O, These Men, These Men!

by Angela Thirkell

  “It all depends on you,” said Wilfred, sitting on the fender of the big hall fire, while Julia flounced herself gracefully on to a cushion.

  “Are you really going to join the police? What fun!” said Julia with an innocent rapture most annoying to Wilfred, who had hoped and expected that she would say “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I might do anything.”

  “That’s just like Father. He is never happy unless he is dashing about somewhere giving lectures or writing books.”

  Wilfred felt that another avenue of approach, which did not entail comparisons between oneself and other people’s fathers might be more profitable.

  “You are a marvelous actress, Julia,” he said.

  “I did a lot of acting in India when Father was there. I love it. But the others were divine. George was too divine as the villain and Hugh was divine too.”

  “In fact everybody was divine,” said Wilfred with a bitterness that was entirely lost upon Julia.

  “Will you do something for me?” asked Julia, raising her large eyes.

  “Anything,” said Wilfred jumping to his feet.

  “Some more barely water, please,” said Julia, holding out her glass.

  Gently disappointed, Wilfred refilled it and returned it to her. Their fingers touched. Encouraged by this, Wilfred established himself on the fender again and said, “I have thought a good deal about marriage.”

  “So have I,” said Julia with much interest. “I have had eleven proposals, eight in India and three here. Some of them were quite divine. But the Baron we met in Berlin, the one who had a sister you know, was horrid. He was quite angry when I said I couldn’t marry him.”

  “Weren’t the others angry?” asked Wilfred, seeking a guide to conduct in the improbable case of his sharing their fate.

  “Of course not. They were all divine. They are all married now, all except poor Jack Harvey who went mad.”

  “I shall go mad soon, like Jack Harvey,” said Wilfred.

  “You ought to fly to Paris by the first plane tomorrow morning and go straight to the Pasteur Institute then.”

  “Why?”

  “If poor Jack Harvey could have been treated at the Pasteur Institute he wouldn’t have died raving mad, but of course up near the frontier it was impossible. They shot the dog, a divine dog it was and would never have gone mad if that brute Major Berkeley hadn’t left it chained up in the sun while he was proposing to me, but of course it was too late.”

  “But I haven’t been bitten by a mad dog.”

  “Then you won’t go mad,” said Julia, nodding her pretty head with an air of finality.

  “Julia,” said Wilfred.

  “Yes.”

  “Julia.”

  “Well?”

  “Oh, Julia.”

  Julia had by now not the slightest doubt of what was coming. She got up and came over to Wilfred.

  “Dear boy,” she said with an oddly maternal air, laying her hand on his shoulder, “don’t say what you were going to say. Forget all about it. We will have divine times together and play golf:

  Wilfred turned an agonized face up to her.

  “Oh, Julia, I must. Hang it, I won’t be stopped. Julia, I do love you so frightfully. I don’t suppose anyone has ever loved anyone so much as I love you. It just gets worse and worse. Julia, I’m only earning three hundred a year at present, but it’s bound to be more later, or we could go to Kenya and I’d slave for you. I can’t go on bearing it any longer. Oh, Julia, Julia.”

  Julia was extremely sorry for Wilfred. Of all her rejected admirers, few had been so inarticulate and none so stricken. She had no fear that he would pine for more than a few days, or that he would blow his brains out, but the sight of his troubled young face with a flicker of firelight on it touched her strangely. Putting her hands over his mouth, she murmered, “Don’t say any more. It’s all impossible. But ever the best of friends. Can you say yes to that?”

  Wilfred, only conscious of her nearness and her warmth, was safe for a moment from all harm. He pressed her hand against his eyes and she could feel that his eyes were wet. Then without a word, he left her and going blindly into the drawing room luckily walked straight into Caroline who was tidying away some of the debris of the theatricals.

  “Wilfred,” she exclaimed, shocked at his appearance.

  “Are you alone?”

  “All the others have gone into the library except Hugh. He’s somewhere about. My dear, what has happened?”

  “She turned me down.”

  Caroline could think of no words of help. She had felt the hopelessness of Wilfred’s suit from the beginning. She poured out all the endearing and comforting words she could think of, but it was impossible to add to them a word of hope. Wilfred listened in silence, holding on to her hand tightly as if for safety. When her consolations had died away into murmurings of affectionate concern he took out a handkerchief and blew his nose violently.

  “I’m off now,” he said. “I may go to bed, or I may walk all night, but I’ll be back for breakfast. Don’t worry about me, Caroline. You’ve been an angel and I’ll never forget it.”

  Just as he got to the foot of the staircase, he met Hugh and a thought struck him.

  “I say, Hugh,” he began, glad now of his mother’s parsimony in the matter of staircase lights, “I want a word with you and this will do as well as any other time. Did you know that all the family except Caroline had Christmas cards from James.”

  “Like his blasted impertinence,” said Hugh.

  “And the postmark was Paris.”

  “My God. What did they all say?”

  “Well, by the special mercy of providence Anna was the only one who had the wits to notice it. She told me, and collected all the envelopes and burned them. If he comes here it can’t be helped, but Anna and I thought if you could get any news of him we would know what to prepare for. Do you think you could find out anything?”

  “I’ll do my best. I know James’ favorite bars and I’ll put a couple of newspaper men on to the job.”

  “It would be rotten if he came worrying Caroline,” said Wilfred. “She is so jolly decent.”

  “So you’ve found that out, have you? Where is she, do you know?”

  “In the drawing room. But you’ll not say anything about it, will you.”

  “Not a word.”

  Wilfred went upstairs to his room and changed into walking clothes, faintly comforted by the thought that he hadn’t forgotten to do his best for Caroline.

  Hugh found his cousin still tidying chairs and cushions. “Don’t knock yourself up, Caroline,” he said kindly. “You are always the Martha.”

  “Not a bit. Anna is the Martha. I really enjoy being domestic.”

  “I believe you do. I’ll get a drink and come back to you.”

  He went into the hall where the fire still gave enough light for him to get a whisky and soda. Then by the fire, he saw Julia sitting quietly on a cushion, her skirts billowing about her. “Hullo, Julia,” he said, “all alone?”

  “Yes,” said she in a voice so unlike her own that he hardly knew it. “All alone and a little sad.”

  “Why sad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I expect you do, but you won’t tell me.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Could I cure it?”

  “Do you think you could?” she asked, still in the sad voice of a disappointed child.

  “Certainly. This is the first time I have ever seen you in low spirits, and I just can’t bear it. Can I give you a sun, a moon, a star, to make you happy?”

  He held out his hand to her. She took it and rose to her feet. “I feel George would do this better than I can,” said Hugh, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. “He could hold you while you pirouetted twenty times and then fell into his arms.”

  “But I needn’t pirouette,” said Julia with great simplicity. “Come then,” said Hugh, who was still holding her at arms’ length. She l
et go his hand and with a child’s gravity walked up to him and raised her face. Hugh bent to her and kissed her hair.

  “You are so little,” he remarked, “that I shall never get down to your face.”

  Julia begged him to wait, and fetching a footstool, she stood upon it and kissed him heartily.

  “Well, my precious love,” said Hugh, lifting her down and making room for her beside him in a large chair, “I don’t suppose this is exactly a surprise to either of us, is it?”

  “Not a bit. Oh, Hugh, you are divine. Have you had heaps of love affairs?”

  “Have you?”

  “Only seven,” said Julia modestly, “at least really twelve, but that would make you thirteenth, so I won’t count the twelfth one, poor thing. But what about you? I asked first.”

  “One rather bad one called Susan, and millions and millions of small ones that didn’t count.”

  “I hate them all,” said Julia indolently.

  “That’s all right. Do you realize, my lovely adored Julia, that we are engaged and going to be married.”

  “Of course. What did you think I thought?”

  “Well, I never saw anyone take being proposed to as calmly as you did.”

  “If it comes to that, I have never seen anyone propose as calmly as you did. Oh, Hugh, it’s divine. Of course we mustn’t tell anyone till we’ve told Father.”

  “And I must tell Francis.”

  “Darling Francis, I adore him. Hugh, you haven’t lots of relations, have you?”

  “Not many. But there is Rose the parlormaid. She is equal to several relations.”

  “Never mind, she’ll like me. Hugh, that is twelve o’clock striking. I must find Father or he will think I am dead. Help me up,” she cried, giving Hugh both her hands. Hugh swung her to her feet and into his embrace. Caroline standing in the drawing room door saw the lovers in the light of the dying fire. Julia looking around saw Caroline outlined against the light room and slipping from Hugh’s side sped across the hall.

  “Darling Caroline, we’re engaged, isn’t it divine,” she cried, throwing her arms around Caroline, “and you are the very first to know, only you mustn’t tell anyone because of Father. I must tell him first. Are you pleased?”

  “Caroline, dear, please congratulate,” said Hugh coming up. “Just at the moment I feel as confused as a bad channel crossing, but everything is perfect and I am going to marry Julia. Are you pleased?

  “I hope you will both be happy,” said Caroline. “I hope you will be as happy as I once was – I can’t wish you better – and never know anything else.”

  Kissing Julia, she gently released herself and said, “I’m going to bed now, so good night darling Julia and darling Hugh. I think it was so dear of you to tell me first.”

  She stopped half-way across the hall to look back. Julia and Hugh were standing where she had left them, transfixed with love, living in each other’s eyes and names. She knew it all so well, and her deepest feeling was thankfulness that her own story had only been her peculiar misfortune, that young love and happiness were to be found everywhere, and here among those her heart most dwelt on. They moved away and she went on. On her way up, she knocked at Wilfred’s door. As there was no answer, she went in. His evening clothes lay in confusion about the room and his bed was untouched, so it was evident that he had gone off walking. Willingly would she have followed him, but she dared not. If Anna or Mrs. Danvers came to her door to say good night, there would be a fright, a scurry, a rousing and questioning of servants, and explanations next day. There were still a good many things women couldn’t do. And for some reason consideration for others was expected from them when no one expected it from men. As she lay awake, she deliberately set herself to forget the sight of Hugh and Julia in mutual adoration, and all night she walked in spirit upon the frosty downs, under the cold stars, hoping that the darkness would never lift.

  *

  Of all the parties interested, George Danvers perhaps got the purest enjoyment from the engagement. Had he not said in November that it looked like a case? It was his first plunge into the matrimonial stock exchange and he was intoxicated by the success of his prophetic powers.

  “I say, Caroline,” he remarked to his sister-in-law as she came into the breakfast room next morning, “do you remember me saying that Julia and Hugh looked like a case? After Colonel Beaton’s lecture it was.”

  Caroline remembered well.

  “I was quite right,” said George negligently. “They got engaged last night. All the rest of us were in the library when those two came walking in and by Jove, I spotted it at once. You can’t keep a thing like that from me. Old Intellect was a bit surprised and so was the maternal parent, but I wasn’t.”

  “What about Colonel Beaton?”

  “He was surprised all right, but he seemed quite pleased once the idea had got into his head. So he ought to be, getting Julia off with a fellow like Hugh.”

  Caroline agreed.

  “Well, Caroline,” said Mrs. Danvers, coming into the room, “I suppose George has told you the news. I had no idea anything was going on, but when the young people came into the library one couldn’t help guessing. I must think about wedding presents. You and Anna must help me.”

  “Are they to be married soon then?” asked Caroline.

  “Before Easter I think. Where are Wilfred and Anna?”

  “They’ve had their breakfast,” said George, “and gone off somewhere. Wilfred looked as if he were in for flu. Never saw him look so rotten.”

  This put Mrs. Danvers into a fine maternal ferment, which was only allayed by George offering to state on oath that though Wilfred looked rotten, he was sure he hadn’t got a temperature.

  “Did you feel his forehead?” asked their mother.

  “Oh, I say, Mother, I couldn’t do that. But I’ll swear he’s all right.”

  Mr. Danvers then joined them and Caroline heard for the third time the story of the engagement. She listened pleasantly, and then on the pretext of wanting Anna went into the hall. Anna was not in the hall, but glancing into the drawing room, Caroline saw Anna and Wilfred talking together by the fire. She went into the room, shutting the door behind her.

  “Good morning, Anna,” she said. “Are you all right, Wilfred?”

  “Yes. Look here, Caroline, do tell Anna not to fuss. Just because I went for a walk last night she thinks I’m in a melancholy decline.”

  “It was the most sensible thing he could do,” said Caroline with a fury that surprised her hearers and herself, “and I wish to God I could have gone too and walked myself to death.”

  Wilfred stared, uncomprehending. Anna did not dare to offer sympathy while Wilfred was there.

  “I mean, I had a bad night,” said Caroline, “and I might have slept better if I’d had a walk before I went to bed.”

  “Bad luck,” said Wilfred. “Look here, Caroline, what can I do? I know Hugh’s a decent fellow and has heaps of brains, but when Anna told me this morning what had happened, I thought I’d go mad. It was hard luck to be turned down last night, but I didn’t think she was waiting for Hugh. I don’t blame her, but it’s enough to make a chap a bit queer, and now we’ve got a week more at Beechwood with fussing and congratulating. I can’t bear it. I’ll go up to town and find some fellows and have a burst.”

  “No, don’t,” said Caroline. “It will upset your people frightfully if you leave them for no reason. If I promise to arrange some way of your getting away tomorrow, will you promise not to go today?”

  “All right.”

  “There’s that hockey match this afternoon,” said Anna, “and the parents are dining with the Dean of Barchester tonight, so we can be quite to ourselves. I’ll get you sandwiches if you want to cut lunch.”

  “Thanks awfully, both of you,” said Wilfred, a little cheered.

  “What can I say, darling?” asked Anna when Wilfred had left them.

  “Say? That it serves me right for being forward and loving without
encouragement. One shouldn’t, you know.”

  “When they came into the library last night I knew at once what had happened and I was wretched for you. I went up to your room to see you, but I thought you would hate me, so I came away.” Caroline was thankful that she had not gone out onto the hills. If Anna had come in, what infinite worry there would have been.

  “I didn’t hear you,” she said. “But I wouldn’t hate you, Anna, however often you came to see me. Oh, it’s no good pretending that I didn’t feel mortally wounded. You see, I saw Hugh and Julia together last night before they went to the library and they told me. Anna, I can truly say that I was glad. No one could envy Julia anything. Pretty creature, she is meant to have what she wants. She ought never to have troubles and I don’t suppose she will. There are people like that. And as for Hugh – why I naturally want him to have what he wants. If I had happened to be the object—” she said with a wry smile, “but I wasn’t. And I can’t imagine a better object for either of them than the other. Grief seems to be affecting my grammar a bit, but you know what I mean. I wouldn’t really have done for Hugh. He needs someone who is young and alive and can respond to all his restless ways. I am a tired, stupid woman, Anna, and I couldn’t dance and dine and visit and travel. Julia can do everything. Anna, you have been so dear to me, and we won’t talk about it ever again. Now I am going to see what I can do for Wilfred. Did you know he cared so much for Julia? I didn’t till two days ago.”

  “No, I knew nothing. But this morning I went to his room about half-past seven to ask him about that awful girl of the butcher’s to fill up the hockey team, and he was sitting there in his clothes looking quite worn out. He was too tired to keep his secret, poor boy. So I got breakfast hurried up and fed him.”

  “You bear everybody’s burdens as usual,” said Caroline, “but you shan’t bear mine anymore. I won’t have any. You know I’m not playing hockey? Dr. Herbert was slightly disagreeable about it, so I said I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, I know. He told me. That’s why I wanted the butcher’s dreadful daughter.”

  But when Caroline had gone, Anna sat thinking. Her first thought when Hugh and Julia had come in, bursting with love and secrecy, had been of such pure compassion for Caroline that she had not considered the effect on herself. Now she began to wonder how Caroline would feel about Francis. As long as Hugh was free, Caroline might dream and hope, but Anna knew that her sister-in-law would never allow herself to dream any dream that might bring hurt to Hugh or Julia. Therefore, she argued, determined to face the worst, Caroline, subduing her thoughts as far as lay in her power, might as time passed turn to Francis for comfort. And to be comforted was Caroline’s right. I don’t really deserve it, was Anna’s thought, because I have never had that happiness to lose. If Caroline could master her heart and only wish good to Hugh and Julia, surely she also could master her heart and only wish good to Francis and Caroline. It was Francis who gave Caroline to her care. To go on helping Caroline would be a way of showing love for Francis.