A Handful of Dust

by Evelyn Waugh

  “Oh, Mr. Last,” she said, “what a sweet old place this is.”

  “I’m afraid it’s been restored a great deal,” said Tony.

  “Ah, but its atmosphere. I always think that’s what counts in a house. Such dignity, and repose. But of course you’re used to it. When you’ve been very unhappy as I have, you appreciate these things.”

  Tony said, “I’m afraid Brenda hasn’t arrived yet. She’s coming by car with Lady Cockpurse.”

  “Brenda’s been such a friend to me.” The Princess took off her furs and sat down on the stool before the fire, looking up at Tony. “D’you mind if I take off my hat?”

  “No, no… of course.”

  She threw it on to the sofa and shook out her hair, which was dead black and curled. “D’you know, Mr. Last, I’m going to call you Teddy right away. You don’t think that very fresh of me? And you must call me Jenny. ‘Princess’ is so formal, isn’t it, and suggests tight trousers and gold braid… Of course,” she went on, stretching out her hands to the fire and letting her hair fall forwards a little across her face, “my husband was not called ‘Prince’ in Morocco; his title was Moulay—but there’s no proper equivalent for a woman, so I’ve always called myself Princess in Europe… Moulay is far higher really… my husband was a descendant of the Prophet. Are you interested in the East?”

  “No… yes. I mean I know very little about it.”

  “It has an uncanny fascination for me. You must go there, Teddy. I know you’d like it. I’ve been saying the same to Brenda.”

  “I expect you’d like to see your room,” said Tony. “They’ll bring tea soon.”

  “No, I’ll stay here. I like just to curl up like a cat in front of the fire, and if you’re nice to me I’ll purr, and if you’re cruel I shall pretend not to notice—just like a cat… Shall I purr, Teddy?”

  “Er… yes… do, please, if that’s what you like doing.”

  “Englishmen are so gentle and considerate. It’s wonderful to be back among them… mine own people. Sometimes when I look back at my life, especially at times like this among lovely old English things and kind people, I think the whole thing must be a frightful nightmare… then I remember my scars…”

  “Brenda tells me you’ve taken one of the flats in the same house as hers. They must be very convenient.”

  “How English you are, Teddy—so shy of talking about personal things, intimate things… I like you for that, you know. I love everything that’s solid and homely and good after… after all I’ve been through.”

  “You’re not studying economics too, are you, like Brenda?”

  “No; is Brenda? She never told me. What a wonderful person she is. When does she find the time?”

  “Ah, here comes tea at last,” said Tony. “I hope you allow yourself to eat muffins. So many of our guests nowadays are on a diet. I think muffins one of the few things that make the English winter endurable.”

  “Muffins stand for so much,” said Jenny.

  She ate heartily; often she ran her tongue over her lips, collecting crumbs that had become embedded there and melted butter from the muffin. One drop of butter fell on her chin and glittered there unobserved except by Tony. It was a relief to him when John Andrew was brought in.

  “Come and be introduced to Princess Abdul Akbar.”

  John Andrew had never before seen a Princess; he gazed at her fascinated.

  “Aren’t you going to give me a kiss?”

  He walked over to her and she kissed him on the mouth.

  “Oh,” he said, recoiling and rubbing away the taste of the lipstick; and then, “What a beautiful smell.”

  “It’s my last link with the East,” she said.

  “You’ve got butter on your chin.”

  She reached for her bag, laughing. “Why, so I have. Teddy, you might have told me.”

  “Why do you call daddy Teddy?”

  “Because I hope we are going to be great friends.”

  “What a funny reason.”

  John stayed with them for an hour, and all the time watched her fascinated. “Have you got a crown?” he asked. “How did you learn to speak English? What is that big ring made of? Did it cost much? Why are your nails that color? Can you ride?”

  She answered all his questions, sometimes enigmatically with an eye on Tony. She took out a little heavily scented handkerchief and showed John the monogram. “That is my only crown… now,” she said. She told him about the horses she used to have—glossy black, with arched necks; foam round their silver bits; plumes tossing on their foreheads; silver studs on the harness, crimson saddle cloths. “On the Moulay’s birthday—”

  “What’s the Moulay?”

  “A beautiful and a very bad man,” she said gravely, “and on his birthday all his horsemen used to assemble round a great square, with all their finest clothes and trappings and jewels, with long swords in their hands. The Moulay used to sit on a throne under a great crimson canopy.”

  “What’s a canopy?”

  “Like a tent,” she said more sharply, and then, resuming her soft voice, “and all the horsemen used to gallop across the plain, in a great cloud of dust, waving their swords, straight towards the Moulay. And everyone used to hold their breath, thinking the horsemen were bound to ride right on top of the Moulay, but when they were a few feet away, as near as I am to you, galloping at full speed, they used to rein their horses back, up on to their hind legs and salute—”

  “Oh, but they shouldn’t,” said John. “It’s very bad horsemanship indeed. Ben says so.”

  “They’re the most wonderful horsemen in the world. Everyone knows that.”

  “Oh, no, they can’t be, if they do that. It’s one of the worst things. Were they natives?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Ben says natives aren’t humans at all really.”

  “Ah, but he’s thinking of negroes, I expect. These are pure Semitic type.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The same as Jews.”

  “Ben says Jews are worse than natives.”

  “Oh dear, what a very severe boy you are. I was like that once. Life teaches one to be tolerant.”

  “It hasn’t taught Ben,” said John. “When’s mummy coming? I thought she’d be here, otherwise I wouldn’t have stopped painting my picture.”

  But when nanny came to fetch him, John, without invitation, went over and kissed Jenny goodnight. “Goodnight, Johnny-boy,” she said.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Johnny-boy.”

  “You are funny with names.”

  Upstairs, meditatively splashing his spoon in the bread and milk, he said, “Nanny, I do think that Princess is beautiful, don’t you?”

  Nanny sniffed. “It would be a dull world if we all thought alike,” she said.

  “She’s more beautiful than Miss Tendril, even. I think she’s the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen… D’you think she’d like to watch me have my bath?”

  Downstairs, Jenny said, “What a heavenly child… I love children. That has been my great tragedy. It was when he found I couldn’t have children that the Moulay first showed the Other Side of his Nature. It wasn’t my fault… you see my womb is out of place… I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but I feel you’ll understand. It’s such a waste of time, isn’t it, when one knows one is going to like someone and one goes on pretending… I know at once if someone is going to be a real friend…”

  Polly and Brenda arrived just before seven. Brenda went straight up to the nursery. “Oh mummy,” said John, “there’s such a beautiful lady downstairs. Do ask her to come and say goodnight. Nanny doesn’t think she’d want to.”

  “Did daddy seem to like her?”

  “He didn’t talk much… She doesn’t know anything about horses or natives but she is beautiful. Please tell her to come up.”

  Brenda went downstairs and found Jenny with Polly and Tony in the smoking room. “You’ve made a wild success with J
ohn Andrew. He won’t go to sleep until he’s seen you again.”

  They went up together, and Jenny said, “They’re both such dears.”

  “Did you and Tony get on? I was so sorry not to be here when you arrived.”

  “He was so sympathetic and gentle… and so wistful.”

  They sat on John’s small bed in the night-nursery. He threw the clothes back and crawled out, nestling against Jenny. “Back to bed,” she said, “or I shall spank you.”

  “Would you do it hard? I shouldn’t mind.”

  “Oh dear,” said Brenda, “what a terrible effect you seem to have. He’s never like this as a rule.”

  When they had gone nanny threw open another window. “Poof!” she said, “making the whole place stink.”

  “Don’t you like it? I think it’s lovely.”

  Brenda took Polly up to Lyonesse. It was a large suite, fitted up with satin wood for King Edward when, as Prince of Wales, he was once expected at a shooting party; he never came.

  “How’s it going?” she asked anxiously.

  “Too soon to tell. I’m sure it will be all right.”

  “She’s got the wrong chap. John Andrew’s mad about her… quite embarrassing.”

  “I should say Tony was a slow starter. It’s a pity she’s got his name wrong. Ought we to tell her?”

  “No, let’s leave it.”

  When they were dressing, Tony said, “Brenda, who is this joke-woman?”

  “Darling, don’t you like her?”

  The disappointment and distress in her tone were so clear that Tony was touched. “I don’t know about not liking her exactly. She’s just a joke, isn’t she?”

  “Is she… oh, dear… She’s had a terrible life, you know.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “Be nice to her, Tony, please.”

  “Oh, I’ll be nice to her. Is she a Jewess?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought. Perhaps she is.”

  Soon after dinner Polly said she was tired and asked Brenda to come with her while she undressed. “Leave the young couple to it,” she whispered outside the door.

  “My dear, I don’t believe it’s going to be any good… the poor old boy’s got some taste you know, and a sense of humor.”

  “She didn’t show up too well at dinner, did she?”

  “She will go on so… and after all, Tony’s been used to me for seven years. It’s rather a sudden change.”

  *

  “Tired?”

  “Mmm. Little bit.”

  “You gave me a pretty long bout of Abdul Akbar.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, darling, but Polly takes so long to get to bed… Was it awful? I wish you liked her more.”

  “She’s awful.”

  “One has to make allowances… she’s got the most terrible scars.”

  “So she told me.”

  “I’ve seen them.”

  “Besides I hoped to see something of you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Brenda, you aren’t angry still about my getting tight that night and waking you up?”

  “No, sweet, do I seem angry?”

  “… I don’t know. You do rather… Has it been an amusing week?”

  “Not amusing, very hard work. Bimetallism, you know.”

  “Oh, yes… well, I suppose you want to go to sleep.”

  “Mm… so tired. Goodnight, darling.”

  “Goodnight.”

  *

  “Can I go and say good morning to the Princess, mummy?”

  “I don’t expect she’s awake yet.”

  “Please, mummy, may I go and see? I’ll just peep and, if she’s asleep, go away.”

  “I don’t know what room she’s in.”

  “Galahad, my lady,” said Grimshawe, who was putting out her clothes.

  “Oh dear, why was she put there?”

  “It was Mr. Last’s orders, my lady.”

  “Well, she’s probably awake, then.”

  John slipped out of the room and trotted down the passage to Galahad. “May I come in?”

  “Hullo, Johnny-boy. Come in.”

  He swung on the handles of the door, half in, half out of the room. “Have you had breakfast? Mummy said you wouldn’t be awake.”

  “I’ve been awake a long time. You see I was once very badly hurt, and now I don’t always sleep well. Even the softest beds are too hard for me now.”

  “Ooh. What did you do? Was it a motor car accident?”

  “Not an accident, Johnny-boy, not an accident… but come in. It’s cold with the door open. Look, there are some grapes here. Would you like to eat them?”

  Johnny climbed on to the bed. “What are you going to do today?”

  “I don’t know yet. I haven’t been told.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. We’ll go to Church in the morning because I have to and then we’ll go and look at Thunderclap and I’ll show you the place we jump and then you can come with me while I have dinner because I have it early and afterwards we can go down to Bruton Wood and we needn’t take nanny because it makes her so muddy and you can see where they dug out a fox in the drain just outside the wood, he nearly got away, and then you can come and have tea in the nursery and I’ve got a little gramophone Uncle Reggie gave me for Christmas and it plays ‘When Father Papered the Parlor,’ do you know that song? Ben can sing it and I’ve got some books to show you and a picture I did of the battle of Marston Moor.”

  “I think that sounds a lovely day. But don’t you think I ought to spend some time with daddy and mummy and Lady Cockpurse?”

  “Oh, them… besides it’s all my foot about Lady Cockpurse having a tail. Please you will spend the day with me?”

  “Well, we’ll see.”

  *

  “She’s gone to Church with him. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  “Well, not really, Polly. He likes going alone, or with me. It’s the time he gossips to the village.”

  “She won’t stop him.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t understand the old boy altogether. He’s much odder than you’d think.”

  *

  “I could see from your sermon that you knew the East, Rector.”

  “Yes, yes, most of my life.”

  “It has an uncanny fascination, hasn’t it?”

  “Oh, come on,” said John, pulling at her coat. “We must go and see Thunderclap.”

  So Tony returned alone with the buttonholes.

  After luncheon Brenda said, “Why don’t you show Jenny the house?”

  “Oh yes, do.”

  When they reached the morning room he said, “Brenda’s having it done up.”

  There were planks and ladders and heaps of plaster about.

  “Oh Teddy, what a shame. I do hate seeing things modernized.”

  “It isn’t a room we used very much.”

  “No, but still…” She stirred the moldings of fleurs-de-lis that littered the floor, fragments of tarnished gilding and dusty stencilwork. “You know, Brenda’s been a wonderful friend to me. I wouldn’t say anything against her… but ever since I came here I’ve been wondering whether she really understands this beautiful place and all it means to you.”

  “Tell me more about your terrible life,” said Tony, leading her back to the central hall.

  “You are shy of talking about yourself, aren’t you, Teddy? It’s a mistake, you know, to keep things bottled up. I’ve been very unhappy too.”

  Tony looked about him desperately in search of help; and help came. “Oh there you are,” said a firm, child’s voice. “Come on. We’re going down to the woods now. We must hurry, otherwise it will be dark.”

  “Oh Johnny-boy, must I really? I was just talking to daddy.”

  “Come on. It’s all arranged. And afterwards you’re to be allowed to have tea with me upstairs.”

  Tony crept into the library, habitable today, since the workmen were at rest. Brenda found him there two hours later. “Tony, here all alone? We
thought you were with Jenny. What have you done with her?”

  “John took her off… just in time before I said something rude.”

  “Oh dear… well there’s only me and Polly in the smoking room. Come and have some tea. You look all funny—have you been asleep?”

  *

  “We must write it down a failure, definitely.”

  “What does the old boy expect? It isn’t as though he was everybody’s money.”

  “I daresay it would all have been all right, if she hadn’t got his name wrong.”

  “Anyway, this lets you out. You’ve done far more than most wives would to cheer the old boy up.”

  “Yes, that’s certainly true,” said Brenda.

  IV

  Another five days; then Brenda came to Hetton again. “I shan’t be here next weekend,” she said, “I’m going to stay with Veronica.”

  “Am I asked?”

  “Well, you were, of course, but I refused for you. You know you always hate staying away.”

  “I wouldn’t mind coming.”

  “Oh, darling, I wish I’d known. Veronica would have loved it so… but I’m afraid it will be too late now. She’s only got a tiny house… to tell you the truth I didn’t think you liked her much.”

  “I hated her like hell.”

  “Well then…?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I suppose you must go back on Monday? The hounds are meeting here on Wednesday, you know.”

  “Are we giving them a lawner?”

  “Yes, darling, you know we do every year.”

  “So we do.”

  “You couldn’t stay down till then?”

  “Not possibly, darling. You see if I miss one lecture I get right behind and can’t follow the next. Besides I am not mad keen to see the hounds.”

  “Ben was asking if we’d let John go out.”

  “Oh, he’s far too young.”

  “Not to hunt. But I thought he might bring his pony to the meet and ride with them to the first covert. He’d love it so.”

  “Is it quite safe?”

  “Oh, yes, surely?”

  “Bless his heart, I wish I could be here to see him.”

  “Do change your mind.”

  “Oh no, that’s quite out of the question. Don’t make a thing about it, Tony.”

  That was when she first arrived; later everything got better. Jock was there that weekend, also Allan and Marjorie and another married couple whom Tony had known all his life. Brenda had arranged the party for him and he enjoyed it. He and Allan went out with rook rifles and shot rabbits in the twilight; after dinner the four men played billiard fives while one wife watched. “The old boy’s happy as a lark,” said Brenda to Marjorie. “He’s settling down wonderfully to the new régime.”