All the children were present during this dispute and what astonished them more than their father’s stand was their mother’s obstinacy. Never, so far as any of them could remember, had Marian Eveleigh contradicted her husband but here she was actually screaming abuse at him, with the white-faced Gilbert trying to reason with both and although the matter seemed to end when Eveleigh also lost his temper and threatened to strike her, it was Marian who carried the day, for she flung herself out of the house, walked into Coombe Bay and telephoned the military depot at Paxtonbury so that Gilbert’s enlistment was declared void.
After that, although tempers gradually cooled, things were never quite the same between man and wife. It was as though the ghost of Four Winds had not been banished after all but was still lurking in one of the attics awaiting an opportunity to sidle into the bedrooms and kitchen and foment trouble between man, wife and children. In the event all that Marian’s defiance achieved was four months’ deferment, for Gilbert re-enlisted on his eighteenth birthday and the controversy seemed likely to flare up again for there were two more boys, aged sixteen and twelve, and by the time Gilbert had gone nobody could say if the war would last three years, ten years, or the remainder of everybody’s life.
It was not long before the Eveleighs, man and wife, were at one another’s throats again and the dispute on this occasion centred round their second daughter Rachel. Rachel Eveleigh had been going steady with Keith Horsey ever since the Coronation summer but it was only after they had been instrumental in bringing help to the crazy gypsy-child, Hazel Potter, that the Valley showed any interest in the association. Now it was generally understood that Keith would marry the farmer’s daughter as soon as he passed his finals at Oxford and was assured a good teaching post and Eveleigh was thought to look upon the match with satisfaction, for a parson’s son with a university degree was a rare catch for the daughter of a man who had begun as Codsall’s hired hand.
Keith Horsey, luckier than most young men that catastrophic summer, sat for his finals in June and the result, a double first gave him a choice of several careers. The couple had planned to marry in early spring but the war was rushing along at a speed that bewildered all but the very young and in mid-October Rachel informed the family that the wedding was being put forward to the last week in November.
The Valley was still apt to look suspiciously upon hurried weddings and none more so than the dour Eveleigh, whose unexpected opposition to the changed date was reinforced, it seemed, by sudden and inexplicable second thoughts regarding the groom. Challenged by Rachel and her mother to explain them he said that he had been told that Keith Horsey was associated with a group of students dedicated to the ideal of international brotherhood. Rachel looked blank at this but Marian laughed in her husband’s face, something else she had never done in more than twenty years of married life.
‘You can’t be serious, Norman!’ she protested, ‘what can it matter to us what Keith thinks about politics? He’s a nice, well-mannered boy, capable of earning a good living independent of his father’s money and in any case he’s head over heels in love with our girl! I say the sooner they’re wed the better!’
‘Well I say different!’ snapped Eveleigh, ‘and seeing she isn’t twenty-one until next summer she’ll have to get my permission before she ties herself up to that snivelling little pro-German!’
At this Rachel burst into tears and rushed away but Marian stood her ground, for it occurred to her that this was her husband’s way of punishing her for intervening in the matter of Gilbert’s enlistment. Then another somewhat darker thought struck her and she came out with it at once. ‘Have you got it into your silly head that our girl has got to get married?’ she demanded and Eveleigh, to her amazement, replied, ‘It wouldn’t surprise me none, not with a boy of his type! Have ye not heard it said he’s agin the war?’
‘No, I haven’t heard it,’ said the wife stubbornly, ‘but if I had it wouldn’t cause me to think less of him! Anyone in their zenses is against the war I should think and the zooner more of them make it known the sooner this wicked slaughter among Christians’ll stop!’
Now when Eveleigh had begun this conversation he had had no serious intention of withholding his permission but had merely sought to express disapproval of his future son-in-law’s unpatriotic views. To a simple man like Norman Eveleigh lack of enthusiasm for the war amounted almost to treason. He had never given a thought to European politics before August 1914 but newspaper accounts of German atrocities in Belgium had stirred his anger so that he was among the most belligerent men in the Valley, growling that the world would never be safe until the Kaiser was put away, the German generals backed up against the wall and German towns given over to sack on the scale of Louvain. He was a man who had always driven himself remorselessly but he considered himself just and the German advance across France and Belgium surely called for retribution without mercy. The discovery that his own wife, the mother of his children, wanted the war stopped before justice had been done shocked him and hardened his resolve to make an issue of his daughter’s marriage to a pacifist. He said, flatly, ‘Lookit here, Marian! If she marries that milksop she’ll do it without my blessing! I’ll have no part in it, you understand? I’ll not show at the wedding, and if she won’t abide until she’s of age then she can run off for all I care!’ and having delivered this ultimatum he stamped off and took it out on a frisky bullock who had unwisely chosen this moment to break out of the pen behind the bam and career up the lane towards Codsall bridge.
Rachel, watching him belabouring the animal, said, ‘He’s mad! He must be! It’s this place! This farm! Everybody who lives here ends up going off their heads, like old Martin Codsall and Arabella!’ Then, drying her tears, ‘Well, I’m not going to let his silly notions ruin my life, Mam, and you can tell him so for I shan’t have another word to say to him! If he tries to stop us I’ll go before the magistrates and get permission! They’ll give it me and why shouldn’t they? I’ll be twenty-one in less than a year and Keith’s father will stand by us!’
In the event this proved unnecessary, for although Eveleigh persisted in his opposition he was persuaded by Paul to sign the papers on the grounds that, if he did not, the couple would marry in any case, war-time courts having little patience with parental opposition to weddings. Every day girls younger than Rachel were marrying soldiers, often after courtships of less than a month. All the same, the new quarrels deepened the unpleasant atmosphere at Four Winds and the ghost of Arabella had reason to be pleased. After Rachel had married and settled in Leeds, where Keith took a university post, the Eveleigh family sat through a succession of silent meals and when Gilbert re-enlisted Marian Eveleigh fastened on her old grievance, going so far as to tell her husband that he had driven the boy to his death! So many things were happening so quickly in the Valley, however, that it was some time before Paul was aware that strife had returned to Four Winds after a lapse of ten years. He was usually alive to most happenings in the Valley but at that season he had other and more personal matters on his mind, notably an unexpectedly violent dispute with his own wife. The disagreement centred on another war-time marriage.
V
Late in November, less than a week before Keith Horsey and Rachel Eveleigh were married in Coombe Bay parish church, Ikey Palfrey reappeared in the Valley, home with his unit from India after an absence of more than two years and destined, in a matter of days, for France.
There was no time to warn anyone of his approach for he was granted but seventy-two hours’ leave and travelled west on a night train that did not stop at Sorrel Halt. He arrived very early in the morning, driving a hired car of uncertain vintage and came into the kitchen just as Mrs Handcock was brewing her ritual cup of tea. She let out a squawk of joy as he came bounding up the yard steps, pouncing on her, kissing her on both cheeks and declaring that she had put on ten stone since he had seen her last. He had always been her favourite and she bustled about frying
him eggs, bacon and potatoes, bubbling that she would ‘share un wi’ no one, not even Squire, ’till ’e ’ad summat hot in his belly and thawed-out-like!’ She told him that he was ’as chock full of ’is praper ole nonsense as ever, the gurt varmint!’ adding, with satisfaction, that he had ‘villed out summat’ and ‘looked more like a nigger than a Christian!’ He had indeed broadened so that his height was less noticeable and the Indian sun had burned his face and hands berry-brown, but already his tan was fading and looked, she told him ‘more like grime than zunburn!’ While he ate she gave him the news, or such of it as she could recall, for there had been so much in the last few months, although, prior to that, little enough save for the birth of the Squire’s second daughter Whiz, ‘the prettiest li’l maid you ever did zee!’ She told him Will Codsall had gone for a soldier as soon as war started and that his wife, Elinor, had been in a rare ole tizzy but had now got a good hand working for her, the son of Tom Williams (now minesweeping), who had a dread of the sea, having witnessed, as a child, the rescue of the German sailors in the cove. ‘And a praper zet o’ bliddy vools us maade of ourselves that day!’ she added, ‘for, like as not, they us dragged ashore are vighting for that varmint Little Willie!’ She told him that Smut Potter had enlisted and was said to have already killed hundreds of Germans and that Jem, Dandy Timberlake and Walt Pascoe had gone after him, leaving Walt’s slut of a wife to move in with her sisters at the Dell, there to earn more money on their backs, the hussies, than they were ever likely to earn standing upright! She also mentioned the rumour that Farmer Eveleigh was opposed to his daughter’s marriage to Keith, scheduled for next Saturday, and this seemed to interest him most for he questioned her as to the reasons for Eveleigh’s opposition but she could supply no satisfactory answer beyond saying, Tiz rumoured about yer that Passon’s son be one o’ they preaching agin the war and that’s enough to turn any man sour, baint it?’
He surprised her by saying that before long a great many people would be preaching against the war, for it now seemed certain that it would not be over by Christmas or the Christmas after that and that he expected to be in France himself within days which was a pity for he would have liked to have attended Keith’s wedding on Saturday. Mrs Handcock was dismayed that he would only be home for days after an absence of more than two years and at once recalled her duty to notify Squire and Mrs Craddock of his arrival. Ikey made the brazen suggestion that he should carry in their early morning tea but Mrs Handcock would have none of this for it would mean him seeing man and wife in bed together and this outraged her notion of propriety. She entered into a conspiracy, however, to tell Squire that someone had called on urgent business, bidding Ikey to wait at the top of the stairs so that she could watch the fun. Soon Paul came hurrying out, struggling into his dressing gown and his shout brought Claire on to the landing without a dressing gown for she interpreted Paul’s bellow as an accident involving somebody’s tumble downstairs.
They were delighted to see him and touched by the presents he had for them in his valise, a cashmere shawl for Claire, a pair of silver-mounted Mahratta pistols for the library wall and a cunningly-made Indian toy for each of the children. Mary, three and a half now, blushed with pleasure when he gave her a doll dressed in exquisitely worked embroidery closely sewn with amber and ruby-coloured beads.
News of his return ran down the Valley like a heath fire and all that morning tenants and Valley craftsmen made excuses to call and shake his hand, for he was the only professional soldier among them and Mons had raised the standing of a professional soldier in public esteem.
Among the last to arrive was Keith Horsey, who came into the yard as Ikey was saddling Paul’s ageing Snowdrop for an amble round the estate before dusk. His greeting seemed so restrained that Ikey put it down to the nervousness regarding his imminent marriage. It was when Keith curtly declined the loan of the stable’s sole remaining hack and an invitation to accompany him that Ikey noticed there was a reticence about him reminiscent of the nervous, shambling youth who had been the butt of High Wood during his first school year. He told Chivers to exercise Snowdrop and walked Keith up the orchard as far as the sunken lane and here, exercising the privilege of an old friend, he said, ‘Are you scared about getting married, Keith?’ but Keith looked at him defiantly and replied, quietly, ‘No, Ikey. I’m not a bit scared about Saturday. Rachel and I will be very happy once we get away from here.’
‘I heard that your prospective father-in-law was flag-flapping,’ said Ikey, ‘but I’m damned if I’d let that bother me.’
‘It isn’t that either,’ Keith said, stubbornly, ‘in fact, it isn’t anything much to do with me really. I suppose I should have written but it wasn’t the kind of thing one could put to paper, at least, I couldn’t!’ and when Ikey raised his eyebrows, very puzzled by the other’s embarrassment, he went on, ‘It’s . . . about you, Ikey, but before I make an idiot of myself will you tell me something?’
‘Anything?’
‘Well, before you left here, how . . . how well did you know Hazel Potter?’
Ikey, still bewildered, said, ‘What the devil are you driving at? If you’ve anything on your mind, Keith, for God’s sake stop drivelling and come out with it.’
‘Very well, I will,’ said Keith primly. ‘I don’t suppose anyone here wrote to tell you for there was no reason why they should but Hazel Potter—she had a child about eighteen months ago and I’ve always believed it was yours!’
It took Ikey thirty seconds to get a grip on himself while Keith, his eyes directed to the ground, stood with shoulders hunched and hands clenched like a man expecting a blow. At last Ikey said, quietly, ‘If Hazel had a child it would be mine, Keith. Whose child do they think it is?’
‘They don’t think anything about it now,’ Keith said, ‘she wouldn’t say and nobody cared much so after a bit they gave up guessing.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She’s living in the cottage beside the old mill on the river road. Doctor Rudd got her fixed up there and I found her a job, cleaning the church,’ and when Ikey made no reply he described how he and Rachel had found the girl in labour and how, when he had burst into the cave, she had shouted Ikey’s name. ‘No one knows that,’ Keith added, ‘not even Rachel, for naturally I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t be sure anyway, not until the child began to grow but then, somehow, I knew! Well, it’s off my conscience and I’m glad. I did what I could for her, Ikey, and she seems happy enough down there, happier than any of us I imagine.’
Ikey lowered himself slowly to the step of the stile while Keith continued to hover, seemingly more embarrassed than ever. They remained like that for a moment, neither speaking nor moving, until finally Ikey said, ‘It was damned decent of you, Keith, decent to say nothing but even more so to take care of her. However, I’d sooner have known! Do you believe that?’
‘Yes,’ Keith said, ‘I believe it now.’
‘You could have told Doctor Maureen. She would have written and maybe she would have understood too.’
Keith said, wretchedly, ‘I almost did but I couldn’t be sure, not absolutely sure and it seemed . . . well, so disloyal I suppose. How could I forget all I owed you? Oh, it wasn’t just watching out for me at school but everything, including Rachel. I suppose you’ve forgotten it was you who brought us together?’
‘Yes, I had forgotten,’ Ikey said but he remembered now, and a picture returned to him of a gawky, stammering youth shaking hands with the pert farmer’s daughter against a background of swirling couples and the blare of a brass band.
He said, ‘You’re sure nobody knows?’ and when Keith reassured him, ‘It seems incredible that nobody saw us, not once. Maybe her mother Meg does know but she’d never say anything, she doesn’t waste many words.’ He got up, passing a hand over his hair. ‘That old ruin beside the water-mill you say?’
‘It isn’t a ruin now, Squire had it done up for her.’
>
‘She stays in it all the year round?’
‘Why yes,’ Keith said, ‘why shouldn’t she?’
‘Ah,’ said Ikey, ‘that’s something you wouldn’t know, Keith. Well, I’ll go there right away.’
‘Would you like me to come?’
Ikey smiled. ‘No, we had no witnesses in the old days so there’s no point in enlisting one now. You could do something, though; tell Mrs Handcock to tell Squire I’ll be in to dinner but that I would prefer it wasn’t a celebration, I believe the Gov was planning one. There’s something else you can do too, if you will. I’ve only got three clear days, and God knows if I’ll ever be back. Would your father marry us if I got a special licence?’
Keith opened his mouth and closed it again, perhaps knowing his man better than anyone in the Valley. He said, ‘I expect Father will help, if he can,’ and hoisting himself over the stile walked down the orchard path towards the house.
The cottage stood on a low bank on the left of the road, a squat, three-roomed dwelling, built of cob with a pantile roof and around it a quarter-acre of vegetable garden hedged about with a criss-cross of angled beanpoles.
The setting sun over Nun’s Head was a narrow sliver of orange, turning the small, deep-set windows to flame and when he climbed the winding path and looked inside he could see them both in the light of a log fire, Hazel squatting on the floor, with her back to him and the child, facing the window, on the point of tottering across the floor into her outstretched arms. It was a set-piece, like a woodcut illustration of a sentimental magazine serial, yet curiously moving in its banality. He stood watching as the child staggered the distance on chubby, bowed legs and the mother caught him round the waist and tossed him the length of her arms. What awed him was not the child’s likeness to himself, which seemed to him so striking that he was astonished she had kept her secret so well but the domesticity etched on her and the room, as though the single act of giving birth to a child had changed her as no other pressures had been able to change her, drawing out her wild blood like wine from a cask and replacing it with the blood of a cottager’s wife, who slept in a bed under a roof, cooked regular meals and worked to a domestic timetable from sunrise to sunset. The evidence was all there before his eyes, not only in the playfulness between them but in the clean hearth, the shining pans suspended from the whitewashed walls, the patchwork rug neatly spread beside the scoured table where lay a pile of ironed linen and two bowls and spoons set before a high and a low chair. He thought, ‘It’s like looking into the cottage of the Three Bears and I wouldn’t wonder if she wasn’t pretending to be a bear,’ and suddenly a rush of tenderness choked him and he felt his eyes pricking and for a moment was a child again himself but one shut out of the simple delights of childhood looking in upon security and certainty he had never enjoyed. He stood back from the window making a great effort to collect himself and in a little he succeeded, so that he was able to pass the window and reach for the gargoyle knocker; yet he was unable to rattle it, thinking desperately, ‘God help me, she has to know and there isn’t much time! Maybe Dr Maureen or the parson can sort it out somehow but it’s for me to make the first move,’ and he thumped the knocker hard, hearing her steps scrape on the slate slabs and the slow creak of the heavy door being dragged open.
Long Summer Day (A Horseman Riding By) Page 85
