No More Parades 6 страница

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 which—if anyone had—the 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 didn't 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 depô t 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 Tietjens' 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 for some time, but, having been shell-shocked, had been sent back. After that a mark had been added against him: “Not to be employed as liaison officer again. ”

On the other hand, Sylvia's visits to Austrian officer-prisoners had also been noted to Tietjens' account and a final note added: “Not to be entrusted with any confidential work. ”

To what extent Major Drake himself compiled these records the great lady didn't know and didn't 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 Waterhouse—now also in retreat—that he had a very high opinion of Tietjens' character and abilities, and that just before Waterhouse's 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 husband's 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 lady's 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 father's children, except the brother immediately next him, “the whelps, ” 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 couldn't matter. He said to Ruggles:

“You had better talk to my father about this. I don't know that I could keep all these particulars accurately in my head. ”

Ruggles had been only too pleased to, and—with 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 promotions—that day, at tea at the club, in a tranquil corner, Ruggles had told Mr. Tietjens senior that Christopher's 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… 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 Gray's Inn.

Mr Tietjens was a reasonable man: not reasonable enough to doubt Ruggles' circumstantial history. He believed implicitly in the great book—which 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. Ruggles' 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 boy—as is the usual portion of younger sons—adrift, 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 wife's 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 wife's 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 didn't 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, clamorously 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 son's 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 to—a quite admirable! —trollop: his two next dead: his youngest worse than dead: his wife dead of a broken heart.

A soberly but deeply religious man, Mr Tietjens' very religion made him believe in Christopher's 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 Needle's Eye. He humbly hoped that his Maker would receive him amongst the pardoned. Then, since he was a rich—an enormously rich—man, his sufferings on this earth must be very great…

From tea-time that day until it was time to catch the midnight train for Bishop 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 forward, after him. Hundreds of men, mostly farmers, die from that cause every year in England…

With these things in his mind—or as much of them as he could keep at once—Mark was now investigating his brother's affairs. He would have let things go on longer, for his father's estate was by no means wound up, but that morning Ruggles had told him that the club had had a cheque of his brother's 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.

“How much of an income, ” he said, “do you need to live in comfort? If a thousand isn't enough, how much? Two? ”

Christopher said that he needed no money and didn't intend to live in comfort. Mark said:

“I am to let you have three thousand, if you'll live abroad. I'm only carrying out our father's instructions. You could cut a hell of a splash on three thousand in France. ”

Christopher did not answer.

Mark began again:

“The remaining three thousand then: that was over from our mother's money. Did you settle it on your girl, or just spend it on her? ”

Christopher repeated with patience that he hadn't got a girl.

Mark said:

“The girl who had a child by you. I'm instructed, if you haven't settled anything already—but father took it that you would have—I was to let her have enough to live on in comfort. How much do you suppose she'll need to live in comfort? I allow Charlotte four hundred. Would four hundred be enough? I suppose you want to go on keeping her? Three thousand isn't a great lot for her to live on with a child. ”

Christopher said:

“Hadn't you better mention names? ”

Mark said:

“No! I never mention names. I mean a woman writer and her daughter. I suppose the girl is father's daughter, isn't she? ”

Christopher said:

“No. She couldn't be. I've thought of it. She's twenty-seven. We were all in Dijon for the two years before she was born. Father didn't 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. ”

Mark said:

“So we were. In Dijon! For my French! ” He added: “Then she can't be father's daughter. It's a good thing. I thought, as he wanted to settle money on them, they were very likely his children. There's a son, too. He's to have a thousand. What's he doing? ”

“The son, ” Tietjens said, “is a conscientious objector. He's on a mine-sweeper. A bluejacket. His idea is that picking up mines is saving life, not taking it. ”

“Then he won't want the brass yet, ” Mark said, “it's to start him in any business. What's the full name and address of your girl? Where do you keep her? ”

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:

“If you're consulting with me as to how to carry out our father's intentions, and as there's money in it, you had better make an attempt to get hold of the facts. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't 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…”

“She's Rugeley's mistress, isn't she? ” Mark asked. Christopher said:

“No, she isn't. I should certainly say she wasn't. Why should she be? She's his cousin. ”

“Then it's your wife who was Rugeley's mistress? ” Mark asked. “Or why should she have the loan of his box? ”

“Sylvia also is Rugeley's cousin, of course, a degree further removed, ” Tietjens said. “She isn't anyone's mistress. You can be certain of that. ”

“They say she is, ” Mark answered. “They say she's a regular tart… I suppose you think I've insulted you. ” Christopher said:

“No, you haven't… It's better to get all this out. We're practically strangers, but you've a right to ask. ”

Mark said:

“Then you haven't got a girl and don't need money to keep her… You could have what you liked. There's no reason why a man shouldn't have a girl, and if he has he ought to keep her decently…”

Christopher did not answer. Mark leaned against the half-buried cannon and swung his umbrella by its crook.

“But, ” he said, “if you don't keep a girl, what do you do for…” He was going to say “for the comforts of home, ” but a new idea had come into his mind. “Of course, ” he said, “one can see that your wife's soppily in love with you. ” He added: “Soppily… one can see that with half an eye…”

Christopher felt his jaw drop. Not a second before—that very second! —he 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 envelops 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. “I know all about women, ” 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:

“Look here, Mark. You had better go through all my pass-books for the last ten years. Or ever since I had an account. This discussion is no good if you don't believe what I say. ”

Mark said:

“I don't want to see your pass-books. I believe you. ” He added, a second later:

“Why the devil shouldn't I believe you? It's either believing you're a gentleman or Ruggles a liar. It's only common sense to believe Ruggles a liar, in that case. I didn't before because I had no grounds to. ”

Christopher said:

“I 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 don't know why. ”

“Because, ” Mark said with emphasis, “you treat these south country swine with the contempt that they deserve. They're incapable of understanding the motives of a gentleman. If you live among dogs they'll think you've the motives of a dog. What other motives can they give you? ” He added: “I thought you'd been buried so long under their muck that you were as mucky as they! ”

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… Not cultivated, not even instructed. A savage! But penetrating!

“We must move on, ” he said, “or I shall have to take a cab. ” Mark detached himself from his half-buried cannon.

“What did you do with the other three thousand? ” he asked. “Three thousand is a hell of a big sum to chuck away. For a younger son. ”

“Except for some furniture I bought for my wife's rooms, ” Christopher said, “it went mostly in loans. ” “Loans! ” Mark exclaimed. “To that fellow Macmaster? ”

“Mostly to him, ” Christopher answered. “But about seven hundred to Dicky Swipes, of Cullercoats. ”

“Good God! Why to him? ” Mark ejaculated.

“Oh, because he was Swipes, of Cullercoats, ” Christopher said, “and asked for it. He'd have had more, only that was enough for him to drink himself to death on. ”

Mark said:

“I suppose you don't give money to every fellow that asks for it? ”

Christopher said:

“I do. It's a matter of principle. ”

“It's lucky, ” Mark said, “that a lot of fellows don't know that. You wouldn't have much brass left for long. ” “I didn't have it for long, ” Christopher said.

“You know, ” Mark said, “you couldn't expect to do the princely patron on a youngest son's portion. It's a matter of taste. I never gave a ha'penny to a beggar myself. But a lot of the Tietjens were princely. One generation to addle brass: one to keep: one to spend. That's all right… I suppose Macmaster's wife is your mistress? That'll account for it not being the girl. They keep an arm-chair for you. ”

Christopher said:

“No. I just backed Macmaster for the sake of backing him. Father lent him money to begin with. ”

“So he did, ” Mark exclaimed.

“His wife, ” Christopher said, “was the widow of Breakfast Duchemin. You knew Breakfast Duchemin? ”

“Oh, I knew Breakfast Duchemin, ” Mark said. “I suppose Macmaster's a pretty warm man now. Done himself proud with Duchemin's money. ”

“Pretty proud! ” Christopher said. “They won't be knowing me long now. ”

“But damn it all! ” Mark said, “You've Groby to all intents and purposes. I'm not going to marry and beget children to hinder you. ”

Christopher said:

“Thanks. I don't want it. ”

“Got your knife into me? ” Mark asked.

“Yes. I've got my knife into you, ” Christopher answered. “Into the whole bloody lot of you, and Ruggles and ffolliot and our father! ”

Mark said: “Ah! ”

“You don't suppose I wouldn't have? ” Christopher asked.

“Oh, I don't suppose you wouldn't have, ” Mark answered. “I thought you were a soft sort of bloke. I see you aren't. ”

“I'm as North Riding as yourself! ” 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 motor-buses and paper lorries. With the imperiousness of the head of a department, Mark said:

“Here, policeman, stop these damn things and let me get over. ” 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:

“You'd better know what our father wanted. ”

Christopher said:

“Be quick then. I must get on. ” 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 eyes—and fierce anger and contempt for his, Christopher's, 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.

“Our father's idea, ” Mark said by the fountain, “was that no settled sum could keep you straight. His idea was that if you were a bloody pimp living on women… You don't mind? ”

“I don't mind your putting it straightforwardly, ” Christopher said. He considered the base of the fountain that was half full of leaves. This civilization had contrived a state of things in which leaves rotted by August. Well, it was doomed!

“If you were a pimp living on women, ” Mark repeated, “it was no good making a will. You might need uncounted thousands to keep you straight. You were to have 'em. 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… Father had crowds of pensioners…”

“How much did father cut up for? ” Christopher asked. Mark said:

“God knows… 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! … With steel prices what they have been for the last three years it's impossible to say what the Middlesbrough district property won't produce… The death duties even can't catch it up. And there are all the ways of getting round them. ”

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:

“Well! You won't be a penny the poorer by me. ” Mark was beginning to believe this. He said:

“You won't forgive father? ”

Christopher said:

“I won't forgive father for not making a will. I won't 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. That's unforgiveable. ”

“The fellow shot himself, ” Mark said. “You usually forgive a fellow who shoots himself. ”

“I don't, ” Christopher said. “Besides, he's probably in heaven and don't need my forgiveness. Ten to one he's in heaven. He was a good man. ”

“One of the best, ” Mark said. “It was I that called in Ruggles though. ”

“I don't forgive you either, ” Christopher said.

“But you must, ” Mark said—and it was a tremendous concession to sentimentality—”take enough to make you comfortable. ”

“By God! ” Christopher exclaimed. “I 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, hot-house aired beastliness of fornication…” 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…”You won't, ” he repeated, “be a penny the poorer by me. ”

Mark said:

“Well, you needn't get shiny about it. If you won't you won't. We'd better move on. You've only just time. We'll say that settles it… Are you, or aren't you, overdrawn at your bank? I'll make that up, whatever you damn well do to stop it. ”

“I'm not overdrawn, ” Christopher said. “I'm over thirty pounds in credit, and I've an immense overdraft guaranteed by Sylvia. It was a mistake of the bank's. ”

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.

“By God! ” he said, “this is the last of England… There's only my department where they never make mistakes. I tell you, if there were any mistakes made there there would be some backs broken! ” He added: “But don't you think that I'm going to give up comfort, I'm not. My Charlotte makes better buttered toast than they can at the club. And she's got a tap of French rum that's saved my life over and over again after a beastly wet day's 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… By God, I'd marry the doxy if she wasn't a Papist. It would please her and it wouldn't hurt me. But I couldn't stomach marrying a Papist. They're not to be trusted. ”

“You'll have to stomach a Papist coming into Groby, ” Christopher said. “My son's to be brought up as a Papist. ”

Mark stopped and dug his umbrella into the ground.

“Eh, but that's a bitter one, ” he said. “Whatever made ye do that? … I suppose the mother made you do it. She tricked you into it before you married her. ” He added: “I'd not like to sleep with that wife of yours. She's too athletic. It'd be like sleeping with a bundle of faggots. I suppose, though, you're a pair of turtle doves… Eh, but I'd not have thought ye would have been so weak. ”

“I only decided this morning, ” Christopher said, “when my cheque was returned from the bank. You won't have read Spelden on sacrilege, about Groby. ”

“I can't say I have, ” Mark answered.

“It's no good trying to explain that side of it then, ” Christopher said, “there isn't time. But you're 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. ”

“What made ye consent now? ” Mark asked.

“I've told you, ” Christopher said, “it was getting my cheque returned to the club; that on the top of the rest of it. A fellow who can't do better than that had better let the mother bring up the child… Besides, it won't hurt a Papist boy to have a father with dishonoured cheques as much as it would a Protestant. They're not quite English. ” “That's true too, ” Mark said.

He stood still by the railings of the public garden near the Temple station.

“Then, ” he said, “if I'd let the lawyers write and tell you the guarantee for your overdraft from the estate was stopped as they wanted to, the boy wouldn't be a Papist? You wouldn't have overdrawn. ”

“I didn't overdraw, ” Christopher said. “But if you had warned me I should have made enquiries at the bank and the mistake wouldn't have occurred. Why didn't you? ”

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