The window of his room looked down on a green courtyard over which the leaves were scattering. Fixing his eye on this sunlit square of leaves and grass, he gave himself to think about his surprising family affairs.
Usually when he was in retreat this man would give his time, under a spiritual director, to regarding the state of his soul. In the past few months he had been given cause to wonder if he did not make his retreats too frequently. Amazing things occurred at home; extraordinary events which he never heard of till later.
‘Why didn’t you inform me at the time, Helena?’
‘You were in retreat, Edwin.’
He had misgivings then, about his retreats. He told his spiritual director. ‘I might have done better to spend the time at home. My family have had to cope with difficulties … my son … my brother … my mother-in-law … one of our old servants … I might have done better had I not made so many retreats.’
‘You might have done worse,’ said the shrewd old priest, and sounded as if he meant it. It was a humiliating thought, which in turn was good for the soul.
‘They manage admirably without me,’ Edwin Manders admitted. And so he was in retreat again. Really on this occasion he had not wanted to come. But Helena insisted. Ernest even, in his shy way, had said, ‘Someone has got to pray for us, Edwin.’ Laurence had said, ‘Cancel your autumn retreat? Oh you can’t do that,’ without giving any reasons. Caroline Rose had driven him to the station.
For years he had felt drawn to the contemplative life. To partake more fully of it he had retired, all but nominally, from Manders’ Figs. Helena took pride in his frequent recourse to monasteries. In fact he was embarrassed at this moment to realize how effectively she had fostered the legend of his ‘certain sanctity’. More and more he had felt attracted by the ascetic formalities. Only this autumn, in his hesitation before leaving home, did he feel he was being pushed into it.
He had no more qualms after his arrival at the monastery. The charm began to work on him. His austere cell was like a drug. The rise and fall of plain-song from the Chapel invited him into its abiding pure world. The noiseless, timeless lay-brothers moved amenably about their business, causing Edwin Manders to feel pleasurably humble in the presence of this profound elect. The fact that there was a big upset going on in the monastic quarters of the buildings due to half the bedrooms being flooded by a burst pipe, that one of the lay-brothers was sick to death of his life, that the Abbot was worried about an overdraft, was mercifully concealed from Edwin at that moment. And so he was sufficiently unhampered by material distractions to see his spiritual temptation plain, which being so, he found it after all resistible, that luxurious nostalgia, that opium daze of devotion, for he knew, more or less, that he never would have made a religious. He gave his mind to reviewing his family affairs.
There were two items in the embarrassing category, for both had reached the newspapers. He was in doubt which was the more distressing, Louisa Jepp’s case or Georgina Hogg’s. He decided, on the whole, Georgina’s. And for a good half-hour he concentrated on Georgina, now lodged, it was believed, in the mud of the Medway, for her body was never recovered. There was a piece in the London evening papers, mentioning by name Helena, Laurence, Caroline, Baron Stock, and the couple on the houseboat. There was an inquest. Poor Helena. In former days, he recalled, their name for Georgina in the household was Manders’ Mortification.
As he heard afterwards, for he was in retreat at the time, Helena got Laurence to make inquiries for poor Mrs Hogg’s son. He turned out to be an unfortunate person. The father a bigamist. Helena dropped her inquiries as soon as she learned that Eleanor Hogarth was involved in the bigamy; innocently no doubt, but she was in partnership with his brother Ernest, another embarrassment… Helena hushed it up. Helena was marvellous.
‘We had a sort of forewarning of Mrs Hogg’s death. Willi Stock and I were on our way to the picnic, with Georgina at the back. …
Women were rather fanciful, of course. Edwin often wondered if there was any truth in the story that Mrs Hogg’s son was miraculously cured. Helena was convinced of it. There had been nothing official on the subject. The man in question had been taken under the wing of a wealthy woman, a Theist or Theosophist, something like that. Anyway, the later news was that he had left that woman’s house and departed for Canada to lecture there about his cure.
‘In spite of which,’ Edwin thought, ‘young Hogarth may be a worthier man than me.
Likewise, when he turned to Baron Stock, he murmured,
And to think of his mother-in-law! He reflected, now, unflinchingly on the question of Louisa Jepp. There again he could not quite grasp … smuggling diamonds, a gang, it sounded like an adventure story. Then there was Louisa’s real folly and it was quite embarrassing. Heroically he forced his mind to that moment in September when, at breakfast, Helena limply passed him a letter. The letter was from Louisa. With it was a press cutting from a local paper. The press cutting was headed ‘Sunset Wedding’. It was a long piece. It began ‘In the sunset of their lives two of the old folks of Ladylees have come together in Holy Matrimony. At All Saints’ on Saturday last, Mrs Louisa Jepp, 78, of Smugglers’ Retreat, Ladylees, gave her hand in marriage to Mr J. G. L. Webster, 77, of the Old Mill, Ladylees… . The bride promised to “obey”… .’ This was followed by a substantial account of Webster and his career in the Merchant Navy, and the column ended, ‘Mrs Jepp (now Webster) has one daughter, Lady Manders, wife of Sir Edwin Manders, head of the famous firm Manders’ Figs in Syrup. The Rev. R. Socket who conducted the ceremony stated, “This is a very happy and unique occasion. Though not a regular churchgoer, Mrs Jepp is a figure much loved and respected in the district.”‘
The accompanying letter was brief. In it Louisa remarked, ‘It is not strictly accurate to say that I am not a regular churchgoer as I go to church regularly on Remembrance Day.—’
‘It isn’t for us to judge her wisdom,’ Helena said glumly.
Edwin stared out at the green quadrangle, the blown leaves.
Laurence and Caroline had been high-spirited about Louisa’s marriage. That was to be expected of Laurence. He had always adored his grandmother; and indeed she was charming, indeed.
Edwin wondered if Caroline herself was really interested in marriage.
‘She’s waiting for Laurence to return to the Church,’ Helena said. He wondered. Caroline was an odd sort of Catholic, very little heart for it, all mind.
‘That dreadful experience with poor Georgina in the river hasn’t had any harmful effects on Caroline,’ Helena
