No More Parades · Part II · Chapter 2 2 (5/8)

There was no doubt that Mark⁠—with the possible addition of the Wannops⁠—made a very strong backing for Christopher if she decided to make a public scandal about him⁠ ⁠… As for the Wannops⁠ ⁠… the girl was negligible. Or possibly not, if she turned nasty and twisted Christopher round her fingers. But the old mother was a formidable figure⁠—with a bad tongue, and viewed with a certain respect in places where people talked⁠ ⁠… both on account of her late husband’s position and of the solid sort of articles she wrote⁠ ⁠… She, Sylvia, had gone to take a look at the place where these people lived⁠ ⁠… a dreary street in an outer suburb, the houses⁠—she knew enough about estates to know⁠—what is called “tile-healed,” the upper parts of tile, the lower flimsy brick and the tiles in bad condition. Oldish houses really, in spite of their sham artistic aspect, and very much shadowed by old trees that must have been left to add to the picturesqueness⁠ ⁠… The rooms poky, and they must be very dark⁠ ⁠… The residence of extreme indigence, or of absolute poverty⁠ ⁠… She understood that the old lady’s income had so fallen off during the war that they had nothing to live on but what the girl made as a schoolteacher, or a teacher of athletics in a girls’ school⁠ ⁠… She had walked two or three times up and down the street with the idea that the girl might come out: then it had struck her that that was rather an ignoble proceeding, really⁠ ⁠… It was, for the matter of that, ignoble that she should have a rival who starved in an ashbin⁠ ⁠… But that was what men were like: she might think herself lucky that the girl did not inhabit a sweetshop⁠ ⁠… And the man, Macmaster, said that the girl had a good head and talked well, though the woman Macmaster said that she was a shallow ignoramus⁠ ⁠… That last was probably not true; at any rate the girl had been the Macmaster woman’s most intimate friend for many years⁠—as long as they were sponging on Christopher and until, lower middle-class snobs as they were, they began to think that they could get into Society by carneying to herself⁠ ⁠… Still, the girl probably was a good talker and, if little, yet physically uncommonly fit⁠ ⁠… A good homespun article⁠ ⁠… She wished her no ill!

What was incredible was that Christopher should let her go on starving in such a poverty-stricken place when he had something like the wealth of the Indies at his disposal⁠ ⁠… But the Tietjens were hard people! You could see that in Mark’s rooms⁠ ⁠… and Christopher would lie on the floor as lief as in a goose-feather bed. And probably the girl would not take his money. She was quite right. That was the way to keep him⁠ ⁠… She herself had no want of comprehension of the stimulation to be got out of parsimonious living⁠ ⁠… In retreat at her convent she lay as hard and as cold as any anchorite, and rose to the nuns’ matins at four.

It was not, in fact, their fittings or food that she objected to⁠—it was that the lay-sisters, and some of the nuns, were altogether too much of the lower classes for her to like to have always about her⁠ ⁠… That was why it was to the Dames Nobles that she would go, if she had to go into retreat for the rest of her life, according to contract⁠ ⁠…

A gun manned by exhilarated antiaircraft fellows, and so close that it must have been in the hotel garden, shook her physically at almost the same moment as an immense maroon popped off on the quay at the bottom of the street in which the hotel was. She was filled with annoyance at these schoolboy exercises. A tall, purple-faced, white-moustached general of the more odious type, appeared in the doorway and said that all the lights but two must be extinguished and, if they took his advice, they would go somewhere else. There were good cellars in the hotel. He loafed about the room extinguishing the lights, couples and groups passing him on the way to the door⁠ ⁠… Tietjens looked up from his letter⁠—he was now reading one of Mrs. Wannop’s⁠—but seeing that Sylvia made no motion he remained sunk in his chair⁠ ⁠…

The old general said:

“Don’t get up, Tietjens⁠ ⁠… Sit down, lieutenant⁠ ⁠… Mrs. Tietjens, I presume⁠ ⁠… But of course I know you are Mrs. Tietjens⁠ ⁠… There’s a portrait of you in this week’s⁠ ⁠… I forget the name⁠ ⁠…” He sat down on the arm of a great leather chair and told her of all the trouble her escapade to that city had caused him⁠ ⁠… He had been awakened immediately after a good lunch by some young officer on his staff who was scared to death by her having arrived without papers. His digestion had been deranged ever since⁠ ⁠… Sylvia said she was very sorry. He should drink hot water and no alcohol with lunch. She had had very important business to discuss with Tietjens, and she had really not understood that they wanted papers of grownup people. The general began to expatiate on the importance of his office and the number of enemy agents his perspicacity caused to be arrested every day in that city and the lines of communication⁠ ⁠…

Sylvia was overwhelmed at the ingenuity of Father Consett. She looked at her watch. The ten minutes were up, but there did not appear to be a soul in the dim place⁠ ⁠… The father had⁠—and no doubt as a Sign that there could be no mistaking!⁠—completely emptied that room. It was like his humour!

To make certain, she stood up. At the far end of the room, in the dimness of the one other reading lamp that the general had not extinguished, two figures were rather indistinguishable. She walked towards them, the general at her side extending civilities all over her. He said that she need not be under any apprehension there. He adopted that device of clearing the room in order to get rid of the beastly young subalterns who would use the place to spoon in when the lights were turned down. She said she was only going to get a timetable from the far end of the room⁠ ⁠…

The stab of hope that she had that one of the two figures would turn out to be the presentable man died⁠ ⁠… They were a young mournful subaltern, with an incipient moustache and practically tears in his eyes, and an elderly, violently indignant baldheaded man in evening civilian clothes that must have been made by a country tailor. He was smacking his hands together to emphasize what, with great agitation, he was saying.

The general said that it was one of the young cubs on his own staff getting a dressing down from his dad for spending too much money. The young devils would get amongst the girls⁠—and the old ones too. There was no stopping it. The place was a hotbed of⁠ ⁠… He left the sentence unfinished. She would not believe the trouble it gave him⁠ ⁠… That hotel itself⁠ ⁠… The scandals⁠ ⁠…

He said she would excuse him if he took a little nap in one of the armchairs too far away to interfere with their business talk. He would have to be up half the night. He seemed to Sylvia a blazingly contemptible personage⁠—too contemptible really for Father Consett to employ as an agent, in clearing the room⁠ ⁠… But the omen was given. She had to consider her position. It meant⁠—or did it?⁠—that she had to be at war with the heavenly powers!⁠ ⁠… She clenched her hands⁠ ⁠…

In passing by Tietjens in his chair the general boomed out the words:

“I got your chit of this morning, Tietjens I must say⁠ ⁠…”

Tietjens lumbered out of his chair and stood at attention, his leg-of-mutton hands stiffly on the seams of his breeches.

“It’s pretty strong,” the general said, “marking a charge-sheet sent down from my department: Case explained. We don’t lay charges without due thought. And Lance-Corporal Berry is a particularly reliable N.C.O. I have difficulty enough to get them. Particularly after the late riots. It takes courage, I can tell you.”

“If,” Tietjens said, “you would see fit, sir, to instruct the G.M.P. not to call Colonial troops ‘damned conscripts,’ the trouble would be over⁠ ⁠… We’re instructed to use special discretion, as officers, in dealing with troops from the Dominions. They are said to be very susceptible of insult⁠ ⁠…”

The general suddenly became a boiling pot from which fragments of sentences came away: damned insolence; court of inquiry; damned conscripts they were too. He calmed enough to say:

“They are conscripts, your men, aren’t they? They give me more trouble⁠ ⁠… I should have thought that you would have wanted⁠ ⁠…”

Tietjens said:

“No, sir. I have not a man in my unit, as far as it’s Canadian or British Columbian, that is not voluntarily enlisted⁠ ⁠…”

The general exploded to the effect that he was bringing the whole matter before the G.O.C.I.C.’s department. Campion could deal with it how he wished: it was beyond himself. He began to bluster away from them; stopped; directed a frigid bow to Sylvia who was not looking at him; shrugged his shoulders and stormed off.

It was difficult for Sylvia to get hold again of her thoughts in the smoking-room, for the evening was entirely pervaded with military effects that seemed to her the pranks of schoolboys. Indeed, after Cowley, who had by now quite a good skinful of liquor, had said to Tietjens:

“By Jove, I would not like to be you and a little bit on if old Blazes caught sight of you tonight,” she said to Tietjens with real wonder:

“You don’t mean to say that a gaga old fool like that could have any possible influence over you⁠ ⁠… You!”

Tietjens said:

“Well, it’s a troublesome business, all this⁠ ⁠…”

She said that it so appeared to be, for before he could finish his sentence an orderly was at his elbow extending, along with a pencil, a number of dilapidated papers. Tietjens looked rapidly through them, signing one after the other and saying intermittently:

“It’s a trying time.” “We’re massing troops up the line as fast as we can go.” “And with an endlessly changing personnel⁠ ⁠…” He gave a snort of exasperation and said to Cowley: “That horrible little Pitkins has got a job as bombing instructor. He can’t march the draft⁠ ⁠… Who the deuce am I to detail? Who the deuce is there?⁠ ⁠… You know all the little⁠ ⁠…” He stopped because the orderly could hear. A smart boy. Almost the only smart boy left him.

Cowley barged out of his seat and said he would telephone the mess to see who was there⁠ ⁠… Tietjens said to the boy:

“Sergeant-Major Morgan made out these returns of religions in the draft?”

The boy answered: “No, sir, I did. They’re all right.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his tunic pocket and said shyly:

“If you would not mind signing this, sir⁠ ⁠… I can get a lift on an A.S.C. trolley that’s going to Boulogne tomorrow at six⁠ ⁠…”

Tietjens said:

“No, you can’t have leave. I can’t spare you. What’s it for?”

The boy said almost inaudibly that he wanted to get married.

Tietjens, still signing, said: “Don’t⁠ ⁠… Ask your married pals what it’s like!”

The boy, scarlet in his khaki, rubbed the sole of one foot on the instep of the other. He said that saving madam’s presence it was urgent. It was expected any day now. She was a real good gel. Tietjens signed the boy’s slip and handed it to him without looking up. The boy stood with his eyes on the ground. A diversion came from the telephone, which was at the far end of the room. Cowley had not been able to get on to the camp because an urgent message with regard to German espionage was coming through to the sleeping general.

Cowley began to shout: “For goodness’ sake hold the line⁠ ⁠… For goodness’ sake hold the line⁠ ⁠… I’m not the general⁠ ⁠… I’m not the general⁠ ⁠…” Tietjens told the orderly to awaken the sleeping warrior. A violent scene at the mouth of the quiescent instrument took place. The general roared to know who was the officer speaking⁠ ⁠… Captain Bubbleyjocks⁠ ⁠… Captain Cuddlestocks⁠ ⁠… what in hell’s name! And who was he speaking for?⁠ ⁠… Who? Himself?⁠ ⁠… Urgent was it?⁠ ⁠… Didn’t he know the proper procedure was by writing?⁠ ⁠… Urgent damnation!⁠ ⁠… Did he not know where he was?⁠ ⁠… In the First Army by the Cassell Canal⁠ ⁠… Well then⁠ ⁠… But the spy was in L. of C. territory, across the canal⁠ ⁠… The French civilian authorities were very concerned⁠ ⁠… They were, damn them!⁠ ⁠… And damn the officer. And damn the French maire. And damn the horse the supposed spy rode upon⁠ ⁠… And when the officer was damned let him write to First Army Headquarters about it and attach the horse and the bandoliers as an exhibit⁠ ⁠…

There was a great deal more of it. Tietjens, reading his papers still, intermittently explained the story as it came in fragments over the telephone in the general’s repetitions⁠ ⁠… Apparently the French civilian authorities of a place called Warendonck had been alarmed by a solitary horseman in English uniform who had been wandering desultorily about their neighbourhood for several days, seeming to want to cross the canal bridges, but finding them guarded⁠ ⁠… There was an immense artillery dump in the neighbourhood, said to be the largest in the world, and the Germans dropped bombs as thick as peas all over those parts in the hopes of hitting it⁠ ⁠… Apparently the officer speaking was in charge of the canal bridgehead guards; but, as he was in First Army country, it was obviously an act of the utmost impropriety to awaken a general in charge of the spy-catching apparatus on the other side of the canal⁠ ⁠… The general, returning past them to an armchair farther from the telephone, emphasized this point of view with great vigour.

The orderly had returned; Cowley went once more to the telephone, having consumed another liqueur brandy. Tietjens finished his papers and went through them rapidly again. He said to the boy: “Got anything saved up?” The boy said: “A fiver and a few bob.” Tietjens said: “How many bob?” The boy: “Seven, sir.” Tietjens, fumbling clumsily in an inner pocket and a little pocket beneath his belt, held out one leg-of-mutton fist and said: “There! That will double it. Ten pounds fourteen! But it’s very improvident of you. See that you save up a deuced lot more against the next one. Accouchements are confoundedly expensive things, as you’ll learn, and ring money doesn’t stretch forever!⁠ ⁠…” He called out to the retreating boy: “Here, orderly, come back⁠ ⁠…” He added: “Don’t let it get all over camp⁠ ⁠… I can’t afford to subsidize all the seven-months children in the battalion⁠ ⁠… I’ll recommend you for paid lance-corporal when you return from leave if you go on as well as you have done.” He called the boy back again to ask him why Captain McKechnie had not signed the papers. The boy stuttered and stammered that Captain McKechnie was⁠ ⁠… He was⁠ ⁠…

Tietjens muttered: “Good God!” beneath his breath. He said:

“The captain has had another nervous breakdown⁠ ⁠…” The orderly accepted the phrase with gratitude. That was it. A nervous breakdown. They say he had been very queer at mess. About divorce. Or the captain’s uncle. A barrow-night! Tietjens said: “Yes, yes.” He half rose in his chair and looked at Sylvia. She exclaimed painfully:

“You can’t go. I insist that you can’t go.” He sank down again and muttered wearily that it was very worrying. He had been put in charge of this officer by General Campion. He ought not to have left the camp at all perhaps. But McKechnie had seemed better. A great deal of the calmness of her insolence had left her. She had expected to have the whole night in which luxuriously to torment the lump opposite her. To torment and to allure him. She said:

“You have settlements to come to now and here that will affect your whole life. Our whole lives! You propose to abandon them because a miserable little nephew of your miserable little friend⁠ ⁠…” She added in French: “Even as it is you cannot pay attention to these serious matters, because of these childish preoccupations of yours. That is to be intolerably insulting to me!” She was breathless.