Looking at him now, talking to Ellis quite calmly and sensibly, she could scarcely believe he had let himself go like that.
Bel was so preoccupied with her own thoughts—about the modern Orlando—that she lost touch with the conversation. She was recalled by the sound of her own name.
“Bel will sew it on for you,” said Ellis. “Give it to Bel.”
“No, certainly not!” Alec exclaimed. “Why should she be bothered with the wretched thing!”
It was a button which had come off his jacket—that was all. Of course Bel was delighted to sew it on for him, and as she had her work-basket beside her on the sofa it was the easiest thing in the world.
Ellis made Alec take off his jacket and brought it over to her. He laughed as he did so and said, “That’s what wives are for. They sew on buttons and mend holes in socks—it’s quite useful to have one in the house.”
“I shall have to get one,” said Alec lightly.
Bel was searching in her basket for a suitable reel of cotton; she smiled and said, “If you had a wife she’d make you buy a new jacket. This one is a disgrace.”
“Can’t afford it,” declared Alec in the same light tone.
They laughed at the joke.
“What about a turn round the garden?” suggested Ellis. “It would be nice to have a breath of fresh air before dinner. Our sweet-peas are a dream.”
“I’m very fond of sweet-peas,” said Alec, rising as he spoke.
“Really, Ellis!” exclaimed Bel. “You know the garden is nothing but a wilderness. We haven’t got any sweet-peas.”
“I never said we had,” replied Ellis. “I said our sweet-peas were a dream—and that’s exactly what they are. I dreamt about them last night and they were beautiful—with five blooms on every stalk. They’ll be real next year, of course, Drummond must come back and see them, meanwhile I can show him the bare patch in the middle of the wilderness where the chaps made the bonfire.”
“Wait a minute,” said Bel. “Alec can’t go out without his jacket.”
“His jacket!” Ellis exclaimed. “It’s quite warm—and he’s come from Scotland!”
The subject of the argument was laughing heartily by this time. He agreed that the Scots were a hardy race and a jacket would be quite unnecessary for a walk in the garden.
The two men went out through the glass door and disappeared.
When they had gone Bel sewed on the button and mended several tears in the lining of Alec’s jacket; she wondered what his sister was thinking of to allow him to wear such a disreputable garment.
It was a pity that Ellis had made that joke about wives, thought Bel . . . and she, herself, had made it a great deal worse. Somehow the words had slipped out without thinking. Alec had been upset! What a fool I am, thought Bel remorsefully. She was all the more remorseful because Alec was looking tired. Perhaps the noise and bustle of London had tired him. He had claimed to be a hardy Scot—and she was aware that this was true for at Drumburly he had fished all day and every day with tremendous energy—but hardy Scots were not used to the noise and bustle of town.
Bel wondered what would happen to-morrow when he went over to Coombe House to lunch. Perhaps Louise would relent when she saw him and agree to make him a happy man. Bel hoped so with all her heart.
Bel hoped so with all her heart because she liked Alec—very much indeed—and, even more important, Ellis liked him. Ellis could be trusted in his judgment of men; Bel had never known him at fault.
When Bel had finished mending the torn jacket she took it up to Alec’s bedroom and discovered that all his things had been unpacked and laid out for him; his dinner-jacket and trousers and other suitable garments on the bed, his hair-brushes and shaving tackle on the dressing-table. She peeped into the drawers and saw that everything had been arranged in the best possible manner.
What a woman! thought Bel, smiling to herself.
The fact was Bel knew very little about Mrs. Warmer. They talked together a great deal but, about her past history, Mrs. Warmer was silent. It was obvious that she had been well trained in a good house, and Bel was aware that she had married a man who had proved himself to be an unsatisfactory husband—but she knew no more.
The dinner-jacket on the bed showed that Mrs. Warmer expected everyone to dress for dinner in the conventional manner—doubtless Ellis would find the same garments laid out for him in his dressing-room. Usually the Brownlees did not dress for dinner when they were alone for Ellis liked to go out in the evening and get some fresh air after his day in town; usually Ellis had a bath before dinner and attired himself in grey slacks and a pullover . . . but although Mrs. Warmer never mentioned the matter Bel was fully aware of her disapproval. Mrs. Warmer thought it was letting down Fletchers End.
‘Browbeaten by Mrs. Warmer’ thought Bel—remembering Lady Steyne. Well, not exactly ‘browbeaten’ nor ‘ruled with a rod of iron’ but just directed gently into the right path.
Ellis and Alec would have to change, thought Bel smiling to herself. There was no getting out of it—they would have to wear the correct dress for dinner. Ellis would rebel, of course, but it would be good for him to conform to Mrs. Warmer’s ruling . . . besides, Bel liked to see him in his dinner-jacket; he looked so nice.
She hung the shabby old jacket in the cupboard and went off to her bedroom to see what Mrs. Warmer considered the correct attire for herself.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The day had been hot, as Ellis had said, but it was cooler after dinner so Mrs. Warmer had lighted the fire. She was aware that Bel liked to have a fire in the drawing-room unless it was really very warm indeed.
Ellis had work to do. He had brought home a brief-case full of papers so he retired to his study while Bel and Alec went into the drawing-room to chat.
“That’s a lovely picture,” said Alec as he sat down in the big chair by the fire. “It’s your mother, I suppose—or perhaps your grandmother.”
“Why should you think that?” asked Bel in surprise.
“It’s like you—in a way,” replied Alec thoughtfully. “The eyes and the hair and most of all the expression.”
“But she’s beautiful!”
Alec laughed and agreed that she was very beautiful and asked who she was and who had painted her.
Thus prompted Bel told him the history of the picture and how she had bought it—but not what she had paid for it—and Alec listened with interest.
“It’s a beautiful portrait,” said Alec when the tale was told. “The violets in her bodice are extraordinarily real. I can almost smell them. In fact when I came into the room I imagined that I could smell the scent of violets. Curious, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Bel.
Since the arrival of the portrait Bel had been hoping that the scent of violets would return to the drawing-room, but so far it had not done so—or at least she had not been aware of it. Several times she had tried to imagine that she smelt the fragrance, she had sat down quietly and waited for it to come . . . but it had been no use at all. She had not spoken about it to anyone, for even Ellis, who was usually so understanding, could not be depended upon to understand this. He had said before that she had imagined the scent of violets and probably would say the same again . . . but it was really rather curious that Alec had noticed the scent.
“It was just imagination, of course,” said Alec after a short silence. “It was just seeing the violets so beautifully painted in the picture—that’s all.”
“Yes, of course,” said Bel with a little sigh. She realised that it was no use saying any more about it so she changed the subject. “I’m sorry Ellis has all that work to do to-night when you’re here, but it can’t be helped. You understand, don’t you, Alec?”
Alec nodded. “He works hard, doesn’t he? I can see he’s tremendously keen and capable. He was telling me about his business before dinner and it’s obvious that he’s got all the threads in his own hands.”
“Yes,” agreed Bel. “One of his p
artners is old and the other is very young so Ellis has far too much responsibility.”
“But he can take it—that’s the important thing.”
Bel nodded. She was still busy hemming curtains and was becoming very bored with the monotonous task. Several pairs had been finished, and hung up by Mrs. Warmer in the appropriate windows, but there were quite a number still to do . . . and Bel was determined to complete the job herself.
“It was very good of you to mend my jacket,” said Alec after a little silence. “It’s a shabby old jacket—you were right about that. You thought it was a joke when I said I couldn’t afford to buy a new one, didn’t you, Bel?”
“Yes, of course!”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“Alec! What do you mean?”
“It was true—or at least very nearly true. The fact is I’m pretty well broke.”
“Alec!” exclaimed Bel in dismay.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m on the rocks. It’s grim, isn’t it? Of course it’s entirely my own fault—but that doesn’t make it any better. I’ve been a fool.”
He was leaning forward gazing at the fire, his hands clasped between his knees—long thin fingers twisted together in a hard knot.
Bel pushed her sewing aside and said, “What happened, Alec?”
“I’m afraid it’s a long story and not very interesting.”
“Please tell me.”
Alec hesitated for a moment, then he said, “It’s really all about the firm. ‘Drummond’s’ began nearly a hundred years ago. My grandfather began it. He imported wine and built up the business very successfully, then my father took over the management and enlarged it. I was dedicated to ‘Drummond’s’ from the day I was born and grew up with the tradition. When I had finished my education I went abroad and learnt about wine, travelling in Germany and France and studying the subject intensively. I was very interested and learnt a great deal and, as a matter of fact, I should have liked to become a vine-grower—that side of the business appealed to me—but when at last I was obliged to return home and start work in the office it didn’t appeal to me at all. I was just doing routine work and it seemed terribly dull. My father was getting old and his health was failing. My mother had died some years before and Jean was running the house—you met my sister at Drumburly, didn’t you, Bel?”
“Yes,” said Bel. She remembered Miss Drummond—tall and dark like Alec but a good deal older and not nearly so friendly—Bel had not liked Miss Drummond and had avoided her as much as possible.
“Jean ran the house and Campbell ran the office,” continued Alec. “Campbell was the business manager, he had been in the firm for years. My father had always relied upon Campbell and when his health began to fail he relied upon him more and more. Campbell knew the whole business inside out. When my father died I suggested to Campbell that he should come into partnership with me but to my astonishment he refused.”
*
2
Alec remembered the little scene clearly. Campbell had come into his room with some papers for him to sign and had stood beside him at the desk . . . Campbell with his round cheerful face; his iron-grey hair, parted and brushed smoothly to one side; his neat dark suit; his white collar, his navy blue tie, his well-polished black shoes.
“Look here, Campbell,” Alec had said. “You’ve been in ‘Drummond’s’ for more years than I can remember. You’re the man who knows all about the business—what about coming into partnership with me?”
“Oh no, Mr. Alec!”
“I mean it, really. I’m sure my father would have approved of the idea. He depended upon you so much.”
“Oh, Mr. Alec!” exclaimed Campbell. “It’s a great honour—a very great honour. I appreciate it more than I can say, but I’m better as I am. Yes, I’m better as I am, Mr. Alec.”
“Listen, Campbell——”
“As for your father,” Campbell continued. “Well, we can’t tell what he would have said. Somehow I don’t think he would have approved. No, somehow I don’t think so. It’s ‘Drummond’s’ you see. That’s the point. It’s been ‘Drummond’s’ for nearly a hundred years. No, no, Mr. Alec, we’ll not change things. We’ll just go on as we are.”
“We can’t go on as we are,” Alec pointed out. “Now that my father isn’t here I’ll have to get down to work in real earnest. At present you’re doing far more than your share.”
“I’m not complaining, Mr. Alec.”
“I know, but it isn’t right. I want to pull my weight.”
“Just as you say, Mr. Alec. You’re the boss,” declared Campbell smiling. “I can show you the ropes—no difficulty about that—but it wouldn’t be my advice.”
“What do you mean?” asked Alec in surprise.
Campbell was perfectly serious now. He said, “This is what I mean, Mr. Alec. To my mind you’re not suited to an office chair. Some folk are and others are not. We’re all made differently and it takes all kinds of different members to make a body, as Paul said in his epistle to the Corinthians. The Reverend Struthers was preaching from the text only last Sunday—a very powerful preacher he is. There’s some folk that have the gift of tongues—the body must have a tongue to speak with. The body must have eyes and ears and hands and feet if it’s to be a whole complete body. It was a very interesting sermon—the way he put it—and I sat there thinking about ‘Drummond’s’ all the time.”
“But I don’t see——”
“‘Drummond’s’ is like a body, Mr. Alec. That’s what I was thinking,” explained Campbell. “I was thinking that you would be better going about and meeting people and bringing in orders for the firm than sitting in an office chair. You could be the eyes and ears of ‘Drummond’s’ and the tongue as well; I could be the right hand.
“See here, Mr. Alec,” continued Campbell earnestly. “I’ll put it plain: I’m ready and willing to run the office. I’ve done it for years. Your father trusted me to do it and I’m proud to think he never had cause to find fault with me. You’ll go about the country and make friends with people and bring in the orders. Of course it’s for you to say whether that’s what’s to be, but you wanted my advice and there it is.”
Perhaps it was strange that Alec should remember his conversation with Campbell so clearly—or perhaps it was not really very strange. A prisoner in a dungeon, immured for life, would be unlikely to forget the terms of his release. Alec felt just like that. Alec had envisaged himself spending all his days sitting in a chair in the office surrounded by dusty old ledgers and suddenly he had been given his freedom.
“Campbell!” he exclaimed. “Do you really think——”
“I do indeed, Mr. Alec. I do indeed. I’ve been thinking about the matter very seriously and I’m sure it’s the right thing. You’re a good-looking young fellow—if I may be allowed to say so—and you’ll be a grand advertisement for the firm. Away you go with your gun and your fishing gear and make friends with people. You can stay at hotels all over the country and take your expenses out of the firm. That’s the way it’s done nowadays. Wherever you go you’ll make a point of having a nice wee chat with the proprietor of the hotel and advise him about his cellar. You’ll meet other folk as well—maybe you’ll meet lairds with big properties and they’ll ask you to shoot their grouse and fish their rivers.”
“But Campbell, I don’t think I could——”
“I know, I know,” declared Campbell, smiling all over his broad chubby face. “I’m not asking you to ram ‘Drummond’s’ down people’s throats. I’m just asking you to make friends with people—all sorts and kinds of people—I’m just suggesting you should go about and enjoy yourself. That’ll not be difficult.”
It was far too easy. That was the trouble.
*
3
“So that’s what you did!” exclaimed Bel who had been listening enthralled to Alec’s story.
“That’s what I did,” nodded Alec. “Of course I called in at the office every now and then and had a chat with Campbe
ll, but most of the time I went about shooting and fishing and having a rattling good time. Incidentally, and without much trouble, I brought in a considerable number of orders for the firm.”
“So it was all right.”
“It was all wrong,” said Alec gloomily.
“But why? I mean you were doing good business——”
“Yes, but you see it wasn’t my proper job. It’s all very well for a junior member of a firm to be absent from the office and go about and bring in orders but I was the head of the firm. I should have been there at headquarters. I should have had all the threads in my hands.” He paused and looked down at his hands. “All the threads in my hands,” he repeated.
Bel waited. There was nothing she could say.
“I knew that—in my heart of hearts,” continued Alec miserably. “I knew perfectly well that it wasn’t the right thing. As a matter of fact I tried several times—went back to the office and tried a spell of concentrated work—but I couldn’t get the hang of it at all. I just got muddled and made some stupid mistakes . . . and Campbell gave me another of his lectures about eyes and ears and hands and feet. Jean got on to me too. Jean said I hadn’t a good business head. Perhaps I haven’t but I’m not really stupid, you know. I can see now that Campbell bamboozled me on purpose.”
“What!” cried Bel.
“Yes,” said Alec nodding. “He made things more difficult for me. He wanted to get rid of me so that he could keep everything in his own hands. Campbell was false—he was an out and out blackguard.”
“Alec!”
“False all through,” continued Alec in a strained voice. “His smooth cheerful face was a mask, and all that talk about eyes and ears and hands and feet was nothing but a ruse to get me out of the way.”
Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2) Page 20