Mr. Holt spoke. “I was afraid of this, Blayne. I distrust informality.”
“Very dangerous,” Webster added.
John Blayne gave him a quick glance, half impatient, half humorous. He was about to speak, but Mr. Holt prevented him by speaking first. “Mr. Webster is right, the situation calls for negotiation.”
“Very dangerous otherwise,” Philip Webster remarked, pleased that his point had been made.
John Blayne turned to Philip Webster and waited while the letter in question was carefully read.
“It’s really not the sort of thing that ordinary individuals should undertake, you know,” Webster said, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “Only lawyers should handle this sort of thing. Of course, my clients are quite right, too. It’s impossible. We English don’t export our castles, you know.” He turned to Sir Richard. “There’ll be litigation, I’m afraid. It may be very nasty. One never knows. But we’ll have to go through with it.”
Lady Mary, who had sat nervously twisting her fingers, rose with a sudden graceful movement from her chair. “I think at this moment, gentlemen, we could all do with a cup of tea.” She went to the bell pull on the wall and jerked it vigorously. Down through distant corridors the jangling could be heard.
When Wells appeared, she asked him to send Kate with tea for them all. “We are five, Wells,” she announced, as if she could not trust the old man’s eyesight.
“Very good, my lady.” He turned quickly and left the room. Aware of what the meeting was about, he was not willing to have them see the tears he could not control and that were already finding their way down his time-worn face.
During the interlude the two lawyers remained silent and watchful.
“There won’t be any litigation,” John Blayne said. “I certainly shan’t force Sir Richard against his will. However, — well, here’s the check for the agreed sum — one million dollars, just to prove that I came in good faith.”
There was a small gasp from Lady Mary. Kate, coming in with the tray of steaming teacups, looked up at John Blayne. Their eyes caught each other’s for an instant of time.
“The letter is a commitment, Mr. Blayne.” David Holt’s words were measured. “And I must remind you also that you have already spent fifty thousand dollars, that you have engaged two ships, that you—”
Webster interrupted bluntly. “The letter wouldn’t stand up in an English court of law, sir.”
“We are Americans and deal in American law, sir,” Holt retorted.
“My client is an Englishman, sir!” Webster rejoined.
“Being an Englishman doesn’t excuse him from what a letter says in plain English,” Mr. Holt declared, “especially since I have a letter in our files accepting our proposition.”
“And I maintain he can’t accept what he doesn’t understand,” Webster insisted.
The American lawyer persisted. “We have already brought over a group of architectural experts. Our technicians will soon follow. Vast plans have been made and contracts assigned. This was done following your letter of acceptance. The damages will be costly if everything must be canceled.”
Webster dashed his pipe on the floor and ran his stubby hands through his reddish-gray hair until it stood in a curly tangle. “Try it, sir, just you try it! It’ll be Agincourt again, I daresay, but remember who won! The castle’s on English soil.”
“Stop this!” The imperious voice was John Blayne’s.
They stopped. Before their eyes he tore the check into small pieces and let the pieces flutter to the floor. Then he took the letter from the table, folded it into its envelope and handed it to Sir Richard.
“This is yours, Sir Richard. Do with it as you will. I didn’t come here to bargain. I came with one simple purpose — to find a beautiful way to show great paintings by great artists. I wanted them to hang where people could see them — yes, my people — Americans — I wanted to share the paintings with them instead of having them locked away in a vault like so much gold bullion. I suppose you wonder why—”
“Please, gentlemen,” interrupted Kate, “your tea!”
“Yes, yes,” Lady Mary exclaimed, her voice shrill with excitement. “Draw your chairs up to the table and let us partake of — of—”
“One of the most civilized of all pursuits,” David Holt said gallantly, raising his cup toward her as he would have raised a glass of champagne in toast.
They drew their chairs up to the table. Kate moved around, offering them milk and sugar.
“Yes,” Sir Richard said, stirring the sugar in his cup but looking at John Blayne, “I think you have made us wonder why.”
John looked around the great hall — first at the tapestried walls, then at the faces of the people drawn up to the table. “Perhaps it’s because I feel some sort of guilt, though I do not expect you to understand what I mean. My father is a wealthy man. His fortune was made in ways that — well, that seemed best to him. My mother was a different sort of person altogether …” He hesitated.
“A charming woman,” David Holt said reminiscently.
“I think,” John Blayne went on, “that I want to make a return of some sort for all that he …”
“Does your father know about this idea of yours?” Sir Richard asked.
“Of course, Sir Richard, and he thinks it sheer folly. But, to be quite honest with you, my father and I have rarely agreed on anything. We quarrel at least every other day.”
“There!” Philip Webster spluttered.
“But, when I reminded him that since I was administering the Foundation — and he had asked me to, mind you — I must do things my own way.”
“But why this way, pray?” Sir Richard demanded. “To spite your father, perhaps — because he wants to build something of his own?”
John Blayne got up from the table, walked away restlessly and as restlessly back again. “I don’t want to spite my father — I’m fond of him, and we both loved my mother in our different ways. No, I want the castle because it’s the right idea. Great paintings can only live in an harmonious atmosphere. Our museums are crowded. I want my museum — well, harmonious. There’s an old Chinese saying — Lao-tse, I think. Someone asked him if a certain task was being done properly and he said, ‘The way is a way, but it is not the eternal way.’ This castle — it’s stood in England for a thousand years. It’ll stand there in Connecticut for thousands more when we are all dead — the paintings safe forever and living for the joy of the generations we’ll never see. Can you understand how deeply I feel about buying something as beautiful as this castle, this bit of England? I’m English myself, by ancestry.”
Lady Mary nodded as if, against her will, she understood. Kate, too, nodded but the men remained grim-faced.
“I remember how my mother bought the paintings. She didn’t know about art at first — she could only feel it. Then as she grew to love it, she began to understand and to know. One day she bought a Fra Angelico from an old Italian in Venice — he was using it as a board to display his fish. She didn’t know it was valuable — only that it was beautiful. She never did care about the money value — that was one of those things my father couldn’t possibly understand. She told me — it was one of the last things she ever said—‘John, take care of my treasures.’ And I will take care of them, I want them to be—not only for the sake of my mother, but for the sake of the artists who created them. My mother understood those artists — she knew what they wanted to say. She’d sit hours before a painting, drinking it in. There’s little enough left of that sort of pure love in the world today — or of any sort, maybe. I shan’t give up my idea, Sir Richard! If I can’t have this castle I’ll find one somewhere in England!”