She looked at me uncomprehendingly.
I explained:
‘You shouldn’t ever try to make people vote against their convictions,’ I said.
‘Oh, I see – yes, I see what you mean. But we do think that the Conservatives are the only people who can finish off the war and make the peace the right way, don’t we?’
‘Mrs Burt,’ I said, ‘what a really splendid little Tory you are. Is that what you say when you go canvassing?’
She blushed.
‘No, I don’t really know enough to talk about the political side. But I can say what a splendid man Major Gabriel is, and how sincere, and how it’s people like him who are really going to matter.’
Well, I thought to myself, that would be right down Gabriel’s street … I looked into her flushed serious face. Her brown eyes were shining. I had an uncomfortable moment wondering whether perhaps a little more than hero worship was involved.
As though responding to my unexpressed thought, Milly’s face clouded over.
‘Jim thinks I’m an awful fool,’ she said deprecatingly.
‘Does he? Why?’
‘He says I’m such a fool I can’t understand anything about politics – and anyway, the whole thing’s a racket. And he says what the – I mean he says I can’t possibly be any use, and if I go round talking to people it’s as good as a vote for the other side from everyone I talk to. Captain Norreys, do you think that’s true?’
‘No,’ I said firmly.
She brightened up.
‘I know I’m stupid in some ways. But it’s only when I’m rattled, and Jim always can rattle me. He likes upsetting me. He likes –’ She stopped. Her lips were quivering.
Then suddenly she scattered the white slips of paper she was working on and began to cry – deep heart rending sobs.
‘My dear Mrs Burt –’ I said helplessly.
What the hell can a man do who lies helpless in an invalid chair! I couldn’t pat her shoulder. She wasn’t near enough. I couldn’t push a handkerchief into her hand. I couldn’t mutter an excuse and sidle out of the room. I couldn’t even say, ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea.’
No, I had to fulfil my function, the function which, as Gabriel had been kind (or cruel) enough to tell me, was the only one left to me. So I said, helplessly, ‘My dear Mrs Burt –’ and waited.
‘I’m so unhappy – so terribly unhappy – I see now – I should never have married Jim.’
I said feebly, ‘Oh, come now, it’s not so bad as that, I’m sure.’
‘He was so gay and so dashing – and he made such nice jokes. He used to come round to see the horses if anything went wrong. Dad kept a riding school, you know. Jim looks wonderful on a horse.’
‘Yes – yes.’
‘And he didn’t drink so much then – at least perhaps he did, but I didn’t realize it. Though I suppose I ought to have realized it, because people came and talked about it to me. Said he lifted his elbow too much. But you see, Captain Norreys, I didn’t believe it. One doesn’t, does one?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘I thought he would give all that up when we were married. I’m sure he didn’t drink at all while we were engaged. I’m sure he didn’t.’
‘Probably not,’ I said. ‘A man is capable of anything when he’s courting.’
‘And they said he was cruel, too. But that I didn’t believe. Because he was so sweet to me. Although I did see him once with a horse – he’d lost his temper with it – he was punishing it –’ She gave a little quick shiver and half closed her eyes. ‘I felt – I felt quite differently – just for a moment or two. “I’m not going to marry you if that’s the sort of man you are,” I said to myself. It was funny, you know – I felt suddenly as though he was a stranger – not my Jim at all. It would have been funny if I had broken it off, wouldn’t it?’
Funny was not what she really meant, but we agreed that it would have been funny – and also very fortunate.
Milly continued, ‘But it all passed over – Jim explained, and I realized that every man does lose his temper now and then. It didn’t seem important. You see, I thought that I’d make him so happy that he’d never want to drink or lose his temper. That’s really why I wanted to marry him so much – to make him happy.’
‘To make anyone happy is not the real purpose of marriage,’ I said.
She stared at me.
‘But surely, if you love anyone, the first thing you think about is to make them happy?’
‘It is one of the more insidious forms of self-indulgence,’ I said. ‘And fairly widespread. It has probably caused more unhappiness than anything else in matrimonial statistics.’
She still stared. I quoted to her those lines of Emily Brontë’s sad wisdom:
‘I’ve known a hundred ways of love
And each one made the loved one rue.’
She protested, ‘I think that’s horrid!’
‘To love anyone,’ I said, ‘is always to lay upon that person an almost intolerable burden.’
‘You do say funny things, Captain Norreys.’
Milly seemed almost disposed to giggle.
‘Pay no attention to me,’ I said. ‘My views are not orthodox, only the result of sad experience.’
‘Oh, have you been unhappy, too? Do you –’
I shied from the awakening sympathy in her eyes. I steered the conversation back to Jim Burt. It was unfortunate for Milly, I thought, that she had been the gentle easily browbeaten type – the worst type for marriage with a man like Burt. From what I heard of him, I guessed that he was the type of man who likes spirit in both horse-flesh and women. An Irish termagant might have held him and aroused his unwilling respect. What was fatal for him was to have power over an animal or a human being. His sadistic disposition was fed by his wife’s flinching fear of him, and her tears and sighs. The pity of it was that Milly Burt (or so at least I thought) would have made a happy and successful wife to most men. She would have listened to them, flattered them, and made a fuss over them. She would have increased their self-esteem and good humour.
She would, I thought suddenly, have made John Gabriel a good wife. She might not have advanced his ambitions (but was he really ambitious? I doubted it) but she would have assuaged in him that bitterness and self-distrust that now and then showed through the almost insufferable cocksureness of his manner.
James Burt, it seemed, combined jealousy with neglect, as is by no means uncommon. Railing at his wife for her poor-spiritedness and stupidity, he yet resented violently any signs of friendship shown her by another man.
‘You wouldn’t believe it, Captain Norreys, but he even said horrible things about Major Gabriel. Just because Major Gabriel asked me to have morning coffee at the Ginger Cat last week. He was so nice – Major Gabriel, I mean, not Jim – and we sat on there a long time, although I’m sure he couldn’t really spare the time – and talking so nicely, asking me about Dad and the horses and about how things used to be at St Loo then. He couldn’t have been nicer! And then – and then – to have Jim say the things he did – and get in one of his rages – he twisted my arm – I got away and locked myself in my room. I’m terrified of Jim sometimes … Oh, Captain Norreys – I’m so dreadfully unhappy. I do wish I was dead.’
‘No, you don’t, Mrs Burt, not really.’
‘Oh, but I do. What’s going to happen to me? There’s nothing to look forward to. It’ll just go on getting worse and worse … Jim’s losing a lot of his practice because of drinking. And that makes him madder than ever. And I’m frightened of him. I really am frightened …’
I soothed her as best I could. I did not think things were quite as bad as she made out. But she was certainly a very unhappy woman.
I told Teresa that Mrs Burt led a very miserable life, but Teresa did not seem much interested.
‘Don’t you want to hear about it?’ I asked reproachfully.
Teresa said, ‘Not particularly. Unhappy wives so resemble each other that their sto
ries get rather monotonous.’
‘Really, Teresa!’ I said. ‘You are quite inhuman.’
‘I admit,’ said Teresa, ‘that sympathy has never been my strong point.’
‘I have an uneasy feeling,’ I said, ‘that the wretched little thing is in love with Gabriel.’
‘Almost certainly, I should say,’ said Teresa drily.
‘And you’re still not sorry for her?’
‘Well – not for that reason. I should think that to fall in love with Gabriel would be a most enjoyable experience.’
‘Really, Teresa! You’re not in love with him yourself, are you?’
No, Teresa said, she wasn’t. Fortunately, she added.
I pounced on that and told her she was illogical. She had just said that to fall in love with John Gabriel would be enjoyable.
‘Not to me,’ said Teresa. ‘Because I resent – and have always resented – feeling emotion.’
‘Yes,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘I believe that’s true. But why? I can’t understand that.’
‘And I can’t explain.’
‘Try,’ I urged.
‘Dear Hugh, how you like to probe! I suppose because I have no instinct for living. To feel that my will and my brain can be entirely swamped and overridden by emotion is insufferable to me. I can control my actions and to a large extent my thoughts – not to be able to control my emotions is galling to my pride – it humiliates me.’
‘You don’t think there is really any danger of anything between John Gabriel and Mrs Burt, do you?’ I asked.
‘There has been some talk. Carslake is worried about it. Mrs Carslake says there is a lot of gossip going about.’
‘That woman! She would.’
‘She would, as you say. But she represents public opinion. The opinion of the malicious gossipy strata of St Loo. And I understand Burt’s tongue has wagged rather freely when he’s had a couple – which is very often. Of course, he’s known to be a jealous husband and a lot of what he says is discounted, but it all causes talk.’
‘Gabriel will have to be careful,’ I said.
‘Being careful isn’t quite his line of country, is it?’ said Teresa.
‘You don’t think he really cares for the woman?’
Teresa considered before she replied, ‘I think he’s very sorry for her. He’s a man easily moved to pity.’
‘You don’t think he’d get her to leave her husband? That would be a disaster.’
‘Would it?’
‘My dear Teresa, it would bust up the whole show.’
‘I know.’
‘Well, that would be fatal, wouldn’t it?’
Teresa said in an odd voice, ‘For John Gabriel? Or for the Conservative Party?’
‘I was really thinking of Gabriel,’ I said. ‘But for the party too, of course.’
‘Of course, I’m not really politically-minded,’ said Teresa. ‘I don’t care in the least if one more Labour member gets elected to Westminster – though it would be too awful if the Carslakes heard me say so. What I am wondering is, if it would be a disaster for John Gabriel or not? Suppose it resulted in his being a happier man?’
‘But he’s frightfully keen on winning the election,’ I exclaimed.
Teresa said that success and happiness were two entirely different things.
‘I don’t really believe,’ she said, ‘that they ever go together.’
Chapter Fourteen
On the morning of the whist drive, Captain Carslake came and unburdened himself of a great deal of alarm and despondency.
‘There’s nothing in it,’ he said. ‘Of course there’s nothing in it! I’ve known little Mrs Burt all my life. She’s quite all right – very strictly brought up and all that – a thoroughly nice little woman. But you know what people’s minds are.’
I knew what his wife’s mind was. It was probably his criterion for judging other people’s.
He continued walking up and down and rubbing his nose in an exasperated fashion.
‘Gabriel’s a good-natured chap. He’s been nice to her. But he’s been careless – you can’t afford to be careless during an election.’
‘What you really mean is you can’t afford to be kind.’
‘Exactly – exactly. Gabriel’s been too kind – kind in public. Having morning coffee with her at the Ginger Cat café. It doesn’t look well. Why should he have coffee with her there?’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’
Carslake ignored that.
‘All the old cats are there having their elevenses at that time. Then I believe he walked quite a long way with her in the town the other morning – he actually carried her shopping bag for her.’
‘A Conservative gentleman could do no less,’ I murmured.
Carslake still paid no attention to my remarks.
‘And he gave her a lift in his car one day – out by Sprague’s farm it was. Quite a long way out. Made it look as though they’d been off together for an outing.’
‘After all, this is nineteen forty-five not eighteen forty-five,’ I said.
‘Things haven’t altered much down here,’ said Carslake. ‘I don’t mean the new bungalows and the arty crowd – they’re up-to-date, no morals to speak of – but they’ll vote Labour anyway. It’s the solid respectable old-fashioned part of the town that we’ve got to worry about. Gabriel will really have to be more careful.’
Half an hour later I had Gabriel burst in upon me in a white heat of indignation. Carslake had made tactful representations to him and the result had been the usual result of tactful words spoken in season.
‘Carslake,’ he said, ‘is a foul-minded old woman! Do you know what he’s had the cheek to say to me?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know all about it. And by the way, this is the time of day when I rest. I don’t have visitors.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Gabriel. ‘You don’t need to rest. You’re perpetually resting. You’ve got to listen to what I have to say about this. Damn it, I’ve got to let off steam to someone, and as I told you the other day, it’s about all you’re good for, and you might as well make up your mind to listen gracefully to people when they want to hear the sound of their own voices!’
‘I remember the particularly charming way you put it,’ I said.
‘I really said it because I wanted to get under your skin.’
‘I knew that.’
‘I suppose it was rather a brutal thing to say, but after all, it’s no good your being thin-skinned.’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘your saying it rather bucked me up. I’ve been so wrapped in consideration and tactfulness that to hear a little plain speaking was quite a relief.’
‘You’re coming on,’ said Gabriel, and went on unburdening himself about his own affairs.
‘Can’t I offer an unhappy girl a cup of coffee in a public café without being suspected of immorality?’ he demanded. ‘Why should I pay any attention to what people think who have minds like a public sewer?’
‘Well, you want to be an MP, don’t you?’ I said.
‘I’m going to be an MP.’
‘Carslake’s point is that you won’t be one, if you parade your friendship with Mrs Burt.’
‘What damned swine people are!’
‘Oh yes, yes!’
‘As if politics isn’t the dirtiest racket there is!’
‘Again, yes, yes.’
‘Don’t grin, Norreys. I find you damned annoying this morning. And if you think there’s anything there shouldn’t be between me and Mrs Burt, you’re wrong. I’m sorry for her, that’s all. I’ve never said a word to her that her husband or the whole Watch Committee of St Loo couldn’t overhear if they wanted to. My God, when you think of the way I’ve held myself in where women are concerned! And I like women!’
He was deeply injured. The matter had its humorous side.
He said earnestly, ‘That woman’s terribly unhappy. You don’t know – you can’t guess what she’s had to put up with. How brave she’s be
en. And how loyal. And she doesn’t complain. Says she feels it must be partly her fault somehow. I’d like to get my hands on Burt – he’s an unutterable brute. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him when I’d done with him!’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ I cried, really alarmed. ‘Haven’t you got any prudence, Gabriel? A public row with Burt and your chances of the election would be dished.’
He laughed and said, ‘Who knows? It might be worth it. I’ll tell you –’ He stopped.
I looked to see what had stopped the flow. It was Isabella. She had just come in through the window. She said good morning to us both, and said Teresa had asked her to come over and help arrange the barn for tonight.
‘You are going to honour us with your presence, I hope, Miss Charteris?’ said Gabriel.
His speech held a mixture of oiliness and sprightliness that did not at all become him. Isabella always seemed to have a bad effect on him.
She said, ‘Yes.’ She added, ‘We always come to these things.’
Then she went off in search of Teresa and Gabriel exploded.
‘Very kind of the princess,’ he said. ‘Very condescending. Nice of her to mix with the common herd! So gracious! I tell you, Norreys, Milly Burt is worth a dozen stuck-up girls like Isabella Charteris. Isabella Charteris! Who is she, after all?’
It seemed obvious who Isabella was. But Gabriel enjoyed himself developing the theme.
‘Poor as a church mouse. Living in a ruined tumbledown old castle and pretending to be grander than anybody else. Hanging about there twiddling her fingers and doing nothing and hoping that the precious heir will come home and marry her. She’s never seen him and she can’t care a button for him, but she’s willing to marry him. Oh yes. Faugh! These girls make me sick. Sick, Norreys. Pampered Pekinese dogs, that’s what they are. Lady St Loo, that’s what she means to be. What the hell is the good of being Lady St Loo nowadays? All that kind of thing is over and done with. Comic, that’s all it is nowadays – a music hall joke –’
‘Really, Gabriel,’ I said. ‘You are undoubtedly in the wrong camp. You’d make a magnificent speech on Wilbraham’s platform. Why don’t you change places?’
‘To a girl like that,’ said Gabriel, still breathing hard, ‘Milly Burt is just the vet’s wife! Someone to be condescended to at political beanfeasts – but not to be asked to tea at the castle – oh no, not good enough for that! I tell you Milly Burt’s worth six of Isabella Stuck Up Charteris.’
The Rose and the Yew Tree Page 11
