Young Mr Oldroyd. A really serious young man. With such admirable political ambitions, I understand. It was my husband’s great ambition to stand for Parliament, Mr Morcar.’
‘Yes, I remember your husband’s political views,’ said Morcar. ‘I don’t share them. He was Labour. I am a Liberal.’
‘Chuff, I’m afraid, is a born Tory.’
‘Well, in this country we can live together without cutting each other’s throats.’
‘That is for the next generation to decide,’ said Mrs Mellor with decision. ‘Mr Morcar, I came here this afternoon in order to ask you a plain question.’
Then pray ask it,’ snapped Morcar. He thought of the useful phrase: ‘I have other guests,’ but for Chuff’s sake bit it back.
‘Do you disapprove of an attachment between Chuff and Ruth?’
‘No. Why should I? But I’m not going to guarantee that it will last. That’s entirely up to the young people. I have my grandson’s word that there will be no courtship in office hours, but if you think Ruth ought to leave Syke Mill—’
‘Oh, no!’ said Mrs Mellor in a tone of surprise. ‘She likes working there.’
‘She’s a good secretary,’ said Morcar, taken aback but rather touched by the innocence of Mrs Mellor’s tone.
At this moment he became aware that Ruth herself was standing in front of him, smiling. In a very neat suit of (an odd but good) deep rose, which showed off her admirable figure well but not too much, she stood as straight as a poker, with her feet well together; her eyes danced; her smile was mischievous and provoking. Morcar felt that she was well aware of being the subject of the conversation on the settee, disapproved of her mother’s approach but did not care a damn for that or for anybody else’s opinion.
‘She’s enough spirit to sink a three-decker,’ he thought with a grin of appreciation. ‘Chuff hasn’t a chance to resist her.’
‘Well, Ruth,’ he said aloud. ‘We were talking of you. I was telling your mother that you are a good secretary.’
‘Thank you, Mr Morcar,’ said Ruth demurely.
‘We’d best go into the garden and line up for the bridal departure,’ said Morcar, hauling himself up by the arm of the settee.
Ruth with a look of affectionate derision made to put a hand beneath her mother’s elbow.
‘I can manage myself, thank you,’ said Mrs Mellor sharply. ‘You had better help Mr Morcar.’
Ruth had fortunately far too much good sense to act on this (to Morcar) preposterous suggestion.
In a few moments the bride and bridegroom duly departed, amid the customary ceremonies. Jennifer again looked young and happy; it seemed to Morcar as he took her farewell kiss that her years of widowhood had rolled like a burdensome weight from her shoulders.
The guests promptly left; the house, at first a shambles, was soon restored to its normal neatness by the caterers under the superintendence of Mrs Jessopp, but felt empty and suddenly cold. A snack meal from the remnants of the buffet was served by Mrs Jessopp, and the five young people - for Ruth and her brother stayed to share it - ate heartily and with apparent enjoyment. In spite of this they managed to talk a great deal.
‘Do you iron your hair, Ruth?’ inquired Susie in her sweet clear tones. ‘To keep it so straight and smooth, I mean?’
‘Well, no,’ said Ruth. ‘It sounds rather risky to me.’
‘At school it’s the latest.’ said Susie. ‘Some girls iron it every night.’
Morcar and Jonathan listened to this with indulgent smiles. Chuff laughed. G.B. (as they seemed to call him, like his father, observed Morcar) said disapprovingly:
‘What a silly idea.’
‘It’s not sillier than anything else, really,’ said Susie in a thoughtful tone. ‘If you want straight hair, ironing will do it for you, at very small cost.’
‘Don’t try it, Susie,’ said Jonathan quickly. ‘You might burn yourself - your neck or your ears.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said Susie. ‘You just spread it out on the table like this.’ She suited the action to the word, laying her head sideways so that half the silky golden mass spread out horizontally. ‘You can damp your hair a bit if you like, and don’t have the iron too hot. Then you do the other side the same way..’
‘You don’t need to do anything to your hair, Susie,’ said Ruth with emphasis. ‘It’s perfect as it is.’
Susie laughed with surprised pleasure, and looked at Jonathan to see if he approved. He smiled and Susie was satisfied.
‘I suppose human hair could be woven into a fabric,’ remarked Chuff. The association was natural, for his sister’s extended chevelure resembled a carpet.
‘You think of nothing but fabric, Chuff,’ said G.B. impatiently.
‘It’s my job.’
‘There are more important questions. Woollen textiles are a dying trade, anyhow.’
‘Oh, thank you very much!’ exclaimed Morcar, furious.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Morcar, but you know it’s true.’
‘People will always have to wear clothes, in this climate at any rate.’
‘The fabrics of the future will be man-made,’ pronounced G.B.
‘Look, my boy,’ said Morcar, making an effort to speak mildly: ‘You know nothing about textiles, so let’s not discuss them.’
‘As you please,’ rejoined G.B., not at all discomposed. ‘But you can’t ignore the trek to the south, Mr Morcar.’
‘I ignore nothing,’ said Morcar gruffly. ‘If the fools want to go, let them go. Since you’re so well-informed,’ he went on, conscious of a desire to strike back at the young man and not resisting it, ‘I should like to hear what you think about these riots of Mods and Rockers or whatever they call themselves, at the seaside resorts this spring.’
‘Not enough amenities are provided nowadays for the young to engage their minds,’ said G.B. gravely.
‘In fact, it’s everybody’s fault but their own,’ said Morcar.
‘That’s not quite what I said,’ said G.B. colouring. ‘Society is responsible—’
The time! Look at the time! We must be off!’ exclaimed Jonathan suddenly. (And tactfully, as usual, thought Morcar.)
In a sudden scramble the five rushed away from the table to pile into the boys’ car; it seemed they were off somewhere to some theatrical celebration of the four-hundredth anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth. Morcar, relieved by the cessation of noise and bustle, found himself unable to eat further; retiring to his den, he sank thankfully on the
settee. Jonathan, running past the window, caught sight of him and waved farewell, but presently returned.
‘Would you like to come with us, Uncle Harry?’ he said diffidently. ‘Yes, do come! I’m sure we can easily get you a ticket. I’ll telephone now.’
‘No, no,’ said Morcar. In truth, he would quite liked to have attended the celebration in question, but not, he reflected, with those five youngsters frothing round his feet. Jennifer had been at once bridge and bulwark between himself and this rising generation; he was going to miss her badly. ‘No. Kind of you to think of it, but I’m a bit tired,’ he said. This was true, but not quite for the reasons implied. ‘I’ve some reading to do. You go off and enjoy yourselves.’
Jonathan smiled and danced away, obviously relieved.
‘I bore them as much as they bore me,’ reflected Morcar.
He put his feet up on the settee and lighted a cigar, feeling old and lonely.
25. Summer
Looking back on it from gloomier days, Morcar thought the summer of that year passed off rather well.
For strangely enough - but perhaps after all not so strange; in his ardent young creative days Morcar had often found his best inspirations arising after a bout of depression - the morning after the wedding he woke with a first-class design alost fully formed in his mind. It was a tweed for ladies’ wear, the colours mainly a deep rose and a pale lemon. He was aware that these strangely assorted tints came from Ruth’s suit in shadow and Susie’s hair in sunshine, and chuckled to himself over the knowledge. The cloth would be just the thing for Old Mill, which specialized in woollens; a kind of large, broken check. He rose early, gulped down a cup of hot coffee brought by Mrs Jessopp in a state of fluster, and rushed off down to the mill. At first, as had so often happened before, he met only doubt from Nathan and hesitation from his head designer, but this time he swept them fiercely along, this time he knew he was right. When the design was fully developed they both agreed; patterns were hastily woven and dispatched to his agents all over the world; though it was a bit late for the ordinary season, orders poured in; Old Mill was simply ‘pulled out’ with work. Put into other colour ranges, the design was less successful, but this was often the case and did not matter. The West Riding became aware, with admiring envy, that old Harry Morcar had brought it off again.
A Man of His Time Page 15
