| Chris Baildon, tall and lean, was in
his early thirties, and the end product of an old decayed island
family. Chris shared the too large house with his father, an arthritic and difficult man, and a wasp-tongued aunt, whose complaints ended only when she slept. The father and his sister, Chris's Aunt Agatha, engaged in shrill-voiced arguments over nothing. The continuous exchanges further confused their foolish wits, and yet held off an unendurable loneliness. They held a common grievance against Chris, openly holding him to blame for their miserable existence. He should long ago have lifted them from poverty, for had they not sacrificed everything to send him to England and Oxford University? Driven by creditors or pressing desires, earlier Baildons had long ago cheaply disposed of valuable properties. Brother and sister never ceased to remind each other of the depressing fact that their ancestors had wasted their inheritance. This, in fact, was their only other point of agreement. A few years earlier Agatha had announced that she intended doing something about repairing the family fortunes. The many empty rooms could be rented to selected guests. She would establish, not a boarding house, but a home for ladies and gentlemen, and make a tidy profit. She threw herself into the venture with a noisy fury. Old furniture was polished; rugs and carpets were beaten, floors painted, long-stored mattresses, pillows and bed linen aired and sweetened in the sun. Agatha, with a fine air of defiance, took the copy for a modest advertisement to the press. Two guests were lured by the promise of beautiful gourmet meals, a home atmosphere in an historic mansion, the company of well-brought-up ladies and gentlemen. The two, one a bank clerk and the other a maiden lady employed in a bookshop, arrived simultaneously, whereupon Agatha condescended to show them to their room, and promptly forgot about them. There was no hot water. Dinner time found Baildon and Agatha sharing half a cold chicken and a few boiled potatoes in the dining room's gloomy vastness. When the guests came timidly to inquire about the dining-hours, and to point out that there were no sheets on the beds, no water in the pots, no towels on their racks, Agatha reminded them that the Baidons were not inn-keepers, and then treated them to an account of the family's past glories. |