Charles Palliser (15 page)

“How unkind! She must be a horrible old lady.”

“No, you’re quite wrong. She is only a few years older than I.”

“And will she still receive your letters from Mr Sancious and forward them?”

“Why, how sharp you are, Johnnie,” my mother said in dismay. “However did you learn that?”

“I know ‘Mellamphy’ isn’t our real name, is it?”

She put her hand to her head: “Please don’t start that again, Johnnie. No, if you must have it. It isn’t.”

“Then what is our real name?”

“No, I won’t tell you that. Not yet. One day you’ll know everything.”

“Then tell me at least how you chose the name ‘Mellamphy’?”

“I chose it at hazard. I saw the name on a board.”

The thought made me feel dizzy. Then if something as important as one’s own name which seemed so rich in meaning could be so meaninglessly random, then perhaps all names — and even words, for weren’t they merely names? — were equally accidental and lacking any essential connexion with what they designated? I turned shuddering from this possibility. “Please tell me why,” I begged.

“Not now, my dearest. But I promise you that whatever happens, one day you will know everything. I have already started to make sure of that.”

This was a further mystery and I wondered if it were connected with the letter I had seen in the japanned box that held the locket, but she would say no more on the subject.

“I will miss Uncle Marty’s advice about money,” she went on. “From now on I will have to consult Mr Sancious, for I just don’t know what to do. We can’t afford to pay another forty pounds. The poor-rate is so high now- and is going up all the time.”

“Don’t you think, Mamma, that we really have more servants than we need?”

FRIENDS LOST

63

We gazed at each other with guilty excitement, feeling, I think, a little as if we were secretly plotting the death of one of them.

“What are you thinking, Johnnie?” she almost whispered.

“Well, Sukey’s wages are only fifteen shillings a quarter, so we would not save very much by losing her. But Bissett’s are twenty pounds a year, and Mrs Belflower’s twenty-five. And you know, we can’t do without a cook, but I don’t need a nurse now, do I?”

“No,” my mother said, watching me intently.

“Then give her notice,” I said, and she nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Fathers

A little more than two months later, Lady Day came round which was the time appointed for Mrs Belflower to take her leave of us. My mother had explained to me immediately after the interview with Bissett which was supposed to result in her dismissal, that as soon as she had raised the need to dispense with one of the servants, Bissett had leapt with such alacrity to the conclusion that it was to be the cook and had sympathised so much with her distaste for breaking the news to Mrs Belflower, and at the same time so cheerfully assured her that a cook — unlike a children’s nurse who was getting on in years — would experience no difficulty in finding other employment, that my mother had not had the heart to tell her that it was she herself who was the chosen sacrifice, and so what Bissett had assumed — or had pretended to — had actually become the case.

So early that morning Mrs Belflower stood in the front hall with her boxes packed, waiting for the carrier to arrive. His road-waggon would convey her to the nearest post-town, Sutton Valancy, where she would take the coach to her new employer, who lived far away in a village in the extreme west in a county I had never even heard of. When the crunch was heard of the waggon’s wheels on the road outside, Sukey could restrain her tears no longer.

“Now you be a good gal,” said Mrs Belflower to Sukey in a would-be stern tone whose effect was somewhat marred by the steady stream of tears running down her cheeks. “Mind what I larned you and don’t overcook your greens.” She enfolded the weeping girl in her arms, and then, gently disengaging herself, turned to my mother.

They held each other’s hand and both tried to smile: “I’ve been so happy here, ma’am. I don’t expect I’ll ever be so happy anywhere again. You’ve been a good, kind mistress that I couldn’t wish for better.”

“Oh Mrs Belflower,” my mother exclaimed, “I only wish …” She broke off.

“I do understand the need for it, Mrs Mellamphy, and I pray all will come out for the best with you and the little master.”

They embraced each other and gave way to tears. And so a very dismal sight must have been presented to the carter and his boy when they came into the hall to carry the boxes out to the waggon. At this moment Bissett came from the kitchen and stood beside me at the door, and as we looked at each other I 65

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was sure that she knew how much I wished it were she who was going. Then Mrs Belflower quickly released my mother and tottered slightly as she made towards us and I suddenly realized that she was really quite old to be starting over again in a new place.

Bissett held out a hand as if to protect herself against any more compromising gesture.

“Goodbye, Mrs Bissett, and God bless you,” said Mrs Belflower grasping the proffered hand. “We’ve had noises, you and me, as ’twould be foolish to deny. But I’ve always respected you as a person that lives by the lights of her religion.”

“Goodbye, cook,” said Bissett; “and I hope you will come among godly people and find the light of grace yourself. I will pray for that.”

She released the hand and Mrs Belflower stood with a troubled expression as if wondering whether to speak.

“Ready now,” said the carrier loudly at that moment, putting his head round the door.

Mrs Belflower started at the summons, and then turned quickly to me: “I shall always think about you, Master Johnnie, and wonder what a fine young man you are growing up to be who will take care on your mother.” As she stooped to kiss me she said in a low voice: “Be sure not to make things no harder for her.”

“I don’t know what you mean!” I said, pulling myself away from her.

Mrs Belflower shook her head gently and then after a last embrace from my mother and Sukey, she made her way down the steps and was helped up onto the cart. Until it had rumbled out of sight we stood on the steps waving.

The house seemed very empty without Mrs Belflower and we conducted ourselves as if in mourning.

A week or so later my mother sent Sukey to summon me to her. When I entered the sitting-room I found that she was at the escritoire and had on her most business-like expression. “Johnnie, I have just heard from Mr Sancious that Uncle Martin left us nothing, as I had expected.”

“But he should have!” I exclaimed.

She blushed.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“Why, he was your uncle, wasn’t he?”

“I called him ‘Uncle’ but he was no blood-relation to me,” she said, still looking rather conscious.

“No blood relation to us?” I exclaimed. I thought about this. Then a question I had pondered ever since I had seen the locket rose to my lips: “Mamma, is my father still alive?”

She blushed: “Johnnie, I … I don’t know how to answer you. One day you will know everything. I promise. But the good news I wanted to tell you is that Mr Sancious has agreed to advise me on my financial affairs.”

At that moment there was a tap on the door and Bissett came in: “I didn’t realize as Master Johnnie was here. I should like a private word with you, ma’am, if convenient.”

“We had just finished,” my mother answered. And so, taking the hint, I went into the kitchen where I found Sukey sitting, sobbing into her apron, at the table.

“Has she been teazing you?” I asked. “You should stand up to her.”

“It ain’t jist that, Master Johnnie,” she said. “I’ve heerd some bad news. Do FATHERS 67

you mind that fetch as we seen in the buryin’-ground the Christmas a-fore last? Well, I feared it was my dad’s. But when I hadn’t heerd nought by this Christmas jist gone by, I thought he was all right. But on’y yesterday my poor mither got a letter and when we taken it to the clerk he told us as it said my father was dead. He’d died a-fore Christmas so it
was
his fetch we seed.” She hid her face in her apron again.

“But this is March, Sukey. Why did it take so long to hear?” “The letter had a long ways to go, Master Johnnie,” she replied and would say no more than this.

When, after some time, Bissett came into the kitchen I went to ask my mother what she had wanted, but she refused to tell me.

Equity summons Law once again, and so a second time you may follow in imagination your quarry — who is, of course, Mr Sancious — to the house in Cursitor-street. Equity

— who, as you likewise know, is none other than Mr Barbellion — is again waiting in the shadows of the same dark little room, but this time Mr Sancious enters with an air of self-confidence. Only the curtest of greetings is exchanged between them and they seat themselves at opposite ends of the table.

“To what do I owe the honour of this … invitation?” asks Mr Sancious.

“I require your further assistance.”

“On the same terms as before?”

“To the penny,” answers Mr Barbellion with a sneer.

Mr Sancious smiles: “I am not sure that I can oblige.”

“Indeed? And what has changed your mind?”

“Just this: Mrs Clothier has recently taken me more largely into her confidence.”

“I understand. You mean that your price for betraying her confidence has gone up.

Continue.”

Mr Sancious scowls and says: “I wish to know who your client is and why he is so anxious to obtain the document.”

“But I, you see, am not at liberty to disclose my client’s affairs.”

Mr Sancious flinches at this but goes on: “But my dear sir, your name is so widely-known and respected within our profession that the identity of the great families who form your clientship is certainly no secret. Consequently, it has not been difficult for me to learn that the party in whose interests you are acting must be one of the following: the Earl of Chester, the Viscount Portsmouth, the families of Verney, Waldegrave, De Temperay, Mompesson, and de Coverley. It can only be a matter of time before I establish which of these it is.”

“And what then?”

“Simply that I would be able to set a fair price on my services.”

“I see. But are you saying that the fact that Mrs Clothier has confided in you is the strongest card you hold?”

“Do not speak of cards, my good sir,” Mr Sancious replies with a well-bred shudder.

“I deplore games of chance and never take risks on principle. Say rather, that I have you in check.”

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“If we are talking in those terms, let us say that you are trying to fool’s mate me.” Mr Sancious flinches. “If you know so much, do you know where she is?” There is a silence and the attorney flushes and looks down. “You see I know,” Mr Barbellion goes on, “that you still have to write to her through Fortisquince’s widow. And since she has not trusted you enough to tell you even her whereabouts, I doubt if she has told you anything else.”

“How do you know all that?” Mr Sancious says in indignant surprise.

“That is my affair. But I am not wrong in thinking you do not know her whereabouts?”

Biting his lip, Mr Sancious shakes his head.

“I warn you to learn from this,” Mr Barbellion goes on, “that I too despise games of chance. If I play with dice I ensure — to borrow terms from your professional acquaintance — that they are cogged. Now, will you assist me?”

Mr Sancious nods and the other gentleman takes from his pocket-book another sheaf of bank-notes and places it upon the table: “Very soon Mrs Clothier will write to ask you if she can afford to raise the wages of a servant. You will reply advising her in the strongest terms that she cannot.”

“Is that all?” the attorney asks in surprise.

“That is all for the present,” Mr Barbellion replies and while he pulls the bell-cord, his guest rises, picks up the sheaf, and hurries to the door.

At the end of the street Mr Sancious crosses Chancery-lane and plunges into a maze of dirty back-streets. As he walks he mutters angrily to himself and bites his lip. But now he slows his pace and glances back several times as if he has heard something. Then he begins to walk faster, his hand clutching his pocket. He turns into a long and curving alley. By the end of it he is almost running. Just as he turns to look back someone shoots out of the mouth of a lane beside him. Mr Sancious presses himself against the wall, his heart pounding, and holding his arms in front of his face as if to ward off a blow: “Prig from me and I take my oath you’ll be twisted for it!”

The other man, however, says in surprise: “I ain’t on that lay. It’s Mr Sancious, ain’t it? I’ve been follering you for a wery long time, guv’nor.”

Mr Sancious looks out through the shield formed by his arms. Before him is a tall, poorly-dressed individual with a large head with close-cropped reddish hair, a big nose, and bright, eager blue eyes.

“Following me! What do you mean? Who paid you?”

“Nobody never paid me. I’ve been watching you for days waitin’ for a chance to speak to you in private, like this. You are Mr Sancious, ain’t you?”