The Complete Project Gutenberg Works of Galsworthy

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


In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with eyes
wide open and mouth tight closed. And he had watched. It was certainly
remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at all, who
looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any moment, should
actually say that he "stood or fell" by this purchase, knowing that if he
fell he would be a beggar. Why should the old chap be so keen on getting
it through? It would do him personally no good, unless--Exactly! He had
left the meeting, therefore, secretly confident that old Heythorp had got
something out of this transaction which would enable him to make a
substantial proposal to his creditors. So that when the old man had
declared that he was going to make none, something had turned sour in his
heart, and he had said to himself: "All right, you old rascal! You don't
know C. V." The cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the defiant
look of his deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of one who
prided himself on letting no man get the better of him. All that
evening, seated on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on the
other, and the younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the
violin--he cogitated. And now and again he smiled, but not too much. He
did not see his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long he
would. It would not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his
perch. There was already a healthy feeling among the shareholders that
he was past work and should be scrapped. The old chap should find that
Charles V. was not to be defied; that when he got his teeth into a thing,
he did not let it go. By hook or crook he would have the old man off his
Boards, or his debt out of him as the price of leaving him alone. His
life or his money--and the old fellow should determine which. With the
memory of that defiance fresh within him, he almost hoped it might come
to be the first, and turning to Mrs. Ventnor, he said abruptly:

"Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the curate."
He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two daughters,
and males and females must be paired, but he intended to pack him off
after dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish matters while he and
Bob Pillin sat over their wine. What he expected to get out of the young
man he did not as yet know.

On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had gone to
his cellar. Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the trick, or must
he add one of the old Madeira? He decided to be on the safe side. A
bottle or so of champagne went very little way with him personally, and
young Pillin might be another.

The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into such an
admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin might drink
the lot or get wind of the rat. And when his guests were gone, and his
family had retired, he stood staring into the fire, putting together the
pieces of the puzzle. Five or six thousand pounds--six would be ten per
cent. on sixty! Exactly! Scrivens--young Pillin had said! But Crow &
Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were old Heythorp's solicitors. What could
that mean, save that the old man wanted to cover the tracks of a secret
commission, and had handled the matter through solicitors who did not
know the state of his affairs! But why Pillin's solicitors? With this
sale just going through, it must look deuced fishy to them too. Was it
all a mare's nest, after all? In such circumstances he himself would
have taken the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of anybody.
Puzzled, therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that touch of
liver which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed and
woke his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have soup
like that!

Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light came;
but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in touch, he
decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise something out
of them. Feeling, from experience, that any really delicate matter would
only be entrusted to the most responsible member of the firm, he had
asked to see Scriven himself, and just as he had taken his hat to go, he
said casually:

"By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?"

Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: "Er--no," in exactly
the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply that though he
didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would. He knew therefore
that the answer was a true one. And non-plussed, he hazarded:

"Oh! I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne."

This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came Scriven's
eyebrows, and he said:

"Mrs. Larne--we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection. Why?"

"Oh! Young Pillin told me--"

"Young Pillin? Why, it's his---!" A little pause, and then: "Old Mr.
Heythorp's solicitors are Crow & Donkin, I believe."

Mr. Ventnor held out his hand. "Yes, yes," he said; "goodbye. Glad to
have got that matter settled up," and out he went, and down the street,
important, smiling. By George! He had got it! "It's his
father"--Scriven had been going to say. What a plant! Exactly! Oh!
neat! Old Pillin had made the settlement direct; and the solicitors were
in the dark; that disposed of his difficulty about them. No money had
passed between old Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny. Oh! neat! But
not neat enough for Charles Ventnor, who had that nose for rats. Then
his smile died, and with a little chill he perceived that it was all
based on supposition--not quite good enough to go on! What then?
Somehow he must see this Mrs. Larne, or better--old Pillin himself. The
point to ascertain was whether she had any connection of her own with
Pillin. Clearly young Pillin didn't know of it; for, according to him,
old Heythorp had made the settlement. By Jove! That old rascal was
deep--all the more satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C.
V. To unmask the old cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature
of a public service. But on what pretext could he visit Pillin? A
subscription to the Windeatt almshouses! That would make him talk in
self-defence and he would take care not to press the request to the
actual point of getting a subscription. He caused himself to be driven
to the Pillin residence in Sefton Park. Ushered into a room on the
ground floor, heated in American fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his
coat. A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere
a little trying. And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's
reluctant refusal--Quite so! One could not indefinitely extend one's
subscriptions even for the best of causes!--he said gently:

"By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?"

The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes. Joe Pillin's
face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he opened his thin
lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something seemed to pass with
difficulty down his scraggy throat. The hollows, which nerve exhaustion
delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones are not high, increased
alarmingly. For a moment he looked deathly; then, moistening his lips,
he said:

"Larne--Larne? No, I don't seem---"

Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves, murmured:

"Oh! I thought--your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's," and
he looked up.

Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then
with more and more vigour:

"I'm in very poor health," he said, at last. "I'm getting abroad at
once. This cold's killing me. What name did you say?" And he remained
with his handkerchief against his teeth.

Mr. Ventnor repeated:

"Larne. Writes stories."

Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief

"Ali! H'm! No--I--no! My son knows all sorts of people. I shall have
to try Mentone. Are you going? Good-bye! Good-bye! I'm sorry; ah! ha!
My cough--ah! ha h'h'm! Very distressing. Ye-hes! My cough-ah! ha
h'h'm! Most distressing. Ye-hes!"

Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air. Not
much doubt now! The two names had worked like charms. This weakly old
fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple under
cross-examination. What a contrast to that hoary old sinner Heythorp,
whose brazenness nothing could affect. The rat was as large as life!
And the only point was how to make the best use of it. Then--for his
experience was wide--the possibility dawned on him, that after all, this
Mrs. Larne might only have been old Pillin's mistress--or be his natural
daughter, or have some other blackmailing hold on him. Any such
connection would account for his agitation, for his denying her, for his
son's ignorance. Only it wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that
old Heythorp had made the settlement. He could only have got that from
the woman herself. Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try and
see her. But how? It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an
introduction, after this interview with his father. He would have to go
on his own and chance it. Wrote stories did she? Perhaps a newspaper
would know her address; or the Directory would give it--not a common
name! And, hot on the scent, he drove to a post office. Yes, there it
was, right enough! "Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas." And thinking
to himself: 'No time like the present,' he turned in that direction. The
job was delicate. He must be careful not to do anything which might
compromise his power of making public use of his knowledge. Yes-ticklish!
What he did now must have a proper legal bottom. Still, anyway you looked
at it, he had a right to investigate a fraud on himself as a shareholder
of "The Island Navigation Company," and a fraud on himself as a creditor
of old Heythorp. Quite! But suppose this Mrs. Larne was really
entangled with old Pillin, and the settlement a mere reward of virtue,
easy or otherwise. Well! in that case there'd be no secret commission to
make public, and he needn't go further. So that, in either event, he
would be all right. Only--how to introduce himself? He might pretend he
was a newspaper man wanting a story. No, that wouldn't do! He must not
represent that he was what he was not, in case he had afterwards to
justify his actions publicly, always a difficult thing, if you were not
careful! At that moment there came into his mind a question Bob Pillin
had asked the other night. "By the way, you can't borrow on a
settlement, can you? Isn't there generally some clause against it?" Had
this woman been trying to borrow from him on that settlement? But at this
moment he reached the house, and got out of his cab still undecided as to
how he was going to work the oracle. Impudence, constitutional and
professional, sustained him in saying to the little maid:

"Mrs. Larne at home? Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?"

His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served for
hall--the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains over the
doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking over her
shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm! Distinctly tasty!' They noted, too, a
small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the very end of the
passage, and he murmured affably: "Fluffy! Come here, Fluffy!" till
Carmen's teeth chattered in her head.

"Will you come in, sir?"

Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was
impressed at once by its air of domesticity. On a sofa a handsome woman
and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and some
white material. The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose.

Mr. Ventnor said easily

"You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think."

The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration,
murmured in a full, sweet drawl:

"Oh! Ye-es. Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?"

With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!' Mr. Ventnor answered:

"Er--not exactly. I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a
certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under."

"Phyllis dear!"

Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr.
Ventnor said quickly:

"Pray don't disturb yourself--just a formality!" It had struck him at
once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence of this
third party, and he went on: "Quite recent, I think. This'll be your
first interest-on six thousand pounds? Is that right?" And at the
limpid assent of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine woman; what
eyes!'

"Thank you; that's quite enough. I can go to Scrivens for any detail.
Nice young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?" He saw the girl's chin tilt,
and Mrs. Larne's full mouth curling in a smile.

"Delightful young man; we're very fond of him."

And he proceeded:

"I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?"

"Oh! no. How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's? About a
month. But he's so unaffected--quite at home with us. A nice fellow."

Mr. Ventnor murmured:

"Very different from his father, isn't he?"

"Is he? We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think."

Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: "Ye-es," he said, "just giving up--a warm
man. Young Pillin's a lucky fellow--only son. So you met him at old Mr.
Heythorp's. I know him too--relation of yours, I believe."

"Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man."

Mr. Ventnor echoed: "Wonderful--regular old Roman."

"Oh! but he's so kind!" Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: "Look what
he's given this naughty gairl!"

Mr. Ventnor murmured: "Charming! Charming! Bob Pillin said, I think,
that Mr. Heythorp was your settlor."

One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have owed
money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes. For a
moment they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?' Then they
slid from under it.

"Won't you sit down?" she said. "You must forgive our being at work."

Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head.

"Thank you; I must be getting on. Then Messrs. Scriven can--a mere
formality! Goodbye! Good-bye, Miss Larne. I'm sure the dress will be
most becoming."

And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm
firm pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the door
and passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices:

"What a nice lawyer!"

"What a horrid man!"

Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands. No, she didn't know old
Pillin! That was certain; not from her words, but from her face. She
wanted to know him, or about him, anyway. She was trying to hook young
Bob for that sprig of a girl--it was clear as mud. H'm! it would
astonish his young friend to hear that he had called. Well, let it! And
a curious mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor. He saw the whole thing
now so plainly, and really could not refrain from a certain admiration.
The law had been properly diddled! There was nothing to prevent a man
from settling money on a woman he had never seen; and so old Pillin's
settlement could probably not be upset. But old Heythorp could. It was
neat, though, oh! neat! And that was a fine woman--remarkably! He had a
sort of feeling that if only the settlement had been in danger, it might
have been worth while to have made a bargain--a woman like that could
have made it worth while! And he believed her quite capable of
entertaining the proposition! Her eye! Pity--quite a pity! Mrs.
Ventnor was not a wife who satisfied every aspiration. But alas! the
settlement was safe. This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up,
if anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor. That old chap
should feel his teeth now. As a piece of investigation it was not so
bad--not so bad at all! He had had a bit of luck, of course,--no, not
luck--just that knack of doing the right thing at the right moment which
marks a real genius for affairs.

But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A
woman like that would have been--!' And he sighed.




2

With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob Pillin
turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. Ventnor's
visit. Chivalry had won the day. And he rang the bell with an elation
which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft thing.

"Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home."

His heart leaped.

"Oh-h! I'm sorry. I wonder if she'd see me?"

The little maid answered

"I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. I'll
see."

Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall. He
could scarcely breathe. If her hair were not dry--how awful! Suddenly he
heard floating down a clear but smothered "Oh! Gefoozleme!" and other
words which he could not catch. The little maid came running down.

"Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy. And I was to
tell you that Master Jock is loose, sir."

Bob Pillin answered "Tha-anks," and passed into the drawing-room. He
went to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and addressing
it: "Mrs. Larne," replaced it in his pocket. Then he crossed over to the
mirror. Never till this last month had he really doubted his own face;
but now he wanted for it things he had never wanted. It had too much
flesh and colour. It did not reflect his passion. This was a handicap.
With a narrow white piping round his waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole
of tuberoses, he had tried to repair its deficiencies. But do what he
would, he was never easy about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch
which could make him confident in her presence. And until this month to
lack confidence had never been his wont. A clear, high, mocking voice
said:

"Oh-h! Conceited young man!"

And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown hair
was fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of
fainting-sweet sensation, and murmured inarticulately:

"Oh! I say--how jolly!"

"Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?"

Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and verbena
and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered:

"Ye-es. I--I'm glad she's not in, though."

Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling.

"Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head awful?"

Bob Pillin answered feebly:

"Of course, I haven't much experience."

Her mouth opened.

"Oh! You are--aren't you?"

And he thought desperately: 'Dare I--oughtn't I--couldn't I somehow take
her hand or put my arm round her, or something?' Instead, he sat very
rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom at the other,
and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-be lovers fixed
him to the soul.

Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when chaff
and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair game, would
make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent? Doesn't she really want
me to kiss her?' Alas! such intrusions lasted but a moment before a
blast of awe and chivalry withered them, and a strange and tragic
delicacy--like nothing he had ever known--resumed its sway. And suddenly
he heard her say:

"Why do you know such awful men?"

"What? I don't know any awful men."

"Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was
awful."

"Whiskers?" His soul revolted in disclaimer. "I believe I only know one
man with whiskers--a lawyer."

"Yes--that was him; a perfectly horrid man. Mother didn't mind him, but
I thought he was a beast."

"Ventnor! Came here? How d'you mean?"

"He did; about some business of yours, too." Her face had clouded over.
Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born beginning of a
poem:

"I rode upon my way and saw
A maid who watched me from the door."

It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face was
like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an April
cloud, as if a bright shower of rain must follow. Brushing aside the two
distressful lines, he said:

"Look here, Miss Larne--Phyllis--look here!"

"All right, I'm looking!"

"What does it mean--how did he come? What did he say?"

She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile,
verbena, hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered:

"I wish you wouldn't--I wish mother wouldn't--I hate it. Oh! Money!
Beastly--beastly!" and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob Pillin's
reddening ears.

"I say--don't! And do tell me, because--"

"Oh! you know."

"I don't--I don't know anything at all. I never---"

Phyllis looked up at him. "Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing
money from you, and it's hateful!"

A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a feeling
of injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black astonishment
about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer:

"Well, I'm d---d!" and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him through
her lashes--a look saying:

"Ah! that's better!"

"I am d---d! Look here! D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here about
my lending money? I never said a word to him---"

"There you see--you are lending!"

He clutched his hair.

"We've got to have this out," he added.

"Not by the roots! Oh! you do look funny. I've never seen you with your
hair untidy. Oh! oh!"

Bob Pillin rose and paced the room. In the midst of his emotion he could
not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext of holding
his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his hair. Then
coming to a halt he said:

"Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter? It's
only till quarter-day. Anybody might want money."

Phyllis did not raise her face.

"Why are you lending it?"

"Because--because--why shouldn't I?" and diving suddenly, he seized her
hands.

She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin took
out the envelope.

"If you like," he said, "I'll tear this up. I don't want to lend it, if
you don't want me to; but I thought--I thought--" It was for her alone
he had been going to lend this money!

Phyllis murmured through her hair:

"Yes! You thought that I--that's what's so hateful!"

Apprehension pierced his mind.

"Oh! I never--I swear I never--"

"Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it."

She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window.

So she thought she was being used as a decoy! That was awful--especially
since it was true. He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne was working his
admiration for her daughter for all that it was worth. And he said with
simple fervour:

"What rot!" It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost
shouted: "Look, Phyllis! If you don't want me to--here goes!" Phyllis
turned. Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into the fire.
"There it is," he said.

Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: "Oh!"

In a sort of agony of honesty he said:

"It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way."

Staring at the fire she answered slowly:

"I expect you'd better go before mother comes."

Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of
sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily:

"No, I shall stick it!"

Phyllis sneezed.

"My hair isn't a bit dry," and she sat down on the fender with her back
to the fire.

A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could
get that wheeze off: "Phyllis is my only joy!" or even: "Phyllis--do
you--won't you--mayn't I?" But nothing came--nothing.

And suddenly she said:

"Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!"

"Breathe? I wasn't!"

"You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming."

He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What does
it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three steps
back again.

She said softly:

"Poor young man!"

He answered gloomily:

"I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?"

"Why? I thought you were going to take us to the theatre."

"I don't know whether your mother will--after---"

Phyllis gave a little clear laugh.

"You don't know mother. Nothing makes any difference to her."

And Bob Pillin muttered:

"I see." He did not, but it was of no consequence. Then the thought of
Ventnor again ousted all others. What on earth-how on earth! He
searched his mind for what he could possibly have said the other night.
Surely he had not asked him to do anything; certainly not given him their
address. There was something very odd about it that had jolly well got
to be cleared up! And he said:

"Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was
Ventnor?"

Phyllis nodded.

"And he was short, and had whiskers?"

"Yes; red, and red eyes."