‘No,’ Tim had said. ‘I don’t know why, but I don’t.’ Ronald said to Matthew, as he poured tea from a great height, ‘Do you want really to get married?’
‘Well, I’m very much in love with Alice.’
‘Are you sure you want to get married?’
‘I’d like Alice for a wife if I was to marry.’
‘Do you want to marry at all?’
‘I can’t say I do,’ Matthew said. He drank down his tea which had become cold through Ronald’s method of pouring.
‘It’s the duty of us all to marry,’ Matthew said. ‘Isn’t it? There are two callings, Holy Orders and Holy Matrimony, and one must choose.’
‘Must one?’ Ronald said. ‘It seems evident to me that there’s no compulsion to make a choice. You are talking about life. It isn’t a play.’
‘I’m only repeating the teaching of the Church,’ Matthew said.
‘It isn’t official doctrine,’ Ronald said. ‘There’s no moral law against being simply a bachelor. Don’t be so excessive.’
‘One can’t go on sleeping with girls and going to confession.’
‘That’s a different question,’ Ronald said. ‘That’s sex: we were talking of marriage. You want your sex and you don’t want to marry. You never get all you want in life.’
‘I’ll have to marry in the end,’ Matthew said, gazing at the tea-leaves in the bottom of his cup. ‘The only way I can keep off sex is by going to confession and renewing my resolution every week, and sometimes that doesn’t work. It’s an unnatural life if one’s a Christian.’
‘Find the right girl, then, and marry her.’
‘Alice is the right girl.’
‘Well, get her to marry you.’
‘I don’t want to get married, you know.’
Ronald laughed. He was rather surprised that the conversation was becoming rancorous.
Matthew said, ‘Do you want to marry?’
‘No,’ Ronald said. ‘I’m a confirmed bachelor.’
‘Why don’t we want to marry? It isn’t as if we were homosexuals.’
Ronald greatly desired, as he sometimes did, to run his fingers through Matthew’s black curls. He thought, well, isn’t he right? We are not homosexuals. Repressed homosexuality is a meaningless term because no-one can prove it.
Matthew said, ‘I suppose most people would say the confirmed bachelor is a subconscious homosexual.’
‘Impossible to prove,’ Ronald said. ‘You can only deduce homosexuality from facts. Subconscious tendencies, repressions — these ideas are too simple and too tenuous to provide explanations. There are infinite reasons why a man may remain celibate. He may be a scholar. Husbands don’t make good scholars, in my opinion.’
‘I’m only saying,’ said Matthew, ‘what people say. They say all bachelors are queers. Hee hee. Or mother-fixated or something.’
‘Oh, what people say! They always look at what might be, or what should be, never at what is.’
‘My trouble is this,’ Matthew said, ‘I have a mind to consider the lilies of the field. In other words, I’m a lazy Irish lout and I like to feel I can chuck up a job any time, and go off to Bolivia.’
‘Are you thinking of going to Bolivia?’
‘No,’ said Matthew, ‘not particularly.’
‘Your shoes are wet,’ Ronald observed.
‘Yes, can I take them off?’
‘You should have taken them off before.’
Matthew said, ‘Are there any women who really don’t want to marry?’ He let his shoes fall with a plop. Ronald put them straight and at a shrewd drying point near the gas fire.
‘Yes, very often, but those are the ones who marry.’
‘They get married, not actually wanting to?’
‘Yes. Like many men.’
‘Why? Is it sex?’
‘Not always, I think. It’s probably a development in human nature. Something both conforming and unconforming. Otherwise, spinsters and bachelors would all be in religious orders.’
‘Part of me feels they should be.’
‘The whole of you should acknowledge that they aren’t.’
‘It’s fear of responsibility that puts me off marriage. Responsibility terrifies me. Does it terrify you?’
Ronald considered. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No-one offers me much of it.’ He thought of Hildegarde and her attempt to take him over as a whole burden for herself.
‘I’ve got responsibilities,’ Matthew said, twiddling his stocking-toes, ‘I’ve got to send money home to Ireland to my mother and my aunt. There’s only my mother and her sister on the farm and the farm’s gone down. They want me to get married, though. I feel immoral as a bachelor. Do you ever feel immoral?’
‘Not very often,’ Ronald said. ‘I’ve got my epilepsy as an alibi.’
‘It used to be called the Falling Sickness,’ Matthew said. ‘Would you come out to the coffee bar and have a look at Alice?’
Ronald could not forbear to say, ‘I’ve seen her.’
‘Have you? Where?’
‘In a café in Kensington. She was with Patrick Seton.’
A heap of Ronald’s unwashed laundry lay on the carpet. He had started to make a list which bore the words ‘3 cols’. This lay on the top of the pile.
‘How did you know it was Patrick Seton? Have you met him?’ Matthew said.
Ronald could not forbear to say, ‘Yes, I gave evidence on his handwriting once. He was convicted of forgery. I have a letter here in my desk,’ Ronald rattled on, ‘which will probably convict him again. So your way will be clear,’ he said, ‘to marry Alice.’
‘She told me the case was off.’
‘That hasn’t been decided yet.’
‘Will you come out and meet Alice?’ Matthew said. ‘She’s working at the “Oriflamme”‘
‘All right.’ Ronald kicked the laundry.
‘Of course, you know,’ Matthew said, ‘she isn’t a Catholic. She’s a spiritualist.’
‘I don’t suppose she’d let it stand in her way if she wanted to marry you.’
‘I meant, from my point of view——’
‘Yes, I know what you meant.’
‘Well, as a Catholic how do you feel about——’
Ronald turned on him in a huge attack of irritation. ‘As a Catholic I loathe all other Catholics.’
‘I can well understand it. Don’t shout, for goodness’ sake—’ Matthew said.
‘And I can’t bear the Irish.’
‘I won’t stand for that,’ Matthew said.
‘Don’t ask me,’ Ronald shouted, ‘how I feel about things as a Catholic. To me, being Catholic is part of my human existence. I don’t feel one way as a human being and another as a Catholic.’
‘To hell with you, now,’ Matthew said.
Ronald lifted one of Matthew’s shoes, which he had placed so carefully to dry — neither too near the gas fire nor too far from it — and cast it casually at Matthew’s head.
Matthew started to hit out, then stopped with his hand in mid-air. Ronald’s arm, lifted for protection, was arrested for a second before he dropped it, and he realised that Matthew was sparing him on account of his epilepsy.
Matthew stumbled over the laundry, put on his damp shoes, then went off to the lavatory. When he returned Ronald was ready to accompany him to the coffee bar where Alice was working.
‘Her pregnancy doesn’t show as yet,’ Matthew said. ‘I’d adopt the child as my own if I married her. Do you think, by the way, I ought to try to marry her? She’s got long black hair, only you don’t see it look so glorious when she piles it up as when she lets it fall.’
Time had come round for one of Alice’s ten-minute rest periods, and she sat at the table with Ronald and Matthew while they ate tough salty pizza. She delicately picked a speck of tobacco from her tongue and sadly inhaled her cigarette.
‘I love the man,’ she said. ‘I know he’s innocent.’
Matthew immediately said, ‘Ronald here is examinin
g one of the vital documents in the case. Ronald is a handwriting expert. He is often consulted in criminal cases — aren’t you, Ronald? He’s got this document that’s supposed to be a forgery. It’s a letter — isn’t it a letter, Ronald?’
Ronald smiled as one who had only himself to blame. Matthew went on, ‘He puts these documents to all sorts of tests — don’t you, Ronald? There’s a test for the ink, and the paper, and all the folds. The most important thing is the formation of the letters — anyone can do the rest, but Ronald’s the best man for detecting the formation of letters. And sometimes the forger has stopped to assess his handiwork and then retraced. That’s fatal because there’s an interruption in the writing which can be detected under the microscope, at least Ronald can detect it — can’t you, Ronald?’
Alice was looking at her cigarette, which she was tapping on the edge of the ash-tray.
‘I shall never believe he’s guilty,’ she said. ‘Never.’ Ronald thought, ‘How that second, histrionic “never” diminishes her — how it debases this striking girl to a commonplace.’
‘I’ll always believe in his innocence,’ she said. ‘Always. No matter what the evidence is.’
‘I haven’t yet looked at the document,’ Ronald said. ‘I am sure it will not be incriminating to your friend.’
She looked up at him. ‘Why are you sure?’
‘Because he is your friend,’ Ronald said.
Something in his tone made Matthew collect his senses. ‘I haven’t been indiscreet in talking about the letter, have I?’ he said.
‘It’s perfectly understandable,’ Ronald said.
‘After all, you told me about it.’
‘That’s right,’ Ronald said, ‘I did.’
Matthew kept looking uncomfortably at Ronald. But he chattered on, desperately, in his desire to depreciate the girl’s lover.
‘Ronald says Patrick Seton has been convicted of forgery before.’
‘Well, I don’t believe it. He’s been abroad a lot of his life at famous séances. He was married at one time. His divorce is coming through shortly, and we’re getting married. Colonel Scorbin, who’s one of the leading spiritualists in Mrs. Marlene Cooper’s Circle, and a colonel, said to me, “Patrick is one of those rare persons who are born to do great things and to suffer injustice and persecution.” I said to him, “I believe it,” and I do believe it and I always will, always.’
She seemed not sure how to look at Ronald, whether to show a predominance of hostility which might frighten him, or of fear which might move him to pity; or whether to affect charm and win him over. She offered all three in a way, by holding her head loftily as she regarded him, by pleading with her eyes under their lashes, and by sitting with the elbow over her chair so that her breasts rose unmistakably towards him.
Matthew realised that he had caused Ronald to be the centre of her attention rather than achieved his desire to discredit Patrick.
Alice’s ten-minute rest was up. She sauntered about with her long swing among the tables and the trailing ivy of the ‘Oriflamme’ taking orders for coffee. Matthew and Ronald stayed for a while and she returned as often as she could to their table, once pausing with her tray, on the way to serve a customer, to say to Ronald what was still on her mind.
‘The case may not come off. Have you any idea if the case will be brought?’
‘No. It has nothing to do with me.’
‘It would be easy to frame up a case against Patrick, with that letter.’
‘Nothing will be framed up,’ Ronald said. ‘Please forget about the letter.’
Matthew said, ‘Can I meet you after the shop’s closed and take you home?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and she nodded. ‘Yes.’
Matthew had not expected her assent.
‘Are you sure?’ he said, instantly afterwards feeling like a lout.
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure.’ She was looking at Ronald.
‘I’ll be back here at the “Oriflamme” at ten to twelve,’ Matthew said. She was looking at Ronald.
‘Goodnight, Alice,’ Ronald said.
‘Can’t you do something for Patrick?’ she said to Ronald.
He said, ‘You should not expect anything of Patrick Seton. Leave him.’
Matthew and Ronald walked along the Chelsea Embankment. Matthew said, ‘I didn’t expect her to let me fetch her tonight. I’d better ‘phone my sister. She’s expecting me to stay with her tonight because my brother-in-law’s gone over to Dublin with my other uncle, and she doesn’t like to be alone in the house with the children. I’d better ‘phone and tell her I’ll be late. Did you mind me telling Alice about that document you’ve got to inspect? Was it confidential?’
‘It was confidential.’
‘Oh, you should have made that clear when you told me. But I wanted Alice to know what she’s got hold of in this Patrick Seton.’
‘Yes, she seems to be in love with him.’
‘Did you think so?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lovely girl, isn’t she? And carrying a child inside her.’
‘Very attractive.’
‘D’you think I’ve a chance with her?’
‘Chance of what?’
‘Well, it would have to be marriage. She’s expecting the child, moreover. It makes her more desirable; not many would think so, but I do.’
‘I think you’ll have a chance after Patrick Seton has served a few months of his prison sentence.’
‘Don’t you think she’d be the sort of girl who would wait for him?’
‘Not after she had heard his previous convictions read out in court.’
‘The age of him,’ Matthew said, ‘and the look of him! What does she see in him, a girl like that? You would never see such a match in Ireland except in rare cases where the man had a bit of money and the girl was homeless.’
‘She is obviously a soul-lover,’ Ronald said.
‘She’s in love with his spiritualism, that’s what it is. He must know a few tricks.’
‘I think he’s a genuine medium, from what I’ve heard.’
‘I hope he doesn’t get his divorce. It might not come off. Then Alice—’
‘From what I recall,’ Ronald said, ‘he isn’t a married man at all. At least, it wasn’t declared the last time he was in court.’
‘He’s supposed to have been married for twenty-five years; so Alice says.’
‘Well, perhaps he lied to the court. But there’s usually a question of maintenance orders. I distinctly recall his being described as a bachelor.’
‘What a good memory you’ve got,’ Matthew said. ‘Thanks,’ said Ronald, and smiled at himself in the glass window of a shop.
‘Why should he talk about a divorce if he isn’t married, though?’ Matthew said. ‘Do you think he intends to marry Alice at all?’
‘I’ll find out what I can from Martin Bowles. He’s prosecuting counsel.’
Matthew stopped walking and was looking out over the full-flowing river at the lights on the opposite bank.
‘Have you been eating lots of onions?’ Ronald said. ‘No, not since yesterday. Can you smell them in my breath?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on, let’s have a drink to take it away before I pick up Alice. They don’t like the smell of onions in your breath. Do you really think Patrick Seton is a bachelor?’
They sat in the public house and debated the question of Patrick’s being a bachelor, and if so, why he had told Alice the story of a divorce.
‘Perhaps he’s putting her off from day to day,’ Matthew said. ‘You could understand it; her wanting to be married for the child, and him not wanting to marry at all. He may be a bachelor like us in that respect.’
Ronald silently contemplated the no-betting notice on the wall.
‘He has no intention of marrying her at all,’ Matthew said, becoming fierily convinced of it. ‘What do you expect of a spiritualist? His mind’s attuned to the ghouls of the air all day long. How can he be expe
cted to consider the moral obligations of the flesh? The man’s a dualist. No sacramental sense. There have been famous heresies very like spiritualism — they—’
‘Have another drink,’ Ronald said, who was accustomed to long evenings of proof that Matthew had emerged from his Jesuit school well versed in the heresies.
‘Take the Albigensians. Or take the Quietists even. The Zoroastrians. Everything spiritual. Down with the body. Against sex—’
‘Against marriage,’ Ronald said. ‘All bachelors. Like us.’
‘I think the spiritualists have sex.’ Matthew looked broodly at his knees. ‘I’m afraid we are heretics,’ he said, ‘or possessed by devils.’ His curls shone under the lamp. ‘It shows a dualistic attitude, not to marry if you aren’t going to be a priest or a religious. You’ve got to affirm the oneness of reality in some form or another.’
‘We’re not in fact heretics,’ Ronald said, ‘under the correct meaning of the term.’
‘Well, we’ve got am heretical attitude, in a way.’
‘Not in fact. But does it worry you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to marry?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’ve got a problem,’ Ronald observed and went to fetch more drinks.
‘I suppose an heretical attitude is part of original sin,’ Matthew said as soon as Ronald returned within hearing. ‘You can’t avoid it.’
Ronald said, ‘The Christian economy seems to me to be so ordered that original sin is necessary to salvation. And so far as remaining single is concerned that applies to a lot of people.’
They walked to Battersea where their attention was caught by the sound as of a horse galloping. They looked up a side street in the direction of the sound and found it to come from a man lying on his back outside a pub. His legs were kicking out and his heels clop-clopped on the pavement. A few people had gathered in the roadway and a young policeman circled round the man as if he were a tiger.
‘Is he drunk?’ Matthew said.
Ronald went over to the young policeman. ‘Turn his head to one side,’ he said, ‘or he might damage his tongue.’
‘Are you a doctor?’ said the policeman.
‘No, but I understand fits. The man’s an epileptic.’ Ronald took his own wedge of cork from his pocket and handed it to the policeman. ‘Stick this between his teeth. Then kneel on his knees and try and get his boots off.’