Evidently the Reisbys were interesting people. They lived in a lonely though comfortable house near the shore at Aberleven, within fifteen miles of Northport. The Professor had rooms in Northport, but he seldom used them, preferring to go up to the University in his car. Mrs. Reisby was the daughter of a well-known surgeon. Her parents had been opposed to her marriage at so early an age to a man so much older than herself, and although her mother had relented after the birth of the child, and had even stayed for a fortnight at Scarweather (the Professor’s house), her father had steadily declined to have anything to do with Reisby.
Life at Aberleven, on a bleak northern shore with little society and few amusements, would have been insufferably monotonous to the majority of young women; and it was fortunate that Mrs. Reisby was not only devoted to her husband and her child, but was able to take a practical and a lively interest in the Professor’s work. Mrs. Reisby occasionally stayed with her parents in Manchester; the Professor seldom left his home in the north, unless to confer with his learned colleagues, or to attend their meetings in London or in one of the southern Universities. Once a year he visited a friend in Upsala and a group of distant relatives in Bergen; his grandfather had been a captain in the merchant service of Norway. He also visited Hamburg.
3
Frederick Ellingham used to stay frequently, for a few days or a week at a time, with his old parents in London. His father, Admiral Sir Hugh Walberswick Ellingham, had a house in Gloucester Terrace, and when Frederick was staying there in the vacation I used to meet him nearly every day.
To go about London with a man like Ellingham, who seemed to know something about everything and everybody, was always delightful. If I could not keep pace with the activity of his mind, or rise to the level of his own varied enthusiasms, I could not fail to be interested in the man himself and in the extraordinary resources or powers of his character.
Ellingham never boasted; but he used to observe, in his dry, deliberate manner, that he knew a little about almost every condition of life. I never came across anyone with a more astonishing variety of acquaintances—I might say, a more embarrassing variety. Apart from churchmen, I believe he knew men in every profession. In view of his own remarkable intellect, you might have anticipated a wide acquaintance among learned men; you would scarcely have anticipated a sympathy and a liking for the relatively obscure—newspaper reporters, jobbers, dealers, clerks in offices, policemen, railwaymen, sailors, engineers, waiters, door-keepers, and a whole multitude of humble folk in every conceivable kind of employment.
You would find him chatting to a dealer in St. James’s about the authenticity of a Rembrandt; a few minutes later he would be listening to the woes of some tattered individual whose daughter had lost her job in the chorus; and at lunch time he was playing draughts with a Russian Jew in some disreputable but entertaining place near the Docks. In the afternoon, perhaps, he would go to hear a new pianist at the Wigmore Hall; and he would have tea with Lady Pallardyne, the celebrated reformer of the English workhouse. He might dine with Lord Emberley de Hazebrouck, or he might eat sausages with a taxi-driver and his family at Notting Hill.
It so happened that Ellingham was in town in January 1914 when my cousin Eric told me, with delight, that Professor and Mrs. Reisby were coming to London for an informal meeting of scientific workers.
“I should like to meet Reisby,” said Ellingham. “He and I have written to each other on the subject of colloidal analyses, and we have both refuted Herr Gumberstein. By the way,” he added, “judging from what you have told me and from what I have heard, Reisby is a very singular fellow.”
“And what have you heard?” I asked him.
Ellingham chose to ignore my question. He drew a golden toothpick from a case in his pocket and lightly tapped it along his lower teeth; it was an offensive habit which always annoyed me, though I knew it was the prelude to cogitation.
“I may have met him, or I may have seen him,” he said. “I’m not quite sure.”
Such a remark appeared to me rather strange, coming from so exact a man as Ellingham and relating to so famous a man as Professor Reisby.
“Well,” I said, “Eric will certainly take me to see them, and it would be very pleasant if you came with us. I myself am very anxious to meet these people, because Eric is frightfully taken up with them, you know, and he and I have always been more like brothers than cousins—”
“Quite, quite!” said Ellingham, who avoided sentiment of every kind. He tilted back his head, rattled his toothpick against his upper molars, and closed his eyes.
“Reisby!” he said. “Ah, yes!—distinctly interesting!”
On the 11th of January I was informed by Eric that the Reisbys were staying at a private hotel in Earl’s Court, and would be delighted if I could go round with him and see them after dinner on the following day; they would also be glad to meet my friend Ellingham—indeed, the Professor was particularly anxious to have a talk with him. It was a very quiet hotel, said Eric, and we should probably have one of the private drawing-rooms to ourselves. The Reisbys would be in town for ten days at least. Eric was clearly excited and happy.
“You are sure to like them, John. He is a wonderful fellow—so frightfully clever, and yet so simple and kind and manly! He’s amusing, too; in a boisterous, Nordic style. And I’m sure you will be interested in Hilda—Mrs. Reisby—”
He broke off abruptly, and I saw that he was blushing.
“We are great pals,” he explained. “She’s not an ordinary young woman, I can assure you. Not at all. She knows quite a lot about archaeology—almost as much as Tolgen himself. And there’s no nonsense about her. She can understand a fellow and take a real interest in his work without being sentimental or sloppy—”
His eagerness, of course, revealed the secret. He was evidently falling in love with Mrs. Reisby. I knew the symptoms; I had seen them before. I could only hope that he was right in describing her as a lady incapable of nonsense.
4
Ellingham was fortunately free, and he accompanied Eric and myself to the Reisbys’ hotel. When we got there we found that they had actually reserved a drawing-room, and had invited that famous man, Dr. Fulmar Pepperlow, to meet us—or perhaps I should say, to meet Ellingham. We anticipated a memorable evening, and we were not disappointed.
Tolgen Reisby was decidedly impressive. He was tall, rugged and immensely powerful. He wore a brown suit of some fluffy material which added to the natural effect of his bulk and made him look positively gigantic. His trousers were loose and voluminous; the upper buttons of his waistcoat were unfastened, releasing the untidy mass of a blue and yellow tie. The whole appearance of the man was barbaric; you might have taken him for a crofter of the Hebrides, or the skipper of an Aberdeen herring-boat.
Such might have been your first impression, but that was quickly changed when you looked at his face and heard him talk.
Ellingham, with his dislike of anything romantic, would never agree with me when I described Reisby as a thoughtful hero, an immense barbarian, subdued by intelligence, kindness and learning. But so he appeared to me from the first moment and so I remember him. A big red beard, already silvering at the edges, flowed lavishly over the crumpled folds of his blue and yellow tie. His face, like that of some benevolent Jupiter, was carved out in massive and ample forms. His tawny eyebrows were thick and overhanging, and a tangle of reddish-brown hair, parted high above the forehead, fell in a curly disorder about his temples. The eyes of this extraordinary man were not (as you might have imagined) fierce or compelling; they were grey, luminous and amiable. There was in the whole countenance a singular union of barbaric dignity, intellectual power, and extreme gentleness. There was even a trace of something whimsical or gay. Eric was right; I was immediately fascinated. Yet I imagined Reisby to be a man whose passions, though simple, would be overwhelmingly strong; a man with a stern, primitive conception of honour, a
man whose retaliation would be cruel and unscrupulous.
He spoke in a rich, booming voice, unexpectedly low and soft in ordinary conversation, but rising, in moments of jocularity or fervour, to a boisterous and alarming bellow. He was not eloquent, except when he was talking about science, and he had an odd trick of uttering little rhythmic ejaculations. This trick, as I afterwards discovered, was intended to hold the attention of the listener while Reisby was thinking of what to say or what to do: it might be a signal of danger, or merely indicate the coming of a professorial joke.
Reisby dominated the scene, as, indeed, he will dominate this narrative; but I realised, when I saw him and Ellingham together, that I was in the presence of the two most remarkable men I was likely to meet in the course of my life.
When I turned from the Professor to his wife I realised the justification of all my forebodings. The moment I saw her I knew that she was Eric’s ideal. Perhaps I felt a pang of jealousy, or it may have been a premonition of danger. At any rate, I was painfully aware of a lack of cordiality, if not of a certain uncouthness, in speaking to her for the first five minutes.
Again, Eric was quite right. Hilda Reisby was pretty and intelligent. She looked more like the Professor’s daughter than his wife, and I had some difficulty in remembering that she was married to this fatherly and immense personality. I do not mean that she was juvenile or slight in appearance. On the contrary, she was unusually grave, composed and thoughtful for her age; she had a magnificent figure and a stately carriage.
Our conversation, after the usual preambles, became rather scientific. Dr. Fulmar Pepperlow, a dim, shadowy creature, the mere embodiment of an intellect, could speak with authority on archaeological and anthropological research.
I was surprised to observe that Ellingham paid very little attention to the Professor, and showed a lack of cordiality bordering upon rudeness. I was anxious to learn his impressions of this wonderful man, and when I saw that he barely glanced at him and hardly took the trouble to answer his remarks, I was both humiliated and disappointed. Let it be remembered that I was then a very young man. Had I possessed at that time the fuller experience of later life I should have realised a peculiar significance in Ellingham’s attitude. As it was, I felt myself more and more fascinated by the colossal presence and the booming voice of Professor Reisby.
Eric was radiantly happy. He saw my admiration of the hero, and he gave me, from time to time, a glance of pride and of sly humour. God knows, there was nothing in common between Eric and Boswell, but I can imagine Boswell glancing in such a way at a friend who found himself for the first time in the company of Dr. Johnson.
For my part, as I had little knowledge of the scientific matters which were being discussed by the others, I was obliged—rather unwillingly and ungraciously—to carry on a light conversation with the Professor’s wife.
But I was presently mollified, if not entirely subdued, by the charm of Mrs. Reisby. She talked to me in a manner so frank and engaging that I soon had to abandon my boorish attitude of indifference or defiance. She told me how much they liked Eric, how much they were looking forward to his next visit.
“Mr. Foster is coming up in the Easter vacation,” she said, “and I think Tolgen intends to carry out some interesting excavations near Aberleven. It would be so nice if you could come up too. There is only one spare room in our little house, but there is an inn at Aberleven—it is called the hotel—where you would be very comfortable. Perhaps your friend Mr. Ellingham would like to join the party. It would be great fun. I don’t know if you have ever heard about the big earthwork of Caer Carrws—”
“Caer Carrws?” said Ellingham, swinging round from the other group with a strangely abrupt movement. “Are you thinking of having a dig there?”
I could see that his brusqueness offended Mrs. Reisby; it was very unlike his usual placid manner. Indeed, his whole behaviour was new to me, and I wondered if he was unwell.
“My husband, I think, means to dig at Caer Carrws in the Easter vacation. I was just talking about it to Mr. Farringdale.”
Professor Reisby, surprised at the interruption, looked up with a shadow of annoyance on his enormous brow.
“Yes,” he boomed, “I want to have a look at the guard-houses, or whatever they are, near the southern gateway. Pray excuse me, Pepperlow.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, for this unseemly interruption,” said Ellingham, “but the fact is that I am particularly interested in these northern earthworks.”
I looked at him with astonishment. As far as I knew, he was entirely ignorant of such things. At any rate, he never said anything about them. But of course it was impossible to say what he had stored up in his capacious and eager mind.
“Wouldn’t it be rather a good idea, Tolgen,” said Mrs. Reisby, “if Mr. Farringdale and Mr. Ellingham came up to the hotel when we are having our dig? Aberleven is quite a jolly place in the spring, and Mr. Farringdale has been telling me—”
Again I saw the shadow of annoyance on Reisby’s face. But it quickly passed and he answered pleasantly enough:
“A long way, I’m afraid. Still, if they would care to see the excavation—eh?—tum-ti-dee!—”
He smiled in his amiable Jovian style, and I was amazed to hear Ellingham saying:
“As far as I am concerned, I should welcome the privilege. I have read your wonderful essay on promontory fortifications, and I need hardly tell you, sir, that I agree entirely with all that you have said. Blackerton’s feeble reply is unworthy of notice; I cannot understand the serious attention bestowed upon it by a man like Whitlock. The problem of the double entrance at Caer Carrws is peculiarly fascinating. If I am free at the time, I should very much like to spend a few days at Aberleven and follow your investigations.”
“Sir,” replied Reisby, completely amiable, “I should be glad to see you. My own opportunities for hospitality are unfortunately limited, but I can at least offer you an occasional meal at Scarweather.”
“There!” cried Mrs. Reisby, “what a pleasant arrangement! And will you be able to come too, Mr. Farringdale?”
I said that I should like to join the party, but could hardly say whether it would be possible. This unexpected turn of events was bewildering me: I am naturally slow and cautious.
“Of course he’ll come!” said Eric. “I’ll answer for him, Mrs. Reisby. And you, sir, will find him a very serviceable navvy, I can assure you.”
During the rest of the evening, apart from a little conversation with Mrs. Reisby, I was occupied in listening to, and observing, the others. Professor Reisby treated Eric as he might have treated a favourite pupil, and was evidently fond of him: indeed, his manner towards him was not so much amiable as affectionate. I could also observe a growing friendliness between the Professor and Ellingham. The latter had quite regained his normal balance (or so it appeared to me) and he was talking in his most delightful style. Dr. Pepperlow’s contributions were those of a cold and equiponderating intelligence; he was a man so phantasmal that it was a positive relief to hear him asking for sugar in his coffee. Mrs. Reisby and Eric hardly said a word to each other, but they were clearly on terms of open familiarity. When it was time to go, Eric was the last to leave the room, and I saw him lingering in the doorway with Mrs. Reisby while the Professor heavily descended to the hall with Pepperlow and Ellingham.
5
I did not see Ellingham alone until two days after our evening with the Reisbys. He was returning to Cambridge at the end of the week, and asked me to meet him in the course of the morning at his club.
As soon as we had settled ourselves in a comfortable corner of the smoking-room, I asked him, with considerable eagerness, what he thought of Professor Reisby and his wife.
“Oh!” he said, rubbing his pointed chin with a lean finger, “I have seen the Professor before.”
“Indeed!” I replied. “At one of your highly intellectua
l assemblies, no doubt.”
“Not at all, my dear young friend, not at all! You are quite wrong. At the same time, I will admit that your conjecture has every appearance of being reasonable.”
He scraped out the bowl of his meerschaum, tapped it gently in the palm of his hand, and then wrapped it up in a piece of yellow silk and slipped it into his pocket.
“What do you say to a little apéritif?—or is it too early?”
I knew that he was teasing me, but I stuck to the point.
“Where did you meet Reisby?” I said.
“Learn to be more precise. I did not say that I had met him. I said that I had seen him.”
“And where have you seen him?”
“Down at the Docks.”
“Down at the Docks!” I cried. “You are evidently mistaken. You have seen an old sailor who is like him. Indeed, that is not at all improbable. When I first saw him he reminded me of a northern sea-dog.”
“I have also seen him at an eating-house in Poplar, a very interesting place. I don’t think we have been there in the course of our excursions; it is not a proper scene for a young gentleman.”
“You are being very irrational and irritating,” I retorted, “and you cannot ask me to believe that you have seen Professor Reisby in such places. It is too absurd.”
Ellingham looked at the clock over the mantelpiece.
“How about a trip to Poplar this morning?” he said. “I can’t promise to show you the Professor, but I can show you the eating-house—in fact, I can give you a jolly good lunch there.”
Of course I accepted the invitation, and in about an hour’s time we entered one of the most peculiar establishments I have ever seen.
It was a large room, lighted by gas, and full of wooden tables covered with pieces of oilcloth. At these tables were little groups of men, white, yellow or black. Most of them wore jerseys or heavy dark overcoats, and many of them had caps with broad shining peaks drawn over their eyes. Clearly, a sailor’s eating-house, but not by any means cheap or dirty. What was unexpected was the peculiar sense of decorum, almost of definite formality. The customers, as they came in or went out, gravely saluted a big man who sat in an armchair by the pay-desk, addressing him as Captain Andrew. The waitresses (decent-looking young women in blue aprons) were polite, swift and efficient. There was a little boy, whose duty it was to keep the spittoons in order and remove the empty glasses. The food, though plain and with no great variety, was admirably cooked. Everything was clean, proper and wholesome. On the walls hung large coloured lithographs of old hermaphrodite steamers with paddle-boxes, black funnels, and a billowing spread of canvas. But long before I had observed these details Ellingham touched my arm.
Scarweather Page 2
