‘Good-morning, Mr. Darby,’ he said. ‘Glad to see you back again.’ He held a sheet of paper in his hand. ‘As regards this letter from Mr. Berrington,’ he said, ‘I expect McNab has shown you my rough sketch for the new billiard-room. You might have a small scale drawing done of the plan and elevation for me to send to Mr. Berrington. Make it look nice. It might be well to show the additions in colour. And I want it to go by this evening’s post.’
For some time they talked of other matters of business, and then Mr. Marston said: ‘You’re feeling quite well again, I hope?’
Mr. Darby made a little bow. ‘Perfectly, thank you, sir.’
‘It only shows what a week in bed will do. You look, I must say, completely cured. Quite your old self again.’
Mr. Darby hesitated. Now was the time to enlighten Mr. Marston, but he felt somewhat diffident of the task. How, exactly, was he to put it?
‘I am inclined to … ah … attribute the cure, sir,’ he began at last, ‘not to … to bed, but … ah … rather to a totally unforeseen event which … ah … overtook me yesterday morning. A very surprising windfall, sir.’
‘A windfall, Darby?’
‘A windfall, sir … to the … ah … tune, I am assured, of about a million.’
Mr. Marston smilingly considered his Managing Clerk. What on earth was the little man talking about? He was accustomed to Mr. Darby’s partiality for words and phrases, but this talk of windfalls and tunes and millions was so fantastic as to be almost alarming. Could it be that Mr. Darby’s recent disorder had been mental and that his mind was definitely deranged? He stood there now, as correct and compact as ever, but with a curious and unusual smile on his face, a smile that was at once bashful and self-satisfied. Then, as Mr. Marston did not question him, he continued laboriously: ‘I only got wind of … ah …’
‘Of the windfall, Mr. Darby?’
Mr. Darby was thrown into greater confusion by Mr. Marston’s humorous assistance.
‘Ah … well … ah … Yes, sir, as you might say. Yesterday morning, sir. I have the … ah … communication in question here, sir. It will … no doubt … ah … lucipricate … ah … I should say … ah … elubricate the matter better than any words of mine.’
As this seemed probable Mr. Marston turned his attention to the letter which Mr. Darby, while in the throes of his last sentence, had taken from his breast-pocket, unfolded, and now handed to him. He glanced at the heading and then proceeded to read the letter with growing seriousness and attention. ‘But, my dear Darby …’ he exclaimed in amazement. ‘My dear fellow, this is …’ Again he fixed his attention on the letter, and read it to the end. Then he raised his head and stared, open-mouthed, at Mr. Darby. ‘But, my dear Darby! Were you at all prepared for this … this astounding event? Did you know of this uncle?’
‘I knew of him, sir; in point of fact, sir, he very kindly sent me a present of one hundred pounds every Christmas. But, beyond that, I knew next to nothing of his … ah … circumstances. The … ah … event came as a complete surprise.’
Mr. Marston rose from his chair. ‘I can well believe, Darby, that this did more for you than a week in bed.’ He held out his hand and shook Mr. Darby’s warmly. ‘I congratulate you most heartily. It’s … well, it’s more like a fairy story than sober fact. I can’t believe it. I see, of course,’ he handed the letter back to Mr. Darby, ‘that it’s true, but I simply can’t believe it. Do you believe it, Darby?’
‘I … ah … spend a good deal of time in trying to, sir. I seem to be, as one might say,’ Mr. Darby made a vague circular gesture with the left hand, ‘in a dream, sir.’
‘I don’t wonder. So do I. And this means, of course, that we shall lose you, Darby. I shall be very sorry for that, after all these years.’
‘Not more sorry than I shall be, sir,’ said Mr. Darby with a little bow and a sudden moist gleam in the blue eyes behind his spectacles. ‘But there’s no hurry, sir,’ he added. ‘It will be at least three months, of course, before the various … ah … formalities are complete. I shall be most happy, sir, I need hardly say, to stay on here until you are suited: and, of course, under the … ah … circumstances there could be no question of salary.’
‘My dear Darby, that is exceedingly kind of you. It will be a very great convenience to me. I feel lost without you in the office, though I must say McNab has done pretty well during the last week. We might split your salary, during the time you are with us, between McNab and Pellow, in honour of the great event. In that way you will be doing us all a very great kindness.’ Then, suddenly, he smiled. ‘This accounts for that excellent cigar you were smoking in the Station Hotel yesterday.’
Mr. Darby smiled back. ‘Yes, sir. I felt that something had to be done to … ah …’
‘Just so. And what does Mrs. Darby think of it all? Delighted, I suppose.’
Mr. Darby’s face fell a little. He looked like a schoolboy who has been unjustly rebuked. ‘Well, not exactly, I’m afraid, sir. In fact, she doesn’t take to it very kindly.’
‘Too great a responsibility, perhaps.’
‘Oh, no, sir; she has no objection to responsibility. No, it’s not that. The fact is that she is not what you might call of a fanciful turn. She likes things to keep as they are.’
‘Whereas you have other views?’
‘I have always been one for adventure and novelty,’ said Mr. Darby with childlike innocence.
The statement amazed Mr. Marston. He had always looked upon his Managing Clerk as a simple, contented little man who had no thoughts beyond his daily work. ‘Bless me, Mr. Darby,’ he said, ‘and I have always regarded you as … well … rather a home bird.’
‘Oh dear me, no, sir,’ said Mr. Darby. ‘Don’t think it. Far from it. Anything but. I have always wanted to travel. I have often found the ships down on the Quayside a … a ah … a very great temptation. If I had had my way, sir, I think I should have been an explorer.’
‘What, the North Pole?’
‘No, sir. I should have preferred the Jungle. But the North Pole rather than nothing.’
‘And now you will indulge your … hobby?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Darby with hands clasped precisely before him and a far-away look in his eye, ‘I hope to travel a good deal.’
Mr. Marston had a sudden and disconcerting vision of Mr. Darby in black coat, grey trousers, and bowler hat pushing his way a little timidly through a dense tropical undergrowth, closely observed by parrots and monkeys from above, by lions and tigers below.
‘But won’t you perhaps find it a little difficult to persuade Mrs. Darby to … er …’
‘To allow it, sir?’
‘To accompany you, I was going to say.’
Mr. Darby looked embarrassed: his neck and cheeks became a brighter pink: his lips worked as if trying to form phrases. ‘To tell the truth, sir, I haven’t … ah … embarked on the task of … ah … persuasion as yet.’
Mr. Marston knew Mrs. Darby not only by sight but also personally. He visualized Mr. Darby engaged in the task of … ah … persuasion. He saw an incredibly small Darby, a creature no larger than a dapper little bird—a bird like a bullfinch or a robin, buttoned compactly into its plumage —wooing in vain the colossal stone image of some formidable goddess. The bird bowed and scraped and hopped: the image stared immovably at eternity. It seemed a hopeless business.
And, in fact, Mr. Marston’s question had brought to the surface a problem which for the last twenty-four hours had gnawed persistently at Mr. Darby’s mind. He had not admitted it to himself, he had pretended to the best of his ability that it did not exist, but this had done little to check its pertinacity. Sarah had never figured in any of his dreams of travel, indeed those dreams had been to a large extent an antidote to Sarah. The prisoner dreaming of escape does not usually dream that he takes his jailer with him. Yet he had never seriously contemplated leaving Sarah. His dreams did not burden themselves with practical problems. They were the creations of unfettered fancy,
and in them he always beheld himself setting forth alone. Not that he was alone all the time: more than once he had seen himself reclining at ease on or near the Equator, surrounded by an admiring and obedient seraglio of beautiful females, for Mr. Darby was far from being a misogynist. But now that the dream was destined to be no longer pure fancy, now that reality would impose practical problems, what was to be done about Sarah? Mr. Darby resolved now, as he sat at his desk after his talk with Mr. Marston, that when the subject was broached—and sooner or later it would have to be broached—he would take a very firm stand from the first. Yes, he must make no mistake about that. He must make Sarah realize at once that, whatever happened, he was going to travel. When he had hinted at it a few minutes after the fateful letter arrived, Sarah had treated his hint as a childish whim not to be taken seriously. The question whether he was actually to forbid her to accompany him would probably never be reached, for what Sarah would do at the outset would be simply to forbid him to travel. Well, she could forbid as much as she liked, but obviously she could not stop him. There was no problem now of supporting her during his absence. He could go away a rich man, leaving her a rich woman. No, she couldn’t, obviously, prevent his going. And yet …? Mr. Darby recalled Sarah’s irresistible way of compelling obedience. There was something about a command of Sarah’s that made it very difficult to disobey, especially when one had for so long had the habit of obeying. Still, that was all nonsense, of course. One had only to stand up to her. She could not force him to obey her against his will. The fact was, of course, that he had never on former occasions felt it necessary to oppose her.
Mr. Darby reassured himself with arguments and assertions such as these, but the uncomfortable fact remained that, though they convinced the reasoning part of him, they did very little towards soothing his feelings. The prospect of the inevitable encounter with Sarah kept intruding upon his thoughts at the most inappropriate moments, at the same time producing a curious sensation of weakness in the back of his knees.
On his return to the general office after his conversation with Mr. Marston, Mr. Darby had, in the off-hand manner for which he was rapidly acquiring a finished technique, broken the news to McNab and Pellow, and this news, sown by Mr. Darby in five different plots—the Office, the Bank, Messrs. Chepstow & Bradfield his Solicitors, the Stedmans, and the Cribbs—germinated, flowered, fruited, and reproduced itself prodigiously, so that he received congratulations from the most unexpected quarters and at the most unexpected moments. On the stairs of Number Thirty Seven Ranger Street, in the Brackett Street Post Office, in shops, on the tops of trams, on crowded pavements, on those precarious mid-street islands between two streams of traffic, in the porch of St. George’s Church, Savershill, even half way down the nave of that sacred building, Mr. Darby was bombarded with congratulations, often by people whom he only knew by sight, sometimes even by people whom he did not know at all. And just as he had perfected a technique for breaking the news, so he had soon perfected another—a dignified courtesy combined with a hint of surprise that so ordinary a matter should seem so extraordinary to others— for the reception and acknowledgment of these continual tributes.
• • • • • • • •
Mr. Darby was in the habit of sitting down to his daily paper on his return home every evening, as soon as he had taken his boots off. It helped to fill in the gap between his return and supper. On the second evening after his return to the office, he was seated, so engaged, before the diningroom fire when his eye fell on the following heading: NOVOCASTRIAN’S WINDFALL. Under it, in smaller capitals, he read: FROM CLERK TO MILLIONAIRE. It was this sub-title which arrested his attention. Was it …? Could it be …? He stared for some seconds, with sensations of growing excitement, at the astonishing phrase. A veil of steam spread over the lenses of his spectacles, cutting him off suddenly from further investigation. With an exclamation of impatience Mr. Darby dashed the paper down on his knees, snatched out his handkerchief, snatched off his spectacles and polished them with trembling hands. Then, replacing them and the handkerchief, he grabbed the paper and plunged into the paragraph. ‘It is reserved for few,’ he read, ‘to have an experience such as has recently befallen our fellow citizen Mr. William James Darby of Moseley Terrace, Savershill, who has long held a responsible position in the firm of Messrs. Lamb & Marston, Architects, of this city. On opening his daily budget of letters a few mornings ago, Mr. Darby received from one of them the kind of intelligence which is usually to be found only in the pages of the more sensational novels. The letter in question apprised the fortunate gentleman that his paternal uncle, Thomas Darby, himself a Novocastrian but one who had long made his home in Australia, had recently died leaving him his entire fortune, which, we are informed, amounts to something approaching a million of money. We learn, on enquiry, that Mr. and Mrs. Darby intend to travel, but we may be allowed to hope that when they return to England they will decide to establish themselves once more in their native city.’
Having reached the end of this piece of news Mr. Darby laid down the paper, drew a deep breath and remained for some time staring into the fire. A smile played about the corners of his mouth. How often, in fancy, had he coined announcements of this description; and now here was this one—another dream come true—confronting him in cold print. With a satisfied sigh he took up the Newchester Daily Chronicle again and, more slowly this time and savouring the rich, formal, journalistic tone of every phrase, he indulged in the luxury of re-reading the whole paragraph from beginning to end. ‘Very nicely put!’ he said to himself. ‘Very nicely put indeed. “The letter in question apprised the fortunate gentleman …!” “Has long held a responsible position …!” “Mr. and Mrs. Darby intend to travel…!” ‘
Suddenly the full significance of that last phrase came home to him, destroying his equanimity. Once more the unsolved problem began to nibble at his mind. Certainly Mr. Darby intended to travel, but did Mrs. Darby? And did she intend that Mr. Darby should? Still holding the Newchester Daily Chronicle before his eyes, Mr. Darby fell into an uncomfortable reverie. He was interrupted by the opening of the door, the sound of cutlery and glasses on a tray. Sarah was about to lay supper. Mr. Darby did not move. He heard her put the tray down on the table, he felt her glance over his shoulder, he felt her throw up her head with that quick, indignant jerk which was so typical and so familiar. He waited, speechless: Sarah was sure to begin. He wished that the paper which he held open before his eyes had been open at another page. Such was his state of tension that he jumped and the paper rattled in his hands at the low, contemptuous snort with which she began.
‘Humph! I was pretty certain you’d be lapping it up.’
Lapping … ah …? ‘Mr. Darby, in a feeble pretence of ignorance, turned questioning eyebrows and a rabbit’s mouth over his shoulder.
‘Lapping was the word,’ said Sarah. ‘Have you got the stuff by heart yet? ‘
Mr. Darby laid down the paper and turned in his chair. ‘I can’t see, Sarah,’ he said, determined to be firm, ‘that there’s any harm in the little … ah … the little announcement.’
‘The harm in it,’ she said acidly, ‘is that it’s there at all. Disgusting, I call it. You ought to have sent them about their business.’
‘Sent them. … Sent who?’ said Mr. Darby, really puzzled this time.
‘Why the reporters, of course. Instead of which, you just chattered to them, I suppose.’
‘Reporters?’ said Mr. Darby. ‘But I saw no reporters. The first I knew of this was when I came on it just now.’
Sarah saw that he was speaking the truth, and seeing that she believed him he grew more courageous. ‘One can’t avoid publicity nowadays, Sarah. You’ll soon discover that. It is the duty of the … ah … the Press to keep the public in touch with events of … ah … any import.’
‘And where’s the import, I should like to know, in Mr. and Mrs. Darby intending to travel? ‘Sarah’s tone was extremely withering.
‘Well … ah …
!’
‘Besides,’ said Sarah, ‘it’s not true.’
‘Not … ah … correct?’
‘No. Mr. and Mrs. Darby do not intend to travel.’
‘Oh … ah … I see!’ said Mr. Darby lamely. Then perking up a little, he added: ‘Well, I never said they did.’
‘You didn’t?’said Sarah inquisitorially.
‘Ah … no … ah!’ Mr. Darby replied.
‘Then I shall go to the Chronicle office and complain,’ said Sarah with determination.
This threw Mr. Darby into a great flurry. He was seriously alarmed. ‘Ah … well … ah … I don’t think … ah … I would do that, Sarah,’ he said. ‘In point of fact,’ he went on, ‘I have … ah … informed one or two friends that I … ah … intend to travel. I mentioned it to you, if you remember, on the first morning, just after I had read the solicitors’ letter.’
‘I see.’ Sarah’s tone was scornful. ‘So you’re still thinking of your precious Jungle?’
‘The Jungle, certainly,’said Mr. Darby, ‘among other places.’
‘With a few sandwiches, I suppose,’ sneered Sarah, ‘and,’ she added with a sudden cynical inspiration, ‘a couple of bottles of Bass, no doubt.’
Mr. Darby ignored her persiflage. ‘I shall … ah … equip myself,’ he said with dignity, ‘as others have equipped themselves.’
Sarah eyed the little man with a bitter smile. She saw that he was stubbornly earnest in his mad idea. He was really no better than a child, but a child enabled, by this sudden access of wealth, to put its most fantastic ideas into practice. Hitherto she had controlled him without difficulty, but forty thousand pounds a year had given him courage and robbed her of more than half her moral ascendancy over him. They had both been perfectly satisfied before this miserable letter had arrived, but now everything was to be turned topsyturvy. She tried another shot. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I hope you don’t expect me to go with you. I have something better to do than go dawdling about in jungles full of lions and tigers.’
The Romantic Adventures of Mr. Darby and of Sarah His Wife Page 10