'I've never in my life been surrounded by so many parsons,' said Fanny-Rosa, 'except the time that the Bishop of Slane came to Castle Andriff to spend the night, and brought with him a chaplain and a couple of curates. My sister Tilly and I were brats of children at the time, and we stole into their rooms when they were all at dinner and threw their night-shirts out of the window, and their reverences slept as nature made them… Don't look so shocked, Bill. You are a married man and must have slept without your night-shirt before now.'
'You know, Mrs. Brodrick,' said Tom Callaghan, 'Henry is much more like you than anybody realises. I've been told so often that he is the spit of his uncle Henry, and a chip off his grandfather's block, but I know now who gave him his quick tongue.'
'Oh, we Flowers always had the gift of the gab,' said Fanny-Rosa; 'it enables us to slide through many difficulties.
No, Herbert there is most like me of all my children, and he was so afraid at what he might become that he sought sanctuary behind a dog-collar. As for Henry, people are right to compare him with his grandfather and his uncle. He has the shrewdness of the one, coupled with the charm of the other. Which will gain the upper hand remains to be seen. '
The brothers winked at one another. Their mother was in rollicking form. Katherine was wrong for once in her judgment, thought Henry, as Fanny-Rosa raised her glass and pledged his future as a Cabinet Minister. She was probably happier than she had ever been in her life, and Johnnie was entirely forgotten. What a stunning picture she made too, with that crown of white hair, and the green eyes, and the emeralds, as long as you did not look under the table and see the dragging hem. What age was she now?
Fifty-three or comfour; he was not certain. The party was a great success anyway, and even Aunt Eliza became quite flushed and excited, and forgot to be disapproving. Fanny lost her inevitable anxious look, the parsons behaved like schoolboys on a spree, and Tom Callaghan's great booming laugh echoed through the room. If only Katherine had been there, thought Henry, the cup of happiness would have been complete…
Polling took place the next day, and the result was to be known by six o'clock, and given out from the steps of the Town Hall. Henry passed the day in a fever of impatience. Now that the speech-making was over, and the canvassing, and the driving about through the streets of Bronsea in a carriage bedecked with blue ribbon, there was a great sense of anti-climax. It was hard to wait about all day for the result. Somehow he felt unable to take luncheon with the rest of the family, and he went out and fed alone in a pub at the end of the town, where he hoped no one would recognise him. He then walked the streets of Bronsea, observing that nearly everyone he met appeared to be sporting in his buttonhole a red ribbon, the Liberal favour, and he counted only a dozen blue rosettes during the afternoon. Possibly his supporters had voted early, he told himself, or anyway they were not the type to walk the streets.
How ridiculous was the whole affair, and what a fool he felt to be so nervous! He found himself outside the shipping-office of Owen Williams, the firm which handled all the copper business for him in Bronsea, and had done so since his grandfather's time. He stepped in to have a word with the younger Williams, a man somewhat older than himself, about the prospects for the coming summer. Here at last was someone with a blue rosette. It was quite a relief to his mind, and Williams assured him that when he had gone to vote soon after ten o'clock the street had been blocked with carriages, the owners of whom had all worn the right colour.
'It will be splendid to have someone like you to represent the borough,' he said. 'I promise myself a treat, and that's to come up to Parliament and hear you make your maiden speech.'
'But I'm not there yet,' warned Henry.
'All over bar the shouting,' said the other.
For a little while they discussed the mines at Doonhaven, shipping, and the copper trade in general, and just as Henry was about to take his leave Mr. Williams said casually, by way of conversation, that Henry was the second member of his family to pay him a visit that day.
'Why,' said Henry in surprise, 'how is that?'
'Oh, your mother dropped in during the course of the morning,' said Mr. Williams, 'looking wonderfully well, I thought. She wanted an extension of the loan, you know, and I said it would be quite all right, of course.'
'Loan?' repeated Henry.
'Yes, we advanced her five hundred pounds last quarter, at your request, if you remember, sending the cheque out to her in France, and she wished for a further sum of the same amount. We deduct it, naturally, from your account with us at the end of the year.
That was the arrangement made with her, according to your instructions, she said.'
Henry was bewildered. He had given no such instructions, and knew nothing whatever of a loan to his mother. She must have done this behind his back, without any authority… The younger Williams was looking at him curiously. Henry pulled himself together with an effort.
'Oh, yes,' he said, 'I do remember now.
My mother and I came to some such arrangement. Well, I must be getting along. Glad to have seen you.'
'Good-bye, Mr. Brodrick, and good luck.'
Henry walked back to the hotel, his mind in a turmoil. Good God, his mother to go like that and lie to the fellow Williams, instead of coming straight to him and asking for a gift. He could not understand it. Why, in heaven's name, did she need the money, and what the. devil did she spend it on? He would have to find her and question her: it was impossible to keep this sort of thing to himself. If only Katherine were here, she would know how to deal with it.
Fanny and Bill were sitting in the lounge of the hotel, with Miss Goodwin, Fanny's friend, and Tom Callaghan in attendance as usual. Herbert was out somewhere. If Miss Goodwin had not been there Henry might have asked advice from Bill and Tom, but he could not discuss anything so painful and intimate before a stranger.
'Where's mother?' he said diffidently.
'In her room, I think,' said Fanny. 'Where have you been? We were all quite worried. You look so tired.'
'Nerves,' said Tom. 'Poor old Henry has had everything in life go smoothly up to now, and he's not certain what today will bring forth.'
Henry did not answer. He was in no mood now for mockery. He went upstairs to the first floor of the hotel and along the corridor to his mother's room, and knocked at the door. Although she had only occupied it for three nights, the bedroom was already a shambles. There were shoes strewn about the floor, clothes on all the chairs, and the inevitable litter of hairpins, gloves, velvet ribbons, and handkerchiefs on the dressing-table. Fanny-Rosa was sitting on the bed, on which she had placed her trunk, and was putting something away under a folded gown.
'The conquering hero,' she smiled, as her son entered. 'Have you got a pain in your tummy, my poor boy? Your father was the same before one of the greyhound meetings. All strung up and pretending he did not care a damn whether he won or lost.'
'I haven't come to talk about the election,' said Henry, sitting beside her on the bed. 'I don't mind what happens, one way or the other. I've come to talk about you.'
Fanny-Rosa raised her eyebrows, and leaving the bed, she strolled over to the dressing-table and began to do her hair.
'I went into Owen Williams' just now, before coming here,' said Henry, 'and he told me you had seen him this morning, and borrowed five hundred pounds from the firm, giving him my authority for doing so. Also that you wrote for the same sum only last quarter. Mother dear, what is it all about?'
'My dear boy, you look just like a schoolmaster,' laughed his mother. 'You ought to be a supporter of Mr.
Gladstone, instead of his opponent. Yes, that younger Mr. Williams was most obliging. I am very grateful to him.'
'But I don't understand,' said Henry. 'Why on earth did you not come to me for the money, instead of going behind my back and giving my authority for something I had not promised?'
'I thought it easier that way,' said Fanny-Rosa, yawning. 'Such a nuisance for you to be bothered.'
'It's far more bother to learn that you are borrowing money from a shipping firm in such an odd way,' said her son. 'Don't you see, dear, it is not regular at all. In fact, not to mince matters, it's completely dishonest.'
'I never understand these things,' said Fanny-Rosa carelessly. 'Any sort of money transaction always appears to me to be dishonest. I have no head for figures.'
Henry watched her as she ran a comb through her cloud of white hair. She seemed to have no shame, she
