by A. J. Cronin
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No, I can’t.” My temper unexpectedly got out of hand; my voice was disturbingly shrill. “What are you driving at?”
She took off her glasses and slowly polished them. Then, forgetfully, she let them fall into her lap, gazed at me with those weak and browless eyes.
“Shannon … you should leave Eastershaws.”
I was absolutely staggered.
“What! Leave?”
“Yes,” she repeated. “Whenever you complete your research.”
I felt myself flush, deeply. I stared at her with angry, incredulous eyes.
“That’s an excellent joke. I thought for a moment you were serious.”
“I am entirely serious … and so is my advice.”
“Then wait until I ask for it. I happen to like this Place as well as you. And I have friends here too.”
“Nurse Stanway?” Her lip curled faintly. “She’s had a few followers in her time. Attendant Brogan, for instance … and your predecessor …”
“That’s none of your business. I’ve been treated pretty badly outside. I’m not going to throw up a good job and a first-class laboratory because you get some wild idea in your head.”
That, I could see, had silenced her.
She sat still for a few moments, then stood up.
“All right, Shannon. Let’s forget about it. Good night.”
She smiled and quickly went out.
I turned angrily to my bench. At the back of my mind I was dully aware of how I had spent myself in this final effort. I had lost weight and there were hollows in my cheeks; when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I seemed to be confronted by a stranger. In the past, I had been able to do with three or four hours’ sleep. But now I couldn’t sleep at all. Complete insomnia. To calm my nerves during these night long seances I smoked so constantly my tongue and throat were raw. And there were these strange tricks and fancies—fetishes, in fact—which I had developed under this growing strain. Every time I left my bench, I had to go back, three times, to reassure myself that I had actually turned off the tap of my burette. I had developed the habit of shutting my left eye when I made my readings, and of writing my figures backwards. Each day, before I began work, I counted all the tiles in the section of wall above the incubator. There was a word, too, which somehow had got into my head, “ abracadabra,” and I found myself muttering it to myself, as a kind of invocation, as a spur to goad myself on, and as a low exclamation of triumph, whenever I completed another step in my experiments. And still I went on, like an automaton, testing and titrating, bearing forward, forward … I had to go on. I’d gone too far to draw back, it was all or nothing now … yes, all or nothing.
At eight o’clock I set the vaccine extract to filter, and as this process would take about an hour, I rose, switched off the lights, and left the laboratory, bent upon a short respite in my room.
Outside, I could hear preliminary tunings from the auditorium where, at the end of each month, an entertainment was held, half-dance, half-concert, sponsored by Palfrey, ostensibly for the benefit of the patients, but mainly to permit the little maestro to sing, with his hand upon his heart, Gounod’s “Even bravest heart may swell …”
I rarely went to these junketings, and to-night I assuredly would not go.
Anxious to stretch out on my sofa, I entered my room, but as I did so I found that I was not alone. Seated by the open window, with a droop to his shoulders, and a peculiar fixity in his gaze, was Neil Spence.
“Why, Spence!” I exclaimed. “ It’s good to see you again.”
He acknowledged my welcome with a faint smile in his wide, immobile eyes, and after we had shaken hands, sank back in his chair, his face shadowed by the curtain.
“I can’t stay long, Robert. But I took a notion to look you up. You don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” I had often pressed him to visit me—yet, strangely, I wondered why he had come. “You’ll have a drink?”
He looked at me broodingly, that shadowy smile still flickering in his dark pupils.
“Please.”
I saw then that he had already had several, but that made no difference, besides, I wanted one myself. It was easy to come by good spirits from the stimulant cupboard, and lately I had drawn pretty heavily upon that store. I scarcely ate anything now, but kept myself going on black coffee, whisky, and cigarettes. I poured out two stiff drinks.
“Here’s luck, then, Robert.”
“Good health.”
He nursed his tumbler between his hands, his eyes wandering about the room. There was in his calmness something which made me uneasy.
“How is Muriel?” I asked.
“Quite well, I believe.”
“You should have brought her along.”
He sat stock-still; his immobility was strangely terrifying.
“Muriel left me last week. She’s with Lomax—in London.”
He made the statement in a tone so matter-of-fact it took my breath away. There was a pause. I had not guessed it was as bad as this.
“What a rotten trick!” I muttered at last.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He answered logically, with that same inhuman self-control. “Lomax is a good-looking fellow, and Muriel is still a most attractive girl. And after all, I’m not much fun to live with.”
I looked at him quickly. He went on, musingly, in that same flat tone:
“I suppose she went on as long as she could, before she fell for Lomax.”
I had to say something.
“What a swine he must be!”
Spence shook his head. In spite of the whisky, he was completely sober.
“He’s probably not any worse than the rest of us.” A long, low breath escaped him. “I ought never to have married her in the first place. But I was so damned fond of her. And God knows I did my best. Took her out every Friday night.” He repeated this, as though it comforted him. “Every Friday night in life.”
“She’ll come back to you,” I said. “ You can make a fresh start.”
He looked full at me, and the smile in his dark eyes was tragic.
“Don’t be a fool, Robert. It’s all over.” He paused, reflectively. “She has asked for a divorce. Wants to be free. Well, I’ll attend to that for her. Isn’t it extraordinary … I see now that she is shallow and worthless … but I can’t hate her.”
I poured him another drink, and one for myself. I scarcely knew what to say. In a vain effort to divert his mind, I asked:
“Have you been going to the Department?”
“Yes. You see, no one knows about this yet. Lomax is on vacation … Muriel supposed to be visiting her sister. But what’s the use, I’ve lost interest. I’m not like you, Robert. I never was cut out for research.” He added, in a flat voice: “It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that when I saw how things were going and spoke to her, she said, ‘Leave me alone. I hate the sight of you.’”
There was a prolonged silence. Then, softly, the sound of a two-step came through the open window, stealing across the night air into the room. Spence looked at me, his impassive features showing a vague inquiry.
“It’s a dance they have once a month,” I told him. “The staff and some of the patients.”
He considered for a moment.
“Muriel would have enjoyed that … we occasionally used to dance on Friday nights. I dare say Lomax will take her out.”
He listened till the two-step was over, then put down his empty glass.
“I have to go now, Robert.”
“Oh, nonsense. It’s quite early.”
“I must. I have an appointment. There’s a good train at nine.”
“Have another spot, then?”
“No thanks. I want to be right for my appointment.”
I guessed he had to see his lawyer about the divorce. I wasn’t happy about him, but there seemed nothing I could say. It was twenty minutes to nine.
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I went down to the lodge with him and opened the gate—Gunn had gone up to the dance.
“I’ll walk to the station with you.”
He shook his head.
“If I know anything, you want to be back in that laboratory.”
There was a slight flush on his thin cheeks, and the expression in his fine sombre eyes startled me.
“Are you all right, Spence?”
“Perfectly.” His voice held a hint of ghostly laughter.
A pause.
We shook hands. As I gazed at him doubtfully, he did actually smile, his old distorted smile.
“Good luck, Robert.… Bless you.”
I made my way back up the drive slowly. What he said was quite true. I had to finish, absolutely, or it would finish me. In the darkness, as I went towards the laboratory, I could still hear the soft beat of the music. That night fog we so often got was coming down.
As I entered the white cool room was silent, save for the low and muffled throbbing of the music. I freed my mind of everything, except my work. Despite the barred double windows of frosted glass, the stealthy fog had penetrated, and floated in a soft swathe, like a disembodied spirit, under the domed roof. Beneath, in the centre of the tiled floor, upon my bench, stood the filtration apparatus. I saw that the flask was nearly filled by a clear, translucent fluid. It took me but a moment to remove my jacket, roll up my shirt-sleeves, and pull on my soiled smock. Advancing to the bench, I took up the flask, gazed at it with a strange and thrilling emotion. Then, intently, I set to work.
It was only a short process to standardize and encapsulate the final product. At quarter to ten I had done it. At last, in spite of everything, I had reached the summit of the endless hill and looked down upon the kingdoms spread before me.
I felt so dizzy I had to hang on to the edge of the bench. The buzzing elation in my ears transformed the distant music. Faintly, then more clearly, I conceived the strains as a celestial symphony, with high angelic voices, clarion-sweet, mingling with bells and a sonorous counterpoint of drums. As these ecstatic harmonies swelled I kept muttering to myself tensely.
“I’ve done it … oh, God Almighty … I’ve finished it at last.”
With an effort I broke off, put away the ampules carefully in the ice box, locked up the laboratory, and went out.
I directed my exhausted footsteps towards my room. As I reached the vestibule I heard someone call my name, and turning, I saw Brogan, the attendant, running after me.
I stopped and waited till he came up. He was white and breathing fast.
“Dr. Shannon, I’ve been looking for you all over.” He caught his breath. “There’s been a little accident, sir.”
I stood quite still, staring at him.
“Look, sir.” Despite his experience, the man shuddered. “ It’s your friend … we just had word from the station.”
Spence! I suddenly felt sick. A cold sweat broke on my brow. I swallowed with an effort.
“He slipped and fell, sir. Just as the nine o’clock train came in. It was instantaneous.”
Chapter Seven
The next few days were raw and foggy, a chill and early breath of autumn, melancholy presage of the coming winter and, as I went about my duties, I felt an equal foreboding bearing coldly down upon me. Spence’s funeral had been held in his native town of Ullapool in the distant county of Ross, and I had been unable to attend it. But in a letter to his parents I had tried to temper the blow by attributing the occurrence solely to tragic chance. I had heard nothing of Lomax and Muriel.
The laboratory was locked, the key in my pocket, and it seemed strange that I should not be going there. Professor Challis would return to Winton at the end of the week, I would leave all arrangements concerning the announcement in his hands. Inevitably, news of my achievement pervaded Eastershaws, and I was obliged to endure the embarrassment of congratulations—restrained from Maitland and Miss Indre, effusive from Palfrey, warm and dignified from Dr. Goodall. There came also an extraordinary trunk call from Wilson’s, the great pharmaceutical house in London, which, until Challis should advise me, I refused to answer.
But on Thursday I received a visitor whom I had expected least of all. After supper, as I paced up and down my room, smoking endless cigarettes, trying to concentrate my scattered thoughts and to control my still unruly nerves, Professor Usher was shown in.
I gazed blankly at his tall, distinguished figure as he came forward and shook my hand with a cordial smile.
“My dear Shannon, how are you? I hope I haven’t come at an inconvenient moment?”
“No …” I said stiffly. “Not at all.”
“May I sit down?” He took a chair and crossed one leg over the other. “I dare say I should have let you know I was coming, but I enjoy acting upon impulse. And I did wish to be amongst the first to felicitate you.”
“Thank you.”
“I was in my office when Professor Challis telephoned me from Bute, working out a little idea.” He smiled and caressed his neat imperial. “ Despite my heavy administrative burdens, I try to get down occasionally to some real research. Well, I did not hesitate a moment.”
I could not think of a suitable response, so I said nothing at all.
“Of course, I knew this was coming. I flatter myself I keep my ear pretty close to the ground. After all, the main purpose of my Department is to foster all that is worth while in modern scientific advancement and, despite our little disagreement, I realized that one day you would justify my belief in you.”
I bit my lip at this airy insincerity.
“It would have saved me considerable trouble if you had acted upon that assumption.”
“Yes,” he agreed in his most winning manner. “I’m prepared to admit frankly that I was hasty. And now I’ve said it, I hope you’ll meet me halfway and forget what’s past.”
My head was aching more than ever. I could not fathom his purpose. His tone grew more confidential.
“Now, listen, Shannon. I’ll be perfectly open with you. Lately, we’ve had a run of shocking bad luck at the Department. We have not been getting satisfactory results. To cut a long story short, I want you back.”
I made an instinctive gesture of refusal, but he held me with an impressive eye.
“Don’t misunderstand me. I mean something considerably more important than merely handing you back your old position. Significant changes have been shaping up at the University. At last I have been won over to the idea of incorporating a biochemical laboratory in the Pathology building, and the Board of Trustees has decided to found a chair for experimental research in that particular field. The salary has been fixed at seven hundred pounds per annum, and the duties of the new director, subject of course, to my most cordial co-operation, will be to organize and promote the work of the laboratory. He will have the status of a junior professor, with the privilege of delivering a course of lectures each session. Now, Shannon—” He drew a long, important breath. “ I want you to consider the results a young and brilliant man might achieve in this position, aided by trained technicians and eager young students.” He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. “What would you say if the chance were given to you?”
I tried to keep steady in my chair. The offer took my breath away, an opportunity the like of which I had never dared, even, to contemplate. I saw that Usher’s motives were completely selfish, he wanted me for the sake of the Department, and for his own sake too. The scientific and popular interest created by the publication of my discovery, the newspaper acclaim, the new health legislation which would be introduced in Parliament, all this was too infinitely valuable for him to miss. Even so, was he less human on that count? In my perplexity and distress I pressed my hand across my forehead, not knowing how to answer him.
“There, there,” Usher said, easily. “ I’ve a fair idea of how hard you’ve been at it. I won’t bother you any more at present. What I suggest is this. You’ll come to dinner at my house, Monday night. The Chancello
r will be there, together with a few of my colleagues, members of the Senate who are keenly interested, to meet and congratulate you. There may also be present, though whisper it not in Gath”—his incisive expression became arch—“an editor or two, distinguished representatives of the Press. I think I can promise you a stimulating evening.”
I tried to express my thanks, but he stopped me with a smile.
“Not a word, my dear fellow. You must accept this as my amende honorable. Eight o’clock sharp then, at my house on Monday. Splendid. Again my congratulations, coupled with the hope that in the future we may further the noble cause of science together.”
He stood up, clasped my hand, flashed upon me his histrionic smile and left the room.
I sank back in my chair. This brilliant turn of events was too much for my tired brain, I still could scarcely grasp it. The first start of excitement was over, I felt no elation, only a strange inner tensity. This was the copy-book reward of industry, perseverance, and high endeavour. I was the prize student now, at the head of the list. They all professed their friendship, were eager to shake my hand; even the Dalnair committee would want to claim acquaintance with me now. But they had been against me, every one of them, when I was really struggling, bogged in the morass of adversity.
Yet I knew I would not be so heroic as to disown success. I had suffered too long the cruel pangs, the back-breaking effort of independent effort. Usher wouldn’t interfere too much. And the money … seven hundred pounds a year … I had never once thought of that, but now, despite myself, I would be rich, I might even dress like a well-off practitioner, quite the gentleman … it was all going to end up well, after all.
It was not good for me, this bitterness, but I could not check it, my future had never seemed brighter, yet a shroud seemed cast over my joy. Only one person would truly care, honestly rejoice in my success. I could see her face at this moment. For weeks I had buried that picture in the secret recesses of my mind, now I could not free myself of it. And suddenly, through the hardness which pervaded me, there came a soft and tender yearning. She had broken with me. Her prolonged silence indicated that. And I had betrayed her. But I wanted to speak with her, only for a moment, to tell her that my research was over; only for a moment, to hear her voice.
