Midsummer's Eve

He was there at the scrubbed wood table that evening. He had changed a little. He looked older and more solemn.

He took my hand and shook it warmly.

"How nice to see you, Annora.”

“And for me to see you, Joe. How are you?”

“Oh, quite well. It seems a long time ...”

“It is.”

“You've been to Australia since.”

"Yes.”

"I'm very sorry. I heard, of course.”

I nodded.

"Are you staying here long?”

"I haven't many plans. I am just spending a little time with Frances and Peter kin.”

"They are doing a wonderful job here.”

It was obviously trivial conversation. I thought, We are both a little nervous of each other. He is remembering how I caught him coming out of Uncle Peter's study, putting those papers in his pocket. He is embarrassed about that and because I have lost my family and my home.

How different life was for both of us since our first meeting in the Park!

In the candle-lit atmosphere, amongst all the talk, the tension seemed to lessen.

Once or twice Joe smiled at me at something which was being said, and I felt pleased to see him again.

One of the helpers-an earnest young woman from a county family-was saying: "I met Reverend Goodson this afternoon. He is a little displeased with us. He says no good can come of what we are doing because so much of the money we are using comes from a tainted source. Those, my dears, were his very words.”

I saw Joe flinch and then his mouth hardened. I knew he was thinking of the manner in which Uncle Peter was attempting to rehabilitate himself by giving so generously to charity.

She went on: "I told him how you had rescued Maggie Trent from that savage she was living with and that you had saved her life, for he would surely have killed her.

I told him about little torn, bruised and terrified, who is too big for chimneys now and was still being forced up them. He would have gone mad, poor mite. He was scared out of his wits of being burned to death. And there are others like that, I said to the reverend gentleman. I said, 'If they can save people like that, they are not going to look twice at where the money comes from.'“

"You gave him something to think about perhaps," said Peterkin.

"The trouble with people like him," said Frances, "is that they are not given to thinking. Their minds run in channels laid out for them. It saves a lot of energy to follow the set rules. Happily his opinions of no importance to us. Joe, you'll see a lot of difference in the since you were last here. We've extended, started new projects We've had luck."

“Thanks,” said Joe rather bitterly, "to your generous father-in- aVprances looked steadily at her brother. She knew that he hated my Uncle Peter and that he could not forgive him for ruining his father; but she, in her calm commonsensical manner, wanted old hatchets buried. She took the long view. Whatever had happened had brought great prosperity to her world and she had to welcome that. She was doing more good, she reckoned, than any commission for the suppression of vice could have done. Frances believed in action, not talk.

But she was fond of her brother and she did not want to spoil his visits by getting involved in arguments about which they could not agree.

She changed the subject.

"Annora has been working hard since she came here. I was going to suggest she take a day off. Why don't you two take a trip up the river? There's a lovely old-fashioned little inn I've heard a good deal about. They serve whitebait. It really is good, I'm told. I imagine you two have a lot to talk about.”

Joe was looking at me expectantly.

I said: "I should like that.”

He smiled. "Then let's do it.”

Frances seemed satisfied. She then went on to talk about an extension to the kitchen which she was planning.

It was pleasant on the river. We rowed down towards Richmond and found the inn near the grassy bank just past Kew. It was called the Sailor's Rest. It looked charming.

There was a garden in front facing the river; tables and chairs were set out.

Joe tied up the boat and we went ashore.

Over the food, which was served by a maid in a mopcap and a Regency-style dress, I asked Joe questions about what he was doing. He was living in the North with his parents, he told me. His father owned a cotton mill up there and that was their main interest now.

"You are rinding it satisfying?" I asked.

"Oh, it's quite absorbing ... in a way. I'm learning a lot about cotton and trade is good. It has increased tremendously in the last years. Hargreaves' spinning jenny and Crompton's mule have speeded up production and kept prices down. We export a great deal to Europe. Oh yes, it is interesting, but ...”

"I know, Joe, what you really wanted was to go into politics.”

He was silent. Then he said: "It's the reason why I don't come to London very much.

Every time I pass the Houses of Parliament I feel a terrible longing ...”

"Why don't you try to get in?”

He looked at me in amazement. "How could I ... now?”

"That is all in the past.”

He shook his head. "As soon as one of us came into prominence it would all be remembered.