by Nevil Shute
He said to the sergeant driving him: “Take me to the White Hart.”
“It ain’t open yet, Major. Not till five-thirty.”
“That’s okay — take me there. I want to see the landlord.”
His ring at the creaking bellwire roused Mr Frobisher from his afternoon nap; he came slowly to the door and shot the bolts back. He stepped aside when he saw a strange American officer, who said: “Mr Frobisher? My name is Curtis, Major Mark T. Curtis, from the Staff Judge-Advocate’s department at Headquarters. Mind if I come in and have a talk with you?”
Mr Frobisher took him into the back parlour. “You wrote a letter to the General,” the officer said. “About the situation here, and about Private Lesurier. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” said Mr Frobisher. He figured for a moment in surprise. “Sunday I wrote it. What’s this — Thursday. I didn’t think they’d act so quick as that.”
“We don’t like to leave things to get worse,” the major said. “I’ve got nothing to do with the general situation between whites and colored in this place. I’m here to look into the evidence for this court martial. I want to see Miss Trefusis this afternoon, if I can, but before doing that I thought I’d come and have a talk with you. I’d like to know about the background of this girl, what sort of family she comes from, what they say about her moral character. It all adds up, you know.”
“Aye,” said the landlord. “Well, sit down ‘n make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something? I got some whisky, Major.”
Major Curtis was not the man to refuse a Scotch; he gave Mr Frobisher a Lucky Strike and they settled down to talk. “What sort of girl is this?” he asked the landlord, “What does her father do?”
Mr Frobisher told him.
“Run around with boys much?” asked the officer.
The landlord shook his head. “She isn’t old enough,” he said. “I know they start young these days, but not so young as Grace Trefusis is.”
“How old is she, then?”
“Let’s see,” said Mr Frobisher thoughtfully. “She was going to school when war started, ‘cause she used to pass this window every morning with the other children. Yes, ‘n she was still going to school when we started the Home Guard, the LDV we called it then, because I remember seeing her pass when we was drilling with pikes ‘n shotguns out in the Square. Summer of 1940, that was. Well now, she was under fourteen then. She’d be sixteen and a half now, at that rate. Maybe just on seventeen.”
“Some of them get going by that time,” the major said.
“Aye,” said Mr Frobisher, “but not this one.”
“Anyway, you wouldn’t put her down as a girl of loose character?”
Mr Frobisher was rather shocked. “Nothing like that,” he said a little curtly.
Major Curtis felt the situation needed easing a little. “I wanted to be sure of your reaction to that,” he explained. “There have been cases, not very many, but a few, of British women of loose character blackmailing our colored soldiers by threatening to charge them with assault. It’s pretty serious with us, you know, when colored men assault white women.”
“Aye,” said Mr Frobisher, “you’ll likely get a bit o’ that in the slum parts of the big cities. But not here in Trenarth.”
They discussed the girl a little more, and then the major said: “Say, Mr Frobisher, just what did you mean in that letter by saying that you reckoned this case was a lot of humbug?”
“Well,” said Mr Frobisher, “she come to no harm.”
“Isn’t that because there was a military policeman there?”
“Not according to what her father said to me. He said he let her go as soon as she struggled.”
Major Curtis eyed him keenly. “That’s not what she said next day when Lieutenant Anderson went to see her.”
“Aye?” said Mr Frobisher. “Well, she was with her mother then. You’ll have to sort the truth of it out for yourself.”
Major Curtis made a mental note to do so. “You’ve got no strong feelings about colored men associating with white girls, then?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t be no good if I did have,” said the landlord comfortably. “If a girl takes a fancy to a black fellow and likes him, well there’s nothing you or I can do to stop it.” He turned to the officer. “One thing about these black fellows o’ yours,” he said. “They’re ever so kind and considerate to the girls that go with them. Everybody’s been remarking about that. Not spending money — I don’t mean that. But doing things for the girls, putting themselves out for them, thinking ahead of ways to make them happy. That’s the reputation that they’ve got in this place, and there’s no good blinking it.”
“Have there been any attempts at marriage?” the major asked. He felt he’d better know the worst.
“Not yet,” said the landlord thoughtfully. “I dunno that there may not be some, though. The way your coloured fellows go talking in the bar of an evening, a lot of them would like to come back here to live when the war’s over.”
Major Curtis got up to go. “Well, thanks a lot for what you’ve told me, Mr Frobisher,” he said. “And thank you for writing to the General the way you did. We certainly did appreciate that very much. Say, where would I find Miss Trefusis now?”
The landlord glanced at his watch. “You’d catch her at the shop, if you’re quick,” he said. “Robertson’s grocery shop, just up the street towards the cross. On the left-hand side. He shuts in five minutes, but you’ll find her there if you go now.”
The officer said: “Which had I better do, see her there or see her in her home?”
Mr Frobisher said: “If you see her in her home you’ll have her mother to deal with.”
“I see,” said Major Curtis. “I’ll go to the shop. Well, thanks a lot, Mr Frobisher.”
He went out into the street, and telling the driver of his jeep to wait for him, he walked towards the shop. He felt himself to be in very deep water. Even in Portland where he had been brought up, no white girl would go out with a coloured man; a marriage would have been incredible. In this village things were different. Probably never very strong, the colour bar in Trenarth had collapsed entirely with the influx of large numbers of coloured Americans. According to the landlord marriages of black men with white girls would certainly be tolerated and the girls would not lose much in social caste. In some respects the villagers seemed to find the coloured men desirable.
He entered Robertson’s grocery shop with the feeling that he must be very careful not to offend. His duty was to get a fair statement from the girl of what had happened that he could put in a report for the Judge-Advocate; it would not help him to secure the truth if he showed revulsion from the standards of the village. He felt at a loss in another respect. He was there to question a very young girl, a good girl by all accounts, upon a very intimate matter. He knew practically nothing about British girls at all; he had very seldom spoken to one in his life. Certainly he had never spoken to a British village girl like this; he had no idea how she might react to any of his questions. He felt that quite unknowingly he might defeat his object by his ignorance and clumsiness, fail to secure the truth, and make the matter worse. Still, he must do his best.
He went into the shop. Most of it was given over to groceries, but there was a sub post office in one corner, behind a wire grill. At the grocery counter there was a middle-aged woman with two girls, all dressed in rather soiled white overalls, serving two or three customers. Behind the post office grille there was a middle-aged man.
The officer went up to the grille. “Mr Robertson?” he asked.
The man looked up. “That’s me.”
“I’m looking for a young lady, Miss Trefusis,” the major said quietly. “Is she here?”
The man nodded with understanding. “That’s her at the end,” he said in a low tone. The major turned and saw a very pretty, dark-haired girl at the other counter.
He said: “I want to have a talk with her, about this trouble that sh
e’s had. Could I do that here?”
“Well, if you like,” the man said. “I’m just shutting up. It’ll be quiet in here in a few minutes, if you like to wait.”
Major Curtis waited; Mr Robertson came out of the post office section and closed the street door. One by one the customers were shown out; he saw the shopkeeper go to his wife, and say a word to her quietly; they glanced at him and the girl. He crossed over to the counter and said to her: “Miss Trefusis? Could I have a word or two with you?”
She said nervously: “With me?”
“Yes,” he said. “I guess you know what it’s about. I’ve been sent down from Headquarters over this court martial there’s to be about your trouble. Would you tell me a few things?”
She said: “I telled one officer about it the day after, when he came. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
“I know that,” he said. “I don’t like worrying you, Miss Trefusis. But that colored boy, he’s in a mighty serious position. He can go to prison for five years upon a charge like this. Well, that’s fair enough and quite right if he did what he’s charged with, but we want to be sure there isn’t any doubt about the matter. Five years in prison is a mighty long time, if there was any mistake.”
She was silent.
“We all want to do what’s proper and what’s right,” he said. “We’ve got to stop things like this happening, so you girls can go about your own streets safe at night. But we’ve got to be fair all round, fair to you and fair to him. There’s just one or two things I want to ask you, to check up with his own story. Will you tell me?”
She said: “All right.”
He smiled at her. “How long have you worked here, Miss Trefusis?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Here? I come here about three years ago, after school.”
“Live in Trenarth all your life?”
She shook her head. “We lived at Wadebridge first of all; my Dad, he works on the railway. He got moved here when I was about seven.”
Major Curtis nodded. He knew Wadebridge, another little town in Cornwall not much bigger than Trenarth. “That about ten years back?”
“That’s right.”
He glanced down at the little packages she had been making up, of butter and of cheese. “They the day’s rations?” he enquired. “Do you spend all your time doing up those things?”
She stared at him. “Week, you mean. We don’t make up rations by the day.” She took one up. “That’s butter for a week, that is.”
“Gee,” he said. “It doesn’t look like much.”
“It’s not much,” she retorted. “Two ounces.”
“Do you get bored with it?” he asked. “Making up those little packets all the time?”
“Well, I dunno,” she said. “You’ve got to do something.”
He leaned casually against the counter; she was beginning to talk freely. “Do you get many of our soldiers in here?” he inquired. “Americans, I mean?”
She said: “Not very many — just a few. I don’t think there’s much for them here. They aren’t allowed to buy the rationed foods. Some of them come into the post office.”
He asked: “Do any of them get fresh?”
She tossed her head. “Some of the white ones try and be funny. I think they’re awfully silly.”
“Don’t the black ones ever get that way?”
She said: “Oh no. They’ve got ever such good manners.”
Major Mark T. Curtis laughed within himself and thought, that’s one for you. Aloud he said:
“Tell me, you knew this boy you had your trouble with a little bit, didn’t you?”
She said: “I wouldn’t call it knowing him. He used to come in here for cigarettes.”
“Did you wait on him?”
“If I was about. I do the cigarettes and Maggie does the sweets. It’s easier for one person to remember all the different prices of them things.”
“What did he used to buy?”
“Player’s.”
“How many? Fifty or a hundred?”
“Oh no. We couldn’t sell that many to one customer. He used to buy ten.”
“Just a little packet often Player’s?”
“That’s right.”
“They couldn’t have lasted him long.”
“They didn’t. He was in here almost every day.”
“How long did he keep on coming in like that?”
“Oh, a long time. Nigh on three weeks, maybe.”
“He didn’t get fresh?”
“Oh no, sir — the black ones never do. I was telling you.”
Major Curtis said: “Ever strike you, Miss Trefusis, that he came in to see you?”
She dropped her eyes. “I dunno.”
The officer said: “Be fair to him. He’s in a mighty lot of trouble over this. If he kind of admired you, Miss Trefusis, well, there’s nothing wrong with that.” He stopped rather suddenly, in mid oration. He had been about to say that a cat could look at a king, but it occurred to him that that might not apply to a Negro and a white girl.
She said in a low tone: “Well, it did seem sort of funny that he came here so often.”
The major veered off on another tack, fearing to dwell too long upon a delicate point. “Do you go to the movies much?” he asked.
She looked up, surprised. “Oh yes, I think they’re ever so nice. We close Saturday afternoons, and we go then.”
“To Penzance?”
She nodded. “There’s two lovely picture houses there, the Empire and the Regal. They get ever such good pictures.”
“Who do you go with?”
She said: “Nellie Hunter, or Jane Penlee, mostly. Sometimes I go with Ma.”
“Are those ones that you mentioned school friends?”
“That’s right.”
He smiled at her. “Ever go with a boy?”
She shook her head. “Not alone.”
He smiled more broadly. “Ever been asked?”
She laughed shyly. “Not yet.”
“Oh well,” he said, “I guess there’s plenty of time.” And still smiling at her, he asked: “Suppose this colored boy had asked you to go to the movies with him, would you have gone?”
The smile died from her face. “I dunno. You mean, before he done what he did?”
“That’s right, Miss Trefusis. Suppose he’d brought a colored friend along with him and suggested that you brought one of your friends, and you all made a party and went to the movies together, would you have gone?”
She said: “I wouldn’t know, not after seeing how he could behave. I might have done before, when I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t afraid of him, before this happened?”
She shook her head.
“Was it a great surprise to you, when he behaved so badly?”
The girl said: “Well, yes, it was. I’d never have expected him to do a thing like that. He always seemed so quiet.”
The major said: “I had a talk in hospital with him this afternoon. He told me he wanted to ask you something that night, but things kind of went wrong. Would you like to know what it was he wanted to ask you?”
She nodded.
“He wanted to ask you if you’d like to take a little walk with him one evening. He was mighty lonely, and he wanted somebody to talk to. He didn’t like to ask you in the shop, because he didn’t want to embarrass you, in front of other people. So he waited for you outside. He began waiting at six o’clock that evening, hoping he’d meet you alone and be able to ask you without other people hearing. He didn’t get his chance till ten o’clock at night, and he thought it was too late to ask you. I guess he got kind of confused then, and just naturally kissed you. He’s mighty sorry now.”
“So he should be,” the girl said indignantly, “doing a thing like that!” And then she said: “Why ever didn’t he say, if he wanted me to go for a walk with him? I wouldn’t have been cross.”
Major Curtis said: “It must be mighty difficult for a colo
red boy to ask a white girl that. He wouldn’t dare to do it back in his home town.”
“Because of his colour?”
“That’s right. That’s one of the things that got him all confused.”
The girl said thoughtfully: “I wouldn’t have minded. I might not have gone with him, but I wouldn’t have minded him asking.”
The officer said: “There’s just one thing, Miss Trefusis, where his account doesn’t check up with what Lieutenant Anderson says you told him. What happened when you started struggling? Did he let you go, or did he hang on?”
She said: “I was ever so frightened. I don’t really know.” She thought for a minute. “I ran round the corner and bumped right into another man, that fat policeman.”
“That’s not what the lieutenant put in his report. He said that the Negro didn’t let you go until the policeman came. It makes a big difference,” he explained, “whether he let you go at once, or not until the policeman came.”
She said: “I think he must have let go. I think he must have done. He wasn’t all that bad.”
“It’s not quite what you told Lieutenant Anderson.”
She said: “I don’t remember what I did say. Ma did most of the talking.”
“The boy himself says he let go at once.”
“I was ever so frightened,” she repeated. “I think maybe he did. It’s kind of silly to be frightened of things, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know about that,” the major said. “What he did was quite enough to frighten anyone. He acted very wrongly. But he’s taken a good deal of punishment, one way and another. Do you want us to go on with this court martial, Miss Trefusis?”
She looked up at him. “I never asked you to start no court martial,” she said. “You did that yourselves. No one ever asked me anything about it.”
He smiled. “I guess that’s so. Would you be content if we just drop the charge against him, and let the matter be?”