Men and Wives Page 12

  “You did make me look a little ridiculous, Godfrey,” said Rachel.

  “My dear Rachel, I meant every word I said.”

  “I thought you hardly seemed to,” said Rachel.

  “Well, Rachel, you are not leaving us to-day, so I hope you don’t think you are,” said her host, doing himself definite justice.

  “I would never go if it were not for the claims of my own life. I have never had such a full time. A dinner party generally goes by itself. Godfrey, do you prepare your prayers beforehand?”

  “Rachel,” said Godfrey, bringing his fist down on the table, “I give you my word that not a thought on the subject passes my mind until the moment when the words fall from my lips.”

  “You are not one of those people whose whole life is a prayer then?” said Rachel. “It is not nearly the whole of it.”

  “Well, it happens to be one of the things I do,” said Godfrey modestly. “Harriet, try to manage a little more. Make an effort, my dear. You have been under a heavy strain, heavier than you can realise, as great as could befall a mortal woman.”

  “Her being mortal was the whole point of it,” said Rachel. “Gregory, you are looking at me with eyes of real affection. I believe I am your favourite of all your old ladies.”

  “I declare, Rachel, you are younger than any one of them,” said Godfrey. “Younger in spirit, I mean.”

  “I know that was your terrible meaning,” said Rachel. “Here are the two eldest of the others coming up the drive! It must be to inquire for Harriet. How can we make her look as little foolish as possible?”

  “I will tell the truth,” said Harriet.

  “Oh, no, my dear, I must protest against that,” said her husband.

  “I mean, I will say I took something I thought afterwards was harmful.”

  “That will do,” said Rachel. “We thought you meant you could not tell a lie. That would be absurd after what you could do yesterday.”

  “Show the ladies in, show them in,” said Godfrey to Buttermere, without waiting to be asked. “We have nothing to prevent us from seeing our friends this morning.”

  “Now, we already have a reply to our question!” said Agatha, advancing with her hand raised towards Harriet. “We have been in such anxiety about you, that we felt we must come to inquire. And here you are, an answer in yourself!”

  “She sounds quite reproachful!” said Geraldine.

  “It is providential that Mother is an answer in herself,” said Griselda to Jermyn. “Now perhaps they won’t want any other answer.”

  “I feel so ashamed of giving everyone such a fright,” said Harriet. “I swallowed something that I thought a moment later was something else, and got a shock, and I am afraid made a fuss. But it turned out that it was nothing.”

  “I am sure I should make a fuss in such circumstances,” said Geraldine. “It seems to me that every quivering string within one would threaten to snap.”

  “You must have had some terrible moments,” said Agatha to Godfrey.

  “Terrible! That is the word, Mrs. Calkin, terrible. We thought for some moments—well, I won’t tell you what we thought. But we had those moments. We lived through them. We have that behind us.”

  He put his hand on Harriet’s shoulder, and she raised her hand to his.

  “You have all had a sad experience for your ages,” said Agatha, looking round.

  “Yes, do give us some sympathy,” said Jermyn. “Mother has nearly all of it, and Father any that is left.”

  “What was it that she took?” said Geraldine.

  “Something marked poisonous, that was happily not poisonous at all,” said Jermyn.

  “Oh, what kind of thing?” said Geraldine.

  “The sleeping tablet she was right to take, that had got into the wrong bottle,” said Matthew. “She dispenses medicine to the maids. It is quite unnecessary to have such things about again.”

  “Quite, in that case,” said Rachel. “Why did you have them, Harriet?”

  “The servants can keep anything like that for themselves in future,” said Godfrey.

  “Then we shall be quite free from anxiety,” said Rachel. “Nothing marked ‘poisonous’ within reach of the family.”

  “I admit I am in sympathy with your attitude,” said Geraldine, chuckling in guilty fellow-feeling. “I fear I am a thorough-going conservative at heart.”

  “Well, we will not stay,” said Agatha. “We shall carry away much easier minds than we brought with us.”

  “It is too kind of you, Mrs. Calkin,” said Godfrey. “We appreciate it from the bottom of our hearts. We are unlike ourselves this morning, but we shall not forget it.”

  “I am sure you must be,” said Agatha kindly, as she shook hands.

  “You should protest that they are not. That is not at all the way to respond,” said her sister.

  Agatha stood with an aspect of practised patience.

  “Are you coming in to see us this afternoon?” she said to Gregory.

  “Yes, do, my dear,” said Harriet, as Gregory glanced in her direction. “I shall be glad for you to have a change from me.”

  “Then I will come to tea, if I may,” said Gregory.

  “Harriet, I cannot understand why you feel that Matthew and Jermyn should not give themselves to creative work,” said Rachel. “Think what they will accomplish in their lives, when they can do so much in a few minutes!”

  “I am not going to feel it any longer. I will be simply thankful for them and for their gifts.”

  “You must have been thankful for those just now,” said Rachel. “I should have been, in your place. I was in my own. But they must not stay and see you losing your personality before their eyes. And, Godfrey, don’t stand there, brooding over Geraldine. You should keep your mind on wholesome things. And here is another inquirer coming to probe for the truth! Of course it is well worth probing for. I wonder if people would inquire for me, if I took a tablet from the wrong bottle—do remember it was that—or if they would think it natural to pass away at my age, or a mercy, or a happy release, or all for the best, or anything else that excuses survivors from grief. It is Ernest Bellamy! I should love to have him inquire for me, if any illness now might not be my last. I hope he did not see me looking out of the window, and being reminded of the dream of my youth. He must get so apt at recognising that expression.”

  “Now this is the sight of all sights I would choose to see!” said Bellamy in a grave, vibrating tone. “Fate deals with me this morning as I would choose.”

  “We are indebted to you, Rector,” said Godfrey. “My poor wife gave us a terrible fright, and herself into the bargain. She didn’t get out of it herself. She took what was really a sleeping tablet, that had got into a bottle marked ‘dangerous’, and we had some minutes before Dufferin arrived to put us out of our misery. Every moment of that time is imprinted on my brain, and will go down to the grave with me.”

  “I hope you are as ashamed of yourself as you ought to be,” said Bellamy to Harriet.

  “Yes, I am. I caused great suffering.”

  “To yourself as well as to others.”

  “Yes. She can feel that nobody went through what she did,” said Rachel.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, Rachel,” said Godfrey.

  “This is not a case where two people can be one flesh,” said Matthew. “Mother has earned the doubtful distinction of suffering in utter loneliness.”

  “Matthew, would you rather have your mother harmed than yourself?” said his father in a tone high from incredulity.

  “Of course he would,” said Rachel. “That is the weak point about suicide, that no one feels the worst has happened.”

  “Well, well, we are not given the choice,” said Godfrey.

  “There would be very little gained by it,” said Matthew.

  “I wonder what we should think of anyone who rated himself below anyone else. Just as a matter of theory, I mean,” said Godfrey, having disposed of the subject otherwi
se with advantage.

  “It could never be a matter of anything else,” said Matthew.

  “Well, well, I have seen some fine things in my life,” said Godfrey, his eyelids flickering.

  “Can you tell us of a single one?” said Rachel.

  “Oh, well, they are hardly things one speaks about.”

  “If they happened, you would never speak of anything else,” said Griselda.

  “Feelings can be too deep for words,” said Godfrey.

  “We must never talk again about those we had when Mother’s moment came,” said Jermyn.

  “I think I have said least about mine,” said Rachel. “Take Mr. Bellamy out to see the horses, Godfrey. There is no need to show any more solicitude for Harriet. Nothing really happened to her at all. A hostess always has a parting gossip with a guest, and she can simply do her duty. Now, Harriet, this is not a thing you can really be apathetic about.”

  “It is not much of a matter,” said Harriet.

  “It was a matter of life and death.”

  “Only my life or death. I made too much of it.”

  “You did, if that was your view. We got the impression that you felt quite definitely.”

  “I did at the moment, just at the moment,” said Harriet in a dreamy tone.

  “My dear, had you any excuse for putting yourself in the limelight, when you should have been throwing up your guests? You owe it to me to explain.”

  “I will perhaps tell Gregory some time,” said Harriet, “but perhaps I shall not tell him.”

  Rachel looked at her in silence.

  “Do you like the idea of Griselda’s marrying Ernest Bellamy?”

  “I must not dislike what my dear ones do. I have found I must not.”

  “No, that is true love,” said Rachel.

  “I am not sure,” said Harriet, raising melancholy eyes.

  “I am,” said Rachel. “It is so untrue that we can love the sinner and hate the sin.”

  Harriet smiled.

  “But I find it hard to wish my girl to marry a man who has divorced his wife,” she said.

  “Why, what better way could there be of dealing with her? It is as far as possible removed from Percy’s way, which is the worst.”

  “She would only be living in the town; and Antony is a friend of ours. Griselda would often have to meet her.”

  “Only in the flesh,” said Rachel. “That puts a woman at a disadvantage compared with oils, and the town is a fair distance compared with the dining-room.”

  “Well, I must let things go as they will. I have found I have not the strength for guidance.”

  “Harriet, things deserve a little spirit, that are worth committing suicide about. I begin to see there was no excuse for what you did.”

  “There was not. I hope I may be forgiven.”

  “I hardly see how you can be.”

  “I cannot forgive myself.”

  “Well, then you can understand it.”

  “God is good. He tempers judgment with mercy.”

  “Then perhaps it hardly matters. But it is difficult not to feel only judgment. God may be different, but I can’t have mercy on a friend who keeps everything selfishly to herself.”

  “You don’t know how little I want it all for myself.”

  “How can I, when you won’t give a word of it away?”

  “If I could make you understand, I would not.”

  “I really have cause for complaint,” said Rachel. “Here is Percy come to fetch me! Camilla is sitting in the carriage with him, and he is letting Johnson drive, to give all his attention to her. No doubt she has come to inquire. She doesn’t know how little good it is. What a primitive quality it is, that power over men! I do respect Camilla for it, and I rather respect Percy for responding to it. If I had had it, do you suppose I should have been a second wife? Camilla, I should be proud of you, if I were your mother.”

  “Mother is not the foremost among my proud, but other people make up for her, notably my husbands. My former husband was quite proud, and my future husband is prouder. Proud, prouder, proudest! There will have to be a third. We heard that you were clothed and in your right mind, Lady Haslam, but nothing would do for Mother but that I should come to inquire. So here I am, inquiring. Sir Percy gave me a lift, and I began to teach him the art of pride. I promised to sit by him on the way back. You won’t mind, Lady Hardisty? It is his fault, not mine. People always ask me to sit by them again.”

  “Then I am glad Percy did,” said Rachel. “It is so unfair to say that he is not like other people. Harriet, I try to forgive you for not treating me as a friend. I won’t bring Percy in to be a witness of it; and making inquiries of you is simply a mockery. Come along, Camilla, and sit by Percy. Percy, Camilla is going to keep her promise.”

  “Oh, what?” said Sir Percy, getting to his feet in the carriage. “I did not see you in time to get out, my dear. Harriet is still all right? Ah, that is good to hear. No, I won’t go in. She saw enough of me last night, and we must wait to see enough of her. Yes, I told Mrs. Bellamy we would take her home. We shall have the pleasure of Camilla’s company on our way back, Rachel.”

  “There now, he has given me right away!” said Camilla. “I couldn’t bring myself to warn him. The sight of his face would have been too much. But I expect you guessed I was romancing.”

  “No, my dear, it sounded to me so likely; but I am sorry you did not warn Percy; you will have to sit behind with me. Percy must not suspect; he would be too upset about failing a woman. I don’t mean that he has failed in his heart; it was only because he was disturbed about Harriet. He will not another time. Gregory, go indoors and sit with your mother. She must not bear the miss of me by herself.”

  “I adore Lady Haslam,” said Camilla, “though she by no means pays me back in kind. I surprise myself in returning good for evil.”

  “We all adore her in proportion to the good in us,” said Rachel. “I saw there was much good in you, my dear; and I saw Percy seeing it in the carriage. She is most of all to me.”

  Gregory had gone to his mother and settled himself at her feet.

  “Now tell me all about it,” he said.

  “About what, my son?”

  “About all the things that made you do it. Tell me in plain, simple language so that I understand.”

  “If the feeling should come again,” said his mother in a low, musing tone, “it would seem a hard thing to have failed to do it, when I had made up my mind. There was the making up my mind. But I have not felt since that I very much want to do it.” She raised her eyes as if seeking explanation of her feelings.

  “Will you promise to tell me, if you want to again?”

  “I don’t know if I ought. You are so young, my poor boy. I have already brought too much on you.”

  “Will you promise?” said Gregory.

  “Yes, dear,” said Harriet, in a voice that held no meaning.

  “You don’t break your promises, do you?” said Gregory, looking at her doubtfully.

  “No, we don’t break promises,” said Harriet. “Here is your father.”

  “Well now, Harriet, here you are, sitting with your son!” said Godfrey, as though he spoke glad words. “Well, you are a heroine. I knew that the first time I saw you; I sensed the stuff you were made of. Well, Gregory, and how do you find your mother this morning?”

  “Not very good at telling the truth about the darkness into which she descended.”

  “Ah, now, Gregory, we won’t go into that,” said his father with a movement of shuddering. “We will leave it to fade away. It is as if it had not happened. That is what it is to me, what it will be for all of us, for your mother first of all. She is right not to tell you; she makes the wise decision; we can trust her to make it. Now what you have to do is to help her to forget it, to sweep it right out of her mind, and the way to do that is to forget it yourself. Forget it, Gregory. Serve your mother by controlling yourself in that matter.”

  Harriet raised he
r eyes and rested them on her husband and son, as if weighing the difference between them.

  “Forget it, Gregory, forget it,” repeated Godfrey, turning himself on his heels with his hands in his pockets, and seeming to feel released from something normally involved in his wife’s presence. “Forgetting it is the thing we have to remember.”

  Harriet gave a low laugh.

  “Oh, that is what you are doing, Harriet!” said Godfrey, pausing on his heels, and bending from his waist towards his wife. “Laughing at your poor old husband, because he is advising what is best for you! And this boy aiding and abetting you! Well, what a wife and son to have! Wife and son to have—wife and son!” The speaker revolved in time to his refrain.

  Harriet and Gregory laughed together, and Harriet continued her laughter as if she could not control it.

  “Well, you are cheerful enough without me at the moment. I needn’t stay to be made a stock of. Not but what I am glad to be anything for you, my dear. If you need me, send to where I am, the stables or the garden or the library, and I am with you.”

  “Places in the order of probability,” said Gregory.

  His mother laughed again, and her laughter seemed to hold and shake her.

  “You had better come upstairs and lie down,” said Gregory, holding out his hand. “It was very unwise to get up at all this morning. Some of us ought to have thought of it.”

  Harriet looked at the hand as if uncertain of its purpose, deliberately placed hers in it, and rose. She stumbled as she went upstairs, and fell again into hysterical mirth. Gregory helped her on to her bed, and went to his father in the stables.

  “I can’t make Mother out this morning. Of course there must be some reaction from the strain of yesterday, but I don’t understand her state. She is emotional in a way that is not like her, and seems to have no control of herself. I suppose it doesn’t mean anything?”

  “What it means, Gregory, is this,” said his father, passing his hand down a horse. “It means that your mother is a wonderful woman, and has made up her mind to cease throwing a blight, to atone to us for what she has made us suffer. Ah, if there is anyone who appreciates your mother, it is I. If there is anyone whose bitterness is swallowed up in admiration, it is I, it is mine, it is I.”