Men and Angels

by Elizabeth Cadell

  “Silly mistake,” he said gruffly. “Have to telephone.”

  “You were quite right, sir,” said Hugh, “to let her take it.”

  “It serves her right, sir,” piped Alan. “She shouldn’t have been rude.”

  “I tried to prevent her,” said the General, slowly and distinctly.

  “Yes, you did, sir, the first time,” said Hugh. “We can tell anybody, when they ask us, that you tried the first time and she wouldn’t listen. And so you just let her go on thinking whatever she wanted to.”

  “Yes. It serves her right,” squeaked Alan.

  “The whole thing can be put right in a jiffy,” said the General. “Natural mistake, that’s all. Now I’ll see where Rae’s got to.”

  “Don’t bother, please sir,” said Alan. “We’re late, so if you’ll please say we came, that’ll be all right. And—and please, sir—”

  He hesitated, and the General waited with an odd sense of uneasiness.

  “We meant to ask you, sir,” said Hugh, “about swimming in the river when we come home for the summer hols. We were wondering if you’d sort of mind.”

  “Just on hot days,” put in Alan.

  Good God, thought the General. Blackmail! At their age! He might have known it—he might have seen at once the signs of cunning on their faces. Low types. Distinctly low types. Juvenile delinquency written all over them.

  “We’re rather late, sir,” said Hugh delicately.

  “Late? Well, what’s keeping you?” asked the General. “You can be off, can’t you?”

  “Well, yes, sir. Will it be all right about the swimming?”

  The General directed a fierce glance downward. Two pairs of eyes, limpid, innocent, stared back unabashed.

  “Come’n see me when you get back,” said the General.

  “Yes, sir. It’s very good of you, sir.”

  “Yes it is, sir. Thank you, sir. Good-bye, sir.”

  The General led Richard across the dining-room of his Club and made for a table near one of the windows. A waiter, hurrying after him, bowed and drew out a chair at a table set for two. The General seated himself, handed a menu to Richard, and looked round the rapidly filling room.

  “Lot of strange faces,” he remarked. “Shan’t know the place soon.—The usual for me. Richard, how about you? I can recommend the sole—it’s always first-rate.”

  “I’d like something a bit heavier,” said Richard. He gave his order and the waiter went away. The General helped himself to a roll, and, staring at it thoughtfully, wondered what had become of the opening phrases he had thought of on the train coming up to Town. How did they go? ‘—and speaking of marriage, my dear boy, there’s something I’d like to say on that very subject…’ But nobody was likely to mention marriage. ‘I was sorry, Richard, to see you leave home so suddenly.’ That was better. Then he could add a question as to what had caused the departure. It could be done towards the end of lunch, and he could say what he had to say and then lead the way out, giving the words time to bear fruit.

  “This is very pleasant,” said Richard, looking round. “We ought to do it more often.”

  “Don’t get up much nowadays,” said the General. “Your mother tells me you’ve been looking through the silver with her. Going to take any of it out with you?”

  “No—it wouldn’t be wise, sir. It’s very well where it is. I had no idea how good the stuff was. There’s some pretty fine plate—”

  The talk went from domestic to national affairs, and the General, working through a solid meal and ordering coffee, found that he had enjoyed himself very much. The boy spoke well, he reflected, studying him. He had a good brain and he knew how to use it. He was a fine-looking feller, too—nothing weak and undersized about him. Good head, and a good physique. Pity he’s made his home abroad—they needed more like him here. Well, wherever he was, he’d go a long way. He had looks, brains, breeding, and a good education—and he knew how to use them all. He was well on his feet; yes, firmly on. There wasn’t a man in the room, young or old, who could give him points.

  Looking round for one, the General’s eye came to rest, and a look of distaste came over his face. Richard, glancing round, saw that his uncle was looking at a late-comer—a tall, well-dressed man who had paused to speak to a friend in the middle of the room.

  “He’s coming this way,” muttered the General angrily. “Damned if he isn’t going to take that table next to us.”

  The tall man passed them and paused. Richard looked up and met his eyes, and the colour drained out of his face. A waiter came up and pulled out a chair.

  “Here, sir?”

  “No, not this one.” The voice was cultured, authoritative. “I’ll take the one in the alcove.”

  “Very good, sir. This way.”

  He passed out of earshot, and the General gave a snort.

  “Detestable feller,” he said. “How d’you come to know him?”

  “I don’t really know him,” said Richard coldly. “I came across him at a party a week or so ago. Do you know him?”

  “Yes and no,” said the General. “He’s been a member here for years, but he keeps pretty well to himself. Got the reputation of being on the mean side, though I can’t vouch for the truth of it. He never entertains here, at any rate. Odd how a man like that—he doesn’t look a bad feller, after all—odd how he comes to have that streak.”

  “Streak?”

  “Chasing women. I don’t mean women of his own age—I’m talking of young women. I suppose you know he’s always running after some young actress or other?”

  “Yes, I gathered that.”

  “Well, it’s a weakness, but men have their weaknesses,” said the General.

  He paused, struck by his subtlety. He had done that pretty well, he flattered himself. He had clean forgotten the possibility of the feller’s turning up to lunch at the Club, and he had at once turned the circumstance to advantage. Not many men—the General stroked his whiskers—not many men could have brought off that neat beginning. The thing to do now was to come to the point. He cleared his throat.

  “It’s a pity,” he said, with an air of frankness, “it’s a great pity about Rae’s connection with the fellow.”

  Richard, in the act of sipping his coffee, put the cup down and stared dazedly at his uncle. The expression irritated the General. This, he felt, was going a little too far. The girl had to have an uncle, and she couldn’t be expected to control him. He might have been worse, after all.

  “Connection?” said Richard after a time.

  “Yes.” The General frowned. “I take it you know of Rae’s connection with that feller?”

  “I—yes, I do. But I didn’t dream that you did,” said Richard.

  “Well, I do,” snapped the General, forgetting the subtle approach. “And while I think it’s regrettable, I can’t see why it should send you out of your mother’s house without so much as a word to anyone. Apart from the discourtesy, I feel you—”

  “Who told you?” broke in Richard.

  “My dear boy,” said the General, now thoroughly roused, “I didn’t have to be told—I saw your car tearing up the drive and I—”

  “Who told you about Rae and that fellow?”

  “Who—oh! Well, it was Judy, as a matter of fact.”

  “Judy? You mean, Judy actually—”

  “I don’t say she would have confided in me,” said the General, “because all you young people think that nobody ever went through anything but yourselves. You throw yourself out of the house like an—like an outraged lover in a melodrama, and leave that nice girl to eat her heart out, and you expect your mother and m’self to behave as though everything was going on as usual. Apart from being thoroughly bad manners, it’s—”

  “What did Judy tell you?”

  “Judy,” said the General, who was tired of being interrupted, “told me nothing. I extracted the facts from her, and I think, if you want my opinion, that you’ve behaved like a damned young puppy.”r />
  “What facts did you extract?”

  The General looked with dislike at the handsome countenance before him. Good, he thought disgustedly, but no character. No real character showing. Signs—unmistakable signs of softness in that physique, too. Not a patch on any of the Fitzroys—he certainly didn’t take after them, that much was certain.

  “The facts of this unfortunate connection,” he said. “Why you’ve come down so hard on the girl I can’t for the life of me see. Do you deny that the feller’s treated her abominably? Do you?”

  Richard stared at his uncle, unable to speak. He had looked upon him, since boyhood, as the embodiment of rigid and unswerving uprightness. He had imagined that his views on what Richard termed that sort of thing were as fixed as they were unfashionable. And now, seated opposite, he was asking his own nephew to disregard—to blink at—to …

  “Do you?” repeated the General. “I see you do. He promises to pay the girl’s fees, and doesn’t pay a penny; he allows her to work in a paltry job without so much as offering to keep her; he knows she’s paying more rent than she can afford, and he makes no offer to relieve her of the burden. He—”

  “Can I have a stiff drink?” asked Richard.

  “Have anything you like,” said the General, waving an angry hand. “But I must tell you that I think your attitude’s damned unreasonable. Damned. Now that we’re talking frankly, I’ll admit that when your mother and I saw you with that girl, we were both of the opinion that she’d suit you down to the ground. She’s a lady; what’s more, she behaves like one. She’s got the kind of looks that last, and she’s intelligent. If all that won’t do, then God knows what you want in a wife—I don’t.”

  Richard felt better for his drink. He still stared at his uncle strangely, but the General was too angry to notice. He pushed the plates aside and, leaning on the table, addressed Richard earnestly.

  “I came here,” he said slowly, “to try to talk you into a more reasonable frame of mind. I’m not an interfering man, but I liked that girl, and I felt you’d never get one to suit you better. I never saw a woman I wanted to marry, at your age, but if I had seen one, I wouldn’t have let a damned tailor’s dummy like that feller there put me off.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “I most certainly would not have done.”

  “Well, you surprise me. In fact,” said Richard, “for the first few moments, you took my breath away.—Need we continue the discussion, sir?”

  “No, I suppose we needn’t,” said the General heavily. One look at the set face opposite was enough to tell him the uselessness of further discussion. The General, disappointed at the inexplicably unreasonable attitude his nephew had taken, looked about for a waiter.

  “Catch that one’s eye, will you?” he asked. “I’m sorry I wasted your time and m’own. But it seems extraordinary to me to think of some young hopeful coming after Judy and then changing his mind because he doesn’t like the set of m’tie.”

  “The?” Richard looked steadily at the old man. He was beginning to talk a little wildly. Perhaps the heat . . .

  “Yes, the set of m’tie,” repeated the General. “Where’s the difference? If the young men of to-day are going to marry the uncle as well as the niece, I’d better have a look at my own record.”

  “I don’t—”

  “—see the point. No, you wouldn’t, when it involves someone else. I never, in all my life, heard such balderdash, and that’s my last word—throwing over a girl because her uncle doesn’t come up to scratch. Damned impertinence is what I’d term it, too. If any pretentious whippersnapper thinks I’m not good enough as an uncle, I hope he’ll tell me to my face, that’s all. Why don’t you get up and go across to that feller now and say: ‘I love your niece, but I can’t swallow you!—Go on. No, I see you won’t. Well, call that damned waiter and let’s get out of here.—What’re you staring at?”

  Richard’s mouth had fallen open. His eyes, blank and fixed, were upon the well-groomed figure lunching in the alcove.

  “I—I’d like a stiff drink,” he said slowly.

  “Have what you—what, another? Well, if you think it’s wise—”

  Richard ordered his drink and drank it slowly. Putting the glass down, he stared across the table, his eyes on his uncle, but his thoughts far away. He was back in the room at Thorpe, facing Rae across the abandoned jig-saw puzzle and seeing her face—calm, cold and steady. He went, word by word, over the exchange that had taken place between them, and knew that she had chosen her words deliberately to mislead him. He had entertained gross suspicions, and she had seen them and turned them, with cool calculation, into certainty. She had seen him storm away like a wronged lover, and had allowed him to believe that ... He had accused her, and she had had too much contempt for him to deny the charges. He had shown himself to be a fool, and worse. His face grew hot as he remembered his questions and heard her scornful answers. A clear picture of the figure he had cut came before his eyes, and he felt a chill creeping over him. He saw the General staring at him, and roused himself with a strong effort.

  “I—I’ve been a—a bloody fool,” he said bitterly.

  “Quite agree,” said the General. “Been trying to tell you so for the past half-hour. You’re also an egotistical ass.”

  “That’s true, too.”

  “And blown out with conceit.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “And blind. Blind as a bat. They ought to take fellows like you and exhibit them at shows.”

  “They do.”

  “Sometimes, just lately,” summed up the General, “I’ve got to the point of wondering whether you’re a man or a dooced monkey. But your own affairs are your own affairs and I wouldn’t dream of interfering in them.—Get hold of that waiter and let’s go.”

  Chapter 18

  The General left the Club seated beside his nephew in the car.

  “You haven’t much time if you’re going to get me to Marylebone for the 3:30,” he reminded him. “You’d be wise to do it through the Park.”

  He sat back, musing on his morning’s work, not unsatisfied with the results. He had gained his point; though nothing had been said since lunch, he knew that Richard’s attitude had changed. When they got to the station, he would go a step farther and urge him to return home. He would ...

  “Look here,” he said, rousing himself suddenly. “This isn’t the way.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Richard.

  “Well, it isn’t the way to the station. Where the devil d’you think we’re going ? ”

  “We’re going to pay a call,” said Richard, slipping neatly between two buses.

  “Call? Call?” asked the General angrily. “What’s this nonsense? I want to get back to Thorpe.”

  “I’m going to drive you back,” exclaimed Richard, “when we’ve done this. Now sit back and let your lunch digest.”

  The General, with a grunt, sat back. Richard drove the car into a side-street and drew up before a large block of flats.

  “Judy’s,” said the General. “What the devil are we doing here?”

  “I told you—we’re paying a call.”

  “Well, you can go alone; I’m sitting here,” said the General firmly.

  Richard looked at him, and the General saw with surprise that there was something approaching humility in his manner.

  “I brought you here, sir,” he said slowly, “to see Rae’s aunts. She thinks a great deal of them, and if I—if we could see them and explain something of the situation, they might give me some sort of message to—to take back to Rae. I don’t feel that I can go back after having made a prize fool of myself unless I can go back with some sort of—of backing. We could—I could tell them that I want to marry Rae, if she’ll have me. If they thought it a—well, if they agreed, I could go back with some kind of—as I said, backing.”

  “You sound like that fellow Edward,” commented the General. “And I’d like to say here and now that I don’t understand yo
u and never have. You’ve had us all acutely embarrassed for the past week and more; you’ve subjected an exceptionally gentle girl to a vulgar and humiliating courtship, if it was a courtship. I’ve watched you come and go without the smallest reference to anybody’s convenience or feelings. You quarrel over a matter that seems to me to have been too trifling for anybody’s notice, and fling yourself off without a word to anybody. And now you propose to go up there and ask the girl’s aunts to conduct your affairs for you. When I was a young man, aunts weren’t thought to be necessary at a time like this; a fellow behaved in a reasonable way and did his best to make a good impression on the young woman he wanted to marry. I’ve never known anyone who went this way about it before. You go out of your way to make the girl see you in the worst possible light, and then you come along here and ask her aunts to patch things up. This may be the modern way of—of winning and wooing, but I’m damned if I can see any point in it.”

  There was silence. Richard appeared to have no more to say, and after a time the General spoke again.

  “I’ll go up with you,” he said, “on one condition.”

  “Well?”

  “That you leave all the talking to me. Let me manage this affair for a change. All you’ve done is make a hash of it.”

  Richard made no demur. They went up to the flat, and were admitted by a tall woman, who introduced them to her sister and asked them to sit down.

  “Is Rae all right?” asked Aunt Hester.

  “Your niece is very well,” said the General. “We called—”

  “The name Fitzroy,” broke in Aunt Anne thoughtfully, “is a very familiar one—my sister and I knew a Colin Fitzroy. Are you by any chance related?”

  “Old Colin? Great Scott!” exclaimed the General. “He’s my first cousin—that is, if you’re referring to the fellow who lived up near Wetherby.”