A Man of His Time

by Phyllis Bentley

  ‘Well -1 don’t know if I can manage it. Can I tell her you say I must?’ said Chuff.

  ‘Yes. Make me out as much of an ogre as you like. She’ll understand. She’s got more sense than you.’

  ‘I know,’ admitted Chuff, nevertheless thinking to himself: We’ll see about that. ‘Well, all right, then. If you always regret your marriage,’ he broke out suddenly: ‘I suppose you regret Father and me?’

  ‘I did at one time,’ said Morcar. ‘But I’m getting rather fond of you now, Chuff. Heaven knows why.’

  ‘Tcha!’ said Chuff, flinging out of the office.

  He did not, however, slam the door.

  22. Christmas

  Christmas was at hand. Morcar as a determined agnostic of fifty years’ standing disliked the Christmas hullabaloo. He saw no evidence whatever for a benevolent and powerful God, for no such God would allow humanity to endure the suffering imposed upon it by its own nature, which He had created. Judged by His behaviour, God could be one but not both; either benevolent but often powerless, or all-powerful but often malignant. (The third possibility appealed more to Morcar: He was simply non-existent.) Morcar gave Him the benefit of the doubt, and declined to be convinced either way without more evidence. As for the Jewish preacher Jesus Christ, Morcar admired and respected his teachings, but sometimes felt that their excessive self-sacrifice, their almost masochism, was more than could be expected from human nature as at present constituted, and thus led to much lying and hypocrisy. However, Christianity was probably the best religion evolved so far, he thought, so for the children’s sake Morcar lent himself to its celebration.

  It struck him with sad amusement that everyone at Stanney Royd was pretending for the sake of everyone else. Jonathan, he guessed, was at the agnostic stage, Chuff never gave a serious thought to religion, Mrs Jessopp since her husband’s death took a sardonic view though she did not throw off her beliefs intellectually; Jennifer was, he feared, tormented by painful doubts. In spite of this, Christmas preparations went on apace - the old-fashioned word suited them. Mrs Jessopp made mince pies and plum puddings, Jennifer tied up parcels in brilliant-coloured wrapping papers, Chuff who was good with his hands put up strings to hold Christmas cards and festoons of holly and mistletoe, under Susie’s direction, while Jonathan stood by in a detached but complacent attitude, occasionally passing the hammer. What Susie thought was obscure; perhaps all this was for the benefit of her childish faith. Though she was hardly a child now, reflected Morcar; she had begun to attend the Annotsfield Girls’ High School and had come along wonderfully of late; she was now a girl, a quiet but really very pretty girl with a low sweet voice. More than pretty, really; she had a pure, grave beauty, with her small but clear aquiline features, her dark blue eyes, her fair complexion, her curtain of smooth pale hair. Her school report was excellent; on showing it to Chuff, Morcar rather thought of pointing out the commendation she received for English, but the lad’s smile was so candidly delighted with his sister’s progress that he had not the heart to do so.

  It was arranged that Christmas presents were to be exchanged at the breakfast table after the meal was over. Mrs Jessopp drew the cloth and the unwrapping began. Morcar enjoyed this ceremony; he loved to give, and to give well-chosen gifts, exactly suited to the taste of the recipient.

  Mountains of scarves, ties, waistcoats, cardigans, blouses, handkerchiefs, gloves, brooches, necklets, cheques, changed hands and were well received. A square white box, a small cube, stood in front of Morcar’s place, lavishly tied up in silver ribbon. The attached card announced that it was For Grandfather from Susie. Morcar observed that Susie eyed this parcel, which stood about four inches high, with impatient excitement, and accordingly he made a good deal of fuss over dealing with it, removing the ribbon without cutting it, unfolding the paper carefully and so on, in order that the attention of all should be on the present when it emerged. He delved into the nest of tissue paper within, and drew out a china figure.

  It was a sitting lamb, very modernistically rendered; creamy in colour, with the short woolly neck, the up-pointed, black-tipped ears, the tucked-in forelegs, the black anklets, the look of ineradicable innocence which Morcar knew so well, all slightly exaggerated into a contemporary stylishness. (It was always a pleasure to Morcar that no lamb, no sheep, had ever lost its life to serve the textile trade; it gave its coat, but that was all.) Morcar stroked its back; the china was smooth to the touch but the modeller’s skill in some strange way presented to the sight the rather harsh tight curls of a real lamb’s fleece.

  That’s the essence of a lamb!’ exclaimed Jonathan, beaming.

  ‘The fleece is all right,’ said Chuff doubtfully.

  ‘But that’s a really good piece. Where did you find it, Susie?’ asked Jennifer.

  ‘It was in that art exhibition the school took us to. It’s very modern,’ said Susie anxiously. ‘Do you like it Grandfather?’

  ‘I love it,’ said Morcar emphatically, stroking the lamb.

  He felt deeply touched and pleased, and kissed Susie - who, he now for the first time noticed, always sat at his right hand - with very real love.

  Colleagues of Morcar’s whom he met in business and at his Club had sometimes hinted to him, laughing sardonically, that the Christmas assemblies of their families sometimes proved uncomfortable occasions - their sons’ wives snapped and the grandchildren quarrelled. Morcar, who had hitherto only experienced decorous gatherings of himself, Jennifer, and Jonathan and was apt to idealize the family life he had lacked, had been a trifle incredulous of these revelations, but he now found that Christmas disagreements were all too probable. Jennifer announced her intention of attending church, and invited all to accompany her; this nobody seemed to wish to do.

  ‘I’ve promised to go and see Grandmother,’ said Chuff.

  ‘Quite right,’ approved Morcar.

  ‘Will you come with me, Susie? I think you should.’

  ‘No, Aunt Jennifer,’ said Susie, frowning. ‘I’m going to the mill with Grandfather.’

  ‘The mill won’t be open today, Susie,’ said Chuff, aghast.

  ‘Grandfather has the keys.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and glances were exchanged expressing regret at this apparent recession of Susie’s earlier délabrement.

  ‘I’ll drive you down,’ offered Jonathan.

  As Morcar had not yet found a chauffeur to replace Jessopp, and the December roads were icy, he agreed. Jennifer coloured.

  ‘I hoped you were coming with me, Jonathan,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t, Mother! I can’t give public support to something I don’t believe in,’ exclaimed Jonathan angrily.

  ‘That’s a piece of luck for Nat Armitage,’ thought Morcar, as he saw the tears spring to Jennifer’s eyes. Aloud he said: ‘Agnosticism is a phase intelligent young men often pass through.’

  ‘Did you pass through it?’ said Jonathan, looking daggers.

  ‘I’m not through yet,’ said Morcar mildly.

  Jennifer with an exclamation rose and left the table.

  ‘I’m going to the Mellors’ for midday Christmas dinner, if that’s all right to you, Grandfather,’ said Chuff in a defiant tone.

  ‘Oh, certainly.’

  ‘I’ll be back for our evening Christmas dinner here, of course,’ said Chuff.

  ‘See that you’re not late.’

  ‘I won’t be late,’ cried Chuff cheerfully, bounding away.

  ‘Well, this is a nice how-d’ye-do, us all going off in different directions,’ thought Morcar, as he sat with his arm along the back of the car seat, round Susie’s shoulders, while Jonathan drove rather faster than Morcar liked, down the valley. He could not make himself refrain from saying: ‘It’s an awkward turn here, be careful, Jonathan.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan curtly.

  Morcar unlocked the mill gates, and the various necessary doors; they arrived in his office, which felt wretched, both cold and stuffy.

  ‘Now, wh
ere shall we place it?’ said Susie in an extremely sensible and practical tone. She produced the white box, which Morcar had been uneasily aware she was clutching, and extracted the lamb. ‘I think here,’ she said, placing it at an angle on Morcar’s desk.

  In this position it looked extremely well. Morcar and Jonathan exchanged glances, relieved but astonished.

  ‘I didn’t know you meant me to keep it here, Susie,’ said Morcar.

  ‘This is the place you like best, Grandfather, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Susie, it is. I feel rather sorry to leave the lamb alone here today, though,’ said Morcar.

  ‘We can take it home and you can bring it here when the holidays are over,’ suggested Susie, stretching out her hand towards the lamb.

  ‘No, no. Leave it where you placed it. I prefer that,’ said Morcar hastily, giving the animal a settling pat. ‘It’s cold here. We’d best go home.’

  As they approached Stanney Royd they saw Nat Armit-age’s white Jaguar standing by the gate.

  ‘Well, that’s settled, choose how,’ thought Morcar.

  He sighed, and glanced at Jonathan. The young man gazed straight ahead, silent and sombre.

  III Three Together

  23. Susie and Jonathan

  It was new year’s eve; Morcar sat reading the Wool Record in his den.

  ‘Grandfather?’

  ‘Well, what is it, Pussy?’ said Morcar, looking fondly at her.

  ‘When Aunt Jennie gets married, will Jonathan stay here or go to live with her?’

  ‘I don’t know, Pussy,’ said Morcar, to whom this was a question bringing pain.

  ‘I should like him to stay here.’

  ‘So should I.’

  ‘He won’t stay unless somebody asks him to stay.’

  ‘Well, you ask him.’

  ‘He won’t stay unless you ask him, Grandfather.’

  ‘How do you women know these things?’ joked Morcar, for of course she was right.

  ‘I know,’ said Susie gravely.

  ‘Well, I’ll see what I can do,’ said Morcar, sighing. ‘Of course, when he finishes at Oxford, he’ll take a job somewhere and go and live there, you know.’

  ‘He could come home for holidays.’

  ‘He could. But I don’t know if he will.’

  ‘Ask him, Grandfather.’

  Her voice held pain. Morcar had hardly recovered from this when Jonathan himself entered the room.

  ‘We ought to start in ten minutes, Pussy,’ he said.

  That this pet name, a cherished secret between himself and Susie, never used by them in public, never heard from Jennifer or even Chuff, and hitherto supposed by Morcar to be unknown to all, should spring thus naturally from the lips of Jonathan, was a thunderstroke. And Susie did not start or exclaim; to her it was a customary usage. She merely smiled, detached herself from Morcar’s chair, and left the study saying she would fetch her coat. But the smile was a revelation. Good God, thought Morcar, those two are in love. Don’t be absurd, she’s only fourteen. But everybody says that young people nowadays are years older than they were in my time. He looked at Jonathan, whose fine lips were also curved into a smile - a tender, protective smile, thought Morcar; he doesn’t know he’s in love with her, but Susie knows. Morcar felt a strange anguish and a strange pleasure, in conflict throughout his body. He said hoarsely:

  ‘Where are you off to with Susie? Theatre, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Something highbrow, I suppose?’

  ‘Brecht,’ said Jonathan, laughing.

  Morcar made a moue. However, this was a good opportunity to broach the subject of Jonathan’s future residence. He nerved himself and began.

  ‘Jonathan, your mother tells me she plans to marry in the spring.’

  ‘March or April,’ said Jonathan stiffly, ceasing to smile.

  ‘Now I hope you’ll continue to regard Stanney Royd as your home,’ said Morcar. ‘There’s no need for you to go rushing off to Nat Armitage, now is there?’

  ‘No,’ said Jonathan in a choked tone.

  ‘Well, stay here then.’

  ‘By the autumn I hope to be in a teaching post somewhere.’

  ‘But you can come to Stanney Royd in the holidays.’

  Jonathan stood silent, gazing into the fire.

  ‘Jonathan,’ said Morcar very soberly - heaven knows whether I’m doing right or not, he thought, but the boy ought to know what he’s letting himself in for - ‘Ought you perhaps to stay at Stanney Royd for Susie’s sake?’

  Jonathan shifted restlessly and looked aside.

  ‘I don’t want to be tied down to Stanney Royd. I want to be on my own, I want to have a home of my own,’ he said at length.

  ‘Quite right,’ approved Morcar. ‘But come here sometimes in the holidays. You’re an Annotsfield man after all, Jonathan. Don’t you care at all for your native town? For the West Riding?’

  ‘I do, very much.’

  ‘Well, come here sometimes. Stanney Royd will always be your home whenever you want it.’

  ‘You’re very kind, Uncle Harry. But—’

  ‘I’m very kind but I’m too old to understand. Is that it?’ demanded Morcar angrily, losing patience and temper in the same moment.

  ‘Well—’

  At this moment a motor-cycle nearby started its raucous roar.

  ‘That’ll be Chuff, I expect,’ growled Morcar.

  ‘Well, his classes haven’t started again yet, Uncle Harry.’

  ‘What he wants a motor-bike for, I don’t know.’

  ‘He wants to be independent, I expect. If he’s saved up for it out of his allowance - or his Syke Mills wages, I don’t know his affairs - it’s his own affair.’

  ‘He won’t be going to anything highbrow.’

  ‘Why should he, if he doesn’t wish to?’ said Jonathan. He was leaning over backwards in an effort to be fair in saying this, for he had found Chuff’s open boredom and derision at a United Nations Association meeting to which he had taken him, rather trying. But he spoke in the reasonable tone Morcar always found irritating.

  ‘Black leather coats, bowling alleys, a motor-bike, and a girl on the pillion,’ said Morcar distastefully. ‘He’ll be sporting a Beatle haircut soon.’

  ‘He only wants to be a man of his time,’ said Jonathan as before. ‘It’s natural.’

  24. Wedding

  Jennifer’s wedding, postponed for a few weeks owing to the death of Nat Armitage’s old father - ‘everyone keeps dying nowadays,’ said Morcar peevishly - took place on a day of warm spring sunshine.

  It was not, of course, a ‘white’ wedding, but everything else was conducted on a ceremonial level. Jennifer looked beautiful in silvery grey; Susie, her single bridesmaid, looked beautiful in white; Morcar had insisted that Jonathan and Chuff should wear morning coats - at his expense, naturally - and though they joked about this old-fashioned notion, they became them well. The buttonholes, bouquets, church decorations, organ voluntaries, choral singing, flowers in the house, champagne, buffet, cars, and all other bridal details were arranged on the most handsome and lavish scale which Morcar could command. Everything therefore seemed set for an agreeable occasion, and now that the weather too proved favourable, it seemed that nothing more could be desired.

  But Morcar was aware that beneath this glossy and cheerful surface lay several extremely uncomfortable sets of feelings. True, Jennifer’s Oldroyd-and-Mellor shares had long since been impartially valued and legally purchased, and now lay in Morcar’s hands, so that he had nothing to fear or dislike on that score; the purchase money had been most judicially and advantageously invested, half for Jennifer and half for Jonathan on Jennifer’s insistence, with the approval of Nat Armitage and the participation of his broker and solicitor, so there were no resentments or dissatisfactions on that side, though Jonathan had shown some bad temper over the transaction. But though Morcar was deeply glad to be safely in charge of the mill he always felt to be David’s, the thought of havin
g to take Jennifer on his arm up a church aisle - Jennifer attended the Anglican church in Marthwaite at the head of the Ire Valley - and hand her over to a man not David, churned him up to such an extent, made him so angrily wretched, that he really did not know how he should manage it. Of course he would manage it perfectly; he was a Yorkshireman and not a man to show his feelings, he would keep a smooth brow and a bland smile, but he found he could not eat his breakfast, and secretly threw it into the fire while (he hoped) nobody was looking.

  And if he felt like this, what must Jonathan be feeling? Jonathan’s behaviour was impeccable; he smiled affably, ran about the house answering the telephone, receiving telegrams, settling points about cars, having useful chats with waiters. But his face was white and looked hollow and beaky, and his eyes were burning.

  Chuff on the other hand, who now stood with Susie by the hearth in Morcar’s den - all other Stanney Royd rooms being now invaded by caterers, displays of presents, and so on - looked solid and satisfied. He had asked Jonathan, who had asked his mother, who had agreed cordially and asked Morcar, whether Ruth Mellor and her mother and brother could receive invitations; the invitations had been sent and accepted, so Chuff was no doubt looking forward to some happy hours in his love’s company. But Susie at his side wore a rather uncertain expression. Morcar thought. Her flowing white frock, exquisitely cut, showed off her charming young body to perfection; the tiny nest of white flowers and lace which perched on her smooth hair was perhaps rather less suitable to her personality. Jennifer, who now swept into the room in her shimmering silk, seemed to think so too perhaps, for she touched it with one finger, seemed to urge it from its place, and said:

  ‘Could you wear it a little farther forward, do you think, Susie?’

  ‘Of course. Aunt Jennifer,’ said Susie sweetly.

  Jennifer swept out, on her way, she said, to a last word with Mrs Jessopp. Susie promptly snatched the lace from her head and threw it to the ground.

  ‘Susie!’ gasped Morcar, astounded.