BOOK FIVE
Hal, 1874–1895
THE BEST PART ABOUT ETON, thought Hal, was that they left you alone, You could scrape along through your day, doing a minimum of work, and nobody bothered very much whether you lived or died. There were numberless rules and regulations, of course, and certain hours when you had to be in certain places, but in spite of these things there was a freedom that made for contentment.
He could walk about alone, and no one would ask him what he was doing or where he was going. And he had a room to himself. That, perhaps, was the best of all. One or two of his own pictures hung upon the wall, signed with his initials in the corner, H. E. L.
B. One of the fellows asked who had painted them, and he lied instantly, saying they had been painted by an uncle who had died. Somehow, he did not feel the paintings were good enough to acknowledge as his own. But when he was in the room alone, at night, he would take his candle and look at them closely with secret pride. They were his creation, the things he had made with his hands, and because he had made them himself he loved them. One day he would make paintings which he could show to everyone, but until that day came it was best to conceal what he did, in case people laughed and did not understand.
Mamma had never laughed. She had always understood.
And now that she was not with him any more he wanted his father to take her place, so that whatever he achieved might be an offering to him, a pride and a delight. And he would have the certainty of never failing because his father would have faith in him. The trouble was that he felt shy of his father. They might sit in the drawing-room of the London house together and neither speak a word, father reading the Times, and Hal staring at his boots. And when his father did speak it would be in a jovial, hearty manner, the manner grown-up people so often assumed to boys in the same way that they did to dogs. It was like the way a person patted a dog's coat and said 'Good fellow,' and then forgot him the moment afterwards. Sometimes his father would say, 'Well, Hal, how's the painting?', making an effort to be interested, but because the effort was obvious and the question a hopeless one to answer, Hal would say, 'All right, thank you,' and then fall once more to silence, feeling gauche and dull.
His father would wait a few minutes, expecting Hal to enlarge upon the subject, and then when nothing happened he would pick up his paper again, or talk about something else to the girls.
The mid-term break, or long leave as they called it, came early in March, and would coincide with his father's return from France. He had been away from England nearly two months.
'Father's coming home tonight,' said Molly, who with Miss Frost, and Kitty, and the small Lizette, met Hal at the station, 'and he's bringing someone with him, but he won't say who. All very mysterious. Even Miss Frost doesn't know.
I think it's Grannie, but Frostie says it can't be, as father said in his last letter that she was ill.'
'Whoever it is must be very important,' said Kitty, 'because he or she is to have the large room next to father's. I wish it could be Uncle Tom or Aunt Harriet. It's such ages since we saw them last.'
'At any rate, I hope the creature won't stay long,' said Molly, 'as we shall have to make polite conversation at lunch and dinner. Hal, you have grown. You will have to wear tails. And you're thinner than ever.'
'It's because I haven't got Frostie to make me swallow apple dumplings,' smiled Hal.
'No one at Eton bothers whether you eat.'
'Perhaps not, but I don't suppose you hide the dumplings in your mouth and spit them out in the passage afterwards, as you do at home,' said Miss Frost.
'You have to behave yourself at Eton.'
'Indeed I don't. I do exactly as I please,' said Hal.
When they arrived at Lancaster Gate he paid for the cab in lordly fashion, although Miss Frost had the money ready in her purse.
'Nonsense, Frostie,' he said. 'I'm not a child any longer.'
And he shouldered his suit-case and took it upstairs, aware, now that he was back again, that seven weeks at Eton had changed him In some indescribable fashion. He felt older, more responsible, and the girls too looked at him with new eyes, as though he had become someone of importance. They followed him to his room when he unpacked, little Lizette dragging one foot after the other.
He had painted the head of a cat for her, which she seized with shrieks of delight, and there were sketches too for Molly and Kitty, one of his house, and one of the river.
'Have you done anything for father?' asked Molly.
Hal hesitated a moment, and then took a small parcel from the bottom of the suit-case.
'You know the photograph I have of mamma's portrait?' he said The girls nodded.
'Well, I borrowed a magnifying glass from one of the fellows, and I've made a miniature from the head,' he said. 'Of course, it's not a patch on the original painting, but it's better than nothing.'
He unwrapped the paper and handed a small round frame to his sisters.
'I found the frame in a shop in Eton,' he said, 'and it just fitted.' Katherine's face looked upon her daughters; the dark hair, with the low knot in the nape of her neck, the grave, quiet eyes.
'You see,' said Hal, 'I've often thought how dreadful it must be for father having the portrait at Clonmere, and never seeing it. If he has this it might make up for it in a small way.'
The girls considered it in silence.
'It's very good,' said Molly; 'it's better than the photograph you have.'
'Do you really think so?' said Hal. 'Will he be pleased?'
'I wish it were mine,' said Kitty. 'I only have a wretched photograph that I don't like a bit.'
'Let me see mamma,' said Lizette, and Molly took her on her knee and showed her the miniature.
'It's dreadful that she never knew mamma,' said Kitty. 'It's like being told about someone in a story that isn't really true. Put it down, Lizette; you mustn't spoil it. Can we show it to Frostie?'
'No,' said Hal suddenly, 'no, let's shut it up again. I don't know whether I shall give it to father or not.'
The miniature, now that he had looked at it again, had become more intimate, more personal, something very precious that he did sot want people to touch.
They all had lunch upstairs in the schoolroom, and in the after noon went to Madame Tussaud's exhibition, going to the Marylebone Road in an omnibus, and returning home in time for tea.
'We'll have tea in the dining-room,' said Molly, 'and give father a real welcome. It's a nuisance about the visitor, but it can't be helped.'
'I think,' said Miss Frost, 'I will have mine upstairs with nurse and Lizette. Your father will want you to himself.'
'Oh, Frostie, you're a coward,' laughed Hal, 'you don't want to put on company manners before a stranger. Don't be afraid, I'll look after you.'
But Miss Frost was firm. And at five o'clock Molly, Hal, and Kitty assembled by themselves in the drawing- room. Hal kept fingering the little parcel in his pocket. He could not make up his mind whether to give it to his father or not. He felt nervous and excited in turn. He wished that he too could be having tea upstairs with Frostie, Lizette, and the nurse. His father would question him about Eton, in front of this visitor, and he knew he would make the wrong sort of answers.
'Here's the brougham,' said Kitty, who had been gazing out of the window, 'and a cab following as well, simply heaped with trunks. Surely father only took one and his hold-all, when he went to stay with Grannie?'
'They must belong to the visitor,' said Molly, looking over her shoulder. 'Where on earth shall we put them all? Hal, don't run away. And do try to speak at tea, and don't look as if you have toothache… Father darling.'
She flung open the front door and ran down the steps to greet him, followed by Kitty. Hal hung back, his hands in his pockets. He was not sure whether his father would kiss him or not, now that he was at Eton. A smart- looking woman was getting out of the brougham, and shaking hands with the girls. She had a black hat with wings in it. A stranger, no one that they knew. His heart sank a little. Somehow he had hoped that it might have been Uncle Tom from Doon-haven… He came forward slowly, smiling at his father, and without thinking held up his face to be kissed.
