Born in Exile (10 page)

'Glad to see you; glad to see you! I have heard of your doings
at College.'

'Nothing to boast of, Mr. Moxey.'

'Why, what would satisfy you? A nephew of mine was there last
Friday, and tells me you carried off half a hundredweight of
prizes. Here he comes, I see.'

There drew near a young man of about four-and-twenty,
well-dressed, sauntering with a cane in his hand. His name was
Christian Moxey.

'Much pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Peak,' he said, with a
winning smile. 'I was at Whitelaw the other day, when you
distinguished yourself, and if I had known then that you were an
acquaintance of my uncle's I should have been tempted to offer a
word of congratulation. Very glad indeed to meet you.'

Godwin, grateful as always for the show of kindness and
flattered by such a reception, at once felt a liking for Christian
Moxey. Most people would have admitted the young man's
attractiveness. He had a thin and sallow face, and seemed to be of
weak constitution. In talking he leant upon his cane, and his
movements were languid; none the less, his person was distinguished
by an air of graceful manhood. His features, separately considered,
were ordinary enough; together they made a countenance of peculiar
charm, vividly illumined, full of appeal to whosoever could
appreciate emotional capabilities. The interest he excited in Peak
appeared to be reciprocal, for his eyes dwelt as often and as long
as possible on Godwin's features.

'Come along, and have something to eat with us,' said Mr. Moxey,
in a tone of genial invitation. 'I daresay you had dinner long
enough ago to have picked up a new appetite.'

Godwin had a perturbing vision of the five Miss Moxeys and of a
dinner table, such as he was not used to sit at; he wished to
decline, yet knew not how to do so with civility.

'Yes, yes; come along!' added his friend, heartily. 'Tell us
something about your chemistry paper. Any posers this time? My
nephew won't be out of it; he belongs to the firm of Bates
Brothers—the Rotherhithe people, you know.'

This information was a surprise to Godwin. He had imagined
Christian Moxey either a gentleman at large, or at all events
connected with some liberal profession. Glancing at the attractive
face, he met a singular look, a smile which suggested vague doubts.
But Christian made no remark, and Mr. Moxey renewed his inquiries
about the examination in chemistry.

The five daughters—all assembled in a homely sitting-room—were
nothing less than formidable. Plain, soft-spoken, not ill educated,
they seemed to live in perfect harmony, and to derive satisfaction
from pursuits independent of external society. In the town they
were seldom seen; few families called upon them; and only the most
inveterate gossips found matter for small-talk in their retired
lives. It had never been heard that any one of them was sought in
marriage. Godwin, superfluously troubled about his attire, met them
with grim endeavour at politeness; their gravity, a result of
shyness, he misinterpreted, supposing them to hold aloof from a
young man who had been in their father's employ. But before he
could suffer much from the necessity of formal conversation the
door opened to admit yet another young lady, a perfect stranger to
him. Her age was about seventeen, but she had nothing of the
sprightly grace proverbially connected with that time of life in
girls; her pale and freckled visage expressed a haughty reserve,
intensified as soon as her eye fell upon the visitor. She had a
slight but well-proportioned figure, and a mass of auburn hair
carelessly arranged.

'My sister,' said Christian, glancing at Godwin. 'Marcella, you
recognise Mr. Peak.'

'Oh yes,' the girl replied, as she came forward, and made a
sudden offer of her hand.

She too had been present the other day at Whitelaw. Her 'Oh yes'
sounded offensive to Godwin, yet in shaking hands with her he felt
a warm pressure, and it flattered him when he became aware that
Marcella regarded him from time to time with furtive interest.
Presently he learnt that Christian and his sister were on a short
visit at the house of their relatives; their home was in London.
Marcella had seated herself stiffly by a window, and seemed to pay
more attention to the view without than to the talk which went on,
until dinner was announced.

Speculating on all he saw, Godwin noticed that Christian Moxey
showed a marked preference for the youngest of his cousins, a girl
of eighteen, whose plain features were frequently brightened with a
happy and very pleasant smile. When he addressed her (by the name
of Janet) his voice had a playful kindness which must have been
significant to everyone who heard it. At dinner, his place was by
her side, and he attended to her with more than courtesy. This
astonished Peak. He deemed it incredible that any man should
conceive a tender feeling for a girl so far from beautiful.
Constantly occupied with thought of sexual attachments, he had
never imagined anything of the kind apart from loveliness of
feature in the chosen object; his instincts were, in fact, revolted
by the idea of love for such a person as Janet Moxey. Christian
seemed to be degraded by such a suggestion. In his endeavour to
solve the mystery, Godwin grew half unconscious of the other people
about him.

Such play of the imaginative and speculative faculties accounts
for the common awkwardness of intelligent young men in society that
is strange to them. Only the cultivation of a double consciousness
puts them finally at ease. Impossible to converse with suavity, and
to heed the forms of ordinary good-breeding, when the brain is
absorbed in all manner of new problems: one must learn to act a
part, to control the facial mechanism, to observe and anticipate,
even whilst the intellect is spending its sincere energy on
subjects unavowed. The perfectly graceful man will always be he who
has no strong apprehension either of his own personality or of that
of others, who lives on the surface of things, who can be
interested without emotion, and surprised without contemplative
impulse. Never yet had Godwin Peak uttered a word that was worth
listening to, or made a remark that declared his mental powers,
save in most familiar colloquy. He was beginning to understand the
various reasons of his seeming clownishness, but this very process
of self-study opposed an obstacle to improvement.

When he found himself obliged to take part in conversation about
Whitelaw College, Godwin was disturbed by an uncertainty which had
never left his mind at rest during the past two years;—was it, or
was it not, generally known to his Twybridge acquaintances that he
studied as the pensioner of Sir Job Whitelaw? To outward seeming
all delicacy had been exercised in the bestowal of Sir Job's
benefaction. At the beginning of each academic session Mrs. Peak
had privately received a cheque which represented the exact outlay
in fees for the course her son was pursuing; payment was then made
to the registrar as if from Peak himself. But Lady Whitelaw's
sisters were in the secret, and was it likely that they maintained
absolute discretion in talking with their Twybridge friends? There
seemed, in the first instance, to be a tacit understanding that the
whole affair should remain strictly private, and to Godwin himself,
sensible enough of such refinements, it was by no means
inconceivable that silence had been strictly preserved. He found no
difficulty in imagining that Sir Job's right hand knew nothing of
what the left performed, and it might be that the authorities of
Whitelaw had no hint of his peculiar position. Still, he was
perchance mistaken. The Professors perhaps regarded him as a sort
of charity-boy, and Twybridge possibly saw him in the same light.
The doubt flashed upon his mind while he was trying to eat and
converse with becoming self-possession. He dug his heel into the
carpet and silently cursed the burden of his servitude.

When the meal was over, Mr. Moxey led the way out into the
garden. Christian walked apart with Janet: Godwin strolled about
between his host and the eldest Miss Moxey, talking of he knew not
what. In a short half-hour he screwed up his courage to the point
of leave-taking. Marcella and three of her cousins had disappeared,
so that the awkwardness of departure was reduced. Christian, who
seemed to be in a very contented mood, accompanied the guest as far
as the garden gate.

'What will be your special line of work when you leave
Whitelaw?' he inquired. 'Your tastes seem about equally divided
between science and literature.'

'I haven't the least idea what I shall do,' was Peak's
reply.

'Very much my own state of mind when I came home from Zurich a
year ago. But it had been taken for granted that I was preparing
for business, so into business I went.' He laughed good-humouredly.
'Perhaps you will be drawn to London?'

'Yes—I think it likely,' Godwin answered, with an absent glance
this way and that.

'In any case,' pursued the other, 'you'll be there presently for
First B.A. Honours. Try to look in at my rooms, will you? I should
be delighted to see you. Most of my day is spent in the romantic
locality of Rotherhithe, but I get home about five o'clock, as a
rule. Let me give you a card.'

'Thank you.'

'I daresay we shall meet somewhere about here before then. Of
course you are reading hard, and haven't much leisure. I'm an idle
dog, unfortunately. I should like to work, but I don't quite know
what at. I suppose this is a transition time with me.'

Godwin tried to discover the implication of this remark. Had it
any reference to Miss Janet Moxey? Whilst he stood in embarrassed
silence, Christian looked about with a peculiar smile, and seemed
on the point of indulging in further self-revelation; but Godwin of
a sudden held out his hand for good-bye, and with friendly smiles
they parted.

Peak was older than his years, and he saw in Christian one who
might prove a very congenial associate, did but circumstances
favour their intercourse. That was not very likely to happen, but
the meeting at all events turned his thoughts to London once
more.

His attempts to 'read' were still unfruitful. For one thing, the
stress and excitement of the Whitelaw examinations had wearied him;
it was characteristic of the educational system in which he had
become involved that studious effort should be called for
immediately after that frenzy of college competition. He ought now
to have been 'sweating' at his London subjects. Instead of that, he
procured works of general literature from a Twybridge library, and
shut himself up with them in the garret bedroom.

A letter from Mr. Gunnery informed him that the writer would be
home in a day or two. This return took place late one evening, and
on the morrow Godwin set forth to visit his friend. On reaching the
house, he learnt that Mr. Gunnery had suffered an accident which
threatened serious results. Walking barefoot in his bedroom the
night before, he had stepped upon the point of a large nail, and
was now prostrate, enduring much pain. Two days elapsed before
Godwin could be admitted; he then found the old man a mere shadow
of his familiar self—bloodless, hollow-eyed.

'This is the kind of practical joke that Fate likes to play upon
us!' the sufferer growled in a harsh, quaking voice, his
countenance divided between genial welcome and surly wrath. 'It'll
be the end of me. Pooh! who doesn't know that such a thing is fatal
at my age? Blood-poisoning has fairly begun. I'd a good deal rather
have broken my neck among honest lumps of old red sandstone. A
nail! A damned Brummagem nail!—So you collared the first prize in
geology, eh? I take that as a kindness, Godwin. You've got a bit
beyond Figuier and his
Deluge
, eh? His Deluge, bah!'

And he laughed discordantly. On the other side of the bed sat
Mrs Gunnery, grizzled and feeble dame. Shaken into the last stage
of senility by this alarm, she wiped tears from her flaccid cheeks,
and moaned a few unintelligible words.

The geologist's forecast of doom was speedily justified. Another
day bereft him of consciousness, and when, for a short while, he
had rambled among memories of his youth, the end came. It was found
that he had made a will, bequeathing his collections and scientific
instruments to Godwin Peak: his books were to be sold for the
benefit of the widow, who would enjoy an annuity purchased out of
her husband's savings. The poor old woman, as it proved, had little
need of income; on the thirteenth day after Mr. Gunnery's funeral,
she too was borne forth from the house, and the faithful couple
slept together.

To inherit from the dead was an impressive experience to Godwin.
At the present stage of his development, every circumstance
affecting him started his mind upon the quest of reasons,
symbolisms, principles; the 'natural supernatural' had hold upon
him, and ruled his thought whenever it was free from the spur of
arrogant instinct. This tendency had been strengthened by the
influence of his friend Earwaker, a young man of singularly complex
personality, positive and analytic in a far higher degree than
Peak, yet with a vein of imaginative vigour which seemed to befit
quite a different order of mind. Godwin was not distinguished by
originality in thinking, but his strongly featured character
converted to uses of his own the intellectual suggestions he so
rapidly caught from others. Earwaker's habit of reflection had much
to do with the strange feelings awakened in Godwin when he
transferred to his mother's house the cabinets which had been Mr.
Gunnery's pride for thirty or forty years. Joy of possession was
subdued in him by the conflict of metaphysical questionings.

Days went on, and nothing was heard of Uncle Andrew. Godwin
tried to assure himself that he had been needlessly terrified; the
eating-house project would never be carried out. Practically
dismissing that anxiety, he brooded over his defeat by Chilvers,
and thought with extreme reluctance of the year still to be spent
at Whitelaw, probably a year of humiliation. In the meantime,
should he or should he not present himself for his First B.A.? The
five pound fee would be a most serious demand upon his mother's
resources, and did the profit warrant it, was it really of
importance to him to take a degree?