The twelve-year-old Martin now stepped forward and, holding out his hand, said politely, ‘How do you do, Aunt Ellen?’ Then ten-year-old Harry, following his brother’s lead, as always, held out his hand saying, ‘How do you do, Aunt Ellen?’ Then, simultaneously, they both turned to the small boy, and when he lifted his face and grinned at them and said, ‘Hello,’ they grinned widely back at him and almost simultaneously they answered, ‘Hello.’
‘That’s a nice fire.’ The child pointed to the log fire blazing high in the wire basket, and Martin said, ‘Well, you won’t remember, but when you were one year old you nearly fell into there.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes, and on your birthday too. It’s on Christmas Eve, your birthday, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, and I’ll be five.’
‘Crikey, what an age!’ Martin assumed a mock solemn face now and they all laughed.
‘Come on over and get warm.’ As Harry held out his hand to Joseph, Ellen said, ‘I think he had better come upstairs and get changed; his feet are bound to be damp.’
‘But I want to go with…well, them.’ The child pointed and the boys laughed, and Ellen, holding out her hand, said, ‘Come on; be a good boy.’
Joseph now looked first towards his cousins and their father, then towards his mother, who was waiting with her hand extended towards him, and with a sigh that might have come from a much older child he turned from the boys. He did not, however, place his hand in his mother’s but walked before her towards the stairs. And he did not raise his eyes to the fine gallery, nor wonder at his wonderful surroundings. The pattern was set: it was personalities not things that were to attract him; but as yet he had no cognisance of what this was to mean to him.
Joseph was to remember his fifth birthday always; even during that time when he was to remember nothing else, the atmosphere of that house, particularly the hall, was to remain with him. Early in the morning of Christmas Eve, Martin and Harry had put him on the back of one of the horses and led him around the yard, which had been cleared of most of its snow. They had taken him up into the hayloft and tumbled him in the hay; then later in the day he had gone with them, helping to carry presents to the Smith family. They had walked in single file through the narrow path between the drifts of snow, down to where the three cottages stood, and there he had met the family en masse for the first time.
Mr Smith he already knew, and his wife, a big fat woman who made lovely puddings; and, of course, by now he knew Mary, her daughter, who helped with the cooking and waited on the table, and Helen, the housemaid, the one who looked like her mother—she was sixteen, so she had told him. Then there was Charlie. He, too, worked in the house: he blackened the boots and washed the bottles and glasses in the little room he had all to himself, and he was one of twins. Florrie was his twin and she worked in the kitchen washing up the dishes. And there was Mick, who seemed to do all kinds of things, from helping the gardeners to assisting with the horse shoeing. But there were two of the Smiths he met for the first time this Christmas Eve, and one was called Janet. She was thirteen and still at school. But the one who interested him the more was the youngest, Carrie.
He first saw Carrie sitting on a cracket by the open fire. She seemed dwarfed by the family about her but for him she shone out, as Mick was to say later, like a star that had dropped on a midden. It wasn’t that she was pretty. Janet was the pretty one, whereas Carrie seemed to have no outstanding feature, except perhaps her eyes. These were round, the colour indefinable as yet because the firelight, with each flicker of its flames, was changing their hue from brown to black; her mouth still retained the rosebud shape of the child but the corners of her lips seemed to droop as a mouth might do when a mind was sad.
Joseph stood staring shyly at the little girl on the cracket, while the voices seemed to pass around his head in circles as they cried, ‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Oh, ta. Ta, thanks.’
‘Eeh! The master is kind.’
‘He won’t be kind much longer, our Mary, if you don’t get over there and see to that dinner.’
‘Oh Ma! I haven’t been here a minute and Mrs Paxstone is giving an eye to things.’
‘Then you thank God for burnt offerings. Now get yourself away, our Mary, until I can come.’
‘Oh, thank you, Master Harry.’
‘Oh, thank you, Master Martin.’
Joseph rose above the wave of voices as Martin pushed something into his hand, saying, ‘Here, Joe; you give that to Carrie.’ Martin pointed to the little girl on the cracket, and Joseph, without a moment’s hesitation, went towards her and thrust the box into her hand.
‘Say ta to Master Joseph.’
The room was silent now, waiting. For answer, Carrie, with one deft stroke of her small hand, ripped the Christmas paper from the box amid exclamations of ‘Oh! My! Look what the imp’s done.’
‘Oh, you naughty girl!’
‘Well, would you believe that!’
‘It’s for your stocking, you little tinker.’
‘Let her open it now.’ It was Mick Smith speaking. The ten-year-old boy seemed to have the voice of an adult, and as if he were an adult the others made no protest and the mother said, ‘Go on then, Carrie, open it.’
By this time the child had already lifted the lid of the cardboard box and her hands were pulling away the tissue to reveal a doll that was dressed like a baby in long clothes, and as she held it up, Charlie Smith cried, ‘Coo! That’s funny; he’s giving her a bairn.’
The stable knowledge behind the laughing remark did not go unnoticed by his father, and when the boy almost landed on his back in the corner of the room, saved only by Mick’s arm, his father said, ‘That should learn you. Keep your big mouth shut except when you’re shovellin’ in your grub.’
There was an uneasy murmur in the kitchen now and Martin, adopting almost the manner of his father, said heartily, ‘Well, well; we must be off. I…I haven’t any of my parcels wrapped yet. As for Harry here’—he nudged his brother—‘I don’t think he’s done his shopping.’
‘Then he’s had it then, hasn’t he?’ The pert remark came from Janet and caused a little ripple of laughter. Joseph laughed too, but he wasn’t certain what he was laughing at. He only knew that he would like to stay and play with the little girl, but Martin had him by the hand again and so, following the example of his cousin, he was calling, ‘Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas.’ Then, just as they were about to leave the cottage through the door being held open by Dick Smith, he turned and looked back into the small room which seemed crammed with people and said, ‘It’s my birthday today, I’m five.’ At this there was a genuine roar of laughter and the voices came to him crying, ‘Happy birthday, Master Joseph. Happy birthday.’
Martin, pulling him along the path, said laughingly, ‘You’re daft, you know, Joe; they knew it was your birthday; you’ve been telling everybody since you’ve got up. And didn’t Dick give you the present of the little wooden horse?’
‘Yes, yes, I know, but…but it’s a long time since this mornin’ and they could have forgotten.’
The two brothers let out great peals of laughter, and when they reached the yard Harry took Joseph’s other hand and the brothers skipped him across it, lifting him at intervals off his feet as he ran; and when presently they entered the house they vied with each other in pulling off his wellington boots, his coat and his muffler and cap, then almost threw him onto the rug before the fire; and there they tumbled and tickled him until the uproar brought his mother down the stairs.
But on this occasion Ellen Jebeau did not say, as was her wont, ‘Stop it, Joseph! Behave yourself. Be a good boy now,’ she quietly took a chair to the side of the fire, and when the boys stopped their tumbling they all lay in a heap and stared at her.
She was no longer wearing black but was dressed in a midnight blue velvet gown, her fair hair was piled on top of her head and she l
ooked like something that only needed a frame to make a beautiful picture.
Martin screwed up his eyes as he stared at her: she reminded him of something, someone; he wasn’t sure what until there flashed through his mind the memory of his mother coming down the staircase wearing a gown just like the one his aunt was dressed in now.
Ellen was aware of the boy’s eyes on her and she guessed what was passing through his mind. Yesterday, his father had said to her, ‘Don’t look so sad, Ellen; the dead are dead. I’ve had to face up to that this last year and you’ll have to do the same. I know how you must be missing Joe, for he was the most lovable creature on God’s earth. Impractical, yes, but that’s no sin; in fact, I think his impracticality was an asset. He had a trust in him that gave him that strange quality of innocence. I mourned Vera. For four years I wouldn’t let her go. I kept the dressing room almost as a shrine; in fact all her clothes are still there. I often thought about giving them to Jessie for her tribe, but somehow I couldn’t bear the thought of them wearing her things. But it’s different with you. In a way, you know, you’re not unlike her; you’re about the same height and the same colouring and so, if you don’t object, please make use of her things. I am sure she’d be pleased to know that they were being worn. She loved clothes, she had taste.’
She had managed to mutter, ‘Yes; yes, I remember how smart she was, and beautiful.’ And then she had added, ‘I could never be like her; I know my limitations both in looks and character.’
And to this he had said, ‘Go on with you, Ellen, you’re too modest. But it will please me if you do as I ask.’
And with barely concealed excitement she had done as he asked, and now she had a large wardrobe and a cupboard packed with clothes, most of them beautiful, all of them expensive. She recalled that she hadn’t envied her sister-in-law without cause.
The boys were still lying gasping when their father entered the hall, where he stopped for a second and gazed at Ellen; then making his way towards the fire, he shouted at the boys, ‘Up with you! Out of that, and see if you can act like young gentlemen for once in your life. Up with you!’ he shouted again, hauling his sons by their collars and shaking them whilst laughing down on them. Then pushing them towards the staircase, he said, ‘Go and get changed; you smell of the stables. Take this young scamp with you and see to him; see that his ears are washed and take a pick to his nails.’
Again the boys had Joseph by the hands, hauling him up two stairs at a time while they yelled together, ‘One, two, three, alairy ally-oop!!’
Arthur now walked slowly towards the small French gilt table that stood against the wall, its fragility in sharp contrast with the strength of the stone, and took a cigarette from a silver box. But as he was about to light it, he turned abruptly towards Ellen, saying, ‘Manners! Manners! How do I expect my sons to behave like gentlemen with such a pattern for a father. I’m sorry, my dear.’ He handed the box towards her. ‘This comes of not having a woman in the house, and Vera didn’t indulge.’
‘Nor do I. Thank you.’
‘Oh, well, in a way I’m pleased, because it’s a dirty habit really. Women do try to make it elegant by using long holders, but the nicotine all goes down the same way and it can’t do any good, you know. I cough like the devil at times.’ He demonstrated here by thumping his chest. Then, his attitude changing abruptly, his face unsmiling, and his voice serious, he said, ‘You look beautiful, Ellen.’
‘Thank you, Arthur, but I’m afraid, as clothes maketh the man, they go further with the woman. It’s the dress, the beautiful gown. I hesitated to wear it in case it upset you.’
‘No, no’—he shook his head—‘it doesn’t upset me. Mind, it might have done a couple of years back but, as the old tag goes, time is a great healer. Well now’—again his attitude changed and he was once more the boisterous, boyish host—‘what about a drink? You do like a drink, if I remember, don’t you?’ He turned his head to the side and slanted his eyes towards her; and she laughed a light, gay laugh as she said, ‘Well, I should have died of thirst long before this if I didn’t, for Joe wisely wouldn’t let us drink the water.’
‘Good. Good.’
He marched now to a cabinet that stood to the side of the staircase and after opening the double doors he called over his shoulder: ‘Sherry, port, or something harder?’
‘Port with a dash of brandy, please.’
‘Well! Well! Well!’ He turned from the cabinet. ‘I’ve never heard of that one before.’
‘Joe invented it as a pick-me-up…for special occasions only.’
‘And this is a special occasion; yes, yes, I must try this one myself.’
A moment or so later, having handed her the glass, he raised his own to her, saying, ‘Here’s to the future, and may you be happy here, Ellen.’
As they clinked their glasses she answered, ‘I am sure I shall, Arthur. And I must say again, my heart is full of gratitude for your kindness to us. What we would have done without you, I don’t know, and if ever I can repay you in any way I’ll be only too willing.’
‘Nonsense! Nonsense!’ He turned from her now and took a seat on the other side of the fireplace before saying, ‘I’m only too pleased to have you here; one misses a woman around the house. Oh, I’m not saying that Jessie and her brood haven’t looked after me and the boys very well, but it’s not the same…You know what I mean?’
She inclined her head slowly towards him and answered, ‘Yes, I know what you mean.’
‘But mind, you might find it pretty dull here after a time; not very much happens. As you know, it’s like an island; we’re at the back of beyond and in winter we can be cut off for weeks. For the most part we’re self-supporting, but the nerves get frayed when you can’t get out and about.’
‘That won’t worry me; I’m used to being on my own, used to loneliness. Joe was out a lot. Of course he had to be to see to things. I…I can assure you that lack of outside company will be the least of my troubles.’
‘Oh, now I’m not trying to suggest that we live bereft of company altogether. There’s the Doltons and the Hallidays. The Doltons have three youngsters and the Hallidays have two. You’ll like Joan Dolton. She’s sparkish, is Joan. Anyway, you’ll meet them all on New Year’s Eve, if not before. We’ve always had a do here on New Year’s Eve. I dropped it for two years after Vera died; but then, as Tom said—Tom Halliday you know—they missed it, and so this year, because I have two extra in my family, it will be a better turnout than usual.’
She made no reply to this but sat looking at him, and he went on talking in his nervous, jerky way. ‘It’s been a good year. We won the Ashes, didn’t we?’ He jerked his head towards her and repeated, ‘Yes, we won the Ashes. And Cobham flew to Australia and back, and Betty Nuttall knocked the stuffing out of Mrs Mallory…Do you like sport?’
‘I like swimming. That’s about the only thing I can do in the sporting line, except I can shoot a bit. Joe taught me that.’
‘Oh, I’m glad you can shoot; there’s some good shooting round about. But it’s funny, I’m not a very good shot. I swear the birds pass the wink when I’m out.’
They laughed together now; then presently he said, ‘You still play the piano?’
‘Yes, a little.’
He stared at her now through narrowed lids and his tongue swept round his upper lip and he took another sip from his glass; and his manner further suggested that he was embarrassed and searching for a further topic of conversation; then seemingly finding it, he blurted out, ‘Politics…do you go for politics?’
‘Oh no, not politics. That’s the last thing I’d meddle with.’
‘Quite rightly, too. Women should keep out of politics. You’ll have heard about the strike when you were over there, though?’
‘Oh yes, the General Strike.’
‘Awful time; the country was at a standstill. That didn’t last long, but the poor beggars, the miners, they were out for months. It was terrible around this quarter, pitiable. Dirty
deal, dirty deal they had. I had a few of them over here doing odd jobs: willing to work just for potatoes. Dreadful, dreadful state to bring men to.’ He rose abruptly from his chair. ‘Things are badly divided in this world. Oh…oh I admit it’—he pointed to her now, his arm outstretched as if he were contradicting some statement she had made—‘I’m talking from the position, in a smaller way, of the lord in his castle, and the poor man at the gate. I was the third down the line; but you know I never wanted the title…never dreamed of it, for Cousins John and Thomas were both hale and hearty, you would have taken a bet on them reaching senility. But John was whipped off with influenza just before he was to be married and Thomas goes and breaks his neck on a mountain. It came as a great shock to me, I can tell you, I mean, being saddled with a title, me a baronet, because…well’—he turned around now and faced the fire, thrust his foot out and pressed a log further into the heart of the basket—‘I don’t feel I fit in with the titled type. Solicitor was all I aimed at…and living on the farm. We had a farm, you know.’
‘Why not? Why don’t you consider yourself fit to carry the title?’ The question was sharp and he turned his head towards her, saying now, ‘Well, apart from everything else, it carries responsibilities. I’m an easygoing chap, free and easy would be a better description, and I like mucking in with all types. I suppose it’s because, in my work, I meet all types. My father was the same and Grandfather too; although Great-grandfather was a judge. But he was a jolly judge, I understand. You know, this place’—he now waved his hand over his head—‘in its beginnings consisted of nothing but this very hall we’re sitting in. And then only the top part was habitable for human beings: where you’re sitting now would be the cow byres; the pigsties were over there near the staircase. There’s a sketch of it in one of the albums in the library. I must show it to you. The next stage was when they turfed the animals out and built this chimney. That must have been all of a hundred years ago. Then my great-grandfather had a windfall, practically a storm’—he put his head back and laughed loudly now—‘half a million dollars left to him by an American relative. But, of course, when you change dollars into sovereigns it doesn’t sound nearly as much. And then the lawyers washed their hands in it on the way down. I was about to say, as lawyers are apt to do, but that would be hitting my profession, wouldn’t it?’ His laugh now turned into a bellow. Then he went on: ‘But nevertheless it was a fortune, and at one fell swoop. He built the east and west wings, altered the front. Oh, he practically rebuilt the place.’
My Beloved Son Page 2
