by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER II
THE GENERAL REMEMBERS
Amongst other various, and no doubt useful, functions, Miss Delia Wallperformed that of gossip and news agent-general to the village ofInkston. A hard-featured, swarthy spinster of forty, with a roving,inquisitive, yet not unkindly eye, she perambulated--or ratherpercycled--the district, taking stock of every incident. Not a cat couldkitten or a dog have the mange without her privity; critics of her mentalactivity went near to insinuating connivance. Naturally, therefore, shewas well acquainted with the new development at Tower Cottage, althoughthe isolated position of that dwelling made thorough observationpiquantly difficult. She laid her information before an attentive, if notvery respectful, audience gathered round the tea-table at Old Place, theNaylors' handsome house on the outskirts of Sprotsfield and on the farside of the heath from Inkston. She was enjoying herself, although shewas, as usual, a trifle distrustful of the quality of Mr. Naylor's smile;it smacked of the satiric. "He looks at you as if you were a specimen,"she had once been heard to complain; and, when she said "specimen," itwas obviously beetles that she had in mind.
"Everybody knows old Mr. Saffron--by sight, I mean--and the woman whodoes for him," she said. "There's never been anything remarkable about_them_. He took his walk as regular as clockwork every afternoon, and shebought just the same things every week; her books must have talliedalmost to a penny every month, Mrs. Naylor! I know it! And it was a veryrare thing indeed for Mr. Saffron to go to London--though I have knownhim to be away once or twice. But very, very rarely!" She paused andadded dramatically, "Until the armistice!"
"Full of ramifications, that event, Miss Wall. It affects even mybusiness." Mr. Naylor, though now withdrawn from an active share in itsconduct, was still interested in the large shipping firm from which hehad drawn his comfortable fortune.
She looked at him suspiciously, as he put the ends of the slender whitefingers of his two hands together, and leant forward to listen with thatsmile of his and eyes faintly twinkling. But the problem was seething inher brain; she had to go on.
"A week after the armistice Mr. Saffron went to London by the 9.50. Hetraveled first, Anna."
"Did he, dear?" Mrs. Naylor, a stout and placid dame, was not yet stirredto excitement.
"He came down by the 4.11, and those two men with him. And they've beenthere ever since!"
"Two men, Delia! I've only seen one."
"Oh yes, there's another! Sergeant Hooper they call him; a short thicksetman with a black mustache. He buys two bottles of rum every week at the_Green Man_. And--one minute, please, Mr. Naylor--"
"I was only going to say that it looks to me as if this man Hooper were,or had been, a soldier. What do you think?"
"Never mind, Papa! Go on, Miss Wall. I'm interested." This encouragementcame from Gertie Naylor, a pretty girl of seventeen who was consumingmuch tea, bread, and honey.
"And since then the old gentleman and this Mr. Beaumaroy go to townregularly every week on Wednesdays! Now who are they, how did Mr. Saffronget hold of them, and what are they doing here? I'm at a loss, Anna."
Apparently an _impasse_! And Mr. Naylor did not seem to assist matters byasking whether Miss Wall had kept a constant eye on the Agony Column.Mrs. Naylor took up her knitting and switched off to another topic.
"Dr. Arkroyd's friend, Delia dear! What a charming girl she looks!"
"Friend, Anna? I didn't know that! A patient, I understand, anyhow. She'staking Valentine's beef juice. Of course they _do_ give that in drinkcases, but I should be sorry to think--"
"Drugs, more likely," Mr. Naylor suavely interposed. Then he rose fromhis chair and began to pace slowly up and down the long room, looking athis beautiful pictures, his beautiful china, his beautiful chairs, allthe beautiful things that were his. His family took no notice of thisroving up and down; it was a habit, and was tacitly accepted as meaningthat he had, for the moment, had enough of the company, and even of hisown sallies at its expense.
"I've asked Dr. Arkroyd to bring her over, Miss Walford, I mean, thefirst day it's fine enough for tennis," Mrs. Naylor pursued. There was ahard court at Old Place, so that winter did not stop the game entirely.
"What a name, too!"
"Walford? It's quite a good name, Delia."
"No, no, Anna! Beaumaroy, of course." Miss Wall was back at thelarger problem.
"There's Alec's voice. He and the General are back from their golf. Ringfor another teapot, Gertie dear!"
The door opened, not Alec, but the General came in, and closed the doorcarefully behind him; it was obviously an act of precaution and notmerely a normal exercise of good manners. Then he walked up to hishostess and said, "It's not my fault, Anna. Alec would do it, though Ishook my head at him, behind the fellow's back."
"What do you mean, General?" cried the hostess. Mr. Naylor, for his part,stopped roving.
The door again! "Come in, Mr. Beaumaroy--here's tea."
Mr. Beaumaroy obediently entered, in the wake of Captain Alec Naylor, whoduly presented him to Mrs. Naylor, adding that Beaumaroy had been kindenough to make the fourth in a game with the General, the Rector ofSprotsfield, and himself. "And he and the parson were too tough a nut forus, weren't they, sir?" he added to the General.
Besides being an excellent officer and a capital fellow, Alec Naylor wasalso reputed to be one of the handsomest men in the Service; six footthree, very straight, very fair, with features as regular as any romantichero of them all, and eyes as blue. The honorable limp that at presentmarked his movements would, it was hoped, pass away. Even his own familywere often surprised into a new admiration of his physical perfections,remarking, one to the other, how Alec took the shine out of every otherman in the room.
There was no shine, no external obvious shine, to take out of Mr.Beaumaroy, Miss Wall's puzzling, unaccounted-for Mr. Beaumaroy. The lightshowed him now more clearly than when Mary Arkroyd met him on the heathroad, but perhaps thereby did him no service. His features, thoughirregular, were not ugly or insignificant, but he wore a rather batteredaspect; there were deep lines running from the corners of his mouth, andcrowsfeet had started under the gray eyes which, in their turn, lookedmore skeptical than ardent, rather mocking than eager. Yet when hesmiled, his face became not merely pleasant, but confidentially pleasant;he seemed to smile especially to and for the person to whom he wastalking; and his voice was notably agreeable, soft and clear--the voiceof a high-bred man, but not exactly of a high-bred Englishman. There wasno accent definite enough to be called foreign, certainly not to beassigned to any particular race, but there was an exotic touch about hismanner of speech suggesting that, even if not that of a foreigner, it wasshaped and colored by the inflexions of foreign tongues. The hue of hisplentiful and curly hair, indistinguishable to Mary and Cynthia, nowstood revealed as neither black, nor red, nor auburn, nor brown, norgolden, but just, and rather surprisingly, a plain yellow, the color of acowslip or thereabouts. Altogether rather a rum-looking fellow! This hadbeen Alec Naylor's first remark when the Rector of Sprotsfield pointedhim out, as a possible fourth, at the golf club, and the rough justice ofthe description could not be denied. He, like Alec, bore his scars; thelittle finger of his right hand was amputated down to the knuckle.
Yet, after all this description, in particularity if not otherwise worthyof a classic novelist, the thing yet remains that most struck observers.Mr. Hector Beaumaroy had an adorable candor of manner. He answeredquestions with innocent readiness and pellucid sincerity. It would beimpossible to think him guilty of a lie; ungenerous to suspect so much asa suppression of the truth. Even Mr. Naylor, hardened by five-and-thirtyyears' experience of what sailors will blandly swear to in collisioncases, was struck with the open candor of his bearing.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, Miss Wall, that's right, we go to town everyWednesday. No particular reason why it should be Wednesday, but oldgentlemen somehow do better--don't you think so?--with method andregular habits."
"I'm sure you know what's best for Mr. Saffron," said
Delia. "You'veknown him a long time, haven't you?"
Mr. Naylor drew a little nearer and listened. The General had puthimself into the corner, a remote corner of the room, and sat there withan uneasy and rather glowering aspect.
"Oh no, no!" answered Beaumaroy. "A matter of weeks only. But the dearold fellow seemed to take to me--a friend put us in touch originally. Iseem to be able to do just what he wants."
"I hope your friend is not really ill, not seriously?" This time thequestion was Mrs. Naylor's, not Miss Delia's.
"His health is really not so bad, but," he gave a glance round thecompany, as though inviting their understanding, "he insists that he'snot the man he was."
"Absurd!" smiled Naylor. "Not much older than I am, is he?"
"Only just turned seventy, I believe. But the idea's very persistent."
"Hypochondria!" snapped Miss Delia.
"Not altogether. I'm afraid there is a little real heart trouble. Dr.Irechester--"
"Oh, with Dr. Irechester, dear Mr. Beaumaroy, you're all right!"
Again Beaumaroy's glance--that glance of innocent appeal--ranged over thecompany (except the General, out of its reach). He seemed troubled andembarrassed.
"A most accomplished man, evidently, and a friend of yours, of course.But, well, there it is, a mere fancy, of course, but unhappily my oldfriend doesn't take to him. He, he thinks that he's rather inquisitorial.A doctor's duty, I suppose--"
"Irechester's a sound man, a very sound man," said Mr. Naylor. "And,after all one can ask almost any question if one does it tactfully, can'tone, Miss Wall?"
"As a matter of fact, he's only seen Mr. Saffron twice--he had a littlechill. But his manner, unfortunately, rather, er--alarmed--"
Gertie Naylor, with the directness of youth, propounded a solution of thedifficulty. "If you don't like Dr. Irechester--"
"Oh, it's not I who--"
"Why not have Mary?" Gertie made her suggestion eagerly. She was veryfond of Mary, who, from the height of age, wisdom and professionaldignity, had stooped to offer her an equal friendship.
"She means Dr. Mary Arkroyd," Mrs. Naylor explained.
"Yes, I know, Mrs. Naylor, I know about Dr. Arkroyd. In fact, I know herby sight. But--"
"Perhaps you don't believe in women doctors?" Alec suggested.
"It's not that. I've no prejudices. But the responsibility is on me, andI know very little of her; and, well to change one's doctor, it's ratherinvidious--"
"Oh, as to that, Irechester's a sensible man; he's got as much work as hewants, and as much money too. He won't resent an old man's fancy."
"Well, I'd never thought of a change, but if you all suggest it--"Somehow it did seem as if they all, and not merely youthful Gertie hadsuggested it. "But I should rather like to know Dr. Arkroyd first."
"Come and meet her here; that's very simple. She often comes to tennisand tea. We'll let you know the first time she's coming."
Beaumaroy most cordially accepted the idea and the invitation. "Anyafternoon I shall be delighted, except Wednesdays. Wednesdays are sacred,aren't they, Miss Wall? London on Wednesdays for Mr. Saffron and me, andthe old brown bag!" He laughed in a quiet merriment. "That old bag's beenin a lot of places with me and has carried some queer cargoes. Now itjust goes to and fro, between here and town, with Mudie books. Must havebooks, living so much alone as we do!" He had risen as he spoke, andapproached Mrs. Naylor to take leave.
She gave him her hand very cordially. "I don't suppose Mr. Saffron caresto meet people; but any spare time you have, Mr. Beaumaroy, we shall bedelighted to see you."
Beaumaroy bowed as he thanked her, adding, "And I'm promised a chance ofmeeting Dr. Arkroyd before long?"
The promise was renewed and the visitor took his leave, declining Alec'soffer to "run him home" in the car. "The car might startle my oldfriend," he pleaded. Alec saw him off, and returned to find the General,who had contrived to avoid more than a distant bow of farewell toBeaumaroy, standing on the hearthrug apparently in a state of someagitation.
The envious years had refused to Major-General Punnit, C.B.--he was adistant cousin of Mrs. Naylor's--the privilege of serving his country inthe Great War. His career had lain mainly in India and was mostly behindhim even at the date of the South African War, in which, however, he haddone valuable work in one of the supply services. He as short, stout,honest, brave, shrewd, obstinate, and as full of prejudices, religious,political and personal as an egg is of meat. And all this time he hadbeen slowly and painfully recalling what his young friend Colonel Merman(the Colonel was young only relatively to the General) had told himabout Hector Beaumaroy. The name had struck on his memory the moment theRector pronounced it, but it had taken him a long while to "place it"accurately. However, now he had it pat; the conversation in the club cameback. He retailed it now to the company at Old Place.
A pleasant fellow, Beaumaroy; socially a very agreeable fellow. And asfor courage, as brave as you like. Indeed he might have had letters afterhis name save for the fact that he--the Colonel--would never recommend aman unless his discipline was as good as his leading, and his conduct atthe base as praiseworthy as at the front. (Alec Naylor nodded hishandsome head in grave approval; his father looked a little discontented,as though he were swallowing unpalatable, though wholesome, food). Hiswhole idea--Beaumaroy's, that is--was to shield offenders, to preventthe punishment fitting the crime, even to console and countenance thewrongdoer. No sense of discipline, no moral sense, the Colonel had goneas far as that. Impossible to promote or to recommend for reward, almostimpossible to keep. Of course, if he had been caught young and putthrough the mill, it might have been different. "It _might_" the Colonelheavily underlined the possibility, but he came from Heaven knew where,after a life spent Heaven knew how. "And he seemed to know it himself,"the Colonel had said, thoughtfully rolling his port round in the glass."Whenever I wigged him, he offered to go; said he'd chuck his commissionand enlist; said he'd be happier in the ranks. But I was weak, I couldn'tbear to do it." After thus quoting his friend, the General added: "He wasweak, damned weak, and I told him so."
"Of course he ought to have got rid of him," said Alec. "Still, sir,there's nothing, er, disgraceful."
"It seems hardly to have come to that," the General admitted reluctantly.
"It all rather makes me like him," Gertie affirmed courageously.
"I think that, on the whole, we may venture to know him in times ofpeace," Mr. Naylor summed up.
"That's your look out," remarked the General. "I've warned you. You cando as you like."
Delia Wall had sat silent through the story. Now she spoke up, and gotback to the real point:
"There's nothing in all that to show how he comes to be at Mr.Saffron's."
The General shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, Saffron be hanged! He's not theBritish Army," he said.
