Mr. American

by George MacDonald Fraser

  'What of rum or sweets?' wondered Thornhill.

  'Gettin' some soup,' said the old woman.

  'Yes, that's capital!' shouted the curate. `Mrs Farrar will be bringing some soup presently, won't she?'

  'Drop o' spirits,' said the old woman, nodding, and set her cup down. She sucked at the sweet, slowly, her bright little eyes on Mr Franklin's. He smiled into the wrinkled old face; under her woollen hood he could see that the tiny head was almost bald, only a few white strands on the pink of her scalp. Her hands on the blanket were like old parchment, the fingers bent by arthritis, the veins standing out blue in relief on the transparent mottled skin.

  'Is this your own cottage?' he asked loudly, and after a moment she nodded. 'My cottage. At.' She coughed, and the sweet slipped from her mouth on to the blanket. She fumbled uncertainly for it; Mr Franklin lifted it, and she restored it, sucking gratefully.

  'Freehold,' she croaked, nodding.

  I wonder who our common ancestor was, he thought. And what he'd have thought if he could see the two of us, in Castle Lancing.

  'Do you like it here?' he asked. The old woman blinked, looked at the curate, and then whispered: 'At.' She sucked for a moment and added: 'Cold.'

  'She's right there,' said Thornhill. 'Just as well she can get her rum. Wonder how she does it?'

  'Fuel's very difficult,' said the curate.

  'Would you like to go to some other house,' asked Mr Franklin.

  'Somewhere warm - where they could look after you?'

  There was a sudden flicker of fear in the old eyes. She shook her

  head. 'Not to Norwich,' she said.

  'She thinks you mean the workhouse,' said the curate, and bawled: 'No, no, Bessie! Not the workhouse; nothing like that!'

  'No rum there, for one thing,' murmured Thornhill.

  'Not the work'us,' said the old woman fearfully. 'Stay 'ere.'

  'All right,' said Mr Franklin. 'You'll stay here.' He got up. 'This Mrs Farrar - I'd like her to take on the care of Mrs Reeve on a paying basis - say ten shillings a week, or whatever will recompense her satisfactorily. I want her to provide three meals a day, and clean and look after the place properly. Would she be willing to do that?'

  'I should say so!' exclaimed the curate. 'Why, you -'

  'And I take it Mrs Reeve would have no objection if the house were renovated and made comfortable, properly decorated?'

  'I'm sure she wouldn't,' said the curate, beaming. 'My dear Mr Franklin, this is most remarkably generous!'

  Immediately Mr Franklin regretted his impulse; he should have waited until they got outside, and fixed things with the curate quietly. For now the curate was roaring out the glad news to Mrs Reeve; he had to shout it several times before it got through, and then she looked in bewilderment at Mr Franklin. Then her eyes strayed round the room.

  "E wants to buy me 'ouse?'

  Mr Franklin was on the point of explaining, and then he thought why not? 'Yes,' he said. 'I'll buy your house, Mrs Reeve. But you go on living here, just as long as you like, you understand?'

  The curate added his explanation, and the old woman nodded uncertainly, and then looked at Mr Franklin again. 'What for?' she asked.

  'Because we're the same family,' he said. 'We're both Franklins. You're my kin - we're relations, you see. My name's Franklin, too. So we'll keep it in the family.'

  She nodded uncertainly, and the curate murmured: 'I'm afraid she doesn't understand about you. Never mind, she - '

  'At,' said the old woman. 'My name wor Franklin.' She looked at the American. 'You're ... Franklin?' And she gave a little chuckling laugh. So the curate laughed, too, and Mr Franklin smiled and felt extremely content, and Thornhill remarked that she'd probably cost him a fine bill in rum if he wasn't careful.

  Later, Mr Franklin felt a little less pleased with himself. It was an odd, contrary thing, but being conscious of doing a good deed made him uncomfortable; it smacked of charity, and although he could justify it to himself on the score of his kinship with Mrs Reeve - well, a highly probable, distant kinship, anyway - at the same time he felt his spontaneous gesture had been somehow immodest. He didn't want to appear as though he was playing Lord Bountiful, or to have the village thinking that he thought he could just go around buying anything, and showing off his cash. At the same time, he felt an immense private satisfaction that he had been able to pay back something to ... to whom? Those ghosts up in the churchyard, perhaps - old Matthew, and John, and Jezebel. His ghosts, and Bessie Reeve's.

  There was no way of keeping the affair from the village, of course. The activity round Lye Cottage when the painters, joiners, and others moved in was there for all to see, and Mrs Farrar, after Mr Franklin and the curate had called on her to state their requirements, was thunderstruck with her good fortune and ready to tell her neighbours so. On the whole, Castle Lancing approved; the Yankee squire was ready to look after his own - it remained to be seen if his beneficence would extend even further than his own namesakes, but in the meantime, good for him.

  And even outside Castle Lancing Mr Franklin's quixotic gesture was noticed. A few days after his visit to Lye Cottage - indeed, on the very morning when he received from a Thetford solicitor the deed which made him its owner for the princely sum of thirty pounds sterling, duly paid to the solicitor on behalf of Elizabeth Reeve, widow, nee Franklin - a caller arrived at Lancing Manor just as Mr Franklin was finishing breakfast. Samson showed him into the study: a soldierly, abrupt gentleman named Major Blake, very spruce in breeches and jacket.

  'I represent the Gower Estate, Mr Franklin. As you will be aware, we hold considerable property in and round this village. You didn't know? You surprise me. However, that is the case.' The major crossed one neatly-booted leg over another. 'I understand that you have recently purchased Lye Cottage.'

  'I got the deed only this morning.' Mr Franklin tapped the buff envelope on his table, and the major nodded.

  'Indeed. I confess to being slightly puzzled, Mr Franklin - even slightly piqued.' The major smiled without amusement. 'You see, for several years the Gower Estate has been trying, unsuccessfully, to purchase Lye Cottage. The owner, a widow woman, has refused several offers - several generous offers - from us. Perhaps you knew that?'

  Mr Franklin shook his head. 'This is the first I've heard of it.'

  'Ah.' Major Blake raised his eyebrows in polite surprise. 'That being so, we were taken aback to learn that you, a comparative newcomer to the district - if you'll forgive me for saying so - had succeeded where we had failed. May I ask what was your interest in the property?'

  The clipped tone, the tilt of the head, touched lightly on Mr Franklin's Republican skin. But he replied amiably. 'Certainly. May I ask first of all what is your interest - in my interest?'

  'Of course. As I said, the Gower Estate owns extensive property in this area. Most of the village, in fact, except for a few properties - your own house here, for example, and half a dozen others. Most of the residents are tenants of the estate, and work on our land. Naturally, for the sake of... uniformity, we are interested in adding properties to our present holdings.'

  'I see.' Mr Franklin frowned. 'Lye Cottage isn't much of a place, though, surely?'

  'In itself, no. In fact, in itself it is virtually worthless.' Major Blake's gesture dismissed Lye Cottage. 'But it would be useful for its position.' He paused, and favoured Mr Franklin with a sour smile. 'I am costing my principal money in saying this, I dare say, but Lye Cottage is the one small enclave on the north side of Castle Lancing village which we do not own. Without going into detail which would be of little interest to you, I can say that while it remains outside our control, we are unable to proceed with developments which we have had in mind for several years now. Important developments from the point of view of Gower Estate - and for the area generally, of course.'

  'Well,' said Mr Franklin, 'that certainly explains your interest. Thank you. Mine is simple enough. The old lady, Mrs Reeve, who lives there, is a distant rel
ative of mine. You didn't know? You surprise me. I thought everyone around here knew by now that I'm a returned exile. Anyway, I bought her cottage - it was pretty run down, the old lady was at low water ... so, I took it over. That's all.'

  'A generous gesture,' said Major Blake. 'But I still fail to see why - Mrs Reeve, did you say? - should have accepted your offer when she has repeatedly rejected ours. May I ask what you paid her for it?'

  'Thirty pounds for the freehold.'

  The major frowned. 'We offered rather more than that

  'Yes, but you probably weren't prepared to let her stay in the cottage. I was, you see.'

  'Ah-h.' The major opened his eyes a little wider. 'She remains as your tenant, in fact.'

  'You could say so.'

  'That explains things,' said Major Blake wisely. 'Well, that being so, we are rather at your mercy, Mr Franklin. However, we must just grin and bear it, mustn't we?' He smiled knowingly. 'I think it will save us time if you state your terms.'

  'Sorry?'

  'How much do you want for Lye Cottage, Mr Franklin?'

  Mr Franklin stared in genuine surprise, and then laughed. 'I don't want anything for it! I just explained, I bought it so that I could make it fit and comfortable for my old relation to live there. How long that will be, I don't know; a few years, I hope. But for that time, I'm sorry - it's not for sale.'

  'But surely - one cottage is very like another. Could she not live somewhere else?'

  'She doesn't want to. She likes the place.' Mr Franklin shook his head.

  'Believe me, major, I'm no horse trader. If the old lady wanted to move out, I'd let you have it, and welcome. But she doesn't. I agreed that she'd go on living there -in fact, I signed to that effect....' He shook his head, smiling. 'So there's no way past it, I'm afraid.'

  Major Blake pursed his lips. `It might be possible to persuade her, surely?'

  'I wouldn't dream of trying,' said Mr Franklin, and his smile was a shade less warm.

  'You're sure?' The major looked knowing again. 'I feel bound to tell you . . . that the Estate is willing to be more than generous as to purchase price. Far more then generous.'

  Mr Franklin considered him. 'Go on.'

  'Two hundred pounds,' said the major impressively, and Mr Franklin whistled.

  'Is there oil on that property? You really want it, don't you?' He frowned. 'Might I ask ... this development . . . what's it to be, exactly?'

  'That,' said the major primly, 'I am not at liberty to divulge.' 'No? Well, I was only curious. It doesn't make any difference, major. I still can't sell Lye Cottage. I'm sorry.'

  'You're not serious?' The major's eyes were wide open now. 'Really!

  You won't take two hundred pounds?'

  'Not two thousand. As I said, I'm not horse trading.'

  The major regarded him in silence for a moment, obviously puzzled. Then he sighed, and tapped his chin. 'I see. Well, in that case . . .' He hesitated, and then said, in a confidential tone: 'Mr Franklin, this is rather difficult, but I'm obliged to ask you. I appreciate your concern for this woman - this Mrs Reeve. Ah - that apart . may I ask you, as man to man, you understand, whether your reluctance to sell is in any way connected with the fact that I represent Gower Estate?'

  'Gower Estate?' Mr Franklin shook his head in surprise. 'Why should it be? I never even heard of them.'

  He was aware that Major Blake was regarding him with open disbelief, expressed by a rather cynical smile.

  'If you say so, of course. But I must say. . . well, the coincidence is remarkable. However, that is nothing to do with me.' The major placed his hands on his chair-arms, preparatory to rising. 'I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Mr Franklin - '

  'Just a moment.' Mr Franklin rose behind his desk. 'You're way ahead of me, major. What is the remarkable coincidence?'

  The major was brisk. 'You haven't heard of Gower Estate? You are acquainted with its owner, though. Lord Lacy.'

  'Lord Lacy? Frank Lacy?'

  'His family name is Gower.' Major Blake's tone was chilly, but as he looked at Mr Franklin it thawed slightly. 'Were you really not aware of that?'

  'Not for a minute.'

  'Oh.' The major paused, and looked at the ceiling. 'Then in that case, I imagine I owe you an apology.'

  'You're still ahead of me. Major, would you mind telling me what you're talking about.'

  The major thought for a moment, choosing his words.

  'It is fairly common knowledge that you had a disagreement with his lordship at Oxton Hall. Immediately following that, you purchase a property on which he has had his eye for some years past. That was the coincidence I mentioned just now. It did not appear to be a coincidence to Lord Lacy. He assumed - and I confess it seemed a not unreasonable assumption - that the two events were connected That - '

  'That I bought Lye Cottage just to spite him? He really thought that?'

  The major shrugged. 'Or to make him pay an exorbitant price for it. That had crossed his mind.'

  'And a charitable mind it must be, yes, sir!' Mr Franklin laughed, and it was not a pleasant laugh. 'Well, I'm damned! He really has a high opinion of me. You can tell him, major, with my compliments, that when I disagree with anyone, I settle it on the square. As I imagined I had settled with Lord Lacy. When I hit somebody, that ends it, for me - I don't go around trying to pick his pocket, too.'

  'Quite so.' Major Blake nodded. 'I remind you, Mr Franklin, that I have already tendered my own apology; I'm in no doubt that in buying Lye Cottage you were unaware of his lordship's interest. It's unfortunate, though.'

  'Yes,' said Mr Franklin. 'Come to think of it, I guess I can't blame him for being suspicious,' he added ruefully. 'If I thought it would clear the air - well, I'd like to oblige him, but ...'

  'You'd consider it?'

  'I can't, sir. Mrs Reeve has got to stay. I hope Lord Lacy will understand that, and that there's no ... no personal feeling about it.'

  'Between ourselves,' said Major Blake, 'I doubt if he will. It's all very unlucky. However - '

  'Look,' said Mr Franklin, 'the last thing I want is any misunderstanding ... any bad blood. Suppose I were to explain to him, personally . . .' He caught the major's look. 'No, I guess not.' He sighed. 'Then, as you say - it's very unlucky.'

  In fact it was the kind of ill-luck which he could bear with fortitude; he was not going to lose any sleep over Lord Lacy. But he did mention the matter to Peggy, on one of those visits to Oxton Hall which were becoming increasingly regular; he thought hard before broaching the subject to her, for he had no wish, he told himself, to make Lacy appear any blacker in her eyes. On the other hand, he did not want it publicly thought that he had acted out of spite towards the peer.

  'No one's going to think that for a minute,' said Peggy firmly. 'They know Frank, and will realise it's just the sort of mean idea that would occur to him. Really, he's the giddy limit! And he sent that odious Blake to try and bribe you into selling the cottage and putting the old woman out?'

  'Not exactly. And I didn't find Blake all that odious, actually. Pompous, perhaps, but - '

  'He's a tick,' said Peggy. 'Gives himself huge airs, when everyone knows he was in the Service Corps, or something equally unfashionable - what Daddy calls a baggage-wallah. Only a louse would work for Frank, anyway.'

  'My, you've really taken a dislike to him - to Lacy, I mean.'

  'It's nothing new. And after the way he behaved here, and now this suggestion that you were trying to do him the dirty over some silly cottage . . . well, d'you blame me?'

  'I guess not.' They were riding back to Oxton for afternoon tea, pacing along beside the paddock wood. 'I can see his side of it, though. We got off to a bad start that day of the hunt, and then the business in the middle of the night when I slapped him down, and now the cottage. He hasn't got many reasons to like me, has he?'

  Peggy gave him a sidelong look. 'You think those are the worst turns you've done him?'

  'You mean there are others I don't know ab
out? Oh - the business of your father showing him the door? Yes, he can blame me for that, too, I suppose.'

  'Even that's the least of it, so far as he's concerned.'

  'For Pete's sake! What else have I done?'

  'Well,' said Peggy, patting her horse's mane and looking carefully straight ahead, 'you've been around here a good deal, haven't you?

  And you can't imagine that Frank doesn't know that. And draws his own sweet conclusions.'

  'Which are?'

  'Don't be so coy, Mark. You know perfectly well what I mean.' 'Sure I do,' grinned Mr Franklin. 'I just want to hear you say it.' 'Well, you can jolly well want! Say it yourself, and don't be so confounded smug!'

  'All right, then. He thinks I've cut him out with the beautiful Miss Peggy Clayton.'

  'Silly ass, isn't he?'

  'Is he?' His tone was light enough, but his smile was not quite bantering.