Born in Exile (9 page)

Until the last moment he could not decide whether to let his
mother know how he had reached Twybridge. His arrival corresponded
pretty well with that of a train by which he might have come. But
when the door opened to him, and the familiar faces smiled their
welcome, he felt that he must have nothing to do with paltry
deceit; he told of his walk, explaining it by the simple fact that
this morning he had found himself short of money. How that came to
pass, no one inquired. Mrs. Peak, shocked at such martyrdom, tended
him with all motherly care; for once, Godwin felt that it was good
to have a home, however simple.

This amiable frame of mind was not likely to last beyond the
first day. Matter of irritation soon enough offered itself, as was
invariably the case at Twybridge. It was pleasant enough to be
feted as the hero of the family, to pull out a Kingsmill newspaper
and exhibit the full report of prize-day at Whitelaw, with his own
name, in very small type, demanding the world's attention, and
finally to exhibit the volumes in tree-calf which his friend the
librarian had forwarded to him. But domestic circumstances soon
made assault upon his nerves, and trial of his brief patience.

First of all, there came an unexpected disclosure. His sister
Charlotte had affianced herself to a young man of Twybridge, one Mr
Cusse, whose prospects were as slender as his present means. Mrs
Peak spoke of the affair in hushed privacy, with shaking of the
head and frequent sighs, for to her mind Mr. Cusse had few even
personal recommendations. He was a draper's assistant. Charlotte
had made his acquaintance on occasions of church festivity, and
urged the fact of his zeal in Sunday-school tuition as sufficient
reply to all doubts. As he listened, Godwin bit his lips.

'Does he come here, then?' was his inquiry.

'Once or twice a week. I haven't felt able to say anything
against it, Godwin. I suppose it will be a very long
engagement.'

Charlotte was just twenty-two, and it seemed probable that she
knew her own mind; in any case, she was of a character which would
only be driven to obstinacy by adverse criticism. Godwin learnt
that his aunt Emily (Miss Cadman) regarded this connection with
serious disapproval. Herself a shopkeeper, she might have been
expected to show indulgence to a draper's assistant, but, so far
from this, her view of Mr. Cusse was severely scornful. She had
nourished far other hopes for Charlotte, who surely at her age
(Miss Cadman looked from the eminence of five-and-forty) should
have been less precipitate. No undue harshness had been exhibited
by her relatives, but Charlotte took a stand which sufficiently
declared her kindred with Godwin. She held her head higher than
formerly, spoke with habitual decision which bordered on
snappishness, and at times displayed the absentmindedness of one
who in silence suffers wrong.

There passed but a day or two before Godwin was brought face to
face with Mr. Cusse, who answered too well to the idea Charlotte's
brother had formed of him. He had a very smooth and shiny forehead,
crowned by sleek chestnut hair; his chin was deferential; the bend
of his body signified a modest hope that he did his duty in the
station to which Providence had summoned him. Godwin he sought to
flatter with looks of admiring interest; also, by entering upon a
conversation which was meant to prove that he did not altogether
lack worldly knowledge, of however little moment that might be in
comparison with spiritual concerns. Examining, volume by volume and
with painful minuteness, the prizes Godwin had carried off, he
remarked fervently, in each instance, 'I can see how very
interesting that is! So thorough, so thorough!' Even Charlotte was
at length annoyed, when Mr. Cusse had exclaimed upon the
'thoroughness' of Ben Jonson's works; she asked an abrupt question
about some town affair, and so gave her brother an opportunity of
taking the books away. There was no flagrant offence in the man. He
spoke with passable accent, and manifested a high degree of
amiability; but one could not dissociate him from the counter. At
the thought that his sister might become Mrs. Cusse, Godwin ground
his teeth. Now that he came to reflect on the subject, he found in
himself a sort of unreasoned supposition that Charlotte would
always remain single; it seemed so unlikely that she would be
sought by a man of liberal standing, and at the same time so
impossible for her to accept any one less than a gentleman. Yet he
remembered that to outsiders such fastidiousness must show in a
ridiculous light. What claim to gentility had they, the Peaks? Was
it not all a figment of his own self-conceit? Even in education
Charlotte could barely assert a superiority to Mr. Cusse, for her
formal schooling had ended when she was twelve, and she had never
cared to read beyond the strait track clerical inspiration.

There were other circumstances which helped to depress his
estimate of the family dignity. His brother Oliver, now seventeen,
was developing into a type of young man as objectionable as it is
easily recognised. The slow, compliant boy had grown more flesh and
muscle than once seemed likely, and his wits had begun to display
that kind of vivaciousness which is only compatible with a nature
moulded in common clay. He saw much company, and all of low
intellectual order; he had purchased a bicycle, and regarded it as
a source of distinction, a means of displaying himself before
shopkeepers' daughters; he believed himself a modest tenor, and
sang verses of sentimental imbecility; he took in several weekly
papers of unpromising title, for the chief purpose of deciphering
cryptograms, in which pursuit he had singular success. Add to these
characteristics a penchant for cheap jewellery, and Oliver Peak
stands confessed.

It appeared to Godwin that his brother had leapt in a few months
to these heights of vulgar accomplishment; each separate revelation
struck unexpectedly upon his nerves and severely tried his temper.
When at length Oliver, waiting for supper, began to dance
grotesquely to an air which local talent had somehow caught from
the London music-halls, Godwin's self-control gave way.

'Is it your ambition,' he asked, with fiery sarcasm, 'to join a
troupe of nigger minstrels?'

Oliver was startled into the military posture of attention. He
answered, with some embarrassment:

'I can't say it is.'

'Yet anyone would suppose so,' went on Godwin, hotly. 'Though
you are employed in a shop, I should have thought you might still
aim at behaving like a gentleman.'

Indisposed to quarrel, and possessed of small skill in verbal
fence, Oliver drew aside with shadowed brow. As the brothers still
had to share one bedroom, they were presently alone together, and
their muteness, as they lay down to sleep, showed the estrangement
that had at length come between them. When all had been dark and
still for half-an-hour, Godwin spoke.

'Are you awake?'

'Yes.'

'There was something about Uncle Andrew. I didn't mention. He
talks of opening an eating-house just opposite Whitelaw.'

'Oh.'

The tone of this signified nothing more than curiosity.

'You don't see any reason why he shouldn't?'

Oliver delayed a little before replying.

'I suppose it wouldn't be very nice for you.'

'That's rather a mild way of putting it. It would mean that I
should have to leave the College, and give up all my hopes.'

'I see,' returned the other, with slow apprehension.

There followed several minutes of silence. Then Godwin sat up in
bed, as had always been his wont when he talked with earnestness at
night.

'If you think I lost my temper without cause at suppertime, just
remember that I had that blackguard before my mind, and that it
isn't very pleasant to see you taking after that branch of our
family.'

'Do you mean to say I am like uncle?'

'I mean to say that, if you are not careful, you won't be the
kind of man I should like to see you. Do you know what is meant by
inherited tendencies? Scientific men are giving a great deal of
attention to such things nowadays. Children don't always take after
their parents; very often they show a much stronger likeness to a
grandfather, or an uncle, or even more distant relatives. Just
think over this, and make up your mind to resist any danger of that
sort. I tell you plainly that the habits you are getting into, and
the people you make friends of, are detestable. For heaven's sake,
spend more of your time in a rational way, and learn to despise the
things that shopkeepers admire. Read! Force yourself to stick hard
at solid books for two or three hours every day. If you don't, it's
all up with you. I am speaking for your own good. Read, read,
read!'

Quietness ensued. Then Oliver began to move uneasily in his bed,
and at length his protest became audible.

'I can't see what harm I do.'

'No!' burst from his brother's lips, scornfully. 'And that's
just your danger. Do you suppose
I
could sing nigger songs,
and run about the town with shopboys, and waste hours over idiotic
puzzles?'

'We're not all alike, and it wouldn't do for us to be.'

'It would do very well for us all to have brains and to use
them. The life you lead is a brainless life, brainless and
vulgar.'

'Well, if I haven't got brains, I can't help it,' replied
Oliver, with sullen resignation.

'You have enough to teach you to live respectably, if only you
look to the right kind of example.'

There followed a vehement exhortation, now angry, now in strain
of natural kindliness. To this Oliver made only a few brief and
muttered replies; when it was all over, he fell asleep. But Godwin
was wakeful for hours.

The next morning he attempted to work for his approaching
examination, but with small result. It had begun to be very
doubtful to him whether he should 'go up' at all, and this
uncertainty involved so great a change in all his prospects that he
could not command the mental calm necessary for study. After dinner
he went out with unsettled purpose. He would gladly have conversed
with Mr Gunnery, but the old people were just now on a stay with
relatives in Bedfordshire, and their return might be delayed for
another week. Perhaps it behoved him to go and see Mr. Moxey, but
he was indisposed to visit the works, and if he went to the house
this evening he would encounter the five daughters, who, like all
women who did not inspire him with admiration, excited his bashful
dislike. At length he struck off into the country and indulged
restless thoughts in places where no one could observe him.

A result of the family's removal first from London to the farm,
and then into Twybridge, was that Godwin had no friends of old
standing. At Greenwich, Nicholas Peak formed no intimacies, nor did
a single associate remain to him from the years of his growth and
struggle; his wife, until the renewal of intercourse with her
sister at Twybridge, had no society whatever beyond her home. A boy
reaps advantage from the half parental kindness of men and women
who have watched his growth from infancy; in general it affects him
as a steadying influence, keeping before his mind the social bonds
to which his behaviour owes allegiance. The only person whom Godwin
regarded with feeling akin to this was Mr. Gunnery, but the
geologist found no favour with Mrs. Peak, and thus he involuntarily
helped to widen the gap between the young man and his relatives.
Nor had the intimacies of school time supplied Godwin with
friendships for the years to come; his Twybridge class-fellows no
longer interested him, nor did they care to continue his
acquaintance. One was articled to a solicitor; one was learning the
drug-trade in his father's shop; another had begun to deal in corn;
the rest were scattered about England, as students or
salary-earners. The dominion of the commonplace had absorbed them,
all and sundry; they were the stuff which destiny uses for its
every-day purposes, to keep the world a-rolling.

So that Godwin had no ties which bound him strongly to any
district. He could not call himself a Londoner; for, though born in
Westminster, he had grown to consciousness on the outskirts of
Greenwich, and remembered but dimly some of the London streets, and
a few places of public interest to which his father had taken him.
Yet, as a matter of course, it was to London that his ambition
pointed, when he forecast the future. Where else could he hope for
opportunity of notable advancement? At Twybridge? Impossible to
find more than means of subsistence; his soul loathed such a
prospect. At Kingsmill? There was a slender hope that he might
establish a connection with Whitelaw College, if he devoted himself
to laboratory work; but what could come of that—at all events for
many years? London, then? The only acceptable plan for supporting
himself there was to succeed in a Civil Service competition. That,
indeed, seemed the most hopeful direction for his efforts; a
government office might afford him scope, and, he had heard, would
allow him abundant leisure.

Or to go abroad? To enter for the Indian clerkships, and
possibly cleave a wider way than could be hoped in England? There
was allurement in the suggestion; travel had always tempted his
fancy. In that case he would be safely severed from the humble
origin which in his native country might long be an annoyance, or
even an obstacle; no Uncle Andrew could spring up at inconvenient
moments in the middle of his path. Yes; this indeed might be best
of all. He must send for papers, and give attention to the
matter.

Musing in this way, he had come within sight of the familiar
chemical works. It was near the hour at which Mr. Moxey was about
to go home for his afternoon dinner; why not interrupt his walk,
and have a word with him? That duty would be over.

He pushed on, and, as he approached the buildings, was aware of
Mr Moxey stepping into the road, unaccompanied. Greetings speedily
followed. The manufacturer, who was growing stout in his mellow
years and looking more leisurely than when Godwin first knew him,
beamed with smiles of approbation.