The Eldest Son Part 36

Although his mind had been on other plans, and he had no sort of intention of living anywhere but at Kencote after he should have succeeded his father, still, in the background of his thoughts there had lain great bitterness at this preposterous punishment that his father was preparing for him; and the bitterness now showed plainly enough in his speech.

It aroused in the Squire a curious conflict of emotions. The picture of a rich outsider settled in the house which had sheltered none but Clintons for unnumbered years appalled him, and, if d.i.c.k had presented it for his inspection without heat, must have turned him from his purpose then and there; for that purpose had never been examined in its ultimate bearings, and would not have been formed except with the view of bending d.i.c.k to his will. But, already ruffled, he became more so at d.i.c.k's tone, and his uneasiness at the fearful idea which had been evolved, although it was rejected for the moment, translated itself into anger.

"You've no right to talk like that," he said hotly. "If you would come to your senses you could be as well off living here as I am."

"I know I could," said d.i.c.k more quietly, "if I were blackguard enough to give up a woman for the sake of money. But there's no use at all in talking about that. I'm quite prepared for what you are going to do, and I haven't come here, as I told you, to ask you to change your mind.

It's your affair; only if you haven't looked what you're going to do in the face yet, I'm interested enough to say that I think you ought to."

"You'll have enough money," snapped the Squire, not at all mollified by this speech, "to make it possible for you to live at Kencote--you'll have much more than enough money, as I told you--if you give up this marriage. You say you won't give it up. Very well, then, you can go and live somewhere else and Humphrey can take your place here."

d.i.c.k's astonished stare recalled him to his senses. He had spoken out of his anger. He had never meant to go so far as this. But having gone so far he went on to make his position good.

"Now we won't beat about the bush any more," he said judicially. "As far as I'm concerned--what I'm going to leave him, I mean--Humphrey couldn't afford to live at Kencote. I'm not going to rob others to put him in your place, although I tell you this, he's going to be put in your place as soon as you get married, until my death. I dare say you have heard he's going to be married himself, and it's a marriage I'm pleased with. She won't bring him much money, I dare say, but that will be put right in another quarter. He'll be well off from the first, and I shouldn't wonder if he weren't better off still before long. He'll live at the dower-house and work with me at the management of the place, just as you have always done. And when you succeed, you'll probably find him a richer man than you are."

d.i.c.k rose from his chair. "Thank you," he said. "I know where I stand now. And as there doesn't seem to be much more to stop here for, I'll get back to London."

It was the Squire's turn now to stare. "What do you mean?" he gasped.

"You're not going!"

But d.i.c.k had already left the room.

The Squire remained sitting forward in his chair looking into the fire.

His face, which had been red and hard, gradually changed its colour and expression. He looked a tried and troubled old man. He had burnt his boats now. He had allowed his anger to dictate words which he would not have used in cold blood. He had insulted his son, as well as injured him. d.i.c.k was going out of his father's house in anger, and he would not return to it. As long as he lived he would not see him again.

These thoughts were too much for him. His own anger had disappeared.

He could not let his son go away from him like that. He had not meant what he had said--at least, he had not meant to say it in that way. He rose quickly and went out of the room.

When d.i.c.k had left him he had gone into the smoking-room, where the belated fire was burning briskly, summoned his servant and ordered his cart. His intention was to drive straight over to Bathgate and wait there for a train to London. Virginia was not at Blaythorn, or he would have gone there. He had told her that he was going down to Kencote to make one last effort at reconciliation with his father, and she had said that she would pay an overdue weekend visit at the same time, so that he should not complicate matters by coming over to see her from Kencote. "For I'm sure you won't be able to keep away if you are so close to me," she had said, holding him by the lapels of his coat and smiling up in his face. It had been an old engagement between them that he should have spent this particular week-end with her at Blaythorn, and he now wished heartily that he had not changed his plans. "Kicked out of the house within ten minutes!" he said to himself, standing in front of the fire, when he had given his orders.

He was consumed with anger against his father, and had an impulse to get away from the house at once, to start on foot, and let his cart catch him up. But it was raining hard, and there were a couple of notes that he had to write for the evening post. He might as well write them now, and he sat down at the table to do so.

The door opened, and Mrs. Clinton came in. "d.i.c.k dear," she said in her quiet voice, which hardly betokened the trouble that could be seen in her face, "you are not going to leave us like this!"

He turned in his seat and faced her. "I'm going in a few minutes," he said, "and I'm not coming back again. It's good-bye this time, mother."

"Oh, why can't you be a little patient with him?" she cried. "He wanted so to see you here again. If he has said anything to offend you he will be very sorry for it. d.i.c.k, don't go like this. It will be the end of everything."

He got up from the table and put his arm round her shoulder, leading her up to the hearth. "You and I will see each other," he said kindly.

"It isn't the end of everything between us, mother. But with him, and with Kencote, it is. There's no help for it. He's definitely against me now. He's told me he's going to put Humphrey in my place--straight out. I can't stand that, you know. If he's going to say things like that--and do them--what's the good of my staying here?"

"He can't mean it," she pleaded. "He is pleased with Humphrey now, but he has always loved you best of all his sons. It isn't in his power to put any one in your place."

"I dare say he'll be sorry for having done it," he said, "but he's going to do it, all the same. I can put up with the idea, mother, as long as I'm not at Kencote, but it's a bit too much to stay here and have that sort of thing said to you."

He dropped his arm and turned round sharply, for the door had opened again, and now it was his father who came into the room.

"d.i.c.k," he said, shutting the door and coming forward, "I said too much just now. For G.o.d's sake forget it!"

There was a moment's pause. Then d.i.c.k said in a hard voice, "What am I to forget?"

The Squire looked at him with his troubled, perplexed frown. "Can't you give it up, my boy?" he asked.

d.i.c.k turned away with an impatient shrug of the shoulders.

"G.o.d knows I don't want to make any changes," said his father. "It's worse for me than it is for you, d.i.c.k. Humphrey won't be to me what you have been. If you would only meet me half-way, I----"

d.i.c.k turned suddenly. "Yes, I'll meet you half-way," he said. "It is what I came here to say I would do, only you went so far beyond everything that there was nothing left for me to say. If you are going to set yourself to make Humphrey a richer man than I, as you said--well, that is beyond anything I had thought of--that you should be thinking of it in that way, I mean."

"d.i.c.k, I've never thought of it in that way," said his father. "And you must forget that I said it."

Mrs. Clinton spoke. "You have heard of Humphrey's engagement," she said. "Your father's idea is that he shall live here, at the dower-house, and help him with the estate management."

"That's it," said the Squire. "It was either that or getting a regular agent in the place of Haydon. I can't do it all myself. But if you would only come back, d.i.c.k----"

"I can't do that," said d.i.c.k, "at least, not now. I'm tied. And I can't object to your getting Humphrey in, if you think he'll take to the job. It isn't that. And it isn't that I mind much your leaving money to the others instead of to me--as long as you don't leave it all to one of them."

"I told you I wasn't going to do that," said the Squire. "I'd never thought of it. What I said about Humphrey I said on the spur of the moment, and I'm sorry for it."

"Oh, all right," said d.i.c.k; "we needn't worry about that any more. Do what you like for Humphrey. I've no wish to put a spoke in his wheel, and I wish I thought he felt the same about putting one in mine. I'll tell you what I told you at the beginning--I've more or less reconciled myself to the change you're going to make. At any rate, I shan't grumble at it. It'll only mean doing a bit more for myself instead of looking to you for everything."

The Squire did not like this. "You couldn't do much," he said, "to make up for the loss of the unsettled property, if I left it away from you."

"I could do something," replied d.i.c.k, "and I'm going to."

"Let us sit down," Mrs. Clinton said. "d.i.c.k, if you have anything to tell us, if you are going to meet us half-way, as you say, let us hear."

They sat down, and d.i.c.k considered for a moment, and then looked up at his father. "Neither of us has given way an inch yet," he said.

The Squire frowned. "There can be no giving way on the point of your marriage," he said.

d.i.c.k was about to reply, but Mrs. Clinton put her hand on his knee.

"Let him tell us what he has in his mind, Edward," she said.

"I was going to say," said d.i.c.k, with a gulp, "that I am quite prepared to give way on the question of the property. I wanted you to receive Virginia, and to give me everything you were going to give me. I don't ask that now. Do what you have said you would do. I shan't grouse about it. I shan't let it make any difference between you and me. I promise you that. That's where I'll give way."

The Squire felt very uncomfortable. Conciliation was in the air, and he was prepared to be conciliatory. But how was he to meet this?

"What do you want me to do, then?" he asked, "short of----"

d.i.c.k took him up. "I'm going to marry Virginia Dubec," he said decisively. "That is settled, and you can't stop me. You haven't been fair either to me or to her about it. You have never given her a chance to prove to you, as she could prove, that she is as unlike the woman you take her for as any woman on earth could be. And you have gone to greater lengths in trying to stop me doing what I'm going to do than I think you were justified in going."

The Squire broke in on him. "Oh, if you're going to open up----" he began; but Mrs. Clinton said, "Edward, let d.i.c.k finish what he has to say"; and d.i.c.k went on quickly, "It's the last time I need mention all that. I'm ready to forget it, every bit of it, and you'll never hear a single word more about it, if--if----"

The words that rose to his lips were, "If you'll undertake to behave yourself from now onwards," but since he had to find other words to express his meaning, and paused for a moment, the Squire put in, "Well, if what? I'm waiting to hear."

"You can't stop my marriage," said d.i.c.k. "The only thing you can do is to recognise it now, unless you deliberately choose that this shall be the last time we are to see one another."

The Squire's frown of perplexity became a frown of displeasure. "If those are your terms----" he began; but again Mrs. Clinton interrupted him.

"When d.i.c.k has been married some time," she said, "you will not want to keep him at arm's length. You will make the best of it. It is senseless for either you or him to talk of an estrangement that will last a lifetime. Such a thing could not happen. There would be no grounds for it. Edward, you have done what you could to prevent d.i.c.k from following his will. Now you must accept his decision, and not go on to make further unhappiness."