A Handful of Dust

by Evelyn Waugh

  “Oh yes, Ben?”

  “Will you want to be keeping her now?”

  “I hadn’t thought… no, I suppose not.”

  “Mr. Westmacott over at Restall was asking about her. He thought she might do for his little girl.”

  “Yes.”

  “How much shall we be asking?”

  “Oh, I don’t know… whatever you think is right.”

  “She’s a good little pony and she’s always been treated well. I don’t think she ought to go under twenty-five quid, sir.”

  “All right Ben, you see about it.”

  “I’ll ask thirty, shall I, sir, and come down a bit?”

  “Do just what you think best.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  *

  At luncheon Tony said, “Jock rang up. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do.”

  “How sweet of him. Why don’t you have him down for the weekend?”

  “Would you like that?”

  “I shan’t be here. I’m going to Veronica’s.”

  “You’re going to Veronica’s?”

  “Yes, don’t you remember?”

  There were servants in the room so that they said nothing more until later, when they were alone in the library. Then, “Are you really going away?”

  “Yes. I can’t stay here. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. I was thinking we might both go away, abroad somewhere.”

  Brenda did not answer him but continued in her own line. “I couldn’t stay here. It’s all over, don’t you see, our life down here.”

  “Darling, what do you mean?”

  “Don’t ask me to explain… not just now.”

  “But Brenda, sweet, I don’t understand. We’re both young. Of course, we can never forget John. He’ll always be our eldest son but…”

  “Don’t go on, Tony, please don’t go on.”

  So Tony stopped and after a time said, “So you’re going to Veronica’s tomorrow?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “I think I will ask Jock to come.”

  “Yes, I should.”

  “And we can think about plans later when we’ve got more used to things.”

  “Yes, later.”

  *

  Next morning.

  “A sweet letter from mother,” said Brenda, handing it across. Lady St. Cloud had written:

  … I shall not come down to Hetton for the funeral, but I shall be thinking of you both all the time and of my dear grandson. I shall think of you as I saw you all three, together, at Christmas. Dear children, at a time like this only yourselves can be any help to each other. Love is the only thing that is stronger than sorrow…

  “I got a telegram from Jock,” said Tony, “he can come.”

  *

  “It’s really rather embarrassing for us all, Brenda coming,” said Veronica. “I do think she might have chucked. I shan’t in the least know what to say to her.”

  *

  Tony said to Jock, as they sat alone after dinner, “I’ve been trying to understand, and I think I do now. It’s not how I feel myself but Brenda and I are quite different in lots of ways. It’s because they were strangers and didn’t know John, and were never in our life here, that she wants to be with them. That’s it, don’t you think? She wants to be absolutely alone and away from everything that reminds her of what has happened… all the same I feel awful about letting her go. I can’t tell you what she was like here… quite mechanical. It’s so much worse for her than it is for me, I see that. It’s so terrible not being able to do anything to help.”

  Jock did not answer.

  *

  Beaver was staying at Veronica’s. Brenda said to him, “Until Wednesday, when I thought something had happened to you, I had no idea that I loved you.”

  “Well you’ve said it often enough.”

  “I’m going to make you understand,” said Brenda. “You clod.”

  *

  On Monday morning Tony found this letter on his breakfast tray.

  Darling Tony,

  I am not coming back to Hetton. Grimshawe can pack everything and bring it to the flat. Then I shan’t want her any more.

  You must have realized for some time that things were going wrong.

  I am in love with John Beaver and I want to have a divorce and marry him. If John Andrew had not died things might not have happened like this. I can’t tell. As it is, I simply can’t begin over again. Please do not mind too much. I suppose we shan’t be allowed to meet while the case is on but I hope afterwards we shall be great friends. Anyway I shall always look on you as one whatever you think of me.

  Best love from

  Brenda.

  *

  When Tony read this his first thought was that Brenda had lost her reason. “She’s only seen Beaver twice to my knowledge,” he said.

  But later he showed the letter to Jock, who said, “I’m sorry it should have happened like this.”

  “But it’s not true, is it?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is. Everyone has known for some time.”

  But it was several days before Tony fully realized what it meant. He had got into a habit of loving and trusting Brenda.

  Four

  English Gothic—II

  I

  How’s the old boy taking it?”

  “Not so well. It makes me feel rather a beast,” said Brenda. “I’m afraid he minds a lot.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t like it if he didn’t,” said Polly to console her.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “I shall stick by you whatever happens,” said Jenny Abdul Akbar.

  “Oh everything is going quite smoothly now,” said Brenda. “There was a certain amount of gêne with relatives.”

  *

  Tony had been living with Jock for the last three weeks. Mrs. Rattery had gone to California and he was grateful for company. They dined together most evenings. They had given up going to Brat’s; so had Beaver; they were afraid of meeting each other. Instead Tony and Jock went to Brown’s, where Beaver was not a member. Beaver was continually with Brenda nowadays, at one of half a dozen houses.

  Mrs. Beaver did not like the turn things had taken; her workmen had been sent back from Hetton with their job unfinished.

  *

  In the first week Tony had had several distasteful interviews. Allan had attempted to act as peacemaker.

  “You just wait a few weeks,” he had said. “Brenda will come back. She’ll soon get sick of Beaver.”

  “But I don’t want her back.”

  “I know just how you feel, but it doesn’t do to be medieval about it. If Brenda hadn’t been upset at John’s death this need never have come to a crisis. Why last year Marjorie was going everywhere with that ass Robin Beaseley. She was mad about him at the time, but I pretended not to notice and it all blew over. If I were you I should refuse to recognize that anything has happened.”

  Marjorie had said, “Of course Brenda doesn’t love Beaver. How could she?… And if she thinks she does at the moment, I think it’s your duty to prevent her making a fool of herself. You must refuse to be divorced—anyway until she has found someone more reasonable.”

  Lady St. Cloud had said, “Brenda has been very, very foolish. She always was an excitable girl, but I am sure there was never anything wrong, quite sure. That wouldn’t be like Brenda at all. I haven’t met Mr. Beaver and I do not wish to. I understand he is unsuitable in every way. Brenda would never want to marry anyone like that. I will tell you exactly how it happened, Tony. Brenda must have felt a tiny bit neglected—people often do at that stage of marriage. I have known countless cases—and it was naturally flattering to find a young man to beg and carry for her. That’s all it was, nothing wrong. And then the terrible shock of little John’s accident unsettled her and she didn’t know what she was saying or writing. You’ll both laugh over this little fracas in years to come.”

  Tony had not set eyes on Brenda
since the afternoon of the funeral. Once he spoke to her over the telephone.

  It was during the second week when he was feeling most lonely and bewildered by various counsels. Allan had been with him urging a reconciliation. “I’ve been talking to Brenda,” he had said. “She’s sick of Beaver already. The one thing she wants is to go back to Hetton and settle down with you again.”

  While Allan was there, Tony resolutely refused to listen, but later the words, and the picture they evoked, would not leave his mind. So he rang her up and she answered him calmly and gravely.

  “Brenda, this is Tony.”

  “Hullo Tony, what is it?”

  “I’ve been talking to Allan. He’s just told me about your change of mind.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “That you want to leave Beaver and come back to Hetton.”

  “Did Allan say that?”

  “Yes, isn’t it true?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not. Allan is an interfering ass. I had him here this afternoon. He told me that you didn’t want a divorce but that you were willing to let me stay on alone in London and do as I liked provided there was no public scandal. It seemed a good idea and I was going to ring you up about it. But I suppose that’s just his diplomacy too. Anyway I’m afraid there’s no prospect of my coming back to Hetton just at present.”

  “Oh I see. I didn’t think it was likely… I just rang you up.”

  “That’s all right. How are you, Tony?”

  “All right, thanks.”

  “Good, so am I. Good-bye.”

  That was all he had heard of her. Both avoided places where there was a likelihood of their meeting.

  *

  It was thought convenient that Brenda should appear as the plaintiff. Tony did not employ the family solicitors in the matter but another, less reputable firm who specialized in divorce. He had steeled himself to expect a certain professional gusto, even levity, but found them instead disposed to melancholy and suspicion.

  “I gather Lady Brenda is being far from discreet. It is quite likely that the King’s Proctor may intervene… Moreover there is the question of money. You understand that by the present arrangement since she is the innocent and injured party she will be entitled to claim substantial alimony from the courts.”

  “Oh that’s all right,” said Tony. “I’ve been into all that with her brother-in-law and have decided to make a settlement of five hundred a year. She has four hundred of her own and I understand Mr. Beaver has something.”

  “It’s a pity we can’t put it in writing,” said the solicitor, “but that might constitute Conspiracy.”

  “Lady Brenda’s word is quite good enough,” said Tony.

  “We like to protect our clients against even the most remote contingencies,” said the lawyer with an air of piety, for he had not had Tony’s opportunities to contract the habit of loving and trusting Brenda.

  *

  The fourth weekend after Brenda’s departure from Hetton was fixed for Tony’s infidelity. A suite was engaged at a seaside hotel (“We always send our clients there. The servants are well accustomed to giving evidence”) and private detectives were notified. “It only remains to select a partner,” said the solicitor; no hint of naughtiness lightened his gloom. “We have on occasions been instrumental in accommodating our clients but there have been frequent complaints, so we find it best to leave the choice to them. Lately we had a particularly delicate case involving a man of very rigid morality and a certain diffidence. In the end his own wife consented to go with him and supply the evidence. She wore a red wig. It was quite successful.”

  “I don’t think that would do in this case.”

  “No. Exactly. I was merely quoting it as a matter of interest.”

  “I expect I shall be able to find someone,” said Tony.

  “I have no doubt of it,” said the solicitor, bowing politely.

  But when he came to discuss the question later with Jock, it did not seem so easy. “It’s not a thing one can ask every girl to do,” he said, “whichever way you put it. If you say it is merely a legal form it is rather insulting, and if you suggest going the whole hog it’s rather fresh—suddenly, I mean, if you’ve never paid any particular attention to her before and don’t propose to carry on with it afterwards… Of course there’s always old Sybil.”

  But even Sybil refused. “I’d do it like a shot any other time,” she said, “but just at the moment it wouldn’t suit my book. There’s a certain person who might hear about it and take it wrong… There’s an awfully pretty girl called Jenny Abdul Akbar. I wonder if you’ve met her.”

  “Yes, I’ve met her.”

  “Well, won’t she do?”

  “No.”

  “Oh dear, I don’t know who to suggest.”

  “We’d better go and study the market at the Old Hundredth,” said Jock.

  They dined at Jock’s house. Lately they had found it a little gloomy at Brown’s, for people tended to avoid anyone they knew to be unhappy. Though they drank a magnum of champagne they could not recapture the light-hearted mood in which they had last visited Sink Street. And then Tony said, “Is it any good going there yet?”

  “We may as well try. After all we aren’t going there for enjoyment.”

  “No, indeed.”

  The doors were open at a Hundred Sink Street and the band was playing to an empty ballroom. The waiters were eating at a little table in the corner. Two or three girls were clustered round the Jack-Pot machine, losing shillings hard and complaining about the cold. They ordered a bottle of the Montmorency Wine Company’s brandy and sat down to wait.

  “Any of those do?” asked Jock.

  “I don’t much care.”

  “Better get someone you like. You’ve got to put in a lot of time with her.”

  Presently Milly and Babs came downstairs.

  “How are the postman’s hats?” said Milly.

  They could not recognize the allusion.

  “You are the two boys who were here last month, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid we were rather tight.”

  “You don’t say?” It was very seldom that Milly and Babs met anyone who was quite sober during their business hours.

  “Well, come and sit down. How are you both?”

  “I think I’m starting a cold,” said Babs. “I feel awful. Why can’t they heat this hole, the mean hounds?”

  Milly was more cheerful and swayed in her chair to the music. “Care to dance?” she said, and she and Tony began to shuffle across the empty floor.

  “My friend is looking for a lady to take to the seaside,” said Jock.

  “What, this weather? That’ll be a nice treat for a lonely girl.” Babs sniffed into a little ball of handkerchief.

  “It’s for a divorce.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, why doesn’t he take Milly? She doesn’t catch cold easy. Besides she knows how to behave at a hotel. Lots of the girls here are all right to have a lark with in town, but you have to have a lady for a divorce.”

  “D’you often get asked to do that?”

  “Now and then. It’s a nice rest—but it means so much talking and the gentlemen will always go on so about their wives.”

  While they were dancing Tony came straight to business. “I suppose you wouldn’t care to come away for the weekend?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t mind,” said Milly. “Where?”

  “I thought of Brighton.”

  “Oh… Is it for a divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  “You wouldn’t mind if I brought my little girl with us? She wouldn’t be any trouble.”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I mean I should mind.”

  “Oh… You wouldn’t think I had a little girl of eight, would you?”

  “No.”

  “She’s called Winnie. I was only sixteen when I had her. I was the youngest of the family and our stepfather woul
dn’t leave any of us girls alone. That’s why I have to work. She lives with a lady at Finchley. Twenty-eight bob a week it costs me, not counting her clothes. She does like the seaside.”

  “No,” said Tony. “I’m sorry but it would be quite impossible. We’ll get a lovely present for you to take back to her.”

  “All right… One gentleman gave her a fairy cycle for Christmas. She fell off and cut her knee… When do we start?”

  “Would you like to go by train or car?”

  “Oh, train. Winnie’s sick if she goes in a car.”

  “Winnie’s not coming.”

  “No, but let’s go by train anyway.”

  So it was decided that they should meet at Victoria on Saturday afternoon.

  Jock gave Babs ten shillings and he and Tony went home. Tony had not slept much lately. He could not prevent himself, when alone, from rehearsing over and over in his mind all that had happened since Beaver’s visit to Hetton; searching for clues he had missed at the time; wondering where something he had said or done might have changed the course of events; going back further to his earliest acquaintance with Brenda to find indications that should have made him more ready to understand the change that had come over her; reliving scene after scene in the last eight years of his life. All this kept him awake.

  II

  There was a general rendezvous at the first-class booking office. The detectives were there earliest, ten minutes before their time. They had been pointed out to Tony at the solicitor’s office so that he should not lose them. They were cheerful middle-aged men in soft hats and heavy overcoats. They were looking forward to their weekend, for most of their daily work consisted in standing about at street corners watching front doors and a job of this kind was eagerly competed for in the office. In more modest divorces the solicitors were content to rely on the evidence of the hotel servants. The detectives were a luxury and proposed to treat themselves as such.

  There was a slight fog in London that day. The station lamps were alight prematurely.

  Tony came next, with Jock at his side, loyally there to see him off. They bought the tickets and waited. The detectives, sticklers for professional etiquette, made an attempt at self-effacement, studying the posters on the walls and peering from behind a pillar.