CHAPTER XI

poignantthantheirfather’s,grewfromdeeperroots,forawifemaybereplacedamothernever.Charleswouldgobacktotheoffice.TherewaslittleatHowardsEnd.Thecontentsofhismother’swillhadlongbeenknowntothem.Therewerenolegacies,noannuities,noneoftheposthumousbustlewithwhichsomeofthedeadprolongtheiractivities.Trustingherhusband,shehadlefthimeverythingwithoutreserve.Shewasquiteapoorwoman—thehousehadbeenallherdowry,andthehousewouldcometoCharlesintime.HerwatercoloursMr.WilcoxintendedtoreserveforPaul,whileEviewouldtakethejewelleryandlace.Howeasilysheslippedoutoflife!Charlesthoughtthehabitlaudable,thoughhedidnotintendtoadoptithimself,whereasMargaretwouldhaveseeninitanalmostculpableindifferencetoearthlyfame.Cynicism—notthesuperficialcynicismthatsnarlsandsneers,butthecynicismthatcangowithcourtesyandtenderness—thatwasthenoteofMrs.Wilcox’swill.Shewantednottovexpeople.Thataccomplished,theearthmightfreezeoverherforever. No,therewasnothingforCharlestowaitfor.Hecouldnotgoonwithhishoneymoon,sohewouldgouptoLondonandwork—hefelttoomiserablehangingabout.HeandDollywouldhavethefurnishedflatwhilehisfatherrestedquietlyinthecountrywithEvie.Hecouldalsokeepaneyeonhisownlittlehouse,whichwasbeingpaintedanddecoratedforhiminoneoftheSurreysuburbs,andinwhichhehopedtoinstallhimselfsoonafterChristmas.Yes,hewouldgoupafterlunchinhisnewmotor,andthetownservants,whohadcomedownforthefuneral,wouldgoupbytrain. Hefoundhisfather’schauffeurinthegarage,said“Morning”withoutlookingattheman’sface,andbendingoverthecar,continued:“Hullo!mynewcar’sbeendriven!” “Hasit,sir?” “Yes,”saidCharles,gettingratherred“andwhoever’sdrivenithasn’tcleaneditproperly,forthere’smudontheaxle.Takeitoff.” Themanwentfortheclothswithoutaword.Hewasachauffeurasuglyassin—notthatthisdidhimdisservicewithCharles,whothoughtcharminamanratherrot,andhadsoongotridofthelittleItalianbeastwithwhomtheyhadstarted. “Charles—”Hisbridewastrippingafterhimoverthehoar-frost,adaintyblackcolumn,herlittlefaceandelaboratemourninghatformingthecapitalthereof. “Oneminute,I’mbusy.Well,Crane,who’sbeendrivingit,doyousuppose?” “Don’tknow,I’msure,sir.Noone’sdrivenitsinceI’vebeenback,but,ofcourse,there’sthefortnightI’vebeenawaywiththeothercarinYorkshire.” Themudcameoffeasily. “Charles,yourfather’sdown.Something’shappened.Hewantsyouinthehouseatonce.Oh,Charles!” “Wait,dear,waitaminute.Whohadthekeyofthegaragewhileyouwereaway,Crane?” “Thegardener,sir.” “DoyoumeantotellmethatoldPennycandriveamotor?” “No,sirnoone’shadthemotorout,sir.” “Thenhowdoyouaccountforthemudontheaxle?” “Ican’t,ofcourse,sayforthetimeI’vebeeninYorkshire.Nomoremudnow,sir.” Charleswasvexed.Themanwastreatinghimasafool,andifhishearthadnotbeensoheavyhewouldhavereportedhimtohisfather.Butitwasnotamorningforcomplaints.Orderingthemotortoberoundafterlunch,hejoinedhiswife,whohadallthewhilebeenpouringoutsomeincoherentstoryaboutaletterandaMissSchlegel. “Now,Dolly,Icanattendtoyou.MissSchlegel?Whatdoesshewant?” WhenpeoplewrotealetterCharlesalwaysaskedwhattheywanted.Wantwastohimtheonlycauseofaction.Andthequestioninthiscasewascorrect,forhiswifereplied,“ShewantsHowardsEnd.” “HowardsEnd?Now,Crane,justdon’tforgettoputontheStepneywheel.” “No,sir.” “Now,mindyoudon’tforget,forI—Come,littlewoman.”Whentheywereoutofthechauffeur’ssightheputhisarmroundherwaistandpressedheragainsthim.Allhisaffectionandhalfhisattention—itwaswhathegrantedherthroughouttheirhappymarriedlife. “Butyouhaven’tlistened,Charles.” “What’swrong?” “Ikeepontellingyou—HowardsEnd.MissSchlegel’sgotit.” “Gotwhat?”saidCharles,unclaspingher.“Whatthedickensareyoutalkingabout?” “Now,Charles,youpromisednottosaythosenaughty—” “Lookhere,I’minnomoodforfoolery.It’snomorningforiteither.” “Itellyou—Ikeepontellingyou—MissSchlegel—she’sgotit—yourmother’sleftittoher—andyou’veallgottomoveout!” “HOWARDSEND?” “HOWARDSEND!”shescreamed,mimickinghim,andasshedidsoEviecamedashingoutoftheshubbery. “Dolly,gobackatonce!Myfather’smuchannoyedwithyou.Charles”—shehitherselfwildly—“comeinatoncetofather.He’shadaletterthat’stooawful.” Charlesbegantorun,butcheckedhimself,andsteppedheavilyacrossthegravelpath.Therethehousewaswiththeninewindows,theunprolificvine.Heexclaimed,“Schlegelsagain!”andasiftocompletechaos,Dollysaid,“Ohno,thematronofthenursinghomehaswritteninsteadofher.” “Comein,allthreeofyou!”criedhisfather,nolongerinert. “Dolly,whyhaveyoudisobeyedme?” “Oh,Mr.Wilcox—” “Itoldyounottogoouttothegarage.I’