Demos. George Gissing
did not seek further information. He drank his tea standing. In five minutes Alice had bustled away for an evening with friends. Mrs. Mutimer cleared the table without speaking.
‘Now get your sewing, mother, and sit down,’ began Richard. ‘I want to have a talk with you.’
The mother cast a rather suspicious glance. There was an impressiveness in the young man’s look and tone which disposed her to obey without remark.
‘How long is it,’ Richard asked, when attention waited upon him, ‘since you heard anything of father’s uncle, my namesake?’
Mrs. Mutimer’s face exhibited the dawning of intelligence, an unwrinkling here and there, a slight rounding of the lips.
‘Why, what of him?’ she asked in an undertone, leaving a needle unthreaded.
‘The old man’s just dead.’
Agitation seized the listener, agitation of a kind most unusual in her. Her hands trembled, her eyes grew wide.
‘You haven’t heard anything of him lately?’ pursued Richard.
‘Heard? Not I. No more did your father ever since two years afore we was married. I’d always thought he was dead long ago. What of him, Dick?’
‘From what I’m told I thought you’d perhaps been keeping things to yourself. ‘Twouldn’t have been unlike you, mother. He knew all about us, so the lawyer tells me.’
‘The lawyer?’
‘Well, I’d better out with it. He’s died without a will. His real property—that means his houses and land—belongs to me; his personal property—that’s his money—‘ll have to be divided between me, and Alice, and ‘Arry. You’re out of the sharing, mother.’
He said it jokingly, but Mrs. Mutimer did not join in his laugh. Her palms were closely pressed together; still trembling, she gazed straight before her, with a far-off look.
‘His houses—his land?’ she murmured, as if she had not quite heard. ‘What did he want with more than one house?’
The absurd question was all that could find utterance. She seemed to be reflecting on that point.
‘Would you like to hear what it all comes to?’ Richard resumed. His voice was unnatural, forcibly suppressed, quivering at pauses. His eyes gleamed, and there was a centre of warm colour on each of his cheeks. He had taken a note-book from his pocket, and the leaves rustled under his tremulous fingers.
‘The lawyer, a man called Yottle, just gave me an idea of the different investments and so on. The real property consists of a couple of houses in Belwick, both let, and an estate at a place called Wanley. The old man had begun mining there; there’s iron. I’ve got my ideas about that. I didn’t go into the house; people are there still. Now the income.’
He read his notes: So much in railways, so much averaged yearly from iron-works in Belwick, so much in foreign securities, so much disposable at home. Total—
‘Stop, Dick, stop!’ uttered his mother, under her breath. ‘Them figures frighten me; I don’t know what they mean. It’s a mistake; they’re leading you astray. Now, mind what I say—there’s a mistake! No man with all that money ‘ud die without a will. You won’t get me to believe it, Dick.’
Richard laughed excitedly. ‘Believe it or not, mother; I’ve got my ears and eyes, I hope. And there’s a particular reason why he left no will. There was one, but something—I don’t know what—happened just before his death, and he was going to make a new one. The will was burnt. He died in church on a Sunday morning; if he’d lived another day, he’d have made a new will. It’s no more a mistake than the Baptist Chapel is in the square!’ A comparison which hardly conveyed all Richard’s meaning; but he was speaking in agitation, more and more quickly, at last almost angrily.
Mrs. Mutimer raised her hand. ‘Be quiet a bit, Dick. It’s took me too sudden. I feel queer like.’
There was silence. The mother rose as if with difficulty, and drew water in a tea-cup from the filter. When she resumed her place, her hands prepared to resume sewing. She looked up, solemnly, sternly.
‘Dick, it’s bad, bad news! I’m an old woman, and I must say what I think. It upsets me; it frightens me. I thought he might a’ left you a hundred pounds.’
‘Mother, don’t talk about it till you’ve had time to think,’ said Richard, stubbornly. ‘If this is bad news, what the deuce would you call good? Just because I’ve been born and bred a mechanic, does that say I’ve got no common sense or self-respect? Are you afraid I shall go and drink myself to death? You talk like the people who make it their business to sneer at us—the improvidence of the working classes, and such d—d slander. It’s good news for me, and it’ll be good news for many another man. Wait and see.’
The mother became silent, keeping her lips tight, and struggling to regain her calmness. She was not convinced, but in argument with her eldest son she always gave way, affection and the pride she had in him aiding her instincts of discretion. In practice she still maintained something of maternal authority, often gaining her point by merely seeming offended. To the two who had not yet reached the year of emancipation she allowed, in essentials, no appeal from her decision. Between her and Richard there had been many a sharp conflict in former days, invariably ending with the lad’s submission; the respect which his mother exacted he in truth felt to be her due, and it was now long since they had openly been at issue on any point. Mrs. Mutimer’s views were distinctly Conservative, and hitherto she had never taken Richard’s Radicalism seriously; on the whole she had regarded it as a fairly harmless recreation for his leisure hours—decidedly preferable to a haunting of public-houses and music-halls. The loss of his employment caused her a good deal of uneasiness, but she had not ventured to do more than throw out hints of her disapproval; and now, as it seemed, the matter was of no moment. Henceforth she had far other apprehensions, but this first conflict of their views made her reticent.
‘Just let me tell you how things stand,’ Richard pursued, when his excitement had somewhat subsided; and he went on to explain the relations between old Mr. Mutimer and the Eldons, which in outline had been described to him by Mr. Yottle. And then—
‘The will he had made left all the property to this young Eldon, who was to be trustee for a little money to be doled out to me yearly, just to save me from ruining myself, of course.’ Richard’s lips curled in scorn. ‘I don’t know whether the lawyer thought we ought to offer to give everything up; he seemed precious anxious to make me understand that the old man had never intended us to have it, and that he did want these other people to have it. Of course, we’ve nothing to do with that. Luck’s luck, and I think I know who’ll make best use of it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell all this when Alice was here?’ inquired his mother, seeming herself again, though very grave.
‘I’ll tell you. I thought it over, and it seems to me it’ll be better if Alice and ‘Arry wait a while before they know what’ll come to them. They can’t take anything till they’re twenty-one. Alice is a good girl, but—’
He hesitated, having caught his mother’s eye. He felt that this prudential course justified in a measure her anxiety.
‘She’s a girl,’ he pursued, ‘and we know that a girl with a lot o’ money gets run after by men who care nothing about her and a good deal about the money. Then it’s quite certain ‘Arry won’t be any the better for fancying himself rich. H’s going to give us trouble as it is, I can see that. We shall have to take another house, of course, and we can’t keep them from knowing that there’s money fallen to me. But there’s no need to talk about the figures, and if we can make them think it’s only me that’s better off, so much the better. Alice needn’t go to work, and I’m glad of it; a girl’s proper place is at home. You can tell her you want her to help in the new house. ‘Arry had better keep his place awhile. I shouldn’t wonder if I find work for him myself before long I’ve got plans, but I shan’t talk about them just yet.’
He spoke then of the legal duties which fell