Part 9

TRENCHARD. Give my love to Ethel. Is she ill that--

TREGONING. Not exactly, but she couldn't very well be with us. I thought perhaps you might have heard. We're expecting . .

_He hesitates with the bashfulness of a young husband._ TRENCHARD _helps him out with a citizen's bow of respect for a citizen's duty_.

TRENCHARD. Indeed. I congratulate you. I hope all will be well. Please give my love . . my best love to Ethel.

BOOTH. [_in an awful voice._] Lunch, Emily?

EMILY. [_scared._] I suppose so, Booth, thank you.

BOOTH. I think the boy had better run away and play . . [_he checks himself on the word._] Well, take a book and keep quiet; d'ye hear me, Christopher?

CHRISTOPHER, _who looks incapable of a sound, gazes at his father with round eyes_. EMILY _whispers "Library" to him and adds a kiss in acknowledgement of his good behaviour. After a moment he slips out, thankfully._

EDWARD. How's Ethel, Denis?

TREGONING. A little smashed, of course, but no harm done.

ALICE MAITLAND _comes in, brisk and businesslike; a little impatient of this universal cloud of mourning_.

ALICE. Edward, Honor has gone to her room. I want to take her some food and make her eat it. She's very upset.

EDWARD. Make her drink a glass of wine, and say it is necessary she should come down here. And d'you mind not coming back yourself, Alice?

ALICE. [_her eyebrows up._] Certainly, if you wish.

BOOTH. [_overhearing._] What's this? What's this?

_Alice gets her glass of wine and goes. The Major is suddenly full of importance._

BOOTH. What is this, Edward?

EDWARD. I have something to say to you all.

BOOTH. What?

EDWARD. Well, Booth, you'll hear when I say it.

BOOTH. Is it business? . . because I think this is scarcely the time for business.

EDWARD. Why?

BOOTH. Do you find it easy and reverent to descend from your natural grief to the consideration of money . . ? I do not. [_he finds_ TRENCHARD _at his elbow._] I hope you are getting some lunch, Trenchard.

EDWARD. This is business and more than business, Booth. I choose now, because it is something I wish to say to the family, not write to each individually . . and it will be difficult to get us all together again.

BOOTH. [_determined at any rate to give his sanction._] Well, Trenchard, as Edward is in the position of trustee--executor . . I don't know your terms . . I suppose there's nothing more to be said.

TRENCHARD. I don't see what your objection is.

BOOTH. [_with some superiority._] Don't you? I should not have called myself a sentimental man, but . .

EDWARD. You had better stay, Denis; you represent Ethel.

TREGONING. [_who has not heard the beginning of this._] Why? . .

HONOR _has obediently come down from her room. She is pale and thin, shaken with grief and worn out besides; for needless to say the brunt of her father's illness, the brunt of everything has been on her. Six weeks nursing, part of it hopeless, will exhaust anyone. Her handkerchief to her eyes and every minute or two she cascades tears._ EDWARD _goes and affectionately puts his arm round her_.

EDWARD. My dear Honor, I am sorry to be so . . so merciless. There! . . there! [_he hands her into the room; then shuts the door; then turns and once more surveys the family, who this time mostly return the compliment. Then he says shortly._] I think you might all sit down. [_But he goes close to his mother and speaks very distinctly, very kindly._] Mother, we're all going to have a little necessary talk over matters . . now, because it's most convenient. I hope it won't . . I hope you don't mind. Will you come to the table?

MRS. VOYSEY _looks up as if understanding more than he says_.

MRS. VOYSEY. Edward . .

EDWARD. Yes, mother?

BOOTH. [_commandingly._] You'll sit here, mother, of course.

_He places her in her accustomed chair at the foot of the table. One by one the others sit down_, EDWARD _apparently last. But then he discovers that_ HUGH _has lost himself in a corner of the room and is gazing into vacancy_.

EDWARD. Hugh, would you mind attending?

HUGH. What is it?

EDWARD. There's a chair.

HUGH _takes it. Then for a minute--while_ EDWARD _is trying to frame in coherent sentences what he must say to them--for a minute there is silence, broken only by_ HONOR'S _sniffs, which culminate at last in a noisy little cascade of tears_.

BOOTH. Honor, control yourself.

_And to emphasise his own perfect control he helps himself majestically to a glass of sherry. Then says_ . .

BOOTH. Well, Edward?

EDWARD. I'll come straight to the point which concerns you. Our father's will gives certain sums to you all . . the gross amount something over a hundred thousand pounds. There will be no money.

_He can get no further than the bare statement, which is received only with varying looks of bewilderment, until_ MRS. VOYSEY, _discovering nothing from their faces, breaks this second silence_.

MRS. VOYSEY. I didn't hear.

HUGH. [_in his mother's ear._] Edward says there's no money.

TRENCHARD. [_precisely._] I think you said . . 'will be.'

BOOTH. [_in a tone of mitigated thunder._] Why will there be no money?

EDWARD. [_letting himself go._] Because every penny by right belongs to those clients whom our father spent his life in defrauding. When I say defrauding, I mean it in its worst sense . . swindling . . thieving. I have been in the swim of it, for the past year . . oh, you don't know the sink of iniquity . . and therefore I mean to collect every penny, any money that you can give me; put the firm into bankruptcy; pay back all these people what we can. I'll stand my trial . . it'll come to that with me . . and as soon as possible. [_he pauses, partly for breath, and glares at them all._] Are none of you going to speak? Quite right, what is there to be said! [_Then with a gentle afterthought._] I'm sorry to hurt you, mother.

_The_ VOYSEY _family is simply buried deep by this avalanche of horror_. MRS. VOYSEY, _though, who has been watching_ EDWARD _closely, says very calmly_.

MRS. VOYSEY. I can't hear quite all you say, but I guess what it is. You don't hurt me, Edward . . I have known of this for a long time.

EDWARD. [_with almost a cry._] Oh, mother, did he know you knew?

MRS. VOYSEY. What do you say?

TRENCHARD. [_collected and dry._] I may as well tell you, Edward, I suspected everything wasn't right about the time of my last quarrel with my father. Of course, I took care not to pursue my suspicions. Was father aware that you knew, Mother?

MRS. VOYSEY. We never discussed it. There was once a great danger . . when you were all younger . . of his being found out. But we never discussed it.

EDWARD. [_swallowing a fresh bitterness._] I'm glad it isn't such a shock to all of you.

HUGH. [_alive to a dramatic aspect of the matter._] My God . . before the earth has settled on his grave!

EDWARD. I thought it wrong to postpone telling you.

HONOR, _the word swindling having spelt itself out in her mind, at last gives way to a burst of piteous grief_.

HONOR. Oh, poor papa! . . poor papa!

EDWARD. [_comforting her kindly._] Honor, we shall want your help and advice.

_The Major has recovered from the shock, to swell with importance. It being necessary to make an impression he instinctively turns first to his wife._

BOOTH. I think, Emily, there was no need for you to have been present at this exposure, and that now you had better retire.

EMILY. Very well, Booth.

_She gets up to go, conscious of her misdemeanour. But as she reaches the door, an awful thought strikes the Major._

BOOTH. Good Heavens . . I hope the servants haven't been listening! See where they are, Emily . . and keep them away, distract them. Open the door suddenly; [_she does so, more or less, and there is no one behind it._] That's all right.

_Having watched his wife's departure, he turns with gravity to his brother._

BOOTH. I have said nothing as yet, Edward. I am thinking.

TRENCHARD. [_a little impatient at this exhibition._] That's the worst of these family practices . . a lot of money knocking around and no audit ever required. The wonder to me is to find an honest solicitor at all.

BOOTH. Really, Trenchard!

TRENCHARD. Well, the more able a man is the less the word Honesty bothers him . . and the Pater was an able man.

EDWARD. I thought that a year ago, Trenchard. I thought that at the worst he was a splendid criminal.

BOOTH. Really . . really, Edward!

EDWARD. And everything was to come right in the end . . we were all to be in reality as wealthy and as prosperous as we have seemed to be all these years. But when he fell ill . . towards the last he couldn't keep the facts from me any longer.

TRENCHARD. And those are?

EDWARD. Laughable. You wouldn't believe there were such fools in the world as some of these wretched clients have been. I tell you the firm's funds were just a lucky bag into which he dipped. Now sometimes their money doesn't even exist.

BOOTH. Where's it gone?

EDWARD. [_very directly._] You've been living on it.

BOOTH. Good God!

TRENCHARD. What can you pay in the pound?

EDWARD. Without help? . . six or seven shillings, I daresay. But we must do better than that.

_To which there is no response._

BOOTH. All this is very dreadful. Does it mean beggary for the whole family?

EDWARD. Yes, it should.

TRENCHARD. [_sharply._] Nonsense.

EDWARD. [_joining issue at once._] What right have we to a thing we possess?

TRENCHARD. He didn't make you an allowance, Booth . . your capital's your own, isn't it?

BOOTH. [_awkwardly placed between the two of them._] Really . . I--I suppose so.

TRENCHARD. Then that's all right.

EDWARD. [_vehemently._] It's stolen money.

TRENCHARD. Booth took it in good faith.

BOOTH. I should hope so.

EDWARD. [_dwelling on the words._] It's stolen money.

BOOTH. [_bubbling with distress._] I say, what ought I to do?

TRENCHARD. Do . . my dear Booth? Nothing.

EDWARD. [_with great indignation._] Trenchard, we owe reparation--

TRENCHARD. [_readily._] To whom? From which account was Booth's money taken?

EDWARD. [_side tracked for the moment._] I don't know . . I daresay from none directly.

TRENCHARD. Very well then!

EDWARD. [_grieved._] Trenchard, you argue as he did--

TRENCHARD. Nonsense, my dear Edward. The law will take anything it has a right to and all it can get; you needn't be afraid. There's no obligation, legal or moral, for us to throw our pounds into the wreck that they may become pence.

EDWARD. I can hear him.

TRENCHARD. But what about your own position . . can we get you clear?

EDWARD. That doesn't matter.

BOOTH'S _head has been turning incessantly from one to the other and by this he is just a bristle of alarm_.

BOOTH. But I say, you know, this is awful! Will this have to be made public?

TRENCHARD. No help for it.

_The Major's jaw drops; he is speechless._ MRS. VOYSEY'S _dead voice steals in_.

MRS. VOYSEY. What is all this?

TRENCHARD. Edward wishes us to completely beggar ourselves in order to pay back to every client to whom father owed a pound perhaps ten shillings instead of seven.

MRS. VOYSEY. He will find that my estate has been kept quite separate.

EDWARD _hides his face in his hands_.

TRENCHARD. I'm very glad to hear it, Mother.

MRS. VOYSEY. When Mr. Barnes died your father agreed to appointing another trustee.

TREGONING. [_diffidently._] I suppose, Edward, I'm involved.

EDWARD. [_lifting his head quickly._] Denis, I hope not. I didn't know that anything of yours--

TREGONING. Yes . . all that I got under my aunt's will.

EDWARD. You see how things are . . I've discovered no trace of that. We'll hope for the best.

TREGONING. [_setting his teeth._] It can't be helped.

MAJOR BOOTH _leans over the table and speaks in the loudest of whispers_.

BOOTH. Let me advise you to say nothing of this to Ethel at such a critical time.

TREGONING. Thank you, Booth, naturally I shall not.

HUGH, _by a series of contortions, has lately been giving evidence of a desire or intention to say something_.

EDWARD. Well, what is it, Hugh?

HUGH. I have been wondering . . if he can hear this conversation.

_Up to now it has all been meaningless to_ HONOR, _in her nervous dilapidation, but this remark brings a fresh burst of tears_.

HONOR. Oh, poor papa . . poor papa!

MRS. VOYSEY. I think I'll go to my room. I can't hear what any of you are saying. Edward can tell me afterwards.

EDWARD. Would you like to go too, Honor?

HONOR. [_through her sobs._] Yes, please, I would.

TREGONING. And I'll get out, Edward. Whatever you think fit to do . . Oh, well, I suppose there's only one thing to be done.

EDWARD. Only that.

TREGONING. I wish I were in a better position as to work, for Ethel's sake and--and the child's.

EDWARD. Shall I speak to Trenchard?

TREGONING. No . . he knows I exist in a wig and gown. If I can be useful to him, he'll be useful to me, I daresay. Good bye, Hugh. Good bye, Booth.

_By this time_ MRS. VOYSEY _and_ HONOR _have been got out of the room_: TREGONING _follows them. So the four brothers are left together._ HUGH _is vacant_, EDWARD _does not speak_, BOOTH _looks at_ TRENCHARD, _who settles himself to acquire information_.

TRENCHARD. How long have things been wrong?

EDWARD. He told me the trouble began in his father's time and that he'd been battling with it ever since.

TRENCHARD. [_smiling._] Oh, come now . . that's impossible.

EDWARD. But I believed him! Now I look through his papers I can find only one irregularity that's more than ten years old, and that's only to do with old George Booth's business.

BOOTH. But the Pater never touched his money . . why, he was a personal friend.

EDWARD. Did you hear what Denis said?

TRENCHARD. Very curious his evolving that fiction about his father . . I wonder why. I remember the old man. He was honest as the day.

EDWARD. To gain sympathy, I suppose.

TRENCHARD. I think one can trace the psychology of it deeper than that. It would add a fitness to the situation . . his handing on to you an inheritance he had received. You know every criminal has a touch of the artist in him.

HUGH. [_suddenly roused._] That's true.

TRENCHARD. What position did you take up on the matter when he told you?

EDWARD. [_shrugging._] You know what the Pater was as well as I.

TRENCHARD. Well . . what did you attempt to do?

EDWARD. I urged him to start by making some of the smaller accounts right. He said . . he said that would be penny wise and pound foolish. So I did what I could myself.

TRENCHARD. With your own money?

EDWARD. The little I had.

TRENCHARD. Can you prove that you did that?

EDWARD. I suppose I could.

TRENCHARD. It's a good point.

BOOTH. [_not to be quite left out._] Yes, I must say--

TRENCHARD. You ought to have written him a letter, and left the firm the moment you found out. Even then, legally . . ! But as he was your father. What was his object in telling you? What did he expect you to do?

EDWARD. I've thought of every reason . . and now I really believe it was that he might have someone to boast to of his financial exploits.

TRENCHARD. [_appreciatively._] I daresay.

BOOTH. Scarcely matters to boast of!

TRENCHARD. Oh, you try playing the fool with other people's money, and keeping your neck out of the noose for twelve years. It's not so easy.

EDWARD. Then, of course, he always protested that things would come right . . that he'd clear the firm and have a fortune to the good. Or that if he were not spared I might do it. But he must have known that was impossible.

TRENCHARD. But there's the gambler all over.

EDWARD. Why, he actually took the trouble to draw up this will!

TRENCHARD. That was childish.

EDWARD. I'm the sole executor.

TRENCHARD. So I should think . . Was I down for anything?

EDWARD. No.

TRENCHARD. [_without resentment._] How he did hate me!

EDWARD. You're safe from the results of his affection anyway.

TRENCHARD. What on earth made you stay in the firm once you knew?

EDWARD _does not answer for a moment_.

EDWARD. I thought I might prevent things from getting any worse. I think I did . . well, I should have done that if he'd lived.

TRENCHARD. You knew the risk you were running?

EDWARD. [_bowing his head._] Yes.

TRENCHARD, _the only one of the three who comprehends, looks at his brother for a moment with something that might almost be admiration. Then he stirs himself._

TRENCHARD. I must be off. Business waiting . . end of term, you know.

BOOTH. Shall I walk to the station with you?

TRENCHARD. I'll spend a few minutes with Mother. [_he says, at the door, very respectfully._] You'll count on my professional assistance, please, Edward.

EDWARD. [_simply._] Thank you, Trenchard.

_So_ TRENCHARD _goes. And the Major, who has been endeavouring to fathom his final attitude, then comments_--

BOOTH. No heart, y'know! Great brain! If it hadn't been for that distressing quarrel he might have saved our poor father. Don't you think so, Edward?

EDWARD. Perhaps.

HUGH. [_giving vent to his thoughts at last with something of a relish._] The more I think this out, the more devilishly humorous it gets. Old Booth breaking down by the grave . . Colpus reading the service . .

EDWARD. Yes, the Vicar's badly hit.

HUGH. Oh, the Pater had managed his business for years.

BOOTH. Good God . . how shall we ever look old Booth in the face again?

EDWARD. I don't worry about him; he can die quite comfortably enough on six shillings in the pound. It's one or two of the smaller fry who will suffer.

BOOTH. Now, just explain to me . . I didn't interrupt while Trenchard was talking . . of what exactly did this defrauding consist?

EDWARD. Speculating with a client's capital . . pocketing the gains, cutting the losses; meanwhile paying the client his ordinary income.

BOOTH. So that he didn't find it out?

EDWARD. Quite so.

BOOTH. In point of fact, he doesn't suffer?

EDWARD. He doesn't suffer till he finds it out.

BOOTH. And all that's wrong now is that some of their capital is missing.

EDWARD. [_half amused, half amazed at this process of reasoning._] Yes, that's all that's wrong.

BOOTH. What is the ah--deficit? [_the word rolls from his tongue._]

EDWARD. Anything between two and three hundred thousand pounds.

BOOTH. [_very impressed and not unfavourably._] Dear me . . this is a big affair!

HUGH. [_following his own line of thought._] Quite apart from the rights and wrongs of this, only a very able man could have kept a straight face to the world all these years, as the Pater did.

BOOTH. I suppose he sometimes made money by these speculations.

EDWARD. Very often. His own expenditure was heavy, as you know.

BOOTH. [_with gratitude for favours received._] He was a very generous man.

HUGH. Did nobody ever suspect him?

EDWARD. You see, Hugh, when there was any danger . . when a trust had to be wound up . . he'd make a great effort and put the accounts straight.

BOOTH. Then he did put some accounts straight?

EDWARD. Yes, when he couldn't help himself.

BOOTH _looks very enquiring and then squares himself up to the subject_.

BOOTH. Now look here, Edward. You told us that he told you that it was the object of his life to put these accounts straight. Then you laughed at that. Now you tell me that he did put some accounts straight.

EDWARD. [_wearily._] My dear Booth, you don't understand.

BOOTH. Well, let me understand . . I am anxious to understand.

EDWARD. We can't pay ten shillings in the pound.

BOOTH. That's very dreadful. But do you know that there wasn't a time when we couldn't have paid five?

EDWARD. [_acquiescent._] I don't know.

BOOTH. Very well then! If what he said was true about his father and all that . . and why shouldn't we believe him if we can? . . and he did effect an improvement, that's all to his credit. Let us at least be just, Edward.

EDWARD. [_patiently polite._] I am very sorry to appear unjust. He has left me in a rather unfortunate position.

BOOTH. Yes, his death was a tragedy. It seems to me that if he had been spared he might have succeeded at length in this tremendous task and restored to us our family honour.

EDWARD. Yes, Booth, he spoke very feelingly of that.

BOOTH. [_Irony lost upon him._] I can well believe it. And I can tell you that now . . I may be right or I may be wrong . . I am feeling far less concerned about the clients' money than I am at the terrible blow to the Family which this exposure will strike. Money, after all, can to a certain extent be done without . . but Honour--

_This is too much for_ EDWARD.

EDWARD. Our honour! Does one of you mean to give me a single penny towards undoing all the wrong that has been done?

BOOTH. I take Trenchard's word for it that that would be illegal.

EDWARD. Well . . don't talk to me of honour.

BOOTH. [_somewhat nettled at this outburst._] I am speaking of the public exposure. Edward, can't that be prevented?

EDWARD. [_with quick suspicion._] How?

BOOTH. Well . . how was it being prevented before he died--before we knew anything about it?

EDWARD. [_appealing to the spirits that watch over him._] Oh, listen to this! First Trenchard . . and now you! You've the poison in your blood, every one of you. Who am I to talk? I daresay so have I.

BOOTH. [_reprovingly._] I am beginning to think that you have worked yourself into rather an hysterical state over this unhappy business.

EDWARD. [_rating him._] Perhaps you'd have been glad . . glad if I'd held my tongue and gone on lying and cheating . . and married and begotten a son to go on lying and cheating after me . . and to pay you your interest . . your interest in the lie and the cheat.

BOOTH. [_with statesman-like calm._] Look here, Edward, this rhetoric is exceedingly out of place. The simple question before us is . . What is the best course to pursue?

EDWARD. There is no question before us. There's only one course to pursue.

BOOTH. [_crushingly._] You will let me speak, please. In so far as our poor father was dishonest to his clients, I pray that he may be forgiven. In so far as he spent his life honestly endeavouring to right a wrong which he had found already committed . . I forgive him. I admire him, Edward. And I feel it my duty to--er--reprobate most strongly the--er--gusto with which you have been holding him up in memory to us . . ten minutes after we have stood round his grave . . as a monster of wickedness. I think I may say I knew him as well as you . . better. And . . thank God! . . there was not between him and me this--this unhappy business to warp my judgment of him. [_he warms to his subject._] Did you ever know a more charitable man . . a larger-hearted? He was a faithful husband . . and what a father to all of us, putting us out into the world and fully intending to leave us comfortably settled there. Further . . as I see this matter, Edward . . when as a young man he was told this terrible secret and entrusted with such a frightful task . . did he turn his back on it like a coward? No. He went through it heroically to the end of his life. And as he died I imagine there was no more torturing thought than that he had left his work unfinished. [_he is very satisfied with this peroration._] And now if all these clients can be kept receiving their natural income and if Father's plan could be carried out of gradually replacing the capital--

EDWARD _at this raises his head and stares with horror_.

EDWARD. You're appealing to me to carry on this . . Oh, you don't know what you're talking about!

_The Major, having talked himself back to a proper eminence remains good-tempered._

BOOTH. Well, I'm not a conceited man . . but I do think that I can understand a simple financial problem when it has been explained to me.

EDWARD. You don't know the nerve . . the unscrupulous daring it requires to--

BOOTH. Of course, if you're going to argue round your own incompetence--

EDWARD. [_very straight._] D'you want your legacy?