§ 1
After that there remained only his humiliation when he had to tell his
cousins he had changed his mind. But this was less painful than he would
have thought. He felt a new, changed Daniel, facing life from a
different angle. It was as if up till then he had faced life from
Bullockdean in spite of his being in Sark, whereas now definitely he
faced it from Sark, and the Bullockdean angle seemed distant and unreal.
He wrote to his mother and told her he was going to be married, though
he did not tell her the circumstances of his meeting his bride. His
mother, of course, would tell Belle and Ernley--he need not worry about
that. Not that he felt inclined to worry--even the shadow of Belle was
gone now, for he had stepped outside the room of memory, and stood
facing the islands and the sea without a glass between.
The days that followed were so full of preparations that he had little
time for thought. The Le Couteurs were anxious both to bind their cousin
and get rid of the stranger as quickly as possible, so it was decided
that the marriage should take place as soon as the necessary formalities
would allow. There was some difficulty about finding a house, either at
La Colinette or at La Ville Roussel. Dan inspected one or two cottages
at the Dos d’Ane, the Jaspellerie and Moie Fano, and finally decided on
the last, in spite of its lonely position on the cliff-top, looking down
on the teeth of Brenière. It was larger than the other two, though it
contained but three rooms, and seemed firmly built for the weather, with
a roof of thatch and tiles instead of the usual corrugated iron. The
rent was only four livres tournois a week, under four shillings, and
during the season he would probably earn from thirty shillings to two
pounds. At least ten shillings a week would have to be put by for the
unprofitable winter, but even then he might be able to earn something by
helping his uncles on the farm--a service they would no longer expect
for nothing. He felt rather disconsolate at the thought of being unable
to help his mother, but, he reflected practically, a mother has no right
to keep a man from his wife, and his mother had her own husband to
support her, and two other sons.
On the whole he was not unhappy; he now had roots again, though in
strange earth. At first he had half thought of taking Rose over to
England and trying to find a job there, but he shrank from facing the
struggle of the employment market with her dependent on him, and he saw
more clearly the consequences of bringing her to the George than he had
seen them in the case of Belle. With Belle such dependence had been his
only chance of speedy marriage, and his craving for her had blinded him
to its inevitable miseries, but now that he had the alternative of an
independent and self-supporting home, he would be a fool to give it up
merely to escape from Sark. Since it was his only hope of married
comfort, the Le Couteurs must have their wish and get his mother back
again.
Sometimes there were moments--generally in the middle of the night--when
he wondered if he wasn’t mad to be acting so--to be marrying this
unknown girl without loving her, indeed while he loved another woman,
and settling down in this unfriendly island, where in spite of his blood
he was still a stranger. But he ended his qualms invariably with the
question: “What does it matter, anyway?”--also the old army spirit of
fatalism was still upon him, the kismet of the trenches. He watched his
approaching marriage as he used to watch the German shell-fire. If it
was due to smash him it would, and if it wasn’t it wouldn’t. There was
nothing he could do about it.
The day before the May day fixed for the wedding he had three letters
from England, one from his mother, one from Jess Harman, and one--at
last--from Ernley Munk. His mother was a little inclined to reproach;
she saw her son and her son’s money alienated together. “But then you
never really care for me like Christopher”--Christopher who, Dan
reflected angrily, had never earned a shilling for her in his life. “No
doubt my brothers Eugene and Philip are glad, for so they get us
back”--evidently his mother’s mind worked that way too. “Your father
send his love and kind regards and best wishes for a bright and
prosperous wedding.”
Jess Harman had her expected string of news, a little shorter than usual
to allow room for congratulations. “I’m sure I wish you happy, Daniel,
as this leaves me at present. You deserve to be happy if anyone did, and
I reckon you could make a girl happy easier than most. I always say most
men don’t know how to treat a girl, and when I have boy babies to take
out I smack them harder than I smack the girls, for I say if maybe they
don’t deserve it now they will when they grow up, and then there will be
no one to do it. Maudie talks of leaving the Crown, for she says young
Mr. Munk is not so pleasant to work under as his father.”
Daniel wondered if these two sentences had anything more than a
haphazard connexion. The thought made him tear open Ernley’s letter
without waiting to finish Jess’s. It ran:
“DEAR DANIEL,--I expect you’re thinking all sorts of bad things about me
for not having written for so long--or I might even say for not having
written at all. But it was difficult to write at first, wasn’t it? And
afterwards it wasn’t much easier, as there didn’t seem to be any reason
for starting suddenly. Now I’ve got a reason and I’m glad, for I want to
hear more of you except just that you’re going to get married, which
isn’t very original. I hope she’s worthy of you--you’re rather a damn
fool about women, you know, and yet you deserve the best, so I hope
you’ve got her. Now I suppose you will settle down in Sark for good.
Well, you might do worse. I’m getting a bit sick myself of the land fit
for heroes to live in. You’d think my job was to sell poison, to judge
by the fuss they make and the restrictions they put on. But I’m better
off than your dad, who does sell poison, if I may say so. Still, I think
he’s a fool to try on all the games he does--I was sorry about his being
so heavily fined last sessions, but I’d warned him, and being a racing
neighbourhood, I suppose they’re extra strict. If I were you I’d write
and tell him to be careful, but I expect you have.
“I’ve built an extra wing on to the Crown, in spite of all, so I’ve
nothing to complain about really. However, I can’t help thinking our
best times were in the army, in spite of all the noise and blood. Life
wasn’t so deuced complicated, somehow; one knew what one wanted and
wanted the sort of things one could get. I’m to be a proud father again
next autumn; the other kid’s a regular Shackford; I hope this will be a
Munk--to look at, I mean, for I don’t wish him so ill as to hope he’ll
inherit my devil. Do write soon and tell me about Miss Falla--rollicking
sound to the name, somehow.--Ever yours,