Beaumaroy Home from the Wars

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER IV

  PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE

  Dr. Irechester was a man of considerable attainments and an active,though not very persevering, intellect. He was widely read both inprofessional and general literature, but had shrunk from the arduouspath of specialism. And he shrank even more from the drudgery of hiscalling. He had private means, inherited in middle life; his wife had arespectable portion; there was, then, nothing in his circumstances tothwart his tastes and tendencies. He had soon come to see in the lateDr. Evans a means of relief rather than a threat of rivalry; even moreeasily he slipped into the same way of regarding Mary Arkroyd, helpedthereto by a lingering feeling that, after all and in spite of all, whenit came to really serious cases, a woman could not, at best, play morethan second fiddle. So, as has been seen, he patronized and encouragedMary; he told himself that, when she had thoroughly proved hercapacity--within the limits which he ascribed to it--to take her intopartnership would not be a bad arrangement. True, he could pretty wellchoose his patients now; but as senior partner he would be able to do itcompletely. It was wellnigh inconceivable that, for example, theNaylors--great friends--should ever leave him; but he would like to bequite secure of the pick of new patients, some of whom might, throughignorance or whim, call in Mary. There was old Saffron, for instance. Hewas, in Irechester's private opinion--or, perhaps it should be said, inhis private suspicions--an interesting case; yet, just for that reason,unreliable, and evidently ready to take offence. It was because of casesof that kind that he contemplated offering partnership to Mary; he wouldboth be sure of keeping them and able to devote himself to them.

  But his wife laughed at Mary--or at that development of the feministmovement which had produced her and so many other more startlingphenomena. The doctor was fond of his wife--a sprightly, would-befashionable, still very pretty woman. But her laughter, and the opinionit represented, were to him the merest crackling of thorns under a pot.

  The fine afternoon had come--a few days before Christmas--and he sat,side by side with Mr. Naylor, both warmly wrapped in coats and rugs,watching the lawn tennis at Old Place. Doctor Mary and Beaumaroy wereplaying together, the latter accustoming himself to a finger short ingripping his racquet, against Cynthia and Captain Alec. The Captaincould not cover the court yet in his old fashion, but his height andreach made him formidable at the net, and Cynthia was very active. Tendays of Inkston air had made a vast difference to Cynthia. And somethingelse was helping. It required no common loyalty to lost causes andruined ideals--it is surely not harsh to indicate Captain Cranster bythese terms?--to resist Alec Naylor. In fact he had almost takenCynthia's breath away at their first meeting; she thought that she hadnever seen anything quite so magnificent, or all round and from allpoints of view--so romantic; his stature, handsomeness, limp, renown.Who can be surprised at it? Moreover, he was modest and simple, and nofool within the bounds of his experience.

  "She seems a nice little girl, that, and uncommonly pretty," Naylorremarked.

  "Yes, but he's a queer fish, I fancy," the Doctor answered, also ratherabsently. Their minds were not running on parallel lines.

  "My boy a queer fish?" Naylor expostulated humorously.

  Irechester smiled; his lips shut close and tight, his smile was quickbut narrow. "You're match-making. I was diagnosing," he said.

  Naylor apologized. "I've a desperate instinct to fit all these youngfellows up with mates as soon as possible. Isn't it only fair?"

  "And also extremely expedient. But it's the sort of thing you can leaveto them, can't you?"

  "As to Beaumaroy--I suppose you meant him, not Alec--I think you musthave been talking to old Tom Punnit--or, rather, hearing him talk."

  "Punnit's general view is sound enough, I think, as to the man'scharacteristics; but he doesn't appreciate his cunning."

  "Cunning?" Naylor was openly astonished. "He doesn't strike me as acunning man, not in the least."

  "Possibly--possibly, I say--not in his ends, but in his means andexpedients. That's my view. I just put it on record, Naylor. I neverlike talking too much about my cases."

  "Beaumaroy's not your patient, is he?"

  "His employer--I suppose he's his employer--Saffron is. Well, I thoughtit advisable to see Saffron alone. I tried to. Saffron was reluctant,this man here openly against it. Next time I shall insist. Because Ithink--mind you, at present I no more than think--that there's more inSaffron's case than meets the eye."

  Naylor glanced at him, smiling. "You fellows are always starting hares,"he said.

  "Game and set!" cried Captain Alec, and--to his partner--"Thank you verymuch for carrying a cripple."

  But Irechester's attention remained fixed on Beaumaroy--and consequentlyon Doctor Mary; for the partners did not separate at the end of theirgame, but, after putting on their coats, began to walk up and downtogether on the other side of the court, in animated conversation,though Beaumaroy did most of the talking, Mary listening in her usualgrave and composed manner. Now and then a word or two reachedIrechester's ears--old Naylor seemed to have fallen into a reverie overhis cigar--and it must be confessed that he took no pains not tooverhear. Once at least he plainly heard "Saffron" from Beaumaroy; hethought that the same lips spoke his own name, and he was sure thatDoctor Mary's did. Beaumaroy was speaking rather urgently, and makinggestures with his hands; it seemed as though he were appealing to hiscompanion in some difficulty or perplexity. Irechester's mouth wasseverely compressed and his glance suspicious as he watched.

  The scene was ended by Gertie Naylor calling these laggards in to tea,to which meal the rest of the company had already betaken itself.

  At the tea-table they found General Punnit discoursing on war, andgiving "idealists" what idealists usually get. The General believed inwar; he pressed the biological argument, did not flinch when Mr. Naylordubbed him the "British Bernhardi," and invoked the support of "thesemedical gentlemen" (this with a smile at Doctor Mary's expense) for hispoint of view. War tested, proved, braced, hardened; it was nature'scrucible; it was the antidote to softness and sentimentality; it was thevindication of the strong, the elimination of the weak.

  "I suppose there's a lot in all that, sir," said Alec Naylor, "but Idon't think the effect on one's character is always what you say. Ithink I've come out of this awful business a good deal softer than Iwent in." He laughed in an apologetic way. "More--more sentimental, ifyou like--with more feeling, don't you know, for human life, andsuffering, and so on. I've seen a great many men killed, but the sighthasn't made me any more ready to kill men. In fact, quite the reverse."He smiled again. "Really sometimes, for a row of pins, I'd have turnedconscientious objector."

  Mrs. Naylor looked apprehensively at the General: would he explode? No,he took it quite quietly. "You're a man who can afford to say it,Alec," he remarked, with a nod that was almost approving.

  Naylor looked affectionately at his son and turned to Beaumaroy. "Andwhat's the war done to you?" he asked. And this question did draw fromthe General, if not an explosion, at least a rather contemptuous smile:Beaumaroy had earned no right to express opinions!

  But express one he did, and with his habitual air of candour. "I believeit's destroyed every scruple I ever had!

  "Mr. Beaumaroy!" exclaimed his hostess, scandalized; while the twogirls, Cynthia and Gertie, laughed.

  "I mean it. Can you see human life treated as dirt--absolutely as cheapas dirt--for three years, and come out thinking it worth anything? Canyou fight for your own hand, right or wrong? Oh, yes, right or wrong, inthe end, and it's no good blinking it. Can you do that for three yearsin war, and then hesitate to fight for your own hand, right or wrong, inpeace? Who really cares for right or wrong, anyhow?"

  A pause ensued--rather an uncomfortable pause. There was a raw sincerityin Beaumaroy's utterance that made it a challenge.

  "I honestly think we did care about the rights and wrongs--we inEngland," said Naylor.

  "That was certainly so at the beginning," Irechester agreed.

 
Beaumaroy took him up smartly. "Aye, at the beginning. But what aboutwhen our blood got up? What then? Would we, in our hearts, rather havebeen right and got a licking, or wrong and given one?"

  "A searching question!" mused old Naylor. "What say you, Tom Punnit?"

  "It never occurred to me to put the question," the General answeredbrusquely.

  "May I ask why not, sir?" said Beaumaroy respectfully.

  "Because I believed in God. I knew that we were right, and I knew thatwe should win."

  "Are we in theology now, or still in biology?" asked Irechester, ratheracidly.

  "You're getting out of my depth anyhow," smiled Mrs. Naylor. "And I'msure the girls must be bewildered."

  "Mamma, I've done biology!"

  "And many people think they've done theology!" chuckled Naylor. "Done itcompletely!"

  "I've raised a pretty argument!" said Beaumaroy, smiling. "I'm sorry! Ionly meant to answer your question about the effect the whole thing hashad on myself."

  "Even your answer to that was pretty startling, Mr. Beaumaroy," saidDoctor Mary, smiling too. "You gave us to understand that it hadobliterated for you all distinctions of right and wrong, didn't you?"

  "Did I go as far as that?" he laughed. "Then I'm open to the remark thatthey can't have been very strong at first."

  "Now don't destroy the general interest of your thesis," Naylorimplored. "It's quite likely that yours is a case as common as Alec's,or even commoner. 'A brutal and licentious soldiery'--isn't that aclassic phrase in our histories? All the same, I fancy Mr. Beaumaroydoes himself less than justice." He laughed. "We shall be able to judgeof that when we know him better."

  "At all events, Miss Gertie, look out that I don't fake the score attennis!" said Beaumaroy.

  "A man might be capable of murder, but not capable of that," said Alec.

  "A truly British sentiment!" cried his father. "Tom, we have got back tothe national ideals."

  The discussion ended in laughter, and the talk turned to lightermatters, but, as Mary Arkroyd drove Cynthia home across the heath, herthoughts returned to it. The two men--the two soldiers--seemed to havegiven an authentic account of what their experience had done to them.Both, as she saw the case, had been moved to pity, horror, andindignation that such things should be done, or should have to be done,in the world. After that point came the divergence. The higher naturehad been raised, the lower debased; Alec Naylor's sympathies had beensharpened and sensitized; Beaumaroy's blunted. Where the one had foundideals and incentives, the other found despair--a despair that issued inexcuses and denied high standards. And the finer mind belonged to thefiner soldier; that she knew, for Gertie had told her General Punnit'sstory, and, however much she might discount it as the tale of an elderlymartinet, yet it stood for something--for something that could never beattributed to Alec Naylor.

  And yet--for her mind travelled back to her earlier talk by thetennis-court--Beaumaroy had a conscience, had feelings. He was fond ofold Mr. Saffron; he felt a responsibility for him--felt it, indeed,keenly. Or was he, under all that seeming openness, a consummatehypocrite? Did he value Mr. Saffron only as a milch cow--the dotinggiver of a large salary? Was his only desire to humour him, keep him ingood health and temper, and use him to his own profit? A puzzlingman--but, at all events, cutting a poor figure beside Alec Naylor, aboutwhom there could circle no clouds of doubt. Doctor Mary's learning andgravity did not prevent her from drawing a very heroic and ratherromantic figure of Captain Alec--notwithstanding the fact that shesometimes found him rather hard to talk to.

  She felt Cynthia's arm steal round her waist, and Cynthia said softly,"I did enjoy my afternoon. Can we go again soon, Mary?"

  Mary glanced round at her. Cynthia laughed and blushed. "Isn't hesplendid?" Cynthia murmured. "But I don't like Mr. Beaumaroy at all, doyou?"

  "I say yes to the first question, but I'm not quite ready to answer thesecond," said Mary with a laugh.

  * * * * *

  Three days later, on Christmas Eve, one whom Jeanne, who caught sight ofhim in the hall, described as being all there was possible of ugliness,delivered (with a request for an immediate answer) the following notefor Mary Arkroyd:

  "DEAR DR. ARKROYD,

  Mr. Saffron is unwell, and I have insisted with him that he must see a doctor. So much he has yielded--after a fight! But nothing will induce him to see Dr. Irechester again. On this point I tried to reason with him, but in vain. He is obstinate and resolved. I am afraid that I am putting you in a difficult and disagreeable position, but it seems to me that I have no alternative but to ask you to call on him professionally. I hope that Dr. Irechester will not be hurt by a whim which is, no doubt, itself merely a symptom of disordered nerves, for Dr. Irechester has been most attentive, and very successful hitherto in dealing with the dear old gentleman. But my first duty is to Mr. Saffron. If it will ease matters at all, pray hold yourself at liberty to show this note to Dr. Irechester. May I beg you to be kind enough to call at your earliest convenience, though it is, alas, a rough evening to ask you to come out?

  Yours very faithfully,

  HECTOR BEAUMAROY"

  "How very awkward!" exclaimed Mary. She had prided herself on a rigorousabstention from "poaching"; she fancied that men were very ready toaccuse women of not "playing the game" and had been resolved to give nocolour to such an accusation. "Mr. Saffron has sent forme--professionally. He's ill, it seems," she said to Cynthia.

  "Why shouldn't he?"

  "He's a patient of Dr. Irechester's."

  "But people often change their doctors, don't they? He thinks you'recleverer, I suppose, and I expect you are, really."

  There was no use in expounding professional etiquette to Cynthia. Maryhad to decide the point for herself--and quickly; the old man might beseriously ill. Beaumaroy had said, at the Naylors', that his attackswere sometimes alarming.

  Suddenly she recollected that he had also seemed to hint that they weremore alarming than Irechester appeared to appreciate; she had not takenmuch notice of that hint at the time, but now it recurred to her verydistinctly. There was no suggestion of the sort in Beaumaroy's letter.Beaumaroy had written a letter that could be shown to Irechester! Wasthat dishonesty, or only a pardonable diplomacy?

  "I suppose I must go--and explain to Dr. Irechester afterwards." Sherang the bell to recall the maid, and gave her answer. "Say I will beround as soon as possible. Is the messenger walking?"

  "He's got a bicycle, Miss."

  "All right. I shall be there almost as soon as he is."

  She seemed to have no alternative, just as Beaumaroy had none. Yet whileshe put on her mackintosh--it was very wet and misty--got out her car,and lit her lamps, her face was still fretful and her mind disturbed.For now--as she looked back on it--Beaumaroy's conversation with her atOld Place seemed just a prelude to this summons, and meant to prepareher for it. Perhaps that too was pardonable diplomacy, and no referenceto it could be expected in a letter which she was at liberty to show toDr. Irechester. She wondered, uncomfortably, how Irechester would takeit.