The Toff and the Fallen Angels

“No, I do not feel at all indifferent.” Suddenly, Slatter was enraged, even his cheeks were tinged with pink, and his hitherto cold eyes flashed. “I am intensely concerned with them—determined that they will be taken away from the whores who brought them into this world and placed in the charge of proper authorities. Those women have no right at all to be in charge of children. They may care for them physically but their moral and spiritual life will be ruined. And —”

He broke off, drawing back a pace, as if some new thought had crossed his mind—and then he recovered, and to Rollison’s surprise, put out an arm and touched him.

“I believe that to be true,” he said. “I do not believe such women should have the custody of those children, but that is not the chief reason why I want to close the home down. Mr. Rollison, you are not the interfering braggart I believed you to be. I can see that you are motivated by genuine humanitarian reasons. Come with me —and I will give you a demonstration which will show you another side of this coin.”

“Uncle—” Guy began.

“You can come with me or stay and finish your lunch,” said Slatter. Now gripping Rollison’s arm lightly he led the way out of the room and up the staircase. In spite of his surprise at Slatter’s change of attitude, Rollison noticed the magnificence of a Rubens and a Gains-borough on the staircase, and at the landing saw a tapestry of deep colours depicting a medieval wedding —a piece probably unique. Slatter thrust open the door of a long, beautiful room, the walls of which were lined from floor to ceiling with books.

It was a scholar’s room; a room for quiet thought and contemplation; a sanctuary.

Through the open window came the wailing as of at least half-a-dozen babies—and even from this end of the room it was easy to imagine that there were many more.

CHAPTER 13

Moment Of Sympathy

THERE were, in fact, only three.

Each child was in a separate pram, one high and old-fashioned, the others modern and low. Each was bellowing, his mouth wide open, plump dimpled cheeks crimson red. They were in a patch of the garden cordoned off with high wire, rather like a huge fruit cage.

No women were in sight.

The caterwauling seemed to grow in stridency and rage. The noise made a fourth, silent baby, also in a pram, seem oddly out of place. For he or she was sitting happily, or at least placidly, making no sound at all.

Rollison turned away from the window.

“Yes,” he said. “I see what you mean.”

“I have lived all my life in this house,” said Starter. “I was born here. I have worked and read in this room for over forty years. And for the last three it has been purgatory—absolute purgatory. If I were to extend the lease even by a week, by a day, it would encourage the young women to think that I might relent and allow them to stay permanently. I will not, Mr. Rollison. I have no peace at all. The only time when I dare have the window open is when I am not here to be disturbed. But even when the window is closed it is impossible to concentrate.” He placed broad, spatulate fingers on the window, and slammed it down. Only the placid baby looked up, with no great interest; the others went on crying and although the sound was less urgent it came clearly into the room.

“I trust,” Slatter said, “you are now satisfied. Either they go—or I go.”

“Yes,” said Rollison again, “there can’t be any argument about that.”

“Do you seriously think that I should go?”

“No,” agreed Rollison, thoughtfully. “Not on the face of it.”

“Nothing would make me leave this house. Nothing will make me allow those young women to stay there.”

“Young women—no longer whores?” murmured Rollison.

Slatter made no comment.

“Sir Douglas,” Rollison said. “I’ve heard it said that disappointment and frustration account for your attitude more than anything else.”

“Disappointment and frustration about what?” demanded Slatter.

“That you are not welcome to the beds of these young women.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Slatter waved an arm as if to wave the very suggestion away, but he seemed in no way annoyed. “They will say anything to discredit me. I really do not need these promiscuous young women for any erotic amusement. I am surprised that a woman of integrity like Naomi Smith should allow her charges to make such wild accusations.” He moved towards the door, his back turned squarely towards the window. “Now, do you understand my attitude?”

“I even have a very real measure of sympathy for it,” Rollison murmured.

“Any sane man would,” said Slatter. He turned slowly —as Rollison had noticed before, he had a slight stiffness in his left hip. “Come and sit down.” He sat in a high-backed swivel chair and motioned Rollison towards another. “As you are here, we may as well deal with this matter once and for all.” He folded his hands on the desk, rather as Naomi Smith had done. “I know that I am said to oppose these young women on moral grounds. And indeed I do. But when I am not angry—and I was very angry when you forced your way in—I have to face the fact that this is part of a very much wider social problem. It is not simply a case of young girls being promiscuous —or unwise or unlucky—it is a case of the acceptance of free living by society. No particular girl is to blame. I am not pursuing a righteous vendetta against these particular young women. That would be intolerably unjust. I simply cannot continue to live here. In the beginning, I asked Mrs. Smith if she would move the creche—the cage was put there to keep out cats and other animals, but it wasn’t practicable. There is no room at all, they would be right at the corner, with cars changing gear and passers-by always making a lot of noise.”

“So you were once on friendly terms with Naomi Smith,” murmured Rollison.