Midsummer's Eve (42 page)

She went on: “I told him how you had rescued Maggie Trent from that savage she was living with and that you had saved her life, for he would surely have killed her. I told him about little Tom, bruised and terrified, who is too big for chimneys now and was still being forced up them. He would have gone mad, poor mite. He was scared out of his wits of being burned to death. And there are others like that, I said to the reverend gentleman. I said, ‘If they can save people like that, they are not going to look twice at where the money comes from.’”

“You gave him something to think about perhaps,” said Peterkin.

“The trouble with people like him,” said Frances, “is that they are not given to thinking. Their minds run in channels laid out for them. It saves a lot of energy to follow the set rules. Happily his opinions are of no importance to us. Joe, you’ll see a lot of difference in the houses since you were last here. We’ve extended, started new projects. We’ve had luck.”

“Thanks,” said Joe rather bitterly, “to your generous father-in-law.”

Frances looked steadily at her brother. She knew that he hated my Uncle Peter and that he could not forgive him for ruining his father; but she, in her calm commonsensical manner, wanted old hatchets buried. She took the long view. Whatever had happened had brought great prosperity to her world and she had to welcome that. She was doing more good, she reckoned, than any commission for the suppression of vice could have done. Frances believed in action, not talk.

But she was fond of her brother and she did not want to spoil his visits by getting involved in arguments about which they could not agree.

She changed the subject.

“Annora has been working hard since she came here. I was going to suggest she take a day off. Why don’t you two take a trip up the river? There’s a lovely old-fashioned little inn I’ve heard a good deal about. They serve whitebait. It really is good, I’m told. I imagine you two have a lot to talk about.”

Joe was looking at me expectantly.

I said: “I should like that.”

He smiled. “Then let’s do it.”

Frances seemed satisfied. She then went on to talk about an extension to the kitchen which she was planning.

It was pleasant on the river. We rowed down towards Richmond and found the inn near the grassy bank just past Kew. It was called the Sailor’s Rest. It looked charming. There was a garden in front facing the river; tables and chairs were set out.

Joe tied up the boat and we went ashore.

Over the food, which was served by a maid in a mopcap and a Regency-style dress, I asked Joe questions about what he was doing. He was living in the North with his parents, he told me. His father owned a cotton mill up there and that was their main interest now.

“You are finding it satisfying?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s quite absorbing … in a way. I’m learning a lot about cotton and trade is good. It has increased tremendously in the last years. Hargreaves’ spinning jenny and Crompton’s mule have speeded up production and kept prices down. We export a great deal to Europe. Oh yes, it is interesting, but …”

“I know, Joe, what you really wanted was to go into politics.”

He was silent. Then he said: “It’s the reason why I don’t come to London very much. Every time I pass the Houses of Parliament I feel a terrible longing …”

“Why don’t you try to get in?”

He looked at me in amazement. “How could I … now?”

“That is all in the past.”

He shook his head. “As soon as one of us came into prominence it would all be remembered. Annora, I cannot understand Frances taking his money.”

“Frances has a very good reason, and she makes the best possible use of it.”

“To take money from the man who ruined our father!”

“I wish you could talk to Uncle Peter. I wish you knew him.”

“I’d rather know the devil.”

“Joe, you have to try to look at this coldly, calmly, without bias. You have to try to understand.”

“I understand perfectly. There was an important post almost certainly about to be bestowed on my father—a chance to do good, to wipe the town free of vice. Your uncle looked on it as a stepping-stone to his ambitions. Moreover he himself was trading in vice. How ironical it would have been to have had him on the Commission! But as I say, he saw it as a stepping-stone to his ambitions. And trying to get it … he destroyed my father.”

“And you tried to destroy him. But it seems he was indestructible.”

“I cannot understand you, Annora. I think you are on his side.”

“No. That’s not true.”

“And Frances … there she is taking his money and saying, Thank you very much, dear Papa-in-law. I can’t understand my sister.”

“I can. She takes it because she can make good use of it. And what is she doing with it but bringing help to those who so sorely need it? If she did not take it, think of how those people would suffer. She is saving
lives
, Joe.”

“It is a question of morality.”

“What is morality? Uncle Peter takes from those people who spend their money in an immoral way, you would say. But suppose they did not spend this money, it would not be going into the Mission. It might be spent on fine clothes, houses, horses. It’s a difficult question to answer, and I think Frances and Peterkin are right to take the money. In fact I think they are wonderful people.”

“That money is given by your uncle, not because he wants to do good but because he wishes to be seen as a philanthropist, whose good works will wash away his past.”

“That is true. Oh, Joe, we’ll never agree about this. But … why don’t you try to get into Parliament?”

“And face all that scandal being revived?”

“If it were … by your opponents … it would only be for a short while. After all, it was not even you who were involved. At least, that is what people would think.”

“I see that your uncle is setting up Helena’s husband now. I suppose he will decide which way the young man is to vote.”

“I think Matthew will judge for himself. Uncle Peter spoke for him during the election. Everyone knows he was supporting his son-in-law. That did not spoil Matthew’s chances. So why should what happened to your father spoil yours?”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“If you don’t take risks now and then you can’t hope to succeed.”

“Annora, I want to be there. It’s the life I want. I know I could do it. I could have got in at the last election.”

“You should have tried.”

“I couldn’t face it. All that stuff in the papers. I was afraid it would be revived. I shall never forget it.”

“It’s past.”

“And you and I,” he went on. “We were getting on very well, weren’t we? And that stopped it. That day you saw me in that room …”

“I know.”

“You seemed to despise me.”

“No. Joe. I understood.”

“It was for my father.”

“You didn’t do
him
any good by your attempt to ruin Uncle Peter.”

“And I lost your friendship, I know. You were different afterwards. You couldn’t forgive me for using you to get into the house. I was desperate. If it had been
your
father, wouldn’t you?”

I thought of the accusation that woman had made against my father. Yes, I would do a great deal to prove her wrong … not only for the sake of Cador, but for my father’s memory.

I said: “I understand how you felt about your father.”

“He is a good man, a man of high morality. Think of that sleazy scandal involving such a man. Think of my mother, the family. I could have killed him when I knew he had set it all up.”

“He is ruthless. He brushed people aside to get what he wants. But that is not all of him. People are strange. They are not all bad … not all good.”

“I think any goodness he may have is lost beneath the weight of evil.”

“He is a manipulator, a man who must have power, who must …”

“Use people to his own ends.”

“Yes, that’s true. But, Joe, it’s past. Let’s forget it. Let’s think of you … and your future.”

“I shall be in the mills. I shall force myself to stop dreaming of what might have been.”

“That is no way to live really. Not when there is a way open to you.”

“I see no way.”

“I do. Pull yourself together. How long will this government last, do you think? Be ready for the next election.”

“And face all that slanderous mud?”

“Yes, face it, Joe. They’ll soon get tired of throwing it.”

“I couldn’t do it, Annora.”

“Then you must content yourself with the cotton mill. Oh, Joe, forgive me. I sound sententious. Who am I to talk? I am undecided, floundering hopelessly.”

“Life has been hard to us both, Annora.”

“Uncle Peter says that you cannot help yourself lying down and letting events get the better of you. You have to stand up and fight.”

“And ruin other people’s lives as you do so?”

“That is not necessary. But don’t you see, Joe, you tried to ruin him just as surely as he tried to ruin your father. But he wouldn’t have it. He’s fighting his way back.”

“I can’t bear to hear you talk of him as though he is some sort of glorious warrior. Attila the Hun possibly.”

I smiled. “Try to rid yourself of your bitterness. Frances has.”

“Frances has taken advantage of the situation.”

“Frances knows what she wants and she is not going to let anything stand in her way.”

“Frances is doing good to the community. Your uncle is doing good to himself.”

“The method is the same.”

“We shall never agree on that.”

“But, Joe, do get up and fight. You will never be content if you don’t try to get into Parliament. All your life you will bear a grudge against fate which robbed you of your chance, and when you are very old and have become mellow you will ask the question: Was it fate which robbed me of my chance, or was it myself?”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It certainly isn’t that. I know how you feel. But you ought to try. You ought to face up to it. Forgive me, Joe. I’m preaching. It’s the last thing I want to do. I know you hate me to mention it but I can’t help thinking of Uncle Peter and the way he is overcoming all that scandal. I think there was just as much about him as about your father in the papers. He planned your father’s fall and carried it out. You planned his. You were both equally successful. You’ve had an eye for an eye. Your father gave up. Uncle Peter didn’t. So … fight on, Joe.”

He looked at me steadily. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Be bold and see. Oh dear, I’m upsetting you. It was to have been a pleasant trip up the river.”

He said: “It has been good to see you again, to talk to you frankly.”

“I’m afraid I’ve said too much. It is not for me to advise you. You have to make up your own mind. I am the last person who should try to tell you what to do.”

“You are very unhappy, Annora.”

I did not answer.

“The shock must have been terrible and then that dreadful woman from Australia.”

“That’s over, Joe. I’m trying not to think of it. But there is so much to remind me of them.”

“It makes my affairs seem almost trivial. They do to you, don’t they?”

“You have your family, Joe.”

“I know. I’m going to think about what you’ve said. Don’t let’s lose touch again.”

I nodded. Then I said: “Frances was right. This is a very pleasant spot.”

Helena’s baby was due in a few weeks.

Aunt Amaryllis came down to the Mission and her purpose was to persuade me to come back to be with Helena until her baby was born.

She said: “You were with her at Jonnie’s birth and she says what a comfort you were to her. Moreover, Jonnie does miss you. Do come back and be with her, Annora.”

So I went.

How different this was from Jonnie’s birth. Helena had come a long way since then. This was her husband’s child and an astonishing relationship had grown up between them. Helena was proud of Matthew. He had scored a hit with his maiden speech; it was clear that he was going to do well in politics. He was going to be one of those who would be responsible for the abolition of transportation in due course. He was working for it with such enthusiasm and it was inconceivable that he could fail.

Uncle Peter was satisfied with his son-in-law and nothing was going to be spared in sending him forward. I wondered how long it would be before Uncle Peter himself was back in Parliament.

Helena hovered between bliss and apprehension. She was longing for the baby. With great pride she showed me its layette and I wondered whether, like myself, she was comparing this with Jonnie’s birth.

Jonnie himself was now at a delightful age. I drew for him with coloured crayons and he showed me what he could do. He was interested in the new arrival and confided to me that he wanted a brother.

Every morning he would come to my room and ask: “Has he come yet? He’s very lazy. He ought to be here by now.”

There was great rejoicing when the baby was born, and Jonnie’s wishes were granted. It was a boy.

Helena was very proud to see the notices in the paper. “Son for Matthew Hume.”

Uncle Peter was delighted. “There is nothing people like better than babies,” he said.

The baby flourished. The christening was to be a grand affair and was to be celebrated in Uncle Peter’s house—the baby’s home was not large enough to accommodate all the guests. Uncle Peter had seen that several important people were invited—many of them politicians.

It was during this celebration that I learned something which made me feel I had touched the very nadir of despair.

It came out quite naturally. The drawing room was crowded. I stood there with a glass of champagne in my hands when a middle-aged man came up and spoke to me.

I had not heard his name, nor had he heard mine.

He just said: “What a crowd. Well, Matthew’s baby would attract attention, wouldn’t he? Amazing what Matthew has done … such a short time he’s been in the House.”

“You are a Member of Parliament, are you?”

“I hope to be. I’m taking over a constituency in the south west. I have just been making a tour, talking to my prospective supporters, trying to clock up the votes.”

“What part of the south west?”