by Ann Bridge
‘Certainly, my dear Torrens. Ring when you are ready, and Elidio will have your luggage brought down.’ He rose as he spoke. ‘I am afraid that this is Goodbye,’ he said, ‘but I hope only for the present. We shall see you in Lisbon, of course. Your visit has been a great pleasure.’
Once again Major Torrens was abashed by his host’s words; he spoke almost haltingly as he tried to express his own thanks. ‘You’ve been unbelievably good to us, Sir.’ Then, hastily, he made his escape.
‘I think I’ll go up too, Duke,’ Julia said, observing that her host was still on his feet—that was the sort of thing the darling Duque managed so well, she reflected amusedly, as she watched the Monsignor reluctantly heaving himself up out of his comfortable armchair.
Miss Probyn once again set her little Travalarm, and appeared in the study a few minutes after 4 a.m., in a highly becoming black velvet house-coat.
‘Good heavens, Julia!’ the Major exclaimed, surprised and glowing. ‘What on earth are you doing down here?’
‘I just thought I’d come and see the coffin carried out, and hear what the Colonel has to say.’
‘Darling!’ But the embrace on which Torrens was just embarking was forestalled by a sound of car-wheels on the gravel outside the windows; he stood back, and listened.
‘Coming in with his engine shut off—good man,’ Julia commented.
‘He’s early,’ Torrens said resentfully; a moment later Elidio ushered in the Colonel.
‘Well, our man is still fast asleep, I hope?’ Marques said, shaking hands. ‘An excellent piece of work, this.’
‘You’d better come up and see if it is your man, Colonel. He should be quiet enough still.’
‘Oh, I know it’s our man,’ Marques said. ‘Our people traced him to São Pedro do Sul this evening, but there was an inexcusable delay about getting the report through. However, the counter-espionage in this house is so good that it didn’t matter! If you will just give me the key of the room, Major, my men will carry him down.’
‘We’d better go up with them; no one in the house knows where he is,’ said Torrens.
‘Oh yes, the Duke gave instructions to his butler.’ Indeed at that moment Elidio appeared at the door and asked the Colonel for a chave; Torrens, amused, handed over the key.
‘There; now we need not disturb ourselves,’ the Colonel said, going across to the fire and holding out his hands to the blaze. ‘Do I see whisky? That would be very welcome —the night is quite chilly.’ And soon the Chief of the Security Police, glass in hand, was listening very contentedly while the Major outlined his plans.
‘Admirable. Yes, by all means come down with me; I have two cars. And this is an excellent moment to get Horvath out; their organisation here is disrupted for the time being—there were note-books on the three we caught, so we were able to land several others as well.’
‘Did any of them come in on the plane with Father Antal?’ Julia put in unexpectedly. Marques glanced at her with amusement.
‘Yes; four. How much you know, Mademoiselle!’
Presently Elidio, perfectly impassive, appeared at the door and announced that este homem, the agents, and the luggage of the Senhor Comandante were all now in the cars.
‘Oh, but look here—momentinho, Elidio—they must have some coffee or something before they start off again!’ the girl exclaimed. She spoke to the servant; Elidio said smugly that the policemen had already partaken of coffee and bread.
‘Are you sure you don’t want coffee or something?’ she asked Colonel Marques.
‘Au contraire, whisky was much better. So, en route’ He bowed over Julia’s hand; Torrens gripped it hard. A moment later she heard the cars crunch over the gravel and hum away up the drive.
When Julia told the Duke in the morning that Torrens was gone, and that the Colonel had given his blessing to the plan for getting Father Antal out of Portugal at the week-end, her host drew a pad towards him and began one of his careful computations, jotting down names as he spoke.
‘So you go, and I, and my sister—the wedding party; also both our divines; five.’ He drummed with his fingers on the desk. ‘I think if possible we must take Dom Pedro by car; he was miserable coming up. He dislikes riding in the Land-Rover, it seems.’
‘I don’t wonder!’ Julia exclaimed bluntly. The Duke laughed.
‘But you say Monsieur Atherley is driving down, and could take the little Countess; could he not take Dom Pedro too?’
‘No, Duke; not on any account!’
‘Oh?’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘You have some combination in your head?’ he asked.
‘Yes—“a consummation devoutly to be wished”, and you really mustn’t spoil it. Let Townsend Waller drive Dom Pedro down; if he does mislay him it won’t matter,’ said Julia coolly. ‘The Communists wouldn’t hold that poor old creature for twelve hours! Townsend can’t stay here for ever, either.’
Ericeira burst out laughing.
‘Miss Probyn, I sometimes envy your remorselessness! It simplifies many problems. Very well: Dom Pedro either with us or with the American, Atherley and the Countess.’ He made more notes, and looked up at her again.
‘But your delightful friend, Mrs. Hathaway! We are forgetting her. Presumably she will wish to return to Lisbon also. How vexatious that we must leave just now! I should have liked her to pay us a much longer visit; she is interested in agriculture.’
‘Why shouldn’t she stay here, then? We shall all three be back on Sunday evening—if I may come back?’
‘Of course you come back! But you think Mrs. Hathaway would not mind this, being left for two days in the company of a child and a nurse?’
‘Judging by a talk I overheard between her and Nanny this morning I think she’d love it. They were getting on like a house on fire.’
‘Very well; so it shall be. You are the best judge. I must say,’ the Duke said thoughtfully, ‘that it would give me great pleasure to show your friend something of the estate, and of my plantations. She appears to have a considerable knowledge of forestry.’
Julia, who knew Mrs. Hathaway’s knowledge of forestry to be confined to conducting acrimonious disputes on her Aunt Ellen’s behalf with the Forestry Commission about ‘dedicating’ some of the woods at Glentoran, was delighted, though not surprised, that her old friend should have spent the previous evening to such good purpose, and hastened off to open the plan to her.
In the hall, however, she was intercepted by Atherley.
‘Julia, be a good friend! Can you somehow break through the sort of harem system that seems to operate in this house? I really do want to talk to Hetti, but the women apparently never appear downstairs except at meals, or in a covey.’
Julia laughed. Richard’s picturesque description of Portuguese country-house life was in fact extremely apt.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ she said. ‘But of course you realise that the really important thing is for her to get as much time as possible with Father Antal, since he’s flying to America at the week-end.’
‘Is he? When was that settled?’
‘With Colonel Marques, early this morning. Oh, of course you don’t know—it’s such a performance!’ And she told him about Luzia’s and Nanny’s exploits. Atherley bayed with delight.
‘That glorious girl! Really she is a wonder.’ But then he pressed his request about Hetta.
‘Well have a little patience, Richard!’ Miss Probyn said, her voice displaying a marked absence of that quality. ‘Anyhow on the Duque’s car-and-passenger schedule for returning to Lisbon tomorrow you are billed to drive Hetti down, alone.’
‘You’ve arranged that? Oh bless you.’
‘Yes. He wanted to plant you with Dom Pedro as well, but I suppressed it. So even if you don’t get much time with her today, you’ll have all tomorrow.’
‘Do I have to take her back to Dorothée?’ Richard asked apprehensively.
‘Oh Lord no! To the Palace; she’s staying there till after the wedding, anyhow.
’
Julia had made up her mind that it was important that Father Antal should have an opportunity to give Hetta his guidance in what lay ahead of her—life in the western world, probably a diplomatic marriage—before Atherley started on the poor child. But on her way to the priests’ study she was caught by Hetta’s other admirer.
‘Oh, Miss Probyn, there you are!’ Townsend Waller said. ‘I was wondering—do you know where Countess Hetta is? I never had a chance to speak to her last night, and I really would like a talk with her.’
‘Townsend, I know you would, and I expect it can be fixed presently. But just now I’m trying to arrange for her to have a long, quiet talk with Father Antal; you see he’s probably flying to the States on Saturday, so she and he won’t have much time together; and honestly I think you young men can wait!’
‘Leaving on Saturday!’ the Bostonian exclaimed.
‘Yes. I’ll tell you the story later—it is quite a story! But Townsend, I must go now.’ She felt ready to shake both these greedy grasping creatures, thinking so much more of their own desires than of Hetta’s real needs, and walked into the priests’ study in a mood of strong impatience.
Subercaseaux had been sufficiently impressed by Miss Probyn’s démarche in the study the previous evening to raise no objections when she stated that now would be a very good time for Father Antal and Hetta to have a little talk, alone. ‘If I don’t arrange it no one else will,’ the girl said. ‘There are all these wretched suitors clamouring for her all over the house—she might be Penelope! Can’t the Vatican take your infernal revisions as read, Monsignor?’
Both men laughed; Father Antal rose at once. ‘I am at your disposition.’
‘Splendid. Come along.’
Julia had decided that the knot-garden or anywhere out of doors was too liable to interruption, and led the priest to one of the huge deserted salons; there she looked round for an ash-tray, another rarity in Portuguese country-houses, and ruthlessly grabbed a small celadon dish off the chimney-piece.
‘There you are—now smoke away! I’ll bring her down.’
She looked in on her way to see if Mrs. Hathaway was all right; she found Nanny seated with that lady in the latter’s boudoir, deep in conversation, and both mending stockings—Mrs. Hatha way’s stockings. ‘Oh, the young Countess is in my sitting-room, helping Luzia with her puzzle,’ Nanny said. Julia found Hetta, and bore her off with ‘Father Antal wants to talk to you.’
Will it work? she asked herself as they went downstairs; these arranged things sometimes didn’t. But unless this was arranged they would get no chance. She pushed Hetta into the great room, and left them to it.
‘This is nice,’ Hetta said happily, pulling a brocaded tabouret over to the rather severe upright Louis XV armchair in which Father Antal, regardless of his own comfort, had settled down, and seating herself at his feet. ‘How did Yulia get this tedious Monsignor to release you? For I am sure she did. It seems he never lets you out of his sight!’
‘Who told you this?’ the priest asked, non-committally.
‘Luzia; there is nothing she doesn’t know. I find her— but quite enchanting!’
‘She is. Now tell me why you describe Mgr Subercaseaux as tedious?’ He was still perfectly non-committal.
‘Oh but really, Father, surely you can see this for yourself! Flattering this poor old beata Dona Maria Francisca last night, being agreeable to the Duke, to everyone; enjoying his wine and his cigar!’ Hetta said contemptuously. ‘And he is always the same: with my mother, with the Comte de Bretagne, with anyone who is rich or great! I dislike it. He is so—so utterly different to you!’
Father Antal made no direct reply to this outburst.
‘Do you know about your mother’s charities in the Alfama?’ he asked quietly.
‘Charities of Mama’s?’ She sounded incredulous. ‘No, I never heard of them. And where is the Alfama?’
‘It is one of the districts of Lisbon where only quite poor people live, and money for the necessary charities is therefore hard to come by. But for the last few years the parish priest has received practically all he needs—from your mother.’
‘This is very odd! At home it was always Pappi who took an interest in poor people, and charities. That parish priest must be a most persuasive person, if he has succeeded in interesting Mama!’
‘She has never met him,’ Father Antal said. ‘It is the Monsignor, whom you so despise, who has tapped this source of wealth to help the poor. Also he goes and says early Mass there at least twice a week, to give the parish priest a chance to rest and say his Mass later. As you know, working people must hear Mass early, or not at all.’
Hetta pondered.
‘He drives in from Estoril to say Mass? At what time?’
‘At seven.’
‘Then he must leave his house soon after six. Well, that is something for him!’ She pondered again. ‘Father, you mean some particular thing by telling me all this—what is it? Do not leave me to guess; you know that I am stupid at guessing!’
He patted her head gently.
‘My child, I think you are in a certain confusion. Partly it is due to ignorance and inexperience, partly to the natural intolerance of youth; what is unfamiliar to you is necessarily wrong! This is a mistaken idea, believe me. What I wish you to recognise, and accept, is that there are other ways of serving God than those which obtained in the Alfold! God’s plan for the world, and His wisdom, are not limited by your personal experience; He uses other means, other men, and it is presumption not to recognise the fact.’
She was silent, troubled.
‘I fancy this is, in you, a certain spiritual pride,’ he went on. ‘That, as you know, is a sin. You have only seen certain aspects of Monsignor Subercaseaux’s activities, and in a certain milieu which, since it is unfamiliar, you take upon yourself to disapprove of—you, an ignorant girl of twenty-two! Who are you to judge?’
Hetta was deeply disturbed. In all their years together her beloved Father Antal had never spoken so severely to her before.
‘But, Father—he is so different to you,’ she repeated lamely.
‘And am I the only model for God’s servants? Must they all be cast in the mould which Hetta Páloczy approves? The Monsignor is quite as efficient as I am in achieving God’s ends, and as uncompromising; and those ends are always worth achieving, even if it should be done by associating with the great or the rich.’
Hetta burst into tears.
‘Oh, it is all so difficult!’ she exclaimed, between sobs. ‘To me, nearly everything here is a muddle! Compromise, compromise!—dress well, say always the right thing, whether it is true or not, and you are safe, you are accepted! But how can I live so? It is not my nature, and I have never learned it.’
Father Antal let her cry for some time; then he put out a hand and raised her tear-stained face to look at him.
‘This is what you must now learn,’ he said. ‘What made you a good little cook in a country presbytery, and a dutiful helper to Mother Scholastica will not suffice here. You must learn tolerance, and control, and moderation—but tolerance above all. Listen,’ he said, as she shook her head rebelliously, scattering tear-drops on his knees and her lap, ‘God has some particular work for each of us to do—yes, even for His little ignorant obstinate Hetta! But we must accept the place, and the conditions, which He chooses to set; if we do not accept them we are useless. And part of our acceptance must be a willingness, a humble willingness, to learn the appropriate technique. This for the present is your duty, since you have been set down by Almighty God in the free world, and in rather mondain surroundings. I shall be distressed,’ he ended, rather sternly, ‘if you do not accept these terms.’
This time Hetta did not cry. She shook back her hair and frowned, concentrating on his words; it was some moments before she spoke.
‘I have tried to accept Mama,’ she said at last. ‘And truly I have tried to be docile: to go for ever to the coiffeur, to put stuff on my face, to
wear the right clothes. But—just lately—other things have come in, too; they make me wonder what I must do. Oh, I don’t know whether I can live out here!’
‘Are you thinking of M. Atherley?’ Father Antal asked.
She stared at him. It was a strange expression that came over her strong face just then: surprise, hauteur, uncertainty—but, he would have sworn, also joy.
‘But—why—I know that he is here; has he spoken?’ the girl asked. Her words were confused, but there was no confusion in her manner; as always it was perfectly direct.
‘Not to me. Has he to you? My child, I do not wish to force your confidence but before I leave I should like to know how this affair stands.’
‘Asked me to marry him—no,’ Hetta said thoughtfully. ‘I think he has become attached to me, in a rather unthinking way; he did once say to me that he thought he could be happy with me anywhere.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘That he had not given the matter any thought; that I should drive him mad by—by my lack of control and tolerance and moderation!’ the girl said explosively. ‘All the things you wish me to learn.’ She paused. ‘In any case, he is not a Catholic, and that is difficult,’ she ended in a different voice.
‘Might he become one?’
‘Well, at least he very much admires the Monsignor!’ Hetta exclaimed. ‘We have arguments about him. Perhaps this is the road to Rome!’
Father Antal burst out laughing.
‘This is a hopeful sign!—though it may only mean that Monsieur Atherley has more experience, and therefore more tolerance, than my late cook! One would expect this of a diplomat, of course.’
Hetta laughed too, then became grave.
‘Father’—she hesitated.
‘Yes, my child?’
‘Supposing he—Richard—did not wish to become a Catholic at once, should you approve of my getting married to him all the same?’
The priest took his time over replying. The question itself told him much. Clearly Hetta was anticipating a proposal; and his mind returned to what that so excellent young Englishwoman had said to him only yesterday about the importance of getting the child away from her mother. But there was the official Catholic view on this matter. At last, with deliberation, he spoke.
