partic’lar. But I’ll lay long odds it’s a woman. He were dressed to the nines and had his hair smarmed down and smelling like a garding.”
“Did he talk to you about business?”
“Nay, he didn’t. And that was what made me sit up an’ take notice, for he alwus had before, whenever he looked in on me. Like I say, he weren’t t’same lad at all, so I got to talking with one or two of the old uns who dropped in to pass the time o’ day wi’ me and I got a hint or two.”
“What kind of hint?”
“That Swann’s New Broom was cutting a dash wi’ the quality an’ leavin’ too much to his clerks. I seen many a good man go bust that way. So have you, I daresay.”
“And young Tybalt. Have you ever met him?”
“Can’t say as I have but old Levison has. Come to think on it, Levison was the one who tipped me the wink.”
“Who the devil is Levison?”
“Levison and Skilly, big warehousemen, Liverpool way. Done a deal o’ business with ‘em in my time, but they don’t haul by your line. Their stuff goes south on the cheap with Linklater’s outfit. These things get around. They always have an’ they always will among folk who count.”
“What got around, exactly?”
“Nowt to speak of…” He was tiring rapidly and his breathing became laboured so that Adam thought, I can’t press him now, although I’d give something to know what put that bee in his bonnet . He rose, massaging the straps of his artificial leg. “I’ll think on it.”
Sam said, watching him narrowly. “Bloody memory’s not what it were, dam’ it!” He fumbled for his hunter watch, hanging by its heavy gold chain from the bedrail. “Time for me green pills,” he said, vaguely. “Better fetch our Hilda up, lad. You’ll be staying over a day or so?”
“We’re staying at the Midland. Hilda has enough on her hands, Sam.”
“Aye,” Sam said, listlessly, “she’s a good lass, but she never did the one thing I expected of her.” He rallied momentarily, glaring the full length of the bed at an atrocious seascape hanging on the far wall. “Ah’d have liked a son to follow on. Hetty’s litter is well enough but a lass isn’t the same, somehow.”
His chin dropped and his thick red lips parted. Adam went out, closing the door softly and calling to Hilda that it was time for Sam’s green pills. Hetty asked, handing him a cup, “How did you find him, Adam?”
“Very talkative,” Adam said, thoughtfully. “He’ll soldier on a bit yet if I’m any judge.” And then, as if she had expressed a contrary view, “He’s a man of parts, your father. There aren’t many of his sort about nowadays.”
“There never were,” Henrietta said, “even when I first remember him. That was twelve years before you saw him ride a boy into the ground the night they were burning his mill.” Then, in a more conciliatory tone, “Do you suppose he remembers things like that now, Adam? Now that he’s dying, I mean?”
“If he does he doesn’t regret ‘em.”
“But… shouldn’t he? I mean, now that he’s going? I’m sure I would. You too.”
“That’s the difference between us and between the times, too. In Sam’s day, in my early days come to that, it was kill or be killed. You can’t expect a man reared in a jungle to fall to his prayers in his dotage. Not without his tongue in his cheek that is. He asked me to ask Hilda to show us a copy of his will.”
“I don’t want his money.”
“You’re not getting any, m’dear,” he said, enjoying her swift change in expression that told him that, in so many ways, and notwithstanding her lifelong disapproval of Sam’s ethics, she was still Sam Rawlinson’s daughter.
2
He was wrong. Sam died in his sleep three days later, and they were obliged to stay on for the funeral. In the interval, Adam had chatted with the old chap several times, but neither made further reference to that curious warning about the dash George was cutting with the quality or the
“Did he talk to you about business?”
“Nay, he didn’t. And that was what made me sit up an’ take notice, for he alwus had before, whenever he looked in on me. Like I say, he weren’t t’same lad at all, so I got to talking with one or two of the old uns who dropped in to pass the time o’ day wi’ me and I got a hint or two.”
“What kind of hint?”
“That Swann’s New Broom was cutting a dash wi’ the quality an’ leavin’ too much to his clerks. I seen many a good man go bust that way. So have you, I daresay.”
“And young Tybalt. Have you ever met him?”
“Can’t say as I have but old Levison has. Come to think on it, Levison was the one who tipped me the wink.”
“Who the devil is Levison?”
“Levison and Skilly, big warehousemen, Liverpool way. Done a deal o’ business with ‘em in my time, but they don’t haul by your line. Their stuff goes south on the cheap with Linklater’s outfit. These things get around. They always have an’ they always will among folk who count.”
“What got around, exactly?”
“Nowt to speak of…” He was tiring rapidly and his breathing became laboured so that Adam thought, I can’t press him now, although I’d give something to know what put that bee in his bonnet . He rose, massaging the straps of his artificial leg. “I’ll think on it.”
Sam said, watching him narrowly. “Bloody memory’s not what it were, dam’ it!” He fumbled for his hunter watch, hanging by its heavy gold chain from the bedrail. “Time for me green pills,” he said, vaguely. “Better fetch our Hilda up, lad. You’ll be staying over a day or so?”
“We’re staying at the Midland. Hilda has enough on her hands, Sam.”
“Aye,” Sam said, listlessly, “she’s a good lass, but she never did the one thing I expected of her.” He rallied momentarily, glaring the full length of the bed at an atrocious seascape hanging on the far wall. “Ah’d have liked a son to follow on. Hetty’s litter is well enough but a lass isn’t the same, somehow.”
His chin dropped and his thick red lips parted. Adam went out, closing the door softly and calling to Hilda that it was time for Sam’s green pills. Hetty asked, handing him a cup, “How did you find him, Adam?”
“Very talkative,” Adam said, thoughtfully. “He’ll soldier on a bit yet if I’m any judge.” And then, as if she had expressed a contrary view, “He’s a man of parts, your father. There aren’t many of his sort about nowadays.”
“There never were,” Henrietta said, “even when I first remember him. That was twelve years before you saw him ride a boy into the ground the night they were burning his mill.” Then, in a more conciliatory tone, “Do you suppose he remembers things like that now, Adam? Now that he’s dying, I mean?”
“If he does he doesn’t regret ‘em.”
“But… shouldn’t he? I mean, now that he’s going? I’m sure I would. You too.”
“That’s the difference between us and between the times, too. In Sam’s day, in my early days come to that, it was kill or be killed. You can’t expect a man reared in a jungle to fall to his prayers in his dotage. Not without his tongue in his cheek that is. He asked me to ask Hilda to show us a copy of his will.”
“I don’t want his money.”
“You’re not getting any, m’dear,” he said, enjoying her swift change in expression that told him that, in so many ways, and notwithstanding her lifelong disapproval of Sam’s ethics, she was still Sam Rawlinson’s daughter.
2
He was wrong. Sam died in his sleep three days later, and they were obliged to stay on for the funeral. In the interval, Adam had chatted with the old chap several times, but neither made further reference to that curious warning about the dash George was cutting with the quality or the
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