The Long-Lost Uncle

by Arnold Bennett

On a recent visit to the Five Towns I was sitting with my oldschoolmaster, who, by the way, is much younger than I am after all, inthe bow window of a house overlooking that great thoroughfare, TrafalgarRoad, Bursley, when a pretty woman of twenty-eight or so passed down thestreet. Now the Five Towns contains more pretty women to the square milethan any other district in England (and this statement I am prepared tosupport by either sword or pistol). But do you suppose that thefrequency of pretty women in Hanbridge, Bursley, Knype, Longshaw andTurnhill makes them any the less remarked? Not a bit of it. Human natureis such that even if a man should meet forty pretty women in a walkalong Trafalgar Road from Bursley to Hanbridge, he will remark them allseparately, and feel exactly forty thrills. Consequently myever-youthful schoolmaster said to me:Silas stood up in the tub, staggered, furious, sweating. He would havestepped out of the tub and done something to Herbert had not commonprudence and the fear of the blanket falling off restrained his passion.There was left to him only one thing to do, and he did it. He sat downagain."Good-looking woman that, eh, boy? Married three weeks ago," he added."Bless us!" he repeated feebly.A piece of information which took the keen edge off my interest in her."So you see," said Herbert."Really!" I said. "Who is she?""And thou'st been living here ever since--alone, wi' Jane Sarah?""Married to a Scotsman named Macintyre, I fancy.""Not exactly," Herbert replied. "With my wife.""That tells me nothing," I said. "Who was she?"Fully emboldened now, he related to his uncle the whole circumstances ofhis marriage."Daughter of a man named Roden."Whereupon, to his surprise, Silas laughed hilariously, hysterically, andgulped down the remainder of the whisky."Not Herbert Roden?" I demanded."Where is her?" Silas demanded."Yes. Art director at Jacksons, Limited.""Upstairs.""Well, well!" I exclaimed. "So Herbert Roden's got a daughter married.Well, well! And it seems like a week ago that he and his uncle--youknow all about that affair, of course?""I' my bedroom, I lay," said Silas."What affair?"Herbert nodded. "May be.""Why, the Roden affair!""And everything upside down!" proceeded Uncle Silas."No," said my schoolmaster."No!" said Herbert. "We've put all your things in my old room.""You don't mean to say you've never--""Have ye! Ye're too obliging, lad!" growled Silas. "And if it isn'tasking too much, where's that china pig as used to be on thechimney-piece in th' kitchen there? Her's smashed it, eh?"Nothing pleases a wandering native of the Five Towns more than to comeback and find that he knows things concerning the Five Towns whichanother man who has lived there all his life doesn't know. In tenseconds I was digging out for my schoolmaster one of those familyhistories which lie embedded in the general grey soil of the past likelumps of quartz veined and streaked with the precious metal of passionand glittering here and there with the crystallizations of scandal."No," said Herbert, mildly. "She's put it away in a cupboard. She didn'tlike it.""You could make a story out of that," he said, when I had done talkingand he had done laughing."Ah! I was but wondering if ye'd foreclosed on th' pig too.""It is a story," I replied. "It doesn't want any making.""Possibly a few things are changed," said Herbert. "But you know when awoman takes into her head--"And this is just what I told him. I have added on a few explanations andmoral reflections--and changed the names."Ay, lad! Ay, lad! I know! It was th' same wi' my beard. It had for go.Thou'st under the domination of a woman, and I can sympathize wi' thee."IHerbert gave a long, high whistle.Silas Roden, commonly called Si Roden--Herbert's uncle--lived in one ofthose old houses at Paddock Place, at the bottom of the hill whereHanbridge begins. Their front steps are below the level of the street,and their backyards look out on the Granville Third Pit and the works ofthe Empire Porcelain Company. 11 was Si's own house, a regularbachelor's house, as neat as a pin, and Si was very proud of it and veryparticular about it. Herbert, being an orphan, lived with his uncle. Hewould be about twenty-five then, and Si fifty odd. Si had retired fromthe insurance agency business, and Herbert, after a spell in a lawyer'soffice, had taken to art and was in the decorating department atJackson's. They had got on together pretty well, had Si and Herbert, ina grim, taciturn, Five Towns way. The historical scandal began whenHerbert wanted to marry Alice Oulsnam, an orphan like himself, employedat a dress-maker's in Crown Square, Hanbridge."So that's it?" he exclaimed. And he suddenly felt as if his uncle wasno longer an uncle but a brother."Thou'lt marry her if thou'st a mind," said Si to Herbert, "but I s'llne'er speak to thee again.""Yes," said Silas. "That's it. I'll tell thee. Pour some more hot waterin here. Dost remember when th' Carl Rosa Opera Company was at TheatreRoyal last year? I met her then. Her was one o' Venus's maidens i' th'fust act o' Tannhaeuser, and her was a bridesmaid i' Lohengrin, andSiebel i' Faust, and a cigarette girl i' summat else. But it was inTannhaeuser as I fust saw her on the stage, and her struck me likethat." Silas clapped one damp hand violently on the other. "Miss ElsaVenda was her stage name, but her was a widow, Mrs Parfitt, and had binfor ten years. Seemingly her husband was of good family. Finest woman Iever seed, nephew. And you'll say so. Her'd ha' bin a prima donna onlyfor jealousy. Fust time I spoke to her I thought I should ha' fallendown. Steady with that water. Dost want for skin me alive? Yes, Ithought I should ha' fallen down. They call'n it love. You can call itwhat ye'n a mind for call it. I nearly fell down.""But why, uncle?""How did you meet her, uncle?" Herbert interposed, aware that his unclehad not been accustomed to move in theatrical circles."That's why," said Si."How did I meet her? I met her by setting about to meet her. I had fort' meet her. I got Harry Burisford, th' manager o' th' theatre thouknowst, for t' introduce us. Then I give a supper, nephew--I give asupper at Turk's Head, but private like."Now if you have been born in the Five Towns and been blessed with theunique Five Towns mixture of sentimentality and solid sense, you don'tflare up and stamp out of the house when a well-to-do and childlessuncle shatters your life's dream. You dissemble. You piece the dreamtogether again while your uncle is looking another way. You feel thatyou are capable of out-witting your uncle, and you take the earliestopportunity of "talking it over" with Alice. Alice is sagacity itself."Was that the time when you were supposed to be at the Ratepayers'Association every night?" Herbert asked blandly.Si's reasons for objecting so politely to the projected marriage werevarious. In the first place he had persuaded himself that he hatedwomen. In the second place, though in many respects a most worthy man,he was a selfish man, and he didn't want Herbert to leave him, becausehe loathed solitude. In the third place--and here is the interestingpart--he had once had an affair with Alice's mother and had been cutout: his one deviation into the realms of romance--and a disastrous one.He ought to have been Alice's father, and he wasn't. It angered him,with a cold anger, that Herbert should have chosen just Alice out of thewealth of women in the Five Towns. Herbert was unaware of this reason atthe moment."It was, nephew," said Si, with equal blandness.The youth was being driven to the conclusion that he would be compelledto offend his uncle after all, when Alice came into two thousand twohundred pounds from a deceased relative in Cheshire. The thought ofthis apt legacy does good to my soul. I love people to come into a bitof stuff unexpected. Herbert instantly advised her to breathe not a wordof the legacy to anyone. They were independent now, and he determinedthat he would teach his uncle a lesson. He had an affection for hisuncle, but in the Five Towns you can have an affection for a person, andbe extremely and justly savage against that person, and plan cruelrevenges on that person, all at the same time."Then no doubt those two visits to Manchester, afterwards--"Herbert felt that the legacy would modify Si's attitude towards themarriage, if Si knew of it. Legacies, for some obscure and illogicalcause, do modify attitudes towards marriages. To keep a pennilessdressmaker out of one's family may be a righteous act. But to keep alevel-headed girl with two thousand odd of her own out of one's familywould be the act of an insensate fool. Therefore Herbert settled that Sishould not know of the legacy. Si should be defeated without the legacy,or he should be made to suffer the humiliation of yielding after beingconfronted with the accomplished fact of a secret marriage. Herbert wasfairly sure that he would yield, and in any case, with a couple ofthousand at his wife's back, Herbert could afford to take the risks ofwar."Exactly," said Si. "Th' company went to Manchester and stopped there afortnight. I told her fair and square what I meant and what I was worth.There was no beating about the bush wi' me. All her friends told hershe'd be a fool if she wouldn't have me. She said her'd write me yes orno. Her didn't. Her telegraphed me from Sunderland for go and see her atonce. It was that morning as I left. I thought to be back in a couple o'days and to tell thee as all was settled. But women! Women! Her had medangling after her from town to town for a week. I was determined to gether, and get her I did, though it cost me my beard, and the best part o'that four hundred. I married her i' Halifax, lad, and it were the bestday's work I ever did. You never seed such a woman. Big and plump--andsing! By----! I never cared for singing afore. And her knows the world,let me tell ye."So Herbert, who had something of the devil in him, approached his uncleonce more, with a deceitful respect, and he was once more politelyrebuffed--as indeed he had half hoped to be. He then began hisclandestine measures--measures which culminated in him leaving the houseone autumn morning dressed in a rather stylish travelling suit."You might have sent us word," said Herbert.The tramcar came down presently from Hanbridge. Not one of the swiftthunderous electrical things that now chase each other all over the FiveTowns in every direction at intervals of about thirty seconds; but theold horse-car that ran between Hanbridge and Bursley twice an hour andno oftener, announcing its departure by a big bell, and stopping attoll-gates with broad eaves, and climbing hills with the aid of atip-horse and a boy perched on the back thereof. That was a calm andspacious age.Silas grew reflective. "Ah!" he said. "I might--and I mightn't. I didn'twant Hanbridge chattering. I was trapesing wi' her from town to towntill her engagement was up--pretty near six months. Then us settled i'rooms at Scarborough, and there was other things to think of. I couldn'tleave her. Her wouldna' let me. To-day was the fust free day I've had,and so I run down to fix matters. And nice weather I've chosen! Heraunt's spending the night wi' her."Herbert boarded the car, and raised his hat rather stiffly to a nicegirl sitting in a corner. He then sat down in another corner, far awayfrom her. Such is the capacity of youth for chicane! For that nice girlwas exactly Alice, and her presence on the car was part of the plot.When the car arrived at Bursley these monsters of duplicity descendedtogether, and went to a small public building and entered therein, andwere directed to an official and inhospitable room which was only savedfrom absolute nakedness by a desk, four Windsor chairs, someblotting-paper, pens, ink and a copy of Keats's Directory of the FiveTowns. An amiable old man received them with a perfunctory gravity, andtwo acquaintances of Herbert's strolled in, blushing. The old man toldeverybody to sit down, asked them questions of no spiritual import,abruptly told them to stand up, taught them to say a few phrases, in thetone of a person buying a ha'-porth of tin-tacks, told them to sit down,filled a form or two, took some of Herbert's money, and told them thatthat was all, and that they could go. So they went, secretly surprised.This was the august ritual, and this the imposing theatre, provided bythe State in those far-off days for the solemnizing of the mostimportant act in a citizen's life. It is different now; the copy ofKeats's Directory is a much later one."Then she's left the stage."Herbert thanked his acquaintances, who, begging him not to mention it,departed."Of course she's left th' stage. What 'ud be th' sense o' her paintingher face and screeching her chest out night after night for a crowd o'blockheads, when I can keep her like a lady. Dost think her's a fool?Her's the only woman wi' any sense as ever I met in all my life.""Well, that's over!" breathed Herbert with a sigh of relief. "It's toosoon to go back. Let us walk round by Moorthorne.""And you want to come here and live?""I should love to!" said Alice."No, us dunna! At least her dunna. Her says her hates th' Five Towns.Her says Hanbridge is dirty and too religious for her. Says its nowt butchapels and public-houses and pot-banks. So her ladyship wunna' comehere. No, nephew, thou shalt buy this house for six hundred, and be d--dto thy foreclosure! And th' furniture for a hundred. It's a deadbargain. Us'll settle at Scarborough, Liz and me. Now this water'sgetting chilly. I'll nip up to thy room and find some other clothes."It was a most enjoyable walk. In the heights of Moorthorne theygradually threw off the depressing influence of those four Windsorchairs, and realized their bliss. They reached Paddock Place again at aquarter to one o'clock, which, as they were a very methodical andtrustworthy pair, was precisely the moment at which they had meant toreach it. The idea was that they should call on Si and announce to him,respectfully: "Uncle, we think it only right to tell you that we aremarried. We hope you will not take it ill, we should like to befriends." They would then leave the old man to eat the news with hisdinner. A cab was to be at the door at one o'clock to carry them toKnype Station, where they would partake of the wedding breakfast in thefirst-class refreshment room, and afterwards catch the two-forty toBlackpool, there to spend a honeymoon of six days."You can't go up just now," said Herbert.This was the idea."But I mun go at once, nephew. Th' water's chilly, and I've had enoughon it."Herbert was already rehearsing in his mind the exact tone in which heshould say to Si: "Uncle, we think it only right--" when, as theyapproached the house, they both saw a white envelope suspended under theknocker of the door. It was addressed to "Mr Herbert Roden," in thehandwriting of Silas. The moment was dramatic. As they had not yetdiscussed whether correspondence should be absolutely common property,Alice looked discreetly away while Herbert read: "Dear nephew, I've goneon for a week or two on business, and sent Jane Sarah home. Her's inneed of a holiday. You must lodge at Bratt's meantime. I've had yourthings put in there, and they've gotten the keys of the house.--Yoursaffly, S. Roden." Bratt's was next door but one, and Jane Sarah was theRoden servant, aged fifty or more."The fact is we're using my old bedroom for a sort of a nursery, andAlice and Jane Sarah are just giving the baby its bath.""Well, I'm--!" exclaimed Herbert."Babby!" cried Silas. "Shake hands, nephew. Give us thy fist. I may aswell out wi' it. I've gotten one mysen. Pour some more hot water inhere, then.""Well, I never!" exclaimed Alice when she had read the letter. "What'sthe meaning--?""Don't ask me!" Herbert replied."Going off like this!" exclaimed Alice."Yes, my word!" exclaimed Herbert."But what are you to do?" Alice asked."Get the key from Bratt's, and get my box, if he hasn't had it carriedin to Bratt's already, and then wait for the cab to come.""Just fancy him shutting you out of the house like that, and nowarning!" Alice said, shocked."Yes. You see he's very particular about his house. He's afraid I mightruin it, I suppose. He's just like an old maid, you know, only a hundredtimes worse." Herbert paused, as if suddenly gripped in a tremendousconception. "I have it!" he stated positively. "I have it! I have it!""What?" Alice demanded."Suppose we spend our honeymoon here?""In this house?""In this house. It would serve him right."Alice smiled humorously. "Then the house wouldn't get damp," she said."And there would be a great saving of expense. We could buy those twoeasy-chairs with what we saved.""Exactly," said Herbert. "And after all, seaside lodgings, you know....And this house isn't so bad either.""But if he came back and caught us?" Alice suggested."Well, he couldn't eat us!" said Herbert.The clear statement of this truth emboldened Alice. "And he'd no rightto turn you out!" she said in wifely indignation.Without another word Herbert went into Bratt's and got the keys. Thenthe cab came up with Alice's luggage lashed to the roof, and the driver,astounded, had to assist in carrying it into Si's house. He was thendismissed, and not with a bouncing tip either. We are in the Five Towns.He got a reasonable tip, no more. The Bratts, vastly intrigued, lookedinconspicuously on.Herbert banged the door and faced Alice in the lobby across her chieftrunk. The honeymoon had commenced."We'd better get this out of the way at once," said Alice the practical.And between them they carried it upstairs, Alice, in the intervals oftugs, making favourable remarks about the cosiness of the abode."This is uncle's bedroom," said Herbert, showing the front bedroom, areally spacious and dignified chamber full of spacious and dignifiedfurniture, and not a pin out of place in it."What a funny room!" Alice commented. "But it's very nice.""And this is mine," said Herbert, showing the back bedroom, muchinferior in every way.When the trunk had been carried into the front bedroom, Herbertdescended for the other things, including his own luggage; and Alicetook off her hat and jacket and calmly laid them on Silas's ample bed,gazed into all Silas's cupboards and wardrobes that were not locked,patted her hair in front of Silas's looking-glass, and dropped a hairpinon Silas's floor.She then kneeled down over her chief trunk, and the vision of herrummaging in the trunk in his uncle's bedroom was the most beautifulthing that Herbert had ever seen. Whether it was because the lightcaught her brown hair, or because she seemed so strange there and yet sodeliciously at home, or because--Anyhow, she fished a plain white apronout of the trunk and put it on over her grey dress. And the quick,graceful, enchanting movements with which she put the apron on--well,they made Herbert feel that he had only that moment begun to live. Hewalked away wondering what was the matter with him. If you imagine thathe ran up to her and kissed her you imagine a vain thing; you do notunderstand that complex and capricious organism, the masculine heart.The wedding breakfast consisted of part of a leg of mutton that JaneSarah had told the Bratts they might have, pikelets purchased from astreet hawker, coffee, scrambled eggs, biscuits, butter, burgundy out ofthe cellar, potatoes out of the cellar, cheese, sardines, and a custardthat Alice made with custard-powder. Herbert had to go out to buy thebread, the butter, the sardines and some milk; when he returned withthese purchases, a portion of the milk being in his breast pocket, Alicechecked them, and exhibited a mild surprise that he had not donesomething foolish, and told him to clear out of "her kitchen."Her kitchen was really the back kitchen or scullery. The proper kitchenhad always been used as a dining-room. But Alice had set the table inthe parlour, at the front of the house, where food had never before beeneaten. At the first blush this struck Herbert as sacrilege; but Alicesaid she didn't like the middle room, because it was dark and becausethere was a china pig on the high mantelpiece; and really Herbert coulddiscover no reason for not eating in the parlour. So they ate in theparlour. Before the marvellous repast was over Alice had rearranged allthe ornaments and chairs in that parlour, turned round the carpet, andpatted the window curtains into something new and strange. Herbertfrequently looked out of the window to see if his uncle was coming."Pity there's no dessert," said Herbert. It was three o'clock, and therefection was drawing to a reluctant close."There is a dessert," said Alice. She ran upstairs, and came down withher little black hand-bag, out of which she produced three apples andfour sponge-cakes, meant for the railway journey. Amazing woman! Yet inresuming her seat she mistook Herbert's knee for her chair. Amazingwoman! Intoxicating mixture of sweet confidingness and unfailingresource. And Si had wanted to prevent Herbert from marrying this pearl!"Now I must wash up!" said she."I'll run out and telegraph to Jane Sarah to come back at once. I expectshe's gone to her sister's at Rat Edge. It's absurd for you to be doingall the work like this." Thus Herbert."I can manage by myself till to-morrow," Alice decided briefly.Then there was a rousing knock at the door, and Alice sprang up, as itwere, guiltily. Recovering herself with characteristic swiftness, shewent to the window and spied delicately out."It's Mrs Bratt," she whispered. "I'll go.""Shall I go?" Herbert asked."No--I'll go," said Alice.And she went--apron and all.Herbert overheard the conversation."Oh!" Exclamation of feigned surprise from Mrs Bratt."Yes?" In tones of a politeness almost excessive."Is Mr Herbert meaning to come to our house to-night? That therebedroom's all ready.""I don't think so," said Alice. "I don't think so.""Well, miss--""I'm Mrs Herbert Roden," said Alice, primly."Oh! I beg pardon, miss--Mrs, that is--I'm sure. I didn't know--""No," said Alice. "The wedding was this morning.""I'm sure I wish you both much happiness, you and Mr Herbert," said MrsBratt, heartily. "If I had but known--""Thank you," said Alice, "I'll tell my husband."And she shut the door on the entire world.IIOne evening, after tea, by gaslight, Herbert was reading the newspaperin the parlour at Paddock Place, when he heard a fumbling with keys atthe front door. The rain was pouring down heavily outside. He hesitateda moment. He was a brave man, but he hesitated a moment, for he had sinson his soul, and he knew in a flash who was the fumbler at the frontdoor. Then he ran into the lobby, and at the same instant the dooropened and his long-lost uncle stood before him, a living shower-bath,of which the tap could not be turned off."Well, uncle," he stammered, "how are--""Nay, my lad," Si stopped him, refusing his hand. "I'm too wet to touch.Get along into th' back kitchen. If I mun make a pool I'll make itthere. So thou's taken possession o' my house!""Yes, uncle. You see--"They were now in the back kitchen, or scullery, where a bright fire wasburning in a small range and a great kettle of water singing over it."Run and get us a blanket, lad," said Si, stopping Herbert again, andturning up the gas."A blanket?""Ay, lad! A blanket. Art struck?"When Herbert returned with the blanket Silas was spilling mustard out ofthe mustard tin into a large zinc receptacle which he had removed fromthe slop-stone to a convenient place on the floor in front of the fire.Silas then poured the boiling water from the kettle into the receptacle,and tested the temperature with his finger."Blazes!" he exclaimed, shaking his finger. "Fetch us the whisky, lad."When Herbert returned a second time, Uncle Silas was sitting on a chairwearing merely the immense blanket, which fell gracefully in rich foldsaround him to the floor. From sundry escaping jets of steam Herbert wasable to judge that the zinc bath lay concealed somewhere within theblanket. Si's clothes were piled on the deal table."I hanna' gotten my feet in yet," said Si. "They're resting on th' edge.But I'll get 'em in in a minute. Oh! Blazes! Here! Mix us a glass o'that, hot. And then get out that clothes-horse and hang my duds on itnigh th' fire."Herbert obeyed, as if in a dream."I canna do wi' another heavy cowd [cold] at my time o' life, andthere's only one way for to stop it. There! That'll do, lad. Let's havea look at thee."Herbert perched himself on a corner of the table. The vivacity of Silasastounded him."Thou looks older, nephew," said Silas, sipping at the whisky, andsmacking his lips grimly."Do I? Well, you look younger, uncle, anyhow. You've shaved your beardoff, for one thing.""Yes, and a pretty cold it give me, too! I'd carried that beard fortwenty year.""Then why did you cut it off?""Because I had to, lad. But never mind that. So thou'st taken possessiono' my house?""It isn't your house any longer, uncle," said Herbert, determined to getthe worst over at once."Not my house any longer! Us'll see whether it inna' my house anylonger.""If you go and disappear for a twelvemonth and more, uncle, and leave noaddress, you must take the consequence. I never knew till after you'dgone that you'd mortgaged this house for four hundred pounds to Callear,the fish-dealer.""Who towd thee that?""Callear told me.""Callear had no cause to be uneasy. I wrote him twice as his interest'ud be all right when I come back.""Yes, I know. But you didn't give any address. And he wanted his moneyback. So he came to me.""Wanted his money back!" cried Silas, splashing about in the hidden tuband grimacing. "He had but just lent it me.""Yes, but Tomkinson, his landlord, died, and he had the chance of buyinghis premises from the executors. And so he wanted his money back.""And what didst tell him, lad?""I told him I would take a transfer of the mort-gage.""Thou! Hadst gotten four hundred pounds i' thy pocket, then?""Yes. And so I took a transfer.""Bless us! This comes o'going away! But where didst find th' money?""And what's more," Herbert continued, evading the question, "as Icouldn't get my interest I gave you notice to repay, uncle, and as youdidn't repay--""Give me notice to repay! What the dev--? You hadna' got my address.""I had your legal address--this house, and I left the notice for you inthe parlour. And as you didn't repay I--I took possession as mortgagee,and now I'm--I'm foreclosing.""Thou'rt foreclosing!"

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