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COLLECTION
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TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 3971.
THE HOUSE OF DEFENCE.
BY
E. F. BENSON.
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. 2.
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=Latest Volumes.--June 1907=.
=In the Days of the Comet.= By H. G. WELLS. 1 vol.--3927.
This work is a new study of the future and of "things as they
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=Sophy of Kravonia.= By ANTHONY HOPE. 2 v.--3928/29.
Though the State of Kravonia be not found on any map, the lovers of
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=The Youngest Miss Mowbray.= By B. M. CROKER. 1 vol.--3930.
In this new novel of modern English life Mrs. Croker gives us
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=Chippinge.= By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 2 vols.--3931/32.
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=Rezánov.= By GERTRUDE FRANKLIN ATHERTON. 1 vol.--3933.
A story of old Californian days, a theme of which this popular
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=The Matrimonial Lottery.= By CHARLOTTE O'CONOR ECCLES. 1 vol.--3934.
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=Sir Nigel.= By A. CONAN DOYLE. 2 vols.--3935/36.
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=Whom God hath joined.= By ARNOLD BENNETT. 1 vol.--3939.
A drama of real life dealing with the still unsolved marriage
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=The Lady Evelyn.= By MAX PEMBERTON. 1 vol.--3940.
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=A Barrister's Courtship.= By F. C. PHILIPS. 1 vol.--3941.
A collection of short sketches by a well-known humourist, and a
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COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 3971.
THE HOUSE OF DEFENCE. BY E. F. BENSON.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
THE
HOUSE OF DEFENCE
BY
E. F. BENSON
AUTHOR OF "DODO," "THE CHALLONERS," "THE IMAGE IN THE SAND,"
"THE ANGEL OF PAIN," "PAUL," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1907.
THE HOUSE OF DEFENCE.
CHAPTER I.
Maud was lying in a long chair on the lawn after lunch the following
afternoon, defending Christian Science from the gibes (which were keen)
of the mockers, who were many. She had an ally, it is true, in the
person of Alice Yardly, who, in her big hat and white dress, with a blue
sash, looked like a doubtful Romney, and was smiling, literally with all
her might. The more the mockers mocked, the kinder grew her smile, and
the more voluble her explanations. Maud, for her part, would sooner have
done battle alone, for all that Alice as an ally did was, with great
precision and copious directions, to reveal to the enemy all the weak
points in the fortifications (of which, it seemed to Maud, there were
hundreds) and all the angles where an assault would probably meet with
success. Wherever, so it seemed, there was any possible difficulty in
"the scheme of things entire," as understood by Christian scientists,
there was poor dear Alice, waving a large and cheerful flag to call
attention to it.
"No, I am not a Christian Scientist, Thurso," Maud was saying, "because
I think a lot of it is too silly--oh, well, never mind. But what I told
you at lunch I actually saw with my own eyes. I will say it again. Nurse
Miles, who is optimistic, told me that Sandie was dying, and though it
was really no use, she wanted Dr. Symes to be sent for. Well, I didn't
send for him, but I went upstairs with Mr. Cochrane, and I saw Mr.
Cochrane--by means of Christian Science, I must suppose--pull Sandie out
of the jaws of death."
"Be fair, Maud," said Thurso. "Tell them what Dr. Symes said when he
came next morning."
"I was going to. He said he had known cases where the temperature went
suddenly down from high fever to below normal, and it had not meant
perforation. It meant simply what it was--the sudden cessation of fever.
Of course, such a thing is very rare, and it would be an odd coincidence
if----"
Alice Yardly leaned forward, smiled, and interrupted violently and
volubly.
"Mortal mind had caused the fever originally," she said, "and it was
this that Mr. Cochrane demonstrated over, thus enabling Sandie to throw
off the false claim of fever and temperature, for he couldn't really
have fever, since fever is evil."
"Is temperature evil, too?" asked Thurso. "And why is a temperature of
104 degrees more evil than a normal temperature?"
Alice did not even shut her mouth, but held it open during Thurso's
explanation, so as to go on again the moment he stopped.
"Neither heat nor cold really exist," she said, "any more than fever,
since, as I was saying, fever is evil, and Infinite Love cannot send
evil to anybody, because it is All-Good. It was the demonstration of
this that made his temperature go down and let him get well. It was only
with his mortal mind, too, that he could think he had fever, since there
is no real sensation in matter, just as it was through mortal mind, and
not through All-Love, that he thought he had caught it. But Immortal
Mind knows that there is no sensation in matter, and so no disease. As
David said, 'Thou shalt not be afraid for any terror by night, nor for
the arrow that flieth by day;' and when Sandie, by Mr. Cochrane's
demonstration over mortal mind, perceived that--though he need not have
been conscious that he perceived it--the false claim of fever left him,
so, of course, his temperature went down."
Maud gave a sigh, not of impatience, but of very conscious patience,
which is very near akin to it.
"Darling Alice," she said, "you haven't understood a single word from
the beginning. Mr. Cochrane didn't make Sandie's temperature go down."
Alice's mouth was still open. She interrupted like lightning.
"No, of course not," she said. "It was not Mr. Cochrane: it was the
belief and trust in Immortal Mind that had reached Sandie. It is not the
healer who does it: it is Divine Love shining through the healer that
disperses false claims. God is good and is All, and matter is nothing,
because Life, God, Immortal Mind----"
Maud sat up in her long chair and clapped her hands close to Alice's
face, so that she absolutely could not go on, in spite of the
omnipotence of Immortal Mind.
"I will finish one sentence--just one," she said, "whatever you say.
You don't understand a single thing. It was the subsidence of high
temperature that was the dangerous symptom. Mr. Cochrane came in after
Sandie's temperature had suddenly gone down. He had nothing to do with
bringing it down. I took him up to Sandie, because Sandie's temperature
had gone down. I am sure it is very difficult to understand, especially
if you don't believe in temperature; but do draw a long breath and try
to grasp that. It wasn't Immortal Good, God, Mind, that brought Sandie's
temperature below normal: it was all, as you would say, a frightfully
false claim. It was a symptom of dangerous illness, not a symptom of
health. I wish you would attend more. You make me feel feverish in
explaining like this, darling."
Alice's smile suffered no diminution. She was still quite ready to
explain anything.
"As I said, fever cannot be sent by Divine Love," she remarked, "and
therefore, since there is nothing really existent in the world except
Divine Love, it follows that fever cannot be real, and that the belief
in it is a function of mortal mind. No evil or pain or disease can
happen to anybody who has uprooted the false claim of mortal mind, and
no drug can have any effect, either harmful or beneficial, on anyone who
knows the truth. The drug only acts on mortal mind, which is----"
Thurso entered the arena.
"I want to understand, Alice," he said. "Supposing I choose to drink
large quantities of prussic acid for breakfast, under the conviction
that no poison exists for Immortal Mind, shall I live to take pints more
of it at lunch? Doesn't poison exist for mortal body?"
"'If you drink any deadly thing it shall not hurt you,'" quoted Alice.
"Soufflé of nightshade for Alice this evening," said Maud cheerfully.
Theodosia had been keeping up a general chattering noise, to which no
one listened. Now she had her chance.
"My!" she said. "You'd better become a Christian Scientist at once,
Silas. Silas adores--he just adores--English beer, but he has a false
claim that it disagrees with him. Now Mrs. Yardly tells us that there's
no such thing as poison. So, Silas, just take tight hold of that, and
get a barrel. I may be left a widow, but try--just swill it."
"Theodosia," began Silas; but he was not permitted to get further.
"But intoxicant drinks are in themselves evil things," said Alice, "just
as tobacco, which is only fed upon by a loathsome worm, is evil, as you
will find in Mrs. Eddy's miscellaneous writings. She has pronounced
against them."
"But I thought there was no evil except in the false belief of mortal
mind?" said Maud.
"That is just what I have been saying," said Alice profusely. "The only
real existence is God, who is cause, source, origin, overlies and
underlies and encompasses."
Rudolf Villars joined in.
"And if Mrs. Eddy said that cream-cheese was evil, would that make it
so?" he asked politely. "Cannot she have attacks of error and mortal
mind? Is it not just possible, as Oliver Cromwell said, that she is
occasionally? I should have thought that instances might be found where
intoxicants had even saved life in cases of exhaustion or exposure."
Maud broke in again.
"You are all very flippant," she said. "It really does not matter what
Mrs. Eddy thinks about tobacco, or whether darling Alice will not answer
our questions. But I did see--and I stick to it--a man who was past
human power pulled back into life by Mr. Cochrane. How it was done I
don't know, but his own explanation was a perfectly simple one. He said
it was the direct healing power of God. After all, if we and doctors
say that there are healing powers in certain herbs which God made, why
shouldn't He heal direct?"
The throb of a motor and the sound of its wheels crunching the gravel
was heard, and Thurso got up.
"Well, we must settle something else just now," he said. "Who wants to
drive over to Windsor, and who wants to go on the river, and who wants
to do nothing?"
This broke up the conference, as it was designed to do, for Thurso felt
literally unable to stand much more: he was nervous, irritable, scarcely
in his own control. He had slept badly--indeed, he had hardly slept at
all--and this stream of balderdash that spouted from Alice was quite
intolerable. She, however, with undiminished cheerfulness, expressed a
preference for the river, and made it impossible for Villars not to
offer his companionship. Ruby and Jim had not been seen since lunch.
Theodosia and her husband went with Thurso to Windsor, and Mr. Yardly
murmured something about letters, which, rightly interpreted, meant
slumber, and hastily betook himself to the house. In consequence, Maud
and her sister-in-law, both of whom announced their intention of doing
nothing of any description, were before long left in possession of the
garden. There had been a certain design about this, though successfully
veiled, on Catherine's part. She wanted to have a talk with Maud, and
the gentlest promptings had been sufficient to make other people choose
other things.
The rest of the party dispersed in their various directions, and it was
not till the motor had hooted at the entrance to the main road and the
steam launch puffed its way past the opening in the yew-hedge that
Catherine spoke again.
"Tell me more about this Mr. Cochrane," she said.
Maud was already half immersed in her book, and had been quite
unconscious of Catherine's diplomacy. She started a little when the
question was put to her, and closed her book.
"There is really no more to tell," she said. "I think I have told you
all. Ah! no; there was one more thing, but they would all have howled so
if I had said it. It was this: he told me that he was demonstrating over
the whole outbreak of typhoid. Well, it stopped quite suddenly. The
cases had been coming in hour after hour till it ceased like a tap being
turned off. And after that there were no more deaths. Of course, it
sounds incredible, and if you ask me whether I really believe that it
was through him that it came to an end like that, I shouldn't say 'Yes.'
I don't know."
"I should like to see Mr. Cochrane," remarked Catherine.
"You can if you like. He is coming to town, he told me, some day this
month. Oh, Catherine, it is interesting, anyhow! He did cure Sandie;
also, he cured Duncan Fraser's wife. I am convinced of that. And then
the other fact of the typhoid ceasing like that! Of course, you may say
it was a pure coincidence; you may say that those other cures were
coincidences too. But when you get a set of coincidences all together
like that, you wonder if there is not--well, some law which lies behind
them, and accounts for them all."
She paused a moment.
"A lot of apples and other things fell to the ground," she said, "and
Newton deduced the law of gravity. It accounted for them all."
Catherine lit a cigarette, and threw the match away with great vigour.
"_What_ a fool darling Alice is!" she observed. "I love Alice just as
you do--you can't help loving her--but, oh, what a fool! Somehow, if a
person talks such abject nonsense as that about anything, one concludes
that the subject is nonsense too. But it doesn't really follow. And Mr.
Cochrane doesn't talk nonsense?" she asked.
"No; he isn't the least nonsensical. As I have told you, he goes and
cures people when they are ill, instead of gassing about it. He's a very
good fisherman, too."
Catherine could not help laughing. Maud mentioned this in a voice of
such high approval.
"But isn't that inconsistent?" she said. "I don't think a man whose
whole belief was in health and life should go and kill things."
"Oh yes; I think it's inconsistent," said Maud, "and so does he. But did
you ever see anybody who wasn't inconsistent? I never did, and I never
want to. He would be so extremely dull: you would know all about him at
once."
"And you don't know all about Mr. Cochrane?" she asked.
"No; I should like to know more. I think I never met anyone so
arresting. You are forced to attend, whether you like it or not."
"And I gather you like it?" asked Catherine.
"Yes, certainly. I like vigour and certainty, and--oh, well, that sort
of cleanness. He is like a nice boy at Cambridge, with all this
extraordinary strength behind."
Catherine could not help making mental comments on this.
"Ah, that attracts you?" she said. "It attracts me also. I like people
to be strong and efficient; but, oh, Maud, how one's heart goes out to
them when they are helpless and enmeshed in what is stronger than they!"
This was a clear change of subject. Mr. Cochrane was put aside for a
little, and Catherine could not help noticing that Maud seemed relieved.
"Ah, you mean Thurso?" she said quickly, letting her book slide to the
ground.
"Yes; and I want to talk to you about him, for I believe you are wise,
and I feel helpless. I don't know what to do. Last night, I must tell
you, I went straight to his room after leaving you dressing. He had just
taken laudanum, not because he had any headache, but because he longed
for it."
Maud clasped her hands together and gave a little pitiful sound, half
sigh, half moan.
"Ah, the poor fellow!" she said. "Yes?"
"And--and he lied to me," said Catherine, "and said he had not been
taking it, and there was the glass smelling of it by his side. Then he
was very angry with me for a little, and said I had spoiled everything,
but eventually he gave me the bottle and let me pour it away. I did, and
I threw the bottle into the shrubbery."
Maud's eye brightened.
"Ah! that's better," she said. "He can still fight it."
Catherine shook her head.
"That's not all," she said, "and the rest is so dreadful, and so
pathetic. I couldn't sleep last night, and it must have been about two
in the morning when I got out of bed and went to the window and sat
there a little. And I saw Thurso come along the path, and he lit a match
and found the bottle. Then he took it--it was bright moonlight; I could
see quite clearly--and literally sucked it, to see if there was not a
drop or two left."
Maud had no reply to this. If it was despicable, it was, as Catherine
had said, dreadfully pathetic.
"Advise me, dear Maud," she said at length. "I am horribly troubled
about it. The sight of him turning that damned little bottle--no, I'm
not sorry: I meant it--upside down in his mouth showed me how awfully he
wanted it. I feel one shouldn't lose a day or a minute. The desire grows
like an aloe-flower. But if he won't see a doctor, what is to be done? I
shall send for Sir James as soon as I get back to town, and tell him all
about it; but I can't force Thurso to see him. Besides----" and she
stopped.
"Yes?"
"There is nothing in the world so hard to cure," she said. "It is
deadlier than a cancer."
"But he still wants to free himself," said Maud.
"Yes; so does a prisoner."
There was a pause.
"Or do you think I am taking too pessimistic a view?" asked Catherine.
Maud could not help seeing the bright side of things. Sunshine appealed
to her more strongly than shadow. It was more real to her.
"Yes; I think you are," she said. "He let you pour the--well, the damned
stuff away. You influenced him more strongly than his desire."
"Yes, than his satisfied desire," said Catherine with terrible
commonsense. "He had just taken it. Do you suppose he would have let me
pour it away if he was just going to take it?"
"I don't know. You are stronger than he, I think."
Maud gave a great sigh, picking up her book.
"I remember Mr. Cochrane practically offered to cure his neuralgia," she
said, "but I knew it was perfectly useless to suggest it to Thurso; nor
at the time did I believe in Mr. Cochrane. But since then----"
Catherine looked up, and saw in Maud's face what she had suspected.
"Oh, Maud!" she said. "Are you in love with him?"
Maud leaned forward, and her book again dropped face downwards on the
gravel. She did not notice it.
"Oh, I haven't the slightest idea," she said. "Catherine, I do like him
awfully--I like him most awfully. No one has ever attracted me like
that. Good gracious! how indelicate I am! But I don't care one straw. I
should like to put all my affairs and all poor Thurso's into his hands.
I should do it with the utmost confidence, and I should then just curl
round as one does in bed, and feel everything is all right. Is that
being in love? I don't know or care. He is so strong, and so windy and
so sunny. He is surrounded by sun, and--and it is as if he had just had
a cold bath and stepped into the sun. I love that strength and wind.
Don't you like it? I want somebody who would go on playing undoubled
spades at bridge in the middle of an earthquake. He would--for a
shilling a hundred. Am I in love with him? I tell you I don't know.
Certainly this sort of thing has never happened to me before, and,
again, I certainly have never been in love. So perhaps 'these are the
ones.' Oh, do tell me! When Thurso proposed to you, was it like that?
Did you feel there wasn't anybody else who _really_ mattered? Oh dear!
poor Mr. Cochrane, to have all this put upon him! He hasn't shown the
slightest sign of doing more than admire my fishing. Lots of people
have done that. But about you and Thurso, did you feel that? Is that the
one?"
There was a fine irony about this, and Catherine, in spite of the
previous discussion on Christian Science, which laid down that all that
had any real existence was good, felt disposed to believe in the malice
that lurked in chance questions. She evaded the direct answer.
"Oh, there are as many ways of love as there are people in the world,"
she said. "But, dear, I regard you with suspicion. There are certain
symptoms----"
"Oh, don't," said Maud.
"Very well. But I feel with you about strength. It is an adorable
quality to women. And it is that which so troubles me about Thurso. I
know--the throwing away of the bottle proves it--that he is fighting;
but is he strong enough? He was weak when he allowed himself to form a
habit that he knew was harmful."
She threw her hands wide.
"Oh, it is so awful!" she said. "One begins by saying, 'I shall do this
when I choose,' and so soon. This says, 'You shall do it when I choose.'
Personally, I always make it a rule to give anything up before I begin
to want it very badly."
There was an irony in this, too. The remembrance of what chiefly kept
her awake last night made her know that her rule was not always quite
easy to follow. But this was secret from Maud.
"You, who get all you want!" she said, speaking from outside.
Catherine got up, and began walking up and down the small angle of lawn
where they sat, bordering the deep flower-bed. All June was in flower
there, just as in herself, to the outside view, all June seemed to be
flowering. It was no wonder that Maud thought that. But all the
emotional baggage which she had consistently thrown away all her life
seemed to her to be coming back now in bales, returned to her by some
dreadful dead-letter office--at least, she had hoped it was dead--and a
sudden bitterness, born of perplexity, invaded her.
"Oh yes; everybody always thinks one is happy," she said, "if one has
good digestion and a passable appearance, and heaps of things to do, and
the enjoyment in doing them which I have, and as much money as one
wants. But all these things only give one pleasure. Do you think I am
happy? Do you really think so?"
Maud dropped her eyes. When talk deepens it is well to talk in the dark,
or to talk without the distraction of sight.
"No, I don't think you are," she said, "if I look deep down."
"Then you are two people," said Catherine rather fiercely--"the
superficial Maud who just now said I had all I wanted, implying
happiness, and another Maud, who has to be fished for."
That was less personal, less intricate, and Maud looked up again,
smiling.
"Quite true," she said. "But so are you two Catherines; so is everybody
who is worth anything. I used to think you an ideally happy person,
because, as far as one could see, you got all you wanted. I imagine it
was what you call the superficial Maud who thought that; I don't think
the deep-down 'you' is happy."
Maud paused a moment, feeling that her sister-in-law was hanging on her
words. It did not seem to her that in this claim for unhappiness, so to
speak, that Catherine had made she had in her mind the drug-taking: it
was something different to that. Only lately, too, had she herself been
conscious of this "deeper Maud," which yet did not in the least affect
the workings of the more superficial self. The joy of morning and
evening, the depression and irritation of east wind, the rapture of
catching sea-trout, went on, on the surface, just as keenly as ever,
but an interior life had awoke.
"I used to envy you so, Cathy," she said--"at least, I used to envy lots
of things about you, when I thought that the 'you' which all the world
knew and admired so was all there was. But now I believe that there is a
greater 'you' than that, and that a realer 'me' than the ordinary thing
perceives it. And since you ask me, I don't think that essential part of
you is happy, any more than Thurso is happy."
Catherine sat down again, and thought over this before she answered.
"I would give, or give up, a great deal to make Thurso happy," she said
with absolute sincerity. "But I get on his nerves."
Maud looked up, waiting for more--waiting for the completion of the
sentence which she had heard not so long ago on Thurso's lips. It came.
"And he bores me," said Catherine.
There was a long silence. Bees buzzed in the flowers, making them bend
and sway and nod to their weight; a grasshopper clicked and whirred on
the lawn; swifts swooped and chided together in sliding companies; while
the splash of oars or churn of a steamer sounded from the river.
Then--such is the habit of the world--it struck them both how unlike
themselves, unlike the ordinary presentment of themselves, that is to
say, they were being, and simultaneously they swam out of the depths
that were in reality the much more essential abode of them both. But the
return to normal levels was short; they soon went down again; since
those who have met or seen each other below always go back there. It is
only those who have talked insincerely on deep matters who prefer to
splash about on the surface. But a few surface remarks followed.
"Yet it is almost certainly one's own fault if one is bored," said
Catherine. "To be bored only shows that a bore is present--probably
oneself. Yet, Maud ... if I tell him about the bazaars, and sales, and
speeches, and so on, _he_ is bored; and they do make up a big part of my
life."
"On the surface," said she, "since we are being frank."
"No, not on the surface, since we are contradicting each other. The
deepest and most real part of me that I know is sorry for poor devils,
and it expresses itself in these ways. And it is exactly that which gets
on his nerves. If I get up from lunch because I have got to go
somewhere, he is irritated. He thinks I am restless. Well, so I am. I
want to be doing things, not eating stupid cutlets. What do you want me
to do? What does he want me to do? Eat opium instead?"
Maud gave a long sigh.
"Oh, Cathy, that was a pity!" she said.
Catherine gave a little hopeless gesture.
"Oh yes; it was a pity. Lots of things are. Our attitude towards each
other is a pity. But I'm sorry I said that. Oh, do help me! Let's be
practical. Remember, I am at home when I am doing things. And I want to
know what to do about a hundred things."
Catherine got up again. She was, as she said, always practical, and she
was always restless. This afternoon in particular, after the
inconclusive wakefulness of the night before, she longed to map out
plans, rules of conduct, a line to take about all these complications.
Yet, since all her life she had been chary of emotion, apt to regard it
as useless, if not dangerous, stuff to have on board; now, when it was
certainly there, either through her will or in opposition to it, she
found herself--she, the ready speaker--destitute of words to deal with
it to Maud. And in her silent search for expression again she paced up
and down the busy bee-travelled flower-beds. Then there came a crisper
note--the sound of crunched gravel--and a dog-cart drew up at the
front-door, some fifty yards only from where they sat. There was only
one person in it, a young man, who dismounted and rang the bell, and
stood at the pony's head waiting for it to be answered. But apparently
the servants were drowsy too, as befitted Sunday afternoon, and after a
pause he rang again.
No definite process of reasoning went on through Catherine's mind, but
somehow her heart sank. This was no caller, no one who would need
entertainment; but there was something dimly familiar in that cart, and
in the tradesman-like young man, that reminded her of medicines, of the
time when the children had the measles. Yes; it was a man from the
chemist's ... and next moment she knew why her heart sank.
"I will see who it is," she said to Maud. "The servants seem to be
asleep;" and she went across the grass to the front-door.
She had a word with the man, who gave her a small package, neatly
sealed. Then he touched his hat, mounted, and turned his horse.
Catherine came back to where Maud was sitting.
"It is directed to Thurso," she said, "and it is from the chemist in
Windsor. Maud----"
Maud understood; but she shook her head.
"Oh, you can't open other people's things," she said--"you can't. Oh,
Catherine, what are we to do?"
Catherine sat down again, with the bottle--the shape of it was plain--in
her hand. Then Maud spoke again.
"But we must," she said. "Open it carefully, so that if it isn't what we
think we can do it up again. Oh, I hate it all; it seems mean, but I
don't care. I'll open it if you would rather not."
Catherine seemed to think this unnecessary, and carefully broke the
seals. There was a bottle of dark blue glass inside, with a red label of
"Poison" on it. It was closed with a glass stopper, which she withdrew,
and she smelled it. Then, paper and all, she passed it to Maud.
Maud put the stopper back into the bottle, squeezed up the paper and
string in which it had been wrapped into a tight ball, and threw it deep
into the flower-bed. Then she went to the opening in the yew-hedge and
flung the bottle itself into mid-stream.
"So we've both had a hand in it," she said when she returned. "Oh,
Cathy, last night only he let you throw the wretched stuff out of the
window, and the very next day has to go and order some more. Poor dear
old boy! He must have ordered it when he went in with Theodosia after
lunch. He must have told them he wanted it quickly. It's death and hell,
you know. I didn't stop to think. I had to throw it into the river. What
next? Are we to know anything about it or not?"
"Yes; he would find out in any case. The chemist's man would say he
gave it to me. But there is no reason why you should come into it."
"Oh, give me my share," said Maud quickly. "I want to help."
"Of course you can help; but I am quite willing to take the whole
responsibility for what we have done," said Catherine.
"No; I want it to come from both of us," said Maud, "if that is of any
use."
Catherine considered this.
"It is," she said. "You have more weight with him than I have, you
know."
There was no trace of any bitterness in her tone. It was plain
unemotional speech, but it struck Maud as one of the saddest things she
had ever heard said. She had long known, of course, that the married
life of her brother and Catherine was not very happy, but this afternoon
the tragedy of it was becoming, by these little trivial words,
infinitely more real. And the materials for tragedy were being
dreadfully augmented. This little bottle she had just thrown into the
Thames was like one of those little incidents in the first act of a
play, from which disaster will certainly be evolved later. What hideous
scene in the last act did the great Playwright of life mean to make out
of this?
Then suddenly some memory of things Mr. Cochrane had said to her up in
Scotland, some sentences from a book concerning Christian Science which
he had lent her, came back to her mind. He had warned her that she would
find in it certain things which would seem to her ridiculous, and he had
asked her to pass over those. But he had told her that she would also
find there certain things which were indisputably true, and, remembering
one of them, she told herself now that she was thinking wrongly in
anticipating evil like this. If she was to be of any use in the world,
or produce any happiness in herself or others, she must turn away from
evil, must deny it, and look at and affirm this great reality of Love
and Good. To dwell on sin and error and on their consequences was to
invite them, to make them her guests. It was another Guest--a very
willing One--that was to be made welcome, but He was autocratic: you had
to do His bidding all the time, even in details.
"Yes, let me help," she said. "And we must tell him at once what we have
done. Don't let us deceive him, even if we could."
"He will be furious," said Catherine.
"We can't help that. We have certainly got to tell him. Besides, we
don't want to conceal what we have done; we don't want to think of some
plan for preventing it coming to his knowledge. We are not ashamed of
it. Wouldn't you do it again? I would. I would throw all the laudanum
bottles in the world into the Thames if I could prevent the stuff
reaching him."
* * * * *
People began to gather again after this. Rudolf Villars and his
companion came back from the river, he looking fatigued, while Alice
was fresher than paint. Her husband came out from the house with
considerable alertness, as if letter-writing had been an unconscious
recuperative process. A few people from neighbouring houses came, by
road or river, to look in at tea-time; and when Thurso, with the two
Americans, returned from Windsor, there was a rather numerous company on
the lawn. He went into the house before joining the others, and was
there some minutes, during which time they heard a bell ring furiously
within. Catherine's eyes and Maud's met over this; and when he came out,
another piece of silent telegraphy went on between them, and Maud got up
and went straight to him before he joined the tea-table group.
Catherine could not go with her, being busy with her entertaining, but
between sentences she watched them. They were not far distant when they
met, and Thurso's face was towards her. She saw it get suddenly white,
and he gave one furious gesticulation, then turned and went back
towards the house again, without joining them. He did not go in, but
walked down the shrub-set road that led to the stables.
Maud came back to the tea-table, spoke to friends, and gradually got
close to Catherine.
"He is going back to Windsor to get more," she said quietly. "Yes, no
sugar, thanks. He would not listen to me. I have never seen him so
angry."
Catherine just nodded, and then, since, whatever private tragedy was
being played, the public comedy had to go on, she was, with the
surface-Catherine, no more than an admirable hostess, charmed to see her
guests, eager to interest them. But below, courageous though she was,
and little as she regretted what Maud and she had done, though it turned
out to be futile, she feared what was coming, for she hated anger, and
she hated, also, to think that just now, when, for reasons of which Maud
knew nothing, she wanted Thurso's friendship and companionship so much,
there should open this fresh breach between them. But it was no good
thinking of that: here was Villars at her elbow, and here was Thurso
already on his way back to Windsor, for she had heard the motor start by
the back way from the stables. And only last night he had let her pour
the foul stuff away, and had thanked her for doing it!
Meantime the tinkle of drawing-room philosophy went on round her, and it
was a relief, in its way, to join in it. It was so perfectly easy.
"Yes, it is necessary for all of us to have some fad which for the time
being is quite the most serious thing in the world," she said to Lady
Swindon, who had come down the river from Cookham. "We do the serious
things lightly, but we take our fads in deadly earnest. Two years ago,
do you remember, we never wore hats in the country. I didn't get as far
as wearing none in town, though I remember you did; but in the country
I felt that golden hours were wasted if I had a hat on. Then last year
there was the simple life. I retain pieces of that still."
Lady Swindon laughed.
"I know you do, darling Catherine, but you are so busy that you find
time for everything. I gave it up because it was so very complicated.
One had to provide two sorts of lunches and two sorts of dinners every
day--one for the simple-life people who ate curried lentils and all the
most expensive fruits, and one for the people who ate beef. Swindon
always ate both, to show he wasn't bigoted, and so, of course, he had
two months at Carlsbad instead of one. The simple life, anyhow, is
finished with: it was too difficult. Do tell me what the next fad is
going to be. You always are a full fad ahead of the rest of us."
"I wish I knew. I thought it would be spiritualism at one time, but I
don't believe now that it will come off. Such confusing things happen.
I went to a _séance_ the other day, and the most wonderful
materialisation occurred, and I recognised the figure at once, and for
certain, as being my grandmother. But in the same breath Major
Twickenham over there recognised it as being his great-aunt, who was
Austrian, and is no more a relation of mine than I am of the Shah's. The
medium subsequently explained it as being a spiritual coalition, but
personally I felt rather inclined to explain it as being the medium."
Lady Swindon looked thoroughly disappointed.
"Oh, I did hope it was going to be spiritualism," she said. "I do
automatic writing every evening, unless I am really tired--because it's
no use then, is it?--and sometimes it says _the_ most extraordinary
things. Haven't you ever tried it? It is quite fascinating, especially
if you use a stylograph pen, which seems to go easier. And Swindon and I
have heard the most awful raps--like the postman. But if it is not going
to be the craze I shall give it up. One has no time for a private
hobby: one has to ride the public hobby all the time. Are you sure you
are right? Think of the Zigzags. I never can remember their name. And
what about Christian Science? I hear it is spreading tremendously. Or
deep breathing?"
The smile on Alice Yardly's face widened and deepened as she heard the
sacred word. But at this moment she was being talked to, and could not
join in with her long and lucid explanations, though the scientific
statement of Being--cause, source, origin--was trembling on her lips.
"I have tried deep breathing," said Catherine, "but there really isn't
time. You can't do anything else while you are doing it; you can't talk
even, because your mouth is closed, and you breathe in through one
nostril and breathe out through the other. Perhaps it will be Christian
Science, though, do you know, I think some of it is too serious and
sensible to be a fad, whereas the other half is too silly. On that side
talk to Alice, or read what Mark Twain says. But on the serious
side--the side that is sensible--get Maud to tell you about the typhoid
up at Achnaleesh and her Mr. Cochrane."
"Her Mr. Cochrane?" asked Lady Swindon, with the alertness of the world.
But the unconsciousness of the world, no less important an equipment,
answered her.
"Oh, only 'hers' because she told me about him; no other reason. Thurso
and she were up there together."
"And Thurso--isn't he here?"
"Oh yes," said Catherine, "but tea-time isn't his hour. Tea-time is
women's hour; it corresponds to men's after-dinner talk when we have
gone upstairs."
"But we have women's hour then, too," said Lady Swindon. "I suppose we
have got more to say?"
Lady Thurso laughed.
"Oh, I don't think that," she said. "I think we only take longer to say
it. Tea, Theodosia?"
Theodosia had truly American ideas about being introduced. It was her
custom--and a genial one--to make all her guests formally known to each
other by name, and she expected the same formality.
"Kindly introduce me, Catherine," she said.
"Lady Swindon--my cousin, Mrs. Morton."
"Very happy to make your acquaintance, Lady Swindon," said Theodosia;
"and don't you think that Catherine's place down here is just the
cunningest spot you ever saw? Why, look at that yew-hedge! I
guess--expect, I mean--that Noah planted it before the Flood, or,
anyhow, soon after, to have made it that height. But, then, all
Catherine has is perfect, is it not? I adore her things and her. My! I
never saw such a wonderful black pearl as that you've got around your
neck. It looks as if it came straight from the Marquis of Anglesea's
tie-pin."
"I think not; I inherited it," said Lady Swindon rather icily.
"Well, there you are," said the prompt Theodosia. "That's what comes of
being an Englishwoman of the upper classes. You inherit things, and
we've got to buy them. Why, this afternoon Lord Thurso and my husband
and I drove over to Windsor, and I never saw a spot that looked so
inherited as that. You can't buy that look: it's just inheritance. Do
you know my husband? Ah! he's talking to Count Villars over there; and
what a lovely man he is! And we had the loveliest time to-day! I never
saw Windsor before; and fancy inheriting that! But I'm afraid Lord
Thurso is sick. He called at a chemist's, and told them to send some
medicine out here right away. I guess he pined for that medicine. And
he's not here, is he? I shouldn't wonder if he went straight in to take
it. I guess he's taking it now. Catherine, I think your husband is the
loveliest man! I hope he's not real sick. But he just pined for that
medicine."
Tea was no longer in demand, and Catherine got up. The whole situation
was beginning to get on her nerves. Theodosia, with her awful American
manner, was on her nerves; this dreadful information about the call at
the chemist's was there also, and she felt sure that Lady Swindon, for
all her "darling Catherines," was that sort of friend who likes knowing
the weak points of others, not necessarily with the object of their
malicious use, but as useful things to have in your pocket. Theodosia,
as she was aware, when she got up now to get out of immediate range of
that rasping voice, was one of her weak points: the mention of Thurso's
medicine and his anxiety to get it were others. Theodosia touched them
with the unerring instinct of the true and tactless bungler. So
Catherine, with the higher courage that wants not to know the worst, if
Theodosia was going to throw more sidelights on the subject of this
medicine, moved out of earshot.
Lady Swindon justified her position of a true friend to Catherine, and
became markedly more cordial to Theodosia. She wanted to know more about
this, and proceeded in the spirit of earnest inquiry.
"What a charming afternoon you must have had!" she said. "To see Windsor
for the first time is delightful, is it not? and to have Lord Thurso as
a companion is delightful at any time. But he is not ill, is he?"
"He seemed just crazy to get to that chemist's," said Theodosia, "and he
seemed just crazy to get back home again. They tell me you have a
speed-limit for motors over here, but if we didn't exceed it, I don't
see that it can be of much service."
Now, Lady Swindon was not really more malicious than most people, in
spite of her weakness for her friends' weaknesses, and it was in the
main her truly London desire to be always well up in current scandals,
and know the details of all that may perhaps soon be beginning to be
whispered, that led her to "pump" (if a word that implies effort may be
used about so easy a process) Theodosia on this subject. Thurso's long
absence in Scotland, to begin with, had seemed to her queer, and to
require explanation. It did not seem likely, somehow, that he had gone
there after a woman, but, on the other hand, she personally thought it
improbable that he had really gone to look after fever-stricken tenants.
As a matter of fact, of course he had done so, but the truth usually
escapes these earnest inquirers, especially if it is quite simple and
straightforward. But here was a fresh fact: he had been crazy to get to
the chemist's and had raced home. She felt she had guessed.
"He used to have dreadful headaches," she observed. "Perhaps he had one
this afternoon."
"He didn't seem that way," said Theodosia, "and I know about headaches,
because Silas used to have them, arising from faulty digestion, to which
he is a martyr. He took opium for them."
"Yes?" said Lady Swindon.
"That always cured him. Why, here's Count Villars. Count Villars, I
haven't set eyes on you since lunch, and I feel bad because you are
neglecting me. Let me present you to Lady Swindon."
Villars bowed.
"I think we were introduced about twelve years ago," he observed. "How
are you, Lady Swindon? You have come down the river from your charming
Cookham?"
Lady Swindon got up, turning her back on Theodosia, for whom she had no
further use.
"Yes, and I am just going back there. How clever of you to remember
where we live! Will you take me to my boat? Let us walk round the garden
first. It is charming to see you again."
They strolled a few yards down the path between the two tall herbaceous
borders, while she rapidly ran over in her mind what information she
wanted from him. It was very quickly done.
"And you are staying here?" she asked. "How do you find Catherine? I am
sure you walked together last night after dinner, and joined old
memories onto the present."
Lady Swindon was colossal in her impertinence. It struck Villars afresh
after his long absence from England how very ill-bred a well-bred
Englishwoman can be. But he was more than a match for her.
"Ah, my dear lady," he said, "we found that the two needed no link. We
neither of us have that faculty, which, no doubt, is often convenient,
of forgetting old friends. As always, I adore her; as always, she
receives my adoration from her infinite height. The Madonna still smiles
on her worshipper. He asks no more."
It was admirably done, for it told her nothing. She tried again.
"Indeed? I thought you had once asked more," she said. "We all supposed
so."
"There is no limit to what people of brilliant and vivid imagination may
not suppose," said he.
She could not help smiling at her own defeat. His refusals to give
direct answers were so very silken.
"And the truth always exceeds one's imagination, does it not?" she said.
"It is usually different from it," observed he.
This would not do. She tried something else.
"And Thurso?" she said. "How do you think he is?"
Villars looked at her in bland surprise.
"Very well, surely, is he not?" he said. "Why should you think
otherwise?"
"Only something I heard about his calling at a chemist's and racing home
afterwards."
"Indeed!" said Villars.
Lady Swindon was afraid there was no more to be got there, and he handed
her into her launch.
"But I am so glad, so very glad you think he is well," she said. "Do
come and spend a Sunday with us some week. I will try to get Catherine
to come and meet you."
He murmured gratitude of the non-committal sort, and stood a little
while looking after her launch, which sped like an arrow up-stream,
raising a two-foot wave in its wake, and nearly upset half a dozen boats
in its passage. Then he strolled back to the lawn again. He had not the
faintest intention of staying with Lady Swindon, but, on the other hand,
he did not at all desire to be on bad terms with her, for, little as he
respected her, he had a profound respect for her supreme mischief-making
capabilities. She had got hold of something about Thurso, too, and
perhaps it was as well she had not seen him. In that case, his own
bland assertion that he considered him very well would not have been of
much use.
Lady Swindon's departure had acted as a signal for a general move, and
when Villars got back, Lady Thurso was just saying good-bye to the last
of her guests. On the moment, the butler came out of the house and spoke
to her.
"His lordship begs that you and Lady Maud will go to his room for a
moment as soon as you are disengaged, my lady," he said.
"Tell his lordship we will come immediately. Ah, Count Villars, we were
going on the river, were we not? Could you wait a few minutes? Thurso
wants to see me about something."
Maud joined her, and they went together to Thurso's sitting-room at the
end of the house. He was sitting at his table in the window, and, with
his usual courtesy, got up as they entered. On the table in front of him
stood a bottle of dark blue glass. He had just finished unpacking this
as they entered, and threw the corrugated paper in which it had been
wrapped into the waste-paper basket.
"A cigarette, Catherine?" he said, offering her one. "I want a few
minutes' talk with you both."
She took one, and he waited till she had lit it, and sat down.
"Maud tells me," he said, "that you and she undid a package that arrived
here this afternoon addressed to me, and threw it away. That is so, I
believe?"
She did not answer--it seemed unnecessary--and he raised his voice a
little.
"Will you kindly say whether that is so?" he said.
"Yes; quite right," she said.
Again he raised his voice, that shook with suppressed rage.
"And do you make a habit of doing such things, both of you? Do you open
my letters, other people's letters?"
"Oh, Thurso, don't be a fool!" said Maud quietly.
His face went very white.
"Maud, I am trying to be courteous," he said, "under a good deal of
provocation. You might make an effort to follow my example."
"Is it courteous to ask Catherine and me whether we are in the habit of
opening other people's letters?" she asked.
"Your behaviour this afternoon seems to me to warrant my question," he
said.
"No, Thurso, it does not," said his wife. "I think you know it, too."
He looked first at the one, then at the other, and his hand moved as if
instinctively towards the bottle on the table.
"I don't want to make a scene with either of you," he said, "and I don't
want to detain you. I wish to say, however, that I think you behaved
quite outrageously. And I require you both to promise never again to act
in such a way. You are absolutely unjustified in touching or interfering
with my things in this way from whatever motive."
He took up the bottle.
"You see how little good your interference has done in this instance,"
he said, "and it will do as little in any other. You will merely oblige
me to adopt methods as underhand as your own."
"There was nothing underhand," said Catherine. "We were going to tell
you what we had done. Indeed, Maud did tell you."
"I should have said that stealing was underhand," said he very evilly,
"though perhaps you think differently. As to your telling me, you knew
it was inevitable that I should find out."
"That has nothing to do with it," said Maud quickly. "Even if you could
never have found out otherwise, we should have told you."
"Ah!" said he.
Maud looked at him in amazement. She had been told by Catherine this
afternoon that there were two Mauds, and here indeed was a Thurso whom
she would scarcely have known for her brother. His manner was quite
quiet and courteous again now, but it seemed as if he was possessed.
There was a world of sneering incredulity in that one word.
"You don't believe what I say?" she asked.
He was silent; he smiled a little, and raised his eyebrows. There was no
need for him to speak; he could not have shouted his meaning nearly so
clearly.
"Then where is the use of our giving you any promise for the future, if
you don't believe what we say?" she asked.
"I ask for your promise, however," he said.
"And if we don't give it you?" said Catherine.
He looked at her closely, and she felt that he hated her at that
moment.
"I shall merely have to find some other way of getting things
delivered," he said, "so that you shall not st--intercept them."
There was silence.
"I ask for your promise," he repeated.
Maud threw back her head.
"I promise," she said. "It is no use refusing."
"And I," said Catherine, getting up. "Is that all, Thurso?"
Thurso put his hand to his head suddenly, with a wince of pain he could
not control.
"Yes, on that point that is all," he said. "Let us agree to say nothing
more about a most unpleasant subject. But I want to tell you this: I am
suffering so hideously at the present moment that I hardly know what I
am saying. Agitation and anger, for which you two are responsible, have
brought on about the worst attack I ever had. Very likely I should not
have taken laudanum from that bottle you threw away; in any case, I
should have struggled hard not to. I struggled yesterday, with the
result that I allowed Catherine to pour away all I had in the house. But
I am not going to struggle now, thank you. The pain is intolerable, and
I believe it to have been brought on by what you did. Your interference
has not done the slightest good; it has only given me an hour of hell."
Then, quite suddenly, his mood changed. "I have said abominable things
to you both," he said. "My only excuse is that I am in torments. I beg
the forgiveness of both of you."
Here was the real Thurso again, looking out like a soul in prison,
trying to burst through the bars, and there was a dreadful, hopeless
pathos about him. Catherine laid her hand on his shoulder.
"Ah, Thurso, of course we forgive you," she said. "But for God's sake
don't give up. I suppose you must take this now because of your pain,
but say you will go on fighting it again. It's--it's damnation, you
know."
He looked at her with agonised eyes.
"I will do my best," he said. "Now go, please. Make my excuses to the
others if I don't appear at dinner. But I expect I shall; I have two
hours yet."
The women went out together, but before the door was closed they heard
the clink of glass.