CHAPTER VIII

MR. DUGDALE'S OUTSPOKENNESS

THE model village of Castlemere had a fine aged church of grey stone, with solid square tower and the sweetest chime of bells in the county. A comfortable Rectory adjoined the churchyard; and picture cottages, inhabited by well-to-do tenants, clustered around. Giles Randolph was a liberal landlord.

Castle Hill House, half-a-mile distant, was united to the village by a private road, running through park and avenue; and nearly two miles from Castlemere, in the other direction, flourished a country town, Market Oakley by name.

At the better end of the town, its "west-end," so to speak, was the parish of S. John's, impinging in one direction on the extensive parish of Castlemere. Outside Market Oakley, in this direction, was Brook-End Grange, the home of Mr. Dugdale's daughter, Kathleen Alyn, a young widow, with one little boy.

She stood on the lawn, her gown flowing round her in a fashion peculiar to herself. Whatever she wore flowed, and did not hang or drag. The gown was perfect in make, for she never employed a second-rate dressmaker; and her fair hair was equally perfect in arrangement, for she always had a first-rate maid. Though she owned no good looks worth mentioning, few people observed her once only. There was repose in her bearing; and she was markedly graceful.

No hat sheltered her head. She would run out thus—though "run" is hardly the word for her gradual movements—into the charming, old-fashioned garden, at any moment, at any time of the year, even in winter with deep snow upon the ground. Now the stiff box hedges contrasted with abundant leafage; and the quaint borders were crammed with flowers.

She was intently observing; a queer little smile on her lips.

Some yards off was a small boy in knickerbockers, red-haired, snub-nosed, extremely pleased with himself. Beside him on the gravel path lay a birdtrap, and in front, on his own private bed or "garden," reposed the dead bodies of three birds, two sparrows and a chaffinch.

It seemed that a funeral function was in progress. He had dug five neat graves in a row, and had deposited two birds in two of them. As Mrs. Alyn watched, he took a third, consigned it to receptacle number three, shovelled in the earth, and chanted a short requiem—

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, What the little worms can't eat the big ones must."

A variety of feelings struggled on the mother's face, amusement among them. The boy, absorbed in his occupation, saw nothing. Bird number four was laid to rest, and again came the chant—

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, What the little worms—"

"Gordon," she said.

Gordon dropped his trowel, and turned.

"What is all this, sonny?"

"Gardener said the birds was just eating everything up."

"Where did you find so many dead ones?"

"I didn't. I caught 'em."

"Killed them! In the trap?"

Gordon's under-lip pouted.

"And the words you were singing—who told you them?"

"Nobody. It's a funeral."

She found it difficult to keep her face serious. Stooping to pick up Number Five, she said, "Poor little bird! And it might be still alive and happy, enjoying the sunshine. I wouldn't have believed that my boy could be cruel."

She upset the trap with her foot, and walked away, her skirt swaying in undulatory style. Gordon stared after her. The worst thing that could happen in his little life was to have his mother displeased.

He shovelled the earth into the untenanted fifth hole; then, with a careless six-foot air, he marched towards the house, where Mrs. Alyn stood in the porch, still handling the hapless bundle of feathers.

"Going out, mum?"

"No, sonnie."

"Won't you take me for a walk?"

"No, sonnie."

Gordon's under-lip quivered.

"I didn't mean to be cruel—course! I promise, I won't kill no more birds."

For Gordon to give in without a struggle meant much. She bent down, and he flung two arms round her neck, anxiously glancing to make sure of no witnesses.

But witnesses there were, and he pulled himself erect.

Mr. Dugdale and Mrs. Keith came up the path; the former, as usual, bland, neat, precise; the latter excited.

"How do you do, Kathleen? I am on my way to the station, to change my books, and I thought I would look in on you for a few minutes. I have left the carriage outside—your father was just coming in, so I got out to walk with him. I suppose you would not care to drive to the station. You don't subscribe to Smith's."

"Certainly I should like it." Kathleen always enjoyed what other people wanted; and part of her attractiveness was due to this fact. "Shall I get my hat?"

"Well, on second thoughts I hardly know if it is worth while. I shall have to go straight home. Has Colin told you about his absurd fad? I wish Giles would not encourage it."

"Modelling?"

"Messing about with wet clay. Such ridiculous nonsense! Four huge packing-cases have come from Italy, with casts that he bought there. He never said a word in writing. I can't conceive why he should be so secretive; and I can't imagine what put the notion into his head."

"Nature!" spoke Mr. Dugdale at her side. "It is inborn."

She turned with a nervous movement of her hands, as if repudiating something.

"I never had the smallest taste that way. Nor any of my family."

"That may be. A genius is often a family freak—not to be accounted for by ordinary rules of heredity. No doubt traceable, if one had the means of tracing it, to some distant ancestor. You ought to be thankful for Colin's gift—no matter how he came by it."

She asked "Why?" Her fine eyes going to his face, as if in search for some sub-meaning. She was handsomer than Kathleen Alyn; yet the greater charm rested with the younger woman. There was a lack of repose in Mrs. Keith; and she seemed to be perpetually on the watch for something to controvert.

"At the least it is a harmless occupation; and he needs something to do. Desk-work, of course, is out of the question."

"I don't see it, now he is stronger. Besides—" She stopped.

"He will never be strong enough for head-work. I don't mean strength in the muscular sense. His brain wouldn't stand the tension. You were going to say—besides—what?"

"There is no need that he should work."

"I don't agree with you. No self-respecting man will consent to be a burden on another."

"Colin is not a burden." Her eyes flashed resentfully. "It is Giles' delight to give him a home."

Kathleen made danger-signals from behind, but Mr. Dugdale failed to read them. Although himself a man prone to take offence, he was apt to say the wrong thing, thereby giving offence to others; and he never could imagine why offence should be taken.

"My dear lady, it may be Giles' delight to support half the neighbourhood; but half the neighbourhood has no right to be supported by him. Neither has Colin. The two are not related; and if they were, I should still say he ought to work for himself. Eh, Kathleen? Yes?"

Mrs. Keith drew up a haughty head.

"I suppose you consider me to be living on charity too," she said coldly.

"Certainly not; that is different," Mr. Dugdale interposed; but she went on, refusing to listen—

"I am extremely obliged! All those years that I lived for Giles do not count! Goodbye, Kathleen. It is later than I thought. I must go on."

Mrs. Alyn offered no protest. She signed to her father to remain where he was, slipped an affectionate arm within Mrs. Keith's, and walked down the carriage-drive. When she returned, a slight smile was on her lips.

"Now you 'have' put your foot in it, father!"

"Eh? Have I? My dear, I merely spoke the truth. I merely suggested what everybody is saying. Colin ought to do something. His choice is circumscribed; but really there is no reason why he should live a life of dependence. I'm glad he has the spirit to refuse it for himself."

"Colin has any amount of spirit. I only hope he will not bring on another breakdown. It would be a thousand pities."

"He will do well enough if he isn't fussed. I never can fathom Mrs. Keith," mused Mr. Dugdale, with knitted brows. "Whatever one expects her to do, she is certain to do the opposite. I should have thought, with her proud nature—Proud! Yes! A pikestaff isn't 'in' it beside her!—I should have thought she would be charmed at the most distant prospect of Colin making his own way in life. I'd have staked my credit on it! Yet all she wants, apparently, is to keep him in blissful idleness! Can't understand it, for my part. I imagined I knew something of women: but they are a riddle and a delusion to the end of the chapter."

"I hope you don't count me a delusion."

He looked oddly at her. "I had the training of you."

Kathleen could not help laughing.

"There's another puzzle. Why has Mrs. Keith set her mind on getting Phyllys to Castle Hill? You wish it, and I wish it. Her father and I were friends. Giles might wish it too. But Mrs. Keith has talked and worried, bothered and insisted! And why? She has no connection with the girl."

"Perhaps she thinks it will add to the liveliness of Castle Hill."

"If that were all, she could invite a dozen young women. Giles never says No to her—"

"He has gone against her in the modelling."

Mr. Dugdale waved a protesting hand.

"You are a woman too, my dear! Even you cannot let a man finish his sentence before springing an opposite view. I was about to say that Giles never says No to Mrs. Keith, unless saying Yes to her means No to Colin."

"Perhaps she has an idea that Phyllys might make a good wife for Colin."

"Absurd! She has never seen the girl."

"According to Giles 'the girl' is worth seeing."

"That is recent. Mrs. Keith set her mind years ago on getting hold of her. However, I give it up. Woman's ways are beyond me."

He spread forth deprecating hands; then made a new start. "'Lived for Giles!' Nonsense! She lived for herself and Colin. Took care of Giles by the way—and was well paid for it too! The allowance was absurd! It has been a paying concern for Mrs. Keith from first to last."

"At any rate she did her best for Giles."

"Mrs. Keith knows on which side of her bread lies the butter. I don't blame her. There are advantages in worldly wisdom—for its possessor. But when she talks in the high-falutin' style of all she has been and done, as if, forsooth, 'she' were the family benefactor and Giles her humble debtor—no, I can't stand that. Some day I shall speak out."

"Better not. Giles would not thank you. So long as things go smoothly, why stir up the mud?"

Mr. Dugdale struck his hands together.

"I have it! I vow, it never occurred to me before. Phyllys is the next in succession. If anything happened to Giles, she would sooner or later reign here. Unless Giles should have made provision for Mrs. Keith in his will—"

"Which of course he has done!"

"There is no 'of course' in connection with any man's will. The most unlikely arrangements are made; the most likely are left unmade. Mrs. Keith means to provide for contingencies. Gloriously far-sighted!" Then he turned to inspect a hairy caterpillar, reposing on the grubby palm of his little grandson.

Mrs. Keith, driving to the station, smoothed her ruffled plumage as best she might. Mr. Dugdale had a knack of ruffling her.

When Giles' mother died, and he was given over into the care of Mrs. Keith, then a young newly-made widow with one baby-boy, Mr. Randolph undertook to pay her, so long as she should have charge of his child, a yearly income of eight hundred pounds. On the death soon after of the father, the boy's guardian continued the payment; and Giles himself, since coming of age, although she could no longer be reckoned "in charge" of him, had made her the same allowance. These facts were known to Mr. Dugdale; and Mrs. Keith knew that he knew them. She did not really suspect him of having meant to say anything unkind. She had lost her temper, because his manner ruffled her.

Nobody, who observed this handsome well-dressed woman, seated in a luxurious landau, would have imagined her to be in any sense "living upon charity."

And she was not, in her own opinion. She had for years been a "mother" to Giles. She had given the best of her time, thought, and affection to both boys; to Giles not less than Colin. She had earned an income, now hers so long that she seemed to possess a right to it. Charity, indeed! But the word had been foolishly her own, not Mr. Dugdale's; and this she now recognised, regretting her unreasonable annoyance.

As regarded Colin, she knew that Mr. Dugdale had only "voiced" what everybody would think. A young man should certainly endeavour to make his own way in life. In the present case there were, it is true, peculiar circumstances which, if known to Mr. Dugdale, would tend to put a different complexion on the whole. But Mr. Dugdale did not know these circumstances—never would know them, she said to herself! It would have been more sensible if she had fallen in with his utterances. Of course she too wished Colin to do something, to find some pursuit, even though she knew that it was Giles' greatest pleasure to provide for him.

Some pursuit,—only, "not" modelling!—"not" sculpture! Anything, rather!