by E A Dineley
Mrs Arthur received her brother-in-law’s letter and one from the lawyer at the same time. Annie gave them into her hand while she was walking round the house, wondering if the odd pieces of furniture she had brought to Castle Orchard with her marriage might be considered hers or whether the receivers, whom she expected daily, would take everything.
She opened the letter from the lawyer first, with misgiving, but she was quite unprepared for the contents, which even the wildest of her imaginings had not foreseen.
Dear Mrs Arthur,
I was surprised to receive your letter. It is curious you had no information from your late husband, for he disposed of his whole property, estate, house, contents of house, absolutely and entirely last August, vacant possession from Michaelmas Day or the day following.
It was a demeaning transaction, one of which I was most anxious not to be in any way party to. We have closed the file on your husband’s family entirely, as without the property there is no business. It is a sad ending when I consider the respect and esteem in which your late father-in-law was held by myself and my partners.
You enquire whether the late Jonathan Arthur, your husband, left a will. I am afraid I cannot say. If there was a will, it was not drawn up by myself. Apart from the estate there was no money, and this being forfeited in a game, there is still no money. I am unaware of the nature of the game. I was not informed. The only surprise is that the gentleman who is now the owner of the property has not come forward to claim it.
Your most humble and obedient servant,
S. Jonas
Mrs Arthur leaned on the table and closed her eyes. Annie ran and put an arm round her, thinking she looked faint, but she rallied sufficiently to read her brother-in-law’s letter, which only confirmed the facts.
‘The news can’t be worse than what it was,’ Annie said, for the servants had been informed that they faced an uncertain future.
‘I think it much worse,’ Mrs Arthur said.
‘Why, how could that be, dear ma’am? Is it the gentlemen coming who will take everything away?’
‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. I must have time to think. I will go outdoors.’
Annie ran to fetch her shawl, a poor threadbare thing of which Annie had better herself.
‘Don’t get cold now, dearie. Annie won’t ever leave you and the dear children, not if she should starve.’ She burst into tears.
Mrs Arthur still determinedly went outdoors. It was cold and blustery. She walked down to the river.
That they must leave Castle Orchard was certain, but why had the lawyer not mentioned her jointure, for surely he must know of that? She must write again. Of course she had known they would probably lose Castle Orchard one way or another, but to think at this very moment they trespassed on it filled her with horror and bewilderment.
Now she looked down at the river. She wished it were spring and that she could gather huge armfuls of lilac or bunches of daffodils, as if in defiance, but the shrivelled leaves on the bough did not inspire her to so extravagant a gesture, and did they not belong to another? Meg, her old dog, had accompanied her and she thought, Even poor Meg will be homeless.
The folly of her youth must punish her for ever: her determination, against all advice, to marry Johnny Arthur. She thought of her father, whom she had loved and defied. How often had she longed for his presence, his dear, calm, kind face and his moderate, clever advice, but he was dead.
At this very moment she lived on charity, the charity of the owner of Castle Orchard. She had no claim to the house, the garden, the servants, even the food she ate. For want of any purpose, she walked along the edge of the river, passed the Philosopher’s Tower and entered the orchard. There were yet a few apples on the trees and she remembered how she and Emmy had been gathering the windfalls in the sun.
Captain Allington, she thought. He is the owner of Castle Orchard, He, of the sweet, perhaps deceptive, smile, for she had noticed it, even though he had only smiled the once, when he had seen her amongst the potatoes. For all his politeness, he was nothing but a gambler too, no better than Johnny, and she lived at his mercy and upon his charity, for it was long past Michaelmas.
In a comfortable posting inn in Surrey, Pride struggled to write to his mother. He acknowledged to himself that he had made a mistake in his previous letter to his only remaining parent, in giving away the information that they were returning to the country for the fox hunting. Had he not made it clear on other occasions that his master was too feeble to get out of bed?
I never have spoken no untruth, honest to God I have not. The constitution of my master must be understood. When he is up he is up and as good as the next man, but you can’t tell when that will be. It is not possible for me to leave him at any time in case he should go down. You might think when fox hunting he would be very well up and I might leave him a week, but in this you would be wrong. My master ought never to be fox hunting, for he has not a sound leg and no grip, so should the horse tip he will be off of it. He surely will bust something before very long – and then who is to manage him? If he gets soaked through he will bring on the ague, and that is a great deal worse than the other.
Pride paused here to consider how much of his letter was true. The importance of truth did not loom large with him; he remained indifferent to the passing fib, even if invoking his Maker, but it was sounder policy to speak the truth where possible. He never told Captain Allington a lie, for experience had taught him he could not get away with it. His mother, though as alarming as his master, could more easily be deceived. Pride’s letter gave the usual impression, he hoped, that he was indispensable. He continued:
If I could separate him from those hunting horses how happy I should be for it surely is no safe occupation for a gentleman what suffered so many wounds. I say so often to that Dan though he don’t hear nothing nor gets his tongue round no words so it may as well be French.
In the next room Allington was also writing a letter. Hunting was an occupation close to his heart, for was it not an activity that mimicked the alarms of war and forced a man to otherwise forget himself? The added hazard of a weak right knee did nothing to discourage him. He had bathed and now sat in his dressing gown in front of a good fire, a small table pulled up before him, the offending right limb on a footstool, his only acknowledgement that it pained him and hunting made it worse.
Captain Allington was usually decisive. He was not accustomed to confusion. His mind perpetually went to the sunny figure of Mrs Arthur with her faded smock, under the apple trees at Castle Orchard or amongst the vegetables. What was her situation, now that Arthur was dead? Her marriage cannot have been a happy one, but did she cling to loving the man she had married? Did she grieve? Did she have anywhere to go? Had she a jointure, money for herself and her children?
At last he dipped the pen in the ink.
Dear Mrs Arthur,
It is with some misgiving that I write to you because I am ignorant of how you are situated. I write to you at Castle Orchard under the presumption that is where you are. Should you have already made other arrangements, this letter can be ignored.
It is my wish you and your children should stay at Castle Orchard until it is entirely convenient for you to remove elsewhere. It would be good of you to let me know what members of your staff would like to stay. Some you may like to take with you. I should prefer the house not to be empty. I shall at the moment retain the agent employed by your late husband so the business of the estate should run much as usual.
I hope this letter causes you no further distress.
Here Allington came to a halt. He would be expected to express a simple condolence on the death of her husband but he declined to do so. He finished the letter thus inadequately:
I shall consider sending my horses and groom. He will be no trouble to you. I shall come down myself in a while.
He signed it R. Allington and sealed it up. He thought, Does she even know it is I that owns Castle Orchard?
&nbs
p; The Revd Hubert Conway slowly mounted the steps to the pulpit. It was Sunday afternoon, a little early for Evensong, but the time suited the school dinner-hour. His congregation consisted of Mrs Arthur, many of the inhabitants of Orchardleigh and the thirty boys who attended the rectory school. He thought it unfortunate his Sunday sermons needed to be modified and reduced to accommodate small boys – and some of them his own flesh and blood – who haunted him all week with their mischievous habits. Suffer the little children . . . Jesus made reference to the innocence of the child, and though the rector knew the child to be innocent – so long as Christened and therefore purged of Original Sin – he did sometimes wonder how small boys could manifest characteristics that seemed so far from innocent. It was, he surmised, the meandering of youth that knew not where it was bound until directed. Not only did the young mind need directing, but he supposed that of every living soul under his care in the parish. It was, undoubtedly, a tall order.
He took as his text He that is first shall be last.
‘Be content with your lot,’ he told the congregation. ‘Your reward will be in Heaven. It is as hard for a rich man, remember, to obtain the Kingdom of Heaven, as it is for a camel to get through the eye of a needle. The Almighty has His place for you, and within the bounds of that place your task is to strive for perfection, not to strive for some elevation for which you were not intended. A menial task well done is of as much value in the eyes of the Lord . . .’
Mrs Arthur had asked Phil if he would prefer to sit with the other boys, but Phil declined. He sat by his mother with a vacant expression on his face. Mrs Arthur had heard most of the rector’s sermons before, for his repertoire was limited, but the text caught her attention. As a camel never could get through the eye of a needle, it seemed the unfortunate rich man was doomed from the start. How was one to view the rapid reversal of one’s position, from comparative comfort, inasmuch as they had enough to eat, to something nearer poverty, needing money to buy Phil boots. Did poverty alter the shape of the camel so it could get through the eye of the needle?
Abandoning any further attempts to listen to the rector, she considered Captain Allington’s letter. His attitude to her was generous but he could not be expected to be patient for ever. She lived at his expense, considering the produce of the garden and the home farm were now all his. Even Domino, the fat old pony, was his, though she could not imagine what use Captain Allington would make of him, unless he had a wife and children. It was curious this possibility had not occurred to her before. The set in which Johnny had moved were mostly bachelors, scorning domesticity, but she was not the only wife to be a victim of gambling, and she thought whole families ruined by it. The very notion of a roulette table, faro, and all those other games made her shudder. In which of these terrible pursuits had Castle Orchard passed from Johnny Arthur to Captain Allington? And at which juncture might he return to London and lose the price of it to someone else? As far as her husband was concerned, she knew his debts to have been incurred not only by gambling but also by wild extravagance.
That Castle Orchard no longer belonged to the Arthurs was now public knowledge. She had felt the need, out of honesty, to tell the few servants. She had also told them that Captain Allington seemed ready to keep them. They viewed the situation with mixed feelings – pity for their mistress but without undue disturbance for their own future. Pride, during Captain Allington’s brief stay, had appeared so fond of his master, they could not believe much ill of him. It was, as a result, curious how life continued exactly as it had before. She knew she must depart from Castle Orchard, but the lawyer had not answered her letter on the subject of the jointure. She knew there was a jointure. Her father had made it so that if she signed certain documents, the money would be available for her use without the necessity of her being widowed. She had, under duress, signed away a legacy she had had on her father’s death, but she had not touched the jointure. How could she decide how she and the children might live without being told her income? She thought they might live in a little house, perhaps just Annie with them, and save money for the education of Phil. The money had been invested, the income reinvested, but why did the lawyer not answer her letter?
She knew she should go to Westcott Park but she barely had the means to travel. She had – temporarily, she supposed – to live either on the charity of the Westcotts or of Captain Allington. She knew the former should be preferable. The only other person with whom she might have had a connection was her mother-in-law, but the old lady had always disliked her and, furthermore, had had a paralytic stroke. To apply to her would not be of the slightest use. She wondered about consulting Mr Stewart Conway. He had written her a formal letter of condolence on the death of her husband which she condemned as hypocritical – but was not much of such things hypocritical, and was she not unfair to blame him for it? She had since not seen him, which made all his hints of undying devotion seem like the kiss of a butterfly on the wind.
The rector came down from the pulpit. She hastily thanked God for her health and strength of mind. Having given her those things, she supposed He expected her to rely on her own resources. She wished she had the deep piety of her late father that had sustained him through troubles. Had he been alive, how willingly would she have surrendered herself and her little family to his care.
On leaving the church the rector took her hand, patted Phil on the head, and said, ‘My dear Mrs Arthur, I’m sorry calamity has so overtaken you. I can’t believe such wickedness, and keep hoping all is rumour and conjecture . . . insubstantial . . . a fib.’
‘It isn’t a fib.’
‘You will be leaving us?’
‘I must, eventually.’
‘But to go where?’
‘I wish I knew.’
‘Not far, I hope. Stewart must advise you. He is clever. He will walk with you across the meadow to Castle Orchard.’
His brother, now coming out of church, seemed ready to walk with her, abandoning the schoolboys to push and shove and scuffle their boots and file away with the undermasters. He gave Mrs Arthur his arm and they went down the path together, past the graves and the innumerable monuments to the Arthurs.
‘My husband forfeited his right to a place here,’ she said, indicating the graves but looking at Phil as she spoke. ‘But then the rights of his heir are forfeited as well.’
‘The sins of the fathers are visited on the children,’ Mr Conway replied.
‘Yes. I always think that very unfair.’
‘We aren’t expected to understand everything.’
‘Now you sound like your brother.’
‘I am his brother. I may sound like him from time to time.’
Mr Conway had his sons with him, his twin boys, chubby, flaxen-haired and disconcertingly indistinguishable one from the other. They twittered and chirped between themselves like a pair of yellow-headed canaries, peculiarly incomprehensible. Phil started to play tag with them and they ran about after him as fast as their sturdy little legs could carry them.
‘Well, they say the estate is gone,’ Mr Conway said. ‘Lost in a game of cards.’
‘I don’t quite know how it was lost, but something of that sort, I suppose. It hardly matters.’
‘And the gentleman of the headache is the new owner.’
‘Yes, Captain Allington.’
‘When does he come?’
‘I don’t know. According to your brother, you are to advise me.’
‘Hubert has great faith in my powers, but I fear it’s ill founded. We can’t set much store by Captain Allington, a gambling man and without doubt unprincipled.’
‘He wrote me a civil letter.’
‘One couldn’t trust him.’
‘I dare say not.’
In silence they opened the little gate in the hedge and entered the Castle Orchard gardens. There was a flight of wooden steps, half-buried in leaves, that led down to a sunken lawn, unkempt and shadowy from the yew that enclosed it. Mrs Arthur looked at her companion.
Where were the hints of undying devotion now she was a widow?
She thought Mr Conway would not want to be married to her, now Castle Orchard belonged to Captain Allington. Was he not too practical a man for that? She certainly had no wish to be married to him or to anybody else, yet what might she be driven to do?
Emmy had captured the twins on the carriage sweep. She stood between them, holding them apart, shaking them and then giving each a kiss. They rolled their eyes and said nothing. Though they were a little older than Emmy, she was as tall.
In the drawing room Mrs Arthur offered Mr Conway a glass of wine and a biscuit. She had found in the cellar one bottle of wine left from her husband’s last visit. Was it her bottle or Captain Allington’s?
‘Your brother said you would advise me, Mr Conway. I wrote to the lawyer asking about the jointure, but get no reply, not one.’
‘Perhaps investments failed and he doesn’t like to tell you.’
‘From the tone of his only letter, I don’t think he would hesitate to tell me.’
‘You won’t be destitute.’
‘And what if I were?’
‘You will, of course, go to your sister at Westcott Park. Your children would obtain some advantage from it. Mr Westcott must be a man of influence. His property is large, the house grand.’
‘But I have no claim on him. Louisa is only my halfsister. It would be a very desperate move.’
‘And what of your stepmother?’
‘There I really couldn’t go. I think she hates me, or something near it.’
‘I dare say none of it will be necessary. Why speculate? Nothing can be done until you know your position. In the meantime you will go there, as this now belongs to Captain Allington. It was odd he never said anything at the time.’
‘Not at all odd if you consider the awkwardness of his arrival here and the fact that Johnny had made no attempt to tell us or him the truth.’