King Dido

by Alexander Baron

  “He could be.”

  “He must be. They haven’t paid him for weeks down here. Yet they’re all still frightened of him. This street isn’t big enough for him. Seeking bigger game. Pastures new. Shall I tell you what you’re going to find out for me?”

  “You want me to find out where he goes.”

  “And what he’s up to.”

  At six in the evening Grace’s drawing-room was still gilded by sunlight. A cloth was laid on the small mahogany table and two places were laid, each with a plate of sliced ham and a precise array of cutlery. There were plates of washed lettuce and tomatoes, a piece of cheddar, a loaf on a board, a butter-dish and a teapot in a cosy. A kettle hummed on the gas-ring in the grate.

  Grace and Mrs Peach sat on plush-upholstered chairs by the window, knitting. Mrs Peach was in her housekeepery best. Grace wore a tea-gown and slippers. She was not hugely swollen in her seventh month but she was big enough to look clumsy, and she felt burdened. Her legs were troubling her and the doctor had said something about blood pressure. She was supposed to take it easy. She did not miss the shops as she had lost all interest in new clothes. She had lost interest in most things and was quite happy to obey the doctor, lying down in a doze for hours or making baby clothes or reading. She ate chocolates all day and Mrs Peach brought her a succession of cups of sweet tea. She had become good friends with Mrs Peach.

  “Ham was nice,” Grace said. “Nice and lean.”

  Over her twinkling fingers Mrs Peach said, “Dido likes a bit of fat.”

  “Oh,” Grace said. “I know what my Dido likes.”

  It was all of the friendliest. She had no wish to needle her mother-in-law and she never felt nowadays that her mother-in-law was needling her. But now that her status in the house was, as it seemed, recognised, she was always prompt to maintain it with the necessary turn of phrase. “He does work hard these days,” she said. “I worry sometimes.”

  “No need to worry about Dido. He’s a good boy.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that. Who knows better? But he does work hard.”

  “He’s always been good.”

  “My word, do you think I would have married him else? He does work hard in this other business. I hope it’s worth it.”

  “I’m sure you can trust Dido.”

  “I do trust Dido. Do you think Dalston’s a good part?”

  “Dalston?”

  “For a rag business. I mean competition and all that. It’s where you were in service, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. Dido could tell you.”

  “Oh, Dido tells me precious little. I thought perhaps he told you.”

  “He doesn’t tell me. He used to of course. But then he’s a married man now.”

  “He is a close one.”

  “He always was one for few words. Still you can trust Dido. I can tell you it’s all for the best whatever he’s doing. Dido’s a hard worker. He’s as honest as the day, my boy. He would cut off his two hands before he thieved.”

  “Thieved!” There was an indignant touch in Grace’s fervour. “Who said anything about thieved? My Dido?”

  “I was only saying.” Mrs Peach was a little worried that she might have blurted out too much. She took a conscious pride in her newfound ability to speak up but Grace’s questions about Dido had taken her off balance. A few more questions and she might give everything away. Dido had warned her that she must not tell Grace nor the boys either, for they might blab, and it was a strain all the time to watch her tongue. She felt quite reconciled to Grace. Knowing that Dido was her own boy again and true to his promise, she was determined to keep her promise to be nice to Grace. Also she was full of joy and excitement at the prospect of once again having a little baby to hold. She couldn’t help noticing that Grace had turned nice, too. Perhaps it was the baby coming. Grace had invited her up to the sitting-room and that had started a new life for her. Now that she could sit in the room every day in her best black dress and white collar she no longer detested it. She was proud of it and of herself in it. Oh, it had been an awful year, but now Dido was on the right road, she could not deny credit to this girl. Grace had to rest. She needed her mother-in-law. It was a privilege to Mrs Peach to be permitted to take over the dusting of the sitting-room; and she looked after Grace with the patient care that a herdsman might devote to a gravid cow. She had always wanted a daughter-in-law who was real company. Now, sitting up here, knitting, daintily holding her teacup, prattling away with a tongue set free, she had one. She said, “I think you’ve done wonders, dear. I do.”

  Grace said, “I only hope Dido appreciates.”

  “He does, I’m sure. He wants to do everything. You’ll have everything sooner than you think. A new home even, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Oh, that.” Grace spoke listlessly. For the moment she had lost interest in moving. “— That must be Chas.”

  Footsteps clumped up the stairs. Chas entered in his working-clothes. “’Lo ma, ’allo Grace. What’s up? Shonny sent me up.”

  “Is he reading in the kitchen like a good boy?” Mrs Peach asked.

  “Yeah. ’E said to come up.”

  “He’s had his supper and we’ve had ours. There’s yours on the table. Grace has invited you.”

  He looked in amazement from one of them to the other. “What’s up?”

  “Grace has made supper for you. She’s invited us to spend the evening with her. In her sitting-room.”

  “I —” He was still turning an open-mouthed stare from one woman to the other. “I’m goin’ out tonight.”

  “You can go out another night. Go and wash and change.”

  “I told the fellers.”

  “Grace has made supper specially. I never heard such a thing, other fellows. Do you want me to tell Dido? You might say thank you to Grace.”

  He muttered, “Ta.”

  “Now come back in your decent suit,” his mother said. “I’ll pour your tea soon as you come.”

  He lingered, sulky, then went out. He sat down to his supper when he returned and ate in silence. Mrs Peach rattled on and Grace listened to her without much attention. Nobody had much impact on her these days. She experienced no keen emotions about the child. She felt too lethargic to be eager (what with her legs and her blood pressure) but the burden and movement within herself was the centre of her life. Dido came and went. She did not bother her head anymore about what he was doing. Her questions to Mrs Peach had only been for the sake of talking. She did not even wake up when he got out of bed to go to work in the middle of the night. Of course he had stopped doing anything to her when they were in bed. She should think so, in her state! Not that he had ever troubled her much. It was strange, when they first married he was at her like a terrier. Men! Then he lost interest and it happened less and less often. It amused her that she could feel annoyed because he left her alone. She ought to be only too glad. It was a fact, though, she did get annoyed. That night — oh, she remembered that night. She was still surprised at herself. That must have been what those girls at the hostel told her about, the ones that frankly said they couldn’t have enough of it. Well, he hadn’t shown what he thought about it; “Good night” and off to sleep. He must have thought her very forward. Certainly if he couldn’t be bothered she wouldn’t, not when she was her own self again. Losing his respect for all she knew. It was the man’s place not hers. Without hostility she thought, blow him! She said, “How much did you lay out, mother? For the shopping.”

  “It doesn’t matter, dear, really.”

  “No, no.” Grace heaved up and went to the sideboard. She opened the top drawer and took out a tin. “Must keep it fair.”

  “Two and thrappence, dear.”

  Grace emptied coins on to the table, scrabbled out Mrs Peach’s money with her fingertips, returned the rest to the tin and put the tin away. They heard Dido on the stairs. He came in, heavy with fatigue, wearing his good suit. He said, “Do with me supper. You can pour. I’ve wa
shed.”

  He sat down to his meal. The women at once returned to their prattle. He champed stolidly, ignoring them, as he felt himself ignored. They had turned into a real pair of jaw-me-deads, his mother and Grace. These days he didn’t get so much as a look sometimes. He was amused and pleased and a little put out. He said to Chas, “What’s up wi’ you?”

  “Me?”

  “You look as if you lost a quid and found a farden. What you got the ’ump about?”

  “Nothing.”

  Chas was seething. Every second he felt nearer to going off bang like a balloon. Tonight was the limit. His pocket-money was a joke but he had saved up for weeks and he had won a couple of bob in the dinner-hours at cards and he was supposed to meet some of the fellows from work tonight for a friendly drink. He finished supper in silence.

  Dido said to Mrs Peach, “Take you for a walk, mother. Up the churchyard.”

  She gave him one of her grateful smiles. He was his old attentive self these days. “I could do with it, dear.” Grace said, “I’m going to bed.”

  They all got up and Chas got up. At last he could get away. Dido turned to him. “Take the crocks down, Chas.”

  Chas expostulated, “I’m goin’ out.”

  Dido spoke patiently. “Chas, you don’t want to leave it all to Grace, do you? Make yourself useful for a change. Take the crocks downstairs and wash up.”

  Chas did not say a word. Intimidated as ever by his brother he started to stack crockery; and his fury choked inside him. When they were all gone he worked on, rattling the crockery. He felt finally and utterly hopeless. They would go on keeping him in and shutting him up and treating him like a child for ever if he let them. It was no use, he could never stand up to Dido. If he didn’t show them once and for all he would stick in this house without friends and without a girl for years and years like a bloody old maid. No one had time for him in this house. He couldn’t stand it for a second more and that was flat. He left the pile of crockery, sat down and sank his head down on the table upon his arms. He was there for a while without moving, while he heard Grace get into bed in the next room. He sat up. All his resentments had focused to one resolve. He opened the sideboard drawer and took out the tin. He opened it. There they were, five sovereigns, besides the silver. A little while before Grace had emptied the golden coins on to the table in front of him and he had thought, that’s my money, that’s what Dido took away from me. He took it away from me and he kept it. So much for him being honest.

  Chas would never dream of stealing. But he was driven inside by something near hysteria. He raged against Dido and his mother and Grace. He needed to strike back at Dido and he felt all the more savage because he could only do it when Dido’s back was turned. He felt like weeping, like a little boy, as he looked at the coins and thought, that’s my money, that’s mine.

  He took three sovereigns and put the box away. He was only taking what was his. He went out in a child’s unreasoning rage, to give the boys the treat of their lives, to make an irreparable gesture of defiance to Dido. He met the boys and treated them. He got drunk and went up to the West End in a cab. He had some more drinks and looked in at the Empire Music Hall where a perfumed and beautiful young foreign lady spoke to him and took him home. Next morning he found himself in the street. His head ached. He was penniless. He dared not go home for he was filled with an anguished terror of Dido. He went to St George’s Barracks, near St Martin-in-the-Fields, and joined the Army.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dido came in from his round, unharnessed and fed the horse, unloaded the float and went to cash in. Two other milkmen were in the office with Mr Owen. Dido did not go in. He wanted to talk to Mr Owen alone. He was in no hurry to wash his cans. He went into the cowshed.

  In the cool gloom he sat on a milking-stool and watched the cowmen at work. They were carrying feed to the dozen cows chained against the rear wall. Working in the dairy brought back his childhood. As a small boy he had always run out in excitement when a herd of cows wandered down Rabbit Marsh, on their way to or from a spell at pasture; and he had always been eager to go on errands to the cow-keepers. He still liked to breathe the heavy odour of the beasts, of warm milk and rotten straw. He could relax here. The big, patient eyes of the cows, unlike those of humans, were unjudging.

  Mother was still upset about Chas. She huddled in the corner chair by the dresser, her old, bewildered self, muttering her fears for the boy and bemoaning the disgrace that he had gone for a soldier. Dido was upset, too, but he told himself that Chas had made his own bed. The boy had jibbed at a little family discipline. He had gone to the right place to learn what discipline meant. The loss of money had hit Dido harder. Three sovereigns was the greater part of what he had saved. Time was running out before Keogh’s return and he would have to start again. He could not hang about any more for that promotion.

  They had waited for a day after Chas’s disappearance. Then Dido had had a word with Gaffney, the bearded constable. Gaffney had smiled a little. He was a man who had heard such stories before. That night he had called to tell them where Chas was.

  Mother had insisted on going with Dido to the barracks. “Lord love us,” the brisk Colour Sergeant had said. “Take him home? Lad’s over eighteen, isn’t he? Have you brought a certificate to say different? Then it’s all legal and proper. Lord love us, ma’am, we get mothers and fathers coming here all day. Proper wailers some of ’em are. But it’s no use if the lad’s over eighteen. You can see the young feller if you like. In barracks. Oh, we don’t let ’em out. Not once they’ve attested. Don’t you worry, we’ll make a man of him. Well looked after he’ll be. Smart as new paint when you see him in his red and blue. We’ll make you proud of him, ma’am. Infantry of the line. We’ll have him away in the next draft... Can’t say. Wherever the next draft goes. Dorsets like as not. A very fine regiment. Yes, sir. If you’ll wait. You can see the Attesting Officer.”

  The Attesting Officer, a very tall thin mournful gentleman, had explained that it was all in order. He had shown them a bundle of forms with Chas’s name filled in sixty-two times. And the officer’s signature twenty-nine times. Chas had only signed once but that was enough. And they had seen a sullen and silent Chas; and not long after he had sent them a postcard from Dorchester Barracks. Well, that was that.

  Dido went out to the yard. The men were still with Mr Owen. He strolled into the disused stable opposite the office to have a look at Mr Owen‘s motor-car. It was inside against the wall, under the boards of an old hayloft. It was a nice piece of work, shining with new green-and-gold paint and polished brass. Dido knew nothing about the mechanism but he had a good eye for workmanship.

  The two men came out of the office and he went in. He said, “Mornin’, Mr Owen” and emptied the contents of his leather moneybag on to the table.

  Mr Owen, without looking up, busied himself with the money. “Good morning, Mr Peach.”

  He began to stack the coins in piles. Dido said, “Two more customers in Newick Road. I’m doin’ eight gallons a day down there now.”

  Mr Owen was intent on the coins. He only made a “mmhh” of approval. Dido said, “Mr Owen — I think I’ve shown what I can do.”

  Eyes on the money, Mr Owen said, “Very good. Very good, Mr Peach.”

  “About that job?”

  “Job?”

  “Managing.”

  Mr Owen said, “Managing?” as if the word puzzled him. He still didn’t look up.

  Dido began to feel uneasy. “’Eight weeks, Mr Owen. On trial for the managing job. It was understood.”

  “Oh —” Mr Owen uttered the word lengthily. His lips moved in silence as he counted a pile of shillings and he leaned intently across to make a note in a book.

  “Managing job? Yes —”

  Dido said firmly, trying to draw the man’s attention. “It was understood.”

  Owen murmured, “Let me get this booked, there’s a good chap.”

  Dido obeyed for a moment; but the fe
eling grew that there was something amiss. “’Ave I given satisfaction?”

  “Satisfaction?” Owen was still murmuring as if to himself. He looked up in an odd, quick way. “No fault to find, Mr Peach. But managing? I wasn’t thinking so soon —”

  A hardness came into Dido’s voice. “You said I was on trial.”

  “I never had a date in mind, man. I don’t know yet if I want anyone.”

  Dido said fiercely, “It was understood.”

  Owen said, “I’ve had men with me twenty years if I was in a hurry to find one. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

  “You said.”

  “I said I’d give you a chance. I give every man his chance.”

  He sighed, shovelled up the coins and let them cascade into the compartments of a drawer. “This is very difficult, Mr Peach.”

  Gathering anger made Dido silent. Owen said, “You see, Mr Peach — this very day I — Well, I have to reduce my staff.”

  “What is this? Eh, Mr Owen?”

  Owen’s eyes were on the table again. “Last in first out. I’m sorry. It’s only fair.”

  “Are you —? Are you givin’ me the boot?”

  “No, Mr Peach. I have to reduce staff, you see. Things aren’t so good.”

  “You’re sellin’ your whole yield. Only Monday you was looking where you could put in more cows. What is this?”

  Owen looked to his front, at Dido’s midriff, in unhappy silence. Dido repeated, “What is this?”

  Owen picked up a small packet. “I’ve got your money here. I’m paying you for a full week, on last week’s commission.”

  Dido almost shouted, “Ave you gone mad? Don’ I even finish the week?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Peach.”

  “What you turnin’ me off for?”

  “I’m paying you a full week, Mr Peach. I’m sorry. You have to do things you don’t like in business.”

  “What for?” Dido was shouting now, grasping the front of the table. “Why?”

  Owen pleaded, “Be reasonable, man. It’s business. I can’t explain any more.”