"He has always been a burden round your mother's neck.She has paid his debts over and over again;he has often been drunk,abused and threatened her;and now he is gone to Buenos Aires with a dancer."And,as if distrusting the efficacy of those words on the boy,he went on quickly "He took your mother's pearls to give to her."Val jerked up his hand,then.At that signal of distress Winifred cried out:
"That'll do,Soames-stop!"
In the boy,the Dartie and the Forsyte were struggling.For debts,drink,dancers,he had a certain sympathy;but the pearls-no!That was too much!And suddenly he found his mother's hand squeezing his.
"You see,"he heard Soames say,"we can't have it all begin over again.There's a limit;we must strike while the iron's hot."Val freed his hand.
"But--you're--never going to bring out that about the pearls!Icouldn't stand that--I simply couldn't!"
Winifred cried out:
"No,no,Val--oh no!That's only to show you how impossible your father is!"And his uncle nodded.Somewhat assuaged,Val took out a cigarette.His father had bought him that thin curved case.Oh!
it was unbearable--just as he was going up to Oxford!
"Can't mother be protected without?"he said."I could look after her.It could always be done later if it was really necessary."A smile played for a moment round Soames'lips,and became bitter.
"You don't know what you're talking of;nothing's so fatal as delay in such matters.""Why?"
"I tell you,boy,nothing's so fatal.I know from experience."His voice had the ring of exasperation.Val regarded him round-eyed,never having known his uncle express any sort of feeling.
Oh!Yes--he remembered now--there had been an Aunt Irene,and something had happened--something which people kept dark;he had heard his father once use an unmentionable word of her.
"I don't want to speak ill of your father,"Soames went on doggedly,"but I know him well enough to be sure that he'll be back on your mother's hands before a year's over.You can imagine what that will mean to her and to all of you after this.The only thing is to cut the knot for good."In spite of himself,Val was impressed;and,happening to look at his mother's face,he got what was perhaps his first real insight into the fact that his own feelings were not always what mattered most.
"All right,mother,"he said;"we'll back you up.Only I'd like to know when it'll be.It's my first term,you know.I don't want to be up there when it comes off.""Oh!my dear boy,"murmured Winifred,"it is a bore for you."So,by habit,she phrased what,from the expression of her face,was the most poignant regret."When will it be,Soames?""Can't tell--not for months.We must get restitution first."'What the deuce is that?'thought Val.'What silly brutes lawyers are!Not for months!I know one thing:I'm not going to dine in!'
And he said:
"Awfully sorry,mother,I've got to go out to dinner now."Though it was his last night,Winifred nodded almost gratefully;they both felt that they had gone quite far enough in the expression of feeling.
Val sought the misty freedom of Green Street,reckless and depressed.And not till he reached Piccadilly did he discover that he had only eighteen-pence.One couldn't dine off eighteen-pence,and he was very hungry.He looked longingly at the windows of the Iseeum Club,where he had often eaten of the best with his father!
Those pearls!There was no getting over them!But the more he brooded and the further he walked the hungrier he naturally became.
Short of trailing home,there were only two places where he could go--his grandfather's in Park Lane,and Timothy's in the Bayswater Road.Which was the less deplorable?At his grandfather's he would probably get a better dinner on the spur of the moment.At Timothy's they gave you a jolly good feed when they expected you,not otherwise.He decided on Park Lane,not unmoved by the thought that to go up to Oxford without affording his grandfather a chance to tip him was hardly fair to either of them.His mother would hear he had been there,of course,and might think it funny;but he couldn't help that.He rang the bell.
"Hullo,Warmson,any dinner for me,d'you think?""They're just going in,Master Val.Mr.Forsyte will be very glad to see you.He was saying at lunch that he never saw you nowadays."Val grinned.
"Well,here I am.Kill the fatted calf,Warmson,let's have fizz."Warmson smiled faintly--in his opinion Val was a young limb.
"I will ask Mrs.Forsyte,Master Val."
"I say,"Val grumbled,taking off his overcoat,"I'm not at school any more,you know."Warmson,not without a sense of humour,opened the door beyond the stag's-horn coat stand,with the words:
"Mr.Valerus,ma'am."
"Confound him!"thought Val,entering.
A warm embrace,a "Well,Val!"from Emily,and a rather quavery "So there you are at last!"from James,restored his sense of dignity.
"Why didn't you let us know?There's only saddle of mutton.
Champagne,Warmson,"said Emily.And they went in.