O, These Men, These Men!

by Angela Thirkell

  “Both beds,” said Caroline still looking out of the window.

  “Yes, madam,” said Maud in an awestruck whisper, and withdrew.

  “Now,” said Caroline, ignoring this interlude, “we really must go to Cadogan Square. Have you time, Francis?”

  The days were beginning to lengthen, but when they got to Cadogan Square the curtains were drawn and fires glowed. Anna in the drawing room greeted them with open arms. Francis and Caroline threw themselves whole-heartedly into the business of praising her William till she shone with pleasure.

  “What is so delightful,” she said, “is that Father approves, just like a real father in a book. He wants to see you, Caroline; William is with him now. He wants to know what you think of doing. William said he thought you had a plan. What is it? Not to leave us altogether, Caroline? When Father and Mother come back from abroad I am sure they will want you here again. And I shall want you too. If only I could stay here with you, but they want me to go with them, and William agrees that I ought to.”

  By this time Caroline and Francis had fallen a prey to ridiculous embarrassment and were exchanging helpless glances. Luckily, Colonel Beaton came in, and after greeting them with a warm handshake he said, “I haven’t told Anna your new plans, Caroline. I’ll leave Francis to explain them. Mr. Danvers is very anxious to see you and I’ll take you to the library if I may.”

  “William,” she said as soon as they were outside the door, “what am I to say to Father? You know I didn’t know about James till this morning, or I wouldn’t have married so quickly – oh, I don’t know, perhaps I would; yes, I know I would – but what will he think? Why didn’t you tell us last night, William?”

  “Because, my dear, I thought I wouldn’t. I have seen so much in the last two years. I have seen Wilfred having a very touching calf-love for my abominable Julia and getting through it like a man. I have seen my Julia fall into Hugh’s arms, and I think they will be happy. I have watched Anna in her devotion to you and her parents and learned to value her so deeply – I can’t talk about her, Caroline, but you know what her selfless generosity is. And my dear I have watched you doing your best against odds. Do you remember how I preached to you one day on the downs?”

  “It was a good preaching, William. I needed beating.”

  “It was impertinent on my part, but let that pass. May I speak to you frankly? I knew that things were more than usually difficult for you just then. You showed all the best in you; you gave your wholehearted blessing to my Julia in her new-found happiness. I thought I knew where your true happiness lay. I thought that yesterday would be the deciding day for you. So I didn’t ring Francis up till this morning.”

  “My blessed William, it was very wrong of you, but thank God you didn’t. Oh, William, I can’t do much for Francis, but I can make a doormat of myself and ruin his character.”

  “You won’t do either, my dear. You will bully Francis and improve him. But come, we can’t stand on the landing pouring out our hearts for anyone on the stairs. Come see Mr. Danvers. I will help you if you need it, but I don’t think it will be needed.”

  It was with a sinking heart that Caroline went into the library. Mr. Danvers was sitting alone at his desk. At the sight of Caroline his tired, patient face lighted and he came forward to meet her.

  “My dear, it was good of you to come,” he said. “We won’t talk about what has happened. It is the end of a hopeless story. I didn’t know what you would feel about it. Sit down, Beaton.”

  “Father,” said Caroline, “if ever I didn’t do my duty by James, forgive me.”

  “Child, there is no forgiveness between you and me, or James. The account is closed.”

  “I am afraid,” said Caroline, taking Mr. Danver’s hand, “I have to ask you to be patient with me again. I have done something that you may disapprove. I can only say that I did it in ignorance of James’ death.”

  “I can never disapprove anything you do.”

  “Father, Francis came to Beechwood yesterday. We met on the hills. It was nearly sunset. I thought my love had died with James, years ago, but Francis – Francis—”

  Her voice sank to a low touching sound on her husband’s name. Mr. Danvers said nothing. William Beaton looked encouragement at her and she spoke again.

  “He asked me to marry him, Father. I was thankful. He had a special licence. We were married at half-past eight this morning. Then William rang up and told us what had happened. Father, my first thought was selfishness; gladness that I had not known before. Then I thought of you. Will you forgive me and take my thanks for sheltering me, bearing with me for so long? And will you still think of me as a daughter?”

  “God bless you, my dear,” said Mr. Danvers. “You and Anna are happy. I have no more to say. Go to your husband now. Beaton, stay with me. There are affairs to discuss before I go abroad.”

  Caroline went softly out. Too much moved to return to the drawing room, she slipped up stairs to Anna’s sitting room and there gave way to silent tears, the last she was to shed in that house. Mr. Danver’s handsome face lined with grief, his acceptance, his unbelievable understanding, his final blessing, all these mingled to something that touched the sorrow and hope of life itself. Not till she had released herself in tears did she go down to find Francis.

  He and Anna had not been for long at cross purposes. It had pleased him to mystify and tease her for a short time, but his eagerness to tell his triumph soon got the upper hand. Nothing could have given him more pleasure than Anna’s joyful face; nothing could have given Anna more joy than to know that Caroline was at last in a happy haven. Together, they talked over the past two years and laughed at past troubles. But Anna said no word to Francis of the love’s cross currents that had tried and proved herself and Caroline, nor would she ever speak of them in the future, even to her William.

  Wilfred and George coming back from the office together were discussing the state of affairs at home, with special reference to themselves, for their young minds had been considerably exercised during the last twenty-four hours.

  “I don’t want to be a beast,” said Wilfred, as he and George emerged from Sloane Square station, “but James really might have thought of other people a bit. I mean he might have known that the parents would be upset. Not that I mean to say he fell down and killed himself on purpose, but to go on the burst in another man’s house and then get killed simply isn’t done.”

  “Thank heaven the parents are going abroad,” said George. “I’m dashed sorry for Old Intellect, and I’m sorry for Mother too, if only she didn’t want one to come and sit with her and hear all about James’ childish days. It’s so awkward to get away. If you stay too long that wretched Nurse Somebody comes in and says you are tiring her, and if you try to go away she begins to cry, and one feels no end of a beast. It will be a bit brighter when William is in charge and you are in Paris.”

  “It will be a bit brighter for me to be in Paris, I can tell you. I say, George, how about a wedding present for Anna and William? I thought we might club together and give them a lot of really decent records.”

  “Jolly good idea. Boris and Prince Igor perhaps.”

  “Don’t be an ass. They won’t want that ghastly stuff. Wagner’s the chap.”

  “Better give them a record of Hitler cutting his moustache while you’re about it.”

  The controversy proceeded on well-worn lines till they got home and was continued in the hall, up the staircase and into the drawing room.

  “Hullo, Caroline,” said George. “Hullo, Francis, Look here, Anna, would you like some records for a wedding present?”

  “Oh, George, I’d love them.”

  “We thought of some Wagner,” said Wilfred lightly.

  “We thought of some Rimsky,” said George carelessly.

  “I’d simply love a Gilbert and Sullivan opera,” said Anna at the same moment.

  The scorn which the two brothers felt for each other was now completely obliterated by the pity they
felt for their sister, but they did their best not to let her feel what a brick she had dropped.

  It was George who first remembered the anomalous position in which Caroline now stood.

  “I say, Caroline,” he remarked, drawing his chair nearer to her, “I hope this business about James isn’t upsetting you. I know you didn’t have much of a time, but I don’t suppose you wanted the poor old fellow to go off like that.”

  “Thank you, George dear. I really don’t mind, so don’t be sorry for me. And I have something to tell you. Francis came down to Beechwood yesterday and we decided to get married.”

  In George’s ingenuous countenance, she could read the surprise of one who finds that his elders are capable of any kind of human emotion, struggling with a kind heart.

  “Well, I’m awfully glad and all that,” he said nervously, “but I suppose James will make a difference. I mean, don’t you want to – I mean, don’t you sort of—”

  “One doesn’t have to go into mourning for one’s divorced husband, if that is what you mean,” said Caroline a little tartly. But sorry for George, who was reddening uncomfortably, she added, “and anyway it is too late because Francis and I were married this morning.”

  George looked at her with a face so devoid of any intelligence that she began to fear that the shock of the news had deranged his intellect. His demented appearance began to attract the attention of the rest of the company.

  “Hi! George! What’s up?” said Wilfred.

  George with an effort pulled himself together and said Francis and Caroline were married and he supposed it was all right.

  “I wouldn’t have believed it,” he said, “only Caroline told me.”

  “Is it true?” asked Wilfred.

  Francis said it was perfectly true.

  Nothing would then satisfy the young men but that Francis should tell them the whole story from beginning to end. Their admiration of anyone got married with a special licence was unbounded, and having got over their initial horror at Caroline’s unmaidenly step, they were voluble in congratulations. George’s only criticism of the affair was that in Soviet Russia no licence would have been necessary as marriage had no legal status, while Wilfred applauded a marriage in which both parties were so delightful and would obviously— He then broke off in some confusion.

  “I intend to have at least four children, if that is what you mean, Wilfred,” said Caroline, reflecting that it was the second time she had had to rescue her young brothers-in-law from impasses of their own making. At this, Wilfred looked so ashamed, though more on Caroline’s behalf than on his own, that everyone laughed.

  They were still laughing when William Beaton came into the room with the depressing announcement that Mrs. Danvers in the first place couldn’t understand why the children were making so much noise at such a time, and secondly wanted George to go up and sit with her and tell her what they were all talking about.

  “Don’t you wish you were going to Paris like me?” said the ungrammatical Wilfred, displaying neither fraternal nor filial piety.

  George said he wished he lived in a sensible place like Russia where people’s mothers didn’t expect them to behave as if they were still in the nursery, and saying goodbye to Caroline and Francis went disconsolately upstairs.

  “William,” said Caroline, “does Mother know about Francis and me?”

  “Yes. Mr. Danvers told her.”

  “Did she mind? Is she angry?”

  “I am afraid she feels it.”

  “Nevermind, Caroline,” said Wilfred, “Mother gets such a lot of pleasure out of feeling hurt that you are really a blessing in disguise. When she comes back you’ll be in favor again and probably Anna will be in disgrace for wanting to marry William.”

  “I hope I shall be in favor,” said Caroline sadly. “But I don’t think people forget about their children that die, and I am afraid I shall always be in her mind when she thinks of James, and she will blame me. We had better go now, Francis.”

  Wilfred came down to the front door to see them off.

  “Goodbye, Caroline,” he said. “I shall be off to Paris soon. I shan’t forget how good you were to me at Christmas. William told me the other day that it was you that got him to send me to Paris that first time. I do hope you and Francis will be very happy.”

  “Thank you, dear Wilfred, and you too,” said Caroline giving him her hand. Wilfred held it for a moment and with a diffidence which sat well upon him he kissed it. Then he seriously gave it to Francis and returning into the house shut the door behind him.

  Francis and Caroline, nervous of the possibility of facing an outraged Rose, dined at a restaurant, the same at which they had dined on the night of the Russian ballet. They lingered over coffee till it was late, talking little, for they had much to say and speech was difficult. When Francis had paid his bill, he was going to get up, but Caroline, stretching her hand across the little table, held his for a moment.

  “Francis,” she said, looking at him with her piercing, unfathomed glance, “I have thought of something.”

  “What, love?” asked Francis, adding idly, “do you know what lovely hands you have?”

  “Yes, because you told me so. Do you want to know what I thought of?”

  Francis, his spirit reeling in Caroline’s deep gaze managed to say that he would like very much to know.

  “I’m terribly glad you married me,” said his adored one, “because now I shan’t have any more trouble with those horrid apostrophes.”

  Though Francis’ head was among the wheeling stars, he had to look down to earth to inquire into this preposterous remark.

  “Apostrophes, darling? I knew I was mad, but it appears that you are too.”

  “I mean all that trouble about esses,” said his idol, not making matters much clearer.

  “I am still entirely at a loss as to your meaning, but you look so heavenly.”

  “Well,” said Caroline patiently, “you see with Danvers one never knew what to do. If I wanted to say Mrs. Danvers’ car – not that we ever had one except for a few months after we were married because James didn’t appear to be able to afford anything but whisky – it was such a hissing noise. And when it came to writing it, I never knew whether I ought to put an apostrophe or lots of esses.”

  She paused with a rapt expression as of one who has discovered a new natural law, while Francis, feeling unequal to the mental effort required to follow her, sat adoring her with all his might.

  “But now,” continued Caroline getting up, “it will all be so easy. It is so easy to say Lester’s. Francis Lester’s wife. Is that a good thing to say, Francis?”

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