Ah, yes! I have done my humble best to comfort poor Kathleen and to give her some idea how to bring up her girls if she does not want to see them going the same way as their unhappy father. One is not thanked for that sort of thing; Spenworth, who blusters but can never look me in the eyes, pretends that he has refused to have me inside Cheniston since I publicly rebuked him, though he well knows that I will not enter the house while the present licence prevails. But one would have thought that even he would have had serious moments, would have felt that his soul might be required of him at any hour … A sense of gratitude, if not verbal thanks, was what I expected …
Hoped for, rather than expected … You are quite right.
And I have tried to keep the peace on the other side, at Brackenbury. There, I am thankful to say, there is the appearance of harmony ; but, goodness me, there is an appearance of harmony when you see pigs eating amicably out of the same trough … No, I ought not to have said that! And I would not say it to any one else; but, when I remember the distinction of the Hall in the old, spacious days … My poor sister-in-law Ruth—well, she knew no better; and Brackenbury, instead of absorbing her, has allowed her to absorb him. They seem to have no sense of their position; and in the upbringing of their children they either don’t know or they don’t care. When this war broke out, Culroyd ran away from Eton and enlisted. He is in the Coldstream now, and I expect the whole thing is forgotten, but Brackenbury had the utmost difficulty in getting him out. And my niece Phyllida instantly set herself to learn nursing—which, of course, in itself is altogether praiseworthy—, but she makes it an excuse for now living entirely unchecked and uncontrolled in London—the “bachelor-girl,” I believe, is the phrase. I did indeed force my brother to make her come to Mount Street; but, if that preserves the convenances, it is the utmost that I have achieved. When the trouble breaks out, when we find her liée with some hopelessly unsuitable “temporary gentleman” … I? In a rash moment I allowed Brackenbury to make some trifling contribution to the cost of the girl’s bed and board: the result is that she treats me as a lodging-house-keeper …
It was not a cheerful retrospect; but I had done my best, I could only say “Let me be judged on my intentions.” The future … That was what troubled me more. When Will resigns his commission, something must be done to establish him in life until he succeeds his uncle. He is nearly thirty and has never earned a penny beyond his present army pay; I cannot support him indefinitely; and these frantic appeals for a hundred pounds here and five hundred pounds there … I cannot meet them, unless I am to sell the house in Mount Street and give up any little niche that I may occupy. Frankly, I am not prepared to do that. One’s frame and setting … If his uncles would make a proper settlement, there would be an end of all our troubles; failing that, I must find him a well-paid appointment. And, in another sense, I want to see him established. Exactly! That is just what I do mean. Thanks to the energy of a few pushful but not particularly well-connected people like my Lady Maitland, social distinctions have ceased to exist in London. I will be as democratic as you please: I swallowed the Americans, I swallowed the South Africans, I swallow the rastaquouères daily; I don’t mind sitting between a stockbroker and an actor, but it is a different thing altogether when you come to marriage. My boy has to be protected from the ordinary dangers and temptations; and, though I would do nothing to influence him, it would be highly satisfactory if he met some nice girl with a little money of her own. Naturally one would like to see the choice falling on some one in his own immediate world; but times are changing, and it would be regarded as old-fashioned prejudice if one made too strong a stand against the people who really are the only people with money; or against a foreigner … But this is all rather like crossing the bridge before one comes to the stream …
Lying here, very much depressed, I wanted to make provision for the immediate future. Now, would you say I had taken leave of my senses if I suggested that I had some claim on Brackenbury and Spenworth? Does relationship count for nothing? Or gratitude? You shall hear! You remember that, when you left just before my operation, Brackenbury came in to see me. I had sent for him. I am not a nervous woman; but accidents do happen, and I wanted a last word with them all in case … just in case … Arthur never takes a thought for the future, and I told Brackenbury that, if anything did happen, he would be the real as well as the titular head of the family.
“It is not for me,” I said, “to advise or interfere with you or Ruth or your children. If—as I pray—Culroyd comes through unscathed, he has all the world before him, and you have only to see that he does not marry below his station. With Phyllida you must be more careful. She is young, attractive, well-dowered and a little, just a little headstrong. The war has made our girls quite absurdly romantic; any one in uniform, especially if he has been wounded … And you, who are rich, perhaps hardly realize as well as do we, who are poor, the tricks and crimes that a man will commit to marry a fortune. I do not suggest that Phyllida should be withdrawn from her hospital—”
“Oh, she’s signed on for the duration of the war,” Brackenbury interrupted.
“But I do think,” I resumed, “that you should keep an eye on her …”
Perhaps there was never anything in it; but one young man whom Phyllida brought to Mount Street, a Colonel Butler, one of her own patients … Oh, quite a presentable, manly young fellow, but hopelessly unsuitable for Phyllida! My boy Will first put me on my guard when he was last home on leave; not that he had any personal interest, for all her four thousand a year or whatever it is, but they have always been brought up like brother and sister … My last act before coming here was to make Colonel Butler promise not to see or communicate with Phyllida until he had spoken frankly to Brackenbury. I understand that he has been invited to the Hall “on approval”, as Will would say; and then we shall see what we shall see. I fancy he will have the good sense to recognize that such an alliance would be out of the question: every one would say that he had married her for her money, and no man of any pride would tolerate that … Phyllida, robbed of her stolen joys, was of course furious with me for what she was courteous enough to call my “interference.” . .
“Her head is screwed on quite tight,” said Brackenbury, ”though I have no idea what you’re insinuating.”
“I am insinuating nothing,” I said, “but do you want to see your only daughter married for her money by some penniless soldier—?”
“If she’s in love with him, I don’t care who she marries,” said Brackenbury with a quite extraordinary callousness. “He must be a decent fellow, of course, who’ll make her happy. I don’t attach the importance to Debrett that you do, Ann, especially since the war.”
As he had said it! I was mute … Every one is aware that poor Ruth was nobody—the rich daughter of a Hull shipping-magnate. I made him marry her because he had to marry some one with a little money—and much good it has been to anybody!—but I hardly expected to hear him boasting or encouraging his children to pretend that there are no distinctions …
“Well, it’s not my business, dear Brackenbury,” I said. I was feeling too ill to wrangle … “When I asked you to come here, it was because—accidents do happen—I wanted to see you again, perhaps for the last time—”
“But aren’t you frightening yourself unduly?,” interrupted Brackenbury. “Arthur told me it was only—”
“Arthur knows nothing about it,” I said. It is always so pleasant, when you are facing the possibility of death, to be told that it is all nothing … “I wanted to see you,” I said, “about Will. You and I have to pull together for the sake of the family. If anything happens to me, I leave Will in your charge. His father will, of course, do what he can, but poor Arthur has nothing but his directorships; you must be our rock and anchor.”
And then I plucked