The smell of rotten apples came towards you through the open door of the dining-room. You saw the shining of pure white damask, the flashing of silver, a flower-bed of blue willow pattern cups, an enormous pink and white cake. You thought it was a party.
Three old men were there.
Old Dr. Kendal, six feet of leanness doubled up in an arm-chair. Old Wellington face, shrunk, cheeks burning in a senile raddle. Gla.s.sy blue eyes weeping from red rims.
Dr. Charles Kendal, his son; a hard, blond giant; high cheeks, raw ruddied; high bleak nose jutting out with a steep fall to the long upper lip; savage mouth under a straight blond fringe, a shark"s keen tooth pointing at the dropped jaw. Arched forehead drooping to the spread ears, blond eyebrows drooping over slack lids.
And Mr. James.
Mr. James was the only short one. He stood apart, his eyes edging off from his limp hand-shaking. Mr. James had a red face and high bleak nose like his brother; he was clean-shaved except for short auburn whiskers brushed forward in flat curls. His thin Wellington lips went out and in, pressed together, trying hard not to laugh at you.
He held his arms bowed out stiffly, as if the arm-holes of his coat were too tight for him.
The room was light at the far end, where the two windows were, and dark at the door-end where the mahogany sideboard was. The bright, loaded table stretched between.
Old Dr. Kendal sat behind it by the corner of the fireplace. Though it was August the windows were shut and a fire burned in the grate. Two tabby cats sat up by the fender, blinking and nodding with sleep.
"Here"s Father," Miss Kendal said. "And here"s Johnnie and Minnie."
He had dropped off into a doze. She woke him.
"You know Mrs. Olivier, Father. And this is Miss Olivier."
"Ay. Eh." From a red and yellow pocket-handkerchief he disentangled a stringy claw-like hand and held it up with an effort.
"Ye"ve come to see the old man, have ye? Ay. Eh."
"He"s the oldest in the Dale," Miss Kendal said. "Except Mr. Peac.o.c.k of Sarrack."
"Don"t you forget Mr. Peac.o.c.k of Sarrack, or he"ll be so set-up there"ll be no bearing him," Dr. Charles said.
"Miss Mary, will you sit by Father?"
"No, she won"t. Miss Mary will sit over here by me."
Though Dr. Charles was not in his own house he gave orders. He took Mr.
James"s place at the foot of the table. He made her sit at his left hand and Mamma at his right; and he slanted Mamma"s chair and fixed a basket screen on its back so that she was shielded both from the fire and from the presence of the old man.
Dr. Charles talked.
"Where did you get that thin face, Miss Mary? Not in Rathdale, I"ll be bound."
He looked at you with small grey eyes blinking under weak lids and bared the shark"s tooth, smiling. A kind, hungry shark.
"They must have starved you at your school. No? Then they made you study too hard. Kate--what d"you think Bill Acroyd"s done now? Turned this year"s heifers out along of last year"s with the ringworm. And asks me how I think they get it. This child doesn"t eat enough to keep a mouse, Mrs. Olivier."
He would leave off talking now and then to eat, and in the silence remarkable noises would come from the armchair. When that happened Miss Kendal would look under the table and pretend that Minnie and Johnnie were fighting. "Oh, those bad p.u.s.s.ies," she would say.
When her face kept quiet it looked dead beside the ruddy faces of the three old men; dead and very quietly, very softly decomposing into bleached purple and sallow white. Then her gaiety would come popping up again and jerk it back into life.
Mr. James sat at her corner, beside Mary. He didn"t talk, but his Wellington mouth moved perpetually in and out, and his small reddish eyes twinkled, twinkled, with a shrewd, secret mirth. You thought every minute he would burst out laughing, and you wondered what you were doing to amuse him so.
Every now and then Miss Kendal would tell you something about him.
"What do you think Mr. James did to-day? He walked all the way to Garth and back again. Over nine miles!"
And Mr. James would look gratified.
Tea was over with the sacrifice of the pink and white cake. Miss Kendal took your arm again and led you, gaily, gaily back to the old man.
"Here"s Miss Mary come to talk to you, Father."
She set a chair for you beside him. He turned his head slowly to you, waking out of his doze.
"What did she say your name was, my dear?"
"Olivier. Mary Olivier."
"I don"t call to mind anybody of that name in the Dale. But I suppose I brought you into the world same as the rest of "em."
Miss Kendal gave a little bound in her chair. "Does anybody know where p.u.s.s.y is?"
The claw hand stirred in the red and yellow pocket-handkerchief.
"Ye"ve come to see the old man, have ye? Ay. Eh."
When he talked he coughed. A dreadful sound, as if he dragged up out of himself a long, rattling chain.
It hurt you to look at him. Pity hurt you.
Once he had been young, like Roddy. Then he had been middle-aged, with hanging jaw and weak eyelids, like Dr. Charles. Now he was old, old; he sat doubled up, coughing and weeping, in a chair. But you could see that Miss Kendal was proud of him. She thought him wonderful because he kept on living.
Supposing he was _your_ father and you had to sit with him, all your life, in a room smelling of rotten apples, could you bear it? Could you bear it for a fortnight? Wouldn"t you wish--wouldn"t you wish--supposing Papa--all your life.
But if you couldn"t bear it that would mean--
No. No. She put her hand on the arm of his chair, to protect him, to protect him from her thoughts.
The claw fingers scrabbled, groping for her hand.
"Would ye like to be an old man"s bed-fellow?"
"p.u.s.s.y says it isn"t her bed-time yet, Father."
When you went away Miss Kendal stood on the doorstep looking after you.
The last you saw of her was a soft grimace of innocent gaiety.
X.