The Van Roon Book Reviews

The Van Roon by J. C. Snaith Book Summary

THE VAN ROON

I
N
orth of the Strand, east of the National Gallery, a narrow street winds a devious course towards Long Acre. To the casual eye it is no more than a mean and dingy thoroughfare without charm or interest, but for the connoisseur it has its legend. Here Swinburne came upon his famous copy of “The Faerie Queene”; here more than one collection has been enriched by a Crome, a Morland, a choice miniature, a first proof or some rare unsuspected article of bigotry and virtue.
On the right, going from Charing Cross, halfway up the street, a shop, outwardly inconspicuous, bears on its front in plain gilt letters the name S. Gedge, Antiques.
A regard for the mot juste could omit the final letter. S. Gedge Antique was nearer the fact. To look at, the proprietor of the business was an antique of the most genuine kind, whose age, before he was dressed for the day, might have been anything. When, however, he had “tidied himself up” to sit at the receipt of a custom, a process involving a shave, the putting on of collar and dickey, prehistoric frock coat, new perhaps for the Prince Consort’s funeral, and a
[Pg 2]
 pair of jemimas that also were “of the period,” his years, in spite of a yellow parchment countenance of an incredible cunning, could at conservative estimate be reckoned as seventy.
On a certain morning of September, the years of the proprietor of S. Gedge Antiques, whatever they might be, sat heavily upon him. Tall, sombre, gaunt, a cross between a hop-pole and a moulting vulture, his tattered dressing gown and chessboard slippers lent a touch of fantasy to his look of eld, while the collar and dickey of commerce still adorned the back kitchen dresser.
Philosophers say that to find a reason for everything is only a question of looking. The reason for the undress of S. Gedge Antiques so late as eleven o’clock in the morning was not far to seek. His right hand man and sole assistant, who answered to the name of William, and who was never known or called by any other, had been away for an annual holiday of one week, which this year he had spent in Suffolk. He was due back in the course of that day and his master would raise a pæan on his return. In the absence of William the indispensable S. Gedge Antiques was like a windjammer on a lee shore.
There was a further reason for his lost air. He was “at outs” with Mrs. Runciman, his charwoman, a state of affairs which had long threatened to become chronic. An old, and in her own opinion, an undervalued retainer, the suspension of diplomatic relations between Mrs. Runciman and her employer could always be traced to one cause. S. Gedge attributed it to the phases of the moon and their effect on the human female, but the real root of the mischief was Mrs. Runciman’s demand for “a raise in her celery.” For
[Pg 3]
 many years past the lady had held that her services were worth more than “half a crown a day and her grub.” The invariable reply of her master was that he had never paid more to a char all the time he had been in trade and that if she wanted more she could keep away. This Thursday morning, according to precedent when matters came to a head, Mrs. Runciman had taken him at his word. The old man knew, however, that her absence would only be temporary. A single day off would vindicate the rights of woman. As sure as the sun rose on the morrow Mrs. R. would return impenitent but in better fettle for charring. But as he made a point of telling her, she would play the trick once too often.
Char-less for the time being, assistant-less also, this morning S. Gedge was not only looking his age, he was feeling it; but he had already begun to examine the contents of a large packing case from Ipswich which Messrs. Carter Paterson had delivered half an hour ago at the back of the premises by the side entry. Handicapped as S. Gedge Antiques at the moment was, he could well have deferred these labours until later in the day. Human curiosity, however, had claimed him as a victim.
By a side wind he had heard of a sale at a small and rather inaccessible house in the country where a few things might be going cheap. As this was to take place in the course of William’s holiday, the young man had been given a few pounds to invest, provided that in his opinion “the goods were full value.” By trusting William to carry out an operation of such delicacy, his master whose name in trade circles was that of “a very keen buyer” was really paying him the highest compliment
[Pg 4]
 in his power. For the god of S. Gedge Antiques was money. In the art of “picking things up,” however, William had a lucky touch. His master could depend as a rule on turning over a few shillings on each of the young man’s purchases; indeed there were occasions when the few shillings had been many. The truth was that William’s flair for a good thing was almost uncanny.
Adroit use of a screwdriver prised the lid off the packing case. A top layer of shavings was removed. With the air of a dévot the old man dug out William’s first purchase and held it up to the light of New Cross Street, or to as much of that dubious commodity as could filter down the side entry.
Purchase the first proved to be a copy of an engraving by P. Bartolozzi: the Mrs. Lumley and Her Children of Sir Joshua Reynolds. An expert eye priced it at once a safe thirty shillings in the window of the front shop, although William had been told not to exceed a third of that sum at Loseby Grange, Saxmundham. So far so good. With a feeling of satisfaction S. Gedge laid the engraving upon a chair of ornate appearance but doubtful authenticity, and proceeded to remove more straw from the packing case. Before, however, he could deal with William’s second purchase, whatever it might be, he was interrupted.
A voice came from the front shop.
“Uncle Si! Uncle Si! Where are you?”
The voice was feminine. S. Gedge Antiques, crusted bachelor and confirmed hater of women, felt a sudden pang of dismay.
“Where are you, Uncle Si?”
“Com-ming!” A low roar boomed from the interior
[Pg 5]
 of the packing case. It failed, however, to get beyond the door of the lumber room.
“That girl of Abe’s” ruminated the old man deep in straw. In the stress of affairs, he had almost forgotten that the only child of a half brother many years his junior, was coming to London by the morning train.
“Uncle Si!”
With a hiss of disgust worthy of an elderly cobra he writhed his head free of the straw. “Confound her, turning up like this. Why couldn’t she come this afternoon when the boy’d be home? But that’s a woman. They’re born as cross as Christmas.”
A third time his name was called.
S. Gedge Antiques, unshaven, beslippered, bespectacled, slowly emerged from the decent obscurity of the back premises into the fierce publicity of the front shop. He was greeted by a sight of which his every instinct profoundly disapproved.
The sight was youthful, smiling, fresh complexioned. In a weak moment, for which mentally he had been kicking himself round the shop ever since, he had been so unwise as to offer to adopt this girl who had lost her father some years ago and had lately buried her mother. Carter Paterson had delivered her trunk along with the packing case from Ipswich, a fact he now recalled.
Had S. Gedge had an eye for anything but antiques, he must have seen at once that his niece was by way of being a decidedly attractive young woman. She was nineteen, and she wore a neat well-fitting black dress and a plain black hat in which cunning and good taste were mingled. Inclined to be tall she was slender and straight and carried herself well. Her eyes were
[Pg 6]
 clear, shrewd and smiling. In fact they appeared to smile quite considerably at the slow emergence from the back premises of S. Gedge Antiques.
In the girl’s hand was a pilgrim basket, which she put carefully on a gate-legged table, marked “£4.19.6, a great bargain” and then very fearlessly embraced its owner.
“How are you, niece?” gasped the old man who felt that an affront had been offered to the dignity of the human male.
“Thank you, Uncle Si, I’m first rate,” said the girl trying for the sake of good manners not to smile too broadly.
“Had a comfortable journey?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
“Didn’t expect you so soon. However, your box has come. By the way, what’s your name? I’ve forgotten it.”
“June.”
“June, eh? One of these new fangled affairs,” S. Gedge spoke aggrievedly. “Why not call yourself December and have done with it?”
“I will if you like,” said June obligingly. “But it seems rather long. Do you care for De, Cem, or Ber for short?”
“It don’t matter. What’s in a name? I only thought it sounded a bit sloppy and new fangled.”
The eyes of June continued to regard S. Gedge Antiques with a demure smile. He did not see the smile. He only saw her and she was a matter for grave reflection.

👋 Do you love The Van Roon books? Please share your friends!

The Van Roon (J. C. Snaith) Book Reviews 2024

J. C. Snaith - The Van Roon Discussions & Comments

Have you read this book yet? What do you think about The Van Roon by J. C. Snaith book? Ask the bookpedia.co community a question about The Van Roon!