Menfreya in the Morning (26 page)

Never had a morning seemed so long; I was terrified that something would happen to prevent my leaving, but at last I was free.

It was about four o’clock when I arrived at the station and took a cab to the address Gwennan had given me.

We drew up before a small but respectable hotel, where I guessed Bevil had installed her.

When I asked for Mrs. Bellairs the receptionist opened her eyes wide and told me to wait a minute please. She went away, and in a few minutes the proprietress of the hotel came hurrying out

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“I’m so relieved,” she said. “Please come in here.”

She took me into a pleasant but modest reception room.

“You’re related?” she asked.

*Tm her sister-in-law.”

Her relief was obvious.

“She died early this morning.”

“Dead …” I repeated stupidly.

“It was inevitable. She was so weak and had evidently neglected her health for a long time. It was too late when she came here, and we knew the end couldn’t be far off. I’ve notified her brother.”

“When?”

“The letter was posted this morning.**

“And the child?”

“He is being looked after by one of my maids. I am grateful that you came. We naturally want instructions. You will be Mrs. Harriet Menfrey perhaps?**

“I am.”

“I have a letter for you. She asked that it should be delivered into your hands personally if that were possible. I wfll bring it to you.”

For a few seconds I could only stare at the familiar handwriting and think of Gwennan … dead.

“My dear Harriet,

I am writing to you in case mere is no time for speaking. I’m dying, I’ve known it for months. I went through a terrible time after Benedict had gone. I was worried and there was no money. At one time I wanted to come back to Menfreya to die, but I saw that that wasn’t possible. When Bevil came to see me I realized it. It wasn’t anything he said; in fact he said I must come back to be looked after, but I could see that it wouldn’t be any good. You can’t go back and make things as they were. The moving finger writes and all that. I knew that I couldn’t face the explanations, having the child, the mess I’d made of everything. It would have been too humiliating, and I’m too proud. So in spite of Devil’s persuasion, I didn’t come. I’d made up my mind; he saw that, because we do understand each other. Well, now there’s Benny, and I’m writing this to you, Harriet, because you’re the one I want to look after him. I want him to go back to Menfreya, but I want you to be a mother to him. Hell be at a disadvantage, as you were when you

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were little, and you will understand that more than anyone

else.

“I may be dead when you read this. I’m dying now, Harriet It was such a different sort of life after Menfreya. Late nights, crowded rooms, cheap theatrical lodgings—and then, of course, the wretched poverty. I suppose I couldn’t stand it Bevil has been good to me. He brought me here, and since then I’ve been able to see that Benny was fed and clothed. I longed to come back, but I couldn’t face it, Harriet. But when I’m not here, Benny must go to Menfreya.

“Now, Harriet, this is my dying wish .,. as they say. Take my boy and bring him up as yours. Don’t let anyone else have him, and think of me when he needs you. Remember it’s Gwennan who needs you, Harriet … then as now. He is Benedict Menfrey. Remember that Let him be known by his true name; and if you and Bevil should fail to have a child, then Menfreya will be his by right

**I had hoped to see you before I died, but then I cannot be sure when my time will come. It might be suddenly and, like the foolish virgin (for the adjective certainly applies to me if not the noun), I should be caught without oil in my lamp, so that I should leave my boy stumbling on alone in the darkness.

“Harriet we were very close, weren’t we? I know you were always a better friend to me titan I to you. That is why I am asking you to do this for me now. And I am happy to go now that I have written this letter, for I trust you.

“My love to you, my dearest friend.

Gwennan.”

For a few moments I couldn’t speak. The proprietress of the hotel tiptoed out and left me alone. Gwennan was dead. I was terribly unhappy yet angry. It need not have happened, I kept telling myself. If she had married Harry she would be alive now. It was not as though there had been a grand passion between her and Benedict Bellairs. She had acted once too often in her wild irresponsible way, and now this lovely, vital girl was dead.

And Bevil? I had misjudged Bevil and felt sick with shame. How stupid I had been! Impetuous, foolish, suspicious. How he must have despised me for that I And yet I was glad because he had not been unkind. He had tried to

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bring her back, and it was she who had refused to come.

I folded the letter, put it into the pocket of my coat and went out into the hall. The proprietress, who had been waiting outside, brightened when she saw that I had pulled myself together.

“And the child,” I said, “where is he?”

“Ill take you to him.”

I nodded.

“First,” she said, “would you like to see her?”

I hesitated. How would she look hi death, my proud and lovely Gwennan? I thought of the shock I had received the last time I had seen her. I did not want to remember her like that

“She looks at peace,” she murmured.

So I followed her up to the room in which Gwennan had lived since Bevil had taken her from her poor lodging. It was small, rather dark, but neat and clean. She lay on the bed, looking different, but her tawny hair was brilliant against the pallor of her skin. But what struck me so much was the serene expression on her face. I had never seen her look like that before. My eyes went to the blotter on the little table. The lid of the inkpot in the stand was open; the pen was lying across the blotter, and I pictured her sitting there writing the letter to me.

Gwennan, I thought, you can rely on me, no matter what happens.

I turned and we went out of the room.

“I had her laid out,” said the proprietress. “I suppose her family will see that everything is taken care of.”

“Yes,” I said. “Her brother—my husband—will come as soon as he receives the letter. I came in response to a letter from her. He does not know yet, but as soon as I return he will … besides he will soon have your letter.**

She nodded. ‘This sort of thing is so upsetting to the rest of the residents. I know you will understand.1*

“I do.”

“And the child?” she asked anxiously.

“I will take him back with me.”

“I am sure that will be the best possible arrangement 111 take you to him now.”

He was sitting on a red hearthrug thoughtfully examining the toes of his little boots when I opened the door. A young girl was sitting in a chair watching him.

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She smiled at me. “He’s been as good as gold,” she said.

I went over and knelt down on the hearthrug. There was no question about this one’s being a Menfrey. He had the same tawny hair and eyes; and the sparkle was there in his eyes. He couldn’t have been more than a year old, but he was bright for his age.

“Hello, Benny,” I said.

“Hello.”

“I’m Aunt Harriet.”

He nodded. “Aunt Harriet” He had no difficulty with the name, which told me that he had heard it before.

He gripped my arm to help himself up; then he came close to me and studied me intently. I looked at the smooth skin, the short nose, a replica of Gwennan’s with its flaring nostrils. I would never forget Gwennan while there was her son to remind me.

“Are you coming with me?” I asked

He nodded, his eyes immediately asparkle with the spirit of adventure, which had been the characteristic and perhaps the ruin of his mother.

“We’re going to Menfreya,” I said.

His lips formed the name with ease, and I knew he had heard that before too.

“It’s time we were going,” I told him.

My return could not have been more dramatic. I had managed to get a fly at Menfreystow station, but it was almost eight o’clock when I reached Menfreya and there was beginning to be great concern about my absence. I might have gone out during the afternoon without saying where, but I should most certainly be back in time for dinner.

Bevil had invited guests and dinner was about to be served—Lady Menfrey was there fortunately to play hostess, but of course they were expecting to see me.

I could sense the tension as I stumbled into the house, carrying the sleeping child in my arms.

I heard Pengelly’s startled exclamation; and suddenly it seemed that Bevil, my parents-in-law and their guests had all appeared on the staircase.

Often I recall that scene with a smile. It must have seemed like a nightmare. The truant returned—not alone but carrying a child in her arms.

I heard Bevil’s voice. “Harriet! What hi God’s name .. .”

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I said: “Gwennan is dead. I’ve brought her baby home.”

Lady Menfrey came running down the stairs. “Harriet… Harriet… what do you mean?”

Bevil was beside me; I was aware of strange faces; but I was so exhausted by the journey, by my emotions, by my fears for the child’s reception that I felt I could endure little more.

“You’ll be hearing tomorrow,” I said to Bevil. “There’s a letter from the hotel where she is. She died this morning. He’s to be called Benedict Menfrey. That is her wish.”

Lady Menfrey took the child from my arms; the tears were running down her cheeks, but I could see that she would love the child—already she had someone to fill Gwennan’s place in her heart It must have been what Gwennan had hoped for.

“You’re exhausted,” said Bevil sharply.

“It’s been an exhausting day …”

“We have guests,” he said, not sharply but in a bewildered way.

“I’m sorry,” I replied.

A woman whom I knew as the wife of one of the party workers took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t you worry about us, Mrs. Menfrey. You need to rest … now.”

I smiled at her gratefully, and Bevil said: “You should go straight to bed, Harriet” He turned to the guests. “Please excuse me for a moment”

He followed me to our room. He shut the door and I waited for the storm to burst. What had I done? I had jeopardized his chances. The scandal Gwennan had brought on the family would now be publicly known—and it was all my fault

I felt the stubborn lines forming about my mouth. I held my head high and limped painfully to the bed. I sat there looking at him.

“There was nothing else to be done,” I said hi a cold, angry voice. “I should never think of doing anything else.”

And then I thought of Gwennan lying on that bed, white and calm in death as she had never been in life, and I covered my face with my hands.

I felt him take them very gently in his. “Harriet,” he said; and his voice was tender.

“Dead!” I said. “Gwennan! She was always so full of life.**

He did not speak but looked at me sorrowfully.

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*The child is going to stay here,” I went on, forcing anger into my voice to hide my grief. “I shall look after him. And if you won’t have him here, then … I shall take him away.”

“Harriet, what are you saying?”

I tried to draw my hands away from his grasp for I was afraid of my emotions. It waa too much to endure. Gwennan dead … never to see her again … and Bevil hating me because I had gone against his wishes and brought the child to Menfreya.

He put his arm about me and held me against Mm. “Of course, the child will stay here. And so will you. Listen to me, Harriet Menfrey, you think you’ve married a brute … perhaps you have. And I’ll tell you this. There is one thing he won’t endure. That is life without you … so get that into your head.”

“Oh, Bevil, Bevil,” I said weakly.

He just held me and I felt comforted.

He was practical suddenly.

“I’m going to send Fanny to you,” he said. “My mother is looking after the boy. There’s nothing to worry about” He kissed me. “You must know that”

He left me and went back to our guests who, I was sure, would be agog with curiosity. I wondered what story he was telling them, but I was too tired to care.

Fanny came to me, and I let her help me to bed; when I was there I lay back on my pillows quietly, and although I was relieved because I had brought the child to Menfreya, thinking of Gwennan brought a sadness which was like a physical pain.

Benedict’s presence was easily explained at Menfreya. Gwennan had eloped with an actor, whom she had married against the family’s wishes; she had died, and now her son was at Menfreya, which was a perfectly natural state of affairs. The boy was known as Benedict Menfrey, which was just like the Menfreys. It wasn’t the first time the family name had been retained. There had been a daughter who bad inherited the estate, and when she married, her husband had to change his name.

It was a house of mourning, and when I humbly told Bevil how sorry I was for misjudging him, he said: “You

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were right in a way, Harriet. I should have insisted she come home.”

William Lister, that silent-footed and efficient young man, who had the great quality of seeming to remain unnoticed except when he was wanted, went to Plymouth with Bevfl and between them they made arrangements for the funeral; and Gwennan was buried in the Menfrey vault in the churchyard on the hill just outside Menf reystow.

The child made a difference to the household, and he was soon a great favorite with his grandparents and most of the servants. Lady Menfrey was happier than I had seen her for a long tune, and I realized how deeply she had felt the loss of her daughter.

Benny asked now and then for his mother, but we told him she had gone away and that was why he was staying with us. Sometimes he cried for her; then we would think up little treats to comfort him, and gradually we began to divert his thoughts from the past Menfreya was full of delights such as he had never known before. The house was a continual source of wonder; the suits of armor, the old pictures and tapestries. Benny had never seen anything like it He seemed to be everyone’s pet. He struck up an immediate friendship with his grandfather and Bevil; he was so obviously one of them.