The Empty World

by D. E. Stevenson

  There was, of course, a telephone at Bardsholme, and a radio — both silent and useless in this empty world — but Sir Richard had stuck to the old system of heating and lighting his house by electric power made on the premises. It had amused him to be, to this extent, self-contained and self-supporting. His neighbours had laughed at him for his old-fashioned ideas. They had all installed the new power system — a receiver upon the roof for electric power which was broadcast continuously from the B.W.E.P.C. (The British Wireless Electric Power Company) and distributed through their houses for lighting, heating, cleaning and other domestic uses — but Sir Richard did not mind being laughed at. His dynamo worked well and gave little or no trouble. He saw no object in changing over to the new system.

  “Thank God I was obstinate and old-fashioned,” said Sir Richard to himself. It was indeed fortunate, for now there was no wireless power winging its way through the ether. The great generating station was silent, empty, impotent. If Bardsholme had depended upon the B.W.E.P.C. for its power it would have been untenable. As it was, all was well. The dynamo ran sweetly under the care of Tom Day, and the house was supplied with its requisite amount of electricity — that all-important adjunct to modern life. Indeed, there was little change to be noticed at Bardsholme, little difference between the old days and the new. The house was the same as always — save for its different inmates — the garden was the same, the view from the windows had not altered one whit.

  “Funny!” said Sir Richard to himself as he lay back in his comfortable chair and lit one of his special brand of cigars. “I seem to have got all I wanted — leisure, peace, quietness — I ought to be very happy, I ought to be contented, and I really believe I would be happy if I had got Jane.”

  There was the trouble that marred his peace, that made his leisure a thing of horror, that haunted his thoughts — where was Jane? What was she doing? What was happening to her? It was ghastly to think of Jane a prisoner amongst those men — ghastly to sit here impotent while Jane was in trouble — and yet what could he do? His first thought had been to take Farquhar and Bunce and fly to her rescue, but Maule had dissuaded him from this obvious course. Maule was so sure that she was all right, that she had the situation well in hand. Maule was so sure that she had a plan to outwit Bolton’s gang, and that any outside interference would only complicate matters and bring her plan to naught.

  “I must just wait,” Sir Richard said to himself. “I must just wait and hope for the best.”

  It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Settling Down — and

  a Wedding

  The next morning Fenemore and Day suggested that the whole party should move southwards.

  Sir Richard’s heart sank, he did not want to leave his own home.

  “Why move?” Farquhar said. “We’re all very comfortable here, aren’t we?”

  “Somewhere not too far from London,” Day suggested. “We must be near a big town to get our supplies of tinned food. What shall we do,” he added, turning to Sir Richard. “What shall we do when we have exhausted all the tinned food in the world?”

  “It will take a long time,” Sir Richard said. “I shall be dead long before then. That will be your problem, Day.”

  “We shall grow things,” Farquhar said. “I’ve got my eye on the garden here. The soil is excellent. I’ve always wanted to grow things.”

  Fenemore moved restlessly. “I think we should look about,” he said. “We don’t really know what has happened —”

  “Let’s start at once,” added Day.

  Sir Richard sighed. He found the impatience of youth distinctly trying.

  “I shall wait here for Miss Forrest,” said Maisie bravely. “Even if I have to wait here all by myself —”

  Sir Richard smiled at her. “We shall wait for her together,” he said.

  “Well, you can wait,” Fenemore said angrily. “I’ve told you that she is not coming. Personally I think the women will be safer if we move at once. Miss Forrest knows that we are here —”

  “If you mean to imply that Miss Forrest will betray our whereabouts to Bolton you are being absurd,” said Sir Richard sternly, “and you know that you are being absurd. I do not wish to discuss the matter any further.”

  “Well, I don’t know what good it will do staying on here,” mumbled Fenemore, half-ashamed of his temper.

  “I have no jurisdiction over you,” continued Sir Richard. “I do not crave power. If you want to leave here you can do so. I shall remain until Miss Forrest comes. And those who wish to stay can stay with me.”

  “We don’t want to slip up,” cried Day.

  “Why not?” enquired Fenemore.

  Day found it difficult to explain, but the feeling that he wanted to stay with the others — to keep together — was very strong.

  “Go for a flip around and come back,” suggested Iris Bright sensibly.

  After some discussion it was agreed that the two young men should take Sir Richard’s small plane, which was housed in a hangar behind the garage, and push off southwards. Fenemore wanted to visit the home of the girl he was to have married, to satisfy himself that she was no longer there. He could not understand his own mood, could not even make up his mind as to whether he wanted to find her or not (a good deal of water had gone under the bridge since his engagement to Elsie Wainwright), but, somehow or other, Fenemore felt that it would be the right thing to do to visit Brighton, and make sure that Elsie was no longer there.

  “We’ll take a tour round the continent,” he told Day, “and stop at Naples, just to see —”

  Day nodded. His parents had been staying at Naples when the catastrophe occurred, and he saw Fenemore’s idea.

  “But it won’t be any good, David,” he said quietly.

  The next morning was bright and clear. An ideal flyingday. Sir Richard did not know whether to be sorry or glad, he said so to Maule whom he met on the stairs going down to breakfast. He was beginning to lean a little upon Maule; Maule was the only man in the party approaching his own age.

  “Glad,” said Maule instantly.

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “Best for the boys to get away. Clear their heads. Fenemore’s restless.”

  “My one idea has been to keep the party together,” Sir Richard said doubtfully.

  “Keep together better if they feel free. They’ll come back.”

  Sir Richard was comforted — Maule was right, of course. Maule was extraordinarily wise.

  Breakfast passed off peacefully, and the whole party walked down to the flying-field to see the plane start. Sir Richard found himself escorting the Misses Hervey; Miss O’Connell was with the two pilots; Maisie was walking with Iris Bright, and they were soon joined by Bunce and Farquhar; Maule strolled by himself smoking a long cigarette.

  Ten people, all depending upon me — Sir Richard thought — all looking to me for guidance. If only I were ten years younger — He felt the burden of the ten people like a heavy weight upon his shoulders. I wonder how soon they will pair off, he thought, and how. Bunce and Maisie first. I’m sure there was an understanding between them when I went back to that hotel in Glasgow to fetch them, and Bunce practically admitted the fact when I taxed him with it — and then, perhaps, Iris and Tom Day, and Fenemore and Alice O’Connell.

  Sir Richard smiled to himself.

  “What are you thinking about, Sir Richard?” enquired Miss May Hervey.

  “I was match-making,” Sir Richard said. “A reprehensible habit for a man of my years.”

  “Oh, do you do that too? It’s fun, isn’t it?” said Miss May ingenuously.

  The plane was run out of its hangar into the field. Sir Richard looked at it critically, he had had it specially built for him by Ross and Pollock. It was built for comfort, rather than speed, but its lines were beautiful.

  “You’re sure she is thoroughly airworthy,” he said, going up to Day and laying a hand on his ar
m.

  “Positive, sir,” Day replied. “Farquhar and I have been over every inch of her. She’s a beauty. It’s good of you to let us have her.”

  “Don’t stay away too long.”

  “No fear. We’ll have a spin around the place and see what’s what. It’ll be good for David,” he added in a low voice. “He’s been knocked off his bearings a bit.”

  “Yes, I saw that,” replied Sir Richard.

  Alice O’Connell came up and spoke to Day. “Have you asked Sir Richard yet?” she enquired mysteriously.

  “Oh — er — Miss O’Connell wants to come too, sir,” Day said. “I suppose that will be all right.”

  “Wants to go with you?” exclaimed Sir Richard.

  “I love flying,” said the girl, blushing attractively.

  “We’ll take great care of her,” added Day.

  “Well, of course — if you want to —” Sir Richard said a trifle incoherently. “I can’t prevent you — I mean, I have no objection —”

  “Well, I guess I have, then,” put in Iris Bright, who happened to have heard the last part of the conversation. “The idea of you going off with those two young men! What about me? You must be mad, Alice.”

  Alice O’Connell smiled quite kindly. “You’ve got to learn to do without me. I’m not your maid any more. I’m a human being.”

  “You are my maid!” Iris cried.

  Everybody had gathered round and was listening to the discussion with intense interest. Sir Richard saw that it was really a test case. He had expected it to happen, and he was prepared for it.

  “Miss O’Connell is right,” he said gravely. “We are all human beings with equal rights, with liberty to regulate our own lives, and to choose for ourselves what we shall do, or not do. The only thing I want you to remember is that before our liberty comes our duty to each other — not any one person to anybody else, but each to all.”

  “I don’t think that’s very fair on Miss Bright, sir,” said Bunce, surprisingly. “A month’s notice is her due, and a month’s notice she should be given. I may say I have no wish to leave your service, sir. But, should I wish to do so at any future time, I shall consider it my duty to give you a month’s notice of my intentions.”

  “That is very nice of you, Bunce,” Sir Richard said, hiding a smile. “But it does not alter the case. If you choose to remain in my service I shall be glad to avail myself of your help, but I shall consider you perfectly free.”

  “I take it that Miss O’Connell can come,” Fenemore said, breaking into the discussion with some impatience. He took a leather coat and cap out of the cockpit of the aeroplane, and helped her to put them on. They all said goodbye, and climbed in. Sir Richard noticed that Day was piloting, and the other two sitting behind — it had all been arranged beforehand, that was evident.

  The plane rose straight up into the air like a lark, and sped away northward. They watched until it was out of sight.

  Sir Richard walked back from the field through the gardens. He noticed that the apples were reddening, and, down in a sheltered corner, the tomatoes were forming nicely. It seemed funny to be in the gardens without old Smale. Smale had worked for Sir Richard for twenty years and was something of an autocrat. Now that old Smale was gone Sir Richard realised that he could move the currant bushes out of the west corner, and extend the strawberry beds, but he didn’t want to, now, it didn’t seem worth while. Besides, there was nobody to do it.

  He was standing there, looking at the currant bushes and thinking about old Smale — how cross and obstinate he had been, and how nice it would be to have him back again — when Farquhar approached.

  “I’ve been wondering about the garden, sir,” said Farquhar. “It’ll all go to rack and ruin unless somebody takes it in hand, and that would be a pity. I’d like to take it in hand if nobody else wants the job. Would you have any objection, sir?”

  “On the contrary, I think it an excellent plan,” Sir Richard replied. “We shall be glad of fresh vegetables. Of course, we must all lend a hand — it’s far too big for one man to tackle — but, if you like that sort of job, you can consider yourself appointed as head gardener to the community.”

  “Thank you,” Farquhar said. “I’ve always liked gardens, and often wanted one of my own, but I never thought I’d have one like this. It’s a lovely place, sir. We’ll be staying here, I hope.”

  “I hope so too, Farquhar,” Sir Richard said.

  “There’s another thing,” Farquhar continued somewhat diffidently. “I’ve been looking round the place — I hope you don’t think it too much to ask, sir — I’ve taken a great fancy to the gardener’s cottage. It would be convenient living near my work, and so —

  “You don’t mean you want to live there by yourself?” exclaimed Sir Richard in surprise.

  “Well, no, sir, not by myself,” Farquhar said, looking down at the ground and kicking up the gravel with his toe.

  “Oh, I see —” Sir Richard said.

  “Yes, sir, its like this, you see — I was thinking about getting married — I suppose there would be no objection to that?”

  Sir Richard was surprised again, and then he told himself that he had no right to be surprised. He had been expecting this very thing, but, somehow, Farquhar had not come into the picture.

  “You have a lady in mind?” he enquired, smiling a little.

  “I have, and she’s willing. But she wants to be married properly — or as properly as possible without a minister. We both do, and we wondered —”

  “Yes, of course,” Sir Richard said. “I’ve thought of that too.”

  “It’s what you say, sir,” Farquhar said, looking at Sir Richard confidently.

  “Let’s sit down, Farquhar,” said Sir Richard, leading the way to an iron seat, and sitting down rather wearily. “I’m not as young as I was, and I get tired easily. Now look here, it’s difficult for me. You have all made me the leader of this party. I didn’t want to be the leader, and I don’t like the responsibility, but here I am, and I have got to do the best I can for everybody. I expected this, of course, and I have decided that if two people want to be married I will marry them myself. But they must be sure.”

  “That’s what we wanted, sir,” Farquhar said eagerly. “It’s what we hoped you’d do.”

  “You realise how lucky you are, Farquhar,” Sir Richard went on a trifle whimsically. “There aren’t enough women to go round, and you seem to have left the others at the post. I don’t know whether you have thought about it at all, but it seems to me there may be trouble later.”

  “I’ll protect my wife, sir,” Farquhar said. “I’ll fight for her if necessary —”

  “Well, I hope it won’t be necessary,” Sir Richard said with a sigh.

  Farquhar got up. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “It’s just what we wanted — if you’ll excuse me now I’ll go and tell Maisie about it —”

  “Maisie!” exclaimed Sir Richard. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he thought Maisie was going to marry Bunce, but he choked the words down. He was fond of Bunce, but he realised that Farquhar was the better man — there was no doubt about it. He supposed that Maisie had changed her mind; it was hard on Bunce but it could not be helped.

  “Yes, it’s Maisie,” he heard Farquhar saying. “She’ll be very glad when I tell her it’s all right. I’ll start on the cottage at once if you don’t mind. I’ll get a vanload of stuff — furniture and things — from Fairtown. The cottage will make a fine wee home for us —”

  “Do what you like, Farquhar,” Sir Richard said. “The cottage is yours.”

  He walked up to the house very slowly, turning things over in his mind. He was anxious and worried. He had paired off his little party so neatly, and now Farquhar had gone and upset the apple-cart. Sir Richard saw quite clearly that it couldn’t be helped, people had to choose for themselves, but it was very worrying. He hoped Bunce would not be hard hit.

  Sir Richard swung his stick at a thistle and
broke it off neatly. The choice lay with the women, thought Sir Richard, they were in the minority — too great a minority to be comfortable — and so the whole thing was in their hands. He hoped sincerely they would make up their minds and choose sensibly, and that they would not change their minds after they were married — it would be impossible to cope with anything of that kind, thought Sir Richard, shying from definite consideration of the subject. He had a theory, formed by observation of his fellow-creatures, that women chose their mates more wisely than men. Some of them were foolish, of course, but, on the whole, they chose their mates with more care, and for better reasons. The theory, under the circumstances, was comforting, but he decided to have a talk with Maisie — a long serious talk.

  Sir Richard found Maisie in the kitchen preparing food for dinner, and, seating himself in a comfortable chair, he watched her deft movements for some minutes without speaking.

  “We shall miss you, Maisie,” he said at last.

  Maisie blushed. “John has told you,” she said.

  “You’re quite sure you will be happy with him?” enquired Sir Richard.

  Maisie nodded. “It’s funny to have so many people wanting to marry you,” she said naïvely. “Joe asked me, and now John — I wish Miss Forrest was here.”

  “So do I,” agreed Sir Richard fervently.

  “But we needn’t really worry about her,” Maisie continued. “She’s very clever, you know — just as Mr. Maule said. I think Mr. Maule wants to marry me too —”

  Sir Richard digested this. It was quite possible. “But you’re sure it is really John Farquhar that you want?” he said earnestly.

  “I think so,” replied Maisie. “You see, I put it like this to myself. I said — Now, Maisie, which of them would you be safest with, living all alone in that little house — that settled it. I wouldn’t live there with any of them except John. I’d be frightened without all of you — and besides he’s Scotch,” added Maisie, as if that clinched the matter.