Delphi Collected Works of Hugh Walpole (Illustrated)

by Hugh Walpole

  Perrin nodded his head very seriously. “Yes, I suppose it’s only fair I should give you my reasons. It’s all plain enough, really.”

  He knew now that if Traill moved away he would run after him and cut his throat, it would all be quite easy; but whilst he stood there, motionless, he could do nothing — and he shifted beneath his eyes.

  “You see,” he said reflectively, almost as though he was speaking to himself, “you’ve taken everything that I had away from me. I suppose that’s what it is. I never had very much....I was never very lucky. I always meant to do well. I had great ambitions when I was a boy; but there are people like that — because they have a habit or a manner or something, people don’t like them — just some little thing. I always used to hope that people would like me, and I would have done anything for any one if it happened. But they never did like me, because of my manner — a very little thing.... And then I came to Moffatt’s, you know, and I suppose Moffatt’s has been too much for me — it often is too much for a man. I suppose I am beaten; but Moffatt’s helps all your worst things, and it doesn’t make it easier, living so close and everything, if you are naturally irritable.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Traill, nodding his head.

  “Well,” went on Mr. Perrin, apparently pleased that Traill understood, “it was just like that — I had ideals, and I lost them all. Nobody cared whether I liked them or no, and then they began to laugh at me, and I knew I oughtn’t to be laughed at, really — because I had always meant to do well. And things got worse. Twenty years of Moffatt’s is a terrible time. I was always hoping, each term, that things would be better, but each term it was worse.”

  “Yes,” said Traill again, “I know.”

  “Yes,” said Perrin, nodding his head, as though he were arguing it all out for his own satisfaction, “ and then you came, and soon you began to laugh at me like the rest. Then you were popular, and I hated that; you took the boys away from me.”

  “No,” broke in Traill, “I’m sure—”

  “Ah, but you did,” said Perrin, shaking his head gravely; “and then there were little things — I was a much older man, and we quarrelled over that umbrella. I was angry because now they would laugh at me all the more.”

  “I was very sorry about that,” said Traill, “but it was all so silly.”

  “Ah,” said Perrin, “ it is the silly things that matter at Moffatt’s. And then you see,” he added quite simply, “I loved Miss Desart.”

  “My God!” cried Traill, “I never suspected that.”

  “I have loved her for a long time — I had begun to think that she loved me. It seemed as though it would be my last chance, and that she would take me away from here — this dreadful place; and then when you took her, it was my last hope, and so I began to hate you. I hated you more and more. It is the one thing that I think about — you see, it is my only thing in life now, and lately I have been muddled — these examinations — my headaches — I don’t know. But I am no good in the world — nobody wants me... so I will kill you, because you have made life no good to me, and then I will kill myself.”

  I am sorry,” answered Traill gravely, “I did not know that you loved Miss Desart. I have been very wrong about the whole thing; but I did try several times to be friends, and you would not let me. But I am very careless, I suppose, about people’s feelings. Let us be friends now, and I will be better.”

  “No,” Perrin answered, coming quite close to Traill. “My mind was made up a long time ago — it is quite determined. I am going to kill you. Also, you see, it will mean that I am quite useless — that I can’t do anything at all — if I don’t.”

  And then suddenly he drew the knife from his pocket. Traill saw it, and, perhaps because it was so unexpected, he uttered a little cry and stepped backwards, and with that step he was over the edge of the cliff. He made one frantic attempt to catch at the earth, but the grass gave way in his hand, and in an instant he was gone.

  Perrin, as he saw him disappear, saw also that the sun, heralded by bars and clouds of golden light, was rising above the sea.

  IV

  Perrin’s first strained sensation as he stood peering into the mist and darkness was one of silence. There had been a sound of rending soil, a clatter of stones and falling turf, a wild scream, and then the steady plunge of the sea and the advancing colour that cut the mist.

  His next feeling was that he had not touched Mm. “I didn’t push him — I didn’t push him!” he repeated wildly over and over again to himself, his teeth chattering, his hair blowing. “O God! I didn’t push him!”

  He was dreadfully cold, and he had the impulse to run eagerly, tumultuously, away from the spot, but still a dreadful curiosity held him there. The horizon was now breaking into gold. Little bits of pink cloud rose soaring, and lines of light, like fingers drawn lovingly over grey silk, passed, crossing and recrossing, over the sea.

  Mr. Perrin stepped to the very edge and peered over. It was still very dark, but he could see enough in the faintly shining circle of the cove below to discover that it was not really very deep, that that was not really a great way down. There were great hollows of darkness, and then a little light, and then darkness again; but he fancied, as he peered, that he could make out something black and huddled against the white sand — something that even seemed, perhaps, to move a little.

  Then suddenly the strain at which he had been living through all these days gave way with a snap, and he sat down suddenly there on the sand, in the mist and the growing light, and, with his fingers pressed tightly to his face, wept and wept.

  “I didn’t want him to be killed — I didn’t want to kill him — I’ve been mad — I don’t know what I’ve been thinking — I didn’t want to kill him — the poor boy, the poor boy — I didn’t want to kill him!”

  He rocked in his distress, and then grew quiet, and at last with staring eyes sat there, facing the sea. Suddenly the sun burst its bands. The warm light streamed out, and, away over the sea and the hill, the mist went flying in tangled skeins, and clouds and blue stole softly, timidly, into the grey air and water. The warmth touched Mr. Perrin’s cheek.

  He stood up again and looked over, and now he saw quite distinctly something huddled there. He saw also that the tide was coming in with great rapidity; already it had covered most of the sand, and was nearly touching the ground where Traill’s body lay. What was to be done? If he ran to fetch some one, it would be long before they could get a boat and come round the cliff, and by that time the water would have caught the body and have dragged it out to sea. No, it would be too late to fetch any one. He wondered as he stood there, beating his hands and looking down, how he could ever have hated that quiet figure. That had all left him. If the boy were alive, something must be done to help him — something. He looked passionately up and down the long white road, but there was no sign as yet of any one. No, he must himself do something — it rested on him.

  He glanced despairingly about and then down again. The very thought of climbing up and down a height had always been terrible to him — he got dizzy so easily; but now he saw that, if any one were to help Traill, to climb down was the only thing to be done. The cliff’s side seemed very black and grim, and slanted sheer down, with no holds or crevices in the rock, but there were tufts of grass that jutted out here and there; perhaps these might help him.

  He glanced again around him, but there was perfect silence. The blue had mounted through all the sky, and now shone above him gloriously.

  Every object now was distinct around him. He took off his coat and flung it down over the cliff, on to the sand below — he had an idea that he might want it when he got down there. Then he rolled up his sleeves and looked at his arms, and thought how thin they were; his mouth was very set and determined. He looked down anxiously again, and fancied that now he saw Traill move a little. The sea moved so gently, so pleasantly, that it was impossible to think of it as something dangerous, evil, devouring.

  He sat on
the edge of the cliff; then he turned round, and, with his back to the sun, his hands gripping the cliff, let himself down: just below his feet was a strong ledge of grass, and he swung for an instant clutching this, his legs dangling. Then a sudden paralysis came over him; he could not move. He hung there, swaying, the great black face of the cliff against his eyes, space beneath him, blue sky and infinite distance above him, sickness and terror at his heart. He was crying, with little whimpering noises, “O God! O God!” again and again.

  For some time he found cracks for his feet, and soon he had gone, it seemed to him, a long way. Then he found an uneven surface with his foot, and then, lowering the other foot, another piece of grass. Prom this he lowered himself again, and was again hanging in air, only now, he thought, not so far above the sand — he could hear the licking whisper of the waves very plainly.

  Hi a foot swung about, searching for another resting-place; and then suddenly, with a sickening leaping of everything to his throat, with a wild cry, and a great swinging, like a censer, of brown earth and blue heaven above him, the grass gave way, and he fell.

  He was stunned, and he lay sprawling with his hands out and his mouth full of sand. Then he pulled himself together; he was not really hurt — it had not been very far to fall — only his ankle hurt him rather. But he limped across to the place where Traill lay. He bent over him. Traill was lying on his face, so Perrin pulled very gently his shoulder down and rolled him over. His face was cut and bleeding and very white, and one leg was crumpled beneath him in a way that showed it was broken. Perrin opened his coat and waistcoat and undid his shirt; his heart was beating — very faintly — but Traill was alive. Then he scooped with his hands and brought some water and rubbed Traill’s forehead; but he did not stir — he probably had concussion of the brain, Perrin thought. Then Perrin sat down on the sand with his back to the rock, and made Traill as comfortable as he could against him. He rested his poor, bleeding head on his chest, and took his hands and rubbed them, and then looked about him and wondered what was next to be done. The little cove was very quiet and still, but the sea was touching his feet — every moment it was rising higher, — and only behind him was the black cliff, frowning, uncompromising. He did not know what was to be done. For a moment he did not want to think. He had never before, in all his life, known anything like this protecting feeling that crept about him like a burning flame. Although he knew that Traill was unconscious, he could not help fancying that he was leaning against him — that he had, a little of his own free-will, come closer to him.

  But something must be done — the sea was above his boots, always very softly advancing, then playfully drawing back again, and then coming the next time a little farther still. Something must be done. He gathered Traill closer to him, and rubbed his hands more fiercely; if only he would come to his senses, or if some one would come. He saw at last a long ledge of rock, higher up, that would hold them both, and he hoped that they might, perhaps, escape the sea there. He climbed on hands and knees to the ledge, and then bent down and dragged Traill up. It was a very great exertion, and Traill was terribly heavy; but at last they were both up there, crowded together, Traill’s body lying heavily against Perrin. But, even now, things were not really very greatly improved. The sea was breaking now against the rock; it seemed another creature from the sea that had kissed the shore so gently in the early morning — now it dashed against the cliff, every wave climbing higher, and already it had touched Perrin’s boot. He could see the white line of surf round the cove, whereas it had seemed but an instant ago that there had been a yellow strip of shining sand.

  He knew that they were not safe where they were, the tide must soon turn — above he could see grass and sea-anemones in ledges of the rock that marked the sea’s limit, but the rock on which they were must soon be covered. He prayed desperately; he knelt on his knees, clasping his hands together, frantically clutching Traill’s arm, and then stroking his hair, and then gazing distractedly about him in the hope there would be some human being. But there was no one — there was nothing now save sea and rock. Then, as he glanced up at the black wall of cliff he saw that there was another still smaller ridge above their heads. On this some tufts of grass were growing, so that he knew that it was safe, but it was very thin and narrow.... It would not hold both of them.

  But Traill must be saved.... At all costs Traill must be dragged up higher. He found that by standing on the ridge on which they already were, and holding Traill’s body in his arms, he could just reach the rock. He took the limp body, and, with all his force raising it, he moved it along the higher ledge. The rock was so narrow that Traill’s hands and legs hung over the ledge, but it was safe: nothing could touch him, and at last some one would surely come. Something must be done to attract notice; he took his handkerchief, and tied it round Traill’s boot, so that it hung white against the black cliff. Of course it was only a chance, but he suddenly remembered that there was a man who sometimes came in a boat and bathed in that cove before breakfast. He had seen him there, and other people had often noticed — in another half-hour he would perhaps arrive.

  Meanwhile, for himself...

  Suddenly he was very tired. He sank down on his rock, white, exhausted. The waves beat on every side of him, and sometimes they rose and covered him. In a very little time it would be too late. He was already very wet. He looked once more up the side of the cliff. It rose sheer, black, uncompromising — there were no more clefts or holes, there was no hope for any foothold — besides, he was so weak now — he was trembling all over.... It had been very exhausting.

  He sat and thought about it, and then suddenly, with the streaming sun, with the burning blue, with the white spray, he knew. It had come! It had come! He could shout it aloud to the world. It had come at last.... His chance!

  He sat there, with his elbows on his knees, his face resting on his hands, looking out to sea. And so things had come to this at last! Although no one knew, although there was only about him that tossing sea, above him the sky, at his back the rock, at last he could be of use. The clown had his serious side, the walker-on in the pageant had his work, his great work to do. He smiled and then stood up, because the water now covered the face of his rock and was up to his knees; he had to stand with his back to the rock, because the waves when they rose buffeted his face.

  He thought of the term — of the way that he had bullied boys, of the way that he had loved Miss Desart, of the way that he had hated Traill, of the meannesses and spite and petty anger. Was every one made of so many different people, had every one such base things, such miserably little things, to account for?

  But now at last he was justified. No one would ever know — Traill would never know....

  Was it, he wondered, odd that he, who had intended during all these weeks to kill Traill, should now be giving his life for him? No... it was not really odd. One was as certain a justification as the other. And he thought of it now as a curious fact that the nearer the time for killing Traill had come, the less he had hated him. He was not a big enough character to kill any one.... It was much easier to die for some one. All that he had ever needed in life was a justification — a reason why he, Vincent Perrin, should exist at all, — and it was because Moffatt’s had robbed him of that justification that he had hated it so. Now he was justified.

  The waves struck his face — one had almost dragged him off his feet. “It’s a good thing,” he said, “that that fellow bathes here in the morning. He’ll see that handkerchief... the old lady will have my £100... And then, after a pause, “Miss Desart will never know.”

  He took Traill’s hand which hung down, and very lightly kissed it. He would not wait any more — there was nothing more to be done.

  He took his last look at the sea and the sky, and he laughed once because he had never been so happy in his life before, and then he let himself go. The sea, leaping, tossing, tumbling about the rock, covered the place where he had been.

  CHAPTER XV — PERRIN RE
QUIESCAT

  BREAKFAST that morning at the Combers’ was a very cheerful meal. It was half-past eight, the day was brilliantly fine, and nearly all the boys had gone. The earlier their departure the better they were pleased, and most of them had caught the eight o’clock tram.

  Now there was a strange, wonderful peace — suddenly the tension was relaxed, and for a time, for a short time, Moffatt’s was not a school but a home.

  The Marmadukery that had reigned so triumphantly on the preceding day had disappeared as quickly as it had come. Sir Marmaduke had been hustled back into his grave again, and only in the scattered flower-pots that had decorated the school hall, and in the chairs that were piled on top of one another in the passages outside, could any signs of him be seen.

  But in the Comber dining-room all thoughts of him were very far away. The sun streamed through the windows and fell on the sausages and the coffee and the marmalade and all the things that the sun ought to fall on at an English breakfast-table in the morning. It also fell on Mrs. Comber, who was trying to give orders to Jane, the housemaid, attend to Freddie, and smile at Isabel, all at the same time; it also fell on Mr. Comber, who had put on a Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers as a sign that term was really over, and on Isabel.

  “No, Jane, I did not say, ‘Get the quilts out of the store-cupboard,’ because you know perfectly well that most of the quilts are out already, and — Have another sausage, Freddie; there are plenty here, and they are so good this morning. I have never eaten better anywhere, and it is all because I went to Harrison this time, instead of Quern’s, although he is just a tiny bit more expensive; but it’s really worth it, if you know what you’re getting, and aren’t afraid of being put off with all sorts of shams, and of course you never know with a sausage — No, Jane, I really can’t attend to you now: come to me afterwards, and I’ll tell you what I mean. Isabel, my dear, you haven’t got any coffee — you must have some more — I insist.”