Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  James looked at her with a good-tempered stare.

  “Upon my word,” he said to himself, “I never knew I was so patient.”

  “I can’t beat about the bush any longer,” continued the Vicar’s lady; “I have a very painful duty to perform.”

  “That quite excuses your hesitation.”

  “You must guess why I have asked to see you alone.”

  “I haven’t the least idea.”

  “Does your conscience say nothing to you?”

  “My conscience is very well-bred. It never says unpleasant things.”

  “Then I’m sincerely sorry for you.”

  James smiled.

  “Oh, my good woman,” he thought, “if you only knew what a troublesome spirit I carry about with me!”

  But Mrs. Jackson saw only hardness of heart in the grave face; she never dreamed that behind those quiet eyes was a turmoil of discordant passions, tearing, rending, burning.

  “I’m sorry for you,” she repeated. “I think it’s very sad, very sad indeed, that you should stand there and boast of the sluggishness of your conscience. Conscience is the voice of God, Captain Parsons; if it does not speak to you, it behoves others to speak in its place.”

  “And supposing I knew what you wanted to say, do you think I should like to hear?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then don’t you think discretion points to silence?”

  “No, Captain Parsons. There are some things which one is morally bound to say, however distasteful they may be.”

  “The easiest way to get through life is to say pleasant things on all possible occasions.”

  “That is not my way, and that is not the right way.”

  “I think it rash to conclude that a course is right merely because it is difficult. Likewise an uncivil speech is not necessarily a true one.”

  “I repeat that I did not come here to bandy words with you.”

  “My dear Mrs. Jackson, I have been wondering why you did not come to the point at once.”

  “You have been wilfully interrupting me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I thought I had been making a series of rather entertaining observations.”

  “Captain Parsons, what does your conscience say to you about Mary Clibborn?”

  James looked at Mrs. Jackson very coolly, and she never imagined with what difficulty he was repressing himself.

  “I thought you said your subject was of national concern. Upon my word, I thought you proposed to hold a thanksgiving service in Little Primpton Church for the success of the British arms.”

  “Well, you know different now,” retorted Mrs. Jackson, with distinct asperity. “I look upon your treatment of Mary Clibborn as a matter which concerns us all.”

  “Then, as politely as possible, I must beg to differ from you. I really cannot permit you to discuss my private concerns. You have, doubtless, much evil to say of me; say it behind my back.”

  “I presumed that you were a gentleman, Captain Parsons.”

  “You certainly presumed.”

  “And I should be obliged if you would treat me like a lady.”

  James smiled. He saw that it was folly to grow angry.

  “We’ll do our best to be civil to one another, Mrs. Jackson. But I don’t think you must talk of what really is not your business.”

  “D’you think you can act shamefully and then slink away as soon as you are brought to book? Do you know what you’ve done to Mary Clibborn?”

  “Whatever I’ve done, you may be sure that I have not acted rashly. Really, nothing you can say will make the slightest difference. Don’t you think we had better bring our conversation to an end?”

  James made a movement towards the door.

  “Your father and mother wish me to speak with you, Colonel Parsons,” said Mrs. Jackson. “And they wish you to listen to what I have to say.”

  James paused. “Very well.”

  He sat down and waited. Mrs. Jackson felt unaccountably nervous; it had never occurred to her that a mere soldier could be so hard to deal with, and it was she who hesitated now. Jamie’s stern eyes made her feel singularly like a culprit; but she cleared her throat and straightened herself.

  “It’s very sad,” she said, “to find how much we’ve been mistaken in you, Captain Parsons. When we were making all sorts of preparations to welcome you, we never thought that you would repay us like this. It grieves me to have to tell you that you have done a very wicked thing. I was hoping that your conscience would have something to say to you, but unhappily I was mistaken. You induced Mary to become engaged to you; you kept her waiting for years; you wrote constantly, pretending to love her, deceiving her odiously; you let her waste the best part of her life, and then, without excuse and without reason, you calmly say that you’re sick of her, and won’t marry her. I think it is horrible, and brutal, and most ungentlemanly. Even a common man wouldn’t have behaved in that way. Of course, it doesn’t matter to you, but it means the ruin of Mary’s whole life. How can she get a husband now when she’s wasted her best years? You’ve spoilt all her chances. You’ve thrown a slur upon her which people will never forget. You’re a cruel, wicked man, and however you won the Victoria Cross I don’t know; I’m sure you don’t deserve it.”

  Mrs. Jackson stopped.

  “Is that all?” asked James, quietly.

  “It’s quite enough.”

  “Quite! In that case, I think we may finish our little interview.”

  “Have you nothing to say?” asked Mrs. Jackson indignantly, realising that she had not triumphed after all.

  “I? Nothing.”

  Mrs. Jackson was perplexed, and still those disconcerting eyes were fixed upon her; she angrily resented their polite contempt.

  “Well, I think it’s disgraceful!” she cried. “You must be utterly shameless!”

  “My dear lady, you asked me to listen to you, and I have. If you thought I was going to argue, I’m afraid you were mistaken. But since you have been very frank with me, you can hardly mind if I am equally frank with you. I absolutely object to the way in which not only you, but all the persons who took part in that ridiculous function the other day, talk of my private concerns. I am a perfect stranger to you, and you have no business to speak to me of my engagement with Miss Clibborn or the rupture of it. Finally, I would remark that I consider your particular interference a very gross piece of impertinence. I am sorry to have to speak so directly, but apparently nothing but the very plainest language can have any effect upon you.”

  Then Mrs. Jackson lost her temper.

  “Captain Parsons, I am considerably older than you, and you have no right to speak to me like that. You forget that I am a lady; and if I didn’t know your father and mother, I should say that you were no gentleman. And you forget also that I come here on the part of God. You are certainly no Christian. You’ve been very rude to me, indeed.”

  “I didn’t mean to be,” replied James, smiling.

  “If I’d known you would be so rude to a lady, I should have sent Archibald to speak with you.”

  “Perhaps it’s fortunate you didn’t. I might have kicked him.”

  “Captain Parsons, he’s a minister of the gospel.”

  “Surely it is possible to be that without being a malicious busybody.”

  “You’re heartless and vain! You’re odiously conceited.”

  “I should have thought it a proof of modesty that for half an hour I have listened to you with some respect and with great attention.”

  “I must say in my heart I’m glad that Providence has stepped in and prevented Mary from marrying you. You are a bad man. And I leave you now to the mercies of your own conscience; I am a Christian woman, thank Heaven! and I forgive you. But I sincerely hope that God will see fit to punish you for your wickedness.”

  Mrs. Jackson bounced to the door, which James very politely opened.

  “Oh, don’t trouble!” she said, with a sarcastic shake of the head. “I can f
ind my way out alone, and I shan’t steal the umbrellas.”

  XIII

  Major Forsyth arrived in time for tea, red-faced, dapper, and immaculate. He wore a check suit, very new and very pronounced, with a beautiful line down each trouser-leg; and his collar and his tie were of the latest mode. His scanty hair was carefully parted in the middle, and his moustache bristled with a martial ardour. He had lately bought a fine set of artificial teeth, which, with pardonable pride, he constantly exhibited to the admiration of all and sundry. Major Forsyth’s consuming desire was to appear juvenile; he affected slang, and carried himself with a youthful jauntiness. He vowed he felt a mere boy, and flattered himself that on his good days, with the light behind him, he might pass for five-and-thirty.

  “A woman,” he repeated— “a woman is as old as she looks; but a man is as old as he feels!”

  The dandiness which in a crammer’s pup — most overdressed of all the human race — would merely have aroused a smile, looked oddly with the Major’s wrinkled skin and his old eyes. There was something almost uncanny in the exaggerated boyishness; he reminded one of some figure in a dance of death, of a living skeleton, hollow-eyed, strutting gaily by the side of a gallant youth.

  It was not difficult to impose upon the Parsons, and Major Forsyth had gained over them a complete ascendancy. They took his opinion on every possible matter, accepting whatever he said with gratified respect. He was a man of the world, and well acquainted with the goings-on of society. They had an idea that he disappointed duchesses to come down to Little Primpton, and always felt that it was a condescension on his part to put up with their simple manners. They altered their hours; luncheon was served at the middle of the day, and dinner in the evening.

  Mrs. Parsons put on a Sabbath garment of black silk to receive her brother, and round her neck a lace fichu. When he arrived with Colonel Parsons from the station, she went into the hall to meet him.

  “Well, William, have you had a pleasant journey?”

  “Oh, yes, yes! I came down with the prettiest woman I’ve seen for many a long day. I made eyes at her all the way, but she wouldn’t look at me.”

  “William, William!” expostulated Mr. Parsons, smiling.

  “You see he hasn’t improved since we saw him last, Frances,” laughed the Colonel, leading the way into the drawing-room.

  “No harm in looking at a pretty woman, you know. I’m a bachelor still, thank the Lord! That reminds me of a funny story I heard at the club.”

  “Oh, we’re rather frightened of your stories, William,” said Mrs. Parsons.

  “Yes, you’re very risky sometimes,” assented the Colonel, good-humouredly shaking his head.

  Major Forsyth was anecdotal, as is only decent in an old bachelor, and he made a speciality of stories which he thought wicked, but which, as a matter of fact, would not have brought a blush to any cheek less innocent than that of Colonel Parsons.

  “There’s no harm in a little spice,” said Uncle William. “And you’re a married woman, Frances.”

  He told an absolutely pointless story of how a man had helped a young woman across the street, and seen her ankle in the process. He told it with immense gusto, laughing and repeating the point at least six times.

  “William, William!” laughed Colonel Parsons, heartily. “You should keep those things for the smoking-room.”

  “What d’you think of it, Frances?” asked the gallant Major, still hugely enjoying the joke.

  Mrs. Parsons blushed a little, and for decency’s sake prevented herself from smiling; she felt rather wicked.

  “I don’t want to hear any more of your tales, William.”

  “Ha, ha!” laughed Uncle William, “I knew you’d like it. And that one I told you in the fly, Richmond — you know, about the petticoat.”

  “Sh-sh!” said the Colonel, smiling. “You can’t tell that to a lady.”

  “P’r’aps I’d better not. But it’s a good story, though.”

  They both laughed.

  “I think it’s dreadful the things you men talk about as soon as you’re alone,” said Mrs. Parsons.

  The two God-fearing old soldiers laughed again, admitting their wickedness.

  “One must talk about something,” said Uncle William. “And upon my word, I don’t know anything better to talk about than the fair sex.”

  Soon James appeared, and shook hands with his uncle.

  “You’re looking younger than ever, Uncle William. You make me feel quite old.”

  “Oh, I never age, bless you! Why, I was talking to my old friend, Lady Green, the other day — she was a Miss Lake, you know — and she said to me: ‘Upon my word, Major Forsyth, you’re wonderful. I believe you’ve found the secret of perpetual youth.’ ‘The fact is,’ I said, ‘I never let myself grow old. If you once give way to it, you’re done.’ ‘How do you manage it?’ she said. ‘Madam,’ I answered, ‘it’s the simplest thing in the world. I keep regular hours, and I wear flannel next to my skin.’”

  “Come, come, Uncle William,” said James, with a smile. “You didn’t mention your underlinen to a lady!”

  “Upon my word, I’m telling you exactly what I said.”

  “You’re very free in your conversation.”

  “Well, you know, I find the women expect it from me. Of course, I never go beyond the line.”

  Then Major Forsyth talked of the fashions, and of his clothes, of the scandal of the day, and the ancestry of the persons concerned, of the war.

  “You can say what you like,” he remarked, “but my opinion is that Roberts is vastly overrated. I met at the club the other day a man whose first cousin has served under Roberts in India — his first cousin, mind you, so it’s good authority — and this chap told me, in strict confidence, of course, that his first cousin had no opinion of Roberts. That’s what a man says who has actually served under him.”

  “It is certainly conclusive,” said James. “I wonder your friend’s first cousin didn’t go to the War Office and protest against Bobs being sent out.”

  “What’s the good of going to the War Office? They’re all corrupt and incompetent there. If I had my way, I’d make a clean sweep of them. Talking of red-tape, I’ll just give you an instance. Now, this is a fact. It was told me by the brother-in-law of the uncle of the man it happened to.”

  Major Forsyth told his story at great length, finishing up with the assertion that if the army wasn’t going to the dogs, he didn’t know what going to the dogs meant.

  James, meanwhile, catching the glances which passed between his mother and Colonel Parsons, understood that they were thinking of the great subject upon which Uncle William was to be consulted. Half scornfully he gave them their opportunity.

  “I’m going for a stroll,” he said, “through Groombridge. I shan’t be back till dinner-time.”

  “How lucky!” remarked Colonel Parsons naively, when James had gone. “We wanted to talk with you privately, William. You’re a man of the world.”

  “I think there’s not much that I don’t know,” replied the Major, shooting his linen.

  “Tell him, Frances.”

  Mrs. Parsons, accustomed to the part of spokeswoman, gave her tale, interrupted now and again by a long whistle with which the Major signified his shrewdness, or by an energetic nod which meant that the difficulty was nothing to him.

  “You’re quite right,” he said at last; “one has to look upon these things from the point of view of the man of the world.”

  “We knew you’d be able to help us,” said Colonel Parsons.

  “Of course! I shall settle the whole thing in five minutes. You leave it to me.”

  “I told you he would, Frances,” cried the Colonel, with a happy smile. “You think that James ought to marry the girl, don’t you?”

  “Certainly. Whatever his feelings are, he must act as a gentleman and an officer. Just you let me talk it over with him. He has great respect for all I say; I’ve noticed that already.”

  Mrs. Pars
ons looked at her brother doubtfully.

  “We haven’t known what to do,” she murmured. “We’ve prayed for guidance, haven’t we, Richmond? We’re anxious not to be hard on the boy, but we must be just.”

  “Leave it to me,” repeated Uncle William. “I’m a man of the world, and I’m thoroughly at home in matters of this sort.”

  According to the little plan which, in his subtlety, Major Forsyth had suggested, Mrs. Parsons, soon after dinner, fetched the backgammon board.

  “Shall we have our usual game, Richmond?”

  Colonel Parsons looked significantly at his brother-in-law.

  “If William doesn’t mind?”

  “No, no, of course not! I’ll have a little chat with Jamie.”

  The players sat down at the corner of the table, and rather nervously began to set out the men. James stood by the window, silent as ever, looking at the day that was a-dying, with a milk-blue sky and tenuous clouds, copper and gold. Major Forsyth took a chair opposite him, and pulled his moustache.

  “Well, Jamie, my boy, what is all this nonsense I hear about you and Mary Clibborn?”

  Colonel Parsons started at the expected question, and stole a hurried look at his son. His wife noisily shook the dice-box and threw the dice on the board.

  “Nine!” she said.

  James turned to look at his uncle, noting a little contemptuously the change of his costume, and its extravagant juvenility.

  “A lot of stuff and nonsense, isn’t it?”

  “D’you think so?” asked James, wearily. “We’ve been taking it very seriously.”

  “You’re a set of old fogies down here. You want a man of the world to set things right.”

  “Ah, well, you’re a man of the world, Uncle William,” replied James, smiling.

  The dice-box rattled obtrusively as Colonel Parsons and his wife played on with elaborate unconcern of the conversation.

  “A gentleman doesn’t jilt a girl when he’s been engaged to her for five years.”

  James squared himself to answer Major Forsyth. The interview with Mrs. Jackson in the morning had left him extremely irritated. He was resolved to say now all he had to say and have done with it, hoping that a complete explanation would relieve the tension between his people and himself.