And overcome by loneliness he thought: ‘Shan’t wait any longer! They must find their own way back to the hotel – if they mean to come!’ Hailing a cab outside the ground, he said:
‘Drive me to the Bayswater Road.’ His old aunts had never failed him. To them he had meant an ever-welcome visitor. Though they were gone, there, still, was Timothy!
Smither was standing in the open doorway.
‘Mr Soames! I was just taking the air. Cook will be so pleased.’
‘How is Mr Timothy?’
‘Not himself at all these last few days, sir; he’s been talking a great deal. Only this morning he was saying: “My brother James, he’s getting old.” His mind wanders, Mr Soames, and then he will talk of them. He troubles about their investments. The other day he said: “There’s my brother Jolyon won’t look at Consols” – he seemed quite down about it. Come in, Mr Soames, come in! It’s such a pleasant change!’
‘Well,’ said Soames, ‘just for a few minutes.’
‘No,’ murmured Smither in the hall, where the air had the singular freshness of the outside day, ‘we haven’t been very satisfied with him, not all this week. He’s always been one to leave a titbit to the end; but ever since Monday he’s been eating it first. If you notice a dog, Mr Soames, at its dinner, it eats the meat first. We’ve always thought it such a good sign of Mr Timothy at his age to leave it to the last, but now he seems to have lost all his self-control; and, of course, it makes him leave the rest. The doctor doesn’t make anything of it, but’ – Smither shook her head – ‘he seems to think he’s got to eat it first, in case he shouldn’t get to it. That and his talking makes us anxious.’
‘Has he said anything important?’
‘I shouldn’t like to say that, Mr Soames; but he’s turned against his Will. He gets quite pettish – and after having had it out every morning for years, it does seem funny. He said the other day: “They want my money.” It gave me such a turn, because, as I said to him, nobody wants his money, I’m sure. And it does seem a pity he should be thinking about money at his time of life. I took my courage in my ‘ands. “You know, Mr Timothy,” I said, “my dear mistress” – that’s Miss Forsyte, Mr Soames, Miss Ann that trained me – “she never thought about money,” I said, “it was all character with her.” He looked at me, I can’t tell you how funny, and he said quite dry: “Nobody wants my character.” Think of his saying a thing like that! But sometimes he’ll say something as sharp and sensible as anything.’
Soames, who had been staring at an old print by the hat-rack, thinking, “That’s got value!’ murmured: ‘I’ll go up and see him, Smither.’
‘Cook’s with him,’ answered Smither above her corsets; ‘she will be pleased to see you.’
He mounted slowly, with the thought: ‘Shan’t care to live to be that age.’
On the second floor, he paused, and tapped. The door was opened, and he saw the round homely face of a woman about sixty.
‘Mr Soames!’ she said: ‘Why! Mr Soames!’
Soames nodded. ‘All right, Cook!’ and entered.
Timothy was propped up in bed, with his hands joined before his chest, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, where a fly was standing upside-down. Soames stood at the foot of the bed, facing him.
‘Uncle Timothy,’ he said, raising his voice, ‘Uncle Timothy!’
Timothy’s eyes left the fly, and levelled themselves on his visitor. Soames could see his pale tongue passing over his darkish lips.
‘Uncle Timothy,’ he said again, ‘is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything you’d like to say?’
‘Ha!’ said Timothy.
‘I’ve come to look you up and see that everything’s all right.’
Timothy nodded. He seemed trying to get used to the apparition before him.
‘Have you got everything you want?’
‘No,’ said Timothy.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No,’ said Timothy.
‘I’m Soames, you know; your nephew, Soames Forsyte. Your brother James’s son.’
Timothy nodded.
‘I shall be delighted to do anything I can for you.’
Timothy beckoned. Soames went close to him.
‘You –’ said Timothy in a voice which seemed to have outlived tone, ‘you tell them all from me – you tell them all –’ and his finger tapped on Soames’s arm, ‘to hold on – hold on – Consols are goin’ up,’ and he nodded thrice.