CHAPTER VI
ALL THE BEAMINSTERS
"We must expect change," returned Mrs. Chick.
"Of weather?" asked Miss Tox in her simplicity.
"Of everything," returned Mrs. Chick. "Of course we must. It's a world of change. Anyone would surprise me very much, Lucretia, and would greatly alter my opinion of their understanding, if they attempted to contradict or evade what is so perfectly evident. Change!" exclaimed Mrs. Chick, with severe philosophy--"Why, my gracious me, what is there that does _not_ change! Even the silkworm, who I am sure might be supposed not to trouble itself about such subjects, changes into all sorts of unexpected things continually."
_Dombey and Son._
I
At four o'clock on the afternoon of Wednesday, October 11th, in thisyear 1899 war between England and South Africa was declared.
At that same hour on that same afternoon an afternoon party was given byLady Adela Beaminster at 104 Portland Place, and all the more importantbelievers in the Beaminster religion were present.
The Long Drawing-room had the happy property of extending to accommodateits company and now, shadowy as its corners always were, it yielded theimpression still of size and space, its mirrors reflecting its darkgreen walls that receded from the figures that thronged it.
The Duchess (now Ross's portrait of her) hung above the Adams fireplaceand a little globe of light shone, on this dark October day, up intothat sharp and wizened face and lit those bending fingers and flungforward the dull green jade and the dark black dress.
Many people were present. The Duke, Lord John, Lord Richard ofcourse--also, of course, Lady Carloes, the Massiters, Lord Crewner,Monty Carfax, Brun, Maurice Garden the novelist, and his wife--also afine collection of ladies and gentlemen, important in politics, in thegraver camps of society--also a certain number who belonged by party tothose whom Brun had once called the Aristocrats, the Chichesters, theMedleys, the Darrants. Old Lady Darrant was there looking like a cook,and Fred Chichester and his kind and freckled features, and Mrs. Medleywho had married Judge Medley's only son.
Of the Democrats--of the Ruddards, the Denisons, the Oaks, not one to beseen.
The men and women who stood about in the room seemed strangely, oddly,of one family. No human being present was without his or herself-consciousness, but it was a self-consciousness that had about itnothing vulgar or strident. No voice in that room was raised, the verylaughter implied, "Here we are, in the very Court of our Temple; we maythen relax a little. For a time, at any rate, we know who we all are."
This security was implied on every hand. It was: "Young Rorke's goingout--he's the son of Alice Branches--he married old Truddits' daughter,"or--
"No, I don't know him personally, but Dick Barnett has seen him once ortwice and says he's a very decent feller," or--
"Well, I should go carefully, if I were you. Neither the Massiters northe Crawfords know her and, in fact, I can't find anyone who does."
Had a stranger penetrated into the fastnesses of the Chichesters or theMedleys he would have been overwhelmed with courtesy and politeness and,unless he had full credentials, would have been utterly excluded at theend of it. Had he boldly invaded the Denisons he would, unless he couldprove his contribution to the entertainment of the day, have been toldfrankly that he was not wanted.
Had he passed the doors of No. 104 and had no proof of his Beaminsterfaith upon him, Norris would have exchanged with him a quiet word or twoand he would have found himself in the bright spaces of Portland Place.
Rachel and Roddy had come to the party. Rachel sat on a high chair andlooked stiff and pale; Lady Darrant, bunched up in an arm-chair, wasbeside her. Lady Darrant's emotions were divided between the welfare ofthe church in her parish in Wiltshire and the welfare of her only son, aboy aged twenty who, supposed to be studying for the Diplomatic Service,was really interested in race meetings and polo. Lady Darrant had, likemost of the Aristocrats, a tranquil mind. Sorrow, tragedies,perplexities might come and go, the plain surface stability was in noway disturbed. She would have liked to possess more money that she mightbestow it upon the church, and she would have preferred that her sonshould place foreign languages above horses, but, since these thingswere not so, God knew best and the world might have been much worse:none of her friends were ever agitated, outwardly at any rate. Life wascalm, sure, proceeding from a definite commencement to a definiteconclusion and--God knew best. Rumours came to her of atheists andchorus girls and American millionaires, but she was neither alarmed nordismayed.
At a Beaminster entertainment she felt that she was among strangers. Heraccount of such an affair given afterwards to friends implied that thisworld into which she had glanced was not her world. Lady Adelafrightened her and the mere suggestion of the Duchess, whom she hadnever seen, threatened more fiercely her tranquillity than any otherevent or person.
Now, every minute or so, she flung little agitated glances at theportrait. At the back of her mind, this afternoon, was the reflectionthat there was going to be a war and that quite certainly her boy, Tony,would insist on helping his country.
She was proud that he should insist, but, had she not been quite soconfident of God's care for her, would have been very near to most realagitation.
She looked at Rachel timidly and wondered whether that strange, fierce,pale girl would be sympathetic. She had heard of Rachel and hermarriage, and she knew that that rather stout healthy-looking young manstanding and talking to Lord John Beaminster was the husband.
He looked kinder than she did, Lady Darrant thought.
"It's terrible about this horrid war, isn't it?" she said at last.
Rachel, watching the room, was absorbed by her own thoughts; shescarcely noticed the little woman beside her.
She saw Uncle John, his white hair and happy smile and large rathershapeless body, his way of laughing with his head flung back, the lookof him when he was thinking, his face precisely that of a puzzledpig--simply to see him there across the room brought back to her a floodof memories.
She knew that she had avoided him lately and she knew, too, that he wasunhappy about her. He was unhappy, poor Uncle John, about a number ofthings--always behind his laughter and cheerful greetings there was thelittle restless distress as though Life were offering him, just now,more than he could control.
Rachel looked and then turned her eyes away.
"Yes," she said to Lady Darrant, "I hope it won't be very much. They saythat a week or two will see the end of it."
Truly, for herself, this afternoon was almost too difficult for her. Shehad received, that morning, a letter from Francis Breton asking her togo to tea with him in his rooms, one day within the following week.
She had never been to his room; she had not met him once during thewhole year.
She had known, during all these last twelve months, that meeting him hadnothing at all to do with the especial claim that they had upon oneanother. That claim had existed since that day of their first comingface to face and nothing now could ever alter it.
But the next time that they met must be, for both of them, a definitelandmark. She might either decide, now, once and for all, never to seehim again, or grasp, quite definitely, the possible result of her goingto him.
The writing of this letter brought, at last, upon her the climax thatshe had been avoiding during the last year.
Sitting there in the Beaminster camp it was difficult to act withoutprejudice. With the exception of Uncle John and Roddy she hated themall.
After all if she were to refuse to see Francis Breton did it solve thequestion? Did it help her--and that was the great need of her presentlife--to love Roddy any better?
And if she went to his rooms and saw him, would not the truth emergefrom that meeting and the miserable doubts and temptations that hadshadowed her since her marriage be cleared away for ever?
She liked Roddy and did not love him--nothing could alter that.
Bret
on and she belonged to a world that was hostile to this world thatshe was now in--nothing could alter that.
Yes, she would go and see Breton. She got up, smiled at Lady Darrant andwent across the room to talk to Uncle John.
On this afternoon she had a great overpowering longing for someone tolove her, to care for her, to pity her, to take her into their arms andwhisper comfort to her. It was so long--oh! so long, since Dr. Chris andUncle John had done that.
And yet--the irony of it--there was Roddy eager to do it all: and fromhim, the fates had decreed that it should mean nothing to her.
"Why can't he touch me? Why can't he give me what I want? Is it myfault? Whose fault is it?"
And when she came to Uncle John she was almost afraid to look at himlest he should see the unhappiness in her eyes.
But, in spite of her unhappiness, she could be satirically observant.Her grandmother, up there on the wall, controlled, like the moon, thistide of human beings. They flowed forward, they retreated. About them,around them, behind and in front of them hovered this War....
Rachel knew that it was the Beaminster doctrine that anything thatoccurred to the nation was to be attributed, in the main, to Beaminsterprinciples. She could tell at once that they had seized upon this war asan example of Beaminster government. Had diplomacy prevented it, beholdthe triumph of Beaminster diplomacy; now, as it had not been prevented,a swift and total triumph would assert the genius of Beaminstermilitancy.
"A week out there ought to be enough.... It's tiresome, of course, butthey'll soon have had enough of it...."
Even Rachel, looking up at the portrait, might, not too fantastically,imagine that this war presented the last great manifestation of power onthe part of that old woman.
Everyone in the room, perhaps, felt the same.
II
Many eyes were upon her as she moved across to Lord John. This girl,with the foreign colour and bearing, having, apparently, so little ofthe Beaminster about her and making so quickly so conventional amarriage ("One hadn't expected her to care about a man like Seddon"),stirred their curiosity.
Monty Carfax, licensed transmitter of public opinion, reported herunpopular. "Met her one week-end at the Massiters'--that very time whenSeddon proposed. Didn't like her and, really, can't find anyone whodoes. Conceited, farouche. It's my opinion Roddy Seddon finds herdifficult." "Yes, but she's interesting," someone would reply, "unusual.Dissatisfied-looking--not at all happy, I should say."
Lady Adela, stiff, awkward but important, in an ugly grey dress foundLord Crewner the only helpful person in the room. He seemed tounderstand the way that worries accumulated about one and yet refused tobe defined.... He stayed near her throughout the afternoon. She sawRachel moving across to her brother and the sight of her stirred all herdiscomfort.
"Why need she look as though she hated everyone?" she thought.
Rachel came at length to Uncle John and found him talking to MauriceGarden. That large and prosperous gentleman hastily proclaimed hisdelight in meeting Rachel again, but she had very little to say to him.
He left them, secretly determined that he would never speak to the girlagain if he could help it.
Uncle John regarded her with an air of supplicating nervousness.
"Come along, my dear," he said. "We haven't had a talk for weeks. Let'sfind a corner somewhere----"
They found a corner and then were both of them uncomfortable. The girlwhom Uncle John had known and loved had had her tempers andintolerances, but she had also had her wonderful spontaneous affectionsand tendernesses.
Now she sat there looking straight before her and replying only inmonosyllables to his questions.
She was saying to herself: "Shall I go? Shall I go?"
At last he said timidly:
"You'll see mother before you leave?"
"Yes," Rachel said.
"I'm afraid she's not very well."
"Not very well?" Rachel looked up at him sharply, Lord John stared awayfrom her. No one had ever said that publicly before, Lord John himselfwondered at his words when he had spoken them.
"Of course she doesn't admit it," he said hurriedly. "No one _says_anything about it--even Christopher. I oughtn't perhaps to have saidanything myself--but I thought----" He broke off. Rachel knew that hemeant that she should be kind and considerate on this visit.
Before she could say anything the Duke came up and joined them.
It always amused Rachel to see her two uncles together. The Duke was alittle dried-up wasp of a man, absolutely selfish, with a satiricaltongue and a self-conceit that nothing could pierce. He wore high whitecollars, over which his brown sharp face searched for compliments. Hewalked on his toes, his hands were most wonderfully manicured and histrousers were so stiff and rigid over his thin little legs that theylooked like iron. The one soft spot in him was a strangely tenderaffection for his sister Adela which was in no way returned; for her,and for her alone, he would forget his selfishness. Richard and John hedespised.
"Well, John," he said. "Well, Rachel?"
"Well, Uncle Vincent," she said. The Duke was afraid of Rachel becauseher tongue was as sharp as his, but he respected her for that.
"Going up to see mother?"
"Yes," said Rachel. Should she go? Should she go?
Suddenly, arising, as it seemed, out of that crowd of moving figures andcoming and standing there in front of her, was her answer.
Yes, she would go. All these months of indetermination should be ended.She should know, once and for all, what this Francis Breton meant toher, what that other life of hers meant to her, and so, in opposition,what Roddy meant to her. She would, as Christopher would have put it,grapple with her Tiger....
Instantly, the relief, the glad, happy relief showed her how wretchedlife had been.
"What about this war, Uncle Vincent?" she said.
"Well--hem--well--no need to worry--_I_ assure you--no need to worry!"
"It seems a pity," said Lord John, still looking furtively at Rachel andwishing that he could carry her off into some other corner and just askher whether she were really happy or no.
"Why, John," said the Duke, cackling. "You'll have to go out, 'pon myword, you will--fight 'em, by Jove--Ha! ha! You'd make a fine soldier,old boy."
Rachel got up, hating Uncle Vincent very much. She put her hand on UncleJohn's fat arm.
"You may go, Uncle Vincent," she said. "We all give you leave--UncleJohn we love too much: if it's a question of bravery he'd be quitecertainly the first of this family." She gave his arm a squeeze.
Uncle Vincent looked at her, smiling--
"Well," he said. "None of us would dream of going ... we're all much toocomfortable."
"I'll see you before I go, uncle dear," she whispered to Lord John. Thenshe moved away.
Slowly making her path through the room she left it and climbed thegreat stone staircase.
III
Outside her grandmother's door she paused; so she had always paused, andnow, as she waited there, all the procession of other days when she hadstood there came before her. Conditions might be changed, but heragitation was the same. Never until she died would she open that doorwithout wondering, in spite of common sense, whether she might not becaught by some disaster before she closed it again.
She went in and found her grandmother sitting back in her stiff chairand looking at some patterns of bright silks that lay on a little tablebeside her.
A great fire was burning and the room seemed to Rachel intolerably hot;she noticed at once that what Uncle John had said was true. Before shehad heard Rachel's entrance the Duchess looked an old, tired woman. Herhead was drooping a little over the blue and purple silks; she seemedhalf asleep.
But at the sound of the door she was alert; when she saw that it was hergranddaughter who stood there, tall and stately, her large black hatshadowing her face, she seemed in a moment to be transformed with energyand life--her head went up, her eyes flashed, her hands stiffened on herlap.
"May I c
ome in for a moment, grandmother?" Rachel said.
By the door she had wondered--how could she be afraid of this old sickwoman? Now as she crossed over to the fire her sternest self-command wassummoned to control her alarm. She was frightened by nothing butthis--here it was indeed as though there were some spell that seizedher.
"Certainly, my dear--come in." The Duchess gave a last look at the silksand then turned to her granddaughter. "I'm afraid you'll find it veryhot--I must have a fire, you know."
She had a trick of drawing in her lower lip as she spoke, so that herwords hissed a little over her teeth. She did not do this with everybodyand Rachel believed that it was only because she had noticed that Rachelas a little girl had been frightened of it that she did it now.
Rachel sat down opposite her and the heat of the fire and a scent ofsomething that had violets and mignonette in it--a scent that was alwaysin the room--stifled her so that her head began to swim and the rings onthe Duchess's hand to hypnotize her.
"There's a great party going on downstairs," she said.
"Yes. I know. John came up for a moment and told me about it--and howare you?"
"Very well, thank you, grandmamma. Roddy and I have been ever sosociable lately, given several dinner-parties and one musical thing."
"You're not looking very well. Roddy here?"
"Yes."
"Hope he'll come and see me before he goes. Hasn't been to see me muchlately."
Their eyes met. Rachel held her ground and then, beaten as though by aphysical blow, lowered her gaze.
"Oh! hasn't he? He's been here a lot, I thought. He's been very busyover some horses that he's had to go up and down to Seddon about."
"H'm. Well--I dare say he'll remember me again one day--so we're in fora war?"
"Yes. They don't seem to think it very serious though--Uncle Richardsays----"
"Your Uncle Richard knows nothing about it--nothing. However, I don'tthink anyone need be alarmed."
There was in this last sentence a ring in the Duchess's voice that flungher words out for the nation to grasp at. "No need, my good people, foryou to worry--_I_ have this in hand."
"Well, I'm very glad," said Rachel. "It's such a long while sinceanything has happened that it seems quite odd for everyone to havesomething to talk about except dinner-parties and scandal----"
The old woman looked across at her and then very slowly a smile rose,stiffened between her old dried lips and stayed there--
"What would you say, my dear, if Roddy thought it his duty to go anddefend his country?"
There was, suddenly, the sharp ring in her voice that Rachel knew sowell.
"I know," Rachel said quietly, "that Roddy would do his duty, and ofcourse I would want him to do that."
The Duchess, with her eyes still upon her granddaughter's face,said--"I've heard a good deal about a young friend of yours lately."
"Who is that, grandmamma?" Rachel said, and, in spite of herself herhand trembled a little against her dress.
"Nita Raseley."
Rachel caught her breath.
"I gather that you and she haven't seen so much of one another lately."
"Oh! I think we have. We never were great friends, you know."
"Did she enjoy her time at Seddon? A clever little thing. I shouldn'tdrop her, Rachel, if I were you."
"She seemed to enjoy Seddon, grandmamma. I must be going, I'm afraid,with the patient Roddy waiting for me. Shall I tell him to come up?"
The old hand struck the arm of the chair and the rings flashed.
"No, thank you, my dear. If he can't come of his own accord, I'd preferthat he had no prompting. There was a time when it was otherwise."
Rachel got up. Their eyes met again, and their hatred for one anotherwas so settled, so historic, so traditional an affair, that their glancenow was almost friendly.
Then Rachel bent down very slowly and kissed her grandmother's cheek.How much, she wondered, did she know of the Nita affair? Nita's spitewould, assuredly, have found a happy ground in which to plant its seed.Oh! how she loathed this thick clouded atmosphere, this deceit, thisdeceit! It seemed that, at every turn since her marriage, she had beendragged into an atmosphere of disguise and subterfuge anddouble-dealing.
Well, she was soon to be done with it. At the thought of what hergrandmother would say did she know of her friendship with Breton herheart beat triumphantly. There at any rate was a weapon!
"Well, good-bye, my dear. Come and see me again soon."
"Yes, grandmamma--good-bye."
IV
In the carriage with Roddy she suddenly laughed.
All those people, moving so solemnly with such self-importance aboutthat room. The Duke, Lord Richard, Aunt Adela ... Norris, thefootman....
Over them all that fierce commanding portrait. And upstairs that old,sick woman....
And beyond, away from that house, a war that that old woman and thoseself-important people saw only as a means of increasing their ownself-importance.
It was all as a box of tin soldiers and a parcel of stiff china-faceddolls--
What were they all about? What did they think they were all doing? What,after all, was she, Rachel? Had they no conception of the sawdust thatthey all were beside this real, swiftly moving, death-dealing War thatwas suddenly amongst them?
"What is it?" said Roddy.
"Grandmother--grandmother--my dear, delightful, wonderful grandmother.To think of her sitting all alone up there in her bedroom and all thosepeople moving about downstairs--all so conscious of her. And yet shedoes nothing--_nothing_." Rachel, in her excitement, struck her kneewith her hand. "She isn't even clever, really--She's never in all herlife been known to say a witty thing--never. She doesn't really knowmuch about politics.... She just sits there and acts--That's what it'salways been, acting the whole time. If it's effective to be old andfeeble she _is_ old and feeble--if it's effective to be fantastic she_is_ fantastic--She just sits still and takes people in. Why, if she'dwanted she could have been going out all these thirty years, I believe!"
"You're always unfair to her, Rachel," said Roddy. "You know she hasghastly pain often and often."
"Yes. I'll give her that," said Rachel. "She's brave--brave as anything.And after all," she added, "she couldn't affect me more if she were thewittiest woman in the world----"
Roddy yawned--"Dam dull party," he said.