The Moth, page 27
Agnes withdrew herself from the embrace: she couldn’t bear to listen to this, she couldn’t bear to listen to any more; these tales about Millie were as wrong as those about herself, in fact, there was more truth in the accusations in this letter than those directed against Millie. She now crushed the letter in her hand, saying, ‘I shall keep this, Lady Emily.’
‘But it isn’t addressed to you, my dear.’
‘Nevertheless, I intend to keep it, and one day I will show it to the writer. He is a man who owes much to the man he is accusing.’
‘So you think it is a man?’
‘Yes, I know it is a man.’
‘I wonder if I risk a guess in saying that it is your old servant Waters. Would I be right?’
‘I am not going to discuss who wrote the letter, Lady Emily.’
‘No, no. Well, I can understand that, and Waters, if I remember rightly, valeted your grandfather, and then your father. When he was young he used to hobnob with Gregory’s man. That was when your grandfather came for the shoot. Now, my dear, I must go. I’m late as it is. One last word, and it is this: never marry out of your class. You may not be happy marrying in it, but you will still have friends to whom you can turn; marry out of it and you will be no better than an outcast. In my opinion, you may as well be dead.’
On this she turned about and walked with her stiff stately step down the drawing room. Agnes had to force herself to move quickly in order to open the door, then she preceded her across the hall and through the lobby where, at the top of the steps, her coachman awaited her; but as if he weren’t there she turned and had some last words for Agnes. ‘Of course if the war comes,’ she said, ‘it will likely bring such changes, it may level everything out and Jack might feel as good as his master, and my God, that would be a nice state of affairs, wouldn’t it? Well, I won’t live to see it. Goodbye, my dear.’
Agnes mumbled words which she could scarcely hear herself and the old lady was hardly seated in her carriage before she returned indoors. She went straight up the stairs and made for her room where, once inside, she did not throw herself on the bed or even sit on its edge but paced the floor, at times biting on her thumbnail, at others beating her knuckles together until they hurt. Every fibre in her was crying to her to go downstairs and thrust this letter into Dave’s face, then to tell him to go. But how could she do that to a man who had given his life in service to the house and those in it? And anyway, if he went so would Peggy, and she needed Peggy. Peggy had been her substitute mother; yet even she had been different of late. There was no change in the others, thank goodness; Ruthie, Maggie and Betty were the same, as were Bloom and Hubbard; in fact, there was a kind of easy feeling outside the house, it was only inside that she felt the tension. But how was she to go on, knowing that she was being spied on? And Dave would of course realise the reason for Lady Emily’s visit.
What should she do?
She now sat in a chair and, bending forward, she joined her hands together and, as she often did, she appealed to something within her when seeking an answer, and nearly always she received good advice as if from some inner being. She didn’t always follow the advice, even though she knew the answers she got from deep within her were true. What shall I do? was her question. The answer came back firmly: nothing. Put on a bright face, act as if Lady Emily’s visit had been pleasurable. This will baffle him. But if you were to acknowledge the letter it would give him an opening to approach you and reproach you, and he mustn’t have the liberty, for then he could no longer remain in the house. Go on, go on now, while you know you can do it.
When she walked into the kitchen, as she expected Dave Waters was there talking to Peggy and he swung round and looked towards her. His face looked pinched and white, his eyes dark, he was like some man ready to do battle. She looked past him and addressed herself to Peggy as she said, ‘Lady Emily is in her usual form, she’s on her way to the castle. She’s prophesying war and says that none of us will be here this time next year unless, as she suggests, we are under German rule. It seems now it’s a good thing we are extending the vegetable garden, for if there is a scarcity of food we won’t exactly starve.’
She made herself smile on them both, then she walked past them on her way to the yard and so to the garden. But outside her smile disappeared.
Should she tell him? Should she say to him, ‘Bradley, will you please not talk to me in future, but take your orders entirely from Waters?’ And what would he do then? She knew what he would do, he would leave. And then she would never see him again. Well, wouldn’t that be best, best for both of them, because now she was in the open she knew exactly what her feelings were concerning him and also what his were concerning her. But as Lady Emily said, one might as well be dead if one stepped out of one’s class.
Seven
On the fourth of August war was declared. Midway through the next morning Stanley came back from the Cunninghams’ in high excitement: he came into the house calling, ‘Agnes! Agnes!’ And so loud was his voice that she came running from the study into the hall, saying, ‘What is it?’
‘We are at war! We’ve declared war on Germany.’
‘Oh well, it isn’t such a great surprise, is it, after what’s been happening these last few weeks?’
‘But we are at war! Don’t you understand? It’s only been surmise up to now. But it’s happened. They are devils those Germans, quite inhuman. The first news that’s come in is of them slaughtering children by the hundreds.’
‘They wouldn’t do that, that’s war gossip.’
‘Wouldn’t they?’ he almost shouted as he leaned towards her; then he turned and swiftly crossed the hall to the drawing room.
She followed him, and there watched him striding up and down, his face red with excitement. He was talking rapidly: ‘There were two German fellows at Oxford. They were unbearable, arrogant, strutting about like peacocks, not only thought but said that theirs was the greatest country in the world.’
‘Well, as far as I can understand it’s what we’ve been saying about England for centuries.’
‘But we are! We are. Look at our colonies. We are, and . . . ’
‘All right. All right. Let’s take it as a fact. But tell me, what are you going to do?’
‘Well, there’s only one thing I can do, and want to do. I’m joining up. Nigel Cunningham has already gone. He’s going into the infantry, but I’m for the artillery. Dick Weir’s going into the artillery too. He says we could all be across there in the next two weeks.’
She stopped him in his tramping by asking, ‘What about Arnold and Roland, will they be coming home?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, you hear from them more than I do’ – her voice was sharp now – ‘you should know what their intentions are.’
‘Don’t be silly. How could I know what their intentions are with regard to a war? We didn’t really expect it ourselves. Nigel, whose uncle’s in the Lords, said that up till the last minute Parliament was divided, they didn’t know what they were going to do. But this business about Belgium triggered it off because they are making for Paris, and then it’s just a step across the Channel and it could be us. It’s unthinkable. So I suppose they’ll come home . . . Yet—’ He turned away and went to the window and stood looking up into the sky, his hands behind his back. It was a pose their father had often adopted and it irritated her, as also did his next words: ‘They are doing so well out there. Arnold’s got two cars, one’s a racer. They’ve been thinking about taking a house on their own so it looks very much as if they were settled. Still, this is their country and . . . ’
‘I don’t know about being settled. In the last letter I had from Roland he admitted he wasn’t taken with the people, especially those in the factory.’
‘Well, that’s understandable, they’re a raw crowd altogether and they’ve been given more licence than the workers over here. And’ – he laughed – ‘we mustn’t forget their beginnings: it was a convict settlement, remember, and one would be foolish to expect cream in that situation. Anyway’ – he swung round, rubbing his hands together now – ‘I’m going to change and go into Newcastle. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I might have to go straight in, I don’t know the procedure yet. In any case, if . . . if they let me out’ – he gave a high laugh – ‘I’ll call in at the Cunninghams’ on my way back, so I’ll likely be late.’
‘Stanley.’ He was halfway out of the door when she checked him.
‘Yes?’ He looked over his shoulder.
‘What about me?’
He turned fully around now and looked at her, repeating, ‘What about you?’
‘Just what I said, what about me, and this place?’ She now spread her two hands shoulder high. ‘In war they conscript labour, I understand.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that. There’s only one here who would be called up and that’s Bradley. And he’ll likely go in any case . . . of course, he will.’
Her throat was tight, her eyes wide and staring, but she kept her voice flat as she said, ‘Hubbard and Maggie are to be married next week. I think Hubbard is for leaving and going in to the town. He hasn’t said anything to me but Maggie has told her aunt that his brother who is employed in the Birtley Iron Works could get him a place and’ – she paused now, then stressed her next words – ‘a decent wage, all of two pounds a week.’
‘Well, if that’s what he wants, let him go.’
‘Stanley!’ She bawled his name so loudly that he screwed up his face and came hurrying towards her, demanding, ‘What’s up with you? What do you expect me to do, chain them here? If they want to go they’ll go.’
‘Yes’ – her voice was as loud as his now – ‘they’ll go, and what have we left? Two old people in the house and one middle-aged woman, because . . . because the excitement of war will lift Betty Trollop out of here, I know that. And outside, our staff will consist of one and of course me. Where is my place in this war? Tell me.’
‘Where it has always been, here. Someone has got to stay and see to things. And look here, Agnes, have you asked yourself, if you weren’t here where would you be?’
‘I would be out in the world earning my living, as I can do with my music. I’ve told you that before. Here, I am treated no better than a servant by the three of you: you’ve never considered me for one minute. I’ve been used, I’m still being used. What if I were to up and go and take Millie with me?’
They glared at each other, for a moment cold dislike showing in their eyes before Stanley said, ‘In that case, I would store the furniture and let the house to the military. The Cunninghams were saying only yesterday that there had been inquiries about Glen Manor that’s been empty for the last six months, military inquiries. They were very interested in the fact that there are a large number of horse boxes there that would be suitable for the cavalry, I suppose. We have quite a number of horse boxes, haven’t we? So that is the answer to your question, my dear sister: I would let the place tomorrow to the military, if they were interested.’
The words of retaliation were stuck in her throat, she couldn’t speak, she only knew he meant what he said. Then from the look on her face he attempted to soften the blow by saying, ‘You ask for trouble, Agnes. Anyway, I myself and the boys wouldn’t want you to be homeless, you should know that; there’s the lodge, you could always stay there.’
The lodge, three small rooms and a scullery and all so small. She had often wondered how anyone could bear to live in them. Yet when she was young, Pratt the groom and his wife and five children had lived there. All the children were born there, and they were in their twenties when they left.
She felt slightly sick and suddenly very empty. She turned away from him. Presently she heard him go down the room and close the door behind him.
They were at war. All young men would have to go . . . Robert, he would go. Of course he would go, he was that kind of man. And he was the kind of man that would put his whole heart into anything he was doing. Perhaps he would become an officer. Well, if he were to become an officer . . .
She swung round so quickly that her full skirt formed itself into a bell and as she marched from the room she asked herself, how ridiculous could one be; everyone knew they didn’t take officers from the working class.
An hour later she was amazed and not a little disappointed in some strange way when she spoke to Robert about the war. They were in the harness room. Millie was with them. She began by saying, ‘Isn’t the news terrible, we’re at war.’
‘Yes, so I understand,’ he replied.
At the lack of enthusiasm in his voice she said, ‘Everyone will be rushing to enlist. I suppose you won’t be an exception?’
He straightened up from where he had been attending to a saddle laid over the horse bench and, his voice flat, he said, ‘I’m not running to join in any war. As far as I understand from what I’ve read about wars, there’s a lot of glory in it, created so to speak by the dead, and they haven’t much use for it. From what I’ve gathered there’s no victors in wars because the winners have got to become jailors, and jailors in the end are always disliked, and when the prisoners riot there you go again, another war.’
‘You like your metaphors, don’t you?’
‘Aye, it’s a good way to get things over. The same as Christ used parables to make things plain to those who don’t understand, or couldn’t understand.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh.’ His manner changed immediately. Turning his head slightly, yet keeping his eyes on her, he said, ‘Now don’t take it like that; you know what I meant and how I meant it.’
‘I know what you meant, Bradley.’
The interruption caused them both to turn and look at Millie, and he said, ‘Did you now, Miss Millie? And what do you think I meant?’
‘Well, I think you meant that you’re not going with Stanley to be a soldier.’
‘Huh!’ His laugh was louder now but his tone gentle as he looked towards her, saying, ‘By! Miss Millie, you always hit the nail on the head. You’re right, I’m not going with Mr Stanley to be a soldier, not until I’m forced to.’
‘Are you what they call a pacifist?’
‘No, not really.’ He was looking at Agnes again and was shaking his head. ‘No, if I’ve got to fight, I’ll fight. Whether it’s at a war or in a backyard, I’ll fight, but not unless it’s necessary, so I’ll wait until the call-up comes. There’ll be so many patriots rushing in this minute that they’ll be trampling each other to death.’
They both turned and looked at Millie again for she was laughing now, her head back, her mouth wide open, and when Agnes cautioned her quietly, saying, ‘Stop it. Stop it, dear. Stop it,’ her laughter died away and, looking at Agnes, she said, ‘I was laughing at Robert because he’s funny. He says funny things, everybody rushing to the war and being trampled to death before they get there to be killed in the war.’
After a quick exchange of glances which each read as: If that isn’t sensible thinking, I wonder what is? Agnes said, ‘Come along, dear.’ And without further words she left him.
She should, she told herself, feel elated, relieved that he wasn’t running off with the rest to serve his country, but what she felt was disappointment. It had something to do with his character. She had imagined she knew him well enough to gauge his reactions to such a thing as war. But apparently she didn’t know him at all, and she wasn’t deceiving herself that his attitude was because he wanted to stay on in her employ. No, whatever his feelings were with regard to her, had he felt patriotic he would, even at this moment, have been about to join up in defence of his country.
He was a disturbing man. She had felt this from the first. And she felt an irritation rising in her towards him. It was a pity, she thought, he wasn’t in some way being forced to join the army, for feeling as she did at this moment his absence would not have hurt her.
It was during the third week of the war when Stanley marched into the house in the uniform of an officer of the Sixteenth Battalion of the Durham Light Infantry. He looked very smart and was in high spirits. He was, he said, stationed just outside Newcastle, but he didn’t expect to be there long. He was sure to be going overseas with another batch of the British Expeditionary Force. The beggars would be stopped in their massacre; they had been halted already in their drive for Paris. General Joffre, the French commander-in-chief, was the big noise over there. Some of the fellows didn’t think that was right; it would have been much more sensible to have an English general at the top. These French were very emotional chaps. But then Kitchener was at the head of things so everything would turn out all right in the end.
On and on he went.
When Agnes could get a word in she said, ‘I had a letter from the boys this morning. Of course they didn’t guess when they sent it we would be at war now. Roland did suggest that with the apparent state of affairs that seemed to be galloping to a head over here, it might be better if he came home. But Arnold’s for staying there.’
