Beaumaroy Home from the Wars

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER II

  THE GENERAL REMEMBERS

  Amongst many various, and no doubt useful, functions, Miss Delia Wallperformed that of gossip and newsagent-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 hermental activity went near to insinuating connivance. Naturally,therefore, she was well acquainted with the new development at TowerCottage, although the isolated position of that dwelling made thoroughobservation piquantly difficult. She laid her information before anattentive, if not very respectful, audience gathered round the tea-tableat Old Place, the Naylors' handsome house on the outskirts ofSprotsfield and on the far side of the heath from Inkston. She wasenjoying herself, although she was, as usual, a trifle distrustful ofthe quality of Mr. Naylor's smile; it smacked of the satiric. "He looksat you as if you were a specimen," she had once been heard to complain;and, when she said "specimen," it was obviously beetles that she had inmind.

  "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 clock-work every afternoon, andshe bought 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 Naylor, though now withdrawn from an active share in itsconduct, was still interested in the large shipping firm from which hehad drawn his comfortable fortune.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--withthat smile of his and eyes faintly twinkling. But the problem wasseething in her brain; she had to go on.

  "A week after the armistice Mr. Saffron went to London by the 9.50. Hetravelled first, Anna."

  "Did he, dear?" Mrs. Naylor, a stout and placid dame, was not yetstirred to 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 shortthickset man with a black moustache. He buys two bottles of rum everyweek 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." Thisencouragement came from Gertie Naylor, a pretty girl of seventeen whowas consuming much 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.Saffron get 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 mattersby asking whether Miss Wall had kept a constant eye on the AgonyColumn. Mrs. Naylor took up her knitting and switched off to anothertopic.

  "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's taking Valentine's beef juice. Of course they _do_ give that indrink cases, 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 the largerproblem.

  "There's Alec's voice--he and the General are back from their golf.Ring for 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 hispart, stopped roving.

  The door again! "Come in, Mr. Beaumaroy--here's tea."

  Mr. Beaumaroy obediently entered, in the wake of Captain Alec Naylor,who duly presented him to Mrs. Naylor, adding that Beaumaroy had beenkind enough to make the fourth in a game with the General, the Rector ofSprotsfield, and himself. "And he and the parson were too tough a nutfor us, 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 feetthree, very straight, very fair, with features as regular as anyromantic hero of them all, and eyes as blue. The honourable limp that atpresent marked his movements would, it was hoped, pass away. Even hisown family were often surprised into a new admiration of his physicalperfections, remarking, one to the other, how Alec took the shine out ofevery other man 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. Thelight showed him now more clearly than when Mary Arkroyd met him on theheath road, 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 grey eyes which, in their turn, lookedmore sceptical than ardent, rather mocking than eager. Yet when hesmiled, his face became not merely pleasant, but confidentiallypleasant; he seemed to smile especially to and for the person to whom hewas talking; and his voice was notably agreeable, soft and clear--thevoice of a high-bred man, but not exactly of a high-bred Englishman.There was no accent definite enough to be called foreign, certainly notto be assigned to any particular race; but there was an exotic touchabout his manner of speech suggesting that, even if not that of aforeigner, it was shaped and coloured by the inflexions of foreigntongues. The hue of his plentiful and curly hair, indistinguishable toMary and Cynthia, now stood revealed as neither black, nor red, norauburn, nor brown, nor golden, but just--and rather surprisingly--aplain yellow, the colour of a cowslip or thereabouts. Altogether rathera rum-looking fellow! This had been Alec Naylor's first remark when theRector of Sprotsfield pointed him out, as a possible fourth, at the golfclub, and the rough justice of the description could not be denied. He,like Alec, bore his scars; the little finger of his right hand wasamputated down to the knuckle.

  Yet, after all this description--in particularity, if not otherwise,worthy of a classic novelist--the thing still remains that most struckobservers. Mr. Hector Beaumaroy had an adorable candour of manner. Heanswered questions with innocent readiness and pellucid sincerity. Itwould be impossible to think him guilty of a lie; ungenerous to suspectso much as a suppression of the truth. Even Mr. Naylor, hardened byfive-and-thirty years' experience of what sailors will blandly swear toin collision cases, was struck with the open candour 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. Saff
ron," 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 overthe company (except the General, out of its reach). He seemed troubledand embarrassed.

  "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 ratherinquisitorial. 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 ittactfully--can't one, 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 ofthe difficulty. "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'srather invidious----"

  "Oh, as to that, Irechester's a sensible man; he's got as much work ashe wants, 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 aresacred--aren't they, Miss Wall? London on Wednesdays for Mr. Saffron andme--and the old brown bag!" He laughed in a quiet merriment. "That oldbag's been in a lot of places with me and has carried some queercargoes. Now it just goes to and fro, between here and town, with Mudiebooks. Must have books, living so much alone as we do!" He had risen ashe spoke, and approached 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, decliningAlec's offer 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 was 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 clubcame back. 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 lettersafter his name save for the fact that he--the Colonel--would neverrecommend a man unless his discipline was as good as his leading, andhis conduct at the base as praiseworthy as at the front. (Alec Naylornodded his handsome head in grave approval; his father looked a littlediscontented, as though he were swallowing unpalatable, thoughwholesome, food.) His whole idea--Beaumaroy's, that is--was to shieldoffenders, to prevent the punishment fitting the crime, even to consoleand countenance the wrongdoer. No sense of discipline, no moralsense--the Colonel had gone as far as that. Impossible to promote or torecommend for reward--almost impossible to keep. Of course, if he hadbeen caught young and put through the mill, it might have beendifferent--"it _might_"--the Colonel heavily underlined thepossibility--but he came from Heaven knew where, after a life spentHeaven knew how. "And he seemed to know it himself," the Colonel hadsaid, thoughtfully rolling his port round in the glass. "Whenever Iwigged him, he offered to go--said he'd chuck his commission andenlist--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: "Hewas weak--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 admittedreluctantly.

  "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.