Lawrence, the younger, had been a
delicate youth. He had qualified as a
doctor
but
early
relinquished
the
profession of medicine, and lived at home
while pursuing literary ambitions; though
his verses never had any marked success.
John practiced for some time as a
barrister, but had finally settled down to
the more congenial life of a country squire.
He had married two years ago, and had
taken his wife to live at Styles, though I
entertained a shrewd suspicion that he
would have preferred his mother to
increase his allowance, which would have
enabled him to have a home of his own.
Mrs. Cavendish, however, was a lady who
liked to make her own plans, and expected
other people to fall in with them, and in
this case she certainly had the whip hand,
namely: the purse strings.
John noticed my surprise at the news of
his mother's remarriage and smiled rather
ruefully.
"Rotten little bounder too!" he said
savagely. "I can tell you, Hastings, it's
making life jolly difficult for us. As for Evie
you remember Evie?"
"No."
"Oh, I suppose she was after your time.
She's the mater's factotum, companion,
Jack of all trades! A great sport old Evie!
Not precisely young and beautiful, but as
game as they make them."
"You were going to say?"
"Oh, this fellow! He turned up from
nowhere, on the pretext of being a second
cousin or something of Evie's, though she
didn't
seem
particularly
keen
to
acknowledge the relationship.
The fellow is an absolute outsider, anyone
can see that. He's got a great black
beard, and wears patent leather boots in
all weathers! But the mater cottoned to
him at once, took him on as secretary you
know how she's always running a
hundred societies?"
I nodded.
"Well, of course the war has turned the
hundreds into thousands. No doubt the
fellow was very useful to her. But you
could have knocked us all down with a
feather when, three months ago, she
suddenly announced that she and Alfred
were engaged! The fellow must be at
least twenty years younger than she is!
It's simply bare-faced fortune hunting; but
there you are she is her own mistress, and
she's married him."
It must be a difficult situation for you all."
"Difficult! It's damnable!"
Thus it came about that, three days later, I
descended from the train at Styles St.
Mary, an absurd little station, with no
apparent reason for existence, perched up
in the midst of green fields and country
lanes. John Cavendish was waiting on the
platform, and piloted me out to the car.