‘Don’t whisper, boys,’ said Justine, turning and lowering her own voice. ‘Things are difficult and we must do our part. Pull yourselves together and remember that we are mere pawns in the game of skill and chance which is being played.’
‘Are we as essential to the game as that? I feel a mere spectator. And it is really a simpler game.’
‘Well, don’t look as if we were making some mystery.’
‘We could hardly contrive to do so. It is clear on what lines the break came, if break there has been.’
‘Shall I remove Mr Dudley’s place, ma’am?’
‘No,’ said Edgar, as he saw the traces of his brother about to be obliterated. ‘Leave it as it is. It is likely — it is possible that he may come back.’
‘We will all take our own places,’ said Justine. ‘Then Uncle can return and find his place ready for him, and the others occupied round him, as will be right and meet.’
‘Not a gap in the circle,’ said Aubrey, flushing as he realized his words.
‘No one can be expected to show himself in Uncle’s place,’ said Mark.
‘Yes, to take it would be even less easy — would be almost as difficult,’ said Justine — ‘oh, what a time this is for innocent and inapposite speeches!’
‘No one tries to take anyone’s place,’ said Maria. ‘Empty places remain and new people make their own.’
‘Of course. Why cannot I put things as you do?’
‘If you knew the reason,’ said Clement, ‘I am sure you would deal with the matter.’
‘Well, that comes well from you. We don’t see much sign in you of a gift for words.’
‘Should we have said that silence was golden, if we had only known Clement?’ said Aubrey.
Maria laughed, and Edgar looked up and smiled more at the sound than at his son’s words.
‘Yes, cheer up, Father,’ said Justine. ‘You have not lost everything with Uncle. And he will be back and everything will be as it has always been — everything will be straight and well.’
‘Silence is golden,’ murmured Aubrey.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I believe I would give all the silence in the world for a little healthy, natural speech.’
‘Well, you have always done so,’ said Clement.
‘And I do not regret my choice.’
‘Clement raises his brows,’ said Aubrey.
‘Aubrey is readier with his words than you will ever be, Clement.’
Aubrey looked at the window.
‘Can you see through the curtain?’ said his brother. ‘If you can, it is still dusk outside.’
‘I can see the wide, wintry expanse with my mind’s eye.’
Edgar looked up, with his mind following his son’s, and meeting the picture of his brother with no refuge before him or behind. He turned to his wife and knew that she saw the same.
‘Did Uncle say anything?’ said Justine. ‘Did he — oh, I will take the bull by the horns, as he does. Has he any plans? Did he leave any address?’
‘He had none to leave. He went suddenly,’ said her father. ‘He may — it will be possible for him to send one later.’
‘We know all,’ murmured Mark to Clement.
‘You know all we can tell you,’ said Edgar.
‘A flush mantles Mark’s cheek,’ said Aubrey.
Maria was again amused, and her stepson showed his nonchalance by rising and walking to the window and pulling the curtain aside.
‘Aunt Matty! Coming across the snow!’
‘Across the snow? Aunt Matty?’ said Justine.
‘She must be coming across the snow if she is coming,’ said Mark.
‘Did you know she was coming, little boy? Why did you go to the window?’
Aubrey did not give his reason.
‘Boys, get your coats and go to meet her. Perhaps she has some news of Uncle.’
Edgar rose.
‘I hardly think so,’ said Maria. ‘She would not be coming herself.’
Matty was approaching with her halting step, holding a wrap across her breast, holding something to her head in the wind, pressing forward with a sort of dogged resignation to her slow advance. She gave a faint smile to her nephews as she suffered them to lead her in.
‘You have come alone, Aunt Matty?’
‘Yes, I have come alone, my dears. I had to do that. I shall be alone now. My dear father has left me, and left me, as you say, alone.’ Matty sank into a chair and covered her face. ‘I must be content alone. I must learn another hard lesson after so many.’
‘She kept her hand to her brow and sat without moving, as the family gathered about her.
‘Yes, I have had a life of deep and strange experiences. It seems that I ought to be used to them, that I ought to have that sad protection.’
There was silence.
‘Losing her father when she is over sixty herself is not a startling one,’ said Clement.
‘Is Grandpa dead?’ said Aubrey.
‘That is a better way of putting it,’ said Mark.
‘Well, his life was over,’ said Justine. ‘It was not hard to see that.’
Matty was continuing to Edgar and his wife.
‘He had gone to bed early as he was very tired. And I sent up something, hoping that he would eat before he slept. And it was found that he was already sleeping, and that he would not wake again.’
‘We cannot improve on that,’ said Mark.
‘Yes, it was a good way to go,’ said Matty, misinterpreting his words. ‘He was full of years. His harvest was gathered; his sheaves were bound. For him we need not weep. But I must grieve for myself, and you will grieve for me a little.’
‘Dear Aunt Matty, we do indeed,’ said Justine. ‘And Mother would have suffered equally with you.’
‘Yes, dear. That is my saddest thought, that I have no one to do that. But I will be glad that yours is the lighter part. I had thought that my sister and I would sorrow together in this natural loss. But so much was not to be for me.’
Maria took the seat by Matty, and Matty gave her her hand, putting the other over her eyes, but in a moment laid both hands on her friend’s and looked about with a smile.
‘Well, I must not fail in resolution. I must be myself. I must be what I always was to my father. I must not be lonely when I am not. I will not be.’
‘Look round and see the reason,’ said her niece.
‘Yes, I see all my reasons,’ said Matty, looking about as if to discover the truth. ‘All the dear reasons I have for clinging to life, the dear faces which I have seen growing into themselves, the dear ones whose link I am now with one side of their past. Well, it should forge the link strongly. We shall go forward closely bound.’
‘How was dear Grandpa found? Did Miss Griffin go in to him?’
‘No, dear, the maid went in and found him as I say. As she thought at first, sleeping; really in his last sleep.’
‘Poor Emma, it must have been a shock for her. Was she very much upset?’
‘Well, dear, I was the more upset, of course. She was troubled in her measure. And I was sorry for her, and glad that she only had her natural share of the shock. Your grandfather had been always good to her. But she is not a young woman. There was nothing unsuitable in her being the one to find him. One of us had to do so, and I am not in the habit of going up and down stairs, as you know.’
‘And now Miss Griffin is managing everything?’
‘No, dear; Dr Marlowe is seeing that everything is done for me. He is a good friend, as you have found. There would not have been much for Miss Griffin to do.’
‘She will feel it very deeply. I daresay she is too upset to be of much use. It is a long relation to break.’
‘Yes, well, now I must tell you,’ said Matty, sitting up and using an open tone. ‘You will think that I have had a stranger life than you thought, that I seem to be marked out for untoward experience. Well, I was sitting in my little room alone, waiting for the shadows to close in upon me. It seems now that I must have had some presentiment; I had been so wrought up all day; you must have had your glimpse of it. And it was found that Miss Griffin had left me, that my old friend with whom I had shared my life for thirty years had vanished and left me alone in my grief. Well, what do you think of that for an accumulation of trouble, for what the Greeks would have called a woe on woe? I seem to be a person born for trial by flame. I hope I may emerge unscathed.’