Kitabı oku: «Denry the Audacious», sayfa 12

II

The next episode between them was curiously brief. Denry had influenza. He said that naturally he had caught hers.

He went to bed and stayed there. She nursed him all day, and grew angry in a vain attempt to force him to eat. Towards night he tossed furiously on the little bed in the little bedroom, complaining of fearful headaches. She remained by his side most of the night. In the morning he was easier. Neither of them mentioned the word "doctor." She spent the day largely on the stairs. Once more towards night he grew worse, and she remained most of the second night by his side.

In the sinister winter dawn Denry murmured in a feeble tone:

"Mother, you 'd better send for him."

"Doctor?" she said. And secretly she thought that she had better send for the doctor, and that there must be after all some difference between influenza and a cold.

"No," said Denry; "send for young Lawton."

"Young Lawton!" she exclaimed. "What do you want young Lawton to come here for?"

"I have n't made my will," Denry answered.

"Pooh!" she retorted.

Nevertheless she was the least bit in the world frightened. And she sent for Dr. Stirling, the aged Harrop's Scotch partner.

Dr. Stirling, who was full-bodied and left little space for anybody else in the tiny, shabby bedroom of the man with four thousand a year, gazed at Mrs. Machin, and he gazed also at Denry.

"Ye must go to bed this minute," said he.

"But he 's in bed," cried Mrs. Machin.

"I mean yerself," said Dr. Stirling.

She was very nearly at the end of her resources. And the proof was that she had no strength left to fight Dr. Stirling. She did go to bed. And shortly afterwards Denry got up. And a little later, Rose Chudd, that prim and efficient young widow from lower down the street, came into the house and controlled it as if it had been her own. Mrs. Machin, whose constitution was hardy, arose in about a week, cured, and duly dismissed Rose with wages and without thanks. But Rose had been. Like the Signal's burglars, she had "effected an entrance." And the house had not been turned upside down. Mrs. Machin, though she tried, could not find fault with the result of Rose's uncontrolled activities.

III

One morning – and not very long afterwards; in such wise did fate seem to favour the young at the expense of the old – Mrs. Machin received two letters which alarmed and disgusted her. One was from her landlord announcing that he had sold the house in which she lived to a Mr. Wilbraham of London, and that in future she must pay the rent to the said Mr. Wilbraham or his legal representatives. The other was from a firm of London solicitors announcing that their client Mr. Wilbraham had bought the house and that the rent must be paid to their agent whom they would name later.

Mrs. Machin gave vent to her emotion in her customary manner:

"Bless us!"

And she showed the impudent letters to Denry.

"Oh!" said Denry. "So he has bought them, has he? I heard he was going to."

"Them?" exclaimed Mrs. Machin. "What else has he bought?"

"I expect he 's bought all the five – this and the four below, as far as Downes's. I expect you 'll find that the other four have had notices just like these. You know all this row used to belong to the Wilbrahams. You surely must remember that, mother?"

"Is he one of the Wilbrahams of Hillport, then?"

"Yes, of course he is."

"I thought the last of 'em was Cecil, and when he 'd beggared himself here he went to Australia and died of drink. That's what I always heard. We always used to say as there was n't a Wilbraham left."

"He did go to Australia, but he did n't die of drink. He disappeared, and when he 'd made a fortune he turned up again in Sydney, so it seems. I heard he 's thinking of coming back here to settle. Anyhow, he 's buying up a lot of the Wilbraham property. I should have thought you 'd have heard of it. Why, lots of people have been talking about it."

"Well," said Mrs. Machin, "I don't like it."

She objected to a law which permitted a landlord to sell a house over the head of a tenant who had occupied it for more than thirty years. In the course of the morning she discovered that Denry was right – the other tenants had received notices exactly similar to hers.

Two days later Denry arrived home for tea with a most surprising article of news. Mr. Cecil Wilbraham had been down to Bursley from London, and had visited him, Denry. Mr. Cecil Wilbraham's local information was evidently quite out of date, for he had imagined Denry to be a rent-collector and estate agent, whereas the fact was that Denry had abandoned this minor vocation years ago. His desire had been that Denry should collect his rents and watch over his growing interests in the district.

"So what did you tell him?" asked Mrs. Machin.

"I told him I 'd do it," said Denry.

"Why?"

"I thought it might be safer for you" said Denry with a certain emphasis. "And, besides, it looked as if it might be a bit of a lark. He's a very peculiar chap."

"Peculiar?"

"For one thing, he's got the largest moustaches of any man I ever saw. And there 's something up with his left eye. And then I think he's a bit mad."

"Mad?"

"Well, touched. He's got a notion about building a funny sort of a house for himself on a plot of land at Bleakridge. It appears he is fond of living alone, and he's collected all kind of dodges for doing without servants and still being comfortable."

"Ay! But he 's right there!" breathed Mrs. Machin in deep sympathy. As she said about once a week, "she never could abide the idea of servants." "He's not married, then?" she added.

"He told me he 'd been a widower three times, but he 'd never had any children," said Denry.

"Bless us!" murmured Mrs. Machin.

Denry was the one person in the town who enjoyed the acquaintance and the confidence of the thrice-widowed stranger with long moustaches. He had descended without notice on Bursley, seen Denry (at the branch office of the Thrift Club), and then departed. It was understood that later he would permanently settle in the district. Then the wonderful house began to rise on the plot of land at Bleakridge. Denry had general charge of it, but always subject to erratic and autocratic instructions from London. Thanks to Denry, who since the historic episode at Llandudno had remained very friendly with the Cotterill family, Mr. Cotterill had the job of building the house; the plans came from London. And though Mr. Cecil Wilbraham proved to be exceedingly watchful against any form of imposition, the job was a remunerative one for Mr. Cotterill, who talked a great deal about the originality of the residence. The town judged of the wealth and importance of Mr. Cecil Wilbraham by the fact that a person so wealthy and important as Denry should be content to act as his agent. But then the Wilbrahams had been magnates in the Bursley region for generations, up till the final Wilbraham smash in the late seventies. The town hungered to see those huge moustaches and that peculiar eye. In addition to Denry, only one person had seen the madman, and that person was Nellie Cotterill, who had been viewing the half-built house with Denry one Sunday morning when the madman had most astonishingly arrived upon the scene, and after a few minutes vanished. The building of the house strengthened greatly the friendship between Denry and the Cotterills. Yet Denry neither liked Mr. Cotterill nor trusted him.

The next incident in these happenings was that Mrs. Machin received notice from the London firm to quit her four-and-sixpence a week cottage. It seemed to her that not merely Brougham Street, but the world, was coming to an end. She was very angry with Denry for not protecting her more successfully. He was Mr. Wilbraham's agent, he collected the rent, and it was his duty to guard his mother from unpleasantness. She observed, however, that he was remarkably disturbed by the notice, and he assured her that Mr. Wilbraham had not consulted him in the matter at all. He wrote a letter to London, which she signed, demanding the reason of this absurd notice flung at an ancient and perfect tenant. The reply was that Mr. Wilbraham intended to pull the houses down, beginning with Mrs. Machin's, and rebuild.

"Pooh!" said Denry. "Don't you worry your head, mother; I shall arrange it. He'll be down here soon to see his new house – it's practically finished, and the furniture is coming in – and I 'll just talk to him."

But Mr. Wilbraham did not come, the explanation doubtless being that he was mad. On the other hand, fresh notices came with amazing frequency. Mrs. Machin just handed them over to Denry. And then Denry received a telegram to say that Mr. Wilbraham would be at his new house that night and wished to see Denry there. Unfortunately, on the same day, by the afternoon post, while Denry was at his offices, there arrived a sort of supreme and ultimate notice from London to Mrs. Machin, and it was on blue paper. It stated, baldly, that as Mrs. Machin had failed to comply with all the previous notices, had indeed ignored them, she and her goods would now be ejected into the street according to the law. It gave her twenty-four hours to flit. Never had a respectable dame been so insulted as Mrs. Machin was insulted by that notice. The prospect of camping out in Brougham Street confronted her. When Denry reached home that evening Mrs. Machin, as the phrase is, "gave it him."

Denry admitted frankly that he was nonplussed, staggered, and outraged. But the thing was simply another proof of Mr. Wilbraham's madness. After tea he decided that his mother must put on her best clothes and go up with him to see Mr. Wilbraham and firmly expostulate – in fact, they would arrange the situation between them; and if Mr. Wilbraham was obstinate they would defy Mr. Wilbraham. Denry explained to his mother that an Englishwoman's cottage was her castle, that a landlord's minions had no right to force an entrance, and that the one thing that Mr. Wilbraham could do was to begin unbuilding the cottage from the top, outside. And he would like to see Mr. Wilbraham try it on!

So the sealskin mantle (for it was spring again) went up with Denry to Bleakridge.

IV

The moon shone in the chill night. The house stood back from Trafalgar Road in the moonlight – a squarish block of a building.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Machin. "It isn't so large."

"No! He did n't want it large. He only wanted it large enough," said Denry, and pushed a button to the right of the front door. There was no reply, though they heard the ringing of the bell inside. They waited. Mrs. Machin was very nervous, but thanks to her sealskin mantle she was not cold.

"This is a funny doorstep," she remarked, to kill time.

"It's of marble," said Denry.

"What's that for?" asked his mother.

"So much easier to keep clean," said Denry. "No stoning to do."

"Well," said Mrs. Machin. "It's pretty dirty now, anyway."

It was.

"Quite simple to clean," said Denry, bending down. "You just turn this tap at the side. You see, it's so arranged that it sends a flat jet along the step. Stand off a second."

He turned the tap, and the step was washed pure in a moment.

"How is it that that water steams?" Mrs. Machin demanded.

"Because it's hot," said Denry. "Did you ever know water steam for any other reason?"

"Hot water outside?"

"Just as easy to have hot water outside as inside, is n't it?" said Denry.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Machin. She was impressed.

"That's how everything's dodged up in this house," said Denry. He shut off the water.

And he rang once again. No answer! No illumination within the abode!

"I tell you what I shall do," said Denry at length. "I shall let myself in. I 've got a key of the back door."

"Are you sure it's all right?"

"I don't care if it is n't all right," said Denry defiantly. "He asked me to be up here, and he ought to be here to meet me. I 'm not going to stand any nonsense from anybody."

In they went, having skirted round the walls of the house.

Denry closed the door, pushed a switch, and the electric light shone. Electric light was then quite a novelty in Bursley. Mrs. Machin had never seen it in action. She had to admit that it was less complicated than oil-lamps. In the kitchen the electric light blazed upon walls tiled in grey and a floor tiled in black and white. There was a gas range and a marble slopstone with two taps. The woodwork was dark. Earthenware saucepans stood on a shelf. The cupboards were full of gear chiefly in earthenware. Denry began to exhibit to his mother a tank provided with ledges and shelves and grooves, in which he said that everything except knives could be washed and dried automatically.

"Had n't you better go and find your Mr. Wilbraham?" she interrupted.

"So I had," said Denry; "I was forgetting him."

She heard him wandering over the house and calling in divers tones upon Mr. Wilbraham. But she heard no other voice. Meanwhile she examined the kitchen in detail, appreciating some of its devices and failing to comprehend others.

"I expect he 's missed the train," said Denry, coming back. "Anyhow, he is n't here. I may as well show you the rest of the house now."

He led her into the hall, which was radiantly lighted.

"It's quite warm here," said Mrs. Machin.

"The whole house is heated by steam," said Denry. "No fireplaces."

"No fireplaces!"

"No! No fireplaces. No grates to polish, ashes to carry down, coals to carry up, mantelpieces to dust, fire-irons to clean, fenders to polish, chimneys to sweep."

"And suppose he wants a bit of fire all of a sudden in summer."

"Gas stove in every room for emergencies," said Denry.

She glanced into a room.

"But," she cried, "It's all complete, ready! And as warm as toast."

"Yes," said Denry. "He gave orders. I can't think why on earth he is n't here."

At that moment an electric bell rang loud and sharp, and Mrs. Machin jumped.

"There he is!" said Denry, moving to the door.

"Bless us! What will he think of us being here like?" Mrs. Machin mumbled.

"Pooh!" said Denry carelessly.

And he opened the door.

V

Three persons stood on the newly washed marble step – Mr. and Mrs. Cotterill and their daughter Nellie.

"Oh! Come in! Come in! Make yourselves quite at home. That's what we 're doing," said Denry in blithe greeting; and added, "I suppose he 's invited you too?"

And it appeared that Mr. Cecil Wilbraham had indeed invited them too. He had written from London saying that he would be glad if Mr. and Mrs. Cotterill would "drop in" on this particular evening. Further, he had mentioned that, as he had already had the pleasure of meeting Miss Cotterill, perhaps she would accompany her parents.

"Well, he is n't here," said Denry, shaking hands. "He must have missed his train or something. He can't possibly be here now till to-morrow. But the house seems to be all ready for him…"

"Yes, my word! And how 's yourself, Mrs. Cotterill?" put in Mrs. Machin.

"So we may as well look over it in its finished state. I suppose that's what he asked us up for," Denry concluded.

Mrs. Machin explained quickly and nervously that she had not been comprised in any invitation; that her errand was pure business.

"Come on up-stairs," Denry called out, turning switches and adding radiance to radiance.

"Denry!" his mother protested. "I 'm sure I don't know what Mr. and Mrs. Cotterill will think of you! You carry on as if you owned everything in the place. I wonder at you!"

"Well," said Denry, "if anybody in this town is the owner's agent I am. And Mr. Cotterill has built the blessed house. If Wilbraham wanted to keep his old shanty to himself he should n't send out invitations. It's simple enough not to send out invitations. Now Nellie!"

He was hanging over the balustrade at the curve of the stairs.

The familiar ease with which he said "Now Nellie," and especially the spontaneity of Nellie's instant response, put new thoughts into the mind of Mrs. Machin. But she neither pricked up her ears, nor started back, nor accomplished any of the acrobatic feats which an ordinary mother of a wealthy son would have performed under similar circumstances. Her ears did not even tremble. And she just said:

"I like this balustrade knob being of black china."

"Every knob in the house is of black china," said Denry. "Never shows dirt. But if you should take it into your head to clean it, you can do it with a damp cloth in a second."

Nellie now stood beside him. Nellie had grown up since the Llandudno episode. She did not blush at a glance. When spoken to suddenly she could answer without torture to herself. She could, in fact, maintain a conversation without breaking down for a much longer time than, a few years ago, she had been able to skip without breaking down. She no longer imagined that all the people in the street were staring at her, anxious to find faults in her appearance. She had temporarily ruined the lives of several amiable and fairly innocent young men by refusing to marry them. (For she was pretty, and her father cut a figure in the town, though her mother did not.) And yet, despite the immense accumulation of her experiences and the weight of her varied knowledge of human nature, there was something very girlish and timidly roguish about her as she stood on the stairs near Denry, waiting for the elder generation to follow. The old Nellie still lived in her.

The party passed to the first floor.

And the first floor exceeded the ground floor in marvels. In each bedroom two aluminum taps poured hot and cold water respectively into a marble basin, and below the marble basin was a sink. No porterage of water anywhere in the house. The water came to you, and every room consumed its own slops. The bedsteads were of black enamelled iron and very light. The floors were covered with linoleum, with a few rugs that could be shaken with one hand. The walls were painted with grey enamel. Mrs. Cotterill, with her all-seeing eye, observed a detail that Mrs. Machin had missed. There were no sharp corners anywhere. Every corner, every angle between wall and floor or wall and wall, was rounded, to facilitate cleaning. And every wall, floor, ceiling, and fixture could be washed, and all the furniture was enamelled and could be wiped with a cloth in a moment instead of having to be polished with three cloths and many odours in a day and a half. The bathroom was absolutely waterproof; you could spray it with a hose, and by means of a gas apparatus you could produce an endless supply of hot water independent of the general supply. Denry was apparently familiar with each detail of Mr. Wilbraham's manifold contrivances, and he explained them with an enormous gusto.

"Bless us!" said Mrs. Machin.

"Bless us!" said Mrs. Cotterill (doubtless the force of example).

They descended to the dining-room, where a supper table had been laid by order of the invisible Mr. Cecil Wilbraham. And there the ladies lauded Mr. Wilbraham's wisdom in eschewing silver. Everything of the table service that could be of earthenware was of earthenware. The forks and spoons were electro-plate.

"Why!" Mrs. Cotterill said, "I could run this house without a servant and have myself tidy by ten o'clock in a morning."

And Mrs. Machin nodded.

"And then when you want a regular turnout, as you call it," said Denry, "there's the vacuum cleaner."

The vacuum cleaner was at that period the last word of civilisation, and the first agency for it was being set up in Bursley. Denry explained the vacuum cleaner to the housewives, who had got no further than a Ewbank. And they again called down blessings on themselves.

"What price this supper?" Denry exclaimed. "We ought to eat it. I 'm sure he 'd like us to eat it. Do sit down, all of you. I 'll take the consequences."

Mrs. Machin hesitated even more than the other ladies.

"It's really very strange, him not being here!" She shook her head.

"Don't I tell you he 's quite mad," said Denry.

"I should n't think he was so mad as all that," said Mrs. Machin dryly. "This is the most sensible kind of a house I 've ever seen."

"Oh! Is it?" Denry answered. "Great Scott! I never noticed those three bottles of wine on the sideboard."

At length he succeeded in seating them at the table. Thenceforward there was no difficulty. The ample and diversified cold supper began to disappear steadily, and the wine with it. And as the wine disappeared so did Mr. Cotterill (who had been pompous and taciturn) grow talkative, offering to the company the exact figures of the cost of the house and so forth. But ultimately the sheer joy of life killed arithmetic.

Mrs. Machin, however, could not quite rid herself of the notion that she was in a dream that outraged the proprieties. The entire affair, for an unromantic spot like Bursley, was too fantastically and wickedly romantic.

"We must be thinking about home, Denry," said she.

"Plenty of time," Denry replied. "What! All that wine gone! I 'll see if there 's any more in the sideboard."

He emerged, with a red face, from bending into the deeps of the enamelled sideboard, and a wine-bottle was in his triumphant hand. It had already been opened.

"Hooray!" he proclaimed, pouring a white wine into his glass and raising the glass: "Here 's to the health of Mr. Cecil Wilbraham."

He made a brave tableau in the brightness of the electric light.

Then he drank. Then he dropped the glass, which broke.

"Ugh! What's that?" he demanded, with the distorted features of a gargoyle.

His mother, who was seated next to him, seized the bottle. Denry's hand, in clasping the bottle, had hidden a small label, which said: "Poison. Nettleship's Patent Enamel-Cleaning Fluid. One wipe does it."

Confusion! Only Nellie Cotterill seemed to be incapable of realising that a grave accident had occurred. She had laughed throughout the supper, and she still laughed, hysterically, though she had drunk scarcely any wine. Her mother silenced her.

Denry was the first to recover.

"It 'll be all right," said he, leaning back in his chair. "They always put a bit of poison in those things. It can't hurt me, really. I never noticed the label."

Mrs. Machin smelt at the bottle. She could detect no odour, but the fact that she could detect no odour appeared only to increase her alarm.

"You must have an emetic instantly," she said.

"Oh, no!" said Denry. "I shall be all right." And he did seem to be suddenly restored.

"You must have an emetic instantly," she repeated.

"What can I have?" he grumbled. "You can't expect to find emetics here."

"Oh, yes, I can," said she. "I saw a mustard tin in a cupboard in the kitchen. Come along now, and don't be silly."

Nellie's hysteric mirth surged up again.

Denry objected to accompanying his mother into the kitchen. But he was forced to submit. She shut the door on both of them. It is probable that during the seven minutes which they spent mysteriously together in the kitchen, the practicability of the kitchen apparatus for carrying off waste products was duly tested. Denry came forth, very pale and very cross, on his mother's arm.

"There's no danger now," said his mother easily.

Naturally the party was at an end. The Cotterills sympathised, and prepared to depart, and inquired whether Denry could walk home.

Denry replied, from a sofa, in a weak, expiring voice, that he was perfectly incapable of walking home, that his sensations were in the highest degree disconcerting, that he should sleep in that house, as the bedrooms were ready for occupation, and that he should expect his mother to remain with him.

And Mrs. Machin had to concur. Mrs. Machin sped the Cotterills from the door as though it had been her own door. She was exceedingly angry and agitated. But she could not impart her feelings to the suffering Denry. He moaned on a bed for about half an hour, and then fell asleep. And in the middle of the night, in the dark strange house, she also fell asleep.