The Empty World

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Just a moment, sir,” David said. “Will you let me have a doctor for Sir Richard Barton if I undertake this job?”

  Boddington raised his head irritably. “Do the job first — then I’ll see.”

  “But that’s no use,” objected David. “I want a doctor now. If you will let me have a doctor now, I promise on my honour to bring you the telescope.”

  “Bah — I won’t haggle with you,” cried the Professor angrily. “Who do you think you are, to try to bargain with me? I could have your neck wrung in five minutes if I gave the word. Go away, I’m busy. Go away and don’t say another word; I’m sick of this talk of doctors —”

  David saw that it was no use to say any more while Boddington was in this mood. He could not argue with the man — he was too puffed up with his own importance to listen to reason. We must get out of this place quickly, he thought, as he went down the stairs. My only hope is to get hold of Sir Arthur Willis and make him come. No surgeon worthy of the name would let a man die of appendicitis without raising a hand to help him.

  Whilst the above interview was taking place, Jane and Sir Arthur had emerged from the Professor’s house. They found Dr. Glover waiting in the drive.

  “Here you are, Mrs. Fenemore,” he said, smiling cheerfully. “You haven’t been long — did you have any luck?”

  “He wouldn’t promise anything,” Jane replied.

  “Sir Arthur will manage it somehow,” Dr. Glover said.

  They both looked hopefully at the surgeon.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Sir Arthur said. “I really don’t know.” He looked round vaguely and added, “Perhaps I’ll go and have a little walk. Mrs. Fenemore will be all right with you —”

  He walked away, lost in unhappy dreams.

  “How queer he is!” Jane exclaimed.

  Doctor Glover nodded. “I’m afraid for him,” he said, “afraid that his brain will give way under the strain unless something could rouse him out of that lethargy. He does nothing but wander about and brood over his troubles. It is very sad.”

  “Very sad,” Jane agreed.

  They watched Sir Arthur wander away vaguely amongst the trees.

  “Come and see the farm,” Dr. Glover said suddenly. “You may as well see the place while you are here.”

  Jane accepted the invitation with alacrity (she was anxious to see all she could of Shallowdale), and Dr. Glover led the way down the avenue towards the farm buildings, explaining everything to her as they went along.

  “The farm is under the care of Mr. Crackling,” he told her. “I wonder where Crackling is. He could tell you about it better than I can.”

  A farm boy was cleaning out the byres. Jane noticed that he was strong and healthy and beautifully made. It was a pleasure to stand and watch him at work. There were two cows, tied up in stalls, and a bull lowed gently in the loose box.

  “Where’s Mr. Crackling?” enquired Dr. Glover.

  “Mr. Crackling is somewhere about,” replied the boy. “He’s a bit upset this morning.”

  “D’you mean he’s ill?”

  The boy laughed. “No, Doctor, it’s nothing in your line; Mr. Crackling’s not likely to give you any work. When I said upset, I meant in mind. You’ll be hearing about it, I expect.”

  Jane did not pay much attention to the conversation. She did not know Mr. Crackling and therefore was not interested in his ailments, either mental or physical. (She spoke to the cows; it really was delightful to see a cow again. Jane had not known that she was fond of cows. She stroked their soft noses and fed them on chips of mangel-wurzel from the bin.) But Dr. Glover looked worried at the information he had received.

  “I can’t understand it,” he said. “There must be something very far wrong to upset Crackling. I should have thought it was impossible to upset the man.” They passed through the farm-yard where some hens were pecking up grain, and a few grey pigeons wheeled about overhead. There were some small birds amongst them. Jane saw two blackbirds and a thrush, and a pair of robins. A man stood in the doorway of a large aviary watching them, and throwing crumbs.

  “That’s Mansfield, our ornithologist,” said Dr. Glover. “He’s rather like a bird himself.”

  He was rather like a bird, small and thin and very bright-eyed.

  Mr. Mansfield hailed the doctor and they crossed the yard to speak to him.

  “Do you like birds, Mrs. Fenemore?” he enquired, cocking his head on one side like a perky chaffinch.

  “Yes, I do,” replied Jane; “more than ever now that I have had to do without them for a month.”

  “I wouldn’t like to have to do without birds,” Mr. Mansfield said. “Come and see my swallows. I have had to shut them up in case they fly away. The migratory instinct is intensely strong in a swallow, stronger than the fear of starvation. They would fly south and perish for want of food.”

  “You will have to keep them warm,” Jane said, looking with pity at the caged swallows.

  “This aviary is built for the purpose,” Mr. Mansfield replied. “They will be safe here all winter, but very miserable, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s this I hear about Crackling?” enquired Dr. Glover. “Have you seen him this morning?”

  Mr. Mansfield’s face clouded, and he nodded somewhat mysteriously.

  “It’s the new edict,” he said in a low voice. “Crackling is very much put out about it, nor is he the only one. You have heard about it, I suppose.”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” Dr. Glover said.

  Mr. Mansfield lowered his voice still further. The new edict has been distributed this morning to those whom it concerns. It is a most extraordinary document. Crackling showed me his copy. Believe me, Glover, it means trouble.”

  “What is it about?” Dr. Glover demanded. “And why haven’t I received a a copy of it?”

  “The edict does not concern married men,” replied the ornithologist, “and I have no doubt that is the reason you and I have been omitted.”

  “I’m still in the dark,” Dr. Glover said. “Can’t you tell me what it’s all about?”

  “I find it difficult,” admitted Mr. Mansfield. “The thing is so preposterous to the average intelligence, only a lunatic could suppose that it would work. Each man has been allotted a wife according to Professor Paignton’s chart of physiology.”

  “Good heavens!”

  “Yes, it is amazing to what lengths the study of science will lead. The eugenic principle of mating according to scientific data is excellent in theory, but in my opinion it is impracticable. In short, my dear fellow,” added the bird-man, coming still closer and sinking his voice to a thin whisper, “there will be hell to pay.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder,” admitted Dr. Glover gloomily.

  “The edict sets forth Professor Paignton’s findings at great length,” continued Mr. Mansfield. “I confess I found it interesting, if somewhat obscure. To those unversed in technical knowledge the edict will be incomprehensible, all except the end, where the names of the fortunate individuals chosen for each other by Professor Paignton are clearly set forth. Professor Paignton has been to enormous trouble to give each man the wife best suited to him according to his physiological peculiarities — a clear case of misspent energy.”

  “It is ridiculous!” Dr. Glover exclaimed.

  “Quite ridiculous,” agreed Mr. Mansfield.

  “Everybody except a couple of dried-up scientists would know that you can’t force people to marry each other.”

  “Quite so. I agree with you entirely. Unless something can be done at once, and the edict withdrawn, we shall have trouble — grave trouble. Now my suggestion is that you should place the matter before Sir Arthur Willis. He is the only man who could help us at this juncture.”

  “Willis could, but I don’t think he will,” replied Dr. Glover thoughtfully. “I have tried all I can to rouse him, but he is hopelessly sunk in gloom. He doesn’t care what happens either to himself or anybody else.”

  “Please make
the attempt,” said Mr. Mansfield, with an earnestness that sat quaintly on his perky little figure. “It is the only chance to avoid mutiny — yes, mutiny. I have already been approached by several of the malcontents with a view to discovering my feelings in the matter. In short, Glover, things are boiling up.”

  Dr. Glover promised to see what could be done, and he and Jane strolled on through the rick-yard where the threshing machine was hard at work.

  “What is the object of this extraordinary edict?” Jane enquired as they stood and watched the scene.

  “The object is to build up a new race on eugenic principles,” replied the doctor. “An excellent object, but — as our friend Mansfield says — impracticable. These scientific people are so used to mating rabbits and guinea-pigs that they have lost sight of the human element. It is extremely foolish and dangerous.”

  “You think they will try to carry out the edict?” Jane asked incredulously.

  “I’m afraid they will. I know Boddington, and I know Paignton. Both mules. Willis might squash it if he tried —”

  “Why not see him now?” suggested Jane. “Sir Arthur is not frightened of the Professor.”

  “Oh, you noticed that, did you? No, he’s not frightened because he has got nothing to lose. He has lost everything that he cared for — his wife, his son, his profession — all gone. He feels that he has nothing to live for. I am frightened because Nancy and the boys are dependent on me. What would they do if the Professor suddenly took it into his head to eliminate me —”

  Jane exclaimed in horror.

  “You think he would draw the line at murder?” said Dr. Glover, smiling a little bitterly. “You are wrong. If he thought I had become an obstacle to his plans he would eliminate me with as little compunction as a fly. And it could be done very easily. You saw some of the guards — they are unscrupulous and completely under the thumb of that fellow Keen.”

  “I didn’t like him,” Jane interpolated.

  “You wouldn’t,” agreed the doctor. “He is an unpleasant person. He was fired from the Army for a misdemeanour which I shall not specify. The Professor took him for his own purpose; he belongs to the Professor, body and soul. So does Marker — you saw him?”

  Jane nodded.

  “I’m putting my life in your hands, telling you all this,” continued the doctor, “but it is a relief. I can’t talk to Nancy about it; I don’t want to frighten her. She has got to live here all her life.”

  “Why don’t you leave here? Come with us,” Jane said, aghast at the revelations of rottenness beneath the smooth surface of Shallowdale.

  “Easier said than done,” he replied. “The colony is surrounded by a belt of electrified ground twenty feet wide. There are two gates, one at the east extremity of the valley and one at the west. These gates are electrified and guarded night and day by the Professor’s bodyguard. They can only be opened by the sentry who has the key. They are ostensibly for protection, of course, but they act just as well as a prison for those within, as a barrier for those without. The other night some poor wretch tried to cross the electrified belt, and was dead in a moment. We did not know who he was, but I realise now that he must have been one of the crew of your liner.”

  Jane shivered. “What was he like?” she enquired.

  “An enormous man,” the doctor replied, “with black wavy hair. I didn’t like the look of him at all. The professors had a great time of it arguing where he could have dropped from.”

  “It must have been Haviland,” Jane said. It was a relief to know that he could not trouble them again. Iris would be glad.

  They had left the rick-yard by now, and were walking up the hill to see the sheep. A large man dressed like a farmer with riding-boots and a covert coat came towards them.

  “Here is Crackling!” said the doctor in a low voice.

  Jane looked at the man as he came nearer, and she saw that his face was round and smooth. It looked as though it were made for smiles, but there were no smiles to be seen. Thunder-clouds hung upon Mr. Crackling’s brow; Jane felt that at any moment the storm might break. He struck his cane against his boot with angry emphasis.

  “Oh, Crackling, this is Mrs. Fenemore,” Dr. Glover said. “I am showing her round. I expect you heard of her arrival.”

  Crackling acknowledged the introduction perfunctorily and burst out —

  “What’s all this! What’s your opinion of the latest foolery, Doctor? D’you think I’m going to allow a set of withered professors to mate me off like a darned bull? No, sir,” said Crackling, striking his boot a mighty blow; “no, sir, not if I know it. You can marry me to any woman you like, but you can’t make me go to bed with her. I’m through with this — through with it. We’ve too many professors and scientists in this place, too many withered-up husks. We should be governed by a man, not a monkey, and I don’t care who knows it.”

  Dr. Glover looked round anxiously; these were dangerous sentiments to express, and Crackling’s voice was a carrying one.

  “Don’t worry, Doctor,” Crackling said, with a laugh that rumbled out like thunder. “My boys are with me. I know their opinion, and they know mine. It’s you we want as the boss of this place — you. Now what d’you think of that?”

  “I think you’re mad —” Dr. Glover began.

  “No you don’t. You know I’m sane. It’s other people who are mad, and you know that better than I do. There are two or three people here who ought to be locked up, and you can’t contradict me because you know I’m right. I’ve been round the place this morning, and I’ve found a lot of sane people in this camp — quite a lot of sane people — d’you get my meaning, Doctor?”

  “It’s dangerous talk,” Dr. Glover said.

  “It’s dangerous times,” replied Crackling, with a sudden return to his gloomy manner, “dangerous times. As a matter of fact I’m on my way now to see the Professor.”

  “Don’t go just now,” the doctor said, laying a hand on his arm. “You are not in the right mood. You’ll do no good. Think it over. Go to him calmly when you can put your case before him clearly — calmly —”

  Crackling laughed bitterly. “It’s all right for you to be calm, Doctor. You haven’t been told off to marry a woman you hate the sight of. You wouldn’t be so darned calm by a long chalk. I’ll choose my own woman and I’ll take her whoever she’s married to. That’s Bob Crackling.”

  He flung away from them down the hill, and left them standing there, dazed by his violence.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  “The Thunder —

  Clouds Gather”

  Jane was frightened. The thunder-clouds seemed to be gathering over Shallowdale; she wondered what was going to happen and wished that she had not lost sight of David. If anything happened — she did not put it clearly, even to herself — if anything happened she would like to be with David. David was the only real person in Shallowdale, the others, even Dr. Glover, were only people in a dream.

  “I think we had better go home,” Dr. Glover said suddenly. “If you don’t mind — I’m rather anxious —”

  Jane said she didn’t mind at all, and they set off in the direction of the Glovers’ house. Mrs. Glover had finished her housework, and was sitting in the drawing-room talking to a tall willowy girl with brown eyes.

  “We were just talking about you,” said Mrs. Glover, jumping up. “Miss Vernon, Mrs. Fenemore. Miss Vernon knows your books; she is longing to talk to you.”

  Jane smiled; she hated this kind of introduction, it was impossible to find anything sensible to say. Fortunately Miss Vernon had plenty to say; she began to talk at once in a friendly fashion, saying how much she had enjoyed Jane’s book about Elizabeth Tudor, and criticising it in an interesting manner.

  “I wish you would write an account of your experiences for The Shallowdale Chronicle,” said Miss Vernon. “I’m the editor. It comes out once a month. Will you?”

  Jane said she would; it seemed funny to be thinking of writing again.


  They had a light lunch of salad, and bread and butter, and cheese. Miss Vernon stayed and talked a great deal. The others were silent. Jane was worrying about David. Why didn’t he come? Where was he? She listened to Miss Vernon half-heartedly.

  “You must stay here,” Miss Vernon was saying. “It is the most delightful place. Everybody is happy. We have no poor and no slums. We all do the work for which we are best fitted. You would love it. My job is to teach the babies. I have four quite tiny children in my form. It only means a couple of hours a day, and except for the chronicle — which is great fun — I am free for the rest of the time. We bathe in the river, or go for picnics, or help Mr. Crackling in the fields. I was with the waggon last night when you passed with Major Keen.”

  “Where do you live?” Jane asked, more for politeness’ sake than because she was really interested.

  “Oh, you must come and see our house,” Miss Vernon told her. “It’s charming. Six of us live together. We call it the Nunnery. I share a room with a great friend of mine — Elsie Wainwright — we were at school together.”

  “Elsie Wainwright!” exclaimed Jane.

  “Do you know her?” enquired Miss Vernon with interest.

  “I’m not sure,” Jane replied — surely it could not be the same. “I think perhaps I know a friend of hers. Did she live at Brighton?”

  “Yes, in Brighton, quite near my home. It was really my doing that Elsie was saved. She was a sceptic — wouldn’t believe in the come — but I simply made her come here with me. It was all fixed up at the last moment. Elsie was to have been married to an airman, but he was lost in the cataclysm — by the way, his name was Fenemore, I wonder if he was a relation of yours.”

  Jane could not reply. She was absolutely dazed by the discovery that Elsie Wainwright was alive. It was incredible — Elsie Wainwright — the girl that David was going to marry. I ought to feel glad, Jane thought, glad for her sake and David’s; for, of course, David must marry her. He chose her out of all the world when the world was full of women — I am only a make-shift, I have known that all along — I am too old for him, really. She sat quite still and silent in her chair while her whole life fell to pieces. She had only had David for her own for a few hours — it was not yet a whole day since he had told her that he loved her — but Jane felt as if he had always been hers. He was so vital, so full of life and spirits, she understood him so well, understood him to the very bones. Love was not blind, Jane thought, love was very clear-sighted. Even when he had been estranged from her and had treated her so badly she had not felt angry with him (but only sad) because she knew exactly how he was feeling; she had understood and sympathised with him all the time. She understood him, and she loved him, and now he was lost to her for ever.