Free So Well Remembered by James Hilton Page A

ghosts, or
being alone, or anything else. And also she would sometimes make scenes
—curious, nerve-racking scenes that made Emily feel peculiarly
helpless. Perhaps Dr. Whiteside was right and the child WAS neurotic—
but would the knowledge that her father was in prison make her any less so?
It was easy to think not.
    Nor was it clear that Livia would be made happier by school, for in
addition to hating the idea of it, the child also seemed perfectly happy at
Stoneclough. She had far more freedom than children have in many homes; she
could play with dogs, cats, chickens, tame rabbits, and William the horse;
she liked and was permitted to make cooking experiments in the kitchen and
planting experiments in the garden; she could walk endlessly over near-by
moorland and through the clough on week-days; she could read library books
sent up from Mudie’s in London, and there was that new invention, the
phonograph, to amuse her. And on Sundays, to brighten the one day of
restriction, old Mr. Felsby usually called. But it did not brighten things so
much for Livia, who early formed the opinion that Mr. Felsby was a bore.
    Richard Felsby was seventy-eight, oaken in physique, the last of a
generation destined to glower (within gilt frames) from above thousands of
mantelpieces upon dwindling families. Both the Channings and the Felsbys
were, in this matter, typical; once so prolific, they seemed now in danger of
reaching a complete full- stop, for only the surviving Richard, the absent
John, and the infant Livia could claim direct descent from the original
Channing and Felsby who had built up the firm. The last of the Felsbys could
not forgive the last of the John Channings—not so much on personal
grounds (for Richard, disliking John’s new-fangled business ideas long before
the crash came, had dissolved partnership and retired a rich man), but
because of the disgrace to the Channing name in a world that still associated
a Channing with a Felsby. It was said that the trial and the scandal
connected with it had aged Richard considerably, and if so, there were many
in Browdley who wished it had done more, for the old man was generally
disliked. When younger he had been against drinking, smoking, gambling,
dancing, and theatre-going (anything, indeed, that might lessen the week-day
efficiency of his employees); but of later years he had mellowed to the
extent that he only scowled wordlessly if he came across Livia sewing or
reading a novel during one of his Sunday visits. He did not much care for
Emily, though he felt he ought to keep an eye on her; he was disappointed in
Livia, because she was not a boy to carry on and rehabilitate the Channing
name; and, as before remarked, he could not forgive John. But he was old
enough both to remember and revere the memory of John’s father, who had died
some years before the turn of the century. Friend, partner, and contemporary,
this earlier John had been, in Richard’s opinion, the last of the ‘good’
Channings; and it was for his sake, chiefly, that the old man now visited
Stoneclough.
    Besides being thus a tribute to the dead, the weekly visits were an
undoubted trial to the living, for Richard honestly believed he conferred
great benefits by patting Livia on the head and by discussing the state of
the cotton trade in a loud voice with Emily. He discussed this because, with
Livia hovering about, and in his usual mood by the time he arrived at the
house, it was practically the only thing he dared discuss; for Dr. Whiteside
had warned him against undue excitement, however caused. If he had anything
to say about John he would therefore take Emily into a corner for a session
of mysterious sibilant whispering, and sometimes in the middle of this Livia
would burst into the room, whereupon Richard would boom out again about the
state of the cotton trade. After this sort of thing had happened a few times
Livia grew convinced that there was a