Complete Works of George Moore

by George Moore

  “It seems to me quite impossible,” declared a little fat man with flaxen hair. “I am devoted to peach-growing, and I confess I am quite at a loss. Gardener, did you say that those peaches were grown entirely without artificial heat?”

  The gardener pretended not to hear, and tried to slip away, but the little man, who had been taken on his hobby, was not to be baulked, and he pursued the wretched horticulturist.

  “You mean to say that these peaches ripened without any artificial heat, any?”

  “You have no idea what a sun we get here, sir. I have never seen anything like it. In my last situation, when I was living with Lord —— , we couldn’t get our fruit forward, use whatever heat he might, and Houghton is not more than fifty miles from here — the difference of climate is positively wonderful.”

  Jackson had reckoned that Mr. Berkins would move on, and that the inquisitive little man would find himself obliged to follow, but chance was against him, for Berkins, with his guests around him, stood listening to the discussion.

  “You mean to say that these peaches were grown without heat. I wouldn’t mind giving you five-and-twenty pounds for the recipe for doing it.”

  “You must take a small place down here, sir, and then you will be able to do it.”

  This raised a laugh, but the little man was not to be beaten, and he said: “I should like to see some of those peaches of yours on the trees. You haven’t plucked them all; let me see them.”

  “Yes, Jackson, show us the trees. Some will not believe without seeing; let us see the peaches on the trees.”

  Jackson appeared to be a little disconcerted; he murmured excuses, and strove to escape. Driven to bay he brought them into a glass-house where there were hot water-pipes, and when his tormentor pointed triumphantly to the pipes he attempted a faint explanation — he had meant to say that heat had only been used within the last three weeks.

  “So you see, Berkins,” exclaimed little flaxen-haired fatty, “your south of Europe is no better than my south of Europe, or anybody else’s south of Europe.”

  “Jackson, you have told me many deliberate falsehoods about these peaches. I keep no one in my employment whose word cannot be depended upon. You take your warning.”

  “Falsehoods! What do you want a man to do, if you will have everything better than anybody else’s?”

  Berkins turned suddenly on his heel, he drew himself up to his full height, and stood speechless with indignation. Never, not even on the most important Board meetings, did his friends wait to hear him speak with more anxiety; but at that moment a crash of flower pots was heard, and Sally and a young man were discovered hiding in the potting shed; and to make matters worse, in the very next house they visited, they suddenly came upon Maggie sitting with another young man in strangely compromising circumstances. Explanations were attempted, and some stupid remarks were made. Berkins was seriously annoyed, and he took the first opportunity of taking Mr. Brookes’s arm and leading him away to a quiet path. Frank saw the men pass through the laurels, and ten minutes after he saw them return. Evidently Berkins had read Mr. Brookes an exhaustive lecture on the conduct of his daughters.

  “Now, Mr. Brookes, now Mr. Brookes, I must beg of you — calm yourself. What would my guests think if they found you in tears? What would they think I had been saying to reduce you to such a condition? It is veryunfortunate that Sally and Maggie should act as they do, particularly at my place; but really you must not give way.”

  “Since the death of their poor mother I am all alone. My position is a very trying one.” Then, with a sudden burst of laughter, “However, I suppose it will be all the same a hundred years hence!”

  X

  THE GIRLS WALKED to the station with Escott. A fleecy evening, with the clouds growing pale towards the sea, the sun like fire in the elms, and the woods showing upon a purple tinge.

  “How delightful!” exclaimed Frank. “How charming this is — this old English green, the horse pond at one end, the various houses, the inn, the grocery business, the linen drying in that yard, the smith, and the wheelwright. I don’t like that modern Queen Anne school-house, and I wish I could remove the dead level of the embankment and see the sea. The green is better from this side with the view of the Downs — those lines waving against the sky, where the gorse grows and the sheep feed, and inclining to the road all the fields pale green and deep green. But what game are those men playing — what game do you call that?”

  “Bat and trap.”

  “I have passed the green twenty times before, and I never really saw it till now. It is charming — so thoroughly English. I should like to live here for a month — for two months. How nice it would be to breakfast in the morning looking out on the green, to see the cocks and hens and all the children and all this English life! How different from Pump Court! I am sick of Pump Court — dirt and smoke, a horrid servant, stale eggs. I suppose you can always get fresh eggs and new bread here? I would give anything to spend a month on the green.”

  “Well, you can!” cried Sally. “I wish you would, and you could come and play tennis with us every afternoon. Mrs. Heald has some rooms to let; why it was only last week I heard that she hadn’t let her rooms this season, and was most anxious to do so.”

  “There’s no use my coming here until I begin to write my novel. I am painting now, and I must see if I can get my picture finished for one of the autumn exhibitions.”

  “I knew you would find some excuse.”

  “No, I assure you, but I can’t do anything without a studio, and I’m not likely to find a studio on Southwick Green.”

  “I don’t suppose Mrs. Heald has a room large enough for a studio,” said Maggie; “but I don’t see why you shouldn’t find a place where you can paint.”

  “Where? Not in that eighteenth-century house where the two old ladies are standing! Supposing I were to go and ask them if they would let me have their drawing-room to paint in! That is the only house on the green, all the rest are cottages.”

  “I suppose you are not very particular where you paint,” said Maggie reflectively. “You don’t mind appearances, I suppose? I wonder if you could manage to fit up a farm building.”

  “There is the famous barn where Charles the First hid himself, I don’t suppose the authorities would allow me to turn that into a studio.”

  “No, probably not; but I think you might find a house that would do.”

  “What nonsense, Maggie,” said Sally, who began to grow jealous of her sister.

  “Why is it nonsense? I see no reason why Frank shouldn’t come to some arrangement with the smith, and turn his house into a studio.”

  “Which is the smith’s house? I’ll tell you in a moment if it could be turned into a studio.”

  “That house standing quite by itself in the corner of the green.”

  “That tall narrow house with the bit of broken wall and the elder bushes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I daresay I could rig up a very nice studio out of that place, indeed it looks quite picturesque amid its elder bushes. There is the stile, and there is the cornfield. But I couldn’t live there.”

  “No, you would live at Mrs. Heald’s, and you could walk over every morning to the studio.”

  “Yes, I could do that. I prefer to live with my work. There is nothing like walking from the breakfast table across the room to the easel.”

  “Of course you can find fault with everything; nothing is perfect.”

  “There goes the train!” cried Sally. “No use in running now, you’ve missed it.”

  “How very provoking; the next isn’t till half-past seven — just an hour to wait.”

  “Well,” said Maggie, “if you have missed the train we may as well go at once and ask Mrs. Heald if she has let her rooms.”

  They walked towards a block of cottages — at one end the “Cricketer’s Arms,” at the other the grocery business; and the cottage that joined the grocery business was remarkable for a bit of green paling a
nd wooden balcony, now covered with Virginia creeper. Frank thought at once of new-laid eggs, and the sunlight glancing through a great mass of greenery, and he resolved if a sacrifice were necessary to live at Southwick, he would put his picture aside and begin his novel. The people in the house pleased him, and he ran on in his way thinking how English and trustworthy they seemed, liking the green parrot that rubbed its head affectionately against the grey ringlets of a very ladylike old person; and Mrs. Heald, brisk as a bee, notwithstanding her lame leg, who led the way up the ladder-like cottage staircase.

  “How nice and clean everything is; books and engravings along the passages. How unlike Ireland!”

  But the sitting-room was full of horsehair sofas and chairs. These displeased Frank, but some handsome china — an entire tea service in Crown Derby — reconciled him to the room. In the bedroom they found a huge four-poster of old time, with a lengthy bolster and imposing pillows, and they were shown into another and a similar room. One looked out on the green, the other on the fields that lay between the green and the Manor House.

  “If that elm were cut down you could see my window,” said Sally.

  “Which room do you like the best?” said Maggie.

  “It is hard to say. The other room looks on the green, but here there is a nice large wardrobe, and I don’t see how I can get on without a wardrobe.”

  “If you like the other room best, sir, I can turn out the chest of drawers.”

  “Oh, that would be very nice if you can manage it, the room will do very well. I can have a bath every morning?”

  “Yes, sir; there will be no difficulty about that.”

  Maggie had taken off her hat and was settling her hair before the glass. Sally opened the wardrobe, revealing various petticoats and skirts, but she thought of it as full of Frank’s light overcoats, the scarves he wore round his throat when he went out in evening clothes, the patent leather shoes in the corner. Suddenly the conversation dropped, and after a pause Frank said: “I think these rooms suit me very well, but I can do nothing; it is impossible for me to say if I can take them until I find out if there is any place in the immediate neighbourhood that I could convert into a studio. Do you know of any such place?”

  “No, I do not, sir.”

  “Mr. Escott was thinking of seeing the smith about his house. I wonder if Town would let it to Mr. Escott for a consideration,” said Maggie.

  “Of course, I should have to get leave to make what alterations I pleased.”

  “I don’t suppose the house belongs to Town, sir; I don’t think he is more than a weekly tenant.”

  “If that’s the case, we must see the landlord. Do you know who is the landlord?”

  “I can’t say I do, sir.”

  “Well, Mrs. Heald, I will let you know in a day or two if I can take your rooms — you can give me a day or two?”

  “Yes, sir, but I should like to know as soon as possible; several people have been asking after my rooms.”

  “I’ll let you know in a day or two.”

  “If Town is only a weekly tenant, you’ll be able to get his house by paying a little more for it,” said Maggie, as they walked down the green towards the smith’s forge.

  “That would be hardly fair; I should like to act squarely by the smith. What is his name?”

  “Town.”

  Town was cutting out the hoof of a shaggy grey cart horse when his visitors entered the cindery blackness.

  “Town, this gentleman would like to speak to you,” said Maggie, raising her voice above the wheezy bellows. He threw the hoof out of his apron, and, drawing his blackened arm across his forehead, he came forward.

  “Town, I am anxious to find a place on the green that I could convert into a studio; I think your house would suit my purpose very well. Do you think we could come to some arrangement? Of course I would give you a reasonable compensation.”

  “Well, I really hardly know, sir; I dunno that I hardly understand. You want my house to turn into a—”

  “A studio — a place where I can paint pictures.”

  “I don’t see how I can do without my ‘ouse.”

  “But I will compensate you — make it worth your while.”

  “You see it is so near my work. Was I to go and live at Ada Terrace, I should, you see, be out of the way. If people want a job done they always knows where to find me.”

  “Yes, but if I compensate you?”

  Seeing that Frank was exciting the smith with too wild hopes of wealth, Sally thought fit to interpose. “Mr. Escott would require permission to make any alterations in the building he thought proper — you couldn’t give him permission; he would in any case have to see your landlord. Who is your landlord?”

  “I don’t see how I can give up my ‘ouse to be turned into a painting place; it wouldn’t suit me at all.”

  “If I make you sufficient compensation—”

  Again the smith was reduced to silence. He scratched his head, and Frank watched the sparks fly, and heard the rhythmical sledge. “I wish he wouldn’t talk so much about compensation,” thought Sally. “I don’t know what the man won’t be asking if Frank doesn’t shut up.”

  “Do you think we shall be able to come to an understanding? I want to know.”

  “Well, you see, sir, my wife is delicate, and I’m that afraid she wouldn’t like to give up her ‘ome. But I’ll speak to ’er if you like to-night, sir.”

  “Mr. Escott will have to see your landlord; he will have to arrange with him about the alterations.”

  “There will be no difficulty about the alterations.”

  “Very probably; but you are only a weekly tenant. It is a question your landlord must decide. If he agrees to allow Mr. Escott to make the alterations, Mr. Escott will no doubt compensate you for disturbance.”

  “It is all very well to talk about compensation. How do I know what your compensation will be? How do I know you will make it worth my while? I don’t want no compensation. I want my ‘ouse. Cheek I calls it, to come down here wanting to muck me out of my house.”

  “Now, sir, we want no impertinence. I shall do exactly as I please in the matter. Your landlord is the person I should have spoken to.”

  “Spoken to! Who are you, I should like to know, coming round here interfering in my business?”

  All Frank’s discussions ended in angry words, and he never came to terms with any one without threatening blows. Town returned to the forge; Frank and the young ladies made their way across the green. At the corner of Southdown Road they found the General, the schoolmaster, and a retired farmer ardently gossiping; Mrs. Horlock, prim in her black gown and poke bonnet, waited with admirable patience, and Angel, the blind pug, in horrible corpulence, waddled and sniffed the grass. The story of Town’s impertinence was told. The General was shocked — it was surprising. What are we coming to? The retired farmer said that Town was a hot-tempered man, but not a bad sort when you knew how to take him, and all, except Mrs. Horlock, agreed that the landlord was the person who should be consulted.

  “I really don’t see why you should turn the poor man out of his house if he doesn’t want to go. How would you like some one to come and turn you out of your house?” she said, turning to her husband.

  The General laughed. “My dear Lucy, whatever you say must be right. So you are coming to live at Southwick. Very glad to hear it. You know where to find us, the gate’s always open; lunch at half-past one, dinner at eight — old Indians, you know; come in when you like. Pretty place I have here, everything I want — stables and horses, and (the General looked to see if Lucy was out of hearing) plenty of dogs, you know — a few too many; but my wife, you know—” The rest was lost in a burst of good-natured laughter.

  They bade the Horlocks good-night and walked up the Southdown Road, looking with its line of trees along the pavement like a little mock boulevard. Frank was particularly severe in his remarks on the trim privet hedges and the little bronze sphinxes standing before the portico of ye
llow glass; he declared that a man must be born to put up such things, and he clearly thought this sneer a very happy one, for he repeated it, fearing that Sally had not understood. The grocer who had placed a bas-relief of himself over his door was greatly wondered at, and Sally told an amusing anecdote regarding the invitations he sent out for the first dinner party. The conversation turned on the Measons. Jack’s ship had gone to China, and he was not expected back much before Christmas.

  “That’s very sad, Sally. How will you be able to live through so many months?”

  “I don’t care for him. I don’t care if I never saw him again — it was Fanny who was my friend. Some nice people have come to live in that corner house — a young man, who is learning farming. Mr. Berkins insists on father not allowing us to visit any one in the Southdown Road, and Mr. Berkins can turn father round his finger, he is so much richer. I’m not allowed to see Fanny at the Manor House. As for Jack, I daresay you won’t believe me, but I shouldn’t care if I never saw him again.”

  Maggie shrugged her shoulders. The gesture exasperated Sally, and she turned on her sister.

  “You needn’t shrug your shoulders at me, miss; I never flirted with him; you did, and then you set father against me.”

  “Well, for goodness’ sake don’t quarrel; what does it matter? The idea of Berkins telling your father whom he should visit; and the idea of your father permitting it merely because he makes two or three thousand a year more! He surely doesn’t object to your visiting Mrs. Horlock?”

  “No, he couldn’t do that.”

  Still engaged in discussion, they entered the gates of the Manor House, and Mr. Brookes was told that Frank would stay at Southwick a few days longer, so that he might arrange about a studio. The news was not at first wholly pleasing to the old gentleman, but he remembered the anecdotes he should hear concerning his favourite painters, and was consoled. The evening passed away in the security and calm of habit, sweetened by the intimacy of familiar thoughts and customs. There was the usual expensive dinner; Mr. Brookes lit a cigar, handed the box to Frank, and said, puffing lustily, “That’s a good picture, paid a lot of money for it, too much money, mustn’t do it again. You were a pupil of Bouguereau; great painter; you have seen him paint; you would know his touch amid a thousand, I suppose?”