‘Darling, if this is not true then we are both dead and things are wonderful on the other side.’
He shook with laughter now; then raising his head, he kissed her on the lips, saying, ‘Tell me, madam, where is this castle you’re taking me to?’
‘Well, sir, it’s as far away in the wilds as I could get. We change trains at Hexham; then we get off at Catton. If my instructions have been carried out to the letter, and to the time, there should be a horse and trap awaiting us, and also a Mr Taylor. Mr Taylor is a man who knows everything about everybody, apparently, in Allendale and the surrounding country for miles. As he said himself, he is an obliging obliger.’
‘He said that?’
‘Yes, he did and much more besides. I have met him only four times but I know the shops to which I should give my patronage, also the hotels in Allendale. I know the people I should avoid like the plague because they are thriftless, and others who are gossips. And also if I am ever worried about anything I should confide in his wife, because his wife is a great woman.’ She laughed here. ‘Anyway, she is a lady who has cleaned and seen to our castle which, by the way, is called Valley Hall…Wait for it! Why, I asked him, a Hall, when it only has two bedrooms, a kitchen, quite large, a living room not so large, and what could not be called a dining room? He informed me there were many such. Some have three bedrooms, others fifty rooms.’
‘Have we any neighbours?’
‘Not within a quarter of a mile. Anyway, I’m going to tell you nothing more about it. Wait till you see it. But, Charles, it’s going to be our home for most of the time, and I can’t tell you…oh my dear!’—she cupped his face in her hands—‘I can’t tell you how I am looking forward to it. Like you, I have dreamt of this day; I seem to have dreamt of it since I first remember dreaming.’ She paused and asked, ‘How do you feel?’
‘Full of love.’
‘I don’t mean that feeling.’ She shook him.
‘Never better. Honestly, never better.’
‘Then you must always feel like that; but it will depend, sir, on you doing what you’re told: no gadding about looking at other people’s houses, but getting down to that book you’ve always wanted to write.’
He drew her close to him and they lay back against the plush padding, their faces turned to one another. And now he said soberly, ‘I feel I’m passing through a door and walking into a great blaze of light so dazzling I’m blinded with it.’
After saying goodbye to the wedding party, Reginald hired a cab and was driven straight home, where Mrs Mitcham fussed about him and asked what he would like for dinner, duck or sirloin? The answer he gave her was, ‘Thank you, Mitcham, but I don’t feel very hungry; I have had a rather heavy lunch. You know Mr Charles was married today?’
Mrs Mitcham’s eyelids blinked several times before she said, ‘Yes, Mr Reginald, I know, and we all wish him well.’
‘Thank you. I’ll tell him and his wife that when I next see them.’
‘We…we did think about getting him a present, sir, but…well, we didn’t know…well, if the mistress would be in favour of it.’
‘I understand, Mitcham, I understand; but the thought was there and I’m sure he’ll thank you for that. Now, about a meal. Could you knock me up a light salad on a tray?’
‘Yes, I’ll see to that right away, sir.’
‘Oh, there’s no hurry. I won’t be going out tonight.’
‘I’m…I’m sorry, sir. Mr McCann isn’t here to attend you. We heard that his brother had been wounded and Mr Banks was away with the master and mistress and I felt I could give him leave.’
‘Of course, of course. I hope it isn’t serious.’
‘We all hope that, sir.’
He nodded at her, then turned away, crossed the hall and went upstairs to his room. And there, after taking off his outer things, he sat by the window. The room was in the left wing of the house and overlooked the rose garden. Everything looked spruce and neat, the same outside the house as in. Nothing seemed to have changed. The war hadn’t altered the routine or touched the staff, except for two outside men, Joe Powell the second gardener and Micky Bradshaw, the eighteen-year-old stable boy. Those two had heard the call for King and country and no doubt had gone off in a blaze of glory. And he understood that little Gladys…Morley, who had worked in the scullery and was just turned sixteen, had taken herself into a factory, where she would get three times the wage his parents had paid her.
‘Will you have duck or sirloin, sir?’ he recalled Mitcham’s voice saying. Duck or sirloin. What he would have given for a meal of either when he was confronted by the everlasting bully beef and tinned this and tinned that. Even the chance meal behind the lines was indifferent, and the French made you pay through the teeth for it. Yet, in spite of all that, at this moment he had a longing to be back there in the mud and the stink and that soul-sickening stench of putrefying flesh…and the acts of bravery with which even those of the gods couldn’t be compared, the sacrifices made by the so-called common man. The common man who, day after day, surprised and created in him at times a feeling of love; like the youngster known as Mouth-Organ Mickey, who would put his head over the parapet while playing his damned mouth organ. They prophesied that his head would be blown off one day. It was, but not over the parapet. There had been a private war going on between the young fellow and a weathered Sergeant Peters; yet it was Peters who dragged the almost naked body back towards the trench. Towards the trench, for they didn’t reach it in time and they died together. There had been little left to identify either of them after the bombardment ended. Steve Beaumont too had gone that same day. He and Steve had become rather close. They were of like minds. Then there was Jefferson, who chanted the psalms. He had never realised how beautiful the psalms were. At first he had thought that Jefferson’s chanting would drive him crazy.
His thinking suddenly diverting asked him: I wonder what they’re doing now? They would have reached the cottage. He could picture it. He had seen it the day before yesterday when he had helped her to carry some cases there. It was just a stone cottage, seemingly stuck on the side of the hill overlooking the valley. It looked bare and isolated. Even inside it appeared bare, for, as she had said, there had been no time for her to put it in order. But would Charles notice the lack of comfort? No. All the comfort he needed would be in her. She emanated comfort. He didn’t know what it was about her, he couldn’t really put the finger on her attraction. She wasn’t really beautiful and she wasn’t pretty, but she was good to look at and to listen to, and she would be very good to hold, hold close, tight, to…to…
God Almighty! He rose swiftly from the chair. He couldn’t go on like this all night; he must do something with himself. He’d go over and see the Combeses or the Pickerings…Oh no, not the Pickerings. And on Charles’ wedding day! Was Isobel very upset? He doubted it. Her parents would be much more so, he thought. No, he would drop in on the Combeses. Will was still at home, but Freddy was at sea. Or there were the Hammonds. The twins would still be lively.
If it wasn’t that his parents were due back tomorrow he would have taken himself up to London tonight, yes he would, and had a woman or two and got so bloody drunk that the war and Charles and Agnes could all go to hell for a time.
When the knock came on the door, he paused before calling, ‘Yes? Come in.’
The housemaid entered but didn’t speak, and he said, ‘Yes, Rose? What is it?’
‘It’s…it’s the police, sir. Two of them. They…they are downstairs. They…they want to see you.’
‘The police?’ He swung up his tunic from the foot of the bed, put it on, buttoned it up to the neck, and pulled his belt tight around him; then, looking at her as he passed her where she was standing, holding the door wide for him, he said, ‘Have you any idea what they want?’
When she drooped her head he hurried his step and ran down the stairs. The two policemen were standing in the hall, and before either of them could speak, he said, ‘What is it? What’
s happened?’
They had both touched their foreheads by way of salute; then one said, ‘I am Sergeant Atkinson, sir. I have rather distressing news for you.’
When the man paused Reginald attempted to speak, but found his throat tight, and so it was a second or so before he could ask, ‘My brother and his wife?’
The two policemen exchanged a quick glance, and then the sergeant said, ‘Oh, no, it’s nothing to do with your brother or…well, sir, it’s your parents.’
‘My parents? What has happened to them? They’ve had an accident?’
‘Yes, sir, an accident, a serious accident.’ There was a movement to the side of him and he cast a glance at Mrs Mitcham and at Rosie, too, who was standing close to her.
‘Will you come this way?’ he said to the men as he turned and started to walk towards the drawing room; and they followed him. And when the door was closed he said, ‘What is it?’
‘There was an accident in the car, sir. The driver apparently went off the road.’
‘Are they badly injured?’
The two policemen stared at him and he stared back at them, and then he said, ‘Oh, no! No!’
‘I’m very sorry, sir, very sorry indeed.’
‘All three of them?’
‘Yes, sir, the Colonel and his lady and…and the driver.’
He turned from them and walked up the room, his hand pressed tightly across his forehead and all his mind was saying to him was, ‘God in heaven! God in heaven!’
He had walked the length of the room, turned and was coming back towards the policemen before he spoke again, when he said, ‘Where did this happen?’
‘About two miles outside Durham, sir.’
‘Outside Durham! What were they doing there?’
‘I should imagine they were making for home, sir.’
‘But they weren’t expected until tomorrow.’
‘I…I wouldn’t know that, sir, but they were definitely making their way towards Durham. I don’t know the full details, sir, but from what I can gather, an eyewitness said they were going very fast indeed, and the motor car just went off the road and plunged down a very steep bank. The bodies have been taken to the mortuary in Durham and we await your further instructions, sir. Is…is there anyone else you would like us to contact, sir?’
‘What?’
‘I said, sir, is there anyone else you would like us to contact?’
Oh God! Was there anyone else he would like them to contact? Yes. Yes, his brother and his wife. From here they could get to the cottage within a couple of hours or so and that would put an end to the wedding night.
Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.
Almighty God! What was wrong with him? He must be going mad. It wasn’t the first time he had thought this of late. He said, ‘I shall inform my brothers. There are two. One is in France at the moment and…and the other was just married…married today.’
‘Oh, sir, I’m very sorry, very sorry indeed.’ After a pause he added, ‘I’m afraid, sir, you will be expected to come and identify the bodies.’
‘I…I’ll be expected to do that?’
‘It would be better, sir. And then you can decide if you want…them brought to the house or left in the mortuary until whatever time you wish to arrange for the funeral. We will see you there, sir. We have a conveyance outside.’
He stood hesitating. He found it was impossible at that moment to move. He’d have to go and identify his parents, and Banks…Yes, and Banks, who always acted like a bloody maniac behind the wheel of that machine. Why on earth hadn’t his father put a stop to it?
‘We wouldn’t mind waiting, sir.’
‘Oh, yes.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘I…I will have to tell the staff. Will you take a seat? I won’t be long, only a matter of minutes.’
The staff already knew. They awaited his arrival in the kitchen. They were all in tears. He found he couldn’t speak to them but he motioned Mrs Mitcham out and in the hall he said, ‘I’ve got to go with the police, Mitcham. Will you see to everything? What…whatever is necessary in these circumstances?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. Don’t worry about anything here. Oh dear. Oh dear. What a dreadful thing. We’ll…we’ll never get over this; the house will never survive this. It was that car. As Coleman said, things have never been the same since it came into the yard. He’ll…he’ll be so upset.’
‘Yes, yes. I must go now. I likely won’t be back until tomorrow. I’ll stay in Durham overnight then go on to Mr Charles.’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Charles.’ She now covered her eyes with her hand. He turned from her and, again thrusting his shoulders back, he actually marched across the hall and into the drawing room. And there, he said to the two policemen who had risen from the couch, ‘We’ll go then.’ It was as if he were addressing his men.
They didn’t answer but they followed him out, thinking, Well, he’s taken it as a soldier would. He’s likely had plenty of experience.
Four
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was streaming through the small window, over the rough wooden sink to the equally rough wooden kitchen table that was now covered with a checked cloth, and on which was the remains of a cooked breakfast.
They were sitting side by side and he was in the process of buttering a piece of toast when, pointing to the empty plate that he had pushed to one side, he said, ‘You know, I cannot tell you when…in fact, I don’t remember ever eating a breakfast like that in my life. Two eggs, two rashers, a piece of black pudding and a sausage.’ She was pouring out a cup of tea and, dropping the butter knife back onto the plate, he thrust out his arms, meaning to pull her to him, when she let out a cry, saying, ‘Look! The teapot. You’ll have it over, and the cup on me too.’
‘Well, take your hands off the cup and the teapot and attend to me, Mrs Farrier. And you will remember in future, and forever, that I come first.’
‘Yes, sir, after I have poured you a cup of tea and one for myself also. So will you kindly take your arms away and let me finish what I started, because I always like to finish what I start.’
As if they were sharing some secret joke, they both started to laugh; then she took her hand from the teapot and turned to him, and once more they were in each other’s embrace, where they seemed to have been since they entered the house yesterday.
‘Happy?’
‘Oh, my dear!’ She stroked his cheek. ‘No matter how long we are together you will never be able to understand just how happy I am at this moment. You seem to have changed my whole life and any thoughts that I had of my life in the future.’
‘You know, I hear you say this, but I cannot really believe it, because this was never going to happen to me. This kind of thing just didn’t happen. One will marry later on, perhaps, for convenience, as Reg will have to do to keep the name going. But love, like that I feel for you, wouldn’t have come into it, for the simple reason my mind couldn’t have imagined it. But right from that Christmas Eve and the sugar mice, something happened. I wasn’t aware of it at first. And when the awareness began to dawn on me it came as an experience of loss; I knew I had missed something. And then the feeling changed and I knew I had found something, but I had to be careful else I would lose it, and then my second state of awareness would be much worse than my first.’
She had been about to put her face close to his when she jerked it to the side, saying, ‘Oh, look! Look through the window; we have a visitor. There’s someone coming up the hill. I’ll bet it’s Mrs Ferguson bringing the milk.’ Her voice changing, she said, ‘Just to see ’ow you’ve got on, dearie. An’ will you be after wantin’ anythin’? Now you’ve just got to arsk, that’s all, just arsk.’
They were both laughing as he turned from her and looked out of the window. Then he exclaimed, ‘Agnes! It isn’t Mrs Ferguson, it’s—’ He shook his head. ‘It can’t be. But it is, it’s Reg.’
Jumping up, he dashed through
the kitchen, into the passage and pulled open the front door. And she was at his side as they stood and looked down the hill to where the uniformed figure was striding upwards.
Both of them, of the same mind at the same moment, ran to meet him. But Reg stopped before they reached him because Charles was crying over the distance, ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened? Is it Henry?’
They were all close now, their breaths almost fanning each other when Reg said, ‘No, no; it isn’t Henry. Let’s get inside, shall we?’ He walked between them and back to the cottage. There Charles, swinging a chair round, said, ‘Sit down. You look yellow. What is it?’
‘You sit down, Charlie; and you too, Agnes.’
They sat down and looked at him across the narrow space of the table. And after some seconds, during which he swallowed deeply, he said, ‘There’s been an accident; more than an accident, fatal. The parents and Banks. The car went down an embankment.’
Neither of them spoke; they just stared at him. His face looked grey except for what appeared like a white line around his mouth.
‘No!’ It began in the smallest of voices, then, ‘No! No!’ Charles’ head was swinging from side to side. ‘It can’t be! Not both of them! All of them! No!’
Agnes rose from the table. She looked down into Reg’s face, then turned slowly away and walked from the kitchen.
The two brothers were left at the table, their eyes exchanging their pain.
‘Oh, my God! My God!’ Charles dropped his head into his hands and mourned aloud. ‘It’s my fault. It’s my fault.’
‘Don’t be stupid. How can it be your fault?’
The Wingless Bird Page 28