The Complete Project Gutenberg Works of Galsworthy

J >> John Galsworthy >> The Complete Project Gutenberg Works of Galsworthy


"Now what did this cost?" he asked, when he saw the terrace extending
round the corner.

"What should you think?" inquired Bosinney.

"How should I know?" replied James somewhat nonplussed; "two or three
hundred, I dare say!"

"The exact sum!"

James gave him a sharp look, but the architect appeared unconscious, and
he put the answer down to mishearing.

On arriving at the garden entrance, he stopped to look at the view.

"That ought to come down," he said, pointing to the oak-tree.

"You think so? You think that with the tree there you don't get enough
view for your money."

Again James eyed him suspiciously--this young man had a peculiar way of
putting things: "Well!" he said, with a perplexed, nervous, emphasis, "I
don't see what you want with a tree."

"It shall come down to-morrow," said Bosinney.

James was alarmed. "Oh," he said, "don't go saying I said it was to come
down! I know nothing about it!"

"No?"

James went on in a fluster: "Why, what should I know about it? It's
nothing to do with me! You do it on your own responsibility."

"You'll allow me to mention your name?"

James grew more and more alarmed: "I don't know what you want mentioning
my name for," he muttered; "you'd better leave the tree alone. It's not
your tree!"

He took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. They entered the
house. Like Swithin, James was impressed by the inner court-yard.

"You must have spent a douce of a lot of money here," he said, after
staring at the columns and gallery for some time. "Now, what did it cost
to put up those columns?"

"I can't tell you off-hand," thoughtfully answered Bosinney, "but I know
it was a deuce of a lot!"

"I should think so," said James. "I should...." He caught the
architect's eye, and broke off. And now, whenever he came to anything of
which he desired to know the cost, he stifled that curiosity.

Bosinney appeared determined that he should see everything, and had not
James been of too 'noticing' a nature, he would certainly have found
himself going round the house a second time. He seemed so anxious to be
asked questions, too, that James felt he must be on his guard. He began
to suffer from his exertions, for, though wiry enough for a man of his
long build, he was seventy-five years old.

He grew discouraged; he seemed no nearer to anything, had not obtained
from his inspection any of the knowledge he had vaguely hoped for. He
had merely increased his dislike and mistrust of this young man, who had
tired him out with his politeness, and in whose manner he now certainly
detected mockery.

The fellow was sharper than he had thought, and better-looking than he
had hoped. He had a--a 'don't care' appearance that James, to whom risk
was the most intolerable thing in life, did not appreciate; a peculiar
smile, too, coming when least expected; and very queer eyes. He reminded
James, as he said afterwards, of a hungry cat. This was as near as he
could get, in conversation with Emily, to a description of the peculiar
exasperation, velvetiness, and mockery, of which Bosinney's manner had
been composed.

At last, having seen all that was to be seen, he came out again at the
door where he had gone in; and now, feeling that he was wasting time and
strength and money, all for nothing, he took the courage of a Forsyte in
both hands, and, looking sharply at Bosinney, said:

"I dare say you see a good deal of my daughter-in-law; now, what does she
think of the house? But she hasn't seen it, I suppose?"

This he said, knowing all about Irene's visit not, of course, that there
was anything in the visit, except that extraordinary remark she had made
about 'not caring to get home'--and the story of how June had taken the
news!

He had determined, by this way of putting the question, to give Bosinney
a chance, as he said to himself.

The latter was long in answering, but kept his eyes with uncomfortable
steadiness on James.

"She has seen the house, but I can't tell you what she thinks of it."

Nervous and baffled, James was constitutionally prevented from letting
the matter drop.

"Oh!" he said, "she has seen it? Soames brought her down, I suppose?"

Bosinney smilingly replied: "Oh, no!"

"What, did she come down alone?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then--who brought her?"

"I really don't know whether I ought to tell you who brought her."

To James, who knew that it was Swithin, this answer appeared
incomprehensible.

"Why!" he stammered, "you know that...." but he stopped, suddenly
perceiving his danger.

"Well," he said, "if you don't want to tell me I suppose you won't!
Nobody tells me anything."

Somewhat to his surprise Bosinney asked him a question.

"By the by," he said, "could you tell me if there are likely to be any
more of you coming down? I should like to be on the spot!"

"Any more?" said James bewildered, "who should there be more? I don't
know of any more. Good-bye?"

Looking at the ground he held out his hand, crossed the palm of it with
Bosinney's, and taking his umbrella just above the silk, walked away
along the terrace.

Before he turned the corner he glanced back, and saw Bosinney following
him slowly--'slinking along the wall' as he put it to himself, 'like a
great cat.' He paid no attention when the young fellow raised his hat.

Outside the drive, and out of sight, he slackened his pace still more.
Very slowly, more bent than when he came, lean, hungry, and disheartened,
he made his way back to the station.

The Buccaneer, watching him go so sadly home, felt sorry perhaps for his
behaviour to the old man.




CHAPTER V

SOAMES AND BOSINNEY CORRESPOND

James said nothing to his son of this visit to the house; but, having
occasion to go to Timothy's on morning on a matter connected with a
drainage scheme which was being forced by the sanitary authorities on his
brother, he mentioned it there.

It was not, he said, a bad house. He could see that a good deal could be
made of it. The fellow was clever in his way, though what it was going
to cost Soames before it was done with he didn't know.

Euphemia Forsyte, who happened to be in the room--she had come round to
borrow the Rev. Mr. Scoles' last novel, 'Passion and Paregoric', which
was having such a vogue--chimed in.

"I saw Irene yesterday at the Stores; she and Mr. Bosinney were having a
nice little chat in the Groceries."

It was thus, simply, that she recorded a scene which had really made a
deep and complicated impression on her. She had been hurrying to the
silk department of the Church and Commercial Stores--that Institution
than which, with its admirable system, admitting only guaranteed persons
on a basis of payment before delivery, no emporium can be more highly
recommended to Forsytes--to match a piece of prunella silk for her
mother, who was waiting in the carriage outside.

Passing through the Groceries her eye was unpleasantly attracted by the
back view of a very beautiful figure. It was so charmingly proportioned,
so balanced, and so well clothed, that Euphemia's instinctive propriety
was at once alarmed; such figures, she knew, by intuition rather than
experience, were rarely connected with virtue--certainly never in her
mind, for her own back was somewhat difficult to fit.

Her suspicions were fortunately confirmed. A young man coming from the
Drugs had snatched off his hat, and was accosting the lady with the
unknown back.

It was then that she saw with whom she had to deal; the lady was
undoubtedly Mrs. Soames, the young man Mr. Bosinney. Concealing herself
rapidly over the purchase of a box of Tunisian dates, for she was
impatient of awkwardly meeting people with parcels in her hands, and at
the busy time of the morning, she was quite unintentionally an interested
observer of their little interview.

Mrs. Soames, usually somewhat pale, had a delightful colour in her
cheeks; and Mr. Bosinney's manner was strange, though attractive (she
thought him rather a distinguished-looking man, and George's name for
him, 'The Buccaneer'--about which there was something romantic--quite
charming). He seemed to be pleading. Indeed, they talked so
earnestly--or, rather, he talked so earnestly, for Mrs. Soames did not
say much--that they caused, inconsiderately, an eddy in the traffic. One
nice old General, going towards Cigars, was obliged to step quite out of
the way, and chancing to look up and see Mrs. Soames' face, he actually
took off his hat, the old fool! So like a man!

But it was Mrs. Soames' eyes that worried Euphemia. She never once
looked at Mr. Bosinney until he moved on, and then she looked after him.
And, oh, that look!

On that look Euphemia had spent much anxious thought. It is not too much
to say that it had hurt her with its dark, lingering softness, for all
the world as though the woman wanted to drag him back, and unsay
something she had been saying.

Ah, well, she had had no time to go deeply into the matter just then,
with that prunella silk on her hands; but she was 'very intriguee'--very!
She had just nodded to Mrs. Soames, to show her that she had seen; and,
as she confided, in talking it over afterwards, to her chum Francie
(Roger's daughter), "Didn't she look caught out just? ...."

James, most averse at the first blush to accepting any news confirmatory
of his own poignant suspicions, took her up at once.

"Oh" he said, "they'd be after wall-papers no doubt."

Euphemia smiled. "In the Groceries?" she said softly; and, taking
'Passion and Paregoric' from the table, added: "And so you'll lend me
this, dear Auntie? Good-bye!" and went away.

James left almost immediately after; he was late as it was.

When he reached the office of Forsyte, Bustard and Forsyte, he found
Soames, sitting in his revolving, chair, drawing up a defence. The
latter greeted his father with a curt good-morning, and, taking an
envelope from his pocket, said:

"It may interest you to look through this."

James read as follows:

309D, SLOANE STREET, May 15.
'DEAR FORSYTE,

'The construction of your house being now completed, my duties as
architect have come to an end. If I am to go on with the business of
decoration, which at your request I undertook, I should like you to
clearly understand that I must have a free hand.

'You never come down without suggesting something that goes counter to my
scheme. I have here three letters from you, each of which recommends an
article I should never dream of putting in. I had your father here
yesterday afternoon, who made further valuable suggestions.

'Please make up your mind, therefore, whether you want me to decorate for
you, or to retire which on the whole I should prefer to do.

'But understand that, if I decorate, I decorate alone, without
interference of any sort.

If I do the thing, I will do it thoroughly, but I must have a free hand.

'Yours truly,
'PHILIP BOSINNEY.'

The exact and immediate cause of this letter cannot, of course, be told,
though it is not improbable that Bosinney may have been moved by some
sudden revolt against his position towards Soames--that eternal position
of Art towards Property--which is so admirably summed up, on the back of
the most indispensable of modern appliances, in a sentence comparable to
the very finest in Tacitus:

THOS. T. SORROW, Inventor. BERT M. PADLAND, Proprietor.

"What are you going to say to him?" James asked.

Soames did not even turn his head. "I haven't made up my mind," he said,
and went on with his defence.

A client of his, having put some buildings on a piece of ground that did
not belong to him, had been suddenly and most irritatingly warned to take
them off again. After carefully going into the facts, however, Soames
had seen his way to advise that his client had what was known as a title
by possession, and that, though undoubtedly the ground did not belong to
him, he was entitled to keep it, and had better do so; and he was now
following up this advice by taking steps to--as the sailors say--'make
it so.'

He had a distinct reputation for sound advice; people saying of him: "Go
to young Forsyte--a long-headed fellow!" and he prized this reputation
highly.

His natural taciturnity was in his favour; nothing could be more
calculated to give people, especially people with property (Soames had no
other clients), the impression that he was a safe man. And he was safe.
Tradition, habit, education, inherited aptitude, native caution, all
joined to form a solid professional honesty, superior to temptation--from
the very fact that it was built on an innate avoidance of risk. How
could he fall, when his soul abhorred circumstances which render a fall
possible--a man cannot fall off the floor!

And those countless Forsytes, who, in the course of innumerable
transactions concerned with property of all sorts (from wives to water
rights), had occasion for the services of a safe man, found it both
reposeful and profitable to confide in Soames. That slight
superciliousness of his, combined with an air of mousing amongst
precedents, was in his favour too--a man would not be supercilious unless
he knew!

He was really at the head of the business, for though James still came
nearly every day to, see for himself, he did little now but sit in his
chair, twist his legs, slightly confuse things already decided, and
presently go away again, and the other partner, Bustard, was a poor
thing, who did a great deal of work, but whose opinion was never taken.

So Soames went steadily on with his defence. Yet it would be idle to say
that his mind was at ease. He was suffering from a sense of impending
trouble, that had haunted him for some time past. He tried to think it
physical--a condition of his liver--but knew that it was not.

He looked at his watch. In a quarter of an hour he was due at the
General Meeting of the New Colliery Company--one of Uncle Jolyon's
concerns; he should see Uncle Jolyon there, and say something to him
about Bosinney--he had not made up his mind what, but something--in any
case he should not answer this letter until he had seen Uncle Jolyon. He
got up and methodically put away the draft of his defence. Going into a
dark little cupboard, he turned up the light, washed his hands with a
piece of brown Windsor soap, and dried them on a roller towel. Then he
brushed his hair, paying strict attention to the parting, turned down the
light, took his hat, and saying he would be back at half-past two,
stepped into the Poultry.

It was not far to the Offices of the New Colliery Company in Ironmonger
Lane, where, and not at the Cannon Street Hotel, in accordance with the
more ambitious practice of other companies, the General Meeting was
always held. Old Jolyon had from the first set his face against the
Press. What business--he said--had the Public with his concerns!

Soames arrived on the stroke of time, and took his seat alongside the
Board, who, in a row, each Director behind his own ink-pot, faced their
Shareholders.

In the centre of this row old Jolyon, conspicuous in his black,
tightly-buttoned frock-coat and his white moustaches, was leaning back
with finger tips crossed on a copy of the Directors' report and accounts.

On his right hand, always a little larger than life, sat the Secretary,
'Down-by-the-starn' Hemmings; an all-too-sad sadness beaming in his fine
eyes; his iron-grey beard, in mourning like the rest of him, giving the
feeling of an all-too-black tie behind it.

The occasion indeed was a melancholy one, only six weeks having elapsed
since that telegram had come from Scorrier, the mining expert, on a
private mission to the Mines, informing them that Pippin, their
Superintendent, had committed suicide in endeavouring, after his
extraordinary two years' silence, to write a letter to his Board. That
letter was on the table now; it would be read to the Shareholders, who
would of course be put into possession of all the facts.

Hemmings had often said to Soames, standing with his coat-tails divided
before the fireplace:

"What our Shareholders don't know about our affairs isn't worth knowing.
You may take that from me, Mr. Soames."

On one occasion, old Jolyon being present, Soames recollected a little
unpleasantness. His uncle had looked up sharply and said: "Don't talk
nonsense, Hemmings! You mean that what they do know isn't worth
knowing!" Old Jolyon detested humbug.

Hemmings, angry-eyed, and wearing a smile like that of a trained poodle,
had replied in an outburst of artificial applause: "Come, now, that's
good, sir--that's very good. Your uncle will have his joke!"

The next time he had seen Soames he had taken the opportunity of saying
to him: "The chairman's getting very old!--I can't get him to understand
things; and he's so wilful--but what can you expect, with a chin like
his?"

Soames had nodded.

Everyone knew that Uncle Jolyon's chin was a caution. He was looking
worried to-day, in spite of his General Meeting look; he (Soames) should
certainly speak to him about Bosinney.

Beyond old Jolyon on the left was little Mr. Booker, and he, too, wore
his General Meeting look, as though searching for some particularly
tender shareholder. And next him was the deaf director, with a frown;
and beyond the deaf director, again, was old Mr. Bleedham, very bland,
and having an air of conscious virtue--as well he might, knowing that the
brown-paper parcel he always brought to the Board-room was concealed
behind his hat (one of that old-fashioned class, of flat-brimmed top-hats
which go with very large bow ties, clean-shaven lips, fresh cheeks, and
neat little, white whiskers).

Soames always attended the General Meeting; it was considered better that
he should do so, in case 'anything should arise!' He glanced round with
his close, supercilious air at the walls of the room, where hung plans of
the mine and harbour, together with a large photograph of a shaft leading
to a working which had proved quite remarkably unprofitable. This
photograph--a witness to the eternal irony underlying commercial
enterprise till retained its position on the--wall, an effigy of the
directors' pet, but dead, lamb.

And now old Jolyon rose, to present the report and accounts.

Veiling under a Jove-like serenity that perpetual antagonism deep-seated
in the bosom of a director towards his shareholders, he faced them
calmly. Soames faced them too. He knew most of them by sight. There
was old Scrubsole, a tar man, who always came, as Hemmings would say, 'to
make himself nasty,' a cantankerous-looking old fellow with a red face, a
jowl, and an enormous low-crowned hat reposing on his knee. And the Rev.
Mr. Boms, who always proposed a vote of thanks to the chairman, in which
he invariably expressed the hope that the Board would not forget to
elevate their employees, using the word with a double e, as being more
vigorous and Anglo-Saxon (he had the strong Imperialistic tendencies of
his cloth). It was his salutary custom to buttonhole a director
afterwards, and ask him whether he thought the coming year would be good
or bad; and, according to the trend of the answer, to buy or sell three
shares within the ensuing fortnight.

And there was that military man, Major O'Bally, who could not help
speaking, if only to second the re-election of the auditor, and who
sometimes caused serious consternation by taking toasts--proposals
rather--out of the hands of persons who had been flattered with little
slips of paper, entrusting the said proposals to their care.

These made up the lot, together with four or five strong, silent
shareholders, with whom Soames could sympathize--men of business, who
liked to keep an eye on their affairs for themselves, without being
fussy--good, solid men, who came to the City every day and went back in
the evening to good, solid wives.

Good, solid wives! There was something in that thought which roused the
nameless uneasiness in Soames again.

What should he say to his uncle? What answer should he make to this
letter?

. . . . "If any shareholder has any question to put, I shall be glad
to answer it." A soft thump. Old Jolyon had let the report and accounts
fall, and stood twisting his tortoise-shell glasses between thumb and
forefinger.

The ghost of a smile appeared on Soames' face. They had better hurry up
with their questions! He well knew his uncle's method (the ideal one) of
at once saying: "I propose, then, that the report and accounts be
adopted!" Never let them get their wind--shareholders were notoriously
wasteful of time!

A tall, white-bearded man, with a gaunt, dissatisfied face, arose:

"I believe I am in order, Mr. Chairman, in raising a question on this
figure of L5000 in the accounts. 'To the widow and family"' (he looked
sourly round), "'of our late superintendent,' who so--er--ill-advisedly
(I say--ill-advisedly) committed suicide, at a time when his services
were of the utmost value to this Company. You have stated that the
agreement which he has so unfortunately cut short with his own hand was
for a period of five years, of which one only had expired--I--"

Old Jolyon made a gesture of impatience.

"I believe I am in order, Mr. Chairman--I ask whether this amount paid,
or proposed to be paid, by the Board to the er--deceased--is for
services which might have been rendered to the Company--had he not
committed suicide?"

"It is in recognition of past services, which we all know--you as well as
any of us--to have been of vital value."

"Then, sir, all I have to say is that the services being past, the amount
is too much."

The shareholder sat down.

Old Jolyon waited a second and said: "I now propose that the report
and--"

The shareholder rose again: "May I ask if the Board realizes that it is
not their money which--I don't hesitate to say that if it were their
money...."

A second shareholder, with a round, dogged face, whom Soames recognised
as the late superintendent's brother-in-law, got up and said warmly: "In
my opinion, sir, the sum is not enough!"

The Rev. Mr. Boms now rose to his feet. "If I may venture to express
myself," he said, "I should say that the fact of the--er--deceased
having committed suicide should weigh very heavily--very heavily with
our worthy chairman. I have no doubt it has weighed with him, for--I say
this for myself and I think for everyone present (hear, hear)--he enjoys
our confidence in a high degree. We all desire, I should hope, to be
charitable. But I feel sure" (he-looked severely at the late
superintendent's brother-in-law) "that he will in some way, by some
written expression, or better perhaps by reducing the amount, record our
grave disapproval that so promising and valuable a life should have been
thus impiously removed from a sphere where both its own interests and--if
I may say so--our interests so imperatively demanded its continuance. We
should not--nay, we may not--countenance so grave a dereliction of all
duty, both human and divine."

The reverend gentleman resumed his seat. The late superintendent's
brother-in-law again rose: "What I have said I stick to," he said; "the
amount is not enough!"

The first shareholder struck in: "I challenge the legality of the
payment. In my opinion this payment is not legal. The Company's
solicitor is present; I believe I am in order in asking him the
question."

All eyes were now turned upon Soames. Something had arisen!

He stood up, close-lipped and cold; his nerves inwardly fluttered, his
attention tweaked away at last from contemplation of that cloud looming
on the horizon of his mind.

"The point," he said in a low, thin voice, "is by no means clear. As
there is no possibility of future consideration being received, it is
doubtful whether the payment is strictly legal. If it is desired, the
opinion of the court could be taken."

The superintendent's brother-in-law frowned, and said in a meaning tone:
"We have no doubt the opinion of the court could be taken. May I ask the
name of the gentleman who has given us that striking piece of
information? Mr. Soames Forsyte? Indeed!" He looked from Soames to old
Jolyon in a pointed manner.

A flush coloured Soames' pale cheeks, but his superciliousness did not
waver. Old Jolyon fixed his eyes on the speaker.

"If," he said, "the late superintendents brother-in-law has nothing more
to say, I propose that the report and accounts...."

At this moment, however, there rose one of those five silent, stolid
shareholders, who had excited Soames' sympathy. He said:

"I deprecate the proposal altogether. We are expected to give charity to
this man's wife and children, who, you tell us, were dependent on him.
They may have been; I do not care whether they were or not. I object to
the whole thing on principle. It is high time a stand was made against
this sentimental humanitarianism. The country is eaten up with it. I
object to my money being paid to these people of whom I know nothing, who
have done nothing to earn it. I object in toto; it is not business. I
now move that the report and accounts be put back, and amended by
striking out the grant altogether."