Sons of Fortune

by Malcolm Macdonald

  ***

  “Poor John,” Nora said in a voice as devoid of commiseration as she could make it. “Our sons seem to have misread their parts completely.”

  He had been complaining to her that Young John seemed to be spending all his time with the general, leaving Caspar to squire the Sherringham girl. And tomorrow they would all be gone.

  Nora turned out the lamp on her bedside table. The other lamp still burned, on what would have been John’s side of the bed if he still shared it with her.

  “Even worse,” he said, “all four of them seem to enjoy it thoroughly.”

  “So there’s no one traitor! No one to blame.”

  “Oh,” he said bitterly, “I know who to blame. The tradition of disobedience in this family is both ancient and deep.”

  “Disobedience to custom?” she asked. “Or to vows?”

  The look on his face was so ambiguous, especially with the light behind him, that she could not tell if he was working up to a rebuke of her or a confession. She wanted neither—at least, she wanted to be independently sure of The Bitch’s departure first. And even then he’d have some sentence left to serve. She turned her back on him.

  His hand lifted the blanket.

  “Save it,” she snapped without moving. “You never know when you might need it.”

  Normally he would have walked off to the bed in his dressing room, exasperated at her coldness. It was a measure now of his anxiety that he overlooked her rebuff and stayed. “Those two boys,” he said. “They were quite ready to defy me, you know.”

  “Those two what?”

  He gave a puzzled snort. “They are hardly men.”

  She turned to him then, annoyed she had put out her lamp, leaving his face in darkness, hers in the light. “I thought I had grown weary of saying it, weary of warning you. I thought you had grown weary of listening. Those two ‘boys’—or men—will not fit into your moulds. Young John is not by temperament or natural aptitude fitted for your shoes.”

  He cut in as she drew breath. “He will overcome both those drawbacks—if they exist, which has yet to be shown.”

  “And Caspar,” she went on, unheeding, “has been fitted to take your place for the last four years. In fact, he’d run tight circles around you now.”

  She saw his fists clench but, without seeing his face, she felt lost. Was she trying to make him angry? Or listen to reason? Was he even in a mood to listen?

  “Pure imagination,” he said. He sounded angry, but under control. More cold, really. “I bring it up merely to tell you that I intend to teach them both a lesson in obedience. I will not tolerate this open opposition from them. I will not tolerate opposition of any kind. And I mean you, especially, to heed this. Young John will leave this week for the Lake District. Caspar will not be going back to Cambridge; he will have until March to find himself a regiment—or I shall find one for him. And I have written to Miss Beale informing her that Winifred’s honorary services are no longer available. Winifred is to marry.” He looked at her expressionless face. “Well?”

  “Well what?” she asked.

  Now he was silent.

  She continued: “You said I was to heed. I am heeding. You want me to discuss it, too? You want to hear what an utter, pig-headed fool you are being?”

  He stood abruptly. “Not really, thank you.” He walked toward his dressing room. “But you keep out of it,” he warned.

  “Or what, John? Will you black my eyes? Will you smash my teeth down my throat? What other sanctions have you left, John? You’ve withdrawn everything else.”

  “I…?” he choked. “I’ve withdrawn?”

  She faced him calmly. “Now you heed this,” she said. “Until now I have played the very minimum part necessary to maintain the affections of a family whose true needs and interests you no longer care about. But if you persist in this headstrong and utterly destructive course, you will find me at every turn—sleeves rolled up and all.”

  He slammed his door behind him—and at once opened it again. “You will come off worst,” he warned.

  Five minutes later she had awakened Caspar. She talked with him for about twenty minutes.

  ***

  Next day, on their way back from the station, where they had seen off their guests, Caspar singled out Winifred and spoke to her all the way home. After lunch, John called them all into the library. Caspar and Winifred took care not to sit facing squarely on to him; if anything, they formed a group like a round committee.

  “We’ll wait for your mother,” John said.

  The long case clock had a slow, deep, oily tick.

  Nora came in with a piece of needlework—something they had not seen in her hands for years. Only John, who had seen so little of her anyway, found it unsurprising.

  “Before you begin, Father,” Caspar said, “I feel I would like to…”

  “Before you begin, sir,” John barked, not wanting to lose the initiative, “you will hear me out. This interruption of yours is quite characteristic of the insubordination you have all shown to me lately.”

  “Quite,” Caspar said.

  “And I have…” Winifred began.

  “Will you keep quiet!” John roared. “You listen to nothing.”

  “I only want to…” Caspar was all conciliation.

  “Quiet!”

  “But, Papa, dearest…” Winifred was all sweetness and admiration

  “No! No! No! You are here to listen. You are not here to speak. We’ve all heard quite enough of your wants, your aspirations, your hopes. Now you will listen to what has been decided. But first I want to say that your behaviour the other day, young John and Caspar, was utterly reprehensible. Whatever long-past grudge you held against Mr. Blenkinsop, it was appalling manners to impugn his honour to me while he was my guest. The manners of guttersnipes.” He looked at Caspar. “I trust you now agree?” he asked.

  “I had hoped that topic was closed, guvnor,” Caspar answered.

  “I told you upon what condition I would consider it closed.”

  For a while father and son stared at each other. “Well?” John prompted.

  “We cannot reopen the topic, sir, without discussing Blenkinsop’s character. And I will not do that with ladies in the room.”

  “So!” John said grimly. “You persist! You have not withdrawn your slur against my guest one whit.”

  “It seems, sir, that we both persist. You persist in believing me to be a liar without even inquiring as to…”

  “Enough!” John said. “I have heard enough. It was my intention to give you two months to find a regiment. I now give you two weeks.”

  “Give me two hours—it makes no difference. I shall never join the service.”

  “Caspar!” Nora warned.

  “It’s no good, mater. It’s already too fierce,” he answered, as much as to say Keep quiet now.

  John looked threateningly at Nora. “I told you,” he said before turning back to Caspar. “If I say you will join the Swiss navy, sir, then you will join the Swiss navy,” he said.

  Caspar rose to go, calm as an ice cellar. “By your leave,” he said.

  “No, sir,” John barked. “You do not have my leave. And you, miss”—he rounded on Winifred—“are not to return to Cheltenham. I have already informed your Miss Beale that your honorary services are no longer available…”

  “I wish to found my own school,” Winifred said quickly.

  “You…” John began.

  “But I am not prepared to discuss it in this atmosphere of rancour.”

  “Not prepared? Not prepared!” John shouted her down. “You do not seem to be aware, young madam—nor you, sir”—he turned back to Caspar—“that all your fine airs and graces—I want, I wish, I propose—all this grandeur is funded by generous allowances from me. You, young man, will find all your trade
smen’s accounts are closed two weeks from today—and will remain so until you join your regiment. Your allowance will also cease, upon the same terms.” He paused, seeing that Caspar was shaking his head with a sort of sad gravity.

  “Look, guvnor, let’s try at least to discuss this calmly. Eh?”

  John gave the faintest, wariest of nods, banking his anger for the moment. “I won’t be talked out of it,” he warned.

  “You are saying, in effect, that you will pay me to join the colours but not to do anything else?”

  “Your allowance, and all other privileges, will cease unless you do my will.”

  “And in no circumstances will you entertain this idea of my taking over even part of the firm?”

  “That does not even arise.”

  “Because it is to go to Boy?”

  “May I ask the purpose of these rather fruitless…”

  “Boy,” Caspar interrupted, turning to his brother, “suppose someone came to you and told you he could land a tasty great contract for Stevenson’s provided you greased his palm with a bribe?”

  “I hope and trust I should know my duty,” Boy said.

  “There!” John turned triumphantly on Caspar as if he were routed. Caspar smiled. “I hope you’ll both be very happy,” he said, half to himself. Then, raising his voice, he went on in a firm, calm tone: “You have told me your wishes, sir. Now I will tell you exactly what I am going to do. I am going to my room to pack. Then, tomorrow, I shall leave this house for the last time. I will not go into the army. I shall go into business on my own account. And when Boy’s ‘knowledge of his duty’ has brought your firm to its knees, I will buy out what is left and show you how it should be managed. All this I promise you.”

  “Caspar!” Nora called out angrily. “You burn every boat!”

  “Exactly.”

  John laughed. Anyone who entered at that moment would have taken it for a most pleasant laugh. “You are very sure of yourself,” he said.

  Caspar stood to go. In equally pleasant vein he replied, “Not entirely without cause.” He crossed the room to the door.

  “Steamer!” Winifred pleaded.

  He stopped and guiltily faced her. “Sorry, Winnie,” he said. “Let’s see what’s in store for you.” He sat—a very provisional gesture—near the door.

  Winifred turned back to John. “I know you wish me to marry, Father,” she said, “but I swear to you now by my most solemn oath that I never shall. You may disown me. You may throw me out of your house. I will not marry. I shall teach. And one day I shall be head of my own school, and it will be the best that…”

  At that point John exploded. “God in heaven!” he roared. “Is there no obedience, no respect, no sense of duty in this family! You are going to bring my firm to its knees; and you are going to manage to acquire and run the best school in the world! Is this a new race we have bred? All must want—all must have—the best? What do you know of the world? Of life? Nothing! You are children. Yahoos screaming for superlatives. It is we who know the world and life, we, your mother and I. And it is we who will determine what you shall do. Within one month, sir, I guarantee you will be back on your knees, begging me to use my influence at the War Office on your behalf. And you, miss, before this twelve months is out, will be begging me for a husband. Now do not trifle with me”—his voice rose to a new pitch of fury as he saw her draw breath to argue—“I warn you, there is a way to make you beg me to get you married. Do not force me to use it. Bend now, willingly, for if you resist, I will break that proud and rebellious spirit before it poisons your whole life.”

  The strings of the harpsichord carried forth into the silence a hundred fading resonances of his anger. Boy then added his obbligato: “If only everybody did their duty, there would be no strife and we would be one happy family again. Why must we quarrel so?”

  John smiled and nodded at him with a warmth that only Boy took to be wholehearted.

  Nora, seeing no one else was going to speak, said, “I’m glad I was included a few moments ago, because I feel it’s time I had my say.”

  “It’s pointless, mater,” Caspar said, and all his bitterness now came out into the open. “How can you argue about duty to family, and obligations, and respect, with that person, when you know and I know, full well, that he…”

  “Caspar!” Nora almost screamed. The intensity of her voice frightened everyone, even herself a little. “Never…” she said, pointing a warning finger at him. The finger shook as she struggled to complete the sentence; but no words came. At length she drew breath, gathered herself with some effort, and, still looking at Caspar, said in a most casual, conversational tone, “This young man is well able to look after himself. When he goes from here, our firm loses one of the best—potentially one of the best—business brains I have ever seen. I fear not for him but for us.” She turned to John then. “And I fear for you, too,” she went on. “It is not in your nature to see ability wasted. If you have your way with these two young people, it would be the most monstrous waste of ability. And one day that fact would be borne in upon you. I think when this black storm has passed from you, the regret would be more than you could bear.”

  She relapsed into silence, though only moments earlier her whole attitude had been one of winding up to some climax. Her stillness took them all by surprise.

  “Is that all?” John asked tendentiously.

  She looked miserably at him and squared her shoulders. “Not quite. You must be saved from the worst of yourself. Winifred is of age. You have no further obligation to her. You may leave her to me now. I shall make sure her abilities are not wasted.”

  Boy was scandalized at this defiance. “Mother!” he said.

  Caspar shouted at Boy to mind his own business—while he still had it. Before two words were out of his mouth, Winifred joined in, shrieking at both her brothers to be quiet. Meanwhile Nora was trying to add, above the shouting, that she would support Winifred and finance her school—and make sure it was profitable.

  In the midst of the babel John rose and walked to the door. The move silenced them. Into that silence he said, “The prattle of self-will! Let it run while it may!”

  Nora, seeing that old, implacable glint in his eye, was suddenly gripped by an immense though formless anxiety. He was planning some dreadful response to this defiance by Winifred and Caspar. And until she knew what it was, she could do nothing but pray that the “storm,” as she called it, would lift from him before rather than after he did…whatever it was.

  ***

  She had not long to wait, though she was not at home when the blow fell. The storm over John’s mind was as black as ever when his carriage drew up outside Nora’s Hamilton Place and he sent in word desiring Winifred to come out and see him. Winnie suspected nothing as she climbed into the carriage; the notion that she was being abducted by her own father never entered her head.

  But while they were still on their way to London Bridge station John made it very clear that she was already beyond her mother’s protection. In the calmest voice, a voice far more sad than angry, he told her how, two hours from now, while he and she were on their way to Folkestone harbour and the ferry to France, a message would be delivered to Nora advising her of Winifred’s new, temporary residence at an école corrective et tempérante in Normandy—a place where recalcitrant daughters could be imprisoned until they came to their senses. Nora would doubtless bring on her necessary belongings when she went over there—as she certainly would—to try to get Winifred released. It would be a vain journey.

  He was a little unnerved that Winifred made no reply, but he went on to explain that it was for her own good—that it was wicked of her to flout his authority and to want to work. Whoever heard of a teacher who was also the eldest daughter of an earl! Lady Winifred Stevenson, teacher of coal merchants’ daughters—what did that sound like!

  Still she said nothin
g; but those great, pitying eyes never left his face.

  He told her, too, that the discipline in this French school would be harsh, the work arduous, the day long, the comforts few, and rest short. But she need not stay there one minute longer than she wanted. She had only to ask to see the matron and to tell her that she was ready to submit to his will and she would be on the next cross-channel ferry to England. He would be at the quayside to meet her.

  And still she said nothing.

  Not until their coach was drawing up before the gates of the rather grim fortress that was to be her home did she break her silence. He clearly had not seen the place before; even he was a little shaken at the sight of it.

  “Dear, innocent Papa!” she said, gentle and unsmiling. “I’m sure it never once occurred to you that everyone in Society will assume I am pregnant.” She deliberately chose a word considered too coarse for polite society. “Everyone will think that that is why you have put me away in here!”

  She saw at once in his face that the thought had, indeed, never struck him. He had been too singlemindedly intent on getting her away from Nora and into some place where only her submission would buy back her freedom.

  She saw the doubt wound him; then she poured on the salt. “Those ranks of elderly viragos who sit at the side of every ballroom, determining who shall and who shall not be eligible for whom—what do you think they’ll make of it, Papa? Mr. Blenkinsop turned off at his very arrival. Me put in here within a fortnight. Now there’s two and two to make forty! Not all the money nor all the influence of the great Earl of Wharfedale will find me a husband then—or not one the great Earl may be proud of.”

  “Be quiet!” he said angrily.

  “And the longer you keep me here, the more you will confirm their suspicions.”

  “At least,” he said, hoping to silence her by turning her own argument around, “it will stop your ideas of being headmistress in your own school.”

  “Not a bit of it,” she said, as if she had expected him to say that—as, indeed, she had, for she had passed two-thirds of her long and silent journey imagining all the turns this last, vital conversation between them might take. “My girls are the daughters of the middle classes. Much more practical, down-to-earth people than your upper-class pishies. They look for value. Results! It’s the class you ought never to have left.” She gave a little laugh. “Why, they might even welcome the chance to patronize a lady against whom there was a little whiff of scandal!”