A Mother’s Spirit. Anne Bennett
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aware that Brian was worried about something and he asked him about it.
‘It’s nothing that you need concern yourself about,’ Brian snapped.
‘Stop that sort of talk, Brian,’ Joe snapped back. ‘I am your son-in-law and so everything that bothers you this much is my concern too. If it is connected to the business in some way, then I need to be told what it is.’
‘It only loosely concerns the business,’ Brian said. ‘And it’s all to do with the shares. They dropped in early October, but they did that last month too and recovered.’
‘And this time they haven’t?’
‘Not yet,’ Brian said. ‘They will eventually, but they are still dropping at the moment.’
‘Why don’t you sell up while you have the chance?’
‘I can’t do that, Joe,’ Brian said. ‘You don’t know how much is at stake. I would lose a packet if I sold at current rates.’
‘I hope for your sake that prices soon rise then.’
‘You worry too much, Joe,’ Brian said. ‘I have been doing this for years. And the uneasiness sort of adds to the excitement.’
It was excitement that Joe could well do without, and he saw Brian develop deep furrows across his brow and down each side of his nose, and sometimes he looked quite grey. Joe knew he was more worried than he was letting on and he was very concerned about him, but Brian refused to talk about it.
The following week, Bert sought Joe out. ‘I am selling my shares back to the bank tomorrow,’ he said. ‘The boss should do the same. I tried telling him and got my head bitten off for my trouble. He said he’ll lose money. Hell, I will lose money, but at least this way I’ll get something back. People say the stock market is going to crash. Try talking to him, Joe. He listens to you.’
‘Not at the moment he doesn’t,’ Joe said grimly. ‘But I will do my best.’
Brian, however, was intractable. ‘People are getting fearful, that’s all,’ he told Joe. ‘They just have to hold their nerve and sit tight.’
The following day, Bert told Joe of the agitated crowds of people who had flooded the Exchange, frantically trying to redeem their shares. ‘Good job I went early,’ he said. ‘For all that there was a mile-long queue already there, at least I got in. Some poor devils didn’t. When the hall reached what they considered capacity, they just shut the doors. People were hollering, crying, screaming in the streets, banging on the doors. I tell you, Joe, it was mayhem, and some of those who got in got no money, for the Exchange just closed down, couldn’t cope at all. God Almighty, Joe, where will America be after this?’
Over the weekend, the market seemed to recover a little and there was a glimmer of hope that it would bounce back as it had so many times before. Brian had a smug, ‘told you so’ look on his face as he read the financial papers. But, by Monday the shares began spiralling down again and the evening papers were full of doom and gloom, and bad forecasts of worse to come. Brian decided he had to go down to the Exchange and see how things were for himself, and so on Tuesday morning, without a word to anyone, he got up early and left the house.
The streets around the Exchange were busy for that hour in the morning, and in the milling crowds around the closed doors the desperation and panic could almost be felt. Brian felt the knot of worry he had carried for a few weeks harden and he was suddenly filled with dread. No one spoke to averyone else, and even avoided eye contact. Brian admitted for the first time that he might have made a ghastly mistake. It seemed hours later that the staff began arriving and then the crowds surging against the doors burst them apart.
The sheer number of people streaming in that day made it impossible for the staff even to attempt to try to close the doors again. Brian stood cheek by jowl with his neighbours and saw the shares drop that first hour more than they had ever dropped before.
The ashen-faced people began to shriek and scream, and then the massed crying of wretched people settled to a loud hum of profound distress that filled the room and rebounded off the walls. There was pandemonium on the Exchange floor, and Brian saw some men grab frantically at their collars before collapsing beneath people’s feet. Brian didn’t blame them; it was only the people pressed all around him that were keeping him upright, for he knew he too was ruined. His major investments were in radio and steel, and when the value of them dropped so low they were worthless he knew his life was effectively over.
Stumbling through the door and into the street, he began to lurch from one side of the sidewalk to the other as if he was in the throes of drink when really he was trying to come to terms with the anguish and wretchedness that he was going to inflict on those he loved best in all the world. He walked for miles and for hours, trying to ignore the sharp pains shooting across his chest, but when eventually the cold and darkness caused him to head for home he knew what he was going to do.
There had been a little concern when there had been no sign of Brian when the house was astir that morning. When he hadn’t made an appearance or contacted anyone, either at the factory or the house, Joe had come home early, intending to take the car out and look for him.
He was in the bedroom, changing from his suit when he heard the loud hammering on the front door.
‘Thank goodness, that must be Daddy now,’ said Gloria, who had followed Joe upstairs. And then, just a few minutes later, they heard Norah’s cry of distress.
The knocking on the door had been so loud and insistent it had brought Norah from the drawing room, and so she was in the hall as Planchard crossed it and opened the door to see his master holding the evening paper in his hand, leaning heavily against the doorjamb. He looked as if he had had a skinful, although there was no smell of drink upon him at all.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ Planchard said, going forward to support him.
Norah gave a little gasp of shock, seeing Brian brought into the light, leaning heavily against the butler. His face was grey, even his lips had no colour, and his rheumy eyes were red and bloodshot with huge fleshy bags beneath them.
‘Oh, Brian, my darling,’ she cried. ‘What in God’s name has happened to you?’
She went forward, her arms outstretched, but before she reached him he said sharply, ‘Leave me be.’ Norah stopped, unsure what to do as Brian said to Planchard, ‘You leave me be, too.’ He pulled himself away from his butler’s arm, stood for a moment as if to regain his balance, and staggered off towards the study. Planchard and Norah looked at each other, worry etched on both their faces as Joe and Gloria came running down the stairs.
‘What is it, Mother?’ Gloria cried. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s your father, dear,’ Norah said. ‘There is something the matter with him. He is ill. I have never seen him like that.’
Joe looked across at Planchard, who said, ‘The mistress is right, sir. There is certainly something very amiss.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He went towards the study,’ Norah said.
Joe was his making his way there when he heard the shot and it galvanised him into action. Norah gave a shriek and Planchard, who had been returning to the kitchen, was side by side with Joe as they reached the study door with Norah and Gloria behind them.
It was locked and bolted, as Joe had expected, and he rattled it and shouted, but there was silence.
‘We will have to break it down, sir,’ Planchard said, and Joe nodded.
The panel split the second time they hit it, and then Joe was able to get his hand in and open the door from the inside. They were too late, Joe saw that at a glance, and he felt his heart contract as he saw Brian at the desk, his head fallen forward in a pool of blood. There was a neat bullet hole in his skull and the gun that fired it had fallen from his hand on to the blood-splattered paper that read
I’m sorry.
Love