A Family and a Fortune (31 page)

‘Well, this is a sobering morning,' said a voice, which seemed to be neither Aubrey's nor Justine's, but was really the former used in imitation of the latter. ‘But we shall be stimulated by it. We must live in Father's life and not allow ourselves to cross the bound. I will take it all at one fell swoop and lead the way into the room.'

‘You both look tired after your long day,' said Mark.

His father felt that his words should cover that part of the day he did not know.

‘Maria is tired,' he said.

‘She will soon be rested in her own home,' said Justine. ‘I already enjoy a personal sense of relief. I am a mere unimportant child of the house again.'

‘Will you wait breakfast for Mr Dudley, ma'am?' said Jellamy.

‘No. He is not coming back so early.'

‘Where has he gone?' said Clement.

‘Away for a time, I am afraid,' said Edgar. ‘He felt he wanted a change. I fear that he found the sight of the two of us together too much.'

‘Well, I think it is a thoroughly good idea,' said Justine at once. ‘Uncle has been attempting altogether too much of late. He can't go on being superhuman. Even he is subject to the rules of mortal life. I wanted to suggest his having a break, and would have done so if I had dared.'

‘He has done his duty in giving you a welcome, and feels he is free,' said Mark, realizing the false impression he gave.

‘He has taken no luggage, ma'am,' said Jellamy.

‘And does that prevent your bringing in the breakfast?' said Edgar.

‘He will be sending for what he wants, I expect,' said Maria. ‘He had to get away at once. Yes, bring in the breakfast.'

‘I thought it might imply that he would be back this morning, ma'am.'

‘You heard that he was not coming back,' said Edgar.

‘Bring in the breakfast, Jellamy, and make no more ado,' said Justine. ‘You will forgive me, Maria; the words slipped out. I can't keep my tongue from leaping out at that man sometimes.'

‘I feel with Jellamy,' said Mark to Clement, as they followed the others to the table. ‘He wants to know why Uncle has suddenly gone, and so do I. And the luggage is a point. Either he is coming back at once or he has left in storm and stress.'

‘Don't whisper, boys,' said Justine, turning and lowering her own voice. ‘Things are difficult and we must do our part. Pull yourselves together and remember that we are mere pawns in the game of skill and chance which is being played.'

‘Are we as essential to the game as that? I feel a mere spectator. And it is really a simpler game.'

‘Well, don't look as if we were making some mystery.'

‘We could hardly contrive to do so. It is clear on what lines the break came, if break there has been.'

‘Shall I remove Mr Dudley's place, ma'am?'

‘No,' said Edgar, as he saw the traces of his brother about to be obliterated. ‘Leave it as it is. It is likely - it is possible that he may come back.'

‘We will all take our own places,' said Justine. ‘Then Uncle can return and find his place ready for him, and the others occupied round him, as will be right and meet.'

‘Not a gap in the circle,' said Aubrey, flushing as he realized his words.

‘No one can be expected to show himself in Uncle's place,' said Mark.

‘Yes, to take it would be even less easy - would be almost as difficult,' said Justine - ‘oh, what a time this is for innocent and inapposite speeches!'

‘No one tries to take anyone's place,' said Maria. ‘Empty places remain and new people make their own.'

‘Of course. Why cannot I put things as you do?'

‘If you knew the reason,' said Clement, ‘I am sure you would deal with the matter.'

‘Well, that comes well from you. We don't see much sign in you of a gift for words.'

‘Should we have said that silence was golden, if we had only known Clement?' said Aubrey.

Maria laughed, and Edgar looked up and smiled more at the sound than at his son's words.

‘Yes, cheer up, Father,' said Justine. ‘You have not lost everything with Uncle. And he will be back and everything will be as it has always been - everything will be straight and well.'

‘Silence is golden,' murmured Aubrey.

‘Oh, I don't know. I believe I would give all the silence in the world for a little healthy, natural speech.'

‘Well, you have always done so,' said Clement.

‘And I do not regret my choice.'

‘Clement raises his brows,' said Aubrey.

‘Aubrey is readier with his words than you will ever be, Clement.'

Aubrey looked at the window.

‘Can you see through the curtain?' said his brother. ‘If you can, it is still dusk outside.'

‘I can see the wide, wintry expanse with my mind's eye.'

Edgar looked up, with his mind following his son's, and meeting the picture of his brother with no refuge before him or behind. He turned to his wife and knew that she saw the same.

‘Did Uncle say anything?' said Justine. ‘Did he - oh, I will take the bull by the horns, as he does. Has he any plans? Did he leave any address?'

‘He had none to leave. He went suddenly,' said her father. ‘He may - it will be possible for him to send one later.'

‘We know all,' murmured Mark to Clement.

‘You know all we can tell you,' said Edgar.

‘A flush mantles Mark's cheek,' said Aubrey.

Maria was again amused, and her stepson showed his nonchalance by rising and walking to the window and pulling the curtain aside.

‘Aunt Matty! Coming across the snow!'

‘Across the snow? Aunt Matty?' said Justine.

‘She must be coming across the snow if she is coming,' said Mark.

‘Did you know she was coming, little boy? Why did you go to the window?'

Aubrey did not give his reason.

‘Boys, get your coats and go to meet her. Perhaps she has some news of Uncle.'

Edgar rose.

‘I hardly think so,' said Maria. ‘She would not be coming herself.'

Matty was approaching with her halting step, holding a wrap across her breast, holding something to her head in the wind, pressing forward with a sort of dogged resignation to her slow advance. She gave a faint smile to her nephews as she suffered them to lead her in.

‘You have come alone, Aunt Matty?'

‘Yes, I have come alone, my dears. I had to do that. I shall be alone now. My dear father has left me, and left me, as you say, alone.' Matty sank into a chair and covered her face. ‘I must be content alone. I must learn another hard lesson after so many.'

‘She kept her hand to her brow and sat without moving, as the family gathered about her.

‘Yes, I have had a life of deep and strange experiences. It seems that I ought to be used to them, that I ought to have that sad protection.'

There was silence.

‘Losing her father when she is over sixty herself is not a startling one,' said Clement.

‘Is Grandpa dead?' said Aubrey.

‘That is a better way of putting it,' said Mark.

‘Well, his life was over,' said Justine. ‘It was not hard to see that.'

Matty was continuing to Edgar and his wife.

‘He had gone to bed early as he was very tired. And I sent up something, hoping that he would eat before he slept. And it was found that he was already sleeping, and that he would not wake again.'

‘We cannot improve on that,' said Mark.

‘Yes, it was a good way to go,' said Matty, misinterpreting his words. ‘He was full of years. His harvest was gathered; his sheaves were bound. For him we need not weep. But I must grieve for myself, and you will grieve for me a little.'

‘Dear Aunt Matty, we do indeed,' said Justine. ‘And Mother would have suffered equally with you.'

‘Yes, dear. That is my saddest thought, that I have no one to do that. But I will be glad that yours is the lighter part. I had thought that my sister and I would sorrow together in this natural loss. But so much was not to be for me.'

Maria took the seat by Matty, and Matty gave her her hand, putting the other over her eyes, but in a moment laid both hands on her friend's and looked about with a smile.

‘Well, I must not fail in resolution. I must be myself. I must be what I always was to my father. I must not be lonely when I am not. I will not be.'

‘Look round and see the reason,' said her niece.

‘Yes, I see all my reasons,' said Matty, looking about as if to discover the truth. ‘All the dear reasons I have for clinging to life, the dear faces which I have seen growing into themselves, the dear ones whose link I am now with one side of their past. Well, it should forge the link strongly. We shall go forward closely bound.'

‘How was dear Grandpa found? Did Miss Griffin go in to him?'

‘No, dear, the maid went in and found him as I say. As she thought at first, sleeping; really in his last sleep.'

‘Poor Emma, it must have been a shock for her. Was she very much upset?'

‘Well, dear, I was the more upset, of course. She was
troubled in her measure. And I was sorry for her, and glad that she only had her natural share of the shock. Your grandfather had been always good to her. But she is not a young woman. There was nothing unsuitable in her being the one to find him. One of us had to do so, and I am not in the habit of going up and down stairs, as you know.'

‘And now Miss Griffin is managing everything?'

‘No, dear; Dr Marlowe is seeing that everything is done for me. He is a good friend, as you have found. There would not have been much for Miss Griffin to do.'

‘She will feel it very deeply. I daresay she is too upset to be of much use. It is a long relation to break.'

‘Yes, well, now I must tell you,' said Matty, sitting up and using an open tone. ‘You will think that I have had a stranger life than you thought, that I seem to be marked out for untoward experience. Well, I was sitting in my little room alone, waiting for the shadows to close in upon me. It seems now that I must have had some presentiment; I had been so wrought up all day; you must have had your glimpse of it. And it was found that Miss Griffin had left me, that my old friend with whom I had shared my life for thirty years had vanished and left me alone in my grief. Well, what do you think of that for an accumulation of trouble, for what the Greeks would have called a woe on woe? I seem to be a person born for trial by flame. I hope I may emerge unscathed.'

There was silence.

‘When did Miss Griffin go?' said Justine. ‘Did anyone know when she went? Did she suddenly disappear?'

‘Well, I must try to answer all those questions at once. But I only know what I have told you., I was sitting alone in the parlour, as you call it, finding the time rather drag as it moved on towards my trouble. I see that the boys are smiling, and I should not have wished to hasten it, if I had known. And I seemed to need the sound of a human voice, and I opened the door of the house - Miss Griffin had run into the garden on some pretext that I had sent her out, or something. You know I left you rather out of sorts; things here had upset me - and I found - Well, you find my tale
amusing? I am making a mountain out of a molehill? It is a trifle that I am exaggerating because I am personally involved? Well, we have all done that. You will not find it hard to understand.'

‘Then Miss Griffin did not leave you after Grandpa died? She had gone before? Yes, I know you implied that she had. But you said that you were alone in your grief. I did not quite follow.'

‘I meant my grief for your mother, dear. I happened to be remembering. But it was not the time for you to do so, as I had found. Well, I will get on with my story. So I found that was how it was, that my old friend had left me - well, we won't say alone in my grief - alone in a dark hour. And what do you say to that for a sudden revelation? I won't say that I have nourished a viper in my bosom; I won't say that of Miss Griffin, who has been with me through so many vicissitudes, and whom I have spared to you in yours. I will just say - well, I will say nothing; that is best.'

‘I don't think we can say anything either. We must find out where she has gone unless she returns very soon. But in the meantime tell us how you are yourself, and if you are staying here for the time.'

‘Well, it is to Maria that I must answer that question,' said Matty, turning to her friend. ‘Answer it as a matter of form, because I must remain with you. I cannot go back to that house alone. So the formal question is answered, and I can settle down in as much content as I can, in as much as will prevent my being a damper on other people.'

‘Would you like anything fetched from your house?' said Maria.

‘No, dear, no; Justine can lend me things of her mother's. I need not trouble you for anything.'

‘I hope you will trouble anyone for anything you need.'

‘Yes, dear, I know it would not be a trouble,' said Matty, with a faint note of correcting the term. ‘But I am a person of few wants, or have learned to be. Now shall we leave me as a subject and go on to all of you? Or would you like to hear more of the old friend, or old aunt, or old responsibility, or whatever you call me to yourselves?'

‘We should like to know all we can. Have you given any thought to the future? You clearly have not had time. But will you settle down in your house or will you be too much alone? Did you mean to stay there after your father died?'

‘One moment, Maria. One thing, Aunt Matty,' said Justine, leaning forward with a hand on Maria's arm. ‘Is Emma alone in that house? Let us get that point behind.'

‘No, dear, she has a sister with her. You have not reached the stage of arranging such things for other people as a matter of course. And that being so, it was a natural anxiety. Well, what was Maria saying? Yes, I was to stay here after my father died. He meant me to, and so did my sister. And I shall follow what I can of their wish. It will seem to bind me to them closer, to carry out our common plan. So I shall be too much alone: I must answer “yes” to that question. But I shall not be too proud to accept any alleviation of my solitude.' Matty smiled at the faces about her. ‘I have no false notions about what exalts people. I have my own ideas of what constitutes quality.'