So it proved. Rising from an exhausted but happy sleep—he had gone to bed at twenty past eight, wearing an old dressing gown in case the only sheets he could find had not been aired, and had put the takings under his mattress—Georgie found himself dealing with a positive flood of customers. Some he recognized, and listened whole-heartedly to their condolences on the loss of his aunt. Now that he was in possession, each day released more of his genuine sorrow for the funny, silent, prim old lady. He was happy, as never before, yet he truly missed her. His future was bright with hope, but he wished she could be alive, living in the place, retired, allowing him to run the business for her. Yes, he could be content with that. He didn’t demand to own it. Yet there was an excitement in owning it, a warm strong thrill that no mere managing on another’s behalf could give.
Most of the customers wanted to know if he was going to continue the business on the same lines. Yes, Georgie told them; yes. He might expand it a little, and stock some extra lines—but, he added quickly, none of the accustomed lines would be discontinued. They could still count on getting what they had come for in the past. A dozen times that day Georgie had the sensation of standing back in helpless wonder, while a voice he hardly knew for his own talked smoothly and confidently to strangers, assuring them of the same satisfaction they had enjoyed all these years. One old gentleman, who came in to complain that the handle had fallen off a tin kettle, was stricken into coughs and incoherence on hearing that Miss Butters was no longer there to receive his remonstrance. Georgie added to his confusion by promising either to mend or replace the kettle and deliver it to the old gentleman’s house within the next two days. As soon as he recovered speech, the old gentleman mumbled that it was damned civil of him, and went away with a high colour; whereupon a grinning woman in a cloth cap told Georgie that the old toad was a proper old tartar and that Georgie had taken the wind out of his sails lovely. Georgie, who had acted automatically, smiled and found her what she wanted.
It was a long day for a weakened boy not long out of his bed, but the blessed knowledge of the money changing hands across the counter sustained him, and when, staggering from tiredness, he closed down, his energies were magically revived by the sight of Uncle Eddie. The well-known knock was so subdued as to be hardly recognizable, out of deference to the shop’s bereavement; it was but the ghost of the flamboyant rantacket—Aunt Butters’ word—which had so often made her jump and exclaim. Georgie could hardly be sure he had heard it. But there, in the doorway, stood the ungainly lanky form.
“Well, Georgie, pal o’ me ‘eart! Well, partner, well!”
Tears rose to Georgie’s eyes. He held out both his hands. Never had he been so glad to see Uncle Eddie as at this minute.
There were tears in Eddie’s eyes too. For some seconds the pair were inarticulate. Georgie stood aside for Eddie to come into the passage, and followed him down to the parlour. There was a good deal of headshaking and nose blowing before Eddie became coherent.
“Well, the poor soul. The poor dear soul. So she’s gone at last. Well.”
“Were you expecting it, then?” Georgie asked, in surprise.
“Well, yes, in a manner of speakin’, Georgie boy, I was. She’d pitched away to nothin’. Last time or two I seen her, she was very frail, like. Didn’t you think so?”
Georgie felt he had been very unobservant.
“I’d noticed, of course, that she’d been getting older, and not doing so much. But nothing special.”
“How long since you saw her last?”
“Oh, some time. Nearly a fortnight. I wasn’t very well myself.”
Uncle Eddie clicked his tongue. “I didn’t know that. I’d have been along to see you.”
“I never heard, even about her dying. The first——”
“What? Never heard?”
“No. The first news I got was the lawyer’s letter telling me she’d left me the shop.”
Uncle Eddie clicked louder than ever. “Shocking,” he exclaimed. “A shocking thing.”
“Well, it was natural enough, Uncle Eddie, really. You see, it happened suddenly, and there was no one to tell me. If she’d had warning, and sent for me, I’d have been able to come. Well—just. I felt quite bad for a day or two.”
“Oo the eggony? The enguish?”
“No.” Georgie smiled for a moment. “I just felt done, and so weak I could hardly lift my head. I’d been feeling weak for some time.”
“All right now?”
“Much better. Better every day. A good thing too. There’s lots to be done.”
“Ah.” Eddie looked round the little room. “Well. Here you are at last. Where you belong.”
There was a hint of challenge in the last words. Georgie saw it, but did not take it up.
“It was good of Aunt Butters to leave it all to me. I never expected it.”
“Never expected——? Why, pal o’ me ‘eart, boy, who else would she leave it to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well then, you must have expected it.”
Georgie shook his head. “I’d never thought about it. I did hope that perhaps, as she got able to do less, she’d gradually let me do a bit more. But—I hadn’t thought of her dying.”
Eddie looked at him sideways. “Folks do, you know,” he observed, and cracked his finger joints.
“Yes. I seem to have been very stupid. I thought of it as happening to other people, but….”
“Not anyone belonging to you. Eh?”
Georgie nodded. “Just as I thought that being left things was something that only happened to other people.”
“My dear boy—this place was as much yours as hers. Almost, anyhow.”
“Mine? How do you mean?”
“Half of it was bought with your mother’s money. Sit down, Georgie boy. Yes. You ought to have been here all the time, not in that bliddy great place. Coo—it used to make me mad!”
Georgie’s body went very still. He stared at Uncle Eddie. Eddie’s face was stained with two bright crimson patches, and his thin cheeks twitched.
“You’ll have to tell me, Uncle Eddie. I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Eddie’s eyes blinked and dodged. Then they focused on Georgie’s, sharp and hard.
“Mean to tell me you don’t know about yourself?”
Georgie shook his head. A cold fear rose up from inside him: a fear of no special thing, but of yet one more disturbance, one more stroke from the unknown.
“Well. You called her your aunt, and so she was. You know what a aunt is, don’t you?”
“A mother’s or father’s sister.”
“Right. Well, she wasn’t your father’s sister. She was your mother’s. We don’t know if your father had any sisters. Or brothers.”
Georgie leaned forward with the strain of trying to follow something just out of his grasp. Eddie shifted irritably in his chair.
“Oh, come on, Georgie, pal o’ me ‘eart. Can’t you put two and two together? Or do I have to name it in Bible English?”
Georgie felt the chair press up against his thighs. Its touch seemed suddenly cold. What a fool he had been!
“You mean my father and mother weren’t married?”
“That’s it, son. Well, when your mother died, Susan here should have took you and reared you up. Especially when it was some of your mother’s money that bought the shop. But no. She wouldn’t.”
“She—she wasn’t ashamed of me, was she, because…?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. She was a good woman, was Susan Butters. Too good. That was the trouble. She was afraid the neighbours would think you were her by-blow.”
“I see.”
“The times I’ve argued with her here, and told her her plain duty. But no. A stubborn woman, your aunt. I couldn’t shift her. She was afraid to be blamed. Then, when you came out of that place, I was on to her again. No, she said, no. If folks was apt to think it before, they’d be certain sure now. I raged and created, but again I couldn’t
shift her. Her own good name was more to her than her sister’s child. Well, no, that’s not quite fair. She was fond enough of you, fonder than of anyone in the world: but she was in blinkers to her own respectability, poor silly soul. Oh well. She’s above it all now, and mortal glad, I’ll lay, to know that you’ve come into your own.”
There was a silence, in which each pursued his own thoughts. Now that he had time to assimilate the news, Georgie’s main sensation was of relief. Illegitimacy as such did not worry him. It had been the lot of very many of the boys in the Orphanage, where it carried no stigma. For those born in wedlock to introduce the subject into a dispute and call their opponent a bastard was a dangerous move, since it was apt to rally others to his aid; and so, for the most part, with the practical common sense of children the boys made no distinction among themselves. If you had no parents available, it didn’t much matter, to you or to anyone else, what their exact relationship had been.
To Aunt Butters, however, it had mattered a great deal. Georgie felt no resentment at her attitude. It fitted perfectly with all he knew about her. Poor dear Aunt Butters, prim, respectable old maid, in dread that someone might think her nephew was her son! But of course. It was just what she would feel, bless her. A wave of love rose warm in him, making him wish she were there, so that he could put his arms about her and tell her how well he understood.
And indeed, though with little knowledge of the world, he did. The world in Georgie’s eyes was a terrible place, where everything you did was apt to be misunderstood; where everyone thought the worst; where, thinking only that you were doing your duty, you might at any moment find that you had been led into breaking the world’s laws. Small wonder that Aunt Butters had feared its judgment if she had taken into her home a child who, in the world’s view, had no business to be in it.
Uncle Eddie did not think on these lines. That was evident, from what he had said, and what, breaking the long silence, he presently began to say. Just as he had always thought it monstrous that Aunt Butters should not kiss her nephew, so he now saw only what Georgie had lost, and in no way considered the old maid’s nervous shrinkings. He would not even entertain the suggestion that she might have been thinking of her sister’s good name, and so taken all the care she could in order to have nothing to explain. Indeed, he grew almost angry with Georgie for trying to take her part.
“You’re too soft, Georgie boy. If anyone was to knock you over the ‘ead and rob you, you’d die telling the police ‘ow bad the poor toad needed the money.”
Georgie smiled at that; and Uncle Eddie, his irritation loosed by making the remark, changed the subject and asked what plans he had.
“I shan’t try to do too much,” Georgie told him. “Not at first, anyway. I’ll just sit tight for a while, and get the hang of the business. Then, as soon as I see how it’s going, I’ll start to expand a bit.”
“Very sensible, Georgie boy. A very good tactic.”
And Eddie plunged into a discussion of things to be done, changes in the shop’s layout, and various other improvements. He talked with great animation and enthusiasm, beneath which Georgie thought he could detect a note of relief. The old protective feeling once more warmed his heart. Dear Uncle Eddie. Now that the house was Georgie’s, and the shop would claim all his time, Eddie would worry no more about those long distant promises of home and partnership. No more difficult explanations would be called for, no more postponements.
Sure enough, it presently wriggled up to the surface.
“Ah, Georgie, pal o’ me ‘eart. That’s our projeck gone bust, anyhow.”
“What project, Uncle Eddie?”
The question had to be asked, so significant was Eddie’s pause.
“The projeck of you and me being partners. In my business.”
“Never mind, Uncle Eddie. You’ll be able to advise me now in mine.”
“Yes, yes,” Eddié agreed. “There is that, o’ course. And mind you ask me, Georgie boy. There’s a lot I can tell you. Specially ‘pon the subjeck o’ bad debts.”
“I’m not giving credit, so far. Not till I can go over the books and see which of the customers paid regularly, and how much Auntie allowed them, and for how long.”
“Good for you, son. You got your head screwed on straight. Always had, from a little tacker.”
“How can you say that, Uncle Eddie, after that dreadful mess up over Burngullow’s? ‘Screwed on straight’! It wasn’t screwed on at all.”
“Get out!” Eddie snapped his fingers at the end of an out-flung gesture of his arm. “You weren’t accountable for that. That there Entiknapp: ‘twas his fault. You only done what they told you.”
“Yes. But I ought to have seen from the first what was wrong.”
“So you would have, if that Entiknapp had learned you proper. No. I blame the man. Both ways. ‘Twas no fault of yours. Even they policemen allowed that.”
For an hour and more the pair pottered about the house, arguing, planning, reminiscing. Then, seated by the fire, in a glow of sentiment and affection they drank to Aunt Butters in her own cordial which Georgie, with a certain sense of sacrilege, took out of its cupboard. The bottle was sitting there on its oval tray, with the two glasses; the old lady must have put them ready, against the next time both her gentlemen friends paid her a visit.
Gone now was all criticism of her. Nothing but love remained. Silently they raised their glasses, and stayed silent as the warming liquor coursed its slow way downward, filling their depths with firelight. Then Eddie spoke the thought that was in Georgie’s mind.
“If the old dear can see us now, Georgie boy, she’ll rest the better for it. We two were all she had to care about.”
“Were you very fond of her, Uncle Eddie?”
“Depends ‘pon how you mean the word. I wasn’t never in love with her, nothin’ like that. ‘Twas like I was a relation. One of the family.”
“Was she ever in love with anybody?”
“Not as I’ve heard tell. Shouldn’t think so. Mind you, ‘twouldn’t be easy to tell. What feelin’s she did ‘ave, she wasn’t able to show.”
“No,” Georgie said. “I thought that.”
“She couldn’t even show you, when you were a little tacker. She always had to be so proper. I don’t know.”
It looked as if Eddie was going to start criticizing her again, so Georgie once more lifted his glass. Eddie nodded, and raised his.
“Susan Butters,” he said, looking upwards. “R.I.P.”
It was characteristic of Uncle Eddie that, rousing himself abruptly from the silence that followed this benediction, he should ask to see the shop’s books. Willingly Georgie went to the drawer, and fetched them out. He was just going to shut it again when he caught sight of another book lying at the back, loosely wrapped in brown paper, with something like a label slipped under the piece of thin ribbon round its middle. Beside it was a second parcel shaped like a book, also tied with ribbon, but more securely.
Georgie put the ledgers on the table in front of Eddie, then returned to the drawer, and took out the book with the label. It was in Aunt Butters’ writing, and bore two words only: “Notnow.”
About to exclaim in wonder, he suddenly checked himself. An instinct warned him to wait till Uncle Eddie had gone. Saying nothing, he closed the drawer and returned to the table. Uncle Eddie stayed a long time, clicking his tongue over the ledgers, and occasionally flinging out an exasperated bony wrist and cracking the finger joints at the end of it. All this meant, as Georgie soon perceived, was that Aunt Butters kept her books in a different way from Uncle Eddie’s. It was a small series of ways, rather than any single one; but they all added up to the fact that the business was solvent, and that, bar a little uncertainty in the last three weeks, when her powers evidently were failing, she had kept a clear if unorthodox record of all her transactions, and was owed the satisfactorily small total of twenty-three pounds odd, most of it due from customers who, if slow, appeared in the books as honest and steady pay
ers.
Eddie slammed the last ledger shut, raising a small cloud of dust, and smacked his lips, a gesture of finality rather than of relish.
“Well, Georgie, pal o’ me ‘eart—a nice little nest-egg. I can’t say no more.”
The phrasing was ambiguous, but Georgie understood the sentiment, which was as near unqualified approval as Eddie was apt to go. They had a scratch meal after that, in the course of which Eddie lectured him on not eating properly or taking due care of himself. Georgie listened meekly, knowing all the while that Eddie was an inveterate gobbler and snackster, liable, as his complexion showed, to digestive upsets and bouts of pain fully entitled to be described as “eggony” and “enguish”. To be lectured from so rickety a platform delighted Georgie, and increased his feelings of protective love for the gaunt comical figure. How good to think that he could now entertain Uncle Eddie when he pleased. How heartwarming to look forward to many a long evening of gossip and reminiscence.
He wrung the crackling fingers as he saw Eddie out at the door, with promises of another meeting soon: then, yawning and reeling, discovered that he was dead tired and ready to fall into bed.
But there was one thing he must do first. The memory of it pricked through the sleepy curtain as he saw the ledgers still on the table. He hesitated for a couple of seconds, in sheer weariness, wondering if he might not leave it till the morning; but realized, if he did, that tired as he was he might not sleep for the small nagging point of curiosity.
With an effort that seemed like reassembling all the joints of his limbs and driving them to work, he crossed to the drawer and took out the two parcels wrapped in brown paper.
“Not now.” What could it mean? He slipped the ribbon off, undid the paper, and stared at a large book bound in worn crimson leather with a brass clasp. It was called The Adventures of the Cid.
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