Ring in the New

by Phyllis Bentley

  On Wednesday morning, however, things began to happen. He awoke to pain, but restored more nearly to his normal power of thought, and at once began to reproach himself for the idiotic anti-climax of his Demo adventure. To end up wounded by an accident, and hospitalised some two hundred and fifty miles from his home and work, was really too silly. He reproached himself and, as so often before, began to question his own motives in undertaking the action. He had not settled these to his own satisfaction, and had only just completed, with the dark nurse’s aid, his morning ablutipns, when a visitor was announced. This proved to be the Vice-Chancellor of Lorimer University.

  ‘I came up for a meeting yesterday. I thought I would drop in and see you. I must hurry off for my train,’ said he.

  Jonathan gazed at him in astonishment. The massive academic head, the spare erect figure, the look of accustomed authority, the urbane speech, indeed the well-cut, well brushed town suit, made a striking contrast with the starched print and cheerful brevities of the nurses.

  ‘How did you know I was here, sir?’

  ‘Oh, good staff work on the part of my admirable secretary. Tell me quickly how this accident happened.’

  ‘A flying pole from a banner hit my head.’

  ‘Poles don’t fly without human propulsion. I presume somebody threw it.’

  ‘It was thrown up in the air, I believe.’

  ‘By a student?’

  ‘Yes.

  ‘A genuine accident?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jonathan wondered uneasily whether Mellor or some other demonstrating student had revealed Jonathan’s whereabouts, and by doing so revealed his own participation.

  ‘I still don’t quite understand how you located me,’ he began.

  ‘Your picture was in all the northern newspapers,’ said the Vice-Chancellor. ‘With the pole just clashing with your head. Very striking illustration.’ His tone was grim and Jonathan coloured.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he began again.

  ‘You may well be.’

  ‘If you intend to follow the Guildford example,’ said Jonathan firmly, referring to the case of the Guildford Art College, where forty teachers had been dismissed for their assistance in a student sit-in: ‘I should be grateful to know it at once.’

  ‘My dear young man,’ said the Vice-Chancellor in a tone between irritation and amusement: ‘I haven’t the slightest desire to terminate your contract. Your work at Lorimer has been good—I might almost say, very good. But the Senate won’t care for assistant lecturers who take part in student demonstrations and tangle with the police.’

  ‘I didn’t tangle with the police.’

  ‘Do you give me your word on that?’

  ‘Certainly. The Lorimer students had no intention of committing any violence of any kind. We arranged that in the coach,’ said Jonathan eagerly.

  The Vice-Chancellor seemed to receive this with some reserve.

  ‘You’re picture in the papers wasn’t a good argument for that thesis,’ he said drily.

  ‘I can assure you, however, that it was the fact’

  ‘How long are you going to be in here?’

  ‘About a week, I should think.’

  ‘Nothing seriously wrong?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, come and see me when you get back.’

  ‘Do you think you will be able to reassure the Senate, sir?’ enquired Jonathan in some anxiety.

  ‘Possibly,’ said the Vice-Chancellor, departing.

  He gave a sudden grin as he spoke, however, and it occurred to Jonathan that it would be a bold Senate which went against this Vice-Chancellor’s wishes. He smiled, disapproving of the hint of ‘influence’, but reassured.

  His next visitor was ushered in with a smile so approving that it had the effect of a red carpet. The man’s strong stocky figure in solid dark coat and suit, new trilby and fur-lined gloves appeared at a distance unfamiliar; it was only when he drew near the bed that Jonathan exclaimed with pleasure:

  ‘G.B.!’

  ‘Jonathan! I am sorry to see you here. I would have come yesterday, but business in the House,’ began the man whom Mellor had stigmatised as one of those old fossils. They shook hands.

  ‘Of course, you’re a member of Parliament now; congratulations. Let me see, which is your seat?’

  G.B. mentioned the name of his constituency, a northern industrial town with a large Labour majority. He looked so happy as he named it, so well satisfied, that Jonathan smiled with pleasure.

  ‘You look very prosperous, G.B. Very different from the Luddite Mellor of 1812,’ he said.

  G.B. frowned. ‘You would prefer us to look starving and ragged so that you could feel compassion for us, Jonathan,’ he said stiffly. ‘But we don’t want your pity. We have strength and power and deserve your respect.’

  ‘In a word, you are the masters now.’

  ‘Why not? We haven’t forgotten our ideals all the same.’

  ‘How would you define them exactly?’

  ‘The protection of the right of the ordinary people to have opportunity, security and education for the standard they are fitted to take. I don’t want capitalism to have control.’

  ‘A quotation, I believe,’ said Jonathan, recognising the tone.

  ‘Certainly. From Brother Cousins. I don’t hesitate to quote from a better man than myself.’

  ‘He’s not a favourite of mine,’ said Jonathan frankly. ‘I agree with his definition, of course, but tell me about the House of Commons. How do you like being there? Do you regret having given up your electronics? I suppose if Labour loses the next election you’ll return to your profession?’

  ‘Labour won’t lose the next election,’ said G.B. smugly. ‘You won’t see a Tory government in power in your lifetime, Jonathan.’

  ‘Well, that remains to be seen.’

  ‘Don’t say you’ve changed sides and gone over to them, like Chuff!’ exclaimed Mellor in disgust.

  His horror was so great that Jonathan laughed. ‘I remain what I’ve always been, a floating voter,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a pitiful position,’ said Mellor strongly.

  ‘Still, I’m the sort of chap who swings elections and changes governments when they need to be changed,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘you should stand up and be counted for what you believe in.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I do.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t come here to talk polities,’ said G.B. in a tone of kindly condescension. ‘Your picture was in all the papers, so I come to see how you are. What were you doing in Grosvenor Square?’

  ‘I was marching with the demonstrators.’

  ‘That was very foolish, Jonathan,’ said G.B. as before.

  ‘I seem to remember you approved of my marching with the C.N.D. against the bomb.’

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘Why? But never mind,’ said Jonathan hastily, not wanting another political declaration. ‘Tell me—your father’s uncle, David Mellor—did he leave any descendants?’

  ‘He was killed on the Marne, very young. He wasn’t married.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jonathan, nodding, and he decided to leave the Mellor relationships alone. Let them find each other if they could.

  The nod gave him an uncomfortable twinge of pain, and he involuntarily allowed his head to sink back on his pillows.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you? I’m right down sorry to see you in this pickle, Jonathan,’ said Mellor, reverting to the idiom of their native county.

  ‘No. I’m all right. Thank you for coming to see me.’

  They fell to talking of their young days in Annotsfield, and especially of Henry Morcar.

  ‘I disapproved of him in every way, but he was a fine man for all that,’ said G.B.

  ‘I agree. He knew his own mind and acted on it.’

  ‘He did that’

  ‘He was an artist in textiles.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘My mothe
r and I received immense kindness at his hands.’

  ‘There were reasons for that, as I understand,’ said G.B. diffidently.

  ‘Yes. But my mother was not his daughter, as some people believed.’

  ‘Ah,’ said G.B. discreetly, nodding.

  The Jamaican nurse pit her head round the door.

  ‘There are some other visitors to see you, Mr Oldroyd,’ she said, beaming.

  ‘I’d best be off, then,’ said G.B.

  He rose, shook hands with Jonathan and stated his London address and telephone number. The slight delay in his departure which this caused, brought Chuff into the room before he left it.

  ‘G.B.,’ exclaimed chuff.

  ‘Chuff.’

  Both men spoke coldly and gave each other a hostile stare.

  ‘Well, I’ll be off,’ said G.B. He put on his hat and left with an abrupt and determined air.

  ‘So here you are. Your picture was in all the papers’ said Chuff, advancing to his cousin’s bedside.

  ‘I know,’ said Jonathan with a sigh.

  ‘I would have come yesterday—I would have come on Monday,’ said Chuff with emphasis: ‘I telephoned, you know, but Susie would insist on coming too, and of course I had to fetch her and——’

  ‘Susie!’ exclaimed Jonathan. He sat up energetically. He felt as if he were suddenly alive again, warmly human after being encased for months in ice. ‘Susie! Is she—here?’

  ‘I’ll say she is,’ said Chuff grimly. ‘And not only Susie. I’ve got the whole caboodle with me. Suise would come, and then somehow the twins got to know—I’m afraid it was probably through young Hal, who is not particularly noted for discretion. So I had to bring them. Well, of course, I couldn’t manage Susie and the twins alone, so I had to bring Ruth to look after them. Then you should have heard the howl my pair set up—you could have heard it all the way down the Ire Valley to Annotsfield. So Ruth insisted on bringing them, though they would have been quite all right left at home.’

  ‘I’m afraid it has been a costly affair for you,’ said Jonathan politely.

  ‘Oh, pooh.’

  ‘What about Mother?’

  ‘She’s in bed with ‘flu, and Uncle Nat hasn’t told her of your misadventure.’

  ‘Perhaps it was you,’ said Jonathan, suddenly enlightened, ‘who had me moved into this agreeable private room?’

  ‘Well, yes. I telephoned the hospital and asked them to shunt you.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’ll kindly have me shunted back into the ward,’ exploded Jonathan, furious. ‘I don’t ever wish to enjoy any privilege.’

  ‘Jonathan, you are an ass,’ said Chuff with emphasis.

  ‘Then kindly allow me to be an ass in my own way.’

  ‘Oh, certainly. You’ve done that already, anyway.’

  ‘Susie!’ cried Jonathan, unable to control his impatience any longer.

  Chuff’s face softened.

  ‘Well, forgive me, old chap,’ he said: ‘But we’re using a device or two to keep Susie away for a few minutes. I felt I had to see you first, to see how you look, you know. We don’t want Susie to have another shock, do we? Like when she saw Father,’ he added in a murmur.

  ‘And how do I look?’ enquired Jonathan.

  ‘Oh, not bad, not bad at all,’ said Chuff heartily. ‘That bandage covers you up nicely.’

  ‘Then let me see Susie,’ said Jonathan in a loud tone and with great precision.

  ‘I’ll fetch her.’

  At this moment, however, the door burst open and the four children charged into the room. The two boys coming in first, being commanded rather fiercely by Chuff to stand aside and make no noise, surprisingly obeyed, and stood by the washstand gazing in some awe at their bandaged uncle. The twins in bright blue tights and fur-collared suéde coats to match, obviously winter wear provided by Ruth, rushed to the bed and threw themselves upon, it, Linda as usual laughing merrily, Amanda with a quiet but ecstatic smile. They tucked themselves into Jonathan’s arms and Linda began an excited and incoherent but vivid account of their journey to London, into which dogs, boys, porters and men in white coats intruded. Amanda mildly corrected her from time to time; it was a black dog, there were two men in white coats, it was Uncle Chuff who said—and so on. Looking from one to the other, Jonathan could not decide which was the more beautiful. He hugged them both. Ruth now came in, looking more matronly, more dignified, more tastefully dressed and altogether handsome, though a trifle less cheerful, than Jonathan remembered her. She offered her hand.

  ‘Thank you for everything, Ruth,’ said Jonathan, clasping it.

  He spoke in haste, for the Jamaican nurse, having looked in and withdrawn at once in alarm, had fetched higher authority to cope with the clamour, and it was now the ward sister, in all her awful authority, as Jonathan reflected with amusement, who entered the room.

  ‘This won’t do. This noise is bad for the patient. You will all leave the room at once—except,’ conceded Sister as Susie appeared in the doorway, ‘Mrs Oldroyd.’

  Ruth took her sons’ hands and led them away. Chuff picked Linda off the bed into his arms and carried her out. Amanda quietly followed. Susie came forward and entered her husband’s line of vision. Jonathan with a deep emotional exclamation sat erect and held out his arms and Susie hurled herself into them. They embraced with passion, kissing and embracing with all their strength. Susie, dressed (as usual with exquisite simplicity) in a suit of an off-white colour, seemed even more beautiful than her husband remembered her. She wept tears of joy, and in her starry eyes Jonathan read not the blank and frightened stare to which he had become accustomed, but the loving gaze of a woman in full command of her senses. They murmured endearments.

  ‘My darling, how I have missed you!’

  They said each other’s names as if they were music, and the surrounding scene, which had appeared so bleak and dull lately to Jonathan, was suddenly aswirl with rich colour.

  ‘I shall look after you now, Jonathan,’ said Susie fondly.

  ‘Yes, yes!’

  They were still in the first ecstasy of reunion when Chuff came back into the room and stood looking at them with an expression of slightly sardonic pleasure.

  ‘I’ll take the twins home till you’re a bit more settled,’ he said: ‘But I’ll get one of the Hamsun people from our London office to put Susie up for a few days, then she can come and visit you regularly, Jonathan. O.K.?’

  ‘I’d rather stay in a hotel near this hospital.’ said Susie.

  ‘I don’t like to leave you alone,’ hesitated Chuff.

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t much money with me,’ began Jonathan.

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ said Chuff.

  ‘This must end,’ said Sister, appearing again with a cross look. ‘I can’t have my patient upset like this.’

  ‘It hasn’t done me any harm, Sister, I assure you,’’ said Jonathan.

  ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to leave, Mrs Oldroyd,’ said Sister severely.

  Susie with a sigh gave Jonathan a farewell kiss and rose—her movements were so graceful that Jonathan read a softening of appreciation even in the nurse’s frown. Chuff hung back as Susie left the room, and it seemed to Jonathan that he exchanged a meaning look with Sister. He fidgeted with his tie, then approached the bed, drew a chair close, and sat for a few moments in sober silence, his hands hanging between his knees.

  ‘Seeing you like this seems almost to have done Susie good,’ he said presently.

  ‘Yes. Perhaps it has broken her dream as we say. She expected to see my mutilated body, like her father’s, and found me instead alive and cheerful. It has destroyed, or at any rate mitigated, her fear of the accidents of life.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Chuff.

  ‘And I think she feels now that I need her and that she can cope with that need.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure that is so,’ said Chuff with more conviction.

  ‘I will find someone to take the care of the children off her hands.’

/>   ‘Yes.’ He fell into silence again.

  ‘Well, come, what is it?’ said Jonathan at length.

  ‘Well, Jonathan, I must tell you—perhaps better me than the doctor—I don’t know—anyway, here it is,’ said Chuff. He spoke as if intensely embarrassed, and to Jonathan’s astonishment drops of sweat broke out on his forehead. ‘Jonathan. You’ve lost an eye.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Of course the other eye is perfectly good. It will adapt itself after a time to single vision. You’ll be able to read and all that—only perhaps with more care, less hours of use, I mean. No driving, I’m afraid. Susie’—Chuff gulped—‘knows.’

  The shock was so appalling that for a moment Jonathan, stunned, was unable to speak. Then suddenly he felt that he must talk—about something else. He could not possibly mention his sight. But he must talk of something. He must conceal his anguish, he must direct attention away from this frightful catastrophe. The words babbled from his lips…

  ‘You saw G.B. here, didn’t you. So all three Luddite descendants were here. Your name’s Morcar, Chuff, mine is Oldroyd, but I always think of you as more of an Oldroyd than I am.’

  ‘My mother was an Oldroyd, after all said Chuff stolidly, accepting this conversational gambit with relief, but carefully not meeting his cousin’s glance. ‘I always think of you as more of a Bamforth, Jonathan. Full of idealistic notions like the original Joe Bamforth. After all, you’re descended from Joe’s sister.’

  ‘We haven’t made much progress in the hundred and fifty odd years since 1812,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘Oh, surelyl’ began Chuff, ‘Everything’s changed—’