Phyllis Bottome - The Dark Tower

“But people oughtn’t to import arms. I’ll go as far as that! It’s against discipline. Whether it’s one side or the other, it ought to be stopped.

“There’ll be a row, of course — a healthy, blood-letting hell of a row, and we shall all be the better for it! But I don’t approve of firearms being let loose all over the place — it’s un-English. It only shows what the poor devils at Ulster must have suffered, and be afraid of suffering, to resort to it! That sort of thing is all very well in the Balkans. My son Winn’s been talking about the Balkans lately — kind of thing the army’s always getting gas off about! What I say is — let ’em fight! They got the Turk down once, all of ’em together, and he was the only person that could keep ’em in hand. Now I hear Austria wants to start trouble in Serbia because of that assassination in June. What they want to make a fuss about assassination in that family for I can’t think! I should look upon it as an hereditary disease and leave it at that! But don’t tell me it’s anything to worry about compared to Ulster. What’s the danger of a country that talks thirteen languages, has no non-commissioned officers, and always gets beat when it fights? Sarah! Sarah! Get the people in for tea. Can’t you see there’s a shower coming? Damn it all! And my second crop of hay’s not in yet! That’s what comes of giving garden parties. Of course I’m very glad to see you all, but you know what I mean. No shilly-shallying with the English climate’s my motto — it’s the only dangerous thing we’ve got!”

Lady Staines disregarded this admonition. The light clouds above the elms puffed idly in the heavy air. It was a hot bright day, murmurous with bees and the idle, half notes of midsummer birds.

Estelle, in the most diaphanous of blue muslins, held a little court under a gigantic mulberry tree. She had always intended marriage with a Staines to be like this.

Winn was nowhere to be seen, and his mother plodded patiently to and fro across the lawn, bringing a line of distinguished visitors to be introduced to her.

They were kind, curt people who looked at Estelle rather hard, and asked her absurd questions about Winn’s regiment, Sir Peter’s ships, and her baby. They had no general ideas, but however difficult they were to talk to, Estelle knew they were the right people to meet — she had seen their names in magazines. None of her own family were there; they had all been invited, but Estelle had preferred their remaining at home. She had once heard Sir Peter refer to her father as “Old Moneybags.” He had apologized afterwards, but he might do it again.

Lady Staines was the only person who noticed the arrival of two telegrams — they were taken to Charles and James, who were at that moment in the refreshment tent opposite the claret cup. The telegrams arrived simultaneously, and Charles said, “Good Lord!” and James said, “My hat!” when they read the contents, with every symptom of surprise and pleasure.

“I shouldn’t have supposed,” Lady Staines thought to herself, “that two of my boys would have backed the same horse. It must be a coincidence.”

They put the telegrams rather carefully away, and shortly afterwards she observed that they had set off together in the direction of the village sports.

The long golden twilight drew to a close, the swallows swooped and circled above the heavy, darkened elms. The flowers in the long herbaceous borders had a fragile look in the colorless soft air.

The garden party drifted slowly away.

Lady Staines stopped her daughter-in-law going into the house; but she was destined never to tell her what she thought of her. Estelle escaped Nemesis by the turn of a hair.

Sir Peter came out of the library prepared to inspect the lawn. “What’s up with those boys?” he demanded, struck by the unusual sight of his three sons advancing towards him from the river, their heads bent in talk, and not apparently quarreling.

Lady Staines followed the direction of his eyes; then she said to Estelle, “You’d better go in now, my dear; I’ll talk to you later.”

Sir Peter shouted in his stentorian voice an appeal to his sons to join him. Lady Staines, while she waited, took off her white kid gloves and her purple bonnet, and deposited them upon the balustrades.

“What are you up to,” demanded Sir Peter when they came within earshot, “sticking down there by the river with your heads glued together like a set of damned Guy Fawkeses — instead of saying good-by to your mother’s guests — who haven’t had the sense to get under way before seven o’clock — though I gave ’em a hint to be off an hour ago?”

“Helping villagers to climb greasy poles, and finishing a sack race,” Charles explained. “Lively time Winn’s been having down there — I had no idea our second housemaid was so pretty.”

“None of that! None of that!” said Sir Peter, sharply. “You keep to bar-maids, young Charles — and manicure girls, though there ought to be an act of Parliament against ’em! Still, I’ll admit you can’t do much harm here — three of you together, and your mother on the front doorstep!”

“Harm,” said James, winking in the direction of his mother; “what can poor chaps like us do — here to-day and gone to-morrow — Mother’d better keep her eye on those near home!”

“Off to-night you might as well say!” remarked Charles, glancing at James with a certain intentness.

“Why off to-night?” asked Lady Staines. “I thought you were staying over the week-end?”

“Winn’s put us on to something,” explained Charles. “Awfully good show, he says — on at the Oxford. Pretty hot stuff and the censor hasn’t smelt it out yet — we rather thought we’d run up to-night and have a look at it.”

Winn stuck his hands in his pockets, set his jaw, and looked at his mother. Lady Staines was regarding him with steady eyes.

“You didn’t get a telegram, too?” she asked.

“No,” said Winn. “Why should I?”

“Not likely,” said James, genially. “Always behindhand in the — ”

“Damn these midges!” said Charles, hurriedly. James stopped with his mouth open.

“Army, you were going to say, weren’t you?” asked his mother, suavely. “If you are my sons I must say you make uncommonly poor liars.”

Sir Peter, whose attention had wandered to tender places in the lawn, looked up sharply.

“What’s that? What’s that?” he asked. “Been telling lies, have they? A nice way you’ve brought ’em up, Sarah! What have they been lying about? A woman? Because if they have, I won’t hear a word about it! Lies about a woman are perfectly correct, though I’m hanged if I can see how they can all three be lying about one woman. That seems a bit thick, I must say.”

To Sir Peter’s surprise, nobody made any reply. Charles yawned, James whistled, and Winn kept his eyes steadily fixed on Lady Staines.

“Those were orders then,” Lady Staines observed in a dry quiet voice. “I thought it very likely. I suppose it’s Germany. I felt sure we should have trouble with that excitable young man sooner or later. He had too good an opinion of himself to be an emperor.”

“Not Ulster!” exclaimed Sir Peter. “God bless my soul — not Ulster!”

“Oh, we can take on Ulster afterwards,” said James reassuringly. “Now we’ll see what submarines can do; ’member the Japs?”

“Winn,” said Lady Staines, “before you’re off, say good-by to your wife.”

Winn frowned, and then he said, “All right, Mother,” and left them.

It was a very still evening, the scent of new mown hay and the mysterious sweetness of the starry white tobacco plant haunted the delicate air.

Winn found Estelle lying down by the open window. He had not been in her room for some time. He sat down by the sofa, and fingered the tassels at her waist.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked coldly.

He had only himself to thank that she was cold — he knew that. He saw so plainly now, all the mistakes he’d made, that the ones Estelle had made, receded into the distance. He’d never been gentle to her. Even when he thought he loved her, he wasn’t really gentle.

Gentleness was superlative kindness, and no woman who had not had just that sort of kindness from the man she married, could help being rather nasty. He had owed it to Estelle — no matter whether she told him the truth or not.

“Look here, Estelle,” he began. “I want our boy to go to Charterhouse.”

It wasn’t exactly what he meant to say, but it was something; he had never called Peter “our boy” before. Estelle did not notice it.

“Of course, I should prefer Eton,” she said, “but I suppose you will do as you like — as usual!”

Winn dropped the piece of tassel, but he persevered.

“I say,” he began, “don’t you think we’ve got rather off the track? I know it’s not your fault, but your being ill and my being away and all that? I don’t want you to feel sore about it, you know. I want you to realize that I know I’ve been rather a beast to you. I don’t think I’m fitted somehow for domestic life — what?”

“Fitted for it!” said Estelle, tragically. “I have never known one happy moment with you! You seem incapable of any kind of chivalry! I never would have believed a man could exist who knew less how to make a woman happy! It’s too late to talk of it all now! I’ve made my supreme sacrifice. I’ve offered up my broken heart! I am living upon a higher plane! You would never understand anything that wasn’t coarse, brutal, and low! So I shan’t explain it to you. I know my duty, but I don’t think after the way you have behaved I really need consider myself under any obligation to live with you again. Father Anselm agrees with me.”

Winn laughed. “Don’t you worry about that,” he hastened to assure her, “or Father Anselm either; there isn’t the least necessity — and it wasn’t what I meant.”

Estelle looked annoyed. It plainly should have been what Winn meant.

“Have as much of the higher plane as you like,” he went on, “only look after the boy. I’m off to London to-night, there’s probably going to be some work of a kind that I can do. I mayn’t be back directly. Hope you’ll be all right. We can write about plans.”

He stood up, hesitating a little. He had an idea that it would make him feel less strange if she kissed him. Of course it was absurd, because just to have a woman’s arms round his neck wasn’t going to be the least like Claire. But he had a curious feeling that perhaps he might never be alone with a woman again, and he wanted to part friends with Estelle.

“I wonder,” he said, leaning towards her, “would you mind very much if I kissed you?”

Estelle turned her head away with a little gesture of aversion.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I shall not willingly allow you to kiss me, but of course you are my husband — I am in your power.”

“By Jove,” said Winn, unexpectedly, “what a little cat you are!”

They were the last words he ever said to her.

For a time he could do nothing but think of his luck — it was astounding how obstacles had been swept aside for him.

The best he had expected was that in the hurry of things he might get back to India without a medical examination, in the hope that his regiment would be used later. But his work at the Staff College had brought him into notice, a man conveniently died, and Winn appeared at the right moment.

Within twenty-four hours of his visit to the War Office, he was attached for staff duty to a British division.

Then work closed over his head. He became a railway time-table, a lost-luggage office, a registrar, and a store commissioner.

He had the duties of a special Providence thrust upon him, with all the disadvantages of being readily held accountable, so skilfully evaded by the higher powers.

Junior officers flew to him for orders as belated ladies fly to their pin cushions for pins.

He ate when it was distinctly necessary, and slept two hours out of the twenty-four.

He left nothing undone which he could do himself; his mind was unfavorable to chance. The heads of departments listened when he made suggestions, and found it convenient to answer with accuracy his sudden questions.

Subordinates hurried to obey his infrequent but final orders; and when Winn said, “I think you’d find it better,” people found it better.

The division slipped off like cream, without impediment or hitch.

There were no delays, the men acquired their kit, and found their railway carriages.

The trains swept in velvet softness out of the darkened London station through the sweet, quiet, summer night into a sleepless Folkestone. The division went straight onto the right transports; there wasn’t a man, a horse, or a gun out of place.

Winn heaved a sigh of relief as he stepped on board; his troubles as a staff officer had only just begun, but they had begun as troubles should always begin, by being adequately met. There were no arrears.