Five Windows

by D. E. Stevenson

  “ Now, Matthew,” said Father. “ It’s not fair on the boy to put it like that. Mary says we’ll manage.”

  “ The Lord will provide! ” exclaimed Uncle Matthew scornfully. “ That’s your attitude, James. The Lord will send ravens to feed you and provide Mary with a winter coat! ”

  “ Matthew, that’s no way to talk! ”

  “ It’s blasphemy, I suppose. Well, James, I’ve no wish to offend you so I’ll take it back. The fact is I’m a man who says what he thinks. I’ve worked hard and I’ve made money. I’ve always found that God helps those who help themselves. If you’d taken my advice ten years ago you’d not be in this pickle now; but that’s all over and done with. It’s the future we’ve got to think of—David’s future.”

  “ We’re very grateful to you,” said Mother. “ It’s just—we feel we ought to be responsible for our own boy.”

  “ And so you are! ” cried Uncle Matthew, hitting the table with his fist. “ That’s what I’ve been trying to make you see for days. You’re responsible for David. Well, here’s a good offer. Have you a right to refuse? ”

  I was still standing by the table. I was dazed and bewildered but even so I realised how difficult a problem it was. Father had often said he wished he could send me to school in Edinburgh and here was his chance to do it … but on the other hand Father disapproved of Uncle Matthew and was loath to accept a favour from him.

  They went on talking about it and at last Uncle Matthew said, “ Well, James, you’re very high and mighty, but I’d like to ask you one question; how do you know this is not the Lord’s way of providing for your son’s education? ”

  “ It’s a thing I’ve thought of, Matthew.”

  “ You’ve thought of that? ”

  “ Yes, indeed. How could I not think of it? Our prayers are often answered in an unexpected way. But I can’t see light,” added Father miserably.

  “ You’d see light if you opened your eyes. It’s your pride that’s blinding you.”

  There was a short silence and then Uncle Matthew rose. “ Well,” he said. “ I’ve made my offer and I’ll leave you to discuss the matter yourselves. If David comes to me I’ll treat him as if he were my own son. He’s a good lad and I’m fond of him. David and I fadge very well together.” He went out and shut the door.

  Mother was crying now, and Father was still tapping with his pencil.

  “ Well, David——” began Father.

  “ No,” said Mother, drying her eyes. “ No, James, you’re not to put it on David. This is a thing we’ve got to decide ourselves.”

  She signed to me to leave them and I went towards the door.

  “ It’s not pride, Mary,” said Father earnestly. “ If he were a different sort of man I wouldn’t hesitate. I don’t trust Matthew——”

  “ I think you’re wrong,” said Mother. “ He’s very fond of David, and you can trust David, can’t you? ”

  I knew then that the thing was settled and as I shut the door and went back to the wood-shed I tried to make up my mind whether or not I was pleased. What would it be like to live with Uncle Matthew and go to a big Edinburgh day-school? I hated the idea of leaving home but that was not the point for in any case I should have to leave home … and it would not be for another year so it was far away. It seemed to me that it would be much more pleasant to stay with Uncle Matthew than to go to Dumfries and board with people I did not know. I knew Uncle Matthew and liked him, it was true that we fadged well.

  Another advantage of being in Edinburgh was that Cliffe lived in Edinburgh. It would be fun to see Cliffe. Perhaps Uncle Matthew would let me ask him to tea occasionally. Cliffe had said that if ever I came to Edinburgh I must let him know. It would be good to start my new life with a friend.

  That evening Uncle Matthew was in great spirits, for he was a man who liked to have his own way; he was as kind as possible and told me what a fine time we would have when I came to stay with him.

  “ Two bachelors, David! ” he cried. “ Two bachelors setting up house together? My word, we’ll make things hum! ”

  “ David must work——” began Father, frowning.

  “ Oh, of course, of course,” agreed Uncle Matthew hastily. “ We’ll both need to work, David and I. We’ll be off to our work every morning, regular as clockwork. Don’t you worry about that. And every Sunday morning we’ll go to St. Giles’. Rain or fine,” said Uncle Matthew nodding to Father reassuringly. “ Rain or fine David and I will go to St. Giles’ every Sunday morning. On my honour we will.”

  I could see that Uncle Matthew thought he was making a tremendous sacrifice when he made this promise, but Father did not see it. To Father it seemed quite natural that every Sunday morning should see us at St. Giles’. It was a typical instance of how they misunderstood one another.

  Uncle Matthew’s approach to Mother was on different lines and was much more successful. He was never done telling her how pleased he was that I was coming and how much he was looking forward to having me. He told her about the room he was going to give me; it was on the second floor, facing south; he would have it papered and painted and newly furnished. He described his domestic arrangements in detail: his cook-housekeeper would look after my comfort. She and her daughter ran the house between them; they would mend my socks and sew on my buttons.

  “ What about air-raids? ” asked Mother.

  “ There’s the cellar,” he replied. “ I’ve had the cellar shored up with beams … but who knows! The war may be over before next year. Don’t you worry, Mary. I promise you I’ll take good care of David.”

  The Second Window

  “ My window looked out on to a chequer-board of gardens, each separated from its neighbour by a solid stone wall covered with ivy. The gardens were rectangular and very small indeed: some of them were unkempt and tawdry: some had stanchions fixed to the walls and the family washing fluttered upon ropes: a few were carefully tended patches with chrysanthemums or dahlias or little rockeries planted with variegated heaths.… Beyond the gardens was a somewhat grim row of tall grey houses—the backs of the houses of which the next crescent was composed.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Uncle Matthew’s house was in a crescent of tall grey houses not far from Haymarket Station. It was a quiet, sedate crescent and in the middle there was an oval-shaped garden with lawns and paths and trees. Number nineteen looked prosperous and well-kept, the front door was painted green and there were white lace curtains at the shining windows. My room was at the back on the second floor; my window looked out on to a chequer-board of gardens, each separated from its neighbours by a solid stone wall covered with ivy. The gardens were rectangular and very small indeed; some of them were unkempt and tawdry; some had stanchions fixed to the walls and the family washing fluttered upon ropes; a few were carefully tended patches, with chrysanthemums or dahlias or little rockeries planted with variegated heaths. Uncle Matthew’s garden was neat and tidy, it boasted a crazy path and a couple of beds of roses. Beyond the gardens was a somewhat grim row of tall grey houses—the backs of the houses of which the next crescent was composed.

  There were iron bars across the window of my room which showed that at one time it had been a nursery, but now it was furnished as a bed-sitting-room, with an electric fire, two comfortable basket chairs and a solid desk with a reading lamp. The bed was low and covered with a brown bedspread to match the curtains.

  “ It’s a boy’s room,” said Uncle Matthew proudly. “ It’s yours, David, you can do what you like in it—there’s nothing to spoil. I thought you might want to ask a friend in, now and then. It doesn’t look too much like a bedroom.”

  “ It’s a splendid room,” I said.

  “ Well, I hope you’ll be comfortable here. If there’s anything you want you’ve only got to tell me.”

  “ You’ve thought of everything,” I declared. “ You are kind, Uncle Matthew.”

  “ Yes,” he said nodding and puffing out his cheeks. “ Yes, I think you’ll fi
nd practically everything you need. I’ve taken a good deal of trouble over it … but I can see you’re pleased, David. You might call me Uncle Matt,” he added. “ It sounds more friendly.”

  For a day or two I felt homesick and miserable but after a bit I settled down into the new ways. Uncle Matt and I had breakfast together every morning at eight o’clock in the big heavily-furnished dining-room, then he went off to his office and I to school. Sometimes we had tea together and sometimes not but we always met again for dinner at half-past seven. It was real dinner, not supper, in Uncle Matt’s establishment. Mrs. Drummond was an excellent housekeeper and cook; Uncle Matt sometimes grumbled about “ war-time fare ” but I thought the food was delicious.

  There was no lack of conversation at the dinner-table. Uncle Matt was really interested in how I got on at school and what I had done and seen during the day. He loved jokes and I found I could make him laugh quite easily. Sometimes what I told him reminded him of things that had happened when he was a boy (and if all he said was true he must have been an exceedingly troublesome boy). He talked about present-day experiences, too, and talked as if I were his contemporary. He told me what clients he had seen and what advice he had given them. At the moment he was particularly interested in the case of a lady who was suing her husband for “ alimony.” I heard a great deal about this alimony and at last I asked Uncle Matt what it meant.

  “ Goodness, David! ” he exclaimed. “ Why did you not ask me before? Here have I been talking for hours and you no whit the wiser! Always ask if you don’t know the meaning of a word or you’ll never learn anything. Always ask.”

  “ Yes,” I said nodding.

  “ Alimony,” continued Uncle Matt. “ Alimony is the money which is due to a woman who is separated from her husband by law. He’s got to make an allowance for her support.…” He went on explaining quite patiently until I understood.

  “ Will your client win her case? ” I asked.

  “ Win her case! I can tell you this: if she doesn’t win her case it will be a serious miscarriage of justice. Do you understand what that means, David? ”

  “ Yes,” I said, grinning at him. “ It means that the court doesn’t agree with you.”

  Uncle Matt roared with laughter. He rather liked me to be cheeky.

  On Saturday afternoon we went for a drive in Uncle Matt’s car. It was an old car and it trundled along sedately. Uncle Matt was a very poor driver and he was nervous into the bargain; he did not give the car a chance.

  “ There’s something the matter with the damn’ thing,” said Uncle Matt impatiently. “ It doesn’t go any faster when I press the accelerator.”

  “ Have you had it long? ” I asked.

  “ Long! ” he exclaimed. “ About ten years, that’s all. I had a chap to drive it but he joined up at the beginning of the war.”

  The car went slower and slower; eventually when we were half-way up a hill the engine stalled and we began to run backwards. Uncle Matt put on the hand-brake and sat there looking at the dashboard and cursing violently. When he had called the car every name he could think of he got out and raised the bonnet. I followed him.

  “ It’s no good,” he said. “ The blasted thing has died on us. We’ll just need to walk to the nearest garage and get a man.”

  “ I think it’s the plugs,” I said, giggling feebly.

  “ The plugs? Where are the plugs? ”

  “ There,” I said. “ They’re oiled up, that’s all.”

  “ Don’t touch it,” said Uncle Matt nervously. “ For pity’s sake leave the thing alone. You might get a shock, David. We’ll wait a bit and see if somebody comes along—somebody who knows what to do.”

  I saw no sense in waiting so I found the tools and took out the plugs. “ Look at that! ” I said. “ They’re in a frightful condition.”

  “ What’s wrong with them? ”

  “ Well—look! They’re oiled up. Goodness knows what Dochie would say if he saw these plugs.”

  “ Be careful, David——”

  “ It’s all right. I know what to do. I’ve seen Dochie do it hundreds of times.”

  Uncle Matt did not believe me. He fluttered round like an old hen beseeching me to be careful but I just went on with the job and took no notice. I could not clean the plugs properly of course because there was no wire brush amongst the tools but I scraped them with a knife and put them back, hoping for the best.

  “ Are you sure it’s all right? ” asked Uncle Matt anxiously. “ Have you done it properly, David? Maybe we’d better not start the engine in case the whole thing blows up.”

  “ Go on,” I said. “ It’s all right. Start the engine.”

  Fortunately for me the engine started without the slightest trouble and off we went.

  Uncle Matt was amazed—he was absolutely flabbergasted—and all the way home he kept on saying how clever I was. But there was nothing clever about it; I had learnt quite a lot about engines from Dochie so it was easy enough to clean the plugs. If it had been something else—something wrong with the carburettor for instance—I could not have coped with it.

  This incident made me think and I decided that if we were going for more drives together I had better learn a bit more about the car, so I took the handbook up to my room and studied it assiduously whenever I had time.

  On Sunday morning we went to St. Giles’. I discovered from Mrs. Drummond that Uncle Matt usually stayed in bed on Sunday mornings and read the papers and I was not really surprised. I had had a feeling that his promise to Father was a great concession and was costing him something he valued. Uncle Matt said nothing about it to me, so I did not mention it. We went off together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  That first week-end with Uncle Matt set the pattern. Nearly every fine Saturday afternoon we took out the car and had a spin out into the country. We went up to the Pentland Hills and got out and walked; we went to Gullane and had tea on the sands; one very fine day we took lunch with us and went over Soutra Hill and picnicked near a burn. When it became too wet and cold for out-door expeditions we went to a picture-house together, and sometimes on a Saturday evening we went to the theatre and saw a play. I realised that all these expeditions were planned for my benefit but there was no doubt Uncle Matt enjoyed them as much as I did. He had a natural capacity for enjoyment, he was full of energy and there was a boyishness about him which made him an excellent companion.

  One Sunday afternoon when I had been in Edinburgh for about three weeks Uncle Matt called me into his study and handed me a letter.

  “ It’s for your aunt,” he said. “ You might take it along and wait for an answer. She’ll probably ask you to stay to tea.”

  “ But I don’t know her! ”

  “ She knows you. She wants to see you.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “ Etta’s a bit daft so you needn’t pay too much attention to what she says.”

  I gazed at him in dismay. “ But Uncle Matt——”

  “ Och, away with you! ” he said laughing. “ She’ll not eat you, David. You’ll have to go sometime so you may as well get it over.”

  These words were anything but reassuring and as I put the letter in my pocket and let myself out at the front door my heart was in my boots. I was shy of strangers at the best of times and an unknown aunt who was “ a bit daft ” sounded most alarming. I would have given a good deal to escape my fate. I walked along the quiet Sunday streets as slowly as I could but even so I arrived at my destination far too quickly.

  The door was opened by a very nice-looking middle-aged woman in a black dress.

  “ For Miss Kirke,” I said and I handed her the letter.

  “ Oh,” she said, looking at me. “ You’ll be Miss Kirke’s nephew. She was hoping you’d come and see her.”

  “ Are you sure she wants to see me? ” I asked.

  “ Of course,” said the woman briskly. “ You’d want people to come and see you if you could never get out, wouldn’t you?


  There was no reply to that. I followed the woman upstairs without another word.

  Aunt Etta was sitting in an easy-chair by the fire. She was a large woman with silvery hair parted in the middle and looped back over her ears; her face was round and fat and she had very pale blue eyes with a slightly bewildered expression.

  When I was shown into her presence I was suddenly afflicted with dumbness but fortunately that did not matter; Aunt Etta had plenty to say.

  “ There now! ” she exclaimed laying down her book and taking off her spectacles. “ I knew you’d come to-day. It was the first thing I said when Jean brought my morning tea. I said ‘ David will come to-day,’ didn’t I, Jean? ”

  “ Yes, Miss Kirke,” agreed Jean. “ But you’ve said the same thing every morning for a fortnight.”

  Aunt Etta looked a little crestfallen for a moment and then she smiled and said, “ Never mind, I was right to-day.”

  I was sorry I had not come before but it was no good saying so.

  “ Well now, David,” continued Aunt Etta. “ You’ll stay and have tea with me, won’t you? We’ll have a nice chat. There are all sorts of things for us to talk about. How are James and Mary? Sit down and tell me about them. Are they happy? ”

  For a moment I could not think whom she meant and then I pulled myself together. “ Yes, thank you,” I said.

  “ You’re sure they’re happy? Mary was so much younger than James. I was at the wedding and I thought how pretty she was—so young and pretty.”

  “ She still is,” I said, thinking of her.

  “ I was pretty once. It’s difficult to believe, isn’t it? ” said Aunt Etta looking at me anxiously.

  “ No,” I said. “ I mean I’m sure you were … besides Mother said so.”

  “ Did she really, David? ”

  “ Yes, really.”

  Aunt Etta smiled happily. “ Someday I’ll show you a photograph which was taken when I was eighteen; then you’ll see for yourself. I’ll look it out and have it ready to show you next time you come.” She paused and then added, “ You’re more like Mary than James.”