‘We seem to have eliminated the students – unless it’s a conspiracy between two of them. It might be that. Hudson and Cattermole together. But as for the scouts – I can show you this, now, I suppose. Would any of the scouts quote Virgil?’
‘No,’ said the Dean, examining the ‘Harpy’ passage. ‘No; it doesn’t seem likely. Oh, dear!’
The reply to Harriet’s letter arrived by return.
My dear Harriet,
It is exceedingly good of you to be bothered with my graceless nephew. I am afraid the episode must have left you with an unfortunate impression of both of us.
I am very fond of the boy, and he is, as you say, attractive; but he is rather easily led, and my brother is not, in my opinion, handling him in the wisest way. Considering his expectations, Gerald is kept absurdly short of money, and naturally he feels he has a right to anything he can lay hands on. Still, he must learn to draw the line between carelessness and dishonesty. I have offered to augment his allowance myself, but the suggestion was not well received at home. His parents, I know, feel that I am stealing his confidence from them; but if I refused to help him, he would go elsewhere and get himself into worse trouble. Though I do not like the position into which I am forced of ‘Codlin is the friend, not Short,’ I still think it better that he should turn to me than to an outsider. I call this family pride; it may be mere vanity; I know it is vexation of spirit.
Let me assure you that so far, when I have trusted Gerald with anything, he has not let me down. He is amenable to some of the shibboleths. But he is not amenable to a discipline of alternate indulgence and severity; and indeed I do not know who is.
I must again apologise for troubling you with our family affairs. What on earth are you doing in Oxford? Have you retired from the world to pursue the contemplative life? I will not attempt to dissuade you now, but shall address you on the subject in the usual form on the 1st April next.
Yours in all gratitude,
P.D.B.W.
I had forgotten to say, thank-you for telling me about the accident and reassuring me as to its results. It was the first I had heard of it – as old James Forsyte says, ‘Nobody ever tells me anything.’ I will oblige with a few kind words.
‘Poor old Peter!’ said Harriet.
The remark probably deserves to be included in an anthology of Great First Occasions.
Lord Saint-George, when she went to pay him a parting visit, was considerably improved in appearance; but his expression was worried. His bed strewn with untidy papers, he seemed to be trying to cope with his affairs, and to be making but heavy weather of it. He brightened up considerably at sight of Harriet.
‘Oh, look! You’re just the person I’ve been praying for. I’ve no head for this kind of thing, and all the beastly bills keep sliding off the bed. I can write my name pretty well, but I can’t keep track of things. I’m sure I’ve paid some of these brutes twice over.’
‘Let me help; can I?’
‘I hoped you’d say that. It’s so nice of you to spoil me, isn’t it? I can’t think how things mount up so. They rook one shockingly at these places. But one must have something to eat, mustn’t one? And belong to a few clubs. And play a game or two. Of course polo comes a bit expensive, but it’s rather done just now. It’s nothing, really. Of course, the mistake was going round with that bunch in Town last vac. Mother imagines they’re O.K. because they’re in the studbook, but they’re pretty hot, really. She’ll be no end surprised if they end up in gaol, and her white-headed boy with them. Sad degeneracy of old landed families, and that kind of thing. Solemn rebuke by learned judge. I somehow got behindhand with things about the New Year, and never caught up again. It looks to me as though Uncle Peter was going to get a bit of a shock. He’s written, by the way. Much more like himself.’
He tossed the letter over.
Dear Jerry,
Of all the thundering nuisances that ever embittered the lives of their long-suffering relatives, you are the worst. For God’s sake put down that bloody Alfa before you kill yourself; strange as it may appear, I still retain some lingering remnants of affection for you. I hope they take your licence away for life, and I hope you feel like hell. You probably do. Don’t worry any more about the money.
I am writing to thank Miss Vane for her kindness to you. She is a person whose good opinion I value, so be merciful to my feelings as a man and an uncle.
Bunter has just found three silver threads among the gold. He is incredibly shocked. He begs to tender you his respectful commiserations, and advises scalp-massage (for me, I mean).
When you can manage it, send a line to report progress to your querulous and rapidly-decaying uncle,
P.W.
‘He’ll get a whole crop of silver threads when he realises that I hadn’t paid up the insurance,’ said the viscount, callously, as he took the letter back.
‘What!’
‘Fortunately there was nobody else involved, and the police weren’t on the spot. But I suppose I shall hear from the Post Office about their blasted telegraph pole. If I have to go before the magistrates and the Governor hears of it, he’ll be annoyed. It’ll cost a bit to get the car put right. I’d throw the damned thing away, only Dad gave it to me in one of his generous fits. And of course, about the first thing he asked when I came out from under was whether the insurance was all right. And being in no state to argue, I said Yes. If only it doesn’t get into the papers about the insurance, we’re all right – only the repairs will make a nice little item in Uncle Peter’s total.’
‘Is it fair to make him pay for that?’
‘Damned unfair,’ said Lord Saint-George, cheerfully. ‘The Governor ought to pay the insurance himself. He’s like the Old Man of Thermopylæ – never does anything properly. If you come to that, it isn’t fair to make Uncle Peter pay for all the horses that fall down when one backs them. Or for all the rotten little gold-diggers one carts around, either – I shall have to lump them together under “Sundries.” And he’ll say, “Ah yes! Postage stamps, telephone calls and live wires.” And then I shall lose my head and say, “Well, Uncle—” I hate those sentences that start with “Well, Uncle.” They always seem to go on and on and lead anywhere.’
‘I don’t suppose he’ll ask for details, if you don’t volunteer them. Look! I’ve got all these bills sorted. Shall I write out the cheques for you to sign?’
‘I wish you would. No, he won’t ask. He’ll only sit looking harmless till I tell him. I suppose that’s the way he gets criminals to come across with it. It’s not a nice characteristic. Have you got that note from Levy? That’s the main thing. And there’s a letter from a chap called Cartwright that’s rather important. I borrowed a bit from him up in Town once or twice. What’s he make it come to? . . . Oh, rot! It can’t be as much as that . . . Let’s see . . . Well, I suppose he’s right . . . and Archie Campbell – he’s my bookmaker – God! what a lot of screws! they oughtn’t to allow the poor beasts out. And the odds-and-ends here? What a marvellously neat way you have with these things, haven’t you? Shall we tot them all up and see where we get to? Then if I faint, you can ring the bell for Nurse.’
‘I’m not very good at arithmetic. You’d better check this up. It looks a bit unlikely, but I can’t make it come any less.’
‘Add on, say a hundred and fifty, estimated repairs to car, and then we’ll see. Oh, hell! what have we here?’
‘The portrait of a blinking idiot,’ said Harriet, irresistibly.
‘Amazin’ fellow, Shakespeare. The apt word for all occasions. Yes; there’s a “Well Uncle” look about this, all right. Of course, I get my quarter’s allowance at the end of the month, but there’s the vac, to get through and all next term. One thing, I’ll have to go home and be good; can’t get about the place much like this. The Governor more or less hinted that I ought to pay my own doctor’s bill, but I wasn’t taking the hint. Mother blames Uncle Peter for the whole thing.
‘Why on earth?’
‘Settin
g me a bad example of furious driving. He is a bit hot, of course, but he never seems to get my foul luck.’
‘Can he possibly be a better driver?’
‘Darling Harriet, that’s unkind. You don’t mind my calling you Harriet?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do, rather.’
‘But I can’t keep on saying “Miss Vane” to a person who knows all my hideous secrets. Perhaps I’d better accustom myself to saying “Aunt Harriet” . . . What’s wrong with that? You simply can’t refuse to be an adopted aunt to me. My Aunt Mary has gone all domestic and hasn’t time for me, and my mother’s sisters are the original gorgons. I’m dreadfully unappreciated and quite auntless for all practical purposes.’
‘You deserve neither aunts nor uncles, considering how you treat them. Do you mean to finish these cheques to-day? Because, if not, I have other things to do.’
‘Very well. We will continue to rob Peter to pay all. It’s wonderful what a good influence you have over me. Unbending devotion to duty. If you’d only take me in hand I might turn out quite well after all.’
‘Sign, please.’
‘But you don’t seem very susceptible. Poor Uncle Peter!’
‘It will be poor Uncle Peter by the time you’ve finished.’
‘That’s what I mean. Fifty-three, nineteen, four – it’s shocking the way other people smoke one’s fags, and I’m sure my scout bags half of them. Twenty-six, twelve, eight. Nineteen, seven, two. A hundred quid gone before you’ve time to look at it. Thirty-one, fourteen. Twelve, nine, six. Five, fifteen, three. What’s all this tale about ghosts playing merry hell in Shrewsbury?’
Harriet jumped. ‘Damn! which of our little beasts told you about that?’
‘None of ’em told me. I don’t encourage women students. Nice girls, no doubt, but too grubby. There’s a chap on my staircase who came up to-day with a story. . . . I forgot, he told me not to mention it. What’s it all about? And why the hush-hush?’
‘Oh, dear! and they were implored not to talk. They never think of the harm this kind of thing does to the College.’
‘Well, but it’s only a rag, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid it’s a bit more than that. Look here, if I tell you why it’s hush-hush, will you promise not to pass it on?’
‘Well,’ said Lord Saint-George, candidly, ‘you know how my tongue runs away with me. I’m not very dependable.’
‘Your uncle says you are.’
‘Uncle Peter? Good lord! he must be potty. Sad to see a fine brain going to rack and ruin. Of course, he’s not as young as he was. . . . You’re looking very sober about it.’
‘It is rather grim, really. We’re afraid the trouble’s caused by somebody who’s not quite right in her head. Not a student – but of course we can’t very well tell the students that, especially when we don’t know who it is.’
The viscount stared. ‘Good lord! How beastly for you! I quite see your point. Naturally you don’t want a thing like that to get about. Well, I’ll not say a word – honestly, I won’t. And if anybody mentions it I’ll register a concentrated expression of no enthusiasm. I say! Do you know, I wonder if I’ve seen your ghost.’
‘Met her?’
‘Yes. I certainly met somebody who didn’t seem quite all there. It scared me a bit. You’ll be the first person I’ve told about it.’
‘When was this? Tell me about it.’
‘End of last term. I was awfully short of cash, and I’d had a bet with a man that I’d get into Shrewsbury and—’ He stopped and looked up at her with the smile that was so uncannily not his own. ‘What do you know about that?’
‘If you mean that bit of the wall by the private gate, it’s having a set of spikes put on it. The revolving sort.’
‘Ah! all is known. Well, it wasn’t an awfully good night for it – full moon and all that – but it seemed about the last chance to get that ten quid, so I hopped over. There’s a bit of a garden there.’
‘The Fellows’ Garden. Yes.’
‘Yes. Well, I was just pushing along there, when somebody hopped out from behind a bush and grabbed me. My heart nearly shot right out of my mouth on to the lawn. I wanted to do a bunk.’
‘What was the person like?’
‘It was in black and had a bit of black stuff sort of twisted round its head. I couldn’t see anything but its eyes, and they looked beastly. So I said, “Oh, gosh!” and she said, “Which of ’em do you want?” in a horrid voice, like glue. Well, that wasn’t nice and not what I expected. I don’t pretend to be a good boy, but such were not my intentions at the time. So I said, “Nothing of that sort; I only made a bet I wouldn’t be caught, and I have been caught, so I’ll go away and I’m sorry.” So she said, “Yes, go away. We murder beautiful boys like you and eat their hearts out.” So I said, “Good God! how very unpleasant!” I didn’t like it a bit.’
‘Are you making all this up?’
‘Honestly, I’m not. Then she said, “The other one had fair hair, too.” And I said, “No, did he really?” And she said something, I forget what – it seemed to me she had a kind of hungry look about her, if you know what I mean – and anyhow, it was all most uncomfortable, and I said, “Excuse me, I think I’d better be getting along,” and I pulled free (she was uncommonly strong in the wrists) and legged it over the wall like one, John Smith.’
Harriet looked at him, but he appeared to be perfectly serious.
‘How tall was she?’
‘About your height, I should think, or a bit less. Honestly, I was too scared to notice much. I couldn’t recognise her again, I don’t think. She didn’t give me the impression of being a young thing, and that’s about all I can tell you.’
‘And you say you’ve kept this remarkable story to yourself?’
‘Yes. Doesn’t sound like me, does it? But there was something about it – I don’t know. If I’d told any of the men, they’d have thought it howlingly funny. But it wasn’t. So I didn’t mention it. It didn’t seem the right thing, somehow.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t want it laughed at.’
‘No. The boy has quite nice instincts. Well, that’s all. Twenty-five, eleven, nine; that blasted car simply eats oil and petrol – all those big engines do. It’s going to be awfully awkward about that insurance. Please, dear Aunt Harriet, need I do any more of these? They depress me.’
‘You can leave them till I’ve gone, and write all the cheques and envelopes yourself.’
‘Slave-driver. I shall burst into tears.’
‘I’ll fetch you a handkerchief.’
‘You are the most unwomanly woman I ever met. Uncle Peter has my sincere sympathy. Look at this! Sixty-nine, fifteen – account rendered; I wonder what it was all about.’
Harriet said nothing, but continued to make out the cheques.
‘One thing, there doesn’t seem to be much at Blackwell’s. A mere trifle of six pounds twelve.’
‘One halfpennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack.’
‘Did you catch that habit of quotation from Uncle Peter?’
‘You needn’t lay any more burdens on your Uncle’s shoulders.’
‘Must you rub it in? There’s practically nothing at the wine-merchant’s either. Hard drinking has quite gone out. Isn’t that satisfactory? Of course, the Governor obliges with a bottle or two from time to time. Did you like that Niersteiner the other day? Uncle Peter obliged with that. How many more of these things are there?’
‘Quite a few.’
‘Oh! My arm aches horribly.’
‘If you’re really too tired—’
‘No. I can manage.’
Half an hour later, Harriet said. ‘That’s the lot.’
‘Thank God! Now talk prettily to me.’
‘No; I must get back now. I’ll post these on my way.’
‘You’re not really going? Right away?’
‘Yes; right away to London.’
‘Wish I was you. Shall you be up next term?’
> ‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, dear, oh, dear! Well, kiss me good-bye nicely.’
Since she could think of no form of refusal that might not provoke some nerve-shattering comment, Harriet sedately complied. She was turning to go, when the nurse arrived to announce another visitor. This was a young woman, dressed in the more foolish extreme of the current fashion, with an intoxicated-looking hat and bright purple finger-nails, who advanced, crying sympathetically:
‘Oh, darling Jerry! How too ruinously shattering!’
‘Good lord, Gillian!’ said the viscount, without very much enthusiasm. ‘How did you—?’
‘My lamb! You don’t sound very pleased to see me.’
Harriet escaped, and found the nurse in the passage, putting an armful of roses in a bowl.
‘I hope I haven’t tired your patient too much with all that business.’
‘I’m glad you came to help him out with it; it was on his mind. Aren’t these roses beautiful? The young lady brought them from London. He gets a lot of visitors. But you can’t wonder, can you? He’s a dear boy, and the things he says to Sister! It’s as much as one can do to keep a straight face. He’s looking a lot better now, don’t you think? Mr. Whybrow’s made a beautiful job of the cut on his head. He’s got his stitches out now – oh, yes! it’ll hardly show at all. It is a mercy, isn’t it? Because he’s ever so handsome.’
‘Yes; he’s a very good-looking young man.’
‘He takes after his father. Do you know the Duke of Denver? He’s ever so handsome, too. I shouldn’t call the Duchess good-looking; more distinguished. She was terribly afraid he might be disfigured for life, and it would have been a pity. But Mr. Whybrow’s a splendid surgeon. You’ll see he’ll be quite all right. Sister’s ever so pleased – we tell her she’s quite lost her heart to Number Fifteen. I’m sure we shall all be sorry to say good-bye to him; he keeps us all lively.’