Father and the Cottons did most of the talking--but the Cottons seemed to think everything I did say was amusing.
And then, just when everything was going so swimmingly, Simon Cotton
asked the one question I had been praying he wouldn't ask.
He turned to Father and said:
"And when may we expect the successor to Jacob Wrestling?"
I knew I ought to create a diversion by upsetting my cocoa, but I did so want it. And while I was struggling with my greed, Father
answered:
"Never."
He didn't say it angrily or bitterly. He just breathed it. And I
don't suppose anyone but me saw that he somehow deflated; the carriage of his head changed and his shoulders sagged.
But almost before I had taken this in, Simon Cotton said:
"There couldn't be, of course, when one comes to think of it."
Father shot a look at him and he went on quickly:
"Certain unique books seem to be without forerunners or successors as far as their authors are concerned. Even though they may profoundly
influence the work of other writers, for their creator they're
complete, not leading anywhere."
Topaz was watching Father as anxiously as I was.
"Oh, but surely--" she began protestingly. Father interrupted her.
"Do you mean that the writers of such books are often one-book men ?"
he asked, very quietly.
"Heaven forbid," said Simon Cotton.
"I
only mean that I was wrong to use the word "successor." The originators among writers are perhaps, in a sense, the only true
creators who dip deep and bring up one perfect work; complete, not a
link in a chain. Later, they dip again for something as unique. God
may have created other worlds, but he obviously didn't go on adding to this one."
He said it in a rather stately, literary way but quite sincerely and
yet I didn't feel it was sincere. And I didn't feel it meant very
much. I think it was really a kind and clever way of sliding over a
difficult moment; though, if so, he must have been very quick to
realize how difficult the moment was. The odd thing was that Father
seemed so impressed. He jerked his head as if some idea had just
struck him, but he didn't answer it was as if he wanted to think for a minute. Then Simon Cotton asked him a question about the third dream
in Jacob Wrestling and he came to life again I haven't seen him so
alive since the year he married Topaz. And he didn't talk only about
himself; after he had answered the question he drew us all in,
particularly Rose he kept saying things which made the Cottons turn to her, which they seemed very glad to do.
Neil Cotton didn't talk as much as his brother. Most of the time he
sat on the copper with Heloise. He winked at me once in a friendly
way.
At last Thomas came in to say the horses were waiting. (there was
enough cocoa left for him but none for Stephen, who had stayed with the horses. Luckily I had saved half mine and put it by the fire to keep
warm.) Father and I sloshed down the lane with the Cottons to see the car hauled out--Rose couldn't come because of her tea-gown and Topaz
didn't seem to want to. There was much pleasant confusion, with the
Cottons flashing torches and everyone laughing and making the noises
horses expect, and then the car was safely on the road again. After
that, the good-byes were rather hurried, but both the Cottons said that they would see us again soon and I am sure that they meant it.
Stephen and Thomas took the horses back and Father and I trudged home in the rain. The boys took the lantern so it was very dark--I need
hardly say that our family hasn't possessed a working torch for years.
Father held my arm firmly and seemed wonderfully cheerful. I asked him what he thought of the Cottons and he said: "Well, I shouldn't think they'd dun us for the rent." Then he said he had forgotten how
stimulating Americans could be, and told me interesting bits about his American lecture tours. And he said Simon Cotton was the Henry James
type of American, who falls in love with England--" He'll make an admirable owner for Scoatney." The only Henry James novel I ever tried to read was What Maisie Knew, when I was about nine-- I expected it to be a book for children. We had a beautiful plum-colored edition of
James's works then, but of course it got sold with the other valuable books.
As soon as we got back to the castle Father went up to the gatehouse
room and I rushed to join the girls. They were talking excitedly Topaz had got over her quiet mood. She was sure Rose had made a hit, and
started to plan how to alter a dress for her, a real London dress that Rose has always admired. And they decided about cleaning the
drawing-room in case the Cottons called very soon. I said wasn't it
wonderful that Father actually seemed to like them. Through the back
windows of the gatehouse, we could see him sitting at his desk. Topaz said:
"It's happened--the miracle! He's going to start work again!"
Stephen and Thomas came back and I made Stephen drink the cocoa I'd
saved for him- I had to hold it ready to pour down the sink before he would take it. Then we went to bed.
Rose got all her clothes out and draped them over Miss Blossom, to see if any of them were better than she remembered. They were worse.
But even that didn't depress her.
We talked and talked. Suddenly I sat up in bed and said:
"Rose, we're working it up too much. We mustn't. Of course it'll be wonderful if we're asked to parties and things but--Rose, you couldn't marry that man with a beard ?"
"I could marry the Devil himself if he had some money," said Rose.
I am pretty sure she was remembering Simon Cotton's shadow; but as she didn't mention it, I didn't. There is no point in working up a thing
like that about a wealthy man.
After we had blown the candles out I made Miss Blossom talk I can never think of the sort of things she says unless I pretend she is really
saying them. When I asked her what she thought about it all, she
answered:
"Well, it's a start, girlies, there's no denying that. Now you just make the best of yourselves. Of course all these old clothes you've
draped over me won't help you much, but wash your hair and keep your
hands nice- that green stuff on them's funny for once but the joke's
over. And now you'd better think of your complexions and get some
beauty sleep."
Rose certainly took the hint about the dye; this morning she scrubbed and scrubbed her hands until she got it all off. She used our last
grains of scouring powder, so my dye will just have to wear off--it has now reached a gray stage which looks like dirt. Oh, I have just had an idea--after tea I shall attack myself with sand paper.
How quickly life can change! This time yesterday it was a wintery
blank--and now not only have we met the Cottons, but there is a real
hint of spring. From up here in the barn I can see blackthorn buds on the hedges ...... I have just discovered that by moving my head I can make the square opening, near the roof, frame different parts of the
lane--it is rather a fascinating game.
Oh! Oh, my goodness! They're here--the Cottons --they've just come
round the last bend of the lane! Oh, what am I to do his ....... They have gone past. There was no way I could warn Rose and Topaz- I
couldn't have got out of the barn without being seen. At least I know they are back from their walk because I heard Rose playing the piano
some time ago. But how will they be dressed his And, heavens, Rose was thinking of washing her hair! Never did we dare to hope the Cottons
would come this very day!
I watched them pass, through the hinge of the barn door; then
scrambled up on the chaff again and watched until they disappeared into the gatehouse passage. Ought I to go in his I want to, of course --but there is a huge hole in my stocking and my gym-dress is all dusty from the chaff ...... It must be half an hour since I wrote that last line.
I didn't go in.
I have been lying here on the chaff thinking of them in the
drawing-room with the log fire burning. It won't really matter if Rose did wash her hair, because it looks very beautiful when it is drying. I feel sure I did right to stay here--for one thing, I talk too much
sometimes. I must be desperately careful never to distract attention
from Rose. I keep telling myself it is real, it really has happened
--we know two men. And they like us- they must, or they wouldn't have come back so soon.
I don't really want to write any more, I just want to lie here and
think. But there is something I want to capture. It has to do with
the feeling I had when I watched the Cottons coming down the lane, the queer separate feeling. I like seeing people when they can't see me. I have often looked at our family through lighted windows and they seem quite different, a bit the way rooms seen in looking-glasses do. I
can't get the feeling into words-it slipped away when I tried to
capture it.
Simon Cotton's black beard looks queerer than ever by daylight,
especially now I have realized he isn't at all old--I should guess him to be under thirty. He has nice teeth and rather a nice mouth with a
lot of shape to it. It has a peculiar naked look in the midst of all
that hair. How can a young man like to wear a beard his I wonder if
he has a scar his His eyebrows go up at the corners.