Herbert Hoover - "State of the Union Addresses of Herbert Hoover"

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The Nether World

G >> George Gissing >> The Nether World




When he returned to the Close, it was with a face expressing
dissatisfaction. Clem's eager inquiries he met at first with an
ill-tempered phrase or two, which informed her of nothing; but when
dinner was over he allowed himself to be drawn into a confidential
talk, in which Mrs. Peckover took part. The old man, he remarked,
was devilish close; it looked as if 'some game was on.' Mrs.
Peckover ridiculed this remark; of course there was a game on; she
spoke of Sidney Kirkwood, the influence he had obtained over
Snowdon, the designs he was obviously pursuing. If Joseph thought he
would recover his rights, at this time of day, save by direct
measures, it only proved how needful it was for him to be instructed
by shrewd people. The old man was a hard nut to crack; why he lived
in Hanover Street, and sent Jane to work, when it was certain that
he had wealth at command, Mrs. Peckover could not pretend to
explain, but in all probability he found a pleasure in accumulating
money, and was abetted therein by Sidney Kirkwood. Clem could bear
witness that Jane always seemed to have secrets to hide;
nevertheless a good deal of information had been extracted from the
girl during the last year or so, and it all went to confirm the
views which Mrs. Peckover now put forth. After long discussion, it
was resolved that Joseph should call upon the lawyers whose names
had appeared in the advertisement addressed to himself. If he was
met with any shuffling, or if they merely referred him to his
father, the next step would be plain enough.

Clem began to exhibit sullenness; her words were few, and it was
fortunate for Joseph that he could oppose a philosophical
indifference to the trouble with which his honeymoon was threatened.
As early as possible on Monday morning he ascended the stairs of a
building in Furnival's Inn and discovered the office Of Messrs.
Percival and Feel. He was hesitating whether to knock or simply turn
the handle, when a man came up to the same door, with the quick step
of one at home in the place.

'Business with us?' inquired the newcomer, as Joseph drew back.

They looked at each other. He who had spoken was comparatively a
young man, dressed with much propriety, gravely polite in manner.

'Ha! How do you do?' exclaimed Snowdon, with embarrassment, and in
an undertone. 'I wasn't expecting--'

The recognition was mutual, and whilst Joseph, though disconcerted,
expressed his feelings in a familiar smile, the other cast a quick
glance of uneasiness towards the stairs, his mouth compressed, his
eyebrows twitching a little.

'Business with Mr. Percival?' he inquired confidentially, but
without Joseph's familiar accentuation.

'Yes. That is--Is he here?'

'Won't be for another hour. Anything I could see about for you?'

Joseph moved in uncertainty, debating with himself. Their eyes met
again.

'Well, we might have a word or two about it,' he said. 'Better meet
somewhere else, perhaps?'

'Could you be at the top of Chancery Lane at six o'clock?'

With a look of mutual understanding, they parted. Joseph went home,
and explained that, to his surprise, he had found an old
acquaintance at the lawyer's office, a man named Scawthorne, whom
lie was going to see in private before having an interview with the
lawyer himself. At six o'clock the appointed meeting took place, and
from Chancery Lane the pair walked to a quiet house of refreshment
in the vicinity of Lincoln's Inn Fields. On the way they exchanged a
few insignificant remarks, having reference to a former intimacy and
a period during which they had not come across each other.
Established in a semi-private room, with a modest stimulant to aid
conversation, they became more at ease; Mr. Scawthorne allowed
himself a discreet smile, and Joseph, fingering his glass, broached
the matter at issue with a cautious question.

'Do you know anything of a man called Snowdon?'

'What Snowdon?'

'Joseph James Snowdon--a friend of mine. Your people advertised
for him about three years ago. Perhaps you haven't been at the
office as long as that?'

'Oh yes. I remember the name. What about him?'

'Your people wanted to find him--something to his advantage. Do
you happen to know whether it's any use his coming forward now?'

Mr. Scawthorne was not distinguished by directness of gaze. He had
handsome features, and a not unpleasant cast of countenance, but
something, possibly the habit of professional prudence, made his
regard coldly, fitfully, absently observant. It was markedly so as
he turned his face towards Joseph whilst the latter was speaking.
After a moment's silence he remarked, without emphasis:

'A relative of yours, you said?'

'No, I said a friend--intimate friend. Polkenhorne knows him too.'

'Does he? I haven't seen Polkenhorne for a long time.'

'You don't care to talk about the business? Perhaps you'd better
introduce me to Mr. Percival.'

'By the name of Camden?'

'Hang it! I may as well tell you at once. Snowdon is my own name.'

'Indeed? And how am I to be sure of that?'

'Come and see me where I'm living, in Clerkenwell Close, and then
make inquiries of my father, in Hanover Street, Islington. There's
no reason now for keeping up the old name--a little affair--all
put right. But the fact is, I'd as soon find out what this business
is with your office without my father knowing. I have reasons;
shouldn't mind talking them over with you, if you can give me the
information I want.'

'I can do that,' replied Scawthorne with a smile. 'If you are J. J.
Snowdon, you are requested to communicate with Michael Snowdon--
that's all.'

'Oh! but I _have_ communicated with him, and he's nothing particular
to say to me, as far as I can see.'

Scawthorne sipped at his glass, gave a stroke to each side of his
moustache, and seemed to reflect.

'You were coming to ask Mr. Percival privately for information?'

'That's just it. Of course if you can't give me any, I must see him
to-morrow.'

'He won't tell you anything more than I have.'

'And you don't _know_ anything more?'

'I didn't say that, my dear fellow. Suppose you begin by telling me
a little more about yourself?'

It was a matter of time, but at length the dialogue took another
character. The glasses of stimulant were renewed, and as Joseph grew
expansive Scawthorne laid aside something of his professional
reserve, without, however, losing the discretion which led him to
subdue his voice and express himself in uncompromising phrases.
Their sitting lasted about an hour, and before taking leave of each
other they arranged for a meeting at a different place in the course
of a few days.

Joseph walked homewards with deliberation, in absent mood, his
countenance alternating strangely between a look of mischievous
jocoseness and irritable concern; occasionally he muttered to
himself. Just before reaching the Close he turned into a
public-house; when he came forth the malicious smile was on his
face, and he walked with the air of a man who bas business of moment
before him. He admitted himself to the house.

'That you, Jo?' cried Clem's voice from upstairs.

'Me, sure enough,' was the reply, with a chuckle. 'Come up sharp,
then.'

Humming a tune, Joseph ascended to the sitting-room on the first
floor, and threw himself on a seat. His wife stood just in front of
him, her sturdy arms a-kimbo; her look was fiercely expectant,
answering in some degree to the smile with which he looked here and
there.

'Well, can't you speak?'

'No hurry, Mrs. Clem; no hurry, my dear. It's all right. The old
man's rolling in money.'

'And what about your share?'

Joseph laughed obstreperously, his wife's brow lowering the while.

'Just tell me, can't you?' she cried.

'Of course I will. The best joke you ever heard. You had yours
yesterday, Mrs. Clem; my turn comes to-day. My share is--just
nothing at all. Not a penny! Not a cent! Swallow that, old girl, and
tell me how it tastes.'

'You're a liar!' shouted the other, her face flushing scarlet, her
eyes aflame with rage.

'Never told a lie in my life,' replied her husband, still laughing
noisily. But for that last glass of cordial on the way home he could
scarcely have enjoyed so thoroughly the dramatic flavour of the
situation. Joseph was neither a bully nor a man of courage; the joke
with which he was delighting himself was certainly a rich one, but
it had its element of danger, and only by abandoning himself to
riotous mirth could he overcome the nervousness with which Clem's
fury threatened to affect him. She, coming forward in the attitude
of an enraged fishwife, for a few moments made the room ring with
foul abuse, that vituperative vernacular of the nether world, which
has never yet been exhibited by typography, and presumably never
will be.

'Go it, Clem!' cried her husband, pushing his chair a little back.
'Go it, my angel! When you've eased your mind a little, I'll explain
how it happens.'

She became silent, glaring at him with murderous eyes. But just at
that moment Mrs. Peckover put her head in at the door, inquiring
'What's up?'

'Come in, if you want to know,' cried her daughter. 'See what you've
let me in for! Didn't I tell you as it might be all a mistake? Oh
yes, you may look!'

Mrs. Peckover was startled; her small, cunning eyes went rapidly
from Clem to Joseph, and she fixed the latter with a gaze of angry
suspicion.

'Got a bit of news for you, mother,' resumed Joseph, nodding. 'You
and Clem were precious artful, weren't you now? It's my turn now.
Thought I'd got money--ha, ha!'

'And so you have,' replied Mrs. Peckover. 'We know all about it, so
you needn't try your little game.'

'Know all about it, do you? Well, see here. My brother Mike died out
in Australia, and his son died at the same time--they was drowned.
Mike left no will, and his wife was dead before him. What's the law,
eh? Pity you didn't make sure of that. Why, all his money went to
the old man, every cent of it. I've no claim on a penny. That's the
law, my pretty dears!'

'He's a ---- liar!' roared Clem, who at the best of times would have
brought small understanding to a legal question. 'What did my
brother say in his letter?'

'He was told wrong, that's all, or else he got the idea out of his
own head.'

'Then why did they advertise for you?' inquired Mrs. Peckover,
keeping perfect command of her temper.

'The old man thought he'd like to find his son again, that's all.
Ha, ha! Why can't you take it good-humoured, Clem? You had your joke
yesterday, and you can't say I cut up rough about it. I'm a
good-natured fellow, I am. There's many a man would have broke every
bone in your body, my angel, you just remember that!'

It rather seemed as if the merry proceeding would in this case be
reversed; Joseph had risen, and was prepared to defend himself from
an onslaught. But Mrs. Peckover came between the newly-wedded pair,
and by degrees induced Clem to take a calmer view of the situation,
or at all events to postpone her vengeance. It was absurd, she
argued, to act as if the matter were hopeless. Michael Snowdon would
certainly leave Joseph money in his will, if only the right steps
were taken to secure his favour. Instead of quarrelling, they must
put their heads together and scheme. She had her ideas; let them
listen to her.

'Clem, you go and get a pot of old six for supper, and don't be such
a ---- fool,' was her final remark.





CHAPTER XIX

A RETREAT




Visiting his friends as usual on Sunday evening, Sidney Kirkwood
felt, before he had been many minutes in the room, that something
unwonted was troubling the quiet he always found here. Michael
Snowdon was unlike himself, nervously inattentive, moving
frequently, indisposed to converse on any subject. Neither had Jane
her accustomed brightness, and the frequent glances she east at her
grandfather seemed to show that the latter's condition was causing
her anxiety. She withdrew very early, and, as at once appeared, in
order that Sidney might hear in private what had that day happened.
The story of Clem Peckover's marriage naturally occasioned no little
astonishment in Sidney.

'And how will all this affect Jane?' he asked involuntarily.

'That is what I cannot tell,' replied Michael. 'It troubles me. My
son is a stranger; all these years have made him quite a different
man from what I remember; and the worst is, I can no longer trust
myself to judge him. Yet I must know the truth--Sidney, I must
know the truth. It's hard to speak ill of the only son left to me
out of the four I once had, but if I think of him as he was
seventeen years ago--no, no, he must have changed as he has grown
older. But you must help me to know him, Sidney.'

And in a very few days Sidney had his first opportunity of observing
Jane's father. At this meeting Joseph seemed to desire nothing so
much as to recommend himself by an amiable bearing. Impossible to
speak with more engaging frankness than he did whilst strolling away
from Hanover Street in Sidney's company. Thereafter the two saw a
great deal of each other. Joseph was soon a familiar visitor in
Tysoe Street; he would come about nine o'clock of an evening, and
sit till after midnight. The staple of his talk was at first the
painfully unnatural relations existing between his father, his
daughter, and himself. He had led a most unsatisfactory life; he
owned it, deplored it. That the old man should distrust him was but
natural; but would not Sidney, as a common friend, do his best to
dispel this prejudice? On the subject of his brother Mike he kept
absolute silence. The accident of meeting an intimate acquaintance
at the office of Messrs. Percival and Peel had rendered it possible
for him to pursue his inquiries in that direction without it
becoming known to Michael Snowdon that he had done anything of the
kind; and the policy he elaborated for himself demanded the
appearance of absolute disinterestedness in all his dealings with
his father. Aided by the shrewd Mrs. Peckover, he succeeded in
reconciling Clem to a present disappointment, bitter as it was, by
pointing out that there was every chance of his profiting largely
upon the old man's death, which could not be a very remote
contingency. At present there was little that could be done save to
curry favour in Hanover Street, and keep an eye on what went forward
between Kirkwood and Jane. This latter was, of course, an issue of
supreme importance. A very little observation convinced Joseph that
his daughter had learned to regard Sidney as more than a friend;
whether there existed any mutual understanding between them he could
only discover by direct inquiry, and for the present it seemed wiser
to make no reference to the subject. He preserved the attitude of
one who has forfeited his natural rights, and only seeks with
humility the chance of proving that he is a reformed character. Was,
or was not, Kirkwood aware of the old man's wealth? That too must be
left uncertain, though it was more than probable he had seen the
advertisement in the newspapers, and, like Mrs. Peckover, had based
conclusions thereupon. Another possibility was, that Kirkwood had
wormed himself into Michael's complete confidence. From Joseph's
point of view, subtle machinations were naturally attributed to the
young man--whose appearance proved him anything but a commonplace
person. The situation was full of obscurities and dangers. From
Scawthorne Joseph received an assurance that the whole of the
Australian property had been capitalised and placed in English
investments; also, that the income was regularly drawn and in some
way disposed of; the manner of such disposal being kept private
between old Mr. Percival and his client.

In the meantime family discussions in the Close had brought to
Joseph's knowledge a circumstance regarding Kirkwood which
interested him in a high degree. When talking of Sidney's character,
it was natural that the Peckovers should relate the story of his
relations with Clara Hewett.

'Clara?' exclaimed Mr. Snowdon, as if struck by the name.
'Disappeared, has she? What sort of a girl to look at?'

Clem was ready with a malicious description, whereto her husband
attended very carefully. He mused over it, and proceeded to make
inquiries about Clara's family. The Hewetts were now living in
another part of Clerkenwell, but there was no hostility between them
and the Peckovers. Was anything to be gained by keeping up intimacy
with them? Joseph, after further musing, decided that it would be
just as well to do so; suppose Clem called upon them and presented
the husband of whom she was so proud? He would like, if possible, to
hear a little more about their daughter; an idea he had--never
mind exactly what. So this call was paid, and in a few weeks Joseph
had established an acquaintance with John Hewett.

Sidney, on his part, had a difficulty in coming to definite
conclusions respecting Jane's father. Of course he was prejudiced
against the man, and though himself too little acquainted with the
facts of the case to distinguish Joseph's motives, he felt that the
middle-aged prodigal's return was anything but a fortunate event for
Michael and his granddaughter. The secret marriage with Clem was not
likely, in were not lacking grounds for hesitation in refusing to
accept any case, to have a respectable significance. True, there
Joseph's account of himself. He had a fund of natural amiability; he
had a good provision of intellect; his talk was at times very
persuasive and much like that of one who has been brought to a
passable degree of honesty by the slow development of his better
instincts. But his face was against him; the worn, sallow features,
the eyes which so obviously made a struggle to look with frankness,
the vicious lower lip, awoke suspicion and told tales of base
experience such as leaves its stamp upon a man for ever. All the
more repugnant was this face to Sidney because it presented, in
certain aspects, an undeniable resemblance to Jane's; impossible to
say which feature put forth this claim of kindred, but the
impression was there, and it made Sidney turn away his eyes in
disgust as often as he perceived it. He strove, however, to behave
with friendliness, for it was Michael's desire that he should do so.
That Joseph was using every opportunity of prying into his thoughts,
of learning the details of his history, he soon became perfectly
conscious; but he knew of nothing that he need conceal.

It was impossible that Sidney should not have reflected many a time
on Michael Snowdon's position, and have been moved to curiosity by
hints of the mysterious when he thought of his friends in Hanover
Street. As it happened, he never saw those newspaper advertisements
addressed to Joseph, and his speculation had nothing whatever to
support it save the very few allusions to the past which Michael had
permitted himself in the course of talk. Plainly the old man had
means sufficient for his support, end in all likelihood this
independence was connected with his visit to Australia; but no act
or word of Michael's had ever suggested that he possessed more than
a very modest competency. It was not, indeed, the circumstances, so
much as the character and views, of his friend that set Kirkwood
pondering. He did not yet know Michael Snowdon; of that he was
convinced. He had not fathomed his mind, got at the prime motive of
his being. Moreover, he felt that the old man was waiting for some
moment, or some event, to make revelation of himself. Since Joseph's
appearance, it had become more noticeable than ever that Snowdon
suffered from some agitation of the mind; Sidney had met his eyes
fixed upon him in a painful interrogation, and seemed to discern the
importunity of a desire that was refused utterance. His own
condition was affected by sympathy with this restlessness, and he
could not overcome the feeling that some decisive change was at hand
for him. Though nothing positive justified the idea, he began to
connect this anticipation of change with the holiday that was
approaching, the week to be spent in Essex at the end of July. It
had been his fear that Joseph's presence might affect these
arrangements, but Michael was evidently resolved to allow nothing of
the kind. One evening, a fortnight before the day agreed upon for
leaving town, and when Joseph had made a call in Hanover Street, the
old man took occasion to speak of the matter. Joseph accepted the
information with his usual pliancy.

'I only wish my wife and me could join you,' he remarked. 'But it
wouldn't do to take a holiday so soon after settling to business.
Better luck for me next year, father, let's hope.'

That he had settled to business was a fact of which Joseph made so
much just now that one would have been tempted to suppose it almost
a new experience for him. His engagement, he declared, was with a
firm of advertising agents in the City; nothing to boast of,
unfortunately, and remunerative only in the way of commission; but
he saw his way to better things.

'Jane, my girl,' he continued, averting his eyes as if in emotion,
'I don't know how you and me are going to show our gratitude for all
this kindness, I'm sure. I hope you haven't got so used to it that
you think there's no need to thank your grandfather?'

The girl and the old man exchanged a look. Joseph sighed, and began
to speak of another subject in a tone of cheery martyrdom.

Jane herself had not been quite so joyous as was her wont since the
occurrence that caused her to take a new view of her position in the
world. She understood that her grandfather regarded the change very
gravely, and in her own heart awoke all manner of tremulous
apprehensions when she tried to look onward a little to the
uncertainties of the future. Forecasts had not hitherto troubled
her; the present was so rich in satisfactions that she could follow
the bent of her nature and live with no anxiety concerning the
unknown. It was a great relief to her to be assured that the
long-standing plans for the holiday would suffer no change. The last
week was a time of impatience, resolutely suppressed. On the
Saturday afternoon Sidney was to meet them at Liverpool Street.
Would anything happen these last few days--this last day--this
last hour? No; all three stood together on the platform, and their
holiday had already begun.

Over the pest-stricken regions of East London, sweltering in
sunshine which served only to reveal the intimacies of abomination;
across miles of a city of the damned, such as thought never
conceived before this age of ours; above streets swarming with a
nameless populace, cruelly exposed by the unwonted light of heaven;
stopping at stations which it crushes the heart to think should be
the destination of any mortal; the train made its way at length
beyond the outmost limits of dread, and entered upon a land of level
meadows, of hedges and trees, of crops and cattle. Michael Snowdon
was anxious that Jane should not regard with the carelessness of
familiarity those desolate tracts from which they were escaping. In
Bethnal Green he directed her attention with a whispered word to the
view from each window, and Jane had learnt well to understand him.
But, the lesson over, it was none of his purpose to spoil her
natural mood of holiday. Sidney sat opposite her, and as often as
their eyes met a smile of contentment answered on either's face.

They alighted at Chelmsford, and were met by the farmer in whose
house they were going to lodge, a stolid, good-natured fellow named
Pammenter, with red, leathery cheeks, and a corkscrew curl of black
hair coming forward on each temple. His trap was waiting, and in a
few minutes they started on the drive to Danbury. The distance is
about five miles, and, until Danbury Hill is reached, the
countryside has no point of interest to distinguish it from any
other representative bit of rural Essex. It is merely one of those
quiet corners of flat, homely England, where man and beast seem on
good terms with each other, where all green things grow in
abundance, where from of old tilth and pasture-land are humbly
observant of seasons and alternations, where the brown roads are
familiar only with the tread of the labourer, with the light wheel
of the farmer's gig, or the rumbling of the solid warn. By the
roadside you pass occasionally a mantled pool, where perchance ducks
or geese are enjoying themselves; and at times there is a pleasant
glimpse of farm-yard, with stacks and barns and stables. All things
as simple as could be, but beautiful on this summer afternoon, and
priceless when one has come forth from the streets of Clerkenwell.

Farmer Pammenter was talkative, and his honest chest. voice sounded
pleasantly; but the matter of his discourse might have been more
cheerful. Here, as elsewhere, the evil of the times was pressing
upon men and disheartening them from labour. Farms lying barren,
ill-will between proprietor and tenant, between tenant and hind,
departure of the tillers of the soil to rot in towns that have no
need of them--of such things did honest Pammenter speak, with many
a sturdy malediction of landlords and land-laws, whereat Sidney
smiled, not unsympathetic.

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