by Ann Bridge
‘Do you think she knows?’
‘No one knows, yet. You asked me what I thought.’
‘I know. Oh, poor David!’ Wheatley said, with infinite sadness in his voice. ‘But Martha, if he does pass out before we get moving, you must arrange to keep it absolutely dark. There are all sorts of regulations against carrying corpses on trains except in a coffin, in a special van, and with a Leichen-Begleiter, a corpse-escort!’ Even in his distress he laughed a little at the German phrase.
‘Oh yes, I see’ Martha said. ‘H’m.’ She reflected. ‘Of course, this is the frontier; they might turn him out to stay in Hungary, might they?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But that’s impossible! Rosina would insist on staying too, and then we should be in the soup. Would it be any good trying to get a doctor, here?’
‘Quite hopeless, I should say. He’d probably only be a sort of vet, and it would lead to more complications. Better wait till we’re in Russia, and try at Lwow or Tarnopol – they’re big towns.’
‘What happens if we’re actually in Russia? – if he should die, I mean?’
‘Even there I think we’d better pretend he’s only ill. But we shall have longish halts at Lwow and Kiev, and Dickie or I ought to be able to get onto the Embassy and say what’s happened – if it does happen – and they will be able to fix something, I suppose. God, what a place for him to get taken ill!’
‘Horrible’ Martha said. ‘And I’m afraid he’s really in a bad way. Horace, I think I must put all this up to Rosina. She won’t lose her head, but she ought to know what is involved.’
‘Yes, right, you tell her. But oughtn’t you to get to bed yourself? What’s your temperature?’
‘Damn my temperature!’ Martha exclaimed. ‘I shan’t die – one doesn’t die of ’flu, at my age. I shall stay with Rosina, at least till we get moving.’
After further argument with the train-boys Wheatley went off and lay down, fully dressed, in his sleeper; Martha went back to David’s compartment.
‘Rosina, come outside for a minute.’
Rosina went.
‘He seems quite comfortable’ she said, as they stood in the corridor.
‘I’m so glad. But listen —’ and she repeated to Mrs Eynsham what Horace had just told her.
‘I understand’ Rosina said, on a long breath. ‘ALL right.’ Suddenly she choked back a sob. ‘Why does Horace think he’s going to die?’
‘He doesn’t. Only he knows how David’s gone on and on working when he wasn’t fit for it, and should have stayed in the Szanatorium and kept quiet – and he has been upset twice today; I expect that’s what brought this attack on. Horace only wanted you to be warned, in case anything should happen’ she said carefully. ‘That makes sense, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh yes. Thank you for telling me, Martha.’ Then she too asked about the possibility of getting a doctor?
‘Horace thinks that’s hopeless here – there wouldn’t be a decent one. I asked him, and he said better wait and try at some big town in Russia, where we stop.’
‘I see’ Rosina said sadly. ‘Well now, Martha, you’d better go to bed. How are you feeling?’
‘Quite all right. If you didn’t mind I’d really rather stay with you – and him.’
Mrs Eynsham put her hand across Martha’s forehead.
‘You’ve got a blazing temperature!’ she said. ‘A hundred and three I shouldn’t wonder. You go and lie down.’
At this juncture two things happened. The train-boys slammed the door of the coach next to the Eynshams’ compartment, and Tom, the tall night porter, approached from the opposite end.
‘Excuse me, Madam – I just wanted to ask if there was anything I could do for you? I heard the Counsellor wasn’t so well’ he said.
‘Oh, thank you, Tom. Yes, Mr Eynsham did have a bit of a turn, but he’s better now; he’s had an injection.’
‘Miss Beckley should go to bed – she’s ill too’ Tom said. ‘Miss Beckley, Miss, I got these pills at the station – Sulpha-something. The man said they cure flu.’ The boxer handed Martha a tube of tablets of Sulfapyridine, then the favourite Sulphonamide in use in Central Europe.
‘Tom, you’re an angel!’ Martha exclaimed. She had meant to get some Sulphonamide for the journey when her influenza came on, but with all the last-minute rush she had failed to do so – she was unspeakably relieved to have Tom’s tube. ‘Thank you very much indeed. But look – those revolting boys have shut the coach door; it must be kept open till we start, for Mr Eynsham to get air. Mr Wheatley told them about it, but now he’s gone, they’ve shut it again.’
‘Leave it to me, Madam.’ The tall boxer strode down to the little compartment where the train-boys slept; they had taken to their bunks, but he pulled them both out.
‘Open that door!’ he said, dragging the two juveniles to it, and pointing. The boys protested – Tom, most improperly and undiplomatically, knocked their heads together. ‘Now do as you’re told!’ The boys opened the door and retired, muttering angrily and whimpering, to their compartment. Tom went back to the Eynsham’s carriage.
‘Now, Madam, if you will excuse the suggestion, I should like to stay with you and the Counsellor, while Miss Beckley goes to bed. I shan’t be in your way – I can stay in the corridor, and keep an eye on that door at the same time.’
‘Thank you, Tom – I shall be very glad to have you. Martha, do go to bed.’
‘Have you taken those pills, Miss?’ Tom asked as Martha got up.
‘Not yet, Tom. Do you know where that case of mineral water was put, from the heavy luggage?’
‘Yes Miss – in the Minister’s sleeper.’
‘Oh how dotty!’ Martha exclaimed irritably – she too had taken about all she could that night.
‘Don’t worry, Miss – I’ll fetch a couple of bottles; he won’t hear me.’
‘If he is awake, don’t say anything to him about Mr Eynsham being unwell’ Martha said urgently. ‘Remember, Tom.’
‘Whatever you say, Miss. I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
In no time at all Tom returned with two bottles of mineral water.
‘Sleeping like a baby! But these bottles have those caps on, and I can’t find my beer-opener. Usually I keep one in me pocket.’
‘I’ve got one’ Rosina said, delving into her vast handbag; she always carried a beer-opener as well as a corkscrew about with her. Martha swallowed her pills in a glass oiHunyadi Janos, and went off to bed.’ Call me if you want me’ she said. ‘Bless you, Rosina – she gave Mrs Eynsham another of her rare kisses as she went out.
‘Now Madam, if I might make so free, why don’t you lie down yourself?’ Tom asked when Martha had gone. ‘I see your bed’s all ready, and I’ll keep an eye on the Counsellor, and rouse you if he gets worse.’
Rosina’s heart sank at the night-watchman’s last words. Even Tom expected that David might get worse! But if he did, she must be fit to act, and she was really pretty well worn out. They had breakfasted at 7.15 to be at the station in Budapest by 8, and now – mercy, it was 3.30 a.m.!
‘Thank you, Tom. Yes, I think that’s a good idea.’ She went along to the lavatory; on her return she unfastened the belt of her skirt, and then bent over her husband, putting her hand on his wrist. His pulse was beating gently; she spoke to him softly, but he did not answer, nor open his eyes; his hands were warm. She drew the rugs up over him again, and went out into the corridor.
‘I’ll leave the light on, Tom, so that you can see how he is; it doesn’t seem to disturb him – he’s sleeping beautifully.’
‘Won’t the light disturb you, Madam? You’ve had a hard day.’
‘No, I’m a good sleeper. Everyone has had a hard day – you too, Tom.’
‘I’m strong, Madam. Don’t you worry about me,’ the night-watchman said. Rosina went back into the carriage, took a mohair shawl out of her overnight case, and after taking off her shoes wrapped her feet in it and lay down in the clean bed, infinitely th
ankful to be flat at last, after a day which had lasted for twenty-one hours.
But she did not sleep at first, although she closed her eyes against the harsh overhead light. Her mind went back to their talk after leaving Budapest – all those different endings. Was her life with David going to come to an end too? Her memory went back over all the years of their marriage: the hard parts and the lovely, heavenly parts – oh, she did love him so! With a sharp pang she remembered his words about the blackbird’s song, only the other day, and how he had wondered if he would hear it in another spring? In a panic she got up again, and felt his pulse – no, it was quiet, and his breathing seemed easy. She lay down once more, said some brief prayers, and fell asleep instantly.
A few minutes later Lucilla crept along the corridor and peeped in at the door. Tom put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
‘Don’t disturb your Mother, Miss. She needs some rest.’
‘How’s Daddy?’
‘Sleeping beautiful. I’m keeping an eye on him. I’ve promised to wake Madam if he rouses.’
‘Well wake me too if anything happens, Tom.’
‘I will, Miss.’
‘He looks very peaceful’ Lucilla said, a little comforted by the sight of her Father’s calm face, sealed in sleep.
‘Yes Miss. Is Miss Beckley asleep?’
‘Yes. She said those tablets you got her were wonderful; she felt so much better after taking them.’
‘Glad of that, Miss. Now you go to sleep too.’ Tom’s profession being that of a night-watchman, he liked his charges to be in their beds, and let him keep watch. Lucilla went back to her sleeper.
In fact the dying very often do look peaceful – especially when they are under the influence of a powerful drug like morphia. But Tom had been a professional boxer before he became a night-watchman, and had learned to notice any signs of physical change in his opponents’ faces. Soon after six he touched Mrs Eynsham on the shoulder.
‘Madam, I think he’s going.’
Being roused from the sleep of great exhaustion feels like having the heart torn out of one’s body. Painfully, Mrs Eynsham roused herself, sat up, and stared about her; a pale daylight, whitened by the snow outside, was coming in at the windows. She had not in the least taken in what Tom had said.
‘Why are we standing still?’ she asked stupidly. ‘Where are we?’
‘Still here, Madam – we haven’t moved yet. But Madam, I think the Counsellor is going.’
This time his words did penetrate Rosina’s poor senses, dulled by sleep; she sprang out of her berth and knelt by her husband. ‘David!’ she said urgently – ‘David! David!’ There was no response. She drew down the rugs and felt his wrist – there was no sign of any pulse at all. She turned and stared up at the night-porter.
‘Tom! I can’t feel his pulse! You try.’
Tom tried, also in vain – then he pulled a tiny mirror in a case out of his waistcoat pocket, and held it to Eynsham’s mouth – there was no misting; the glass remained perfectly clear.
‘Madam, he’s gone,’ the man said, and crossed himself.
‘Oh no!’ she said, in a low wail of protest.’ He can’t be! He’s so warm. Help me to lift him up, Tom. David!’ She gave his shoulder a little shake.
‘Madam, it’s no good. I’ve seen plenty of dead men. Leave him quiet.’ To her infinite surprise the night-porter knelt down beside her in the carriage, pulled out a rosary, and began to recite the ‘De Profundis’ – the great sentences flowed over her, even while she still clung to her husband’s wrist.
‘Out of the depths have I cried to Thee O Lord; Lord, hear my voice …
With Thee there is merciful forgiveness …
My soul hath hoped in the Lord, from the morning watch …
With the Lord there is mercy, and with Him plentiful redemption.’
Mrs Eynsham’s tears rained down on the rug. Tom, after saying the Gloria, went on—
‘Eternal rest give to him, O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon him.’ Inexpressibly consoling words! She repeated them through her tears, and so missed some sentences; when she heard Tom again he was saying what he could remember from the ‘Preface for the Dead’. ‘From Thy faithful O Lord, life is not taken away, it is but changed … there awaiteth them an everlasting home in Heaven …’
With blackbird-song, if they wanted it, Rosina thought, with a fresh burst of tears, remembering David in bed that morning, listening to the bird’s song from the slopes of the Bastion. He had been right; he would never hear a blackbird sing again in this world. And he had teased her for being ‘a funny believing old Christian’. She raised her tear-stained face to the night-watchman – who after reciting an ‘Our Father’ and a ‘Hail Mary’ had risen from his knees, and was standing at attention in the carriage. Somehow his prayers, so simply and spontaneously said, had, she felt, blessed her David’s passing.
‘Tom, I don’t think Mr Eynsham believed much’ she said – really seeking reassurance.
‘The Counsellor was a good man, Madam. He always thought for others – the staff, I mean. And Our Blessed Lord liked people who do that – not repeating the Name, but doing the Will; He said so Himself.’
‘Thank you, Tom – and for praying for him.’ She got up from her knees, straightened her disordered berth, and sat on it. ‘I’d no idea you were a Catholic’ she said.
‘Oh yes, Madam. Most Kennedys are Catholics.’ (Rosina realised, rather ashamed, that she had never grasped that Tom’s surname was Kennedy.) ‘But now, Madam, if I might suggest it, hadn’t we better fold the Counsellor’s hands?’
Rosina had not thought of this; with Tom’s help she folded David’s hands across his breast.
‘If you didn’t mind, Madam, I’d like him to have my Rosary’ the man said, and twined his beads through the folded hands – then he drew up the rugs again.
‘Tom, you realise that no one must know until we start? Otherwise there’ll be a fuss, Mr Wheatley says. We must pretend he’s still just ill’ – a sob choked her on the words; while David had been ‘just ill’ it hadn’t been the end.
‘I understand, Madam. I promised Miss Lucilla that I’d tell her if anything happened.’
‘Wait till we’re moving’ Mrs Eynsham said, with some difficulty – one sob led to more.
‘I’ll get some tea’ Tom said – ‘That’s what you need.’ He disappeared into the corridor, and Rosina knelt down again beside her husband and said her own prayers for the repose of his soul – she tried to remember some of Tom’s, they were so beautiful, and somehow so potent – but she could only recall ‘Let light perpetual shine upon him’, which she repeated fervently.
Tom reappeared with a large Thermos of tea and a small glass jar full of sugar, and poured her out a cup in the Thermos lid. ‘Best I can do, Madam. D’you take sugar? You can stir it with my pencil’ – he drew this out of the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Got it filled in that restaurant place – the best thing there, the tea, if you ask me.’ Then he produced a short candle, lit it, poured some hot wax onto the windowsill above Eynsham’s head, and stood the candle firmly in position. ‘Always travel with a bit of blessed candle’ the boxer said. ‘You never know.’
Somehow the candle comforted Mrs Eynsham too – she felt, as she had felt on All Souls’ Day at Siraly, how much R.C.s did for the dead. While she was stirring the sweetened tea with the night-watchman’s pencil, and drinking it gratefully, a noise suddenly arose outside, a tremendous shouting. Tom Kennedy went out into the corridor to see what was happening – it was the Russians, cheering the gramophone onto the train.
‘The P.C.O.’s come aboard’ he reported. ‘Now we’ll get going.’ And in a few minutes the train, slowly, grindingly, began to move; Tom went and shut the carriage doors as the cold air blew in.
‘Now I’ll go and tell Mr Wheatley’ he said, ‘in case there’s trouble.’ Rosina looked at her watch; it was just seven. The last record had been played. Gradually gathering speed, the train gl
ided down into Russia.
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © Ann Bridge 1962
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ISBN: 9781448207428
eISBN: 9781448207114
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