by Evelyn Waugh
“Look,” said Ben, to encourage him. “Here comes Miss Ripon on that nappy bay. Seems as if she’s going in, too. Had a fall by the looks of her.”
Miss Ripon’s hat and back were covered with mud and moss. She had had a bad twenty minutes after her disappearance. “I’m taking him away,” she said. “I can’t do anything with him this morning.” She jogged along beside them towards the village. “I thought perhaps Mr. Last would let me come up to the house and telephone for the car. I don’t feel like hacking him home in his present state. I can’t think what’s come over him,” she added loyally. “He was out on Saturday. I’ve never known him like this before.”
“He wants a man up,” said Ben.
“Oh, he’s no better with the groom, and daddy won’t go near him,” said Miss Ripon, stung to indiscretion. “At least… I mean… I don’t think that they’d be any better with him in this state.”
He was quiet enough at that moment, keeping pace with the other horses. They rode abreast, she on the outside with John’s pony between her and Ben.
Then this happened: they reached a turn in the road and came face to face with one of the single-decker country buses that covered that neighborhood. It was not going fast and, seeing the horses, the driver slowed down still further and drew into the side. Mr. Tendril’s niece, who had also despaired of the day’s sport, was following behind them at a short distance on her motor bicycle; she too slowed down and, observing that Miss Ripon’s horse was likely to be difficult, stopped.
Ben said, “Let me go first, Miss. He’ll follow. Don’t hold too hard on his mouth and just give him a tap.”
Miss Ripon did as she was told; everyone in fact behaved with complete good-sense.
They drew abreast of the omnibus. Miss Ripon’s horse did not like it, but it seemed as though he would get by. The passengers watched with amusement. At that moment the motor bicycle, running gently in neutral gear, fired back into the cylinder with a sharp detonation.
For a second Miss Ripon’s horse stood rigid with alarm; then, menaced in front and behind, he did what was natural to him and shied sideways, cannoning violently into the pony at his side. John was knocked from the saddle and fell on the road while Miss Ripon’s bay, rearing and skidding, continued to plunge away from the bus.
“Take a hold of him, Miss. Use your whip,” shouted Ben. “The boy’s down.”
She hit him and the horse collected himself and bolted up the road into the village, but before he went one of his heels struck out and sent John into the ditch, where he lay bent double, perfectly still.
Everyone agreed that it was nobody’s fault.
*
It was nearly an hour before the news reached Jock and Mrs. Rattery, where they were waiting beside another blank covert. Colonel Inch stopped hunting for the day and sent the hounds back to the kennels. The voices were hushed which, five minutes before, had been proclaiming that they knew it for a fact, Last had given orders to shoot every fox on the place. Later, after their baths, they made up for it in criticism of Miss Ripon’s father, but at the moment everyone was shocked and silent. Someone lent Jock and Mrs. Rattery a car to get home in, and a groom to see to the hirelings.
“It’s the most appalling thing,” said Jock in the borrowed car. “What on earth are we going to say to Tony?”
“I’m the last person to have about on an occasion like this,” said Mrs. Rattery.
They passed the scene of the accident; there were still people hanging about, talking.
There were people hanging about, talking, in the hall at the house. The doctor was buttoning up his coat, just going.
“Killed instantly,” he said. “Took it full on the base of the skull. Very sad, awfully fond of the kid. No one to blame though.”
Nanny was there in tears; also Mr. Tendril and his niece; a policeman and Ben and two men who had helped bring up the body were in the servants’ hall. “It wasn’t the kid’s fault,” said Ben.
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” they said.
“He’d had a lousy day too, poor little bastard,” said Ben. “If it was anyone’s fault it was Mr. Grant-Menzies making him go in.”
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” they said.
*
Tony was alone in the library. The first thing he said, when Jock came in was, “We’ve got to tell Brenda.”
“D’you know where to get her?”
“She’s probably at that school… But we can’t tell her over the telephone… Anyway Ambrose has tried there and the flat but he can’t get through… What on earth are we going to say to her?”
Jock was silent. He stood in the fireplace with his hands in the pockets of his breeches, with his back to Tony. Presently Tony said, “You weren’t anywhere near, were you?”
“No, we’d gone on to another covert.”
“That niece of Mr. Tendril’s told me first… then we met them coming up, and Ben told me all that happened… It’s awful for the girl.”
“Miss Ripon?”
“Yes, she’s just left… she had a nasty fall too, just after. Her horse slipped up in the village… she was in a terrible state, poor child, what with that and… John. She didn’t know she’d hurt him until quite a time afterwards… she was in the chemist’s shop having a bandage put on her head, when they told her. She cut it falling. She was in a terrible state. I sent her back in the car… it wasn’t her fault.”
“No, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. It just happened.”
“That’s it,” said Tony. “It just happened… how are we going to tell Brenda?”
“One of us will have to go up.”
“Yes… I think I shall have to stay here. I don’t know why really, but there will be things to see to. It’s an awful thing to ask anyone to do…”
“I’ll go,” said Jock.
“There’ll be things to see to here… there’s got to be an inquest the doctor says. It’s purely formal of course, but it will be ghastly for that Ripon girl. She’ll have to give evidence… she was in a terrible state. I hope I was all right to her. They’d just brought John in and I was rather muddled. She looked awful. I believe her father’s bloody to her… I wish Brenda had been here. She’s so good with everyone. I get in a muddle.”
The two men stood in silence. Tony said, “Can you really face going up and seeing Brenda?”
“Yes, I’ll go,” said Jock.
Presently Mrs. Rattery came in. “Colonel Inch has been here,” she said. “I talked to him. He wanted to give you his sympathy.”
“Is he still here?”
“No, I told him you’d probably prefer to be left alone. He thought you’d be glad to hear he stopped the hunt.”
“Nice of him to come… Were you having a good day?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. We saw a fox in Bruton Wood last week, John and I… Jock’s going up to London to fetch Brenda.”
“I’ll take him in the aeroplane. It’ll be quicker.”
“Yes that will be quicker.”
“I’ll go and change now. I won’t be ten minutes.”
“I’ll change too,” said Jock.
When he was alone Tony rang the bell. A young footman answered; he was quite young and had not been long at Hetton.
“Will you tell Mr. Ambrose that Mrs. Rattery is leaving today. She is flying up with Mr. Grant-Menzies. Her ladyship will probably be coming by the evening train.”
“Very good, sir.”
“They had better have some luncheon before they go. I will have it with them… And will you put a call through to Colonel Inch and thank him for coming? Say I will write. And to Mr. Ripon’s to inquire how Miss Ripon is? And to the vicarage and ask Mr. Tendril if I can see him this evening? He’s not here still?”
“No, sir, he left a few minutes ago.”
“Tell him I shall have to discuss arrangements with him.”
“Very good, sir.”
Mr. Last was very matter of fact about everything, th
e footman reported later.
It was perfectly quiet in the library, for the workmen in the morning room had laid aside their tools for the day.
Mrs. Rattery was ready first.
“They’re just getting luncheon.”
“We shan’t want any,” she said. “You forget we were going hunting.”
“Better have something,” said Tony, and then, “It’s awful for Jock, having to tell Brenda. I wonder how long it will be before she arrives.”
There was something in Tony’s voice as he said this which made Mrs. Rattery ask, “What are you going to do while you’re waiting?”
“I don’t know. I suppose there will be things to see to.”
“Look here,” said Mrs. Rattery, “Jock had better go up by car. I’ll stay here until Lady Brenda comes.”
“It would be awful for you.”
“No, I’ll stay.”
Tony said, “I suppose it’s ridiculous of me, but I wish you would… I mean, won’t it be awful for you? I am all in a muddle. It’s so hard to believe yet, that it really happened.”
“It happened all right.”
The footman came to say that Mr. Tendril would call after tea that day; that Miss Ripon had gone straight to bed and was asleep.
“Mr. Grant-Menzies is going up in his car. He may be back tonight,” said Tony. “Mrs. Rattery is waiting until her ladyship arrives.”
“Very good, sir. And Colonel Inch wanted to know whether you would care to have the huntsman blow ‘Gone to ground’ at the funeral.”
“Say that I’ll write to him,” and, when the footman had left the room, Tony said, “An atrocious suggestion.”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s very anxious to be helpful.”
“They don’t like him much as Master.”
Jock left soon after half past two. Tony and Mrs. Rattery had coffee in the library.
“I’m afraid this is a very difficult situation,” said Tony. “After all we scarcely know each other.”
“You don’t have to think about me.”
“But it must be awful for you.”
“And you must stop thinking that.”
“I’ll try… the absurd thing is that I’m not thinking it, just saying it… I keep thinking of other things all the time.”
“I know. You don’t have to say anything.”
Presently Tony said, “It’s going to be so much worse for Brenda. You see she’d got nothing else, much, except John. I’ve got her, and I love the house… but with Brenda John always came first… naturally… And then you know she’s seen so little of John lately. She’s been in London such a lot. I’m afraid that’s going to hurt her.”
“You can’t ever tell what’s going to hurt people.”
“But, you see, I know Brenda so well.”
VI
The library windows were open and the clock, striking the hour, high overhead among its crockets and finials, was clearly audible in the quiet room. It was some time since they had spoken. Mrs. Rattery sat with her back to Tony; she had spread out her intricate four-pack patience on a card table; he was in front of the fire, in the chair he had taken after lunch.
“Only four o’clock?” he said.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“No, just thinking… Jock will be more than half-way there by now, about Aylesbury or Tring.”
“It’s a slow way to travel.”
“It’s less than four hours ago that it happened… it’s odd to think that this is the same day; that it’s only five hours ago they were all here at the meet having drinks.” There was a pause in which Mrs. Rattery swept up the cards and began to deal them again. “It was twenty-eight minutes past twelve when I heard. I looked at my watch… It was ten to one when they brought John in… just over three hours ago… It’s almost incredible, isn’t it, everything becoming absolutely different, suddenly like that?”
“It’s always that way,” said Mrs. Rattery.
“Brenda will hear in an hour now… if Jock finds her in. Of course she may very likely be out. He won’t know where to find her, because there’s no one else in the flat. She leaves it locked up, empty, when she goes out… and she’s out half the day. I know because I sometimes ring up and can’t get an answer. He may not find her for hours… It may be as long again as the time since it happened. That would only make it eight o’clock. It’s quite likely she won’t come in until eight… Think of it, all the time between now and when it happened, before Brenda hears. It’s scarcely credible, is it? And then she’s got to get down here. There’s a train that leaves at nine something. She might get that. I wonder if I ought to have gone up too… I didn’t like to leave John.”
(Mrs. Rattery sat intent over her game, moving little groups of cards adroitly backwards and forwards about the table like shuttles across a loom; under her fingers order grew out of chaos; she established sequence and precedence; the symbols before her became coherent, interrelated.)
“… Of course she may be at home when he arrives. In that case she can get the evening train she used always to come by, when she went to London for the day, before she got the flat… I’m trying to see it all, as it’s going to happen, Jock coming and her surprise at seeing him, and then his telling her… It’s awful for Jock… She may know at half past five or a bit earlier.”
“It’s a pity you don’t play patience,” said Mrs. Rattery.
“In a way I shall feel happier when she knows… it feels all wrong as it is at present, having it as a secret that Brenda doesn’t know… I’m not sure how she fits in her day. I suppose her last lecture is over at about five… I wonder if she goes home first to change if she’s going out to tea or cocktails. She can’t sit about much in the flat, it’s so small.”
Mrs. Rattery brooded over her checker of cards and then drew them towards her into a heap, haphazard once more and without meaning; it had nearly come to a solution that time, but for a six of diamonds out of place, and a stubbornly congested patch at one corner, where nothing could be made to move. “It’s a heartbreaking game,” she said.
The clock struck again.
“Is that only quarter past?… You know I think I should have gone off my head if I were alone. It’s nice of you to stay with me.”
“Do you play bezique?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Or piquet?”
“No. I’ve never been able to learn any card game except animal snap.”
“Pity.”
“There’s Marjorie and several people I ought to wire to, but I’d better wait until I know that Jock has seen Brenda. Suppose she was with Marjorie when the telegram arrived.”
“You’ve got to try and stop thinking about things. Can you throw craps?”
“No.”
“That’s easy; I’ll show you. There’ll be some dice in the backgammon board.”
“I’m all right, really. I’d sooner not play.”
“You get the dice and sit up here at the table. We’ve got six hours to get through.”
She showed him how to throw craps. He said, “I’ve seen it on the cinema—pullman porters and taxi men.”
“Of course you have, it’s easy… there you see you’ve won, you take all.”
Presently Tony said, “I’ve just thought of something.”
“Don’t you ever take a rest from thinking?”
“Suppose the evening papers have got hold of it already. Brenda may see it on a placard, or just pick up a paper casually and there it will be… perhaps with a photograph.”
“Yes, I thought of that just now, when you were talking about telegraphing.”
“But it’s quite likely, isn’t it? They get hold of everything so quickly. What can we do about it?”
“There isn’t anything we can do. We’ve just got to wait… Come on, boy, throw up.”
“I don’t want to play anymore. I’m worried.”
“I know you’re worried. You don’t have to tell me… you aren’t going to give up
playing just when the luck’s running your way?”
“I’m sorry… it isn’t any good.”
He walked about the room, first to the window, then to the fireplace. He began to fill his pipe. “At least we can find out whether the evening papers have got it in. We can ring up and ask the hall porter at my club.”
“That’s not going to prevent your wife reading it. We’ve just got to wait. What was the game you said you knew? Animal something?”
“Snap.”
“I’ll buy it.”
“It’s just a child’s game. It would be ridiculous with two.”
“Show me.”
“Well each of us chooses an animal.”
“All right, I’m a dog and you’re a hen. Now what?”
Tony explained.
“I’d say it was one of those games that you have to feel pretty good first, before you can enjoy them,” said Mrs. Rattery. “But I’ll try anything.”
They each took a pack and began dealing. Soon a pair of eights appeared. “Bow-wow,” said Mrs. Rattery, scooping in the cards.
Another pair. “Bow-wow,” said Mrs. Rattery. “You know you aren’t putting your heart into this.”
“Oh,” said Tony. “Coop-coop-coop.”
Presently he said again, “Coop-coop-coop.”
“Don’t be dumb,” said Mrs. Rattery, “that isn’t a pair…”
They were still playing when Albert came in to draw the curtains. Tony had only two cards left which he turned over regularly; Mrs. Rattery was obliged to divide hers, they were too many to hold. They stopped playing when they found that Albert was in the room.
“What must that man have thought?” said Tony, when he had gone out.
(“Sitting there clucking like a ’en,” Albert reported, “and the little fellow lying dead upstairs.”)
“We’d better stop.”
“It wasn’t a very good game. And to think it’s the only one you know.”
She collected the cards and began to deal them into their proper packs. Ambrose and Albert brought in tea. Tony looked at his watch. “Five o’clock. Now that the shutters are up we shan’t hear the chimes. Jock must be in London by now.”
