When Ferlie was seventeen and a half, and the finishing school loomed
ahead with its extra music lessons and picture gallery tours, Peter,
too, began to have ideas about cages. He did not quite describe them
in Ferlie's way but proved himself worthily her brother and, up to a
certain point, allowed himself to be influenced by her opinions.
At nineteen, when Caius College claimed him, he showed signs of
forging ahead at a pace which left her a little breathless. The
enquiring expression had sobered, on the development of a
well-chiselled nose, into the self-assured look of someone who has
things to tell the world. To Ferlie he first imparted samples of
these.
His reform scheme for the suffering Universe was to be based, of
course, on psychics. As a first step towards bursting upon Humanity
in the guise of Universal Healer, he had taken Havelock Ellis in
large indigestible doses, concluding inflexibly that all trouble
dated, not so much from Adam and Eve as from Lilith, who made of them
Two, instead of One, like herself.
"Originally, we were in all probability One Perfect Sex," he told
Ferlie. "Artificial experimenting caused the split, which,
naturally, left one sex the complement of the other. We find the old
allegory of Jupiter dividing by sword the race of gods which, having
created, he had begun to fear. Ever since, each has been looking for
its true half in order to regain the lost power the Perfect Whole
first possessed."
"But surely the bi-sexual insects are the lowest in the scale of
Evolution," argued Ferlie, shrinking somewhat from the suggestion
that Peter's new Heaven and Earth, amalgamated, would contain no
marrying nor giving in marriage. Because, though she, at fourteen,
had pledged herself to eternally single blessedness, she rather liked
to see other people marrying and driving away in their best clothes,
looking happy. One never saw the same people again, somehow, after
they had driven away. The couple which returned in their place
seemed always to be a couple that asked nothing better of life than
to sit still. The driving away spelt Adventure but, perhaps, they
came back before they had reached that.
Ferlie was quite sure that, having once begun to drive away, she
would never turn back.
"And you see"--she had lost Peter and returned with a jump to find
him grazing in new pastures--"half the hysteria at the back of crime
and all unhappiness is sexual. The economic conditions in this
country which condemn so many women to single cursedness are
disgraceful. And how can anything vitally important be accomplished
for the Good of the Universe and the control of its illimitable
forces, when this sex-hunt, and natural procreation, curtails such a
disproportionate amount of human time and energy? The natural
functions necessary for the continuance of the Race should be
exercised almost as unconsciously as in the case of trees and plants,
without stultifying analysation of emotion. It is time we strove for
a simpler and less sentimental Ideal..."
Ferlie agreed that everyone who wanted to get married should be able
to do so by means of a State Dowry, equal for all, but she did not
see how Peter's Reform Scheme was to provide sufficient male mates
even then.
"And is it a doctor you will call yourself, dear?"
"I shall be the First of my Kind," said Peter in tones which admitted
no doubt of it. "Once through the usual exams, so as to give the
old-fashioned geezers no handle--I have always felt Barker should
have tempered the wind to the shorn lambs of his period--I shall
strike out on Lines of My Own. I shall not attempt to explain them
to you yet. But, first of all, there must come a Breaking Away!" He
made a wide gesture with his arms, and Ferlie, furtively sympathizing
with this draw-a-long-breath attitude, suspected that Peter would
probably excel himself in the Breaking Away, whatever happened
afterwards.
"I may have to deal a blow to many existing institutions and suffer a
bit for my convictions," went on Peter, looking as if this would not
prove the least enjoyable part of the campaign, "for instance,
Marriage must go."
"Oh, really, Peter? I am rather sorry."
"It is a starkly barbarous survival of prehistoric ages; and now half
the people who uphold, or at least weakly condone it, are making vows
they do not intend to keep before altars whose sacrificial fires have
long been cold."
He talked very well, thought Ferlie, and probably did not mean all he
said.
"But, Peter, do you really think that the majority of people have
stopped believing in God?"
"Few have stopped who ever believed. Many have never believed who
assumed they did because the Christian ethics were necessary to the
civilization which they found comfortable. Scientific minds are now
demanding proof, and finding none, of many things upon which those
ethics are said to be based. Therefore they begin to have the
courage of their convictions. Lack of that has, up to now, caused
them to accept marriage on the surface and to deny it by secret act.
They have entered into lying contracts which are not only against
Nature but against common sense, because they feared to be pioneers.
"In all great movements there must be pioneers. It's not a pleasant
job, pioneering; nor is it for cowards. At present, my own brain
refuses to admit the existence of a Personal God, who can be cajoled
or roused to anger according to the behaviour of a swarm of little
ants on one of the countless millions of whirling globes He is said
to have made in His spare time. The Herd Law, developed by the
strongest of those little ants, is followed by the weak majority
under the guise of a Divine Law, until a stronger little ant than the
first one comes along and amends it to suit himself, still sounding
the Divinity slogan. Whatever name is given to this religion or
binding principle, the non-courageous part of the Herd, which is the
greater part, follow, etc., etc., and etc."
Visions of Peter followed by a Herd released from lawful matrimony
caused Ferlie an instant's misgiving.
Of course it was admitted that the marriage service had been somewhat
unfortunately reformed already once in the past by Cranmer, who,
influenced by German relatives, had introduced the Germanic idea of
servile obedience for the woman, absent in the old Catholic form.
The modern Anti-Reformationists were rightly demanding fresh revision
and omissions. "Stronger ants," she supposed. But, if they proved
less strong than the Peters, would Free Love make a superior
substitute to an institution hitherto regarded as God-given, though
Cranmerized? Even if God had become, for the Scientific Mind, as
obsolete as Cranmer? Whoever re-created two imperfect sexes out of
One Perfect Sex had made a very thorough job of it. Besides, were
all Peter's ideas quite so shiningly new as he touchingly considered
them?
"You really have remarkable powers of assimilation for your age,"
said Peter, "and, unlike many women, are not hysterically upset by
the Unobvious." (Ferlie hoped that Cyprian might, also, appreciate
these newly-developed qualities when he came home.) "And, therefore,
I feel inclined to trust you with an important secret."
"You know you can, Peter."
He braced himself for confession.
"I have met a woman," said Peter.
Somehow Ferlie had thought as much.
"Slightly older than myself," he went on. "She is a hospital nurse
and, naturally, we have discovered much common ground to explore in
discussion. The nurse, I always maintain, can form a more accurate
estimate of the patient than can the doctor. Phyllis agrees with me
that, in most cases, mental control should be established first, and
hypnotic influence be given a more important place than medicine.
The theory should be practised, not talked about. The advertisement
earned by Coué and Hickman and their friends, becoming mingled with
ridicule, injures their cause. Jesus of Nazareth avoided
advertisement. He wisely foresaw the harm it did; and he never
pretended to be doing anything that a disciple could not also do who
sufficiently developed his will-power and self-confidence."
"You--you won't talk like this to Martha and Mary? At present, you
see, Peter, they think you are so nice."
He waved a lofty hand at the mention of these shorn lambs of his
generation.
"I have told you I believe in tempering the wind."
Nevertheless, although it was splendid to be considered fully
protected against the searching elements of Truth, Ferlie felt that
her wool might have been thicker after his final announcement.
"Phyllis and I, likewise, see eye to eye on this pioneering question.
We are convinced we have a mission. It shall be carried out, not by
word of mouth, but by example. We suit one another. We are healthy
and, from a medical point of view, know all there is to be known
about contraception. At present we meet in secret. I feel I owe it
to the Old Folk to put my views squarely to them before coming
fearlessly out into the open to state that, in the eyes of the God we
serve, we consider ourselves married without the intervention of a
priest or State official. Phyllis has no parents--thank
goodness!--to bring pressure to bear upon her in the form of
hysterical tears. We shall live together without cheapening our
private relationship by becoming parties to a ceremony which, in our
case, is tantamount to a farce. We shall remain faithful to one
another without the urge of a public vow, loyal without the necessity
of bonds to keep us so. Should we, eventually, decide to have
children, they will be brought up on like principles and taught the
utter unimportance of sex except for purposes of healthy propagation,
and it will be a point of honour for each parent to do his, or her,
utmost to fulfil the responsibility entailed at their birth,
uncoerced by any Court of Law. Since the whole union will be based
on reason, not sentiment, everything is bound to run smoothly. It is
all very simple, really."
Ferlie knew that Cyprian would consider it lamentably complicated.
And wasn't Cyprian a little more experienced than Peter? If Cyprian
had married Muriel--and an unaccountable coldness stole over Ferlie
at the thought--it would certainly have been according to Herd Law,
if not God's.
"You mean, Peter darling--_Do_ you mean that you are living with this
woman now?"
"Please remember that you are referring to My Wife, in the Eyes of
God."
But Ferlie was considering the eyes of their uncle, the bishop. She
wondered whether, as an only sister, she had done her duty by Peter.
Mary might be a stupid old thing but she was led to believe, in spite
of oneself, that she walked with God. Inspired by this realization
Margery had conquered the pudding.
The Influence of The Good Woman was Mary's favourite subject for a
Sunday Talk.
Mankind, she would say--she never called them "Men"--were uplifted by
it, comforted in sorrow, healed in sickness, converted on death-beds.
"A lady with a lamp shall stand, etc...."
Peter, despite his lordly airs, was slightly pinker than usual and
his eyes sought space above Ferlie's head. He had a beautiful skin,
she thought. She did hope Phyllis was nice. She knew that her
mother would have given up hope right away but, perhaps, parents, and
even Cyprians, were a little out of date.
The Young were marching onwards, still soldiers, though not exactly
Christian ones; because the old Christian Leader was out of date too.
He was now just Jesus of Nazareth, the Founder of Christianity, as
the Buddha was Gaudama Theiddatha, the Founder of Buddhism, and
Mohammed the Founder of--was it Islam or Allah?
Said Peter, making a successful break-away from a pause which
threatened to become uncomfortable, "I will introduce Phyllis to you,
Ferlie; on the Q.T. We are relying on your support."
"Dear Peter," touched by this beautiful confidence in her affection.
"Only I do hope you are both quite sure."
She wasn't a bit sure herself.
* * * * * *
Phyllis did nothing to decrease her uneasiness. That lady proved to
be pale-faced and regular of profile, with quick dark eyes which
never came to rest on any one object for long. Mrs. Carmichael had a
weakness for people who looked at you, as she was in the habit of
saying, "dead straight in the face." In thinking it out Ferlie
remembered that very few ever did. Why should they? And, of those
few more than one had been proved, later, own brother to Ananias.
But, whether or no Phyllis was own sister to Sapphira, she scarcely
glanced at Ferlie in shaking hands. She might, decided Peter's
sister, be incessantly calculating sums in mental arithmetic. The
fluttering of her eyelids apparently shut out visions which sought to
steal between her brain and the addition and subtraction.
The interview was hardly a screaming success. Ferlie was
irresistibly and unreasonably reminded of Muriel Vane and wondered,
depressedly, on the way home, if she were going to develop into one
of those women who mistrust their own sex.
She was Aunt Brillianna's guest at the time, and the latter swiftly
noticed her problematical silences, but put them down to anxiety over
the mail which brought distressing news of Mr. Carmichael. The
doctors talked sagely of an operation and he was taking sick leave.
"If he should have to retire now he won't get his 'K,'" Ferlie
reminded Aunt B., reading from her mother's inconsequent scrawl.
Aunt B. dryly tendered it as her opinion that the Family of
Carmichael was great enough to survive that loss. "Leave us our
nobility" had best described her attitude since the Houses of
Trefusis and Carmichael had united. The ancestral title would ever
carry more weight with her than any that might possibly be earned or
bought by some Son of Trade with nothing to recommend him but Board
School brains or a Bank Balance.
Ferlie, however, received a clearer idea of the workings of her
mother's mind.
One returned from Exile with letters after one's name, the reward of
thirty-odd years of labour, and in Europe people knew not what they
meant nor even the order in which to write them. The Handle, an
unmistakeable sign of services rendered, they could understand and
respect, whether or no the man who wore it had received the just
reward of his deeds.
"Your father," wrote Mrs. Carmichael, "will be the only one of the
Family to have had his career cut short, if this illness presages
early retirement. And this with you nearly grown-up and Peter
becoming more expensive every term...!"
Ferlie could have foretold that, apart from the question of expense,
Peter, at the moment, was unlikely to exercise a soothing influence
on his mother's shattered nerves. She had an idea that Aunt
Brillianna would prove the only satisfactory exponent of his case,
but Peter had not been moved to confide in Aunt B.
* * * * * *
His parents came, heard, but found themselves unable to conquer him.
Peter was a stauncher supporter of truth than of tact. His mother
took refuge in unlimited tears; his father in the only ethics he
favoured, i.e., those founded on the honour of the House of
Carmichael. Decently-bred people simply "did not do" these things.
Peter hotly denied that his bodily functions were at variance with
those of the organ-grinder. This was the most unkindest cut of all.
No Carmichael had ever ground an organ for a living and the
comparison was odious.
Peter wanted to introduce Phyllis to them as his wife in the eyes of
whatever God the Family severally worshipped. His father adopted the
time-honoured attitude which forbade his son to bring That Woman in
contact with the crystal purity of mother and sister. Ferlie,
holding to the view that "better a little lie than much great
unhappiness," refrained from publishing it abroad that she had
already been subjected to the contamination of Phyllis.
Peter and his latch-key departed the house and were no more seen, and
his irate father's emotions were presently smothered in a whirl of
soft-footed nurses and suavely-smiling physicians.
"If Peter could only have waited!" wailed his mother. But Youth
waits on nobody.
Once free of the Nursing Home Mr. Carmichael took a practical line:
Peter found his allowance stopped. Then it was that he diabolically
exemplified his theories regarding the common Brotherhood of Man by
obtaining an organ and a particularly chilly-looking monkey who
danced to the tune of "O solo mio," thus rendered by a Carmichael
outside the paternal library window. No one could have guessed how
the farce would end.
The last act was exclusively organized by Phyllis. The very
opposition had lent Phyllis a fictitious value in Peter's eyes and
his philosophy became for him the bread of life. To Ferlie, alone,
he brought his accounts of Phyllis's unfathomable comprehension of
his own soul. "Mixed into me as honey in wine," etc., etc.
Phyllis assumed the same proportions for Peter as had Muriel Vane for
Cyprian; she was the Perfect Mate. And then Phyllis met a well-to-do
surgeon, with reputation already established, who was not merely
ruling an ethereally beautiful Kingdom in the Clouds. To Ferlie came
Peter, wild-eyed and incredulous.
"But she said--But she _understood_ that she was My Wife," he
repeated again and again, as if by the repetition he could find the
key to the riddle.
"And, you see, Peter," said Ferlie simply, "if she had been married
to you in the ordinary way----"
But that was going ahead too quickly for Peter.
"She said... She promised..." Surely that creed should be
all-sufficient which admitted the word of a mortal soul to be its
bond.
Mrs. Carmichael's sense of injury against That Creature for having
caught Peter was now transformed into indignation because she had let
him go.
His father, the danger safely over, resumed his man-of-the-world pose
as though he had never departed from it, produced an extra ten-pound
note, or so, and told his wife that boys would be boys.
Only Ferlie fully realized that by such means boys become men.
Aunt B., meeting Peter accidentally soon afterwards in the Tube,
immersed in illustrated volumes whose pages unblushingly revealed to
his neighbours on either side aspects of the human frame the
existence of which they had, hitherto, blandly ignored, nodded her
shingled locks in Sybillic understanding.
"Buses and Tubes are the most natural places to study the shapes of
one's fellow-creatures," she remarked. "I see you are determined it
is to be Medicine, Peter."
"Medicine must be the preliminary," Peter replied, unshaken in his
resolve to arrive at summits unattained, albeit it seemed he would be
obliged to scale them unpartnered.
"I am going abroad for the winter," Aunt B. informed him. "I may, or
I may not, return with the swallows. When Ferlie is in her Parisian
convent and you memorizing the seventeen Latin names for the stomach,
or some equally uninspiring anatomical organ, in Caius, no one will
be needing a garrulous old woman who finds it difficult to keep her
fingers out of other folks' pies. I suppose when I see you and
Ferlie again you will both have quite a lot of advice to give me as
to where I should ornament a bath-chair for the remainder of my days."
If Aunt B. had been able to face the English winter, or, if on
deciding not to do anything so disagreeable, she had left an address
behind her for regular correspondents to bombard with the Family
scandals, her departure might not have affected Ferlie's whole
future. As it did.
* * * * * *
Peter had come down for the Short Vacation that Season, and Ferlie
had clung in damp farewell round the high collars of Martha and Mary,
and returned to town to lay in stores of more advanced underclothing
than had been permitted under their care in preparation for her
departure to be "finished."
The fortnight after Christmas she spent at the home of Margery
Craven, now a red-cheeked Diana of the hunting-field, collecting
brushes and masks of more than legitimate four-footed victims.
Thence, an unintelligible letter from Peter recalled Ferlie. It was
so unusual for Peter to condescend to anything longer than a telegram
that Ferlie took the train home with forebodings she tried vainly to
allay. Something had gone wrong, he said. Plans for everyone had
altered and she was needed.
She reached their town house to learn from the parlour-maid that her
father had been taken back to the Nursing Home; that her mother was
with him now there, at the moment, and that Mr. Peter had ordered tea
in the library.
Ferlie sought him without even waiting to shed her muff and furs. It
was always rather dark in the library, but the uncertain shadows cast
by the red lick of flaming tongues in the deep grate, where a new log
was crackling, could not altogether account for an odd bleared look
about Peter's eyes. He was sitting in a crimson leather arm-chair,
his shoulders hunched, his hands on his knees.
"Hullo!" he hailed her unconvincingly; and he spoke as if he had a
cold. "I couldn't meet you--had to do some important messages for
Mother." Then he explained.
Even if Mr. Carmichael's second operation proved successful, he would
never return to Burma; in which case Ferlie could not go to Paris,
nor Peter back to Caius. It would be impossible for his father to
put him through the prolonged and expensive medical course on a
pension reduced by high income tax, increased rates of living, and
the expense of interminable doctors' fees which they might have to
meet in the future.
The town house must, necessarily, be sold. Mrs. Carmichael would
feel most the change to cramped quarters; she had been a Somebody
among other Somebodies in the East. Moreover, out there, the "K" was
considered a foregone conclusion with regard to her husband.
Ferlie's own disappointment receded into the background as she
measured the full force of this second blow which Fate had dealt
Peter.
"It will mean----" she faltered after a long pause, and stopped.
"Anything a fellow can get," said Peter, his air-castles a blur of
undefined hues at his feet like the ruined rainbows of melted snow.
Ferlie wondered if it were true about the darkest hour coming before
dawn. Wished that she could hear Cyprian's views on the subject.
During the next few weeks, however, she found herself consoling,
rather than consulting, people. Her mother and Peter were too
immersed in their particular aspects of the trouble to question
whether Ferlie herself did not require most support, freshly
transplanted as she was from a world devoid of responsibility to one
teeming with seemingly unsolvable problems.