O, These Men, These Men!

by Angela Thirkell

  The Beatons said goodbye to George in a manner which considerably raised his spirits and presently, he left with his brother.

  “How much money has James taken off you?” said Wilfred as they walked along.

  “About fifteen pounds.”

  “Can you afford it?”

  “Don’t be a fool, you know I can’t.”

  “Well, I’ll help if you’re in difficulties. I get a bigger salary next month when I go to France. And don’t go doing it again.”

  “I jolly well won’t, and it’s awfully decent of you. I say, do you think poor old James really believed all he said?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  “I suppose he’s got a kind of swelled head like Hitler,” said George, brightening up.

  “Or Lenin,” said Wilfred.

  “You don’t even know if Lenin is dead or alive,” said George scornfully.

  “I bet I could smell him a mile off, dead or alive.”

  So, brotherly discord amicably re-established and the question of James happily laid aside for the time being, the two brothers had a mock fight on the doorstep and both fell into the hall together.

  Chapter XIII

  Loss And Gain

  Colonel Beaton’s words about Dr. Herbert looking after Caroline had seriously alarmed Francis. He had so often seen her looking exhausted, only sustained by politeness, but he had put the dispiriting vision away at the back of his mind. The mention of Dr. Herbert roused these slumbering fears and he brooded miserably till he could bear it no longer. He knew that the Herberts were to come up for the wedding, he knew that they were not well off, so he wrote to Mrs. Herbert, asking her and her husband to stay with him for a night or a couple of nights as suited them. He also explained that James was more or less a resident in his house and throwing himself on Mrs. Herbert’s mercy begged her to help him with his erratic guest. He also asked in a careless way after Caroline.

  Mrs. Herbert answered him by return of post, accepting with joy and fully prepared to help with James. She said she had not seen much of Caroline since she came down. This gave little satisfaction to Francis who was able to give himself a good deal of misery by imagining Caroline ill at Beechwood, too careless of herself to send for Dr. Herbert. He thought of telephoning, but a certain diffidence in intruding on Caroline’s voluntary seclusion held him back. His only comfort was an almost daily exchange of letters with his cousin. Her letters seemed to him more like her old self than she herself had ever been since her marriage. They were usually about nothing in particular, written from a wish to share some thought, some small experience with him, or for the sake of writing. Sardonic, fantastic, moving, affectionate, rambling, allusive, they showed Francis facets of Caroline’s mind that he had hardly suspected before, that had been lost and dulled in the few past years. Sometimes, Caroline appeared to be conscious that her unbridled pen was running too mad a course.

  “I can’t help writing wildly,’ she wrote to Francis, “because ink is fatal to me. I can get drunk on a pennyworth of ink with blotting paper and hairs in it where a bottle of champagne would leave me unmoved. I don’t know which is the real Caroline, the cold champagne drinker or the lunatic ink-fiend. I have just the wits to know that I am drunk, but I do get a drunkard’s pleasure in letting myself be a little debraillee in letters to you. I live in a kind of mummy case and if I don’t break out occasionally I shall become as dead as my case. I take a mean advantage of you and let loose to you because I believe you care for me as myself, as your cousin Caroline, and wouldn’t change your opinion of me however madly I wrote. I try to protect you; I tear up five sheets of paper for every one that I send. I walk for hours on the downs, mostly alone, but fast as I walk I can never outstrip my thoughts. It is my ambition to walk to the edge of the world and the end of time and fall into an absolute nothingness for ever and ever – no feelings, no dreams. But one always has to be back for tea alas! at least at this time of year.”

  Francis was disturbed by her outpourings. He did not like to think of her trying to drown her thoughts in physical fatigue. He longed to be with her and be some kind of help. At least he could restrain her from these feverish walks, make her rest, find music and books to interest her and keep her mind from its ceaseless whirling, let her release herself in talk with him instead of imagining, wondering, fearing. But affectionate though her letters were, there was never a word asking him to come, and he was not willing to force himself upon her, or even to make a suggestion that she might care to see him.

  Meanwhile, he read and re-read her letters and cursed himself because he could not adequately answer them. Ink to him was no loosener of the tongue.

  On the day before Julia’s wedding Dr. and Mrs. Herbert came up to town. Francis was still at work when they arrived and Rose, much to her gloomy pleasure, was able to give them a graphic account of their fellow guest.

  “He’s not been so bad today,” said Rose with some pride. “He’s having a bit of a lay-down before dinner. Mr. Francis is taking you to the theater, madam, and Dr. Herbert and Mr. Danvers. I gave Mr. Danvers a nice cup of tea and told him to get to sleep. I’ll get you some tea now, madam. I don’t know if I ought to mention it, but Mr. Danvers is a bit upset about Mr. Hugh’s wedding. It seems it’s quite private like, just for the family, and Mr. Danvers hasn’t been asked and rightly too, as the poor gentleman couldn’t be relied upon, if you take my meaning.”

  As tea was brought, Francis came in. It was impossible to avoid the subject of James, and Mrs. Herbert was all anxiety to discuss it. She had, it appeared, from her stage experience an infallible eye for the first signs of young men taking to the bottle and these signs she had detected in James soon after she and her husband came to Beechwood.

  “My husband didn’t agree with me,” she said. “He said a happy marriage would make James settle down. Oh, you men! Marriage isn’t a cure for alcoholism. If James was to marry he needed a wife like myself, someone who has knocked about the world and knows how to stand up for herself. If I had married James,” said Mrs. Herbert who was about fifty-five and of massive and imposing build, “I would have knocked the nonsense out of him.”

  “I’m sure you would,” said Francis respectfully. “And how is Caroline?”

  “Caroline,” continued Mrs. Herbert, ignoring or not hearing Francis’ last question, “was the last person he ought to have married. If his parents had had more sense they might have stopped it. But Mrs. Danvers adored James and could never deny him anything and as for Mr. Danvers he is an angel and quite unfit for a world where you have to keep your wits about you. He may be a good business man, but he hasn’t an idea how to bring up a difficult boy. He just didn’t believe that his family could go wrong. I must say they both of them made it up to Caroline as well as they could.”

  “How is Caroline,” Francis asked again, but again Mrs. Herbert overwhelmed him.

  “I must say,” she continued, “that if there were any justice in this world, James would have died in a fit of D.T.’s. My husband says he had the best constitution of any man he knew. He must have it still by what your parlormaid tells us. Drugs too, I imagine. I suppose you are taking him to the theater to keep his mind off things. I’d let him drink himself to death if I were you. Caroline will never have a day’s peace till he is dead. She doesn’t say anything to us, poor child, but we have known her long enough to see what is in her mind.”

  “How is she?” said Francis patiently.

  “But don’t you bother about James while we are here,” said Mrs. Herbert rising majestically. “I didn’t have fifteen years on the provincial stage for nothing and if anyone can manage drunks, I can. I have given it up of course since I retired,” she added explanatorily, as a prima donna might say she had given up opera since marrying a duke, “but don’t let James try it on with me. Besides he may be useful. My new villain, Sir Morton Maltravers, is a drug addict, and I may get some copy. Now I must go and unpack if we are to dine early.”

  When she had
gone, Francis, seeing time slipping through his hands, turned to Dr. Herbert and asked him about Caroline’s health.

  “I’m anxious about her,” he said, adding rather unnecessarily, “you know she is my cousin and Hugh’s, and we are very fond of her.”

  “The trouble with her is that she doesn’t know what she wants,” said Dr. Herbert, getting out his pipe. “Do you mind this in your drawing room? She isn’t ill. I could give her a tonic or a pill but that wouldn’t do anything.”

  “Is there anything I could do to help?”

  Dr. Herbert looked at him as if about to speak, but when he spoke, Francis had the impression that he had changed his mind and altered what he was going to say.

  “If I were you, I’d go down and see Caroline,” he said. “She is lonely and frightened and she won’t admit it. Your cousin is a fool, Lester. First she puts up with that unspeakable young Danvers – mind you I’ve seen him in one or two of his bad times and I know what I’m talking about – till she is half-killed. If you hadn’t brought her to Beechwood when you did, it would probably have been the end of her. Then instead of marrying again like a sensible woman and having a husband and children to worry about, she goes about looking like a tired ghost, frightening herself about nothing.”

  “But perhaps she didn’t want to marry again.”

  “I told you, Lester, she doesn’t know what she wants. What she needs, and I speak as a doctor and a friend, is a husband. She probably thinks all men are brutes because of James. They aren’t. If she had a husband who could adore her and be firm with her, there wouldn’t be much wrong with her. Of course,” said Dr. Herbert, walking over to the fireplace and finding some matches on the mantelpiece, “it would have to be a man who would be prepared to go very gently at first and not be impatient if she was sometimes nervous and difficult. There is no more difficult person to live with than one who, like her, has been living alone with herself. But she would get over all that.”

  The glimpse which Dr. Herbert had of Francis’ face in the looking-glass over the mantelpiece apparently satisfied him, for he added, “What time do we dine?”

  “A quarter past seven, if you don’t mind, because of the play.”

  “Right. Then I’ll go up now and have a look at our friend James on my way up. It would save a lot of trouble if I gave him a good strong hypodermic tonight, but I suppose that would be unprofessional.”

  *

  The wedding was to be at ten o’clock, so that the bride and bridegroom could get away at once for their brief honeymoon. At half-past eight, Francis turned up at Hugh’s flat looking so worn that his cousin made him sit down and have a large drink.

  “By rights,” said Hugh indignantly, “it is I who ought to be a gibbering wreck and you ought to be giving brandy to me. What’s up?”

  “I’d like to tell you, if there is time,” said Francis. “Don’t give me any more brandy. I’ve had no breakfast.”

  “Great fool,” said Hugh affectionately, and telephoned for breakfast to be sent up immediately. “I needn’t start till after half-past nine, so fire away. Is it our dear James again?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, I am in charity with all men on my wedding morn,” said Hugh, “but I wish James were cremated. I say, Francis, I feel I’ve let you down a bit over this, but I really couldn’t have him here with the chance of Julia coming in. I hope he hasn’t been too awful a nuisance.”

  “It’s all right,” said Francis.

  Breakfast then came in. Francis, eating very little and talking a good deal, managed to tell Hugh the events of the preceding night.

  “You know I’ve got the Herberts staying with me for your wedding,” he began. “Well, I thought I’d take them and James to a play. She always snorts like a war-horse at the sight of the stage, and theaters don’t encourage heavy drinking, so I thought with the three of us he’d be all right. I would have asked you, but I knew you wouldn’t want to come when James was there.”

  “Frankly I wouldn’t. But you might have known I’d have come for you,” said Hugh, hitting his cousin on the back. “I’ve been a hell of a fool about James. First I believed him and when I found he was being a nasty piece of work I rather dropped him. I ought to have thought of you.”

  “That’s all right, and certainly you couldn’t have him about with Julia there. Well, Rose had kept James off the drink all day, except when he went round to the local pub, but they are decent people there and look after him, so he must have had some other dope, I don’t know what. The Herberts were splendid. She seems to have been a female chucker-out at one stage of her theatrical career and I could see the light of battle in her eye as I told her about him. She was longing to try her hand at him. So we all had dinner and went to the theater quite respectably and I was just beginning to feel relieved that the whole thing was over so well, and we could get James back and give him some cocoa and put him to bed, when just as we were leaving the theater he said something about drinking to the happy pair and dashed off. Neither Herbert nor I could leave Mrs. Herbert alone, and before we could collect our wits or knew what to do, James was entirely lost.”

  “Have another kidney,” said Hugh sympathetically.

  “No, thanks. There was nothing to do, so we three went home. Herbert, like a sensible man went to bed, but Mrs. Herbert – who I must say was rather enjoying the dramatic situation – and Rose and I sat up all night waiting for the wanderer, blast him.”

  “No wonder you look a bit washed out. But don’t worry like that, Francis. He’ll come back all right. Even if he did turn up at the wedding, there are vergers and people to keep him out. Now don’t worry, my dear old fellow.”

  “It’s all very well to say don’t worry, but wait till I tell you the rest. You see I hadn’t the faintest idea where he had gone and what was at the back of my mind the whole time was that he might go to Beechwood. Well, he didn’t. He came back about seven o’clock this morning in a taxi, in about as unattractive a state as I ever seen him in.”

  “I know,” said Hugh. “You and I saw enough of that when poor Caroline was still with him. My poor boy, what a time.”

  “I must say,” said Francis laughing faintly, “Mrs. Herbert and Rose had the times of their lives. They reclaimed the prodigal to that extent that he must have repented for the first time in his life, especially as I don’t think he remembered who Mrs. Herbert was. They put him to bed and Mrs. Herbert volunteered to stay with him for the morning. She said you would forgive her for not coming to your wedding, and she thought her absence would be better than her and James’ presence. She is a brick. So then I had a bath and a shave and came round here.”

  “It was jolly decent of you,” said Hugh. “Are you feeling better now? We needn’t go just yet.”

  “I’m all right now. Hugh, suppose he did go to Beechwood and frighten Caroline. I can’t get it out of my head. He is all right for the moment, but I can’t look after him night and day, and he won’t leave England.”

  “Now, listen to a little sense,” said Hugh, taking a seat on the arm of Francis’ chair. “Do you still love Caroline.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” said Francis wearily.

  “That isn’t on the face of it a very helpful answer,” said Hugh, “but I think I get you. Why don’t you go down to Beechwood yourself today, after the wedding, and see Caroline? Your office won’t fall down if you miss a day there. Why don’t you marry her and stand no nonsense? Then perhaps James will retire to the Colonies or a lunatic asylum, and anyway it won’t matter if he doesn’t.”

  “I did ask her to marry me,” said Francis.

  “And do you mean to say you never asked her again?” said Hugh. “Then you deserve all the trouble you get. I would have asked Julia twenty times, but she is a sensible girl and saved me the trouble.”

  Francis got up, looking a little less haggard and weary.

  “Look here, old fellow,” said Hugh, putting his hands on Francis’ shoulders and shaking him kindly. “You go
down to Beechwood today, in your car, the minute the register is signed. Is that understood?”

  “I suppose so. As a matter of fact I did get a special licence a week or two ago when things looked a little brighter. Oh, Hugh, if you only knew—”

  “I do. I know absolutely everything about being in love, only I’ve got more sense than you have. I must say you show a gleam of intelligence about that special licence though. Come on.”

  The bridegroom and his best man arrived at the church in due time and greatly disappointed the handful of onlookers, who felt defrauded by the sight of two men in ordinary clothes. Nor were they given any more satisfaction by the bride and Anna who had not even a spray of orange blossom between them. Colonel Beaton, Dr. Herbert, Wilfred and George who were wearing top hats slightly raised the standard, but on the whole it was felt that the money should be returned. Julia and Hugh went through their part of the ceremony with perfect self-possession, the register was signed, and the married pair drove off to Waterloo.

  “It feels a bit flat,” said Colonel Beaton. “I’m going back to the hotel. I go down to Whitelands tomorrow, unless anything turns up to keep me here. Shall I see any of you again?”

  Wilfred and George had to go back to the office. Dr. Herbert and Anna said they would go back to the hotel with Colonel Beaton. Francis took him aside for a moment.

  “I’m going straight down to Beechwood,” he said, “to see Caroline. I’m worried about her. I wish to God we could get James away. He is all to pieces and Mrs. Herbert is looking after him like an angel. They are staying on till tomorrow to keep an eye on him.”

  “I will try him about South America again,” said Colonel Beaton, “though Im not hopeful. I’m glad you are going to see Caroline. She needs you – much more than you know.”

  Francis wrung Colonel Beaton’s hand gratefully and drove off.

  Colonel Beaton with Dr. Herbert and Anna then walked back to his hotel, where he got into more comfortable clothes and they all celebrated the wedding in a mournful way with sherry.