CHAPTER II
CAPTAIN TRENCH AND A TELEGRAM
Thirteen years later, and in the same month of June, Harry Feversham'shealth was drunk again, but after a quieter fashion and in a smallercompany. The company was gathered in a room high up in a shapeless blockof buildings which frowns like a fortress above Westminster. A strangercrossing St. James's Park southwards, over the suspension bridge, atnight, who chanced to lift his eyes and see suddenly the tiers oflighted windows towering above him to so precipitous a height, might bebrought to a stop with the fancy that here in the heart of London was amountain and the gnomes at work. Upon the tenth floor of this buildingHarry had taken a flat during his year's furlough from his regiment inIndia; and it was in the dining room of this flat that the simpleceremony took place. The room was furnished in a dark and restfulfashion; and since the chill of the weather belied the calendar, acomfortable fire blazed in the hearth. A bay window, over which theblinds had not been lowered, commanded London.
There were four men smoking about the dinner-table. Harry Feversham wasunchanged, except for a fair moustache, which contrasted with his darkhair, and the natural consequences of growth. He was now a man ofmiddle height, long-limbed, and well-knit like an athlete, but hisfeatures had not altered since that night when they had been so closelyscrutinised by Lieutenant Sutch. Of his companions two werebrother-officers on leave in England, like himself, whom he had thatafternoon picked up at his club,--Captain Trench, a small man, growingbald, with a small, sharp, resourceful face and black eyes of aremarkable activity, and Lieutenant Willoughby, an officer of quite adifferent stamp. A round forehead, a thick snub nose, and a pair ofvacant and protruding eyes gave to him an aspect of invinciblestupidity. He spoke but seldom, and never to the point, but rather tosome point long forgotten which he had since been laboriously revolvingin his mind; and he continually twisted a moustache, of which the endscurled up toward his eyes with a ridiculous ferocity,--a man whom onewould dismiss from mind as of no consequence upon a first thought, andtake again into one's consideration upon a second. For he was bornstubborn as well as stupid; and the harm which his stupidity might do,his stubbornness would hinder him from admitting. He was not a man to bepersuaded; having few ideas, he clung to them. It was no use to arguewith him, for he did not hear the argument, but behind his vacant eyesall the while he turned over his crippled thoughts and was satisfied.The fourth at the table was Durrance, a lieutenant of the East SurreyRegiment, and Feversham's friend, who had come in answer to a telegram.
This was June of the year 1882, and the thoughts of civilians turnedtoward Egypt with anxiety; those of soldiers, with an eageranticipation. Arabi Pasha, in spite of threats, was steadilystrengthening the fortifications of Alexandria, and already a longway to the south, the other, the great danger, was swelling like athunder-cloud. A year had passed since a young, slight, and tallDongolawi, Mohammed Ahmed, had marched through the villages of the WhiteNile, preaching with the fire of a Wesley the coming of a Saviour. Thepassionate victims of the Turkish tax-gatherer had listened, had heardthe promise repeated in the whispers of the wind in the withered grass,had found the holy names imprinted even upon the eggs they gathered up.In 1882 Mohammed had declared himself that Saviour, and had won hisfirst battles against the Turks.
"There will be trouble," said Trench, and the sentence was the text onwhich three of the four men talked. In a rare interval, however, thefourth, Harry Feversham, spoke upon a different subject.
"I am very glad you were all able to dine with me to-night. Itelegraphed to Castleton as well, an officer of ours," he explained toDurrance, "but he was dining with a big man in the War Office, andleaves for Scotland afterwards, so that he could not come. I have newsof a sort."
The three men leaned forward, their minds still full of the dominantsubject. But it was not about the prospect of war that Harry Fevershamhad news to speak.
"I only reached London this morning from Dublin," he said with a shadeof embarrassment. "I have been some weeks in Dublin."
Durrance lifted his eyes from the tablecloth and looked quietly at hisfriend.
"Yes?" he asked steadily.
"I have come back engaged to be married."
Durrance lifted his glass to his lips.
"Well, here's luck to you, Harry," he said, and that was all. The wish,indeed, was almost curtly expressed, but there was nothing wanting in itto Feversham's ears. The friendship between these two men was not one inwhich affectionate phrases had any part. There was, in truth, no need ofsuch. Both men were securely conscious of it; they estimated it at itstrue, strong value; it was a helpful instrument, which would not wearout, put into their hands for a hard, lifelong use; but it was not, andnever had been, spoken of between them. Both men were grateful for it,as for a rare and undeserved gift; yet both knew that it might entail anobligation of sacrifice. But the sacrifices, were they needful, would bemade, and they would not be mentioned. It may be, indeed, that the veryknowledge of their friendship's strength constrained them to aparticular reticence in their words to one another.
"Thank you, Jack!" said Feversham. "I am glad of your good wishes. Itwas you who introduced me to Ethne; I cannot forget it."
Durrance set his glass down without any haste. There followed a momentof silence, during which he sat with his eyes upon the tablecloth, andhis hands resting on the table edge.
"Yes," he said in a level voice. "I did you a good turn then."
He seemed on the point of saying more, and doubtful how to say it. ButCaptain Trench's sharp, quick, practical voice, a voice which fitted theman who spoke, saved him his pains.
"Will this make any difference?" asked Trench.
Feversham replaced his cigar between his lips.
"You mean, shall I leave the service?" he asked slowly. "I don't know;"and Durrance seized the opportunity to rise from the table and cross tothe window, where he stood with his back to his companions. Fevershamtook the abrupt movement for a reproach, and spoke to Durrance's back,not to Trench.
"I don't know," he repeated. "It will need thought. There is much to besaid. On the one side, of course, there's my father, my career, such asit is. On the other hand, there is her father, Dermod Eustace."
"He wishes you to chuck your commission?" asked Willoughby.
"He has no doubt the Irishman's objection to constituted authority,"said Trench, with a laugh. "But need you subscribe to it, Feversham?"
"It is not merely that." It was still to Durrance's back that headdressed his excuses. "Dermod is old, his estates are going to ruin,and there are other things. You know, Jack?" The direct appeal he had torepeat, and even then Durrance answered it absently:--
"Yes, I know," and he added, like one quoting a catch-word. "If you wantany whiskey, rap twice on the floor with your foot. The servantsunderstand."
"Precisely," said Feversham. He continued, carefully weighing his words,and still intently looking across the shoulders of his companions to hisfriend:--
"Besides, there is Ethne herself. Dermod for once did an appropriatething when he gave her that name. For she is of her country, and more,of her county. She has the love of it in her bones. I do not think thatshe could be quite happy in India, or indeed in any place which was notwithin reach of Donegal, the smell of its peat, its streams, and thebrown friendliness of its hills. One has to consider that."
He waited for an answer, and getting none went on again. Durrance,however, had no thought of reproach in his mind. He knew that Fevershamwas speaking,--he wished very much that he would continue to speak for alittle while,--but he paid no heed to what was said. He stood lookingsteadfastly out of the windows. Over against him was the glare from PallMall striking upward to the sky, and the chains of light banked oneabove the other as the town rose northward, and a rumble as of a millioncarriages was in his ears. At his feet, very far below, lay St. James'sPark, silent and black, a quiet pool of darkness in the midst of glitterand noise. Durrance had a great desire to escape out of this room intoits secrec
y. But that he could not do without remark. Therefore he kepthis back turned to his companion, and leaned his forehead against thewindow, and hoped his friend would continue to talk. For he was face toface with one of the sacrifices which must not be mentioned, and whichno sign must betray.
Feversham did continue, and if Durrance did not listen, on the otherhand Captain Trench gave to him his closest attention. But it wasevident that Harry Feversham was giving reasons seriously considered. Hewas not making excuses, and in the end Captain Trench was satisfied.
"Well, I drink to you, Feversham," he said, "with all the propersentiments."
"I too, old man," said Willoughby, obediently following his senior'slead.
Thus they drank their comrade's health, and as their empty glassesrattled on the table, there came a knock upon the door.
The two officers looked up. Durrance turned about from the window.Feversham said, "Come in;" and his servant brought in to him a telegram.
Feversham tore open the envelope carelessly, as carelessly read throughthe telegram, and then sat very still, with his eyes upon the slip ofpink paper and his face grown at once extremely grave. Thus he sat foran appreciable time, not so much stunned as thoughtful. And in the roomthere was a complete silence. Feversham's three guests averted theireyes. Durrance turned again to his window; Willoughby twisted hismoustache and gazed intently upward at the ceiling; Captain Trenchshifted his chair round and stared into the glowing fire, and each man'sattitude expressed a certain suspense. It seemed that sharp upon theheels of Feversham's good news calamity had come knocking at the door.
"There is no answer," said Harry, and fell to silence again. Once heraised his head and looked at Trench as though he had a mind to speak.But he thought the better of it, and so dropped again to theconsideration of this message. And in a moment or two the silence wassharply interrupted, but not by any one of the expectant motionlessthree men seated within the room. The interruption came from without.
From the parade ground of Wellington Barracks the drums and fifessounding the tattoo shrilled through the open window with a startlingclearness like a sharp summons, and diminished as the band marched awayacross the gravel and again grew loud. Feversham did not change hisattitude, but the look upon his face was now that of a man listening,and listening thoughtfully, just as he had read thoughtfully. In theyears which followed, that moment was to recur again and again to therecollection of each of Harry's three guests. The lighted room, with thebright homely fire, the open window overlooking the myriad lamps ofLondon, Harry Feversham seated with the telegram spread before him, thedrums and fifes calling loudly, and then dwindling to music very smalland pretty--music which beckoned where a moment ago it had commanded:all these details made up a picture of which the colours were not tofade by any lapse of time, although its significance was not apprehendednow.
It was remembered that Feversham rose abruptly from his chair, justbefore the tattoo ceased. He crumpled the telegram loosely in his hands,tossed it into the fire, and then, leaning his back against thechimney-piece and upon one side of the fireplace, said again:--
"I don't know;" as though he had thrust that message, whatever it mightbe, from his mind, and was summing up in this indefinite way theargument which had gone before. Thus that long silence was broken, and aspell was lifted. But the fire took hold upon the telegram and shook it,so that it moved like a thing alive and in pain. It twisted, and part ofit unrolled, and for a second lay open and smooth of creases, lit up bythe flame and as yet untouched; so that two or three words sprang, as itwere, out of a yellow glare of fire and were legible. Then the flameseized upon that smooth part too, and in a moment shrivelled it intoblack tatters. But Captain Trench was all this while staring into thefire.
"You return to Dublin, I suppose?" said Durrance. He had moved backagain into the room. Like his companions, he was conscious of anunexplained relief.
"To Dublin? No; I go to Donegal in three weeks' time. There is to be adance. It is hoped you will come."
"I am not sure that I can manage it. There is just a chance, I believe,should trouble come in the East, that I may go out on the staff." Thetalk thus came round again to the chances of peace and war, and held inthat quarter till the boom of the Westminster clock told that the hourwas eleven. Captain Trench rose from his seat on the last stroke;Willoughby and Durrance followed his example.
"I shall see you to-morrow," said Durrance to Feversham.
"As usual," replied Harry; and his three guests descended from hisrooms and walked across the Park together. At the corner of Pall Mall,however, they parted company, Durrance mounting St. James's Street,while Trench and Willoughby crossed the road into St. James's Square.There Trench slipped his arm through Willoughby's, to Willoughby'ssurprise, for Trench was an undemonstrative man.
"You know Castleton's address?" he asked.
"Albemarle Street," Willoughby answered, and added the number.
"He leaves Euston at twelve o'clock. It is now ten minutes past eleven.Are you curious, Willoughby? I confess to curiosity. I am an inquisitivemethodical person, and when a man gets a telegram bidding him tellTrench something and he tells Trench nothing, I am curious as aphilosopher to know what that something is! Castleton is the only otherofficer of our regiment in London. It is likely, therefore, that thetelegram came from Castleton. Castleton, too, was dining with a big manfrom the War Office. I think that if we take a hansom to AlbemarleStreet, we shall just catch Castleton upon his door-step."
Mr. Willoughby, who understood very little of Trench's meaning,nevertheless cordially agreed to the proposal.
"I think it would be prudent," said he, and he hailed a passing cab.A moment later the two men were driving to Albemarle Street.