Envious Casca (5 page)

Joseph was finding her a little difficult. A less selfcentred young woman would have responded to this gambit, he felt, and would have asked him sympathetic questions. With a sigh, he accepted her disinterest, and said, resuming his role of kindly uncle: "But that's quite enough about me! My life is nearing its close, after all. But Stephen has his all before him. Ah, when I look back to what I was at Stephen's age, I can see so many points of similarity between us! I was ever a rebel, too. I expect you find that hard to believe of such a respectable old fogy, eh?"

"Oh no!" said Valerie.

"Eheu fugaces!" sighed Joseph. "When I look back, do you know, I can't find it in me to regret those carefree years?"

"Oh?" said Valerie.

"No," said Joseph, damped. "But why should I bore a pretty young thing like you with tales of my misspent youth? It was about Stephen I wanted to speak to you."

"He's been utterly foul all day," responded his betrothed with great frankness. "It makes it absolutely lousy for me, too, only he's so damned selfish I don't suppose he even thinks of that. As a matter of fact, I've got a complete hate against him at the moment."

"But you love him!" said Joseph, taken aback.

"Yes; but you know what I mean."

"Perhaps I do," said Joseph, with a wise nod. "And I'm relying on you to bring your influence to bear on the dear old fellow."

"What?" asked Valerie, turning her large eyes upon him in astonishment.

He pressed her arm slightly. "Ah, you're not going to tell me that you haven't got any! No, no, that won't do!"

"But what on earth do you expect me to do?" she demanded.

"Don't let him annoy his uncle," he said. "Try to get him to behave sensibly! After all, though I suppose I'm the last person to preach wisdom, as this world knows it (for I'm afraid I've never had a scrap of it my whole life long!), it would be silly, wouldn't it, to throw away all this just out of perversity?"

A wave of his hand indicated their surroundings. Valerie's eyes brightened. "Oh, Mr. Herriard, is he really going to leave everything to Stephen?"

"You mustn't ask me that, my dear," Joseph replied. "I've done my best, that's all I can say, and now it depends on Stephen, and on you, too."

"Yes, but I don't believe Mr. Herriard likes me much," objected Valerie. "It's funny, because generally I go over big with old men. I don't know why, I'm sure."

"Look in your mirror!" responded Joseph gallantly. "I'm afraid poor Nat is a bit of a misogynist. You mustn't mind that. Just keep that young man of yours in order, that's all I ask."

"Well, I'll try," said Valerie. "Not that he's likely to pay any attention to me, because he never does."

"Now you're talking nonsense!" Joseph rallied her playfully.

"Well, all I can say is that it seems to me he pays a darned sight more attention to Mathilda Clare than he does to me," said Valerie. "In fact, I wonder you don't set her on to him!"

"Tilda?" exclaimed Joseph. "No, no, my dear, you're quite wrong there! Good gracious me, as though Stephen would ever look twice at Tilda!"

"Oh, do you honestly think so?" she said hopefully. "Of course, she isn't in the least pretty. I mean, I like her awfully, and all that sort of thing, but I shouldn't call her attractive, would you?"

"Not a bit!" said Joseph. "Tilda's just a good sort. And now we must go and wash our hands, or we shall both be late for tea, and I shall be making Stephen jealous! I'll just lean the steps up against the wall, and finish the decorations after tea. There! I don't think they'll be in anyone's way, do you?"

Since the half-landing was a broad one, the steps were not, strictly speaking, in anyone's way, but Nathaniel, when he came out of the library, a few minutes later, took instant exception to them, and said that he wished to God Joe would come to the end of all this tomfoolery.

Stephen, descending the stairs, identified himself with this wish in no uncertain tones.

"Now then, you two wet-blankets!" said Joseph. "Tea! Ah, there you are, Maud, my dear! We wait for you to lead the way. Come along, Nat, old man! Come along, Stephen!"

"Makes you feel quite at home, doesn't he?" Stephen said, grinning at Nathaniel.

Joseph's heartiness so nauseated Nathaniel that this malicious remark made him feel quite friendly towards his nephew. He gave a snort of laughter, and followed Maud into the drawing-room.

Chapter Four

Joseph managed to tell Mathilda during the course of tea that he had (as he expressed it) tipped the wink to Valerie. She thought his impulse kind but misguided, but he triumphantly called her attention to the better relationship already existing between Stephen and Nathaniel. Whether this arose from the exertion of Valerie's influence, or whether, faced by the prospect of having a play read aloud to them by its author, they had been drawn momentarily together by a bond of mutual misfortune, was a point Mathilda felt to be as yet undecided, but it was evident that Stephen was making an effort to please his uncle.

The thought of the approaching reading lay heavy on Mathilda's brain. At no time fond of being read to, she thought the present hour and milieu so ill-chosen that nothing short of a miracle could save this party from disruption. Glancing at Roydon, who was nervously crumbling a cake, she felt a stir of pity for him. He was so much in earnest, torn between his belief in himself and his natural dread of reading his play to what he could not but recognise as an unsympathetic audience. She moved across the room to a chair beside him, and said, undercover of an interchange of noisy badinage between Valerie and Joseph: "I wish you'd tell me something about your play."

"I don't suppose you'll any of you like it," he said, with a sulkiness born of his nervousness.

"Some of us may not," she replied coolly. "Have you had anything put on yet?"

"No. At least, I had a Sunday-night show once. Not this play. Linda Bury was interested in it, but it didn't come to anything. Of course, it was very immature in parts. I see that now. The trouble is that I haven't any backing." He pushed an unruly lock of hair off his brow, and added defiantly: "I work in a bank!"

"Not a bad way of marking time," she said, refusing to see in this belligerent confession anything either extraordinary or pathetic.

"If I could only get a start, I'd - I'd never set foot inside the place again!"

"You probably wouldn't have to. Has your play got popular appeal?"

"It's a serious play. I don't care about popular appeal, as you call it. I - I know I've got it in me to write plays - good plays! - but I'd sooner stick to banking all my life than - than -"

"Prostitute your art," supplied Mathilda, unable to curb an irrepressible tongue.

He flushed, but said: "Yes, that's what I do mean, though I've no doubt you're laughing at me. Do you think - do you suppose there's the least hope of Mr. Herriard's being interested?"

She did not, but although she was in general an honest woman, she could not bring herself to say so. He was looking at her with such a dreadfully anxious expression on his thin face that she began, almost insensibly, to turn over vague plans in her mind for cajoling Nathaniel.

"It wouldn't cost much," he said wistfully. "Even if he doesn't care about art, he might like to give Paula a chance. She's quite marvellous in the part, you know. He'll see that. She's going to do the big scene, just to show him."

"What is her part?" Mathilda enquired, feeling herself incapable of explaining that Nathaniel profoundly disliked his niece's association with the stage.

"She's a prostitute," said the author simply.

Mathilda spilt her tea. Wild ideas of imploring Roydon not to be fool enough to read his play gave way, as she dried the skirt of her frock, to a fatalistic feeling that nothing she could say would be likely to prevent this young man from rushing on to his doom.

Stephen, who had strolled across the room to the cakestand, saw her spill her tea, and tossed her his handkerchief. "Clumsy wench! Here, have this!"

"Tea stains things absolutely fatally," said Valerie.

"Not if you rub hard enough," returned Mathilda, using Stephen's handkerchief vigorously.

"I was thinking of Stephen's hanky."

"I wasn't. Thanks, Stephen. Do you want it back?"

"Not particularly. Come over to the fire, and steam off!"

She obeyed, rejecting various pieces of helpful advice proffered by Maud and Paula. Stephen held out a plate of small cakes. "Take one. Always fortify yourself against coming ordeals."

She looked round, satisfying herself that Roydon, at the other end of the long room, was out of earshot, and said in an anguished undertone: "Stephen, it's about a prostitute!"

"What is?" he asked, interested. "Not this misbegotten play?"

She nodded, shaken with inward laughter. Stephen looked pleased for the first time that day. "You don't mean it! Won't Uncle enjoy himself! I meant to go away, to write mythical letters. I shan't now. I wouldn't miss this for a fortune."

"For God's sake, behave decently!" she begged. "It's going to be ghastly!"

"Nonsense, my girl! A good time is going to be had by all."

"Stephen, if you're unpleasant to the poor silly young ass, I shall have a shot at murdering you!"

He opened his eyes at her. "Sits the wind in that quarter? I wouldn't have thought it of you."

"No, you fool. But he's too vulnerable. It would be cruelty to children. Besides, he's in deadly earnest."

"Over-engined for his beam," said Stephen. "I might get a rise."

"More than you'd bargained for, I daresay. I always play safe with that unbalanced, neurotic type."

"I never play safe with anyone."

"Don't talk to me in that showing-off way!" said Mathilda tartly. "It doesn't impress me!"

He laughed, and left her side, returning to his seat beside Nathaniel on the sofa. Paula was already talking about Roydon's play, her stormy eyes daring anyone to leave the room. Nathaniel was bored, and said: "If we've got to hear it, we've got to. Don't talk so much! I can judge your play without your assistance. Seen more good, bad, and indifferent plays in my time than you've ever dreamt of." He rounded suddenly on Roydon. "What category does yours come into?"

The only weapon to use against these Herriards, Mathilda knew, was a directness as brutal as their own. If Roydon were to reply boldly, Good! Nathaniel would be pleased. But Roydon was out of his depth, had been out of it from the moment Nathaniel's butler had first run disparaging eyes over him. He was wavering between the hostility born of an over-sensitive inferiority-complex and nourished by his host's rudeness, and a desire, which had its root only in his urgent need, to please. He said, stammering and flushing: "Well, really, that's hardly for me to say!"

"Ought to know whether you've done good work or bad," said Nathaniel, turning away.

"I'm quite sure we're all going to enjoy ourselves hugely," interposed Joseph, with his sunniest smile.

"So am I," drawled Stephen. "I've just told Mathilda I wouldn't miss it for worlds."

"You talk as though Willoughby were going to read you a lively farce!" Paula said. "This is a page out of life!"

"A problem-play, is it?" said Mottisfont, with his meaningless little laugh. "There used to be a great vogue for them at one time. You'll remember, Nat!"

This was said in propitiating accents, but Nathaniel, who seemed still to be cherishing rancorous thoughts about his business-partner, pretended not to hear.

"I don't write problems," said Roydon, in rather too high a voice. "And enjoyment is the last thing I expect anyone to feel! If I've succeeded in making you think, I shall be satisfied."

"A noble ideal," commented Stephen. "But you shouldn't say it as though you thought it unattainable. Not polite."

This sally not unnaturally covered Roydon with confusion. He flushed deeply, and floundered in a morass of disclaimers and explanations. Stephen lay back, and watched his struggles with the interest of a naturalist.

The entrance of Sturry, followed by a footman, to bear away the tea-things saved Roydon, but it was evident that Stephen's remark had shaken his already tottering balance. Paula rent Stephen verbally for several blistering minutes, and Valerie, feeling herself ignored, said that she couldn't see what there was to make such a fuss about. Joseph, divining by what Mathilda could only suppose to be a sixth sense that the play was in questionable taste, said that he was sure they were all broad-minded enough not to mind.

Nathaniel at once asserted that he was not at all broad-minded, if, by that elastic term, Joseph meant that he was prepared to stomach a lot of prurient nonsense, which was all any modern play seemed to consist of. For a minute or two, Mathilda indulged the hope that Roydon would feel himself sufficiently insulted to refuse to read the play at all; but although he did indeed show signs of rising anger, he allowed himself to be won over by Paula and Valerie, who both assured him, inaccurately, that everyone was longing to hear his masterpiece.

By this time, the butler and the footman had withdrawn, and the stage was clear. Joseph began to bustle about, trying to rearrange the chairs and sofas; and Paula, who had been hugging the typescript under one arm, gave it to Roydon, saying that he would find her word-perfect when he wanted her.

A chair and a table were placed suitably for the author, and he seated himself, rather white about the gills, but with a belligerent jut to his chin. He cleared his throat, and Nathaniel broke the expectant silence by asking Stephen for a match.

Stephen produced a box from his pocket, and handed it to his uncle, who began to light his pipe, saying between puffs: "Go on, go on! What are you waiting for?"

"Wormwood," said Roydon throatily. "A play in three acts."

"Very powerful title," nodded Mottisfont knowledgeably. Roydon threw him a grateful look, and continued:

"Act I. The scene is a back-bedroom in a third-rate lodging-house. The bedstead is of brass, with sagging springs, and two of the knobs missing from the foot-rail. The carpet is threadbare, and the wallpaper, which is flowered in a design of roses in trellis-work tied up with blue ribbons, is stained in several places."

"Stained with what?" asked Stephen.

Roydon, who had never considered this point, glared at him, and said: "Does it matter?"

"Not to me, but if it's blood you ought to say so, and then my betrothed can make an excuse to go away. She's squeamish."

"Well, it isn't! I don't write that kind of play. The wallpaper is just stained."

"I expect it was from damp," suggested Maud. "It sounds as though it would be a damp sort of a place." Stephen turned his mocking gaze upon her, and said:

"You shouldn't say that, Aunt. After all, we haven't heard enough to judge yet."

"Shut up!" said Paula fiercely. "Don't pay any attention to Stephen, Willoughby! Just go on reading. Now, all of you! You must make your minds receptive, and absorb the atmosphere of the scene: it's tremendously significant. Go on, Willoughby!"

Roydon cleared his throat again. "Nottingham lace curtains shroud the windows, through which there can be obtained a vista of slate-roofs and chimney-stacks. A tawdry doll leans drunkenly on the dressing-table; and a pair of soiled pink corsets are flung across the only armchair." He looked round in a challenging kind of way as he enunciated this, and appeared to wait for comment.

"Ah yes, I see!" said Joseph, with a deprecating glance at the assembled company. "You wish to convey an atmosphere of sordidness."

"Quite, quite!" said Mottisfont, coughing.