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90Gateshead? When was this? What were they?''One was the boy fishing, the other was the angel.''What did you get for them?' This question came from his father.'A hundred and twenty for the angel and eighty-five guineas for the boy.''Good God!' His father was smiling. 'By! you are a sly cuss.

You never let on. We could have drunk to it. What did you do with the money? Have you got it? Was it in cash?''Yes, it was in cash, but I've spent it.'The expressions on the two faces slipped now, and it was Lionel who asked, 'What did you spend it on?''On good stone. I've got three more orders.'Again his father's face was expanding. And now, throwing his big florid and grizzled head back, he seemed to speak to the decorated ceiling as he said, 'I'll be buggered. The runt of the litter earning a living.' Then looking at this second son, for whom he had never had much use, mainly because he looked a weed and, what was more, he

91had no conversation, and seemingly no interests except as a boy whittling away at wood, then later chiselling stone, and making it apparent that the money being spent on his education was a waste, verified by school reports which were always the same: he didn't work; he was absent-minded; he was a dreamer. Well, by the look of it his dreams had gone into stone and they were actually making money.

And more orders ahead, he said. Well, it wasn't a fortune, nothing like what he expected his elder son to capture in order to keep a roof over their heads, but it promised one of them a living. Yes, indeed.He stared at his son. There was more to this thin, undersized individual than met the eye. Indeed, indeed. He asked now, 'Where are your pieces going to?''London, I think. I'm not sure. Anyway, the man does business there. He was a monumental mason himself.''Monumental mason! Gravestones and crosses!'

His brother's tone was scathing.'Yes, yes, I suppose so; but he's got a sideline, too. And that, he says, is where I come in. He will take all I can turn out.'Lionel, pulling himself to his feet, now 92said, 'A few hundred pounds isn't going to save the city.''No, it won't save the city.' Douglas, too, had risen to his feet, and as he passed between his father and his brother he added tersely, 'But it will provide me with a living when this part of the city falls.'The two men watched the slight figure walk down the room with his loose shambling gait. And when the door banged behind him his father, throwing his halfsmoked cigar into the fireplace, remarked, There goes a dark horse. But he's right, you know. Oh yes, he's right, because if your deal doesn't come off, how do you think you're going to exist? I've asked you this before. On your wits? But they won't take you far at cards. And I've said this before an' all. So what is for you? Kitty Porter, you know, won't allow you back into her nest again to pluck her chicken.

And so it would mean America. Or you could resort to what some of your type have done before, escorting rich dames around watering places. It's quite the done thing, I hear.'Facing his father now, Lionel said with some bitterness, 'You don't like me, do you?

93You've never had any use for me, or for Doug, for that matter. And I'll say this, if there were prizes given for looking after number one, you'd be top of the list. And know something, the things you don't like about me are what are very prominent in yourself. What pattern did you set for me? horing was the first that came to my notice, and under Mama's nose at that. Drink was next; followed by gaming, and that not Jail straight either, else you wouldn't have had to sell up the London house and resort to this end of the country, which you hate.' 'Get out of my sight!' 'Yes, I'll do that, Father, for the present. [But just one more thing: what if I marry her? "And oh, I'll marry her all right because she's ripe for the taking.

There's no doubt about that. But what if she doesn't want to live here and support your ruin? What if she were to decide we should take up residence in Milton Place? It's a very nice house that, very well kept, not a rambling mausoleum (like this. So then what about it?''The same about it as if she decided to live here, you'll have control of her money, and I think you'll just be in time because there's a 94law afoot to give women rights to what's considered their own. So whatever there is I'll expect you to use it in the right way.''Well-' Lionel stepped back and as he did so he tweeked each side of his small moustache with his forefinger. 'That remains to be seen, Father,' he said. That remains to be seen.'When he, too, left the room, William Filmore almost groped his way to the leather chair from which he had so recently risen and, dropping into it, he lay back and put his hand to his brow as he asked himself, how was it that one could dislike the flesh and blood that was part of one, that one had made? Well, perhaps he was right, he was part of himself in many ways. But it was too late now for self-recrimination; he hadn't a long time to run; not the way he was feeling now, he hadn't. Then there was Doug. That strip of an individual. All the Filmores had been big-made, burly types. The gallery and the staircase showed them for two hundred years back. There wasn't a fleshless one among them; yet, there he was, the second son, who at twenty-five still had on him a body that made him look like a strip of a 95boy. And just five-foot six tall. That wasn't his family. But what had he just done? He had shown his big burly handsome brother that he, at least, could earn a living.Strange that he had never bothered with Douglas; but there had seemed to be nothing to bother with in this undersized Filmore man. For a moment there intruded into his thoughts a deep sense of loss that in his old and shortening age he might have experienced a sense of friendship and perhaps comfort through this unusual descendant in the Filmore clan. But it was too late now.As he closed his eyes his thoughts took him back to seeing himself standing by the bedside of his dying father, whose last words were, 'Remember, Will, everything in life must be paid for.' And yes, his father had certainly paid, through a crippling and lingering disease, a very high price for what he had called the natural sin of infidelity.

'Have you not found out yet how the land lies?''Father.' Lionel closed his eyes for a moment and brought his jaws tightly together before he said slowly, 'What do you want me to do? Go to the other one and say, what's her share in all this?''I don't see why not. You could put it over in a diplomatic way, because she seems to be the working end of the pair. She seems to make the money and your dear Victoria to spend it, if her dress is anything to go by, which to my mind points to the fact she must have the bigger share in the whole concern. You know, the maids here would turn out better dressed than the other one, flat as a pancake and utterly colourless. Look at her at the last do: not a frill or a bit of ruch-97ing to be seen on her anywhere. Putty coloured she was from head to foot, while the other one was decked out like a duchess. Well, it speaks for itself, doesn't it? Have you ever spoken about money to her?''Yes, once, and her answer was to laugh and say, "Well, you must know I'm just a poor girl."''Poor girl! They were brothers, weren't they, the two fathers?''Yes. But it seems her father died when she was quite young; and from the little I can gather they were all living together at the time, the two brothers and their families.''Families, you say? Are there any more besides the two women?''No. No, they were the only children.''Well, all I can say is you should do something before the marriage. You've got two weeks.''What do you expect me to do, Father? Go and ask her if she's going to bring a dowry with her?

If anything would turn her from the idea of marriage it would be that, I should imagine.'At this William Filmore turned from

98where he had been standing near the library table and walked to the end of the room and stood looking out into the deepening twilight of the wet April day. The library was situated at the end of the house and its windows faced across a wide yard to a row of large stone buildings; and looking towards them, he asked, 'Is Doug ready?''I don't know. He's likely still over there chipping away. He enjoys being a tradesman,' Lionel answered, to be surprised by his father's response when he swung round from the window and hissed, 'It would be something to your credit if you went and joined him in being a tradesman. At least he's keeping himself and handing a bit into the house at the same time. And it's an art he's following, not bloody blacking and candles. And that's something you want to do as soon as possible, get rid of that blacking factory and the candles and put it into more property where it's already sprinkled along by the river, so I understand.''You don't need to tell me, Father, what I'm going to do; I'm no blasted fool.'William Filmore now walked slowly back down the room, saying, 'No; you're no 99blasted fool, not in some ways; but in others you're an idiot. Tell me, do you like the girl? I mean, not just like her, want her? Are you for her?'Lionel did not immediately answer; he ran his hand back over his well pomaded hair, then he said, 'She's very likeable . . . and desirable.'And it was also some seconds before his father, who was staring hard at him now, said, 'Liking and desirable isn't going to be enough.

There's going to be no more of that Lizzie Porter business, I hope. Have you made it plain with her?' for himself now to be surprised by Lionel's answer, who, being further piqued, leaned on the library table and with doubled fist beat out each word: 'Yes! Yes! Yes! I've told you before.'His father's tone was comparatively calm is he replied, 'Well, it's nice to be reassured.What time is it?' He turned and looked towards the mantelpiece on which stood an orlate French gilt clock presided over, as it were, by the posed lady on its head, and he remarked, 'In an hour's time Alan and Minie and their five daughters will, as usual, be the first to arrive. He gave a dry laugh now

100as he said, There's a bevy for you, a nestful of pure chicks and not a cock in sight." But Lionel was already going out of the door and so he called after him, 'See that Doug's ready,' after which he lowered himself into the chair, pulled out a large red silk handkerchief from the side pocket of his heavily embroidered jacket and mopped his perspiring face and so somewhat smothered the words, which were,

'God in heaven! There'll be some skitting this night. We've reached the depths when the house has got to be saved by a blacking factory. Of all the trades in the world, and most of them can be found in this area, she has to have a blacking factory. Not a brush or comb-maker, or a dyer's, or a cutler's, or a tanner's, or a chain maker's, or a calico printer's, and nothing so lady-like as lace-making, but it has to be a bloody blacking factory. And every one of his friends at the ball here tonight and supposedly celebrating the coming event in a fortnight's time will be smirking, the women behind their fans, the men as they toast the happy couple repeatedly with champagne, or port, or whisky, or rum, or highly laced punch, or sherry. Oh yes, there'll be such a101choice, but by two o'clock tomorrow morning there'll be no difference to their bloody fuddled minds; nor to my own . . . nor to my own.' Among the close friends at the ball were Pat Maybrook, his wife Ann, and their three sons, David, Norman, and Albert, each of these being accompanied by a young lady, David by his fiancee. The Maybrooks' business was the lucrative one of brewers.Then there was Arthur Porter, his wife Kitty, his son Peter and the notorious daughter Elizabeth. Porter was in the respectable business of shipping.The Wright family consisted of Stephen, his wife Rosie, and three sons, John, Amos, and James, all confirmed bachelors and so, unattended by ladies. Then there were the Forresters: Alan, his wife Minnie, and their five daughters, the latter all well into their twenties: Jane the eldest at twenty-nine, and, down the line, Mary, Alice, Freda, and Sarah at twenty-two. They were merry girls; at least, they presented a merry front; and they were unescorted except for their parents. However, they knew there would always 102 be John, Amos, and James Wright whom they could fall back on. Just as John, Amos, and James, in their turn, never bothered about escorts, knowing that they would and could pick from the Forrester lasses. And the Wright men being merry souls, there was always a great deal of chatt and laughter whenever the two families met up.Among the rest of the guests were those invited under the heading of strong acquaintances, men and wives who attended the hunt. They might be farmers, but so-called

'gentlemen' ones.Altogether, the future groom's guests came to fifty, the future bride's merely nine: Andrew Kemp, Bridget's solicitor, his wife Jane, and their son Richard, himself a solicitor; William Bennett, Bridget's accountant, his wife Nell, daughter Nancy and son Jeff; and lastly Bridget's agent, Arthur Fathers and his son Philip. Mrs Fathers was rather unwell.As was usual the guests had been assembled for about an hour before supper was announced; and as the table in the large dining-room could accommodate only twentytwo people, the innovation of smaller tables, 103each seating four to six people set around the main board, had been resorted to. That this arrangement proved difficult for the serving Of the meal went unnoticed as the hired and liveried waiters were practised in their work and no catastrophe occurred, much to the annoyance of James Bright, the butler-cumfootman-cum-valet and anything else that was required of him in this establishment; and with only four females under him, the housekeeper Mrs Matilda Pillman, the cook Rose Jackson, and Kate Swift and Mary Carstairs, who did whatever was required of them, from assisting the cook to mending their own uniforms and even washing them at times when the laundress couldn't cope with what was required of her in one day of hiring.Nevertheless, the cook and the three women had, for the previous week, worked almost eighteen hours a day preparing for the great do and determining that the supper spread was going to be something that would be talked about for some time afterwards, even if it were thought to be but a prelude to the banquets that would become a regular feature in this house once Mr Lionel was

104married to the beautiful and rich Miss Mordaunt.They knew that, as engagements went, this one had been a whirlwind affair, for Mr Lionel had known her for less than a year and had been engaged to her for a matter of months only. But there, the sooner the better, for this house would come alive again, and not before time.Where the master had got the money from to engage these titivated lackeys and the band of four players, besides all that wine and spirits, the Lord only knew; because they had been lucky to get their half-pay wages last Christmas.However, to attend to present and future matters: they would all keep their eyes on the leftovers because that lot had arrived in a covered cart, in which Jack Johnson, the yard man, had said were three large wicker baskets, empty ones. And for what did waiters want to carry three big empty wicker baskets along with them, eh?But now, as the noise and the laughter proclaimed, the guests were leaving the dining-room, the ladies making for the toilet room one way, the gentlemen to a similar