The Magnificent Ambersons Part 20

His namesake drew him away from the vicinity of the house. "I want to tell you something I just heard Aunt Amelia say, in there."

"I don't want to hear it," said Amberson. "I've been hearing entirely too much of what 'Aunt Amelia, says, lately."

"She says my mother's on your side about this division of the property because you're Eugene Morgan's best friend."

"What in the name of heaven has that got to do with your mother's being on my side?"

"She said--" George paused to swallow. "She said--" He faltered.

"You look sick," said his uncle; and laughed shortly. "If it's because of anything Amelia's been saying, I don't blame you! What else did she say?"

George swallowed again, as with nausea, but under his uncle's encouragement he was able to be explicit. "She said my mother wanted you to be friendly to her about Eugene Morgan. She said my mother had been using Aunt f.a.n.n.y as a chaperone."

Amberson emitted a laugh of disgust. "It's wonderful what tommy-rot a woman in a state of spite can think of! I suppose you don't doubt that Amelia Amberson created this specimen of tommy-rot herself?"

"I know she did."

"Then what's the matter?"

"She said--" George faltered again. "She said--she implied people were--were talking about it."

"Of all the d.a.m.n nonsense!" his uncle exclaimed. George looked at him haggardly. "You're sure they're not?"

"Rubbis.h.!.+ Your mother's on my side about this division because she knows Sydney's a pig and always has been a pig, and so has his spiteful wife.

I'm trying to keep them from getting the better of your mother as well as from getting the better of me, don't you suppose? Well, they're in a rage because Sydney always could do what he liked with father unless your mother interfered, and they know I got Isabel to ask him not to do what they wanted. They're keeping up the fight and they're sore--and Amelia's a woman who always says any d.a.m.n thing that comes into her head! That's all there is to it."

"But she said," George persisted wretchedly; "she said there was talk.

She said--"

"Look here, young fellow!" Amberson laughed good-naturedly. "There probably is some harmless talk about the way your Aunt f.a.n.n.y goes after poor Eugene, and I've no doubt I've abetted it myself. People can't help being amused by a thing like that. f.a.n.n.y was always languis.h.i.+ng at him, twenty-odd years ago, before he left here. Well, we can't blame the poor thing if she's got her hopes up again, and I don't know that I blame her, myself, for using your mother the way she does."

"How do you mean?"

Amberson put his hand on George's shoulder. "You like to tease f.a.n.n.y,"

he said, "but I wouldn't tease her about this, if I were you. f.a.n.n.y hasn't got much in her life. You know, Georgie, just being an aunt isn't really the great career it may sometimes appear to you! In fact, I don't know of anything much that f.a.n.n.y has got, except her feeling about Eugene. She's always had it--and what's funny to us is pretty much life-and-death to her, I suspect. Now, I'll not deny that Eugene Morgan is attracted to your mother. He is; and that's another case of 'always was'; but I know him, and he's a knight, George--a crazy one, perhaps, if you've read 'Don Quixote.' And I think your mother likes him better than she likes any man outside her own family, and that he interests her more than anybody else--and 'always has.' And that's all there is to it, except--"

"Except what?" George asked quickly, as he paused.

"Except that I suspect--" Amberson chuckled, and began over: "I'll tell you in confidence. I think f.a.n.n.y's a fairly tricky customer, for such an innocent old girl! There isn't any real harm in her, but she's a great diplomatist--lots of cards up her lace sleeves, Georgie! By the way, did you ever notice how proud she is of her arms? Always flas.h.i.+ng 'em at poor Eugene!" And he stopped to laugh again.

"I don't see anything confidential about that," George complained. "I thought--"

"Wait a minute! My idea is--don't forget it's a confidential one, but I'm devilish right about it, young Georgie!--it's this: f.a.n.n.y uses your mother for a decoy duck. She does everything in the world she can to keep your mother's friends.h.i.+p with Eugene going, because she thinks that's what keeps Eugene about the place, so to speak. f.a.n.n.y's always with your mother, you see; and whenever he sees Isabel he sees f.a.n.n.y.

f.a.n.n.y thinks he'll get used to the idea of her being around, and some day her chance may come! You see, she's probably afraid--perhaps she even knows, poor thing!--that she wouldn't get to see much of Eugene if it weren't for Isabel's being such a friend of his. There! D'you see?"

"Well--I suppose so." George's brow was still dark, however. "If you're sure whatever talk there is, is about Aunt f.a.n.n.y. If that's so--"

"Don't be an a.s.s," his uncle advised him lightly, moving away. "I'm off for a week's fis.h.i.+ng to forget that woman in there, and her pig of a husband." (His gesture toward the Mansion indicated Mr. and Mrs. Sydney Amberson.) "I recommend a like course to you, if you're silly enough to pay any attention to such rubbis.h.i.+ngs! Good-bye!"

George was partially rea.s.sured, but still troubled: a word haunted him like the recollection of a nightmare. "Talk!"

He stood looking at the houses across the street from the Mansion; and though the suns.h.i.+ne was bright upon them, they seemed mysteriously threatening. He had always despised them, except the largest of them, which was the home of his henchman, Charlie Johnson. The Johnsons had originally owned a lot three hundred feet wide, but they had sold all of it except the meager frontage before the house itself, and five houses were now crowded into the s.p.a.ce where one used to squire it so s.p.a.ciously. Up and down the street, the same transformation had taken place: every big, comfortable old brick house now had two or three smaller frame neighbours crowding up to it on each side, cheap-looking neighbours, most of them needing paint and not clean--and yet, though they were cheap looking, they had cost as much to build as the big brick houses, whose former ample yards they occupied. Only where George stood was there left a sward as of yore; the great, level, green lawn that served for both the Major's house and his daughter's. This serene domain--unbroken, except for the two gravelled carriage-drives--alone remained as it had been during the early glories of the Amberson Addition.

George stared at the ugly houses opposite, and hated them more than ever; but he s.h.i.+vered. Perhaps the riffraff living in those houses sat at the windows to watch their betters; perhaps they dared to gossip--

He uttered an exclamation, and walked rapidly toward his own front gate.

The victoria had returned with Miss f.a.n.n.y alone; she jumped out briskly and the victoria waited.

"Where's mother?" George asked sharply, as he met her.

"At Lucy's. I only came back to get some embroidery, because we found the sun too hot for driving. I'm in a hurry."

But, going into the house with her, he detained her when she would have hastened upstairs.

"I haven't time to talk now, Georgie; I'm going right back. I promised your mother--"

"You listen!" said George.

"What on earth--"

He repeated what Amelia had said. This time, however, he spoke coldly, and without the emotion he had exhibited during the recital to his uncle: f.a.n.n.y was the one who showed agitation during this interview, for she grew fiery red, and her eyes dilated. "What on earth do you want to bring such trash to me for?" she demanded, breathing fast.

"I merely wished to know two things: whether it is your duty or mine to speak to father of what Aunt Amelia--"

f.a.n.n.y stamped her foot. "You little fool!" she cried. "You awful little fool!"

"I decline--"

"Decline, my hat! Your father's a sick man, and you--"

"He doesn't seem so to me."

"Well, he does to me! And you want to go troubling him with an Amberson family row! It's just what that cat would love you to do!"

"Well, I--"

"Tell your father if you like! It will only make him a little sicker to think he's got a son silly enough to listen to such craziness!"

"Then you're sure there isn't any talk?" f.a.n.n.y disdained a reply in words. She made a hissing sound of utter contempt and snapped her fingers. Then she asked scornfully: "What's the other thing you wanted to know?"

George's pallor increased. "Whether it mightn't be better, under the circ.u.mstances," he said, "if this family were not so intimate with the Morgan family--at least for a time. It might be better--"

f.a.n.n.y stared at him incredulously. "You mean you'd quit seeing Lucy?"

"I hadn't thought of that side of it, but if such a thing were necessary on account of talk about my mother, I--I--" He hesitated unhappily. "I suggested that if all of us--for a time--perhaps only for a time--it might be better if--"

"See here," she interrupted. "We'll settle this nonsense right now. If Eugene Morgan comes to this house, for instance, to see me, your mother can't get up and leave the place the minute he gets here, can she? What do you want her to do: insult him? Or perhaps you'd prefer she'd insult Lucy? That would do just as well. What is it you're up to, anyhow? Do you really love your Aunt Amelia so much that you want to please her?

Or do you really hate your Aunt f.a.n.n.y so much that you want to--that you want to--"