Collected Stories
Page 23
Old Andrew stopped writing and lifted his head. Martin … ah Martin, that impetuous young rascal, how his thoughts seemed to dwell continually on him. The boy was so proud and so distant. He never unbended. He’d seemed to keep a barrier between himself and them. Only with Ernest did he seem to relax. The sonorous notes of the old clock boomed out and he hurriedly finished his entry. It was a matter of seconds only before the candles were extinguished and the diary locked away.
CHAPTER 17
‘Why hasn’t Old Ledwhistle thrown Richard out of the firm yet?’ worried Rupert Bigarstaff. ‘That last venture must have lost them a small fortune. I wager Old Ledwhistle was pretty soured by it.’
‘And rightly so,’ said Gasper Liverwick. ‘The young beggar narrowly missed bankrupting them.’
Rupert nodded. ‘Hm,’ he assented ungraciously, ‘but it’s a damned nuisance. We could use some money, Gasper, me lad.’
He got to his feet, shoved the table away from him and they walked out into the street. The pavements were thronged with people hurrying hither and thither. Gasper suddenly clutched Rupert’s arm.
‘Look,’ he gasped. ‘If it isn’t young Master Francis himself.’
‘Well, well now,’ breathed Bigarstaff. ‘Now isn’t this going to be jolly! He’s a proper young gent.’
Little Francis Ledwhistle at the age of nine was skipping gaily along the sidewalk clutching to himself a large ledger. His thick curls were free and his eyes were glowing like small boys’ eyes will do when they are for the first time out in the great world of the city, on their own.
‘Come, Gasper,’ cried Bigarstaff in a pleasant voice, ‘I’m quite sure our little friend would love us to keep an eye on him.’
Uneasily Liverwick followed, his ugly face in a worried frown.
‘What’s the game, Rupert?’ he asked as they paced after young Francis.
‘Really,’ answered his crony, mockingly. ‘You’re very crude. What possibly could be our game? Use your imagination,’ he snapped curtly. ‘Why on earth should the child be by himself in the city?’
The child passed down a dark alley and his hopping slowed into a subdued walk. For the first time he was a tiny bit frightened. It wasn’t such fun after all slipping away from Fanny like that. He wondered tearfully why those two men were following him. He didn’t like the way they gazed at him. Perhaps, perhaps … In a trice little Francis was running.
The footsteps behind him became quicker too, till Gasper and Bigarstaff were on his very heels. Francis felt his heart in his throat. Then it was in his mouth as the long arm of Rupert snaked out and held him by his collar. He stood there panting and gasping, his breath coming in great thudding bursts.
‘Well,’ said Bigarstaff, ‘that’s a nice thing to do, running from your friends, me little dear.’
He bent down swiftly and dived his hand into the boy’s pocket.
‘Huh,’ said Gasper as a minute handkerchief was brought to light, finely edged with lace. ‘Quite a toff, ain’t we?’ he murmured, as he sniffed daintily.
The two of them roared with laughter and Francis snivelled. Rupert dealt him a mild cuff on the ear and he stuffed a trinket into his trouser pocket.
Then everything happened at once. There was a sound of light shoes on the cobbles and the two rascals took to their heels. James Coney picked the child up and dabbed helpfully at the boy’s stained cheeks with an equally stained piece of cloth. ‘There, there, my little boyo,’ he soothed. When Francis had calmed down somewhat he asked the child its name.
‘My name,’ said little Francis proudly, ‘is Ledwhistle.’
‘No, it can’t be,’ gasped his rescuer, frantically. ‘Oh, this is fate.’
Francis found his hand seized in that of a large bony one, and found he was being trotted along at a great rate. His small legs went pattering after each other till, almost running, they reached his house.
‘Oh, Master Francis,’ squealed Connie, the parlour maid, ‘how could you!’
They were ushered into the hall, and Francis was immediately enfolded to his mother’s capacious bosom.
‘Frankie, you wicked boy,’ she sobbed and scolded.
James coughed.
‘Good heavens,’ cried Mrs Ledwhistle, ‘is it – is it Mr Coney?’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ replied that worthy modestly.
He was then swept into a large room, and here the family were assembled. Once more James was forgotten as in turn the returned one was petted and cooed over.
Then Andrew lurched to his feet. ‘And to you, my dear young sir, I can but be ever indebted.’
He paused for words, and Francis began talking. ‘But you don’t know all, Papa,’ he cried shrilly. ‘Two wicked men accosted me and stole that lace handkerchief of mother’s, beside that necklace I got when I was four.’
James waved his hand modestly. ‘Oh, that was nothing, sonny,’ he said wisely.
Old Andrew’s eyes met those of his wife. They crinkled at the corners as he saw Fanny blushing a fearsome red. Charlotte bent suspiciously over her book.
Soon James was seated and accepted by all. His drawling voice, and blinking eyes, with his boyish hair on end, made him look rather pathetic. Fanny, as her eyes rested on his face, felt her heart give a silly leap.
In the fireside corner on the couch sat Anna. On her knee sat a little boy in petticoats, for two years Ernest and she had been happily married. But Old Andrew had aged. His hair was scantier than before, while the few locks were white and grizzled. His beard too was white, but here and there threaded a thick black hair. It was the firm that had aged him, for since Richard Soleway’s unsuccessful investiture the business had dropped to its minimum.
‘You will stay to lunch, won’t you?’ invited Mrs Ledwhistle.
‘Oh well,’ said James, ‘– that is, if everybody’s willing.’
He looked pointedly at Fanny, whose plain face was quite intelligent with the love that glowed through her.
There were eager assents on all sides, and so James became a firm friend of the Ledwhistles.
CHAPTER 18
Phillip Hobart, Knight, sat ponderingly at his desk. His long fingers drummed in irritating rhythm on the polished surface. Before him sat Richard Soleway.
‘Look here, young fellow,’ he advised. ‘Don’t you think you’d better turn your hand to something you understand? The Exchange isn’t a gambling den, Dick.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ rapped Richard. ‘I wish to invest £2,800 in cash, and £5,000 worth in bonds in the New Westworth Papers.’
‘But it’s the most surest thing that that will fall through,’ gasped Hobart.
‘I have the cash here in notes,’ continued Richard. ‘I wish you to manage it for me at once, understand?’
He left a scandalised but resigned Chairman.
CHAPTER 19
Jacob Steinhouse came into the outer office, in breathless haste.
‘Martin,’ he gasped, ‘Master Martin, what does it mean?’
‘What does what mean, Steinhouse,’ asked Richard tersely.
He turned to Ernest, who was gazing open-mouthed at the paper the old man had thrust on his desk.
Martin leant over and took it from him quickly. His heart gave a great leap as he read:
Westworth Paper fails to sell. The well-known firm of lawyers, Ledwhistle and Andromikey, lose over £7,000.
He scanned the society gossip column and read:
For some time past it has been noticed that Young Andromikey has been making wild speculations. This, we have no doubt, will be his last venture.
Richard felt a wave of thankfulness sweep over him. He had accomplished his task: now he could go and lead his own life. The curse of Martin Andromikey had been fulfilled.
Ernest slumped forward. ‘My God, Martin,’ he screeched. ‘You damn fool, you damn blasted fool!’
He got to his feet slobbering, while Old Jacob wrung his hands in agony. ‘What will Old Mr Andrew say?’ he moaned.
Richard gave a weary smile. He got to his feet and swallowed.
Ernest grabbed his arm. ‘No,’ he cried shrilly. ‘No, you’re not going, you dirty crook. You’ll get years for this.’ He then lapsed into the boy he was again. ‘Who’s going to tell Father?’ he groaned sickly. ‘My God, who’s going to tell him? He’ll know now – and just think,’ he said in a low voice. ‘He’s bound to see the papers.’
It was a rainy day in July, and the weather outside was roaring and whistling down the streets. Ernest looked out of the rain-blotted window and choked in a whisper: ‘He’s coming here!’ He turned a white face to the group before him. ‘We’ve got to stand by him,’ he ordered tensely. He cast a withering glance at Richard. ‘As for you,’ he spat out. ‘You mustn’t leave till I tell you.’
There were footsteps on the stairs. Then the door was thrust open and Old Andrew came hurrying in.
‘Papa,’ cried Ernest.
The old man was in a dreadful state. His head was bare, and his white locks clung damply to his neck. He wore no coat or shoes, but was dressed in his house suit and thin slippers. His eyes were rolling wildly, and his mouth twitched uncontrollably. Andrew took no notice of his son but glanced past at Richard, who sat at his desk scrutinising him carefully. Martin had certainly got his craving, for Andrew Ledwhistle was indeed suffering. The old man lumbered forward and seized his arm in a weak grip.
‘You, you swine,’ he cried.
He started back, clutched his chest and swayed on his feet. Ernest sprang forward, and was just in time to catch him before he became unconscious.
CHAPTER 20
The doctor thrust his thumbs into the waistcoat pockets of his suit. He moved backwards and forwards, first on toes, then heels. The sun streamed through the window and glided over the face of the man on the bed. Old Andrew never moved. Only the bright look of burning intensity in his eyes betrayed that he lived, and was human. Oh, how that kindly face had altered in a night! The skin was a roll of parchment, yellow and frayed. The mouth, devoid of blood, hung open, and the hot tongue licked feverishly at the cracked lips. He never moved, and the blankets lay smooth as glass on his wasted body. The doctor’s countenance was grave. He turned to Mary Ledwhistle, who knelt by the bed.
‘Can you procure a lawyer right away?’ he said. ‘I do not think he will last the night.’
CHAPTER 21
It is night now, and the air is as rich and sparkling as the points of the many stars that twinkle in the velvet night. Round the bed kneel 7 people. Mrs Ledwhistle, her white cheeks sunken, clasps and unclasps the book in her hand. It is an old book, and was written when the world began. It has been shunned and sacrileged, loved and revered. It has been bound in silver and gold, cloth and paper, but the words inside hang clear and liquid like drops of blood of the one who died for us. Little Francis kneels beside his sisters, his little white face alone calm and serene. Death holds no terror for the very young, for they know not what it is. Ernest and Anna are together on their knees, while the figure on the bed speaks for the last time … in this world.
Old Andrew moves restlessly.
‘Try hard, young Ernest,’ he whispers. ‘Try hard.’
He sinks back. There is a low moan from his wife.
‘Andrew, Andrew.’
The name shivers in the air, and goes through the halls of memory, echoing hollowly. Let Richard Soleway hear that cry, and let him be haunted by it. ‘Andrew, Andrew.’ And Andrew Ledwhistle is dead.
CHAPTER 22
Rupert Bigarstaff rolled a wad of tobacco in his cheek, a habit he had gained from Gasper.
‘It’s no use,’ he muttered. ‘No use. It’s true right enough.’
He watched the coffin lowered into the ground as the remains of Old Ledwhistle were put to rest. His eyes noted that Richard Soleway was not present.
It was a cold morning, yet early, and St Carthage’s graveyard was in the open country. The sycamores waved softly, their maturing leaves tinged with a faint rusty gold. The scarlet poppies were waving in the tall grasses, and for once Bigarstaff felt at peace with other mortals. He thought that it would be nice to die in a place like this.
The tall-necked clergyman was plainly shivering. Silly devil, thought Bigarstaff, his blue eyes hard. He wanted to die when his body was tensed to the chill air, when the songs of the birds were clear and keen, when the blood was so red it hurt your flesh – not when the air was warm and sickly. He became aware that the last prayer had finished, and the mourners were alone. He’d wondered what they’d put on his headstone. One day he’d come back and see, but now, there was work to be done.
Meanwhile Richard was in his rooms. His head ached infernally, and his throat was dry. There was a knock at the door and a boy thrust his head round.
‘Gent said as ’ow I was to give you this,’ he said loudly. ‘Name of Ledwhistle. He said you’d give me something no doubt.’
‘Clear off,’ cried Richard. ‘Don’t be a little liar.’
With a grin the boy went, and Richard was left alone. He slowly opened the long buff-coloured envelope, and drew out the contents. He started and nearly let the paper slip through his fingers, as the meaning soaked into the wool of his muddled brain.
You were left at your grandfather’s death the sum of £45,000, but on the condition that you would enter the firm and make good. Owing to the bankruptcy of the firm that money can never be paid to you, or never will, owing to the fact that you ruined the name of Ledwhistle and Andromikey that my grandfather and yours made and founded. I can assure you that all this is true.
Ernest Ledwhistle.
For hours Richard sat slumped in his chair, his mind a blank. Finally, he drew a large sheet of paper towards him and began to write. When he had finished he folded it in four and put it in another envelope. Then he began his small amount of packing. In a cloth bag he pushed a couple of shirts and necessities and was ready.
He paid a call to a small bank, and then went to the shipping office. Here he booked a passage for America. He did not know that Gasper Liverwick and Rupert Bigarstaff did the same thing … They were to cling to him for years to come.
CHAPTER 23
Robert Straffordson dragged himself wearily along the road, his wooden legs in monotonous rhythm clicking after him. His father, Radenstone, was in his house and Robert felt lost and tired. It was afternoon and warm. He wished he could do some work or try his hardest to be useful, but he was not strong enough yet to be this. In a fortnight’s time he and his father were leaving for America, and this was what Straffordson was looking forward to.
He wondered as he walked along what Ernest Ledwhistle was going to do. He had met the boy many times and liked him. Mrs Ledwhistle was very poor now, and all the debts had not been paid. They were all too proud to accept aid or charity, and had been reduced to extenuating circumstances.
Straffordson wondered if he ought to go and see the family, when suddenly he caught sight of Fanny Ledwhistle and a young man he had come to know as James Coney. Fanny’s hair hung in disordered array as usual, but the shapeless lips were parted a trifle and she gazed at James in a way that could not be mistaken.
Robert bowed as best he could, and the two smiled at him, while Coney bowed also.
‘I hope your mother is in good health?’ asked Robert.
Fanny sighed.
‘Poor Mama is very dejected of late, for the house is to be sold, and we are to move into rooms. Mother is very much put about over good Jacob Steinhouse, for it was well known that Papa intended him to retire, and receive a considerable pension.’ She sighed again as she continued. ‘Martin Andromikey has not been seen of, and Jane says it is a good thing, for Ernest would surely set on him.’
James pressed her fingers in sympathy, which made that young lady conclude: ‘Dear James has been so kind. Mama would have been quite lost without him, and as for me –’
James said: ‘Miss Ledwhistle was always a one for exaggeration.’ This with a tender smile.
Fanny blushed and lowered her head modestly. Robert coughed, for laughter must surely be disguised.
‘I hear,’ said James pleasantly, ‘that you are to leave for America soon, with your celebrated father.’
‘Ah,’ sighed he, ‘America is a wonderful place. What part are you aiming to settle in?’ (this was said with real interest).
Robert’s reply was veiled. ‘East,’ he prevaricated. He did not want this boyish Coney to know where they were going. Radenstone and he wanted to leave behind all the old life and live together in Virginia.
He became aware that James was wishing him goodbye.
‘We shall see you again before you go of course, Mr Straffordson,’ simpered Fanny.
It was not long before they had disappeared out of sight and Robert was by himself again.
CHAPTER 24
Ernest waved his hand for the last time, and he and his sister moved away. On board the small sailing ship Radenstone turned to his son gladly.
‘Last tie snapped, Rob,’ he said quietly, ‘and I for one feel better for it.’
In another part of the ship, leaning over the rough side, Richard Soleway watched England slip away on the horizon. He was not sorry. The land of his birth was nothing but a sordid incident, an incident which had cost an old man’s life and his widow’s happiness. He watched as the sullen green waters swirled gently against the sides, and heard behind him the shouts of the deck hands.