Hatter's Castle

by Арчибальд Джозеф Кронин

  A fiver! She almost burst into hysterical tears at the word, at the painful absurdity of his request that she should lend him at a moment's notice five pounds she who was bleeding herself white to scrape together the monthly toll that would soon be levied on her, who had, apart from the three pounds she had laboriously collected for the purpose, only a few paltry copper and silver coins in her purse!

  "Oh! Matt," she cried. "Ye don't know what you're askin'. There isna such a sum in the house!"

  "Come on now," he replied rudely, "you can do it fine. Toll out. Where's your bag?"

  "Don't speak to me like that, dear," she whispered. "I canna bear it. I would do anything for ye but what you're askin' is impossible."

  "Lend me one pound then, seeing you're so stingy," he said, with a hard look at her. "Come on! give me a miserable pound."

  "Ye can't understand, son," she pleaded. "I'm so poor now I can hardly make ends meet. Your father doesna give me enough for us to live on." A yearning desire took hold of her to tell him of the manner in which she had been obliged to raise the money to send to him at Marseilles but she stifled it, realising with a sudden pause that this moment, above all, was not propitious.

  "What does he think he's doing? He's got his business and this precious wonderful house of his," Matthew sneered. "What is it he's spending the money on now?"

  "Oh! Matt, I hardly like to tell ye' she sobbed, "but things seem to be in a bad way with your father in the business. I'm I'm feared the house is bonded. He hasna said a word to me but I saw some papers lyin' in his room. It's terrible. It's the opposition that's started against him in the town. I've no doubt he'll win through, but in the meantime I've got to make one shillin' do the work of two."

  He looked at her in sullen amazement, but refused, none the less, to be diverted from the issue.

  "That's all very well, Mamma!" he grumbled. "I know you. You always had something tucked away for a rainy day. I want a pound. I tell you I've got to have it. I need it."

  "Oh, my dear, have I not told ye how ill off we are," she wept.

  "For the last time, will ye lend me it?" he threatened.

  As she again sobbingly refused him she thought, in her agitation, for the space of a horrified instant, that he was about to strike her, but abruptly he turned upon his heel and left the room. As she stood there, her hand clutching her side, she heard him banging about through the -rooms upstairs and finally come down, pass through the hall without speaking and slam out of the house.

  When the reverberating echoes of the bang of the door had died upon the air, they still resounded in her brain like an ominous portent of the future and involuntarily she raised her hands to her ears to blot them out as she sat down at the kitchen table, an abject, disillusioned figure. She felt, as she rested there, her head supported in her hands, that the story of the bank draft must be a specious lie, that having spent the forty pounds, he was now penniless. Had he

  almost threatened her? She did not know, but he had wanted the money badly, and she, alas, had been unable to give it to him. Before she could analyse her emotions further, and realising now that she should have been in a position to accede to his later demand, that in a fashion the fault had been hers, on top of her misery came a great rush of tenderness. Poor boy, he had been used to mixing with gentlemen who spent money freely, and it was only fair that he should have

  money in his pocket like the rest. It was, in fact, a necessity after the high society life he had been leading. It was not just to expect a young man as well put on as Matt to go out without the means of backing up his smart appearance. He had really not been to blame and, in some degree, she regretted not having given him at least a few shillings, if he would have accepted them from her. As the affair became thus presented to her in a more satisfactory light and she was

  filled by a sense of her own inadequacy, she rose and, drawn by an irresistible attraction she went up to his room and with loving care began to tidy the litter of wearing apparel which encumbered it. She now discovered that his clothing was not so plentiful as might have been expected from first appearances, finding one trunk to be completely empty, two of his cases to be filled with thin drill suits and another stuffed untidily with soiled linen. Eagerly, she seized upon socks to darn, shirts to mend, collars to starch, feeling it a joy to serve him by attending to these needs, beatitude even to touch his garments.

  Eventually, having restored order amongst his things and arranged, for her attention, a large bundle which she bore away in triumph, she entered her own room, made her bed, and began in a more cheerful spirit to dust the furniture. As she came to the shallow china toilet tray that rested on the small table by the window, an undetermined sense of perplexity affected her; a familiar impression to which she had long been accustomed in her subconscious mind was now lacking. She pondered absently for a moment, then suddenly realised that she did not hear the intimate, friendly tick of her watch which, except on those state occasions when she wore it, lay always upon this small tray of hers which now confronted her, denuded of all but a few stray hairpins. When she had been compelled to change her room she had, of course, brought this tray with her and the watch had still remained upon it; indeed, for twenty years the touch of this tray had been consonant with her hearing of the watch, and at once she noticed the silence.

  Although she knew that she was not wearing the watch she clutched at her bodice; but it was not there, and immediately she began to look for it in a flurry, searching everywhere in her own room, in Brodie's room, downstairs in the parlour and in the kitchen. As her unsuccessful search was prolonged, a worried look appeared on her face. It was her mother's watch, a fine scrolled silver shell with a gilt face, delicate spidery hands and a Swiss mechanism which never failed to register the exact minute, and although it was not valuable she had for it, and for the small faded daguerreotype of her mother clipped inside the case, a rare and sentimental affection. It was her only trinket and for this fact alone she treasured it deeply. As she stooped to survey the floor she knew that she had not mislaid it and she asked herself if some one had not accidentally interfered with it. Suddenly she straightened up. Her face lost its annoyance and instead became stricken. She realised in an illuminating flash that Matt had taken her watch. She had heard him in her room, after she had refused to give him the money, and he had rushed out without speaking to her. She knew irrevocably that he had stolen her watch for any paltry sum he might obtain for it. She would gladly have given him it as she had given him everything in life that was hers to give, but he had thieved it from her with a sly, sneaking baseness. With a hopeless gesture she pushed back a wisp of grey hair that had been disarranged in her futile search. "Matt! my son," she cried aloud. "You know I would have given you it! What way did ye steal it?"

  On this, the day following her son's return, when she had glowingly anticipated content and the mitigation of her worries, she found herself sunk more deeply into the well of her dejection. Dinner passed and the afternoon proceeded eventlessly towards evening. Amidst the trouble of her thoughts the fall of dusk and the fading of the short grey twilight made her wish poignantly to see him. Only let them be alone together, the mother and the son, and she felt she could

  soften any hardness in his heart. He could not, she was convinced, withstand the entreaty of her affection; he would be at her feet in penitence and remorse if only she could express to him in words the love that was in her heart. But still he did not appear and, when the clock struck the half hour after five and he did not come in for tea, she was immeasurably distressed.

  "I suppose that braw mannie o' yours is ower feared to come in," Brodie sneered at her, as she handed him his tea. "He's deliberately avoidin’ me sulkin' outside there until I've gane out again. Then he'll come sneakin' in for your sympathy and consolation. Don't think I don't see through it all, although it's behind my back."

  "No indeed, Father," she quavered. "I assure ye there's nothing to keep from ye. Matt has just gone out to look up some
o' his friends."

  "Is that so, now?" he answered. "I didna ken he had any friends,' but from what you make out he must be the popular hero, right enough! Well, tell your model son, when ye see him, that I'm savin’ up a' that I've got to say until I meet him next. I'll keep it hot for him."

  She made no reply, but served him with his meal, and when he went out set herself again to wait.

  At seven o'clock, about an hour after Brodie had left the house, Matthew did, indeed, return. He came in quietly with a slight indication upon his face of the old downcast expression of his youth, sidled into the room and, looking at Mamma ingratiatingly, said in a soft voice:

  "I'm sorry I'm late, Mamma dear. I hope I haven't put you about?"

  She looked at him eagerly.

  "I have worried about you, Matt! I didn't know where you had gone!"

  "I know," he replied in a subdued voice. "It was downright thoughtless of me. I don't think I had quite got used to being here. I may have got a little careless since I've been away, Mamma, but I'll make up for it to you."

  "It's not like you to be careless," she cried, "except to yourself, going without your food like this. Have you had your tea?"

  "No," he replied, "I haven't, but I'm real hungry now, though. Have you something for me to eat?"

  She was touched, convinced, despite her day of despondency, that this was her own son again who had sloughed off the skin of his wicked Indian experiences.

  "Matt!" she said earnestly. "You ought to know better than ask. Your supper is in the oven this very minute." She ran to the oven and produced impressively for his inspection a thick cut of finnan haddie cooked in milk, a dish of which he had been particularly fond in the past.

  "Wait just half a minute," she cried, "and I'll be ready for you."

  Grandma Brodie had gone up to her room and Nessie was occupying the table with her homework, nevertheless, in a few moments Mamma had spread a white cloth upon half of the table and had covered it with every requisite of an appetising meal.

  "There, now," she said, "I've told ye I wouldn't be long. There's no one can do a thing for ye like your own mother. Sit in, Matt, and let us see what you can do."

  He rolled his eyes up at her gratefully and bowed his head.

  "Oh! Mamma, you're too kind to me! I don't deserve it. It's like heaping coals of fire on my head after the way I've gone on. It does look good though, doesn't it?"

  She nodded her head happily, watching him eagerly as he drew in his chair, sat down and began to eat with large, quick mouthfuls. "Poor boy, he must have been starving," she thought, as the succulent white flakes of the fish melted magically under the relentless attack of his knife and fork. Nessie, sucking the stump of a pencil at the other end of the table, watched him over the edge of her book with a different emotion.

  "Some folks are luckier than others," she remarked enviously. "We didn't get finnan haddie to-night."

  Matt looked at her with a wounded expression, then placed the last large piece of fish carefully in his mouth.

  "If I had known, Nessie," he expostulated, "I would have offered you some. Why did you not speak before?"

  "Don't be so selfish, girl," cried Mamma sharply. "You're had enough and plenty, and you know it. Your brother needs some decent food now. He's had a hard time lately. You get on with your lessons. Here, Matt try some of these oatcakes."

  Matt thanked her with a warm, upward look and continued to eat. At his attitude Mamma was overjoyed and, the loss of her watch now completely forgotten, she regarded him benevolently, happily, every mouthful he took causing her an intense enjoyment, as if the food which he consumed was savoured by her own palate with infinite relish. She observed with sympathy that his face was marked by smuts; amazed at her own shrewdness, she surmised that he had brushed into a dusty hedge, that he had been hiding outside from his father. She was concerned, so that benevolence gave way to protection; he was her own boy once more and she would shelter and defend him against the world.

  "Did ye enjoy that, son?" she asked finally, hungering for his praise. "I took special pains with it. I knew ye always liked it."

  He smacked his lips.

  "It was lovely, Mamma! Better than all the curries I had to put up with out in India. I tell you I’ve missed your cooking. I've never had a decent dish like that since I left."

  "Is that the case, son?" she exclaimed. "It gladdens me to hear it. Now! Is there anything else you would like?"

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw on the dresser a dish of small apples which he imagined she must have procured for him. He looked at her a moment reflectively.

  "I think, Mamma, I would like an apple," he said with the simplicity of one who has pure desires. She was overjoyed to have anticipated his wish and at once brought over the dish.

  "Just what I thought. 1 gave the boy the order this morning," she said delightedly, proving her thoughtfulness of his every wish. "You said you wanted fruit and I said that you should have it."

  "Thank you, Mamma! I don't wish to smoke," he explained, as he bit with difficulty into the hard fruit, "and I'm told an apple destroys the craving. What need have I to smoke, anyway? It doesn't do me any good."

  Mrs. Brodie laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder as she murmured:

  "Matt, it does my heart good to hear you say that. It's worth more to me than anything on this earth. I'm happy. 1 feel we're going to understand each other better now. It must have been the long separation that upset us both, but these misunderstandings are sent from above to try us. I prayed for understanding to come to the both of us and the prayer of an unworthy woman has been answered."

  He lowered his eyes for a moment in remorse, while he persisted in his efforts with the apple, then, looking up and choosing his words with extreme care, he said slowly, unveiling another rapturous surprise for her:

  "You know, Mamma, I saw Agnes this afternoon."

  She started with surprise and pleasure.

  "Of course," he hurried on, before she could speak, "I can't say much just now. You mustn't ask me anything. My lips must be sealed on what passed between us, but it was very satisfactory." He smiled at her deprecatingly. "I thought you would be pleased to hear, though."

  She clasped her hands in ecstasy, her bliss only tempered by the thought that it was not she herself, but another woman in the person of Miss Moir, who had, perchance, turned her son's steps back to righteousness. Still, she was overjoyed and, stifling the unworthy thought, she ejaculated:

  "That's good! That's grand! Agnes will be as happy as I am about it." Her bowed back straightened slightly as she raised her moist eyes to heaven in unspoken gratitude; when she looked down again to earth Matthew was addressing Nessie.

  "Nessie dear! I was selfish a minute ago but I'll make up for it now. I'm going to give you this half of my apple if you leave Mamma and me together a little. I want to talk to her privately."

  "Nonsense, Nessie!" exclaimed Mamma, as Nessie stretched out her hand agreeably. "If you're to have a bit apple don't take the bite out your brother's mouth."

  "Yes, Mamma. I'm going to give this to Nessie!" insisted Matt, in a kindly voice, "but she must let you and me have a little chat now. I've got something to say that's for your ears alone!"

  "Well, Nessie," said Mrs. Brodie, "take it, and thank Matt for it, and don't let us have any more of your ungrateful remarks in the future. You can leave your homework in the meantime and go into the parlour and do your practising for half an hour. Away with you now. Take the matches and be careful how you light the gas."

  Glad to be relieved from her hated books, Nessie skipped out of the room and soon the halting tinkle of the piano came faintly into the kitchen, interpolated at first by pauses barren of melody, co-related to the lifting of the apple from the bass end of the keyboard.

  "Now, Matt," said Mrs. Brodie warmly, drawing her chair close to his, feeling that her improbable dream of the morning was about to be fulfilled and hugging herself with a trembling satisfaction. />
  "Mamma," began Matthew smoothly, inspecting his hands carefully, "I want you to forgive me for being so well so offhand since I came back; but you know I've been worried. I've had a lot on my mind."

  "I could see that, son!" she agreed compassionately. "My heart has gone out to you to see how you've been upset. It's not everybody that understands your sensitive nature the way I do."

  "Thank you, Mamma," he exclaimed. "You're kind as ever you were, and if you forget any hard words I've said I'll be grateful. I'll try and be a better man."

  "Don't belittle yourself in that fashion, Matt," she cried. "I don't like to hear it. You were aye a good boy. Ye were always my own son I never knew ye do a really wrong action."

  He lifted his eyes for an instant and shot a quick furtive glance at her, then immediately veiled them, murmuring:

  "It's nice to be in with you again, Mamma."

  She smiled devotedly at his words, recollecting that as a boy it had been a manifestation of his childish pique to be "out with her", and, when she was eventually restored to favour, to be "in with her."

  "We'll never be out with each other again, will we, dear?" she countered fondly.

  "That's so, Mamma," he agreed, and allowed an impressive pause to elapse before remarking casually, "Agnes and I are going to the prayer meeting to-night."

  "That's splendid, Matt," she whispered. He was definitely reclaimed! "I'm that pleased about it. Oh, but I would like to come with you both!" She halted timidly. "Still I I suppose ye would rather be your two selves. It's not for me to interfere."

  "It might be as well, perhaps, Mamma," he admitted deprecatingly. "You know how it is!"

  She looked at the clock, observing that it was quarter to eight. She regretted exceedingly having to break up this heart-to-heart talk, but with true unselfishness she said, with a not unhappy sigh: