III
The two brothers walked twenty steps from the door along the empty Inn pavements without speaking. Each was completely expressionless. To Christopher it seemed like Yorkshire. He had a vision of Mark, standing on the lawn at Groby, in his bowler hat and with his umbrella, whilst the shooters walked over the lawn, and up the hill to the butts. Mark probably never had done that; but it was so that his image always presented itself to his brother. Mark was considering that one of the folds of his umbrella was disarranged. He seriously debated with himself whether he should unfold it at once and refold itвБ†вАФwhich was a great deal of trouble to take!вБ†вАФor whether he should leave it till he got to his club, where he would tell the porter to have it done at once. That would mean that he would have to walk for a mile and a quarter through London with a disarranged umbrella, which was disagreeable.
He said:
вАЬIf I were you I wouldnвАЩt let that banker fellow go about giving you testimonials of that sort.вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬAh!вАЭ
He considered that, with a third of his brain in action, he was over a match for Mark, but he was tired of discussions. He supposed that some unpleasant construction would be put by his brotherвАЩs friend, Ruggles, on the friendship of Port Scatho for himself. But he had no curiosity. Mark felt a vague discomfort. He said:
вАЬYou had a cheque dishonoured at the club this morning?вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬYes.вАЭ
Mark waited for explanations. Christopher was pleased at the speed with which the news had travelled: it confirmed what he had said to Port Scatho. He viewed his case from outside. It was like looking at the smooth working of a mechanical model.
Mark was more troubled. Used as he had been for thirty years to the vociferous south he had forgotten that there were taciturnities still. If at his Ministry he laconically accused a transport clerk of remissness, or if he accused his French mistressвБ†вАФjust as laconicallyвБ†вАФof putting too many condiments on his nightly mutton chop, or too much salt in the water in which she boiled his potatoes, he was used to hearing a great many excuses or negations, uttered with energy and continued for long. So he had got into the habit of considering himself almost the only laconic being in the world. He suddenly remembered with discomfortвБ†вАФbut also with satisfactionвБ†вАФthat his brother was his brother.
He knew nothing about Christopher, for himself. He had seemed to look at his little brother down avenues, from a distance, the child misbehaving himself. Not a true Tietjens: born very late: a motherвАЩs child, therefore, rather than a fatherвАЩs. The mother an admirable woman, but from the South Riding. Soft, therefore, and ample. The elder Tietjens children, when they had experienced failures, had been wont to blame their father for not marrying a woman of their own Riding. So, for himself, he knew nothing of this boy. He was said to be brilliant: an un-Tietjens-like quality. Akin to talkativeness!вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Well, he wasnвАЩt talkative. Mark said:
вАЬWhat have you done with all the brass our mother left you? Twenty thousand, wasnвАЩt it?вАЭ
They were just passing through a narrow way between Georgian houses. In the next quadrangle Tietjens stopped and looked at his brother. Mark stood still to be looked at. Christopher said to himself:
вАЬThis man has the right to ask these questions!вАЭ
It was as if a queer slip had taken place in a moving-picture. This fellow had become the head of the house: he, Christopher, was the heir. At that moment, their father, in the grave four months now, was for the first time dead.
Christopher remembered a queer incident. After the funeral, when they had come back from the churchyard and had lunched, MarkвБ†вАФand Tietjens could now see the wooden gestureвБ†вАФhad taken out his cigar-case and, selecting one cigar for himself, had passed the rest round the table. It was as if peopleвАЩs hearts had stopped beating. Groby had never, till that day, been smoked in: the father had had his twelve pipes filled and put in the rosebushes in the drive.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
It had been regarded merely as a disagreeable incident: a piece of bad taste.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Christopher, himself, only just back from France, would not even have known it as such, his mind was so blank, only the parson had whispered to him: вАЬAnd Groby never smoked in till this day.вАЭ
But now! It appeared a symbol, and an absolutely right symbol. Whether they liked it or not, here were the head of the house and the heir. The head of the house must make his arrangements, the heir agree or disagree; but the elder brother had the right to have his enquiries answered.
Christopher said:
вАЬHalf the money was settled at once on my child. I lost seven thousand in Russian securities. The rest I spent.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬAh!вАЭ
They had just passed under the arch that leads into Holborn. Mark, in turn, stopped and looked at his brother and Christopher stood still to be inspected, looking into his brotherвАЩs eyes. Mark said to himself:
вАЬThe fellow isnвАЩt at least afraid to look at you!вАЭ He had been convinced that Christopher would be. He said:
вАЬYou spent it on women? Or where do you get the money that you spend on women?вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬI never spent a penny on a woman in my life.вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬAh!вАЭ
They crossed Holborn and went by the backways towards Fleet Street.
Christopher said:
вАЬWhen I say вАШwomanвАЩ IвАЩm using the word in the ordinary sense. Of course IвАЩve given women of our own class tea or lunch and paid for their cabs. Perhaps IвАЩd better put it that IвАЩve neverвБ†вАФeither before or after marriageвБ†вАФhad connection with any woman other than my wife.вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬAh!вАЭ
He said to himself:
вАЬThen Ruggles must be a liar.вАЭ This neither distressed nor astonished him. For twenty years he and Ruggles had shared a floor of a large and rather gloomy building in Mayfair. They were accustomed to converse whilst shaving in a joint toilet-room, otherwise they did not often meet except at the club. Ruggles was attached to the Royal Court in some capacity, possibly as sub-deputy gold-stick-in-waiting. Or he might have been promoted in the twenty years. Mark Tietjens had never taken the trouble to enquire. Enormously proud and shut in on himself, he was without curiosity of any sort. He lived in London because it was immense, solitary, administrative and apparently without curiosity as to its own citizens. If he could have found, in the north, a city as vast and as distinguished by the other characteristics, he would have preferred it.
Of Ruggles he thought little or nothing. He had once heard the phrase вАЬagreeable rattle,вАЭ and he regarded Ruggles as an agreeable rattle, though he did not know what the phrase meant. Whilst they shaved Ruggles gave out the scandal of the day. He never, that is to say, mentioned a woman whose virtue was not purchasable, or a man who would not sell his wife for advancement. This matched with MarkвАЩs ideas of the south. When Ruggles aspersed the fame of a man of family from the north, Mark would stop him with:
вАЬOh, no. ThatвАЩs not true. HeвАЩs a Craister of Wantley Fells,вАЭ or another name, as the case might be. Half Scotchman, half Jew, Ruggles was very tall and resembled a magpie, having his head almost always on one side. Had he been English Mark would never have shared his rooms with him: he knew indeed few Englishmen of sufficient birth and position to have that privilege, and, on the other hand, few Englishmen of birth and position would have consented to share rooms so grim and uncomfortable, so furnished with horsehair seated mahogany, or so lit with ground-glass skylights. Coming up to town at the age of twenty-five, Mark had taken these rooms with a man called Peebles, long since dead, and he had never troubled to make any change, though Ruggles had taken the place of Peebles. The remote similarity of the names had been less disturbing to Mark Tietjens than would have been the case had the names been more different. It would have been very disagreeable, Mark often thought, to share with a man called, say, Granger. As it was he still often called Ruggles Peebles, and no harm was done. Mark knew nothing of RugglesвАЩ origins, thenвБ†вАФso that, in a remote way, their union resembled that of Christopher with Macmaster. But whereas Christopher would have given his satellite the shirt off his back, Mark would not have lent Ruggles more than a five pound note, and would have turned him out of their rooms if it had not been returned by the end of the quarter. But, since Ruggles never had asked to borrow anything at all, Mark considered him an entirely honourable man. Occasionally Ruggles would talk of his determination to marry some widow or other with money, or of his influence with people in exalted stations, but, when he talked like that, Mark would not listen to him and he soon returned to stories of purchasable women and venial men.
About five months ago Mark had said one morning to Ruggles:
вАЬYou might pick up what you can about my youngest brother Christopher and let me know.вАЭ
The evening before that MarkвАЩs father had called Mark to him from over the other side of the smoking-room and had said:
вАЬYou might find out what you can about Christopher. He may be in want of money. Has it occurred to you that heвАЩs the heir to the estate! After you, of course.вАЭ Mr.¬†Tietjens had aged a good deal after the deaths of his children. He said: вАЬI suppose you wonвАЩt marry?вАЭ and Mark had answered:
вАЬNo; I shanвАЩt marry. But I suppose IвАЩm a better life than Christopher. He appears to have been a good deal knocked about out there.вАЭ
Armed then with this commission Mr.¬†Ruggles appears to have displayed extraordinary activity in preparing a Christopher Tietjens dossier. It is not often that an inveterate gossip gets a chance at a man whilst being at the same time practically shielded against the law of libel. And Ruggles disliked Christopher Tietjens with the inveterate dislike of the man who revels in gossip for the man who never gossips. And Christopher Tietjens had displayed more than his usual insolence to Ruggles. So RugglesвАЩ coattails flashed round an unusual number of doors and his top-hat gleamed before an unusual number of tall portals during the next week.
Amongst others he had visited the lady known as Glorvina.
There is said to be a book, kept in a holy of holies, in which bad marks are set down against men of family and position in England. In this book Mark Tietjens and his fatherвБ†вАФin common with a great number of hardheaded Englishmen of county rankвБ†вАФimplicitly believed. Christopher Tietjens didnвАЩt: he imagined that the activities of gentlemen like Ruggles were sufficient to stop the careers of people whom they disliked. On the other hand, Mark and his father looked abroad upon English society and saw fellows, apparently with every qualification for successful careers in one service or the other; and these fellows got no advancements, orders, titles or preferments of any kind. Just, rather mysteriously, they didnвАЩt make their marks. This they put down to the workings of the book.
Ruggles, too, not only believed in the existence of that compilation of the suspect and doomed, but believed that his hand had a considerable influence over the inscriptions in its pages. He believed that if, with more moderation and with more grounds than usual, he uttered denigrations of certain men before certain personages, it would at least do those men a great deal of harm. And, quite steadily and with, indeed, real belief in much of what he said, Ruggles had denigrated Tietjens before these personages. Ruggles could not see why Christopher had taken Sylvia back after her elopement with Perowne: he could not see why Christopher had, indeed, married Sylvia at all when she was with child by a man called DrakeвБ†вАФjust as he wasnвАЩt going to believe that Christopher could get a testimonial out of Lord Port Scatho except by the sale of Sylvia to the banker. He couldnвАЩt see anything but money or jobs at the bottom of these things: he couldnвАЩt see how Tietjens otherwise got the money to support Mrs.¬†Wannop, Miss Wannop and her child, and to maintain Mrs.¬†Duchemin and Macmaster in the style they affected, Mrs.¬†Duchemin being the mistress of Christopher. He simply could see no other solution. It is, in fact, asking for trouble if you are more altruist than the society that surrounds you.
Ruggles, however, hadnвАЩt any pointers as to whether or no or to what degree he had really damaged his roommateвАЩs brother. He had talked in what he considered to be the right quarters, but he hadnвАЩt any evidence that what he had said had got through. It was to ascertain that that he had called on the great lady, for if anybody knew, she would.
He hadnвАЩt definitely ascertained anything, for the great lady wasвБ†вАФand he knew itвБ†вАФa great deal cleverer than himself. The great lady, he was allowed to discover, had a real affection for Sylvia, her daughterвАЩs close friend, and she expressed real concern to hear that Christopher Tietjens wasnвАЩt getting on. Ruggles had gone to visit her quite openly to ask whether something better couldnвАЩt be done for the brother of the man with whom he lived. Christopher had, it was admitted, great abilities; yet neither in his officeвБ†вАФin which he would surely have remained had he been satisfied with his prospectsвБ†вАФnor in the army did he occupy anything but a very subordinate position. CouldnвАЩt, he asked, Glorvina do anything for him? And he added: вАЬItвАЩs almost as if he had a bad mark against him.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
The great lady had said, with a great deal of energy, that she could not do anything at all. The energy was meant to show how absolutely her party had been downed, outed and jumped on by the party in power, so that she had no influence of any sort anywhere. That was an exaggeration; but it did Christopher Tietjens no good, since Ruggles chose to take it to mean that Glorvina said she could do nothing because there was a black mark against Tietjens in the book of the inner circle to whichвБ†вАФif anyone hadвБ†вАФthe great lady must have had access.
Glorvina, on the other hand, had been awakened to concern for Tietjens. In the existence of a book she didnвАЩt believe: she had never seen it. But that a black mark of a metaphorical nature might have been scored against him she was perfectly ready to believe and, when occasion served, during the next five months, she made enquiries about Tietjens. She came upon a Major Drake, an intelligence officer, who had access to the central depot of confidential reports upon officers, and Major Drake showed her, with a great deal of readiness, as a specimen, the report on Tietjens. It was of a most discouraging sort and peppered over with hieroglyphics, the main point being TietjensвАЩ impecuniosity and his predilection for the French; and apparently for the French Royalists. There being at that date and with that Government a great deal of friction with our Allies this characteristic which earlier had earned him a certain number of soft jobs had latterly done him a good deal of harm. Glorvina carried away the definite information that Tietjens had been seconded to the French artillery as a liaison officer and had remained with them some time, but, having been shell-shocked, had been sent back. After that a mark had been added against him: вАЬNot to be employed as liaison officer again.вАЭ
On the other hand, SylviaвАЩs visits to Austrian officer-prisoners had also been noted to TietjensвАЩ account and a final note added: вАЬNot to be entrusted with any confidential work.вАЭ
To what extent Major Drake himself compiled these records the great lady didnвАЩt know and didnвАЩt want to know. She was acquainted with the relationships of the parties and was aware that in certain dark, full-blooded men the passion for sexual revenge is very lasting, and she let it go at that. She discovered, however, from Mr.¬†WaterhouseвБ†вАФnow also in retreatвБ†вАФthat he had a very high opinion of TietjensвАЩ character and abilities, and that just before WaterhouseвАЩs retirement he had especially recommended Tietjens for very high promotion. That alone, in the then state of Ministerial friendships and enmities, Glorvina knew to be sufficient to ruin any man within range of Governmental influence.
She had, therefore, sent for Sylvia and had put all these matters before her, for she had too much wisdom to believe that, even supposing there should be differences between the young people of which she had no evidence at all, Sylvia could wish to do anything but promote her husbandвАЩs material interests. Moreover, sincerely benevolent as the great lady was towards this couple, she also saw that here was a possibility of damaging, at least, individuals of the party in power. A person in a relatively unimportant official position can sometimes make a very nasty stink if he is unjustly used, has determination and a small amount of powerful backing. This Sylvia, at least, certainly had.
And Sylvia had received the great ladyвАЩs news with so much emotion that no one could have doubted that she was utterly devoted to her husband and would tell him all about it. This Sylvia had not as yet managed to do.
Ruggles in the meantime had collected a very full budget of news and inferences to present to Mark Tietjens whilst shaving. Mark had been neither surprised nor indignant. He had been accustomed to call all his fatherвАЩs children, except the brother immediately next him, вАЬthe whelps,вАЭ and their concerns had been no concerns of his. They would marry, beget unimportant children who would form collateral lines of Tietjens and disappear as is the fate of sons of younger sons. And the deaths of the intermediate brothers had been so recent that Mark was not yet used to thinking of Christopher as anything but a whelp, a person whose actions might be disagreeable but couldnвАЩt matter. He said to Ruggles:
вАЬYou had better talk to my father about this. I donвАЩt know that I could keep all these particulars accurately in my head.вАЭ
Ruggles had been only too pleased to, andвБ†вАФwith, to give him weight, his intimacy with the eldest son, who certified to his reliability in money matters and his qualifications for amassing details as to personalities, acts and promotionsвБ†вАФthat day, at tea at the club, in a tranquil corner, Ruggles had told Mr.¬†Tietjens senior that ChristopherвАЩs wife had been with child when he had married her; he had hushed up her elopement with Perowne and connived at other love affairs of hers to his own dishonour, and was suspected in high places of being a French agent, thus being marked down as suspect in the great book.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ All this in order to obtain money for the support of Miss Wannop, by whom he had had a child, and to maintain Macmaster and Mrs.¬†Duchemin on a scale unsuited to their means, Mrs.¬†Duchemin being his mistress. The story that Tietjens had had a child by Miss Wannop was first suggested, and then supported, by the fact that in Yorkshire he certainly had a son who never appeared in GrayвАЩs Inn.
Mr.¬†Tietjens was a reasonable man: not reasonable enough to doubt RugglesвАЩ circumstantial history. He believed implicitly in the great bookвБ†вАФwhich has been believed in by several generations of country gentlemen: he perceived that his brilliant son had made no advancement commensurate with either his brilliance or his influence: he suspected that brilliance was synonymous with reprehensible tendencies. Moreover, his old friend, General Ffolliott, had definitely told him some days before that he ought to enquire into the goings on of Christopher. On being pressed Ffolliott had, also definitely, stated that Christopher was suspected of very dishonourable dealings, both in money and women. RugglesвАЩ allegations came, therefore, as a definite confirmation of suspicions that appeared only too well backed up.
He bitterly regretted that, knowing Christopher to be brilliant, he had turned the boyвБ†вАФas is the usual portion of younger sonsвБ†вАФadrift, with what of a competence could be got together, to sink or swim. He had, he said to himself, always wished to keep at home and under his own eyes this boy for whom he had had especial promptings of tenderness. His wife, to whom he had been absolutely attached by a passionate devotion, had been unusually wrapped up in Christopher, because Christopher had been her youngest son, born very late. And, since his wifeвАЩs death, Christopher had been especially dear to him, as if he had carried about his presence some of the radiance and illumination that had seemed to attach to his mother. Indeed, after his wifeвАЩs death, Mr.¬†Tietjens had very nearly asked Christopher and his wife to come and keep house for him at Groby, making, of course, special testamentary provision for Christopher in order to atone for his giving up his career at the Department of Statistics. His sense of justice to his other children had prevented him doing this.
What broke his heart was that Christopher should not only have seduced but should have had a child by Valentine Wannop. Very grand seigneur in his habits, Mr.¬†Tietjens had always believed in his duty to patronise the arts and, if he had actually done little in this direction beyond purchasing some chocolate-coloured pictures of the French historic school, he had for long prided himself on what he had done for the widow and children of his old friend, Professor Wannop. He considered, and with justice, that he had made Mrs.¬†Wannop a novelist, and he considered her to be a very great novelist. And his conviction of the guilt of Christopher was strengthened by a slight tinge of jealousy of his son: a feeling that he would not have acknowledged to himself. For, since Christopher, he didnвАЩt know how, for he had given his son no introduction, had become an intimate of the Wannop household, Mrs.¬†Wannop had completely given up asking him, Mr.¬†Tietjens, clamourously and constantly for advice. In return she had sung the praises of Christopher in almost extravagant terms. She had, indeed, said that if Christopher had not been almost daily in the house or at any rate at the end of the phone she would hardly have been able to keep on working at full pressure. This had not overpleased Mr.¬†Tietjens. Mr.¬†Tietjens entertained for Valentine Wannop an affection of the very deepest, the same qualities appealing to the father as appealed to the son. He had even, in spite of his sixty odd years, seriously entertained the idea of marrying the girl. She was a lady: she would have managed Groby very well; and, although the entail on the property was very strict indeed, he would, at least, have been able to put her beyond the reach of want after his death. He had thus no doubt of his sonвАЩs guilt, and he had to undergo the additional humiliation of thinking that not only had his son betrayed this radiant personality, but he had done it so clumsily as to give the girl a child and let it be known. That was unpardonable want of management in the son of a gentleman. And now this boy was his heir with a misbegotten brat to follow. Irrevocably!
All his four tall sons, then, were down. His eldest tied for good toвБ†вАФa quite admirable!вБ†вАФtrollop: his two next dead: his youngest worse than dead: his wife dead of a broken heart.
A soberly but deeply religious man, Mr.¬†TietjensвАЩ very religion made him believe in ChristopherвАЩs guilt. He knew that it is as difficult for a rich man to go to heaven as it is for a camel to go through the gate in Jerusalem called the NeedleвАЩs Eye. He humbly hoped that his Maker would receive him amongst the pardoned. Then, since he was a richвБ†вАФan enormously richвБ†вАФman, his sufferings on this earth must be very great.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
From teatime that day until it was time to catch the midnight train for BishopвАЩs Auckland he had been occupied with his son Mark in the writing-room of the club. They had made many notes. He had seen his son Christopher, in uniform, looking broken and rather bloated, the result, no doubt, of debauch. Christopher had passed through the other end of the room and Mr.¬†Tietjens had avoided his eye. He had caught the train and reached Groby, travelling alone. Towards dusk he had taken out a gun. He was found dead next morning, a couple of rabbits beside his body, just over the hedge from the little churchyard. He appeared to have crawled through the hedge, dragging his loaded gun, muzzle forwards, after him. Hundreds of men, mostly farmers, die from that cause every year in England.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
With these things in his mindвБ†вАФor as much of them as he could keep at onceвБ†вАФMark was now investigating his brotherвАЩs affairs. He would have let things go on longer, for his fatherвАЩs estate was by no means wound up, but that morning Ruggles had told him that the club had had a cheque of his brotherвАЩs returned and that his brother was going out to France next day. It was five months exactly since the death of their father. That had happened in March, it was now August: a bright, untidy day in narrow, high courts.
Mark arranged his thoughts.
вАЬHow much of an income,вАЭ he said, вАЬdo you need to live in comfort? If a thousand isnвАЩt enough, how much? Two?вАЭ
Christopher said that he needed no money and didnвАЩt intend to live in comfort. Mark said:
вАЬI am to let you have three thousand, if youвАЩll live abroad. IвАЩm only carrying out our fatherвАЩs instructions. You could cut a hell of a splash on three thousand in France.вАЭ
Christopher did not answer.
Mark began again:
вАЬThe remaining three thousand then: that was over from our motherвАЩs money. Did you settle it on your girl, or just spend it on her?вАЭ
Christopher repeated with patience that he hadnвАЩt got a girl.
Mark said:
вАЬThe girl who had a child by you. IвАЩm instructed, if you havenвАЩt settled anything alreadyвБ†вАФbut father took it that you would haveвБ†вАФI was to let her have enough to live in comfort. How much do you suppose sheвАЩll need to live in comfort? I allow Charlotte five hundred. Would five hundred be enough? I suppose you want to go on keeping her? Three thousand isnвАЩt a great lot for her to live on with a child.вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬHadnвАЩt you better mention names?вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬNo! I never mention names. I mean a woman writer and her daughter. I suppose the girl is fatherвАЩs daughter, isnвАЩt she?вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬNo. She couldnвАЩt be. IвАЩve thought of it. SheвАЩs twenty-seven. We were all in Dijon for the two years before she was born. Father didnвАЩt come into the estate till next year. The Wannops were also in Canada at the time. Professor Wannop was principal of a university there. I forget the name.вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬSo we were. In Dijon! For my French!вАЭ He added: вАЬThen she canвАЩt be fatherвАЩs daughter. ItвАЩs a good thing. I thought, as he wanted to settle money on them, they were very likely his children. ThereвАЩs a son, too. HeвАЩs to have a thousand. WhatвАЩs he doing?вАЭ
вАЬThe son,вАЭ Tietjens said, вАЬis a conscientious objector. HeвАЩs on a minesweeper. A bluejacket. His idea is that picking up mines is saving life, not taking it.вАЭ
вАЬThen he wonвАЩt want the brass yet,вАЭ Mark said, вАЬitвАЩs to start him in any business. WhatвАЩs the full name and address of your girl? Where do you keep her?вАЭ
They were in an open space, dusty, with half-timber buildings whose demolition had been interrupted. Christopher halted close to a post that had once been a cannon; up against this he felt that his brother could lean in order to assimilate ideas. He said slowly and patiently:
вАЬIf youвАЩre consulting with me as to how to carry out our fatherвАЩs intentions, and as thereвАЩs money in it you had better make an attempt to get hold of the facts. I wouldnвАЩt bother you if it wasnвАЩt a matter of money. In the first place, no money is wanted at this end. I can live on my pay. My wife is a rich woman relatively. Her mother is a very rich woman.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬSheвАЩs RugeleyвАЩs mistress, isnвАЩt she?вАЭ Mark asked.
Christopher said:
вАЬNo, she isnвАЩt. I should certainly say she wasnвАЩt. Why should she be? SheвАЩs his cousin.вАЭ
вАЬThen itвАЩs your wife who was RugeleyвАЩs mistress?вАЭ Mark asked. вАЬOr why should she have the loan of his box?вАЭ
вАЬSylvia also is RugeleyвАЩs cousin, of course, a degree further removed,вАЭ Tietjens said. вАЬShe isnвАЩt anyoneвАЩs mistress. You can be certain of that.вАЭ
вАЬThey say she is,вАЭ Mark answered. вАЬThey say sheвАЩs a regular tart.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I suppose you think IвАЩve insulted you.вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬNo, you havenвАЩt.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ItвАЩs better to get all this out. WeвАЩre practically strangers, but youвАЩve a right to ask.вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬThen you havenвАЩt got a girl and donвАЩt need money to keep her.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You could have what you liked. ThereвАЩs no reason why a man shouldnвАЩt have a girl, and if he has he ought to keep her decently.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
Christopher did not answer. Mark leaned against the half-buried cannon and swung his umbrella by its crook.
вАЬBut,вАЭ he said, вАЬif you donвАЩt keep a girl what do you do forвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He was going to say вАЬfor the comforts of home,вАЭ but a new idea had come into his mind. вАЬOf course,вАЭ he said, вАЬone can see that your wifeвАЩs soppily in love with you.вАЭ He added: вАЬSoppilyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ one can see that with half an eye.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
Christopher felt his jaw drop. Not a second beforeвБ†вАФthat very second!вБ†вАФhe had made up his mind to ask Valentine Wannop to become his mistress that night. It was no good, any more, he said to himself. She loved him, he knew, with a deep, an unshakable passion, just as his passion for her was a devouring element that covered his whole mind as the atmosphere envelopes the earth. Were they, then, to go down to death separated by years, with no word ever spoken? To what end? For whose benefit? The whole world conspired to force them together! To resist became a weariness!
His brother Mark was talking on. вАЬI know all about women,вАЭ he had announced. Perhaps he did. He had lived with exemplary fidelity to a quite unpresentable woman, for a number of years. Perhaps the complete study of one woman gave you a map of all the rest!
Christopher said:
вАЬLook here, Mark. You had better go through all my passbooks for the last ten years. Or ever since I had an account. This discussion is no good if you donвАЩt believe what I say.вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬI donвАЩt want to see your passbooks. I believe you.вАЭ
He added, a second later:
вАЬWhy the devil shouldnвАЩt I believe you? ItвАЩs either believing youвАЩre a gentleman or Ruggles a liar. ItвАЩs only common sense to believe Ruggles a liar, in that case. I didnвАЩt before because I had no grounds to.вАЭ Christopher said:
вАЬI doubt if liar is the right word. He picked up things that were said against me. No doubt he reported them faithfully enough. Things are said against me. I donвАЩt know why.вАЭ
вАЬBecause,вАЭ Mark said with emphasis, вАЬyou treat these south country swine with the contempt that they deserve. TheyвАЩre incapable of understanding the motives of a gentleman. If you live among dogs theyвАЩll think youвАЩve the motives of a dog. What other motives can they give you?вАЭ He added: вАЬI thought youвАЩd been buried so long under their muck that you were as mucky as they!вАЭ
Tietjens looked at his brother with the respect one has to give to a man ignorant but shrewd. It was a discovery: that his brother was shrewd.
But, of course, he would be shrewd. He was the indispensable head of a great department. He had to have some qualities.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Not cultivated, not even instructed. A savage! But penetrating!
вАЬWe must move on,вАЭ he said, вАЬor I shall have to take a cab.вАЭ Mark detached himself from his half buried cannon.
вАЬWhat did you do with the other three thousand?вАЭ he asked. вАЬThree thousand is a hell of a big sum to chuck away. For a younger son.вАЭ
вАЬExcept for some furniture I bought for my wifeвАЩs rooms,вАЭ Christopher said, вАЬit went mostly in loans.вАЭ
вАЬLoans!вАЭ Mark exclaimed. вАЬTo that fellow Macmaster?вАЭ
вАЬMostly to him,вАЭ Christopher answered. вАЬBut about seven hundred to Dicky Swipes, of Cullercoats.вАЭ
вАЬGood God! Why to him?вАЭ Mark ejaculated.
вАЬOh, because he was Swipes, of Cullercoats,вАЭ Christopher said, вАЬand asked for it. HeвАЩd have had more, only that was enough for him to drink himself to death on.вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬI suppose you donвАЩt give money to every fellow that asks for it?вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬI do. ItвАЩs a matter of principle.вАЭ
вАЬItвАЩs lucky,вАЭ Mark said, вАЬthat a lot of fellows donвАЩt know that. You wouldnвАЩt have much brass left for long.вАЭ
вАЬI didnвАЩt have it for long,вАЭ Christopher said.
вАЬYou know,вАЭ Mark said, вАЬyou couldnвАЩt expect to do the princely patron on a youngest sonвАЩs portion. ItвАЩs a matter of taste. I never gave a haвАЩpenny to a beggar myself. But a lot of the Tietjens were princely. One generation to addle brass: one to keep: one to spend. ThatвАЩs all right.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I suppose MacmasterвАЩs wife is your mistress? ThatвАЩll account for it not being the girl. They keep an armchair for you.вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬNo. I just backed Macmaster for the sake of backing him. Father lent him money to begin with.вАЭ
вАЬSo he did,вАЭ Mark exclaimed.
вАЬHis wife,вАЭ Christopher said, вАЬwas the widow of Breakfast Duchemin. You knew Breakfast Duchemin?вАЭ
вАЬOh, I knew Breakfast Duchemin,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬI suppose MacmasterвАЩs a pretty warm man now. Done himself proud with DucheminвАЩs money.вАЭ
вАЬPretty proud!вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬThey wonвАЩt be knowing me long now.вАЭ
вАЬBut damn it all!вАЭ Mark said. вАЬYouвАЩve Groby to all intents and purposes. IвАЩm not going to marry and beget children to hinder you.вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬThanks. I donвАЩt want it.вАЭ
вАЬGot your knife into me?вАЭ Mark asked.
вАЬYes. IвАЩve got my knife into you,вАЭ Christopher answered. вАЬInto the whole bloody lot of you, and Ruggles and Ffolliott and our father!вАЭ
Mark said: вАЬAh!вАЭ
вАЬYou donвАЩt suppose I wouldnвАЩt have?вАЭ Christopher asked.
вАЬOh, I donвАЩt suppose you wouldnвАЩt have,вАЭ Mark answered. вАЬI thought you were a soft sort of bloke. I see you arenвАЩt.вАЭ
вАЬIвАЩm as North Riding as yourself!вАЭ Christopher answered.
They were in the tide of Fleet Street, pushed apart by foot passengers and separated by traffic. With some of the imperiousness of the officer of those days Christopher barged across through motorbuses and paper lorries. With the imperiousness of the head of a department Mark said:
вАЬHere, policeman, stop these damn things and let me get over.вАЭ But Christopher was over much the sooner and waited for his brother in the gateway of the Middle Temple. His mind was completely swallowed up in the endeavour to imagine the embraces of Valentine Wannop. He said to himself that he had burnt his boats.
Mark, coming alongside him, said:
вАЬYouвАЩd better know what our father wanted.вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬBe quick then. I must get on.вАЭ He had to rush through his War Office interview to get to Valentine Wannop. They would have only a few hours in which to recount the loves of two lifetimes. He saw her golden head and her enraptured face. He wondered how her face would look, enraptured. He had seen on it humour, dismay, tenderness, in the eyesвБ†вАФand fierce anger and contempt for his, ChristopherвАЩs, political opinions. His militarism!
Nevertheless they halted by the Temple fountain. That respect was due to their dead father. Mark had been explaining. Christopher had caught some of his words and divined the links. Mr. Tietjens had left no will, confident that his desires as to the disposal of his immense fortune would be carried out meticulously by his eldest son. He would have left a will, but there was the vague case of Christopher to be considered. Whilst Christopher had been a youngest son you arranged that he had a good lump sum and went, with it, to the devil how he liked. He was no longer a youngest son: by the will of God.
вАЬOur fatherвАЩs idea,вАЭ Mark said by the fountain, вАЬwas that no settled sum could keep you straight. His idea was that if you were a bloody pimp living on womenвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You donвАЩt mind?вАЭ
вАЬI donвАЩt mind your putting it straightforwardly,вАЭ Christopher said. He considered the base of the fountain that was half full of leaves. This civilisation had contrived a state of things in which leaves rotted by August. Well, it was doomed!
вАЬIf you were a pimp living on women,вАЭ Mark repeated, вАЬit was no good making a will. You might need uncounted thousands to keep you straight. You were to have вАЩem. You were to be as debauched as you wanted, but on clean money. I was to see how much in all probability that would be and arrange the other legacies to scale.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Father had crowds of pensioners.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬHow much did father cut up for?вАЭ Christopher asked.
Mark said:
вАЬGod knows.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You saw we proved the estate at a million and a quarter as far as ascertained. But it might be twice that. Or five times!вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ With steel prices what they have been for the last three years itвАЩs impossible to say what the Middlesbrough district property wonвАЩt produce.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ The death duties even canвАЩt catch it up. And there are all the ways of getting round them.вАЭ
Christopher inspected his brother with curiosity. This brown-complexioned fellow with bulging eyes, shabby on the whole, tightly buttoned into a rather old pepper-and-salt suit, with a badly rolled umbrella, old race-glasses and his bowler hat the only neat thing about him, was indeed, a prince. With a rigid outline! All real princes must look like that. He said:
вАЬWell! You wonвАЩt be a penny the poorer by me.вАЭ
Mark was beginning to believe this. He said:
вАЬYou wonвАЩt forgive father?вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬI wonвАЩt forgive father for not making a will. I wonвАЩt forgive him for calling in Ruggles. I saw him and you in the writing-room the night before he died. He never spoke to me. He could have. It was clumsy stupidity. ThatвАЩs unforgiveable.вАЭ
вАЬThe fellow shot himself,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬYou usually forgive a fellow who shoots himself.вАЭ
вАЬI donвАЩt,вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬBesides heвАЩs probably in heaven and donвАЩt need my forgiveness. Ten to one heвАЩs in heaven. He was a good man.вАЭ
вАЬOne of the best,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬIt was I that called in Ruggles though.вАЭ
вАЬI donвАЩt forgive you either,вАЭ Christopher said.
вАЬBut you must,вАЭ Mark saidвБ†вАФand it was a tremendous concession to sentimentalityвБ†вАФвАЬtake enough to make you comfortable.вАЭ
вАЬBy God!вАЭ Christopher exclaimed. вАЬI loathe your whole beastly buttered toast, mutton-chopped, carpet-slippered, rum-negused comfort as much as I loathe your beastly Riviera-palaced, chauffeured, hydraulic-lifted, hothouse aired beastliness of fornication.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ He was carried away, as he seldom let himself be, by the idea of his amours with Valentine Wannop which should take place on the empty boards of a cottage, without draperies, fat meats, gummy aphrodisiacs.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ вАЬYou wonвАЩt,вАЭ he repeated, вАЬbe a penny the poorer by me.вАЭ
Mark said:
вАЬWell, you neednвАЩt get shirty about it. If you wonвАЩt you wonвАЩt. WeвАЩd better move on. YouвАЩve only just time. WeвАЩll say that settles it.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Are you, or arenвАЩt you, overdrawn at your bank. IвАЩll make that up, whatever you damn well do to stop it.вАЭ
вАЬIвАЩm not overdrawn,вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬIвАЩm over thirty pounds in credit, and IвАЩve an immense overdraft guaranteed by Sylvia. It was a mistake of the bankвАЩs.вАЭ
Mark hesitated for a moment. It was to him almost unbelievable that a bank could make a mistake. One of the great banks. The props of England.
They were walking down towards the embankment. With his precious umbrella Mark aimed a violent blow at the railings above the tennis lawns, where whitish figures, bedrabbled by the dim atmosphere, moved like marionettes practising crucifixions.
вАЬBy God!вАЭ he said, вАЬthis is the last of England.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ThereвАЩs only my department where they never make mistakes. I tell you, if there were any mistakes made there there would be some backs broken!вАЭ He added: вАЬBut donвАЩt you think that IвАЩm going to give up comfort, IвАЩm not. My Charlotte makes better buttered toast than they can at the club. And sheвАЩs got a tap of French rum thatвАЩs saved my life over and over again after a beastly wet dayвАЩs racing. And she does it all on the five hundred I give her and keeps herself clean and tidy on top of it. Nothing like a Frenchwoman for managing.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ By God, IвАЩd marry the doxy if she wasnвАЩt a Papist. It would please her and it wouldnвАЩt hurt me. But I couldnвАЩt stomach marrying a Papist. TheyвАЩre not to be trusted.вАЭ
вАЬYouвАЩll have to stomach a Papist coming into Groby,вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬMy sonвАЩs to be brought up as a Papist.вАЭ
Mark stopped and dug his umbrella into the ground.
вАЬEh, but thatвАЩs a bitter one,вАЭ he said. вАЬWhatever made ye do that?вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I suppose the mother made you do it. She tricked you into it before you married her.вАЭ He added: вАЬIвАЩd not like to sleep with that wife of yours. SheвАЩs too athletic. ItвАЩd be like sleeping with a bundle of faggots. I suppose though youвАЩre a pair of turtle doves.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Eh, but IвАЩd not have thought ye would have been so weak.вАЭ
вАЬI only decided this morning,вАЭ Christopher said, вАЬwhen my cheque was returned from the bank. You wonвАЩt have read Spelden on Sacrilege, about Groby.вАЭ
вАЬI canвАЩt say I have,вАЭ Mark answered.
вАЬItвАЩs no good trying to explain that side of it then,вАЭ Christopher said, вАЬthere isnвАЩt time. But youвАЩre wrong in thinking Sylvia made it a condition of our marriage. Nothing would have made me consent then. It has made her a happy woman that I have. The poor thing thought our house was under a curse for want of a Papist heir.вАЭ
вАЬWhat made ye consent now?вАЭ Mark asked.
вАЬIвАЩve told you,вАЭ Christopher said, вАЬit was getting my cheque returned to the club; that on the top of the rest of it. A fellow who canвАЩt do better than that had better let the mother bring up the child.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Besides, it wonвАЩt hurt a Papist boy to have a father with dishonoured cheques as much as it would a Protestant. TheyвАЩre not quite English.вАЭ
вАЬThatвАЩs true too,вАЭ Mark said.
He stood still by the railings of the public garden near the Temple station.
вАЬThen,вАЭ he said, вАЬif IвАЩd let the lawyers write and tell you the guarantee for your overdraft from the estate was stopped as they wanted to, the boy wouldnвАЩt be a Papist? You wouldnвАЩt have overdrawn.вАЭ
вАЬI didnвАЩt overdraw,вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬBut if you had warned me I should have made enquiries at the bank and the mistake wouldnвАЩt have occurred. Why didnвАЩt you?вАЭ
вАЬI meant to,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬI meant to do it myself. But I hate writing letters. I put it off. I didnвАЩt much like having dealings with the fellow I thought you were. I suppose thatвАЩs another thing you wonвАЩt forgive me for?вАЭ
вАЬNo. I shanвАЩt forgive you for not writing to me,вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬYou ought to write business letters.вАЭ
вАЬI hate writing вАЩem,вАЭ Mark said. Christopher was moving on. вАЬThereвАЩs one thing more,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬI suppose the boy is your son?вАЭ
вАЬYes, heвАЩs my son,вАЭ Christopher said.
вАЬThen thatвАЩs all,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬI suppose if youвАЩre killed you wonвАЩt mind my keeping an eye on the youngster?вАЭ
вАЬIвАЩll be glad,вАЭ Christopher said.
They strolled along the Embankment side by side, walking rather slowly, their backs erected and their shoulders squared because of their satisfaction of walking together, desiring to lengthen the walk by going slow. Once or twice they stopped to look at the dirty silver of the river, for both liked grim effects of landscape. They felt very strong, as if they owned the land!
Once Mark chuckled and said:
вАЬItвАЩs too damn funny. To think of our both beingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ what is it?вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ monogamists? Well, itвАЩs a good thing to stick to one womanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ you canвАЩt say it isnвАЩt. It saves trouble. And you know where you are.вАЭ
Under the lugubrious arch that leads into the War Office quadrangle Christopher halted.
вАЬNo. IвАЩm coming in,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬI want to speak to Hogarth. I havenвАЩt spoken to Hogarth for some time. About the transport wagon parks in RegentвАЩs Park. I manage all those beastly things and a lot more.вАЭ
вАЬThey say you do it damn well,вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬThey say youвАЩre indispensable.вАЭ He was aware that his brother desired to stay with him as long as possible. He desired it himself.
вАЬI damn well am!вАЭ Mark said. He added: вАЬI suppose you couldnвАЩt do that sort of job in France? Look after transport and horses.вАЭ
вАЬI could,вАЭ Christopher said, вАЬbut I suppose I shall go back to liaison work.вАЭ
вАЬI donвАЩt think you will,вАЭ Mark said. вАЬI could put in a word for you with the transport people.вАЭ
вАЬI wish you would,вАЭ Christopher said. вАЬIвАЩm not fit to go back into the front line. Besides IвАЩm no beastly hero! And IвАЩm a rotten infantry officer. No Tietjens was ever a soldier worth talking of.вАЭ
They turned the corner of the arch. Like something fitting in, exact and expected, Valentine Wannop stood looking at the lists of casualties that hung beneath a cheaply green-stained deal shelter against the wall, a tribute at once to the weaker art movements of the day and the desire to save the ratepayerвАЩs money.
With the same air of finding Christopher Tietjens fit in exactly to an expected landscape she turned on him. Her face was blue-white and distorted. She ran upon him and exclaimed:
вАЬLook at this horror! And you in that foul uniform can support it!вАЭ
The sheets of paper beneath the green roof were laterally striped with little serrated lines: each line meant the death of a man, for the day.
Tietjens had fallen a step back off the curb of the pavement that ran round the quadrangle. He said:
вАЬI support it because I have to. Just as you decry it because you have to. TheyвАЩre two different patterns that we see.вАЭ He added: вАЬThis is my brother Mark.вАЭ
She turned her head stiffly upon Mark: her face was perfectly waxen. It was as if the head of a shopkeeperвАЩs lay-figure had been turned. She said to Mark:
вАЬI didnвАЩt know Mr.¬†Tietjens had a brother. Or hardly. IвАЩve never heard him speak of you.вАЭ
Mark grinned feebly, exhibiting to the lady the brilliant lining of his hat.
вАЬI donвАЩt suppose anyone has ever heard me speak of him,вАЭ he said, вАЬbut heвАЩs my brother all right!вАЭ
She stepped on to the asphalt carriageway and caught between her fingers and thumb a fold of ChristopherвАЩs khaki sleeve.
вАЬI must speak to you,вАЭ she said; вАЬIвАЩm going then.вАЭ
She drew Christopher into the center of the enclosed, hard and ungracious space, holding him still by the stuff of his tunic. She pushed him round until he was facing her. She swallowed hard, it was as if the motion of her throat took an immense time. Christopher looked round the skyline of the buildings of sordid and besmirched stone. He had often wondered what would happen if an air-bomb of some size dropped into the mean, grey stoniness of that cold heart of an embattled world.
The girl was devouring his face with her eyes: to see him flinch. Her voice was hard between her little teeth. She said:
вАЬWere you the father of the child Ethel was going to have? Your wife says you were.вАЭ
Christopher considered the dimensions of the quadrangle. He said vaguely:
вАЬEthel? WhoвАЩs she?вАЭ In pursuance of the habits of the painter-poet Mr.¬†and Mrs.¬†Macmaster called each other always вАЬGuggums!вАЭ Christopher had in all probability never heard Mrs.¬†DucheminвАЩs Christian names. Certainly he had never heard them since his disaster had swept all names out of his head.
He came to the conclusion that the quadrangle was not a space sufficiently confined to afford much bursting resistance to a bomb.
The girl said:
вАЬEdith Ethel Duchemin! Mrs.¬†Macmaster that is!вАЭ She was obviously waiting intensely. Christopher said with vagueness:
вАЬNo! Certainly not!вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ What was said?вАЭ
Mark Tietjens was leaning forward over the kerb in front of the green-stained shelter, like a child over a brookside. He was obviously waiting, quite patient, swinging his umbrella by the hook. He appeared to have no other means of self-expression. The girl was saying that when she had rung up Christopher that morning a voice had said, without any preparation at all: the girl repeated, without any preparation at all:
вАЬYouвАЩd better keep off the grass if youвАЩre the Wannop girl. Mrs.¬†Duchemin is my husbandвАЩs mistress already. You keep off!вАЭ
Christopher said:
вАЬShe said that, did she?вАЭ He was wondering how Mark kept his balance, really. The girl said nothing more. She was waiting. With an insistence that seemed to draw him: a sort of sucking in of his personality. It was unbearable. He made his last effort of that afternoon.
He said:
вАЬDamn it all. How could you ask such a tomfool question? You! I took you to be an intelligent person. The only intelligent person I know. DonвАЩt you know me?вАЭ
She made an effort to retain her stiffening.
вАЬIsnвАЩt Mrs.¬†Tietjens a truthful person?вАЭ she asked. вАЬI thought she looked truthful when I saw her at Vincent and EthelвАЩs.вАЭ
He said:
вАЬWhat she says she believes. But she only believes what she wants to, for the moment. If you call that truthful, sheвАЩs truthful. IвАЩve nothing against her.вАЭ He said to himself: вАЬIвАЩm not going to appeal to her by damning my wife.вАЭ
She seemed to go all of a piece, as the hard outline goes suddenly out of a piece of lump sugar upon which you drop water.
вАЬOh,вАЭ she said, вАЬit isnвАЩt true. I knew it wasnвАЩt true.вАЭ She began to cry.
Christopher said:
вАЬCome along. IвАЩve been answering tomfool questions all day. IвАЩve got another tomfool to see here, then IвАЩm through.вАЭ
She said:
вАЬI canвАЩt come with you, crying like this.вАЭ
He answered:
вАЬOh, yes, you can. This is the place where women cry.вАЭ He added: вАЬBesides thereвАЩs Mark. HeвАЩs a comforting ass.вАЭ
He delivered her over to Mark.
вАЬHere, look after Miss Wannop,вАЭ he said. вАЬYou want to talk to her anyhow, donвАЩt you?вАЭ and he hurried ahead of them like a fussy shopwalker into the lugubrious hall. He felt that, if he didnвАЩt come soon to an unemotional ass in red, green, blue or pink tabs, who would have fishlike eyes and would ask the sort of questions that fishes ask in tanks, he, too, must break down and cry. With relief! However, that was a place where men cried, too!
He got through at once by sheer weight of personality, down miles of corridors, into the presence of a quite intelligent, thin, dark person with scarlet tabs. That meant a superior staff affair: not dustbins.
The dark man said to him at once:
вАЬLook here! WhatвАЩs the matter with the Command Depots? YouвАЩve been lecturing a lot of them. In economy. What are all these damn mutinies about? Is it the rotten old colonels in command?вАЭ
Tietjens said amiably:
вАЬLook here! IвАЩm not a beastly spy, you know? IвАЩve had hospitality from the rotten old colonels.вАЭ
The dark man said:
вАЬI daresay you have. But thatвАЩs what you were sent round for. General Campion said you were the brainiest chap in his command. HeвАЩs gone out now, worse luck.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ WhatвАЩs the matter with the Command Depots? Is it the men? Or is it the officers? You neednвАЩt mention names.вАЭ
Tietjens said:
вАЬKind of Campion. It isnвАЩt the officers and it isnвАЩt the men. ItвАЩs the foul system. You get men who think theyвАЩve deserved well of their countryвБ†вАФand they damn well have!вБ†вАФand you crop their heads.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬThatвАЩs the M.O.вАЩs,вАЭ the dark man said. вАЬThey donвАЩt want lice.вАЭ
вАЬIf they prefer mutiniesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ Tietjens said. вАЬA man wants to walk with his girl and have a properly oiled quiff. They donвАЩt like being regarded as convicts. ThatвАЩs how they are regarded.вАЭ
The dark man said:
вАЬAll right. Go on. Why donвАЩt you sit down?вАЭ
вАЬIвАЩm a little in a hurry,вАЭ Tietjens said. вАЬIвАЩm going out tomorrow and IвАЩve got a brother and people waiting below.вАЭ
The dark man said:
вАЬOh, IвАЩm sorry.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ But damn. YouвАЩre the sort of man we want at home. Do you want to go? We can, no doubt, get you stopped if you donвАЩt.вАЭ
Tietjens hesitated for a moment.
вАЬYes!вАЭ he said eventually. вАЬYes, I want to go.вАЭ
For the moment he had felt temptation to stay. But it came into his discouraged mind that Mark had said that Sylvia was in love with him. It had been underneath his thoughts all the while: it had struck him at the time like a kick from the hind leg of a mule in his subliminal consciousness. It was the impossible complication. It might not be true; but whether or no the best thing for him was to go and get wiped out as soon as possible. He meant, nevertheless, fiercely, to have his night with the girl who was crying downstairs.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
He heard in his ear, perfectly distinctly, the lines:
вАЬThe voice that never yetвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Made answer to my wordвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
He said to himself:
вАЬThat was what Sylvia wanted! IвАЩve got that much!вАЭ
The dark man had said something. Tietjens repeated:
вАЬIвАЩd take it very unkindly if you stopped my goingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I want to go.вАЭ
The dark man said:
вАЬSome do. Some do not. IвАЩll make a note of your name in case you come backвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You wonвАЩt mind going on with your cinder-sifting if you do?вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Get on with your story as quick as you can. And get what fun you can before you go. They say itвАЩs rotten out there. Damn awful! ThereвАЩs a hell of a strafe on. ThatвАЩs why they want all you.вАЭ
For a moment Tietjens saw the grey dawn at railhead with the distant sound of a ceaselessly boiling pot, from miles away! The army feeling re-descended upon him. He began to talk about Command Depots, at great length and with enthusiasm. He snorted with rage at the way men were treated in these gloomy places. With ingenious stupidity!
Every now and then the dark man interrupted him with:
вАЬDonвАЩt forget that a Command Depot is a place where sick and wounded go to get made fit. WeвАЩve got to get вАЩem back as soon as we can.вАЭ
вАЬAnd do you?вАЭ Tietjens would ask.
вАЬNo, we donвАЩt,вАЭ the other would answer. вАЬThatвАЩs what this enquiry is about.вАЭ
вАЬYouвАЩve got,вАЭ Tietjens would continue, вАЬon the north side of a beastly clay hill nine miles from Southampton three thousand men from the Highlands, North Wales, Cumberland.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ God knows where, as long as itвАЩs three hundred miles from home to make them rather mad with nostalgia.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You allow вАЩem out for an hour a day during the pubвАЩs closing time: you shave their heads to prevent вАЩem appealing to local young women who donвАЩt exist, and you donвАЩt let вАЩem carry the swagger-canes! God knows why! To prevent their poking their eyes out, if they fall down, I suppose. Nine miles from anywhere, with chalk down roads to walk on and not a bush for shelter or shadeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ And, damn it, if you get two men, chums, from the Seaforths or the Argylls you donвАЩt let them sleep in the same hut, but shove вАЩem in with a lot of fat Buffs or Welshmen, who stink of leeks and canвАЩt speak English.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬThatвАЩs the infernal medicalsвАЩ orders to stop вАЩem talking all night.вАЭ
вАЬTo make вАЩem conspire all night not to turn out for parade,вАЭ Tietjens said. вАЬAnd thereвАЩs a beastly mutiny begun.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ And, damn it, theyвАЩre fine men. TheyвАЩre first-class fellows. Why donвАЩt youвБ†вАФas this is a Christian landвБ†вАФlet вАЩem go home to convalesce with their girls and pubs and friends and a little bit of swank, for heroes? Why in GodвАЩs name donвАЩt you? IsnвАЩt their suffering enough?вАЭ
вАЬI wish you wouldnвАЩt say вАШyou,вАЩвАКвАЭ the dark man said. вАЬIt isnвАЩt me. The only A.C.I. IвАЩve drafted was to give every Command Depot a cinema and a theatre. But the beastly medicals got it stoppedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ for fear of infection. And, of course, the parsons and Nonconformist magistratesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬWell, youвАЩll have to change it all,вАЭ Tietjens said, вАЬor youвАЩll just have to say: thank God weвАЩve got a navy. You wonвАЩt have an army. The other day three fellowsвБ†вАФWarwicksвБ†вАФasked me at question time, after a lecture, why they were shut up there in Wiltshire whilst Belgian refugees were getting bastards on their wives in Birmingham. And when I asked how many men made that complaint over fifty stood up. All from Birmingham.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
The dark man said:
вАЬIвАЩll make a note of that.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Go on.вАЭ
Tietjens went on; for as long as he stayed there he felt himself a man, doing work that befitted a man, with the bitter contempt for fools that a man should have and express. It was a letting up: a real last leave.