‘There are many improvements, new inventions, which I shall introduce,’ he said. ‘I shall make a close study of the subject, of course. I shall go into it thoroughly. I hope to hit upon something striking in the way of new designs. I don’t mean merely to compete with those people in Staffordshire. I hope, some day, to beat them at their own game. What does Cranton know of taste? No wonder he can’t hold his own with Wedgwood!’
The more he thought of it the happier he became. Here, at last, was an Object which might finally content him. It would give him active employment, fill his days, and bless his repose. He might still hope to influence the taste of his age. And he might, in a most striking way, obey Jenny’s command. Such a challenge to misery would go far beyond the task she had laid upon him. As a benefactor upon so very large a scale he might be able to forget the fate of one obscure, unlucky child.
PART V
THE BENEFACTOR
1
FIVE YEARS OF studying the Navy Lists cured Ellen of a delusion that Latymer might return to her a rich admiral or, at the very least, the captain of a famous frigate. She was content enough to welcome him as commander of an ancient and insignificant sloop. Such advancement might silence her sisters: they could no longer call him a penniless lieutenant. A modest fortune of prize-money, carefully invested, had already made him richer than Amabel’s husband; if the wars would but continue he might end up as rich as Sophy’s Mr. Sykes. Only Bet, who had so far failed to get any husband at all, would sneer at him, and she must sneer at a distance since she now lived almost entirely with Charlotte.
It had long been settled amongst them that he should come immediately to Stretton on his next leave. He therefore set off at once for Severnshire, as soon as he came ashore, but he was not sure how long he would stay there. If Ellen would not marry him he would go away again. He supposed that some time must elapse before he could ask her. She might be very much surprised. Ideas of that sort could scarcely have occurred to her on his last visit, for she had been far too young. He must take his time and waste a few weeks in prudent courtship. If he could but win her heart he had strong hopes of gaining her friends’ consent. By what he could gather the Brandons were not so prosperous as they had been; Romilly had lost a great deal of money over his absurd pottery which had never produced even the three per cent profit with which he had originally intended to be content. There had been retrenchments of all kinds — fewer horses, fewer servants, and money had doubtless been sacrificed when Amabel married. They could not, therefore, turn up their noses at a suitor so prosperous as Latymer, if only Ellen would like him well enough.
As he drove from Severnton through Slane Forest he tried to steel his heart against disappointment. Why should she like him well enough? Why should he assume that he might be all the world to her just because, in the course of five years, she had become all the world to him? He knew that she was fond of him, her letters had been so kind, frank and artless; but he feared that her feelings went no further than those of warm friendship. Away at sea he had managed to assume that this was propitious to love. Doubts now assailed him. How, he wondered, does a man get a girl to be in love with him? The thing must constantly be achieved, since most men got married. But, on closer inspection, it was an extraordinary thing to demand.
He had in his pocket a couple of letters, from her and from Mrs. Brandon, which had been awaiting him at Portsmouth. They were doubly precious since several previous ones had missed him. Through a series of mischances he had heard nothing of Stretton affairs since Amabel’s marriage at Christmas. He took out this latest budget of news and ran over it again, in order to be sure that he had missed nothing.
‘We thought you had been at the Cape,’ wrote Mrs. Brandon, ‘but it seems, from your last letter, that you are in the Baltic. How you do fly about! We fear you may not have got ours for quite a while. This, I hope, will reach you since Ellen says it is to stay in England, in case you are really coming home. Remember, if you please, that your home is here; we expect you and will be very much disappointed if you do not come directly. I hope it will be soon. A visit from you will be so good for poor Romilly. He is in very low spirits, now that he has been forced to give up making his pretty china. I suppose it had to be. There is no use in making it if people will not buy it. They are very foolish, for it is superior to any other; Spode and Wedgwood make nothing so pretty. But they say it costs too much and he cannot afford to lose any more money. It is a melancholy business. At the start he was so much interested. He used to be riding over there every day. Now that the pottery is closed he scarcely goes out of the house.
‘You will find us very dull and quiet, for we are only three now — Romilly, Ellen and myself. It is too quiet, I think, for poor Ellen. She has nobody young with whom to frolic. Her married sisters ask her to stay so that she may go about a little and meet people, and I have urged her to go, though I should miss her sorely. But she will not stir. And I am glad, for Romilly’s sake, since he is exceedingly fond of her….’
This final disaster to Romilly’s pretty china was news, but Latymer felt little surprise. He had always thought it a crack-brained scheme, and the accounts of its progress had been dismal from the first. Ellen’s letter gave fuller particulars.
‘Pray come here as fast as you can and persuade Romilly not to hang himself. His pottery is now closed and all the people have gone away. I am not sure if you ever received our recent letters, so I will explain how it was, and you must forgive me if you know it already. People would not buy Cranton ware. And he made no profit at all, it cost him so much to make, he has merely lost money ever since he bought it. We have no canal, you see. They have one in Staffordshire, which enables them to send their wares away cheaply, and that reduces the price.
‘Yet I am sure you will believe that it is not the loss of money which he minds most. Now he is obliged to think that nothing can ever be done, and that it is hopeless to strive against low wages and too much work for the poor children. He was so sure that he could succeed and that others would follow his example. He thinks now that everything will go on getting worse and worse, and that there is nothing to be done, and that the working people must always be very poor and miserable.
‘I am, myself, not quite sure whether his scheme had a fair trial. If there had been a canal, and if Romilly had known more about the manufacture of china, he might have been successful. They say now that Cranton himself was going bankrupt, and that is why he sold to Romilly. If he could not make it pay, perhaps nobody could. Romilly did not know near as much concerning the actual work as Cranton did. I am sure that he was cheated right and left. He has only just discovered, for instance, that he has been paying nearly twice as much as he should for coarse salt.
‘But the worst hit of all has been the ingratitude of the people. They were not in the least grateful to him. In their eyes he was a master, just like Cranton, and if he paid them better wages this was not because he wished to be their benefactor but because, for some reason, that suited him. At the last, in hopes of keeping the business going, he was obliged to ask them to take lower wages and they were furious. He told them that it was in their own interest but they did not believe him. One man said they could mind their own interest a great deal better if they could send their man to Parliament, as he can! Worse than this, they tried to form an association amongst themselves, to which all should belong, and which could call them all off work, if they were in any dispute with Romilly! That is quite against the law. He could have had them sent to prison. But he would not. He merely sent men to seize their papers and records and had them burnt. Even at the end, when the pottery was closed, they could not see that he had been right. They went away cursing him and saying that they had been better off with Cranton who could at least give them employment. I quite hate them for treating him like this.’
Latymer felt some sympathy with the potters, just as he would have been sorry for the crew of a man-of-war, bought and commanded by Romilly. Fools they might be, but
their folly was more excusable than his. A man might as well set up as an admiral without ever having served as a midshipman.
Yet for all that, reflected Latymer, it must be a dead bore to have nothing to do. He wished that Brandon would go into Parliament and make a pother about the Pay Office. That was a scandal which deserved exposure, nor was it necessary that the men should be so shamelessly cheated. It was what he himself would do, if he were in Brandon’s shoes. He would go into Parliament and there keep his mouth shut until he knew which way the wind blew. He would collect some other fellows who thought as he did, and then, when it was in their power to oblige some bigwig, they would begin to bellow about the Pay Office. Even in Parliament it must be supposed one must wait for a wind, but Brandon might not have the sense to know it. He’d put on all his canvas in a dead calm, thought Latymer, and then blame the British Constitution because nothing came of it.
The carriage came out of the forest and stopped at the top of the hill for a drag to be put under the wheels. Home! he thought, looking with a lifting heart at the fields and woods below. And he leant out, as he had leant five years before, to survey the river and the black valley. It presented a more melancholy appearance than ever, now that it was silent, rotting and deserted. The tumbledown hovels had been homes of a sort. Those who had lived there were now perhaps homeless, turned away to drift off through the forest in search of a new master. He was glad when the second turn of the road hid that desolate scene.
As his thoughts swung back to his own affairs, his own future, he began to smile broadly. His horses’ hooves, on the level road at the bottom, beat out a merry tattoo. Happy Latymer! Happy Latymer! they seemed to say. Latymer! Latymer! Happy, happy Latymer!
These smiles must be controlled when he arrived at the house. It would never do to walk in with the face of an accepted lover. A great deal of work remained to be done. She might … there was no certainty … She did! She must! … Happy Latymer! Happy Latymer! But I shan’t pull a long face neither. That won’t do. And when I see her I doubt if I can help … there’s the green … no cricket today, only geese … it was evening before, and now it’s afternoon … there’s the lane to the Parsonage … the poor old gentleman … the beauty … she never told me why that was broken off … a new man now … what’s his name? Wilmott? If all goes well he’ll be the fellow who … with this ring I thee wed! … I wish it had been the old man, though … a strange story … sad … that other sister who died … Happy! Happy! … The park wall. Less than a mile now. I must take this grin off my face.
He had got it off when they stopped at the lodge gates and gave a positive scowl at the keeper who opened them. He kept this up as he bowled through. After fifty yards the carriage stopped. A white dress, a straw hat, sparkling eyes, living, breathing bliss sprang in beside him. She was in his arms.
Oh happy, happy, happy, happy Latymer!
2
‘PULL THE CHECK string,’ said Ellen when they got to the bridge. ‘Tell him to turn to the left and drive round the park a few times.’
After a third circuit of the park Latymer asked how soon they could be married.
‘At once, of course.’
‘Don’t they have to call banns?’
‘No. Not if there is a special licence.’
‘Where do they keep them? Special licences?’
‘I believe the Archbishop of Canterbury has them.’
‘I always thought a wedding took a great time to … clothes! Shan’t you have to buy clothes?’
‘I have clothes. I’ve always had them, ever since I was born, so they tell me.’
‘And people! One invites people. They all come to breakfast.’
‘They can eat their breakfasts and wish us joy in their own houses. If we wait for a day when it will suit Charlotte and Sophy and Bet and Amabel to come and eat breakfast with us we may never get married.’
‘But your mother! What will she say?’
‘Perhaps we’d better find out. Tell him to stop driving us round the park and take us to the house.’
‘Even if she consents she might think we should wait until … we must be guided by her wishes.’
‘Poor dear! We’ll be the first people who ever were!’
‘And Brandon … your brother?’
‘He’ll be all for cutting out that breakfast. It was he told me to go and meet you at the lodge gate. I wanted him to come too, but he said that if I went alone it would be a great time saver.’
‘Ellen! I can’t believe it! I thought that it would take weeks. I was wondering how to set about it.’
‘Weeks! Oh dear, what a bore that would have been.’
‘But, my darling … when did you … how soon did you …’
‘Ssh! We’ve arrived. And we have all the rest of our lives, you know, for “how soon did you …?” ’
‘My business was settled the very first evening.’
‘So was mine. When Charlotte asked you to change your room and we …’
‘Ellen!’
‘Oh fie! You’ll shock Partridge.’
Partridge was on the steps, smiling a discreet welcome. George, who came forward to take the portmanteaux, grinned broadly. There were now but the two of them, since William had departed to better himself and had never been replaced. Latymer found it impossible to control his smiles when he met so many on all sides. Crossing the hall, he looked up to see Mrs. Flinders smirking at him over the gallery rail. Then he was in the drawing-room where Mrs. Brandon first smiled and then wept, as she embraced him. But it was from Romilly, who had meanwhile been kissing Ellen, that he got the strangest smile. It was full of good-will and affection, yet it gave him a pang, reminding him of some very sad occasion, as yet unidentified.
‘We thought we heard your carriage quite a while ago,’ said Mrs. Brandon. ‘But then it seemed to turn away, beyond the bridge.’
‘We drove round the park for a little,’ said Ellen.
‘What a waste of time,’ said Romilly.
‘Ellen and I …’ began Latymer solemnly.
‘Don’t tell me!’ implored Romilly. ‘Let me guess. What can you and Ellen have been up to?’
‘I knew how it was as soon as I saw their faces,’ said Mrs. Brandon. ‘Oh, my dear Edward!’
For Ellen’s sake, thought Latymer, they ought to be more prudent than this! This is no way to dispose of her.
‘Perhaps, ma’am,’ he suggested, ‘I should talk to Brandon … to Romilly … he … you … must want to know. My prospects …’
‘Yes, to be sure. Charlotte and Sophy would scold us for going on too fast. Romilly is the proper person … go into the library with him, and mind you tell me what you say to each other, so that I may write it to the girls. Oh, my dearest Ellen …’
The two men went into the library. Romilly produced a decanter. He then took up a position on the hearthrug and said in a menacing voice:
‘Now, my good man! How much money have you got?’
Latymer told him and he wrote it down, explaining that Charlotte, Sophy, Bet and Amabel would want to know to a farthing how much it was.
‘Now it’s your turn. You should ask me how much Ellen has got.’
‘I shan’t.’
‘Oh, very We’ll! The gentleman is, in any case, believed to have found that out before he offers. But you should make some demand — suggest that you get it all if you marry her. Whereat I shall say: On the contrary. We expect a settlement for her. Charlotte and Sophy will think very meanly of us if we don’t haggle.’
‘We’ll certainly make a settlement.’
‘Ellen has four thousand pounds in the three per cents. I wish it had been more, but that’s her portion, under my father’s will. If I’d not made ducks and drakes of my own money I should have been delighted to give her more. But there it is. She’s no great catch. I think you could look higher.’
‘Look higher than Ellen!’
‘Quite so. If ever a man is likely to be happy … but I don’t think
she’ll meet any more likely to deserve her. And han’t she grown into a beauty?’
‘You think so? I don’t find her changed. She’s just as I’d always thought of her.’
‘When do you mean to get married?’
‘Why, we were discussing that when we were … were …’
‘Wasting time? Well, if I were you, I should march her off to church as soon as possible. You want to spend as much as you can of your leave together.’
‘If your mother wouldn’t think that too …’
‘I’ll answer for my mother.’
‘How does one get hold of a special licence? Do you know?’
Romilly did know and offered to put the matter in hand immediately. He sat down to write a letter which Latymer’s driver could take to Severnton, whence it could be sent on by express. As he took up his pen he said:
‘Have some more port. We must be shut up here for at least forty minutes, if we are to satisfy Charlotte and Sophy. Sit down, do, and get your breath. You look positively blown.’
It was not merely the suddenness of his good fortune which took Latymer’s breath away. He had never known that it was possible for any man to be so happy. It seemed to him that he had spent his life in a parched desert, drinking by thimblefuls, and supposing such an existence to be tolerable. Now, having come upon a river, he had fallen into it, was drowning in bliss.
‘Place of birth? Date of birth?’ said Romilly without looking up. ‘In what Parish Register? Particulars of parents, including mother’s maiden name.’
‘Good heavens! Will the Archbishop want to know all that?’
‘I doubt it. I think he’ll merely want guineas. But we won’t risk a delay by failing to send any necessary particulars.’
‘How many guineas?’
‘The bride’s family come up with those. Ellen won’t cost us as much as Amabel did. We save a breakfast, and a good deal of Brussels lace.’
A Night in Cold Harbour Page 18
