The Romantic Adventures of Mr. Darby and of Sarah His Wife

by Martin Armstrong

  ‘Never mind. Take no notice of it,’ Lady Savershill loudly replied.

  Miss Harter sat smiling with her pad ready on her knee. Sarah pulled herself together. ‘The hospitals I have visited since last I reported,’ she began, ‘are the Royal Free at Bankhurst and the Mexham Infirmary …’

  When she had spoken for a minute or two, Lady Savershill interrupted her. ‘One minute. Don’t take me down, Miss Harter,’ she said; ‘only Mrs. Darby. There are only two things wrong, Mrs. Darby: you drop your voice too much on the last word of each sentence, and you don’t pause long enough between sentences. When you get to a full stop, pause till the pause seems interminable. It not only gives you, you’ll find, great self-possession, but it convinces your listeners of your self-possession. Don’t forget, mind, to pronounce those last words clearly and sharply.’

  So the lesson went on. Sarah lost her shyness and began to find the experiment amusing and interesting. Yes, making speeches was, apparently, very good fun, and she drove away that afternoon, not only having consented to speak at the General Meeting but actually eager to do so. She took with her the typescript of her report on Monkswell and Doleford, so that she could run through it from time to time and get all the details fixed in her memory. But, in fact, they were there already. She would take the report with her to the meeting so that if her courage suddenly failed her, she could simply read it. ‘But it won’t,’ Lady Savershill had said. ‘In fact, you’ll find, once you get started, that you forget all about the typescript and just talk. The only difficulty will be to stop you.’

  • • • • • • • •

  In the hurry of preparation and departure Sarah had no time to let Jim know of her unexpected return to London. No doubt she might have found time to send him a wire, but she reflected that she could make no appointment with him, for she did not know when she would be free. She was staying with the Savershills and it would be easy to ring him up from there. Next day they travelled up to London by the night train, and, as soon as she could get an opportunity after a late breakfast next morning, Sarah rang Mr. Darby up. But he was already out. He had gone, of course, to Penge. She tried again at one o’clock, but he had not yet returned. There was a large luncheon party at the Savershills, and Sarah, meeting Lord Savershill for the first time just before it, heard from him that he had seen her husband and asked him to come to the meeting. Well, she would have to try to catch him at the meeting, or, if she failed, ring him up again afterwards. It was all very harassing. She was harassed by her thwarted longing to get in touch with Jim, and by the prospect of the speech she was going to make. It loomed ahead of her now as a portentous and almost impossible task. Whatever had persuaded her to be mad enough to agree to do it? If only it was over and done with. But there it was, imminent, threatening, like some vast nightmare.

  When they had started for the hall she felt better, but still far, terribly far, from self-possessed. She had to keep her teeth firmly clenched to prevent their chattering. As she emerged with the rest on to the platform she was aghast at the size of the audience. Lady Savershill, who was ahead of her, looked back as she reached her place and beckoned to her. ‘Come and sit beside me, Mrs. Darby.’ Sarah took the chair that Lady Savershill indicated. ‘It’s an excellent hall for sound. You’ll have no trouble in making yourself heard. The thing to do, remember, is always to talk to the back row. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Awful!’ said Sarah.

  Lady Savershill looked at her sharply, but Sarah smiled and added: ‘But I shall manage.’

  And, in fact, having said awful, she had instantly become aware that though it was awful it was also quite all right: nothing would go wrong. The awfulness was merely an inevitable symptom which she recognized and observed, but which she would undoubtedly be able to keep in control. It was this waiting that was so trying, this horrible inactivity which left her at the mercy of her dancing nerves. Well, all she had to do was to sit still and let them dance: it was like enduring a pain which you knew would cease at a certain specific moment. Lady Savershill tactfully kept up a running conversation. ‘A full hall, I’m glad to see. Nothing puts one off so much as talking to a small audience in a big room. A big audience, you’ll find, keeps you going, excites you.’

  When Lord Savershill rose and proceedings started, Sarah had a little thrill of terror; but, once he had begun to speak, she became absorbed, not simply in what he was saying but in his way of speaking. She was making notes all the time, noting his effective pauses, his way of accentuating important words and varying his speed; noting, too, the response of the audience. How surprisingly one could gauge its state of mind, the small variations in its interest and attention. Once, for a minute or two, she felt its tensity slacken considerably: little sounds broke out, the great chequered area of pink faces and sombre clothes stirred and altered. Obviously Lord Savershill felt it, for he suddenly gave a humorous turn to a phrase. A low, hoarse whinny of laughter swept, like a ruffling breeze, over the crowd, and once more it was motionless and intent. How wonderful to be able to control the feelings of all these people like that, as if playing a pianola. Sarah felt in herself a ferment of delight and fear at the prospect of her own approaching turn. Yes, she was afraid, but she was also sure she was going to bring it off, and bring it off rather well. She was conscious of all sorts of powers in herself.

  When Lord Savershill had finished and the next speaker had begun, Sarah’s confidence increased, for the audience obviously thought him dull, and so did Sarah. ‘Come! I can do better than that!’ she said to herself. She began to search the audience for Jim, but in vain. How strange it was to think that he was there, hidden somewhere in that crowd. Did he know she was there and going to speak? Probably not. How astounded he would be. The thought amused her, but next moment she wished she had let him know about it. He might think it unkind of her not to have done so. But she had never thought, of course, that he would be at the meeting till Lord Savershill told her, just before lunch, that he had invited him. Whatever happened, she must catch him when the meeting was over.

  A ripple of hand-clapping roused her. The speaker had sat down. Sarah gripped her typescript nervously.

  ‘My husband will introduce you,’ said Lady Savershill in her ear. ‘I’ll tell you when to stand up.’

  Lord Savershill rose and announced her, not by name, but as an Inspector of Domestic Staff for the Northern Division. When he had sat down, there was a pause, and then Lady Savershill whispered, ‘Now!’

  Sarah rose to her feet. She felt the paper in her hand trembling; for a moment the audience went out of focus and vanished in a mist and a panic swept her mind. But none the less, deep down in herself she was in control. ‘Don’t begin. Wait till this is over,’ she thought; and after a few seconds the panic had gone—it had been no more than the boiling-over of a kettle—and the audience returned, focused itself, and settled down to listen. Sarah was aware of it as a sympathetic and receptive thing waiting to be fed. When she began to speak, the strangeness of her voice startled her. It was not her own voice: it was somebody-else’s and seemed to have a will of its own which she could not control. But at least it was talking slowly and it was talking sense, and this gave her confidence, and after another minute she was in control of it, of herself, of her words, and of her audience. She passionately wanted to tell them of her work, to awake in them the interest and enthusiasm which burned in herself. And now she could feel them respond: she was intensely aware of their attention and interest. It was thrilling, enthralling. She had forgotten her paper in her hand, which unconsciously she had laid down on the Chairman’s table beside her. When she had spoken for some time she glanced down at Lord Savershill. ‘Time up?’ she asked.

  ‘You can have another five minutes if you want it,’ he murmured back.

  Yes she did want it. It would give her a chance of amplifying her comparison of the two hospitals, of rounding her speech off properly.

  When she sat down the prompt and vigorous clapping fr
om every part of the hall and from the platform too, showed how much she had been appreciated. She was breathless and flushed with happiness. ‘Magnificent!’ said Lord Savershill in her ear. ‘Couldn’t have been better! ‘He rose to conclude the meeting, but Sarah could not listen to him. She had had her fill of listening and talking and now she was anxious about Jim and sat scanning the hall, trying in vain to spot him. As soon as Lord Savershill had finished, she would hurry to the doors of the auditorium and catch him as he went out.

  But when the meeting ended and they all rose to their feet Lord Savershill instantly began talking to her, congratulating her on her speech, telling her how interested he himself had been in her report and asking her a number of questions. She could not do otherwise than respond, waiting patiently for him to release her, hoping and praying that he would be quick. But when at last she got a chance of excusing herself and hurried off to the doors, Jim was not there. She waited till the hall had emptied itself and then rejoined her party.

  Lady Savershill saw that she was worried. ‘Anything the matter, Mrs. Darby?’ she asked.

  ‘I was trying to catch my husband,’ Sarah explained.

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Lady Savershill, ‘I had forgotten your husband. Why he ought to have been staying with us. Why on earth didn’t you remind me? Do you mean to say he hurried away without waiting for us?’

  ‘He didn’t know I was here,’ said Sarah. ‘I had no time to let him know, in the rush, and he was out each time I rang him up. Heaven knows what he thought when he suddenly saw me haranguing the hall. I’m afraid he may be feeling a bit bewildered; and cross with me no doubt.’

  ‘But of course the poor man is. What a way to treat a husband. You must ring him up at once and make him come to tea and stay until we go north to-morrow.’

  Sarah had already expressed her intention of returning to Newchester at once to carry on her work. She said now that she would like to drive straight to Bedford Square. ‘I shall be there almost as soon as he is,’ she said.

  ‘Do,’ said Lady Savershill, ‘and pack him up and bring him along in time for half past eight dinner.’

  • • • • • • • •

  When Sarah was shown into the smoking-room in Bedford Square, Mr. Darby rose with great dignity to receive her. He had not recovered from his outraged feelings and was prepared to be very ceremonious. But Sarah with her obvious delight at seeing him was irresistible. ‘Well, I’ve got you at last, Jim,’ she said, sailing down upon him and giving him a loud, hearty kiss. ‘I rang you up twice this morning’—this was news to Mr. Darby— ‘and I tried to catch you at the meeting, but you kept out of my way properly. I didn’t know I was coming south till the day before I started. Lady Savershill forced me into it; there’s no resisting her when she gets hold of you. How are you, my dear? You look splendid. Well, isn’t this like a mad dream? You living in this great house like a Duke and me haranguing public meetings like the Prime Minister. What did I sound like? Was I all right? You’ve no idea the fright I was in till I got started.’

  She paused breathless and stood smiling at him. The sight of Sarah, her volubility, her expansive affection, the fact that she had been trying in vain to get at him, dissolved Mr. Darby’s pique instantaneously. ‘All right? I should think you were! ‘he said. ‘You were … ah … phenonymous. Better than Lord Savershill himself. Sit down, my dear, you must be exhausted.’

  Sarah sank into a chair. ‘I am!’

  Mr. Darby touched the bell. ‘We’ll have tea. Tea as soon as possible, Princep,’ he said when the butler appeared.

  ‘I’m just bringing it, sir.’

  Sarah described her recent life and her H.C.S. activities. ‘And I have a Daimler, Jim. I hire it by the month.’

  That, as she had expected, delighted Mr. Darby. ‘Indeed, now!’ he said, his face beaming. ‘And very … ah … right and proper. You’ll need it, I’m sure.’ When told of Lady Savershill’s invitation he bowed. ‘Of course, I shall be only too pleased,’ he said graciously.

  ‘And you’ll have to dress yourself up to the nines for dinner,’ said Sarah. ‘It’ll be a large party and everything’s terribly grand.’

  ‘Naturally! Naturally!’ said Mr. Darby shortly, as if such remarks were superfluous.

  Princep came in, placed a table in front of Mrs. Darby, and then brought the tea-tray and plates of buttered toast, bread and butter, and various cakes. ‘Among the distinguished company who dined with Lord and Lady Savershill in Eaton Square last night,’ whispered Mr. Darby’s secret reporter, ‘were Mr. and Mrs. James Darby of Savershill, Newchester-on-Dole and Bedford Square, London. It may not be generally known that Mr. Darby has a very fine collection of English Old Masters and that Mrs. Darby is an exceptionally able public speaker.’

  He was roused from this brief reverie by Sarah. She was pouring out tea, and he noted with satisfaction the magnificent and quite unconscious air with which she did so.

  ‘This H.C.S. you know, Jim,’ she said, ‘is a splendid thing. You must support it.’

  ‘I propose to do so,’ said Mr. Darby with dignity. ‘I told you, I think, that Lord Savershill has already … ah … talked me round. But no, you wouldn’t get my letter before you left home.’ Then, remembering the unfortunately lofty tone of that letter Mr. Darby blushed. But in a moment he had recovered himself. ‘What ought I to … ah … subscribe, do you think, Sarah? What would they expect?’

  ‘You should give at least five hundred a year, Jim,’ said Sarah promptly.

  ‘Five hundred! Mr. and Mrs. James Darby, five hundred! Very well, I’ll … ah … instruct the bank.’

  Chapter XIX

  A Private Discussion

  Lying in bed by Sarah’s side in Eaton Square that night, Mr. Darby found himself unable to sleep. Was it the excitement of the party which had ended an hour or two ago, that kept him wakeful, or did he instinctively feel that to spend in sleep his first night under the roof of a peer would be mere wilful waste? No! Either of these reasons would certainly have been sufficient for insomnia, if his mind had not been otherwise occupied. But it was not so. His mind was seething with disappointment, dissatisfaction, even with resentment; for the truth was—though Mr. Darby was unaware of it—that he was jealous of Sarah. Throughout the evening Sarah had, without the smallest intention or desire to do so, eclipsed him. Not that he had been left out in the cold; but he had been nothing more than one man among many, he had been throughout the evening left outside the limelight, whereas Sarah had been a continual centre of interest. Whenever he caught sight of her she was in earnest conversation with one or more of the guests. More than once, in the drawing-room after dinner, he overheard the phrase: ‘I must have a talk with Mrs. Darby,’ and he would see the speaker gravitate towards Sarah’s circle and there would be more earnest conversation, broken sometimes by a little ripple of laughter, and looking over to where they stood he would catch sight of Sarah’s grim and enchanting smile. Most of the guests were, of course, actively interested in the H.C.S. and had been present at the meeting, and no doubt it was this that first drew them to Sarah. But Mr. Darby observed that this was neither the only nor the chief attraction. It was Sarah herself that interested and charmed them. This difference in attitude towards Sarah and towards himself was especially evident in Lady Savershill. This impressive and formidable lady treated Sarah as a familiar friend, whereas she treated him with the rather peremptory and high-handed indulgence with which she would treat an amusing child. Mr. Darby had felt, and quite correctly, that she regarded him as utterly unimportant, and this was the more humiliating to him in that he had been afraid of her since the first moment he encountered her sharp, searching gaze. Throughout the whole day, in fact, his position and importance as a millionaire had not received their due recognition. He had been slighted at the H.C.S. meeting and he had been slighted at the dinner-party. He, who had always felt himself peculiarly fitted to cut a figure in society had been completely outstripped by Sarah who had no ambitions in
that direction. This, it must be admitted, was a little hard.

  Nor was this the end of it. Mr. Darby’s sense of insignificance had been acutely intensified when Sarah, after they had retired for the night, had at once squashed his suggestion that she should spend a few days with him in Bedford Square.

  ‘I can’t, Jim,’ she had said. ‘I’m much too busy.’ This unhesitating No had seemed to Mr. Darby to treat his request in much too cavalier a fashion.

  ‘You managed to spare the time to come and stay here,’ he had replied somewhat sternly.

  But even this Sarah had failed to treat with becoming seriousness. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jim,’ she had said. ‘You know very well I came here on business. I can’t begin taking holidays when I’ve only just got started with the job. Lady Savershill herself is going back to work to-morrow, and if I tell her I’m going to stay idling here with you … well, she’d be quite justified in feeling let down.’

  The word idling was unfortunate, but Sarah was recalling her fortnight at the Balmoral. Mr. Darby had pursed his lips. ‘You don’t seem to consider,’ he had said, ‘that I may feel let down, as you … ah … style it.’

  But Sarah had flippantly brushed aside this dignified expostulation. ‘Get along with you, Jim! ‘had been her very inappropriate reply. The only proper response to that kind of thing was silence, and Mr. Darby in silent and resentful dignity had stepped into bed.

  Now he lay sleepless and piqued. Sarah was having her head turned—that’s what it amounted to—by being taken up by Lady Savershill like this. She seemed to have exaggerated ideas of her importance. After all, what was she? A mere inspector of a quite ordinary society, a society like thousands of others. Indeed Mr. Darby was beginning to have his doubts about the H.C.S. business. He wasn’t at all sure that it wasn’t a lot of pother about nothing. He rather regretted that he had let himself in for that heavy subscription. However, it was too late to repent of that. He had already announced to Lord Savershill his intention of subscribing five hundred a year. Nothing, now, could be done about it; but, thinking the whole thing quietly over now, he was glad, yes, very glad, that he had not allowed himself to be dragged into the society in any active capacity. After all, he had something better to do. It would have been absurd to land himself once more, after thirty-five years of it, in a daily routine of hard work. It did not occur to him, when congratulating himself on this, that, in point of fact no one had asked him to do so. Yes, he assured himself once more, he had been wise, very wise. Besides, after all, he had all this National Gallery business on his hands, a much more important matter and one which required all his energy. ‘No, Lord Savershill. I have so much public work already on my hands that I positively must not undertake any more. Not that I don’t sympathize: I am willing, very willing, to afford the Society my … ah … peculiary support; but that, I fear, must suffice.’