Hatter's Castle

by A. J. Cronin

  To-day, however, although he expected a visit of this nature, he took no proud satisfaction from the thought but, instead, dreaded it. Mr Soper, himself, of Bilsland & Soper Ltd., the largest and most conservative firm with whom he dealt, was coming to see him and, contrary to the usual procedure, he had actually been advised of this call by letter, an unexpected and unwonted injury to his pride. He well knew the reason of such a step, but nevertheless he felt the full bitterness of the blow of his self-esteem, anticipated, too, with sombre dismay the interview which was in prospect.

  When he reached the shop he sought to lose his unhappy forebodings in the work of the day, but there was little to occupy him; business was at a standstill. Yet, attempting some show of activity, he walked cumbersomely about the shop with the ponderous movements of a restless leviathan. This spurious display did not deceive even the small errand boy who, peering fearfully through the door of the back shop, saw Brodie stop every few moments whilst in the midst of some unnecessary operation and gaze blankly in front of him, heard him mutter to himself in a vague yet intense abstraction. With the street urchin’s cunning he guessed that his employer was on the verge of disaster and he felt, with a strong measure of relief, that it would not be long before he was obliged to set about finding for himself another, and a more congenial, situation.

  After an interminable, dragging hiatus, during which it seemed as if the entire hours of the forenoon would pass without a customer appearing, a man entered whom Brodie recognised as an old customer. Thinking that here was someone who, if not important, was at least loyal, he advanced with a great show of heartiness and greeted him.

  ‘Well, my man,’ he said, ‘what can we do for you?’ The other, somewhat taken aback by such cordiality, asserted laconically that he only required a cloth cap, a plain ordinary cap like the one he had purchased some time before, a grey check, size six and seven eighths.

  ‘Like the one you’re wearing?’ asked Brodie, encouragingly.

  The other looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Naw,’ he replied, ‘this is a different yin; this is ma Sunday bonnet.’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Brodie, and struck by a dim idea he put out his hand, suddenly removed the cap from the other’s head, and looked at it. Inside, on the shiny sateen lining, was stamped M. H. & H., the hated symbol of his rival next door. Immediately his face flooded with angry resentment and he flung the cap back at its owner. ‘So!’ he cried, ‘ye’ve been goin’ next door for your braw and fancy stuff, have ye? To wear on Sunday forsooth! And then ye’ve the impertinence to come in to me for a plain, ordinary bonnet after ye’ve given them the best o’ your trade. Do ye think I’m goin’ to take their leavin’s? Go back and buy a’ the trashy rubbish in their waxworks museum. I’ll not serve ye for a pound note.’

  The other looked exceedingly discomfited. ‘Aw! Mr Brodie. I didna mean it like that. I juist gie’n them a trial for a kind o’ novelty. It was really the wife’s doin’. She egged me on to see what the new place was like. That’s like the women ye ken – but I’ve come back to ye.’

  ‘And I’m not goin’ to have ye,’ roared Brodie. ‘Do ye think ye can treat me like that? I’ll not stand it. It’s a man that’s before ye, not a demned monkey on a stick like they’ve got next door,’ and he banged his fist on the counter.

  It was a ridiculous position. It was as though he expected the man to fawn at his feet and implore to be reinstated as a customer, as though, in his absurd rage, he expected the other to beg to be allowed the honour of buying from him. Something of this amazement dawned in the workman’s face; he shook his head, uncomprehendingly.

  ‘I can get what I want elsewhere. I’ve nae doubt you’re a grand gentleman, but you’re cuttin’ off your nose to spite your face.’

  When he had gone, Brodie’s passion suddenly subsided, and his face took on a mortified expression as he realised that he had done a foolish thing which would react injuriously upon his business. This man that he had refused to serve would talk, talk exaggeratedly in his resentment, and probably a garbled version of his action would be circulating freely in Levenford in the course of a few hours’ time. People would make unfavourable comments about him and his high-handed ways, and although in the past he would have revelled in their adverse gossip, exulted uncompromisingly in their cackle, now he felt, in the light of his past experience, that people who heard the story would determine that they would not be subject to a similar indignity, that they would give his business a wide berth in the future. He wrinkled up his eyes at these disturbing thoughts and he damned the man, the people, and the town.

  When one o’clock arrived he threw out to the boy that he would be gone for half an hour. Since Perry’s departure had deprived him of a responsible person to leave in charge, it was only on rare occasions that he went home for his mid-day meal and, on such occasions, although his business had diminished so considerably, he was impatient to the point of irritability when he undertook the longer journey home for dinner; he felt, with a strange and unwarranted optimism, that he might be missing something which might vitally affect the business for the better. To-day, therefore, he took only a few paces down the street and went into the Winton Arms. Previous to the last twelve months it was unthought of for him to enter these doors except in the late evening, and by the special private door allotted to himself and his fellow Philosophers; but now these visits had become usual and to-day, Nancy, the pretty barmaid, had a cold pie and some pickled red cabbage for his lunch.

  ‘What will ye drink to-day Mr Brodie – a glass of beer?’ she asked him, from under her heavy curling lashes.

  He looked at her heavily, noticing, despite his depondency, how a few, tiny, yellow freckles set off her creamy white skin like the delicate, golden specks upon a robin’s egg.

  ‘You ought to know I never drink beer, Nancy. I can’t abide it. Bring me some whisky and cold water.

  Nancy opened her lips to speak, but, although she wished to say that she thought it a pity to see a fine man like himself taking so much drink through the day, she was afraid, and she uttered no words. She thought Mr Brodie a grand upstanding gentleman with, if her information was accurate, a perfect scarecrow of a wife, and, mingled with her interest, was compassion, an especial sorrow for him now that he bore this air of deep yet melancholy abstraction. He was, for her, invested with the essential elements of romance.

  When she brought him his whisky he thanked her with an upward look of his dark, moody face, which seemed not to dismiss but to encourage her, and as she hovered about the table whilst he ate his lunch, waiting for an opportunity to anticipate his needs, he observed her carefully out of the corner of his eyes. She was a fine little jade, he thought, his gaze travelling upwards from her small foot in its neat shoe, over her well-turned ankle under the close black stocking, sweeping her tight firm hips and breasts, neat yet full, rising to her lips, which were red like the outer petals of fuchsia flowers against the whiteness of her skin. And, as he surveyed her, he was suddenly moved. A sudden, terrific desire for all the lustful pleasures that he had been denied rushed over him; he wished to rise immediately from the table and crush Nancy in his huge embrace, to feel a young, hard, resistant body in his arms instead of the torpid, slavish lump that he had for so long been obliged to accept. For the moment he would scarcely swallow, and his throat went dry with the urge of another appetite. He had heard stray, little whispers and veiled allusions about Nancy that whetted his hunger fiercely, told him it was a hunger which would be easy to appease; but with a tremendous effort of will he controlled himself and went on eating mechanically, his glowing eyes fixed upon his plate.

  ‘Some other time,’ he kept telling himself, realising that this important engagement of the afternoon must be faced, that he must restrain himself, curb himself against the time of the interview with Soper, which might be filled with a critical significance for the future of his business. He did not look at her again during his short meal, although now her presence fascinated him
, and the brush of her body against his arm as she removed his plate made him clench his teeth. ‘Some other time! Some other time!’

  Silently he accepted the biscuits and cheese she brought him and quickly consumed them, but when he had finished he got up and, standing close to her, significantly pressed a coin into her warm hand.

  ‘You’ve looked after me real well these last weeks,’ he said, looking at her strangely. ‘I’ll not forget ye.’

  ‘Oh! Mr Brodie, I hope this doesna mean you’ll not be back,’ she cried in concern. ‘I would miss ye if ye didna come in again.’

  ‘Would ye miss me, then?’ he replied slowly. ‘That’s good! You and me would suit not bad thegither I’m thinkin’. So don’t worry. I’ll be back all right.’ He paused and added in a low voice: ‘Yes! and maybe ye ken what for.’

  She mustered a blush and affected to hang her head, feeling, despite her fear to the contrary, that he had noticed her and was disposed to favour her with his regard. She was interested in him, obsessed by his strength; because she was not a virgin her nature responded more ardently to the suggestion of vital force which emanated from him. He was such a free man with his money, too, was Mr Brodie!

  ‘A big man like you couldna see much in such a wee thing as me,’ she murmured, provokingly; ‘ye wouldna want to try!’

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he repeated and looked at her intently, penetratingly, then turned on his heel and was gone.

  For an instant she stood quite still, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction, her affectation of meekness abandoned, then she ran to the window and stood on tiptoes to watch him go down the street.

  Back again in his shop Brodie made a powerful effort to dismiss the warm images which so pleasantly permeated his mind and tried to prepare his ideas for the forthcoming visit of Mr Soper. But his thoughts lacked continuity or coherence, he was unable, now as always, to formulate any definite, original plan of campaign; the instant he started to consider the possibilities of an idea his mind wandered off at a tangent and he began to think again of Nancy, of the warm look in her eyes, of the chances of arranging a meeting with her. In disgust he gave up the struggle, and feeling that he must blindly await the developments of the interview before he could attempt to cope with them, he got up and went into his shop to await the arrival of his visitor.

  As he had said so exactly in his letter, at three o’clock precisely Mr Soper arrived at the shop, and Brodie, who stood ready, immediately came forward and greeted him; but as they shook hands, Brodie seemed to sense more firmness and less effusiveness in the other’s grasp, though he ignored this suspicion and said, with a great assumption of cordiality:

  ‘Come away into my office, Mr Soper. Moderate weather for the time of year. Yes! very mild indeed.’

  Somehow his visitor was not inclined to discuss the weather. As they sat down on opposite sides of the desk he looked at Brodie with a politely formal mien, then looked away. He was well aware of Brodie’s position and for the sake of old association had intended to be kind; but now, the rank odour of spirits which clung to the other and the loose, easy manner of his greeting prejudiced him intensely. Soper himself was a man of well-defined ideas on moral grounds, being a strong adherent of the sect of Plymouth Brethren, and, in addition, a handsome contributor to the Scottish Temperance Association; as he sat there in his rich, well-fitting clothes, contemplating his admirably kept finger nails, he drew in his lips in a manner totally adverse to Brodie’s interest.

  ‘If this open weather continues they’ll be gettin’ on well with the ploughin’. I saw they had made a bend at the Main’s Farm the other day I was out,’ Brodie persevered, his sluggish wit failing to attune itself to the other’s inimical attitude, his obtuse mind compelling him to continue to force remarks in the usual strain set by the precedent of such interviews in the past. ‘I often take a bit run into the country when I have the opportunity – ay! I’m real fond o’ seein’ a good pair o’ horses turnin’ up the fine, rich land up by there.’

  Soper let him run on, then suddenly, in a cold, incisive voice he cut in.

  ‘Mr Brodie, your total indebtedness to my firm is exactly one hundred and twenty-four pounds ten shillings and sixpence. I am here at the request of my co-partners to request payment.’

  Brodie stopped as if he had been shot.

  ‘Wha’ – what?’ – he stammered, ‘what’s come on ye?’

  ‘I appreciate that it is a large sum, but you have postponed payment of our bills on the last three visits of our representative, and in consequence of the large amount involved and the fact that you are an old client I have, as you may have surmised, made this personal visit to request settlement.’

  In Brodie’s mind two opposing forces, rage at the other’s manner and consternation at the amount of his debt, dragged against each other violently. Although he had no records for verification, he knew at once that Soper’s figure must, although it appalled him, be correct; these people never made mistakes. But the other’s chilling attitude left him aghast, and the fact that he was powerless to deal with it as he would have wished infuriated him. If he had possessed the money he would have paid Soper instantly and closed his account with the firm on the spot; but he was well aware of his inability to do this and, with an effort, stifled his fury.

  ‘You’ll surely give an old client like myself time to settle?’ he managed to articulate, as a negative confession of his inability to find the money.

  ‘You have paid us nothing for over twelve months, Mr Brodie, and we are naturally becoming anxious. I’m afraid I must ask you to meet this bill now.’

  Brodie looked at him, then at his safe set in the wall which contained, he knew, less than five pounds, thought futilely of his banking account which had dwindled to an inconsiderable trifle.

  ‘If you don’t,’ Soper was continuing. ‘I’m afraid we must press. We don’t like it, but we shall have to press.’

  Brodie’s eye grew sullen like that of a baited bull.

  ‘I cannot pay,’ he said. ‘ I cannot pay to-day. But there will be no need for ye to press, as ye call it; ye should well know that James Brodie is an honest man. I’ll pay ye – but you must give me time to raise the money.’

  ‘How do you propose to do that, might I ask, Mr Brodie?’

  ‘Ye can ask till you’re blue in the face, man, but it’s no duty of mine to enlighten you. All that ye need to know is that you’ll have your precious money by the end o’ the week. I have said it and my word is my bond.’

  Looking at him, Soper’s face softened slightly.

  ‘Yes,’ he said after a pause, ‘I know that. I know you’ve had your difficulties, Mr Brodie. These undercutting companies with their modern shops,’ he shrugged his shoulders expressively. ‘But we have our troubles as well, and we have our own obligations to meet. There’s little room for sentiment in business, nowadays. But still – how exactly are things with you?’

  As Brodie tried to think of a devastating reply, suddenly it seemed to him with a grim humour that nothing would shock the other more than the plain truth.

  ‘Less than three pounds has come into the business in two weeks,’ he shot out abruptly. ‘How do ye like that?’

  The other raised his well-kept hands in horror.

  ‘Mr Brodie, you shock me! I had been told, but I did not know it was as bad as that.’ He looked at Brodie’s harsh face for a moment then said, in a more kindly tone: ‘There’s a saying on ’change, man, which you might well consider. It’s sometimes better to cut your losses. Cut your losses rather than go under. Don’t batter your head against a brick wall. You’ll forgive me – but you understand what I mean.’ He rose to go.

  ‘I don’t understand! What the devil do you mean?’ asked Brodie. ‘I’m here, I’ve always been here, and, by God, I’ll stay here.’

  Soper paused on his way to the door.

  ‘I mean this kindly to you, Mr Brodie,’ he exclaimed, ‘and what I say is offered to you in a helpful spirit of advice.
You can take it or leave it, but experience tells me that you are in an impossible position here. You’ve had a grand thing here in your day but now, these folks next door have got you beat a hundred ways. Man alive, remember this is the year 1881. We’re all moving with new ideas and up-to-date methods but you, and the wheels of progress have run ye down. It’s a wise man who knows when he’s beat and if I were you I would shut up my shop and get out with what I could. Why don’t you get out of here and try something else? A big man like you could stock a farm and work it with the best’ He held out his hand frankly, and said in parting: ‘ You’ll not forget us at the end of the week!’

  Brodie gazed after him with a flat expressionless face, gripping the edge of the desk until the sinews on the back of his hands showed white under the dark, hairy skin, and the veins rose up like twisted cords.

  ‘Stock a farm!’ he muttered. ‘He surely doesna know what little I have left’; and, as his thoughts rushed outwards into open spaces in a wild regret, he whispered to himself: ‘ He’s right though! That would have been the life for me if I could have managed it. I could have settled down close to the land I love so weel, the land that should be mine. But I canna do’t now. I maun battle on here.’

  He was now aware that he would have to bond his house, his sole remaining asset, in order to find the money to settle his account with Soper and to discharge the remainder of these obligations which had gradually accumulated upon him. No one would know, he would go secretly to a lawyer in Glasgow, who would arrange everything, but already, he felt dully as if his own house did not belong to him. It was as if, with his own hand, he was compelled to begin the destruction and disintegration of the solid structure he had seen arise stone by stone, like the gradual erection of an edifice of his own hopes. He loved his house, yet he would have to pledge it to maintain the honour of his name. Above everything he must keep untarnished his reputation for equity and honesty, must demonstrate at once that he – James Brodie – could owe no man a penny. There were some things that he could not do! Then, with a sudden turn of his mind, he seemed by contrast to remember something; his eye glistened, his lower lip protruded slowly, and his mouth twisted into a warped smile. Amongst the desert of his trouble he suddenly espied a green oasis of pleasure. There were some things he could do! Darkly, a hidden purpose concealed within him like the secret of a crime, he went out of the shop, heedlessly leaving it untenanted, and slowly directed his course towards the Winton Arms.