The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3

by John Galsworthy

  Lady Mont said suddenly: ‘The baby, Dinny?’

  ‘Frightfully well, thank you, Aunt Em. He walks.’

  ‘I was countin’ up the pedigree, and he makes the twenty-fourth Cherrell of Condaford; and before that they were French. Is Jean havin’ any more?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Fleur. ‘I never saw a young woman more like it.’

  ‘There’ll be nothin’ for them.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll wangle their futures all right.’

  ‘Such a singular word,’ said Lady Mont.

  ‘Dinny, how’s Clare?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Any developments?’ And Fleur’s clear eyes seemed to slide into her brain.

  ‘Yes, but –’

  Michael’s voice broke the silence.

  ‘Dornford has a very neat idea, Dad; he thinks –’

  The neat idea of Dornford was lost on Dinny, wondering whether or not to take Fleur into her confidence. She knew no one of quicker brain, or of a judgement on social matters more cynically sound. Further, she could keep a secret. But it was Clare’s secret, and she decided to speak to Sir Lawrence first.

  Late that night she did so. He received the news with his eyebrows.

  ‘All night in a car, Dinny? That’s a bit steep. I’ll get on to the lawyers at ten o’clock tomorrow. “Very young” Roger Forsyte, Fleur’s cousin, is there now; I’ll get hold of him, he’s likely to have more credulity than the hoarier members. You and I will go along too, to prove our faith.’

  ‘I’ve never been in the City.’

  ‘Curious place; built upon the ends of the earth. Romance and the bank rate. Prepare for a mild shock.’

  ‘Do you think they ought to defend?’

  Sir Lawrence’s lively eyes came to rest on her face.

  ‘If you ask me whether I think they’ll be believed – no. But at least we can divide opinion on the question.’

  ‘You do believe them yourself, don’t you?’

  ‘I plank on you there, Dinny. Clare wouldn’t try to take you in.’

  Thinking back to her sister’s face, and to young Croom’s, Dinny had a revulsion of feeling. ‘They are telling the truth, and they look like it. It would be wicked not to believe them.’

  ‘No end to that sort of wickedness in this wicked world. You look tired, my dear; better go to bed.’

  In that bedroom, where she had spent so many nights at the time of her own trouble, Dinny had again that half-waking nightmare, the sense of being close to Wilfrid and unable to reach him, and the refrain: ‘One more river, one more river to cross,’ kept running in her tired head.…

  In that quiet and yellow backwater, the Old Jewry, the offices of Kingson, Cuthcott and Forsyte were tribally invaded at four o’clock next day.

  ‘What’s become of old Gradman, Mr Forsyte?’ Dinny heard her uncle say. ‘Still here?’

  ‘Very young’ Roger Forsyte, who was forty-two, answered, in a voice which seemed to contradict his jaw: ‘I believe he’s still living at Pinner, or Highgate, or wherever it was.’

  ‘I should be glad to think so,’ murmured Sir Lawrence. ‘Old For – er, your cousin thought a lot of him. A regular Victorian piece.’

  ‘Very young’ Roger smiled. ‘Won’t you all sit down?’

  Dinny, who had never yet been in a lawyer’s office, looked at the law books along the walls, the bundles of papers, the yellowish blind, the repellent black fireplace with its little coal fire that seemed to warm nothing, the map of an estate hanging unrolled behind the door, the low wicker basket on the table, the pens and sealing-wax, and ‘very young’ Roger, and thought of an album of seaweed, compiled by her first governess. She saw her father rise and place a document in the solicitor’s hands.

  ‘We’ve come about this.’

  ‘Very young’ Roger glanced at the heading of the paper and over it at Clare.

  ‘How does he know which of us it is?’ thought Dinny.

  ‘There’s no truth in the allegations,’ said the General.

  ‘Very young’ Roger caressed his jaw and began reading.

  Dinny, from the side, could see that a sharp and rather bird-like look had come on his face.

  Noticing that Dinny could see him, he lowered the paper and said: ‘They seem in a hurry. The petitioner signed the affidavit in Egypt, I see. He must have come over there to save time. Mr Croom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You wish us to represent you as well?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then Lady Corven and you. Later, perhaps, Sir Conway, you’d come in again.’

  ‘Do you mind if my sister stays?’ said Clare.

  Dinny met the solicitor’s eyes. ‘Not at all.’ She did not know if he meant it.

  The General and Sir Lawrence went out, and there was silence. ‘Very young’ Roger leaned against the fireplace, and most unexpectedly took a pinch of snuff. Dinny saw that he was lean and rather tall, and that his jaw jutted. There was a faintly sandy tinge in his hair, and in the ruddiness of his hollowed cheeks.

  ‘Your father, Lady Corven, said there was no truth in these – er – allegations.’

  ‘The facts are as stated, the inferences are wrong. There’s been nothing between Mr Croom and myself, except three kisses on my cheek.’

  ‘I see. About this night in the car, now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Clare: ‘Not even one of those kisses.’

  ‘Nothing,’ repeated young Croom; ‘absolutely nothing.’

  ‘Very young’ Roger passed his tongue over his lips.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I think I should like to understand your feelings for each other – if any.’

  ‘We are speaking,’ said Clare, in a clear voice, ‘the absolute truth, as we’ve told it to my people; that’s why I asked my sister to stay. Tony?’

  ‘Very young’ Roger’s mouth twitched. To Dinny he did not seem to be taking it quite as a lawyer should; something in his dress, indeed, was a little unexpected – his waistcoat was it, or his tie? That snuff, too – as if a dash of the artist had been suppressed in him. He said:

  ‘Yes, Mr Croom?’

  Young Croom, who had gone very red, looked at Clare almost angrily.

  ‘I’m in love with her.’

  ‘Quite!’ said ‘very young’ Roger, reopening the snuff-box. ‘And you, Lady Corven, regard him as a friend?’

  Clare nodded – a faint surprise on her face.

  Dinny felt a sudden gratitude towards the questioner, who was applying a bandana to his nose.

  ‘The car was an accident,’ added Clare quickly; ‘it was pitch dark in the wood, our lights had failed, and we didn’t want to run any risk of people seeing us together so late at night.’

  ‘Exactly! Excuse my asking, but you’re both prepared to go into Court and swear there was absolutely nothing that night or on the other occasions, except – did you say – three kisses?’

  ‘On my cheek,’ said Clare; ‘one out of doors, when I was in a car and he wasn’t, and the others – when were the others, Tony?’

  Young Croom said between his clenched teeth: ‘In your rooms when I hadn’t seen you for over a fortnight.’

  ‘You neither of you knew you were being – er – shadowed?’

  ‘I knew my husband had threatened it, but we’d neither of us noticed anything.’

  ‘About leaving your husband, Lady Corven; any reason you’d care to give me?’

  Clare shook her head.

  ‘I’m not going into my life with him, either here or anywhere. And I’m not going back to him.’

  ‘Incompatibility, or worse?’

  ‘I think worse.’

  ‘But no definite charge. You realize the importance?’

  ‘Yes. But I’m not going into it, even privately.’

  Young Croom burst out: ‘He was a brute to her, of course.’

  ‘You knew him, Mr Croom?’

  ‘Never seen him in my life.’

  ‘Then –’

  ‘He just
thinks it because I left Jerry suddenly. He knows nothing.’

  Dinny saw ‘very young’ Roger’s eyes rest on herself. ‘But you do,’ they seemed to say; and she thought: ‘He’s no fool!’

  He had returned from the fireplace, walking with a slight limp; sitting down again, he took up the document, narrowed his eyes, and said:

  ‘This isn’t the sort of evidence the Court likes; in fact I’m not sure it’s evidence at all. All the same it’s not a very bright prospect. If you could show strong cause for leaving your husband, and we could get over that night in the car –’ He looked, bird-like, first at Clare and then at young Croom. ‘Still, you can’t let damages and costs like that go by default, when – er – you’ve done nothing.’ His eyes fell; and Dinny thought:

  ‘Not conspicuous – his credulity!’

  ‘Very young’ Roger lifted a paper-knife.

  ‘We might possibly get the damages agreed at a comparatively nominal sum, if you put in a defence and then didn’t appear. May I ask your monetary position, Mr Croom?’

  ‘I haven’t a bean, but that doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What exactly will “defending” mean?’ asked Clare.

  ‘You’d both go into the box and deny the charges. You’d be cross-examined, and we should cross-examine the petitioner and the inquiry agents. Candidly, unless you can give good reason for having left your husband, you’re almost bound to have the judge against you. And,’ he added, in a somewhat human manner, ‘a night is a night, especially to the divorce court, even in a car; though, as I say, it’s not the sort of evidence generally required.’

  ‘My Uncle thinks,’ said Dinny quietly, ‘that some of the jury, at all events, might believe them, and that the damages, in any case, would be reduced.’

  ‘Very young’ Roger nodded.

  ‘We’ll see what Mr Kingson says. I should like to see your father and Sir Lawrence again.’

  Dinny went to the door and held it open for her sister and young Croom. Glancing back she saw ‘very young’ Roger’s face. It was as if someone had asked him not to be a realist. He caught her eye, gave a funny little cock of his head, and took out his snuff-box. She shut the door and went up to him.

  ‘You’ll make a mistake if you don’t believe them. They’re speaking the absolute truth.’

  ‘Why did she leave her husband, Miss Cherrell?’

  ‘If she won’t tell you, I can’t. But I’m sure she was right.’

  He considered her for a moment with that sharp glance.

  ‘Somehow,’ he said suddenly, ‘I wish it were you.’ And, taking snuff, he turned to the General and Sir Lawrence.

  ‘Well?’ said the General.

  ‘Very young’ Roger looked suddenly more sandy.

  ‘If she had good reason for leaving her husband –’

  ‘She had.’

  ‘Father!’

  ‘It appears she isn’t prepared to speak of it.’

  ‘Nor should I be,’ said Dinny quietly.

  ‘Very young’ Roger murmured: ‘It might make all the difference, though.’

  ‘Serious thing for young Croom, Mr Forsyte,’ put in Sir Lawrence.

  ‘Serious, whether they defend or not, Sir Lawrence. I’d better see them both separately. Then I’ll get Mr Kingson’s view, and let you know tomorrow. Will that do, General?’

  ‘It revolts me,’ said the General, ‘to think of that fellow Corven!’

  ‘Quite!’ said ‘very young’ Roger, and Dinny thought she had never heard a more doubtful sound.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  DINNY sat in the little bare waiting-room turning over The Times. Young Croom stood at the window.

  ‘Dinny,’ he said, turning, ‘can you think of any way in which I can make this less beastly for her? It’s all my fault in a sense, but I have tried to keep myself in hand.’

  Dinny looked at his troubled face. ‘I can’t; except by sticking to the exact truth.’

  ‘Do you believe in that chap in there?’

  ‘I rather do. I like his taking snuff.’

  ‘I don’t believe in defending. Why should she be ragged in the witness-box for nothing? What does it matter if they bankrupt me?’

  ‘We must prevent that somehow.’

  ‘D’you think I’d let –’

  ‘We won’t discuss it, Tony. Sufficient unto the day! Isn’t this a dingy place? Dentists try much harder – Marcus Stone on the walls, all the old Bystanders, and you can bring a dog.’

  ‘Could we smoke?’

  ‘Surely.’

  ‘These are only stinkers.’

  Dinny took one, and they puffed for a minute in silence.

  ‘It’s too foul!’ he said, suddenly. ‘That fellow will have to come over, won’t he? He never can really have cared a scrap for her.’

  ‘Oh! yes he did. “Souvent homme varie, folle est qui s’y fie!” ’

  ‘Well,’ said young Croom grimly, ‘I’d better be kept from him.’ He went back to the window and stood looking out. Dinny sat thinking of that scene, when two men had not been kept apart, so pitifully like a dog fight and rending to her in its sequel.

  Then Clare came in. There were spots of red in her pale cheeks. ‘Your turn, Tony.’

  Young Croom came from the window, looked hard into her face, and passed into the lawyer’s room. Dinny felt very sorry for him.

  ‘Ugh!’ said Clare: ‘Let’s get out of this!’

  On the pavement, she went on:

  ‘I wish now we had been lovers, Dinny, instead of in this mock-pretty state that no one believes in.’

  ‘We do believe.’

  ‘Oh! you and Dad. But that snuffy rabbit doesn’t, and no one else will. Still, I shall go through with it. I won’t let Tony down, and I won’t give Jerry an inch that I can help giving.’

  ‘Let’s have tea,’ said Dinny. ‘There must be tea somewhere in the City.’

  In a crowded thoroughfare they soon saw an A.B.C.

  ‘Then you didn’t like “very young” Roger?’ asked Dinny from across the small round table.

  ‘Oh! he’s all right – rather decent, really. I suppose lawyers simply can’t believe. But nothing will shake me, Dinny, about not going into my married life. I will not, and that’s flat.’

  ‘I see his point. You start with the battle half won against you.’

  ‘I won’t allow the lawyers to work it in. We employ them, and they must do what we want. I’m going straight from here to the Temple, by the bye, and perhaps on to the House.’

  ‘Excuse my reverting for a moment; but what are you going to do about Tony Croom till this comes on?’

  ‘Go on just as we were, except for nights in cars. Though what the difference between day and night – in a car, or anywhere else – is, I don’t know.’

  ‘I suppose they go by human nature as a whole.’ And Dinny leaned back. So many girls, so many young men, snatching their teas and rolls and buns and cocoa; chatter and silence and a stale effluvium, little tables, and the attendant spirits. What was human nature as a whole? Didn’t they say that it had to be changed? The stuffy past wiped out! And yet this A.B.C. was just like the A.B.C. she went into with her mother before the war, and thought so thrilling because the bread was aerated. And the Divorce Court – into which she had never been yet – was that any different?

  ‘Have you finished, old thing?’ said Clare.

  ‘Yes. I’ll come with you as far as the Temple.’

  As they paused to part at Middle Temple Lane, a rather high and pleasant voice said:

  ‘What luck!’ and a light momentary grip was laid on her arm.

  ‘If you’re going straight to the House,’ said Clare, ‘I’ll run on and get my things and join you here.’

  ‘Tactful,’ said Dornford. ‘Let’s stand against this “portal”. When I don’t see you for so long, Dinny, I feel lost. Jacob served for Rachel fourteen years – longevity is not what it was, so every month I serve is equal to one of his years.’

&
nbsp; ‘Rachel and he were walking out.’

  ‘I know. Well, I must just wait and hope. I just have to wait.’

  Leaning against the yellow ‘portal’ she looked at him. His face was quivering. Suddenly sorry, she said:

  ‘Some day, perhaps, I shall come to life again. I won’t wait any more now. Good-bye, and thank you!…’

  This sudden intrusion of herself was no comfort to her in her homing bus. The sight of his quivering face made her restless and uneasy. She did not want to cause him unhappiness – a nice man, considerate to Clare, a pleasant voice, an attractive face; and in range of interest nearer to her than Wilfrid had ever been. Only, where was that wild, sweet yearning, transmuting every value, turning the world into a single being, the one longed-for, dreamed-of mate? She sat very still in the bus, looking over the head of the woman on the opposite side, who, with fingers crisped on the satchel in her lap, wore the expression of a sportsman about to try a new field or spinney. The lights were coming up in Regent Street of a cold, just not snowy evening. There used to be the low curving roof-line, the rather nice, bilious yellow of the Quadrant. She remembered how on the top of a bus she had differed from the girl Millicent Pole about old Regent Street. Changing, changing, everything changing! And before her suddenly closed eyes came Wilfrid’s face, with its lips drawn back, as she had seen it last passing her in the Green Park.

  Someone trod on her toe. She opened her eyes, and said: ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Granted, I’m sure.’

  Very polite! People were more polite every year!

  The bus had stopped. Dinny hurried from it. She went down Conduit Street, passing her father’s tailors. Poor darling, he never went there now. Clothes were so dear; and, of course, he loathed new clothes! She came to Bond Street.

  The traffic staggered to a standstill, the whole street seemed one long line of held-up cars. And England ruined! She crossed into Bruton Street. And then, in front of her, she saw a familiar figure, walking slowly with his head down! She came up with him.

  ‘Stack!’

  He raised his head; tears were trickling down his cheeks. He blinked his large dark prominent eyes, and passed his hand over his face.