‘No good making a song and dance about it, Carslake,’ he said. ‘Just tell me what the hell else I could do.’
Carslake asked where Mrs Burt was now.
Gabriel said she was still at the King’s Arms. He didn’t see, he said, where else she was to go. And anyway, he added, it was too late. He whirled on Teresa, whom he seemed to consider the realist of the assembly. ‘Isn’t it?’ he demanded.
Teresa said certainly it was too late.
‘A night’s a night,’ said Gabriel. ‘And it’s nights people are interested in, not days.’
‘Really, Major Gabriel …’ Carslake spluttered. He was shocked to the core.
‘God, what a filthy mind you’ve got,’ said Gabriel. ‘I didn’t spend the night with her, if that’s what you’re getting at. What I’m saying is that to the entire population of St Loo it’s the same thing. We were both at the King’s Arms.’
That, he said, was all that people would mind about. That and the scene Burt had made and the things he went about saying about his wife and Gabriel.
‘If she were to go away,’ said Carslake, ‘anywhere – just bundle her out of the place. Perhaps then –’ He looked hopeful for a moment, then shook his head. ‘It would only look fishy,’ he said, ‘very fishy …’
‘There’s another thing to consider,’ said Gabriel. ‘What about her?’
Carslake stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You haven’t thought of her side of it, have you?’
Carslake said loftily, ‘We really can’t consider these minor points now. What we’ve got to try and find is some possibility of getting you out of this mess.’
‘Exactly,’ said Gabriel. ‘Mrs Burt doesn’t really count, does she? Who’s Mrs Burt? Nobody in particular. Only a wretched decent girl who’s been bullied and ill-treated and frightened half out of her wits and who’s got nowhere to go and no money.’
His voice rose.
‘Well – I’ll tell you this, Carslake. I don’t like your attitude. And I’ll tell you who Mrs Burt is – she’s a human being. To your blasted machine nobody and nothing matters but the election. That’s what’s always been rotten in politics. What did Mr Baldwin say in the dark ages, “If I had told the truth I should have lost the election.” Well, I’m not Mr Baldwin – I’m nobody in particular. But what you’re saying to me is, “You’ve behaved like an ordinary human being so you’ll lose the election!” All right then, to hell with the election! You can keep your damned creaking stinking election. I’m a human being first and a politician second. I’ve never said a word I shouldn’t to that poor kid. I’ve never made love to her. I’ve been damned sorry for her, that’s all. She came to me last night because she hadn’t got anybody else to turn to. All right, she can stay with me. I’ll look after her. And to hell with St Loo and Westminster and the whole blasted business.’
‘Major Gabriel.’ It was Mrs Carslake’s fluting agonized voice. ‘You can’t do a thing like that! Supposing Burt divorces her?’
‘If he divorces her, I’ll marry her.’
Carslake said angrily, ‘You can’t let us down like that, Gabriel. You can’t flaunt this thing as an open scandal.’
‘Can’t I, Carslake? You watch me.’ Gabriel’s eyes were the angriest things I had ever seen. I had never liked him so well.
‘You can’t bully me. If a lot of tinpot electors vote for the principle that a man can knock his wife about and terrify her out of her senses and bring foul unfounded charges against her – well then, let ’em! If they want to vote for bare Christian decency they can vote for me.’
‘They won’t though,’ said Teresa, and she sighed.
Gabriel looked at her and his face softened.
‘No,’ he said, ‘they won’t.’
Robert took his pipe out of his mouth again.
‘More fools they,’ he said unexpectedly.
‘Of course, Mr Norreys, we know you’re a Communist,’ said Mrs Carslake acidly.
What she meant I have no idea.
Then into the midst of this seething bitterness stepped Isabella Charteris. She came through the window from the terrace. She was cool and grave and composed.
She paid no attention to what was going on. She had come to say something and she said it. She came right up to Gabriel as though he were alone in the room and spoke to him in a confidential voice.
‘I think,’ she said, ‘it will be quite all right.’
Gabriel stared at her. We all stared at her.
‘About Mrs Burt, I mean,’ said Isabella.
She displayed no embarrassment. She had instead the pleased air of a simple-minded person who thinks they have done the right thing.
‘She’s at the castle,’ she went on.
‘At the castle?’ said Carslake unbelievingly.
Isabella turned to him.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘As soon as we heard what had happened, I thought that would be much the best thing. I spoke to Aunt Adelaide and she agreed. We went straight in the car to the King’s Arms.’
It had been, I discovered later, positively a Royal Progress. Isabella’s quick brain had hit on the only possible counter-move.
Old Lady St Loo, as I have said, had tremendous ascendancy in St Loo. From her emanated, so to speak, correct Greenwich moral time. People might sneer and call her old-fashioned and reactionary, but they respected her, and where she approved no one was likely to disapprove.
She had driven up in the aged Daimler in state, Isabella with her. An indomitable figure, Lady St Loo had marched into the King’s Arms and had asked for Mrs Burt.
A red-eyed, tearful, shrinking Milly had in due course descended the stairs and had been received with a kind of Royal Accolade. Lady St Loo had not minced her words or lowered her voice.
‘My dear,’ she boomed, ‘I am more sorry than I can say to hear of what you have been through. Major Gabriel should have brought you to us last night – but he is so considerate that he did not like to disturb us so late, I suppose.’
‘I – I – you are very kind.’
‘Get your things together, my dear. I will take you back with me now.’
Milly Burt flushed and murmured that she hadn’t – really – any things …
‘Stupid of me,’ said Lady St Loo. ‘We will stop at your house and get them.’
‘But –’ Milly shrank …
‘Get into the car. We will stop at your house and get them.’
Milly bowed her head to superior authority. The three women got into the Daimler. It stopped a few yards further down Fore Street.
Lady St Loo got out with Milly and accompanied her into the house. From the surgery James Burt, his eyes bloodshot, lurched out, prepared to break into a furious tirade.
He met old Lady St Loo’s eye and checked himself.
‘Pack a few things, dear,’ said Lady St Loo.
Milly fled upstairs quickly. Lady St Loo addressed James Burt.
‘You have behaved disgracefully to your wife,’ she said. ‘Quite disgracefully. The trouble with you is, Burt, that you drink too much. In any case you’re not a nice man. I shall advise your wife to have nothing more to do with you. The things you have been saying about her are lies – and you know very well they are lies. Isn’t that right?’
Her fierce eye hypnotized the twitching man.
‘Oh well – I suppose – if you say so …’
‘You know they are lies.’
‘All right – all right – I wasn’t myself last night.’
‘Mind you let it be known they were lies. Otherwise I shall advise Major Gabriel to take proceedings. Ah, there you are, Mrs Burt.’
Milly Burt was descending the stairs with a small suitcase.
Lady St Loo took her by the arm and turned to the door.
‘Here – where’s Milly going?’ asked Milly’s husband.
‘She is coming with me to the castle.’ She added militantly, ‘Have you anything to say to th
at?’
Burt shook his head vaguely. Lady St Loo said sharply:
‘My advice to you, James Burt, is to pull yourself together before it is too late. Stop drinking. Attend to your profession. You’ve got a good deal of skill. If you go on as you are going you will come to a very sticky end. Pull up, man. You can if you try. And curb that tongue of yours.’
Then she and Milly got into the car. Milly sat beside Lady St Loo, Isabella opposite them. They drove down the main street and along by the harbour and up by the market and so to the castle. It was a Royal Progress and nearly everybody in St Loo saw it.
That evening people were saying:
‘It must be all right or Lady St Loo wouldn’t have her at the castle.’
Some people said that there was no smoke without fire and why should Milly Burt rush out of the house at night to Major Gabriel, and of course Lady St Loo backed him up because of politics.
But the latter were in the minority. Character tells. Lady St Loo had character. She had a reputation of absolute integrity. If Milly Burt was received at the castle, if Lady St Loo took her side, then Milly Burt was all right. Lady St Loo wouldn’t stand for anything else. Not old Lady St Loo. Why, she was ever so particular!
The bare outline of these happenings was told to us by Isabella. She had come over from the castle as soon as Milly was installed there.
As Carslake grasped the significance of what she was saying, his gloomy face brightened. He slapped his leg.
‘My God,’ he said. ‘I believe it will do the trick. The old lady’s smart. Yes, she’s smart. Clever idea.’
But the cleverness and the idea had been Isabella’s. It amazed me how quick she had been to grasp the situation and to act.
‘I’ll get busy right away,’ said Carslake. ‘We must follow this up. Outline what our story’s to be exactly. Come on, Janet. Major Gabriel –’
‘I’ll come in a minute,’ said Gabriel.
The Carslakes went out. Gabriel went closer to Isabella.
‘You did this,’ he said. ‘Why?’
She stared at him – puzzled.
‘But – because of the election.’
‘You mean you – you care very much that the Conservatives shall get in?’
She looked at him with surprise.
‘No. I mean you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. You want to win the election very much, don’t you?’
A queer bewildered look came over Gabriel’s face. He turned away. He said – more to himself than to her or to any of us:
‘Do I? I wonder …’
Chapter Twenty-one
As I have said before, this is not an accurate account of a political campaign. I was out of the main stream, in a backwater where I only caught echoes of what went on. I was aware of an increasing sense of urgency, which seemed to be striking everyone but myself.
There were two last frenzied days of electioneering. Gabriel came in twice during the time for a drink. When he relaxed, he looked fagged out, his voice was hoarse with addressing open-air meetings, but though tired his vitality was unimpaired. He said very little to me, probably because he was saving both his voice and his energy.
He tossed off his drink and murmured, ‘What a hell of a life this is! The damn fool things you have to say to people. Serves ’em right that they’re governed the way they are.’
Teresa spent most of her time driving cars. The morning of Polling Day came with a gale driving in from the Atlantic. The wind howled and rain beat against the house.
Isabella dropped in early after breakfast. She wore a black mackintosh, her hair was wet, her eyes bright. An immense blue rosette was pinned to the mackintosh.
‘I’m driving people to the polls all day,’ she said. ‘So’s Rupert. I’ve suggested to Mrs Burt that she should come over and see you. Do you mind? You’ll be all alone, won’t you?’
I didn’t mind, though I had actually been quite contented at the prospect of a peaceful day with my books. I had had almost too much company lately.
For Isabella to show herself concerned about my solitary state seemed singularly unlike Isabella. It was as though she had suddenly shown signs of adopting her Aunt Agnes’s attitude towards me.
‘Love seems to be having a softening effect upon you, Isabella,’ I said disapprovingly. ‘Or did Lady Tressilian think of it?’
Isabella smiled.
‘Aunt Agnes wanted to come and sit with you herself,’ she said. ‘She thought it might be lonely for you and – what was it she said – that you might feel out of things.’
She looked at me inquiringly. It was an idea, I saw, that would not have entered her own head.
‘You don’t agree?’ I asked.
Isabella replied with her usual candour, ‘Well, you are out of things.’
‘Admirably true.’
‘I’m sorry if you mind about it, but I don’t see that Aunt Agnes coming and breathing over you would make it any better. It would only mean that she would be out of things, too.’
‘And I’m sure she would like to be in things.’
‘I suggested Mrs Burt coming because she’s got to keep out of the way anyway. And I thought you might talk to her, perhaps.’
‘Talk to her?’
‘Yes.’ A slight frown appeared on Isabella’s white forehead. ‘You see, I’m no good at – at talking to people. Or letting them talk to me. She goes on and on.’
‘Mrs Burt goes on and on?’
‘Yes, and it seems so senseless – but I can’t put things properly. I thought perhaps you could.’
‘What does she go on and on about?’
Isabella sat down on the arm of a chair. She spoke slowly, frowning a little, and giving a very good imitation of a traveller describing the more puzzling rites of some savage tribe.
‘About what happened. About rushing to Major Gabriel. About its being all her fault. That if he loses the election she will be to blame. That if only she’d been more careful to begin with – that she ought to have seen what it might lead to. That if she’d been nicer to James Burt and understood him better, he might never have drunk so much. That she blames herself dreadfully and that she lies awake at night worrying about it and wishing she’d acted differently. That if she’s injured Major Gabriel’s career she’ll never forgive herself as long as she lives. That nobody is to blame but her. That everything, always, has been her fault.’
Isabella stopped. She looked at me. She was presenting me, as it were, on a platter, something that was to her quite incomprehensible.
A faint echo from the past came to me. Jennifer, knitting her adorable brows and shouldering manfully the blame for what other people had done.
I had thought it one of Jennifer’s more lovable traits. Now, when Milly Burt was indulging in the same attitude, I saw that such a point of view might be distinctly irritating. Which, I reflected cynically, was the difference between thinking someone was a nice little woman, and being in love!
‘Well,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘I suppose she might very well feel that way. Don’t you?’
Isabella replied with one of her definite monosyllables.
‘No,’ she said.
‘But why not? Explain yourself.’
‘You know,’ said Isabella reproachfully, ‘that I can’t say things.’ She paused, frowned and then began to speak – rather doubtfully. She said, ‘Things either have happened, or they haven’t happened. I can see that you might worry beforehand –’
Even that, I could see, was not a really acceptable position to Isabella.
‘But to go on worrying now – oh, it’s as if you went for a walk in the fields and stepped in a cow pat. I mean, it wouldn’t be any use spending the whole of the walk talking about it, wishing you hadn’t stepped in the cow pat, that you’d gone another way, saying that it was all because you hadn’t been looking where you were stepping, and that you always did do silly things like that. After all, the cow pat’s there on your shoe – you can’t ge
t away from it – but you needn’t have it in your mind as well! There’s everything else – the fields and the sky and the hedges and the person you’re walking with – they’re all there too. The only time you’ve got to think about the cow pat again is when you actually get home when you have to deal with your shoe. Then you do have to think about it –’
Extravagance in self-blame was an interesting field on which to speculate. I could see that it was something in which Milly Burt might indulge rather freely. But I didn’t really know why some people were more prone to it than others. Teresa had once implied that people like myself, who insisted on cheering people up, and putting things right, were not really being as helpful as they thought themselves. But that still didn’t touch the question of why human beings enjoyed exaggerating their responsibility for events.
Isabella said hopefully, ‘I thought you could talk to her?’
‘Supposing she likes – well, blaming herself,’ I said. ‘Why shouldn’t she?’
‘Because I think it makes it rather dreadful for him – for Major Gabriel. It must be very tiring having to go on and on assuring someone that it’s quite all right.’
It would undoubtedly, I thought to myself, be very tiring … It had been tiring, I remembered … Jennifer had always been excessively tiring. But Jennifer had also had a lovely sweep of blue-black hair, big sad grey eyes and the most adorable and ridiculous nose …
Possibly John Gabriel enjoyed Milly’s chestnut hair and soft brown eyes and didn’t mind assuring her that it was quite all right.
‘Has Mrs Burt any plans?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes. Grandmother has found her a post in Sussex, as a companion housekeeper to someone she knows. It will be quite well paid and very little work. And there is a good train service to London, so that she can go up and meet her friends.’
By friends, did Isabella, I wondered, mean Major John Gabriel? Milly was in love with Gabriel. I wondered if Gabriel was a little in love with her. I rather thought he might be. ‘She could divorce Mr Burt, I think,’ said Isabella. ‘Only divorce is expensive.’
She got up. ‘I must go now. You will talk to her, won’t you?’ She paused by the door. ‘Rupert and I are being married a week today,’ she said softly. ‘Do you think you could come to the church? The scouts could push you there if it’s a fine day.’
The Rose and the Yew Tree Page 16
