Cold Pastoral

by Margaret Duley

  “Philip, I’m lovely,” she said, hanging over her pictured face.

  He recaptured the pictures, administering reproof to self love.

  “They’re for your mother, Mary, and I’m glad they flatter you.”

  For her mother! How could she get one for Tim? It would be a nice return for the white ship.

  Tim was missed, but he lived in her thoughts. They had the ideal secret, something between two, and she knew he was no cause for Confession. He was the course where she flowed untrammelled. They could not avoid meeting outside, but he had determined their relations for those occasions. Walking between the mater and Philip she had seen him approaching with schoolboys. As separation lessened recognition retreated to their eyes. Barely by, she gave a backward glance. He was touching his cap with the same turn of his head. Instantly she smiled ahead, walking according to the mater’s idea of deportment.

  At the cottage an increasing knowledge of cliques made her treasure Tim as a classless boy. Perhaps he stayed in the garden because his mother and Auntie Minnie did not go to Government House. An orbit was uncomplicated, enclosing only themselves. From the people at the cottage she learned the standards of the town, the right English school, official position, big business and the dinner-list at Government House. Merely to attend the receptions and the garden parties was socially second-class. Schoolmates had bequeathed a wariness of women. They refused to see her for herself, and voices bade her remember the lowliness of her mother. Quick to scent patronage she could abandon it quickly. There was a special expression for those who did not matter, and a film for her eyes. Sensitive and insensitive, she became vulnerable only through people commanding respect. Those who did things received attention, and she hovered modestly in their circle. Talent was acknowledged and the grace of fine minds. Many women cause an instant detour; those who talked incessantly of bridge, bewailing the limitations of one playing-body. Frustrated, they seemed to gesture with shuffling hands. Neither did the too motherly woman attract. She hated the cluck of maternity smothering a child.

  It was inevitable she should prefer men. They met her foursquare without staring beyond for the shadow of the cook.

  If anything they gave her too much attention and often Philip took her away. He merely left her when she talked with older men, amused at the sea-knowledge of the child. Natural resources could be discussed intelligently when they did not encroach on her life.

  The mater could not be induced to visit the cottage when other people were present. Occasionally she motored towards the fierce sunsets and watched the grey steal over the sea. The arrival of others caused a leisured exit, with Philip ready to take her home. In the Place she received a few people for brief visits; some relatives of her husband, a sombre lawyer, the rector of her church and a bishop with an impressive hat. Seeing it in the hall, Mary Immaculate regarded it with awe. Even without Church-purple it was an exalted hat for heretics.

  A thrill came in waving the family to dinner at Government House. They were going to dine with an Admiral. She could stay home like a Cinderella, revelling in her ashes. Eyes could recapture the wink of the mater’s rings. Unexpected jewels had emerged from a case and different clothes were laid out by Hannah. Interest in the occasion made Mary Immaculate ingratiatingly friendly.

  “Hannah, I didn’t know she had things like that.”

  “And where would you see evening dress I’d like to know? Many a year she went out decked three and four times a week.”

  “Ermine,” she said, smoothing the collar of a coat.

  Hannah snatched it away.

  “Don’t touch; your hands are dirty!”

  It was an extreme libel, but it was useless to protest.

  David and Felice came to town to dress, and the child hung over the gallery watching the closed doors. Informality did not belong to such processes. They shut themselves up and emerged quite ready. The mater had only been seen in bed and fully clothed. Some instinct told her David would not be the same. He was not! At a certain moment his door was thrown invitingly open. The length of his legs, flat stomach and the black-and-white of his shirt and trousers brought instant admiration.

  “Oh, David!—”

  “Yes, I know, I’m lovely,” he said, screwing up his face in the mirror.

  She leaned against a tallboy watching every movement.

  “Will it be very grand, David?”

  “So, so; but we won’t eat peas with our knives.”

  “Is the house grand?”

  “Not any grander than the drawing-room downstairs.”

  “Why does Mater go to this and nowhere else? I heard a woman whisper it was snobbish to go to Government House and nowhere else.”

  “Did you, indeed? Mater was brought up in a tradition that considers an invitation like this a command. The Governor represents the King, and when the King says come, well, they come. Colonials have less traditional ideas.”

  “I’d like to go, David.”

  “I’m sure you would,” he agreed dryly.

  She was fingering something she suddenly identified.

  “David,” she shrilled, “you’ve got medals. Such little medals—”

  “Yes, of course, I’m a hero. Those are miniatures for official occasions. I got them for wounds multiple, for returning without Arthur and John and for Father’s premature death. Dearest possession and all that.”

  She shook her head in consideration.

  “David, in polite places people don’t get mad and bawl at each other. They get mad inside and it sounds worse.”

  “That’s civilisation as far as it goes. A gentleman is not supposed to show his feelings. They beat it into you at school and then send you out with bayonets.” He glanced derisively at the medals. “I’m against war and I don’t care who knows it, and they’re going to have it again, Mary, and all for nought.”

  “David,” she said sympathetically, “your war was no good. You should have fought for the Church.”

  “Not on your life,” he said in horror. “So that the other fellow could tell me where to kneel down? No, Mary, if it comes again you and I are going to the Cove to play with the Little People.”

  “If you don’t mind, David,” she pleaded, “I’d like to stay in the thick of it.”

  “God!” he shrugged with humour and horror. “Youth again, and more Arthurs and Johns. Laugh, Mary, or…No, you won’t go mad,” he said definitely. “You’re too tough and you’ll shake off the burden of personal sorrow, but be forewarned and forearmed. Have some special place to hide when—”

  “Felice,” she said like lightning, and then clamped her hand over her mouth for fear she had gone too far.

  David frowned. “My dear Mary, I was just talking, and Felice will tell you it’s the Greek chorus that goes with those medals. She’s got one for being a Fany. I admit we did shiver together more than once.” He settled into his coat. “Here, give me the damn things. I wanted to give them to the charwoman’s little boy to play with, but Felice wouldn’t let me.”

  Dressed, David was staring into a mirror as if he despised his reflection.

  She made a step towards him, putting arms round his waist. Her voice was soothing and a shade motherly.

  “David, I love you. You’re so foolish! If Felice dies I’ll marry you.”

  “Well,” he said with a clearing face, “it’s not exactly a prospect of undiluted bliss, but thanks just the same. It was a charming spontaneous offer, but I’m afraid you musn’t build up any false hopes. I couldn’t do without Felice. Perhaps Phil will oblige. He’s so much younger and unspotted by shrapnel. If you don’t marry one of us you’ll have to live in another house, and we’ll miss you a great deal.”

  “I wouldn’t like that,” she said, startled into giving him a possessive squeeze.

  “No, I thought you wouldn’t. Let’s hope Phil will fall in line. He will if you’re good to him. Make him laugh and make him play. He was quite a gay little chap until the war rolled over him. By and by he�
��ll be able to stop this grind and go to Vienna, if there’s any Europe left. He might take you along. It would be great fun to travel, wouldn’t it—”

  “Fun, it would be wonderful! I could see—”

  “Yes, you could see a lot,” he said impressively. “Keep it in mind, but ah—perhaps for the time being I wouldn’t discuss it. Let it come about naturally....”

  “Yes,” she agreed with avid yellow eyes. “I’d like Europe very much. I’ll be full of directive thinking.”

  David tilted her face until it was exposed to his view.

  “Mary,” he questioned, “are there sometimes you need spanking?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said with limpid clearness. “I feel polite.”

  “Maybe,” he said doubtfully. “I’m afraid you won’t suffer much Karma if you look like that. I’ll kiss you instead.… There! I know I’ll find you out some day.”

  She slipped away, leaning against the tallboy.

  “What will you find, David?” she asked with an empty face.

  From a drawer he was extracting a white silk scarf. “Oh, just your original sin, your Achilles heel,” he said vaguely.

  “And when you find it, David, what will you do?”

  For once he was uncomprehending. Her face was no longer empty. It was anxious and strained.

  “Continue to love you like an indulgent fool, I suppose.”

  “Can I depend on that?” she asked, running to the hall at the sound of an opening door. Looking back, David was arrested again by her old expression.

  “Mary!” called Philip. “Will you ring up Doctor—?”

  “Coming, Philip.”

  David stood dangling the scarf. How odd of Philip to let her do his telephoning! More and more they were transferring the countless little services previously belonging to Hannah.

  Tim was different when he returned. She saw it at once. His cheeks were red-brown, his brow peeling from sun and his hands suggested virility. Some granite of his country had gone into himself. Town-bred, he barely knew his environs for a radius of thirty miles. Consequently his coves and bays were as pastoral as places could be with their feet in the North Atlantic. That his town was in the same latitude as Paris gave it a moderation tempered by the Arctic Current. Newfoundlanders were accustomed to the world’s ignorance about them, knowing how they were lumped together with Eskimos and husky-dogs. By sailing as far as Labrador, Tim had seen some of those things.

  They met satisfactorily. Dwindling days forbade the mater the night air of her garden. Philip was at his surgery. Knowing Tim’s ship had docked at five o’clock she was free to put on a coat and watch the light grown sombre over the plantains and dandelions. There was a sound of feet rustling through grass, shoes scraping against the fence, a retreat to the beech tree for a reconnoitre and he was down beside her. Hugging her in stronger arms, he even smelt different. She inhaled a tang of boats, ropes, tar and an essence of the sea. Eyes were wider open.

  “Gretel, did you miss me? Kiss me and say you’re glad I’m back— I thought of you everywhere. Your face came out of icebergs, whales and even dirty Eskimos. I hate dark people. Kiss me again.… I had a swell time.”

  He laughed out loud, showing his crooked teeth.

  “Shushhh, Tim,” she whispered; “Hannah is in and might be on the prowl. You look grand. What did you do?”

  “Everything,” he said largely. “First I felt a bit seedy. There were more smells than usual, but it’s funny how you get used to them. Then, after we stopped at a few places, the town seemed very far away; all except you, Gretel, and you came with me. You must have seen everything, but I’ll tell you, in case you didn’t. When the wharves and lighthouses stopped we had to anchor at night, and if we wanted to go ashore we had to use the mail-boat. There were whales and flies and Eskimos and husky-dogs. But the icebergs, Gretel! Hundreds at a time! One day I stood at the rail without going to meals. I’ll never forget them under the sun, and when the light went they looked like ghost-tombs. I thought I was sailing through a graveyard for Vikings, and I knew it was too big to be played on the piano. I thought of the biggest Beethoven—then I remembered Scott, Peary and Amundsen, and somehow they seemed the biggest of all.”

  “Tim,” she gasped incredulously, “not greater than the musician?”

  “Greater than anyone,” he said with reckless repudiation of his gods. “They must be because they helped me to make up my mind to be an engineer. It seemed a fine thing up there. I’ve never really tried, because when I hear the names of the subjects I close up my mind. Now I’ll give them a chance.”

  “Tim!” she ejaculated, acclaiming him with pride. Somewhere inside she shook her head. It was a mood. Tim was a poet, a dreamer, and he could never make mines and rocks his first loves. But she was not of the breed to daunt him.

  “Yes,” he went on as if bolstering his own decision, “it came over me all at once. I saw this country was more rock than art. If I lived in a different place—”

  He stopped, staring out as if visualising countries with legacies of musicians. Instantly she stiffened his new resolution.

  “If you’re decided, Tim, it will please them. When your mind is made up you mustn’t have two minds. David says it’s important to live in harmony. Philip says conflict—”

  “What’s that?” he asked, startled by the sound of shuffling feet. Careful for her, he peered through chinks into the vegetable garden.

  “Gretel, witchface is picking some peas.”

  “Tim,” she hissed, extracting a book from her pocket. “Go very quietly. I’m reading a very interesting book.”

  “Don’t strain your eyes,” he said with a smile in his voice. “See you tomorrow.”

  He faded into the trees with little sound.

  Hannah could not possibly have seen, but she might have heard. There was no doubt about it, she was an extremely unpleasant old woman. The mater would never expect her to pick peas when it was almost dark.

  Autumn coursed with red blood. A few leaves fluttered down, making a light scrape on the ground. As yet the wind only warned the trees of more vicious stripping. Neither was the earth ready to draw in its breath. Late flowers survived, flaunting with a last hot pulse of life. More intoxicating than nascent spring, Mary Immaculate felt restless from tooth to toenail. Beauty seemed to live in sound of a deep-toned knell. She walked to school in sunlight mixed with silver alloy. Midas fingers had ruffled the beech tree, suggesting a wish to sit on a branch and watch the gold drip away. What would the Fitz Henrys say when she and Tim were revealed in a fork?

  David was as restless as herself, appearing continually and urging them towards the cottage. There the sea tossed with blue abandon, darting frothy tongues towards the colour on the land. The air held a screech of wild living.

  “The flowers look indecent,” said David on his own lawn. “Mary, why is autumn so headstrong?”

  She was looking at spikes of hollyhock, over-topped by staring sunflowers. Stems were drowned in a wash of nasturtiums.

  Her voice was dreaming, seeming to return from distance.

  “Mom asked Pop that once, and he made a queer answer. Mostly Pop just grunted, but sometimes he said things.”

  “Husbands and grunts go together, Mary. What did Pop say on this occasion when he didn’t grunt?”

  “He said big beasts mate in the fall.”

  “Well!” said David, glad of Philip’s absence. Perhaps a word to the mater would suggest a little talk about the papa and mamma flower and the flight of the bumble-bee. That, he supposed, was the process for gentle maidenhood. Recalling her background, he smothered a smile. Her white face must have been frequently turned to the hen and the dick, the ewe and the ram. It would be an insult to give her a book about pollen.

  “Mary,” he said with a rapid change of mood. “Felice is going to give you Rufus—”

  “When?” she asked, looking round for instant possession.

  “Not so fast, darling! You can’t have him u
ntil we go, but—”

  “But what, David? It sounds exciting.”

  “We’re going to stay out until the first boat after Christmas. Will you like that?”

  “Like it, David?” she said with satisfactory fervour. “I’d like you to stay forever.”

  Christmas was staged in a perfect winter dress. Snow was unsullied, tree-shadows were etched by the light of a full-sized moon, and a child in the house made a season. They found her unacquisitive but thrilled with gew-gaws and coloured lights. The family rose to the occasion and tripped cheerfully over decorations. All except Hannah! She had dismissed Christmas years ago and resented the bright shreds on her carpets.

  Philip placed a tree on the mater’s lawn and decorated it with lights from a wire in the house. Small bulbs cast vivid pools on the snow and the child never tired of dipping her hands in colour. To the family it was a resurgence of youth. On Christmas Eve they all went out of doors and stood round the tree. The high white solitude of the moon gave back a sense of cold peace. The child had been to see the Crib and the night was full of meaning. Looking upward for the Star, the moon silvered a devotional face. She looked down! The sky held the infinite but the baubles shone on her hands. David, sensitive for nuances, saw the exultation leave her for the love of hot colour. She laughed with earth-bound defiance. As if her laugh had been a command some other person returned the perfect note. Clean and clear the “Adeste” came over the snow. With a smile on her lips Mary Immaculate opened her mouth and sang. Too subdued to make a large noise the family supplied a hum.

  “My dear, how lyrical,” said David, “and how talented is our Mary with her Latin! Let’s find the accompanist and invite him to wassail.”

  Mary Immaculate was deaf, singing the second verse.

  Lady Fitz Henry answered. “Some musical person lives quite near, David. I frequently hear whistles and mouth-organs. The instruments sound cheap but the tunes are perfect.”