CHAPTER VIII
CHRISTOPHER'S DAY
"I judge more than I used to--but it seems to me that I have earned the right. One can't judge till one is forty; before that we are too eager, too hard, too cruel, and in addition too ignorant."
HENRY JAMES.
I
The War had the City in its grip. There was now, during these earlyweeks of November, no other thought, no other anxiety, no otherinterest. The shock of its reality came most severely upon those whoselives had been most unreal. Here, in the midst of their dining and theirdancing, was the sure fact that many whom they knew and with whom theyhad been in the habit of playing might now, at any moment, find death--
Here was a reality against which there was no argument, and against theharshness of it music screamed and food was uninteresting.
During that first month of that war, so new a thing was the horridgrimness of it, that hysteria was abroad, life was twopence coloured.For everyone now it was the question--"What might they do?"
Something to help, something to ease that biting truth--"Your life hasbeen the most utterly useless business--no purpose, no strength, nounselfishness from first to last--what now?"
Christopher's life had not been useless and he knew it. The reality ofit had never been in doubt and death--the haphazard surprise of it andthe pathos and melodrama and sometimes drab monotony of it--had been hiscompanion for many years.
Christopher, although he had been a hard worker from his childhood, hadalways taken life lightly. He loved the gifts of this world--food andamusement and exercise and pleasant company. He loved, also, certainpeople whose lives were of immense concern to him. He also believed in aquite traditional God about Whom he had never argued, but Whose definiteparticular existence was as certain to him as his own.
He had faults that he tried to cure--his temper--his pleasure in foodand wine.
He had three great motives in his life--His love of God, his love of hisfriends and his love of his work. He hated hypocrites, mean persons,cruel persons, anyone who showed cowardice or deceit or arrogance. Hewas dogmatic and therefore disliked anyone else to be so. He was humbleabout his work, but not humble about his position in the world, which hethought, quite frankly, a very good one.
His interest in his especial friends was compounded of his love for themand also of his curiosity about them, and he always loved someone themore if he or she gave him the opportunity to practise hisinquisitiveness upon them.
After Rachel Seddon he cared more, perhaps, for Francis Breton thananyone in the world. He had also of late been interested in Roddy, whowas a far better fellow than he had expected.
One puzzle, meanwhile, obstinately and continually beset him. What hadhappened to Breton during this last year? Something, or in surerprobability someone, had been behind him. Christopher might haveflattered himself that he had been the influence, but he knew that, ifthat had been so, Breton's attitude to him would have implied it. Bretonwas fond of him, but did not owe that to him. Who then was it?
On one of these November days he invited a friend and Breton to luncheontogether.
Christopher's geniality and the supreme importance of the war overeverything else helped amiability. Christopher's little house in HarleyStreet showed, beyond its consulting-room, a cheerful Philistineappreciation of comfort and love. There was old silver, there were oldprints, sofas, soft carpets, book-cases, whose glass coverings weremore important than their contents. Also a luncheon that was the mostartistic thing that the house contained, save only the wine.
At the side of the round gleaming table Christopher sat smiling, andsoon Breton told the friend about India and the friend told Breton aboutAfrica.
Meanwhile Christopher watched Breton. He knew Breton very well and, inthe old days, he would have said that that nervous excitement that theman sometimes betrayed meant that he was on the edge of some mostfoolish action.
He knew that light in the eyes, that excited voice, thatrestlessness--these things had meant that Breton's self-control wasabout to break.
To-day there were all these signs, and Christopher knew that afterluncheon Breton would escape him.
Breton did escape him, went off somewhere in a hurry; no, Christophercould not drive him--he was going in the opposite direction.
Whilst Christopher drove, first down to Eaton Square, then back to 104Portland Place, he was wondering about Breton....
II
It seemed that, on this afternoon, he was unduly sensitive toimpression. The house struck him with a chill, deserted air. Thereseemed to be no one about as Norris led him up to the Duchess's rooms,the old portraits grinned at him, as though they would have him to knowthat, very soon, the house would be once more in their possession andBeaminsters dead and gone be of more importance than Beaminsters alive.
At any rate it was a cold November day, and always now the streetsseemed to echo with newsboys crying out editions.
Even through these stone walls, those cries could penetrate; he couldhear one as he climbed the stairs.
The Duchess, looking peaked and shrivelled, received him with aneagerness that showed that she was longing for company. The room wasclose, but, in spite of that, now and again she shivered a little.
As he sat opposite her the glance that she flung him was almostpathetic--struggling to maintain her pride, but showing, too, that shemight now, in his company, a little relax that great effort.
"I'm not so well," she said; "I've slept badly."
"I'm sorry for that," he said; "what's the trouble?"
"It's this war," she said, taking her eyes away from his face. "Thiswar--I don't think I've ever felt anything before, but this--Oh! I'mold, old at last," she said almost savagely.
"Everybody's feeling it just now," Christopher answered her quietly. "Isuppose I'm as level-headed as most people, but even I have beenimagining things to-day--Nerves, simply nerves----"
"Nonsense," she answered him--"Don't tell _me_, Christopher. What have Iever had to do with nerves?"
"Wait a little. All we want is to get used to War: it's a new experiencefor all of us----"
She laughed sharply--
"It's ludicrous, but really you'd think if you studied my family that Iwas responsible for the whole thing. It's positively as though I'd madesome huge blunder which they would do their best to excuse. Adela,John--I'm now to them an old sick woman who's got to be kept quiet andaway from worry. They wouldn't have _dared_ let me see that six monthsago--"
Her voice was trembling.
She went on again, more quietly. "Every hour now one hears some horriblething. This morning that young Dick Staveling dead, shot in someskirmish or another--Fine boy he was. They're all going out, one afterthe other--Not useless idiots who aren't wanted here like John orVincent--but boys, boys like--like Roddy."
Again her voice trembled.
For the first time in his knowledge of her some pity for her stirred inhim, for the first time in her knowledge of him she definitely looked tohim with some appeal.
"Roddy came to see me yesterday," she said.
"Yes?" said Christopher.
"He had not been so often as he used--I told him so; he made some feebleapology, but I can see that he will not come again so often----"
He would have interrupted her, but she went on--"He's not happy, but heloves her madly--madly. He did not tell me so, but I could see that.That was something I had never reckoned on."
"You prefer," Christopher said sharply, "to imagine that he is nothappy. I know, unfortunately, what your feeling is about Rachel. Fond ofhim though you are you'd prefer that he was unhappy with her."
"I know that he is unhappy. He would not care for her so much if shereturned it. I know Roddy. But she's clever enough----" She broke off.
"If Roddy were to go out to South Africa," she said, "I think I wouldkill Rachel--then die happy----"
"Forgive me," Christopher said, "but this is sheer melodrama. Rachel isdevoted to Roddy and Roddy to
Rachel. I've the best means forknowing----"
Even as he spoke he saw her mouth curve with that smile that was alwaysthe wickedest thing about her. He had seen it on many occasions and italways meant that, then, in her heart there was something cruel orremorseless.
It gave her now an elfin look so that, amongst the absurd furniture ofthe room, she took her place as some old witch might take hers amongstthe paraphernalia of her incantations--her cauldron, her bones, hernoxious herbs.
"That shows, Christopher my friend, that you know very little. I've apiece of news that will surprise you."
He said nothing, but, in his heart, made ready for some blow.
"What would you say if our Rachel--your Rachel and my Rachel--had founda new friend in my worthy, most admirable nephew, Francis?"
"Rachel--Rachel and Breton?"
The Duchess watched him with amusement. "Exactly. I have the surestinformation----"
"What does your--information--say?"
He hated her at that moment as he had never hated her before.
"It says--and I know that it is true--that for more than a year now theyhave been meeting and corresponding--The other day Rachel went to teawith him--alone. Was with him alone for some time--I'm sure that Roddyknows nothing of this----"
"It's impossible--impossible! Rachel is the soul of honour----"
"I know that you have always thought so. But what more likely? Theirfeeling about myself would, alone, be enough...."
But he would not let her see how hardly he was taking it. He deprivedher of her triumph, did not even question her as to what she would dowith it, turned the conversation into other channels, and left her atlast--seeming there, amongst her candles, with her nose and thin hands,like some old bird of most evil omen.
III
But for him there was to be no more peace.
It was now about four o'clock and already the dusk was closing in aboutthe town. He decided that he would go and see whether Rachel were in.
He was determined that he would ask Rachel nothing; if she wished tospeak to him he would help her, but it must be of her own freewill--that was the only way at present.
For how much was the Duchess's malignity responsible? What exactly didshe know? What did she intend to do?
Oddly enough, for a long time past some subconscious part of him hadlinked Rachel and Breton together, perhaps because they were the twopersons in all the world for whom he most cared, perhaps because he hadalways known in both of them that rebellious discontent so unlike thatBeaminster acquiescence.
As he drove through the evening streets, he felt that never, until now,had he known how dearly he loved Rachel. In his mind there was nojudgment of her, only a sense of her peril; if she would speak tohim!...
When he asked at the door of the flat for Lady Seddon he was told thatshe was out.
"Sir Roderick is at home, sir." He would see Roddy.
Roddy was sitting in the little box-like room known as the smoking-room,poring over a war map. About the map little flags were dotted; he hadtwo in his hand and, with one hand lifted, was hesitating as to theirposition.
"That was a damned bad mess----" Christopher heard him say as he camein.
At the sound of the door Roddy looked up, straightened himself, and thencame forward.
"Hallo! Christopher," he said. "Delighted. Splendid! Rachel's out, butshe said she'd be back to tea."
He was not looking well--fat, his cheeks pale and puffy, lines beneathhis eyes.
"I'm jolly glad you've come," he said. He drew two arm-chairs to thefire and they sat down.
Roddy then talked a great deal. He was always a little nervous withChristopher because he was well aware that the doctor had disapproved ofhis marriage.
Christopher had lately shown him that he liked him, but still Roddy wasnot at his ease. He talked of the war, then of golf, then polo, thenhorses, Seddon Court--abruptly he stopped and sat there gazing moodilyinto the fire.
"You're not looking well, Seddon," Christopher said quietly.
"I'm not very--Nobody's at their liveliest just now with fellers oneknows droppin' out any minute.... One feels a bit of a worm keepin' outof it all--skunkin' rather----"
Moodily he sat there, his head hanging, dejected as Christopher hadnever seen him before.
Suddenly he said--"That ain't quite the truth, Doctor. I _am_ a bitworried----"
"My dear boy," Christopher said, putting his hand on the other'sknee--"If there's anything in the world I can do for you, tell me."
"Thank you. You're a brick. I'm damned unhappy, Christopher, and that'sthe truth----"
"Rachel----" said Christopher.
"Yes--Rachel. I got to talk to somebody. I've been goin' along on my ownnow for months and I know you're fond of her----"
"I am," said Christopher, "more than of anyone in the world----"
"I know. That's how I can talk to you. I wouldn't have you think I'mcomplainin' of her. I'm gettin' nothin' but what I asked for, you know.But it's just this. When she took me she never said she loved me, infact she said she didn't, but I thought that it wouldn't matter--all youwanted in marriage was just to be pals and show up about the towntogether and treat one another honourably. Well," said Roddy, taking nowa melancholy interest in his discoveries concerning himself, "damn itall, if I haven't rotted the bargain by fallin' in love with her. Jove!Why, I hadn't a ghost's guess at what Love meant before Rachel camealong. Of course it isn't her fault. You couldn't expect her to love anordinary sort of chap like me, just like a million other fellersknockin' about--but she's so unusual there ain't another woman in theworld so surprisin' as Rachel--
"She's fond of me," he went on, "I know that, but what I want she justcan't give me and that's the long and short of it.
"Lately it's been terrible hard. She's not happy and that makes me wild,and every day that passes I seem to want her more. Nothin' else, no oneelse matters now. I've been playin' golf, ridin', sittin' down to thisbridge they're all getting mad about, doin' every blessed thing--itisn't any use. Do you know, Christopher," he said slowly, "I'd give mysoul to make her happy and I just can't----"
"I know----" said Christopher.
"But it's worse than that--" Roddy went on, taking up the poker andknocking on the fire--"Lately she's been having a room of her own.Started it a while ago as a temporary thing and now she sticks to it. Uphere, in this damned town, we hardly see one another; always a crowdeither here or outside. I know Rachel don't like it and I don't like it,but there it is--
"Next week we're going down to Seddon and things may get betterthere--But I can't stand it much more--not like this."
"Wait a bit. It'll come all right." Christopher spoke confidently. "I'veknow Rachel since she was a small child. She's half Russian, youknow--you must always remember that--and Russian and Beaminster make astrange mixture--Wait----"
"That's so easy to say--" Roddy answered, shaking his head. "It's soeasy to say, but I don't see just what's goin' to make things differentfrom what they are----"
"No--one never sees," said Christopher. "And then Destiny comes alongand does something that we call coincidence and just settles it all.Your trouble will be settled, Roddy, if you're patient----"
"Perhaps," Roddy said slowly, "you could see her a bit--find out----" hestopped.
"Anything in the world I can do I will. We'll find a way. Meanwhile,Seddon, there is a bit of advice I can give you----"
"What's that?" asked Roddy.
"Go and see the Duchess more than you've been doing. See her a lot--morethan you did ever----"
"Oh! the Duchess!" Roddy sighed. "I don't know, but it all seemsdifferent with her now. I've changed, I suppose. All her ideas areold-fashioned and wrong; I used to think her rather splendid----"
"Yes--but she's ill and old, and you're the only person in the world shecares about."
"Yes, I'll go," said Roddy slowly. "I've known I ought to go."
Voices broke in upon them; the door opened and Rachel, followed by herfri
end May Cremlin, once May Eversley, came in--
"Oh! Dr. Chris! You dear!" she cried, and came forward and flung herarms about him and kissed him.
Her cheeks were flushed, from her black furs her eyes shone at him. Somethought caught him. He knew where he had seen that excited glitteralready to-day--Breton at luncheon--
They all talked. Then Christopher said that he must go.
Rachel came with him to the door. In the hall she looked at himdefiantly, that flash he knew so well.
"You never come now, Dr. Chris: you've given me up."
"I don't care for you in a crowd very much. There's always a crowdnow----"
"Ask me alone and I'll come," she said, but still her eyes were defiant.
"No," he said gravely. "I'll do no asking, Rachel. When you want me I'mthere for you at any time--at _any_ time----"
For answer she flung her arms again about him and hugged him. Her heartwas beating furiously. Then without another word she left him.
IV
He could not go back to Harley Street yet. The sense of apprehensionthat had been growing with him all day would give him a melancholyevening, were he to spend it alone. He thought of Brun. Someone had toldhim that the little man was in London.
He found him in his rooms, reading, with a cynical expression on hisface, a French review.
"I came to see--" said Christopher, "whether you happened to be freeto-night and would dine with me. I'm a pessimist for once this eveningand it doesn't suit me!"
Brun was very, very sorry, but he was dining with a Russian princess; itwas most tiresome that he should have to waste his time with a Russianprincess when he'd come over to London on this occasion expressly tostudy the English people at this interesting crisis of their affairs,but there it was--he'd no idea how he'd let himself in for it, and howmuch rather would he spend the evening with his friend, Christopher.
Christopher said that he would smoke one cigarette and that then he mustgo.
"And so you feel pessimistic?" said Brun, looking at Christophercuriously--"It's the war, _Je crois bien_--How alike you all are!"
"No," said Christopher, "I don't think the war's much to do with it. Idare say the war's a very good thing for all of us."
"Didn't I tell you--?" said Brun, greatly excited--then pulled himselfup--"No, it wasn't you. It was Arkwright. More than a year ago we werein a picture gallery looking at your Duchess's picture, and coming homewe talked. I said then that something would come, that something _must_come, and that then everything, _everything_ would crumple up. Andbehold!" cried Brun, his eyes flashing--"See, it crumples!"
"That's a little previous of you," said Christopher. "Nothing crumpledyet. We're disturbed of course----"
"It is most lucky," Brun said, "most lucky. Here we are, you and I,ordinary people enough, with the end of a Period with its death and theway it takes it, all for us to watch. _Most_ lucky...."
"End of Victorian Age ... _Voila!_" and with a little dramatic gesturehe waved his hand as though he were flinging the Age and its lumberaway, out of the window.
"You know, Christopher," he went on, "I've seen things coming over herefor so long. All you people, you couldn't have gone on very much longerso remote from life. And now this--it will finish your Duchess, yourBeaminsters, your queen in her bonnet, your Sundays and your religionand your Whigs and Tories, and all your hypocrisies--No names any moretaken just because they've always been taken, but new names made by menwho're doing things. Nothing taken for granted any more.
"Your Beaminsters will vanish, and then you'll have your Denisons andOaks and Ruddards on top. Then you'll see a time. You'll all be spinninglike a top, dancing, dancing like dervishes. Then while you're busydancing up the other people will quietly come--all the real people, theIndividualists--Women will have their justice--no man will skunk behindhis garden hedge because he doesn't want to be bothered. No moresuperstition, no more inefficiency----"
"You're a wonderful fellow, Brun," said Christopher, getting up andflinging away the end of his cigarette. "You've always got any amount tosay--but do you never think of people as people, not as theories ormovements or developments----"
"No, thank God, I don't. That's for the sentimentalists like you,Christopher. People are all the same, fools or knaves."
"Well, I'm glad I don't think so," said Christopher.
"Tell me," Brun put his little hand on the other's elbow, "yourBeaminsters now, how are they?"
"They're all right."
"The Duchess? I hear she's not so well----"
"Oh! nonsense--Well as she's been any time these last thirty years."
"Yes? So--I'm glad. But the other Beaminsters? Ah! I must go quickly andcall--To see them burst asunder, that will be most amusing----"
Christopher laughed. "You won't see the Duke or Richard Beaminsterburst," he said--"They're like you--no personal feeling."
"And the girl?"
"Lady Seddon?"
"Yes. She'll stir things up. She's not a Beaminster, or only enough ofone to make her hate the family. And she does hate them, _hein_?"
"Oh, my dear Brun, you've got an absurdly exaggerated view abouteverything. You'd twist the Beaminsters into anything to make them fityour theory."
"Oh, they'll fit it right enough. But I must be in at the death. We'llmeet there together, Christopher. Things will occur before we're mucholder, my sentimentalist."
Christopher shook his head. "There's something sinister about yourappearances in the City, Brun. 'Where the carcases are, there will....'"
Brun nodded. "It's true enough this time," he said.