High Rising (VMC) Page 9

  ‘It’s laughing at me he was, then!’ cried Miss Grey, her face once more assuming its ugly look.

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Grey,’ put in Sibyl, ‘he was only joking. You mustn’t take him so seriously.’

  Miss Grey’s face turned scarlet. ‘Faith—’ she began, then checked herself, glared balefully at them both, and whisked out of the room, slamming the door violently. Poor Sibyl looked frightened and tearful, and said she had better go and see if Miss Grey was ill, but was dissuaded by Laura, who felt that any further scene would mean hysterics.

  ‘I wish we could go home now,’ she said to Sibyl. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, and it’s been a lovely party, but Miss Grey hasn’t somehow been a help, and it is strongly borne in upon me, Sibyl, that Adrian and your father will not be exactly the better for staying too long in the dining-room. Adrian has to drive me home, and if your father gets going they’ll sit there till midnight, and your father’s wine is too good to waste on a motorist.’

  ‘I did think of that,’ said Sibyl in a practical way, ‘and I asked Dr Ford to bring them along soon. I know what it is when Daddy and the port get together, and he doesn’t notice the time at all. But you’ll have to stay till the New Year, Mrs Morland, or it won’t be like other New Years.’ So Laura promised.

  Dr Ford was as good as his word and in a short time the gentlemen appeared. George Knox did ask where Miss Grey was, but when Laura said she had had to go and see about something in the house, he seemed satisfied. Adrian lost no time in getting Sibyl to himself, and Dr Ford joined Laura in baiting George Knox.

  ‘Now the servants aren’t here,’ said Dr Ford, ‘Knox ought to get rid of some of those inhibitions about drains. Out with them, Knox.’

  George Knox required no encouragement to enlarge upon this entrancing topic, and Laura laughed so much that her hair, as usual, began to fall down.

  ‘Dear Laura, it is worth laying all my life’s work at your feet,’ said George, ‘for you to laugh at, to spurn, to deride, if it makes you loose your witch-locks so beautifully. I could make a garland of your hair, and crown myself tonight, while I drink punch in your divine company.’

  It was unfortunate that Miss Grey should have chosen this moment to make her re-entry and hear George’s speech. She cast a furious look in Laura’s direction and seated herself at a distance from both parties. She was pale, but quite self-possessed again, and made no effort to monopolise either Adrian or George Knox. In fact, when Dr Ford got up and joined her, she appeared quite resigned to his company.

  Shortly before twelve Annie, supported by a giggling Flo in the background, brought in an immense array of bottles and put them on the table. George Knox then prepared a powerful brew of punch, supposed to be a recipe hereditary in his family, but really varying according to the state of his cellar. This year the materials were copious and extremely varied and Laura, who had seen what went into it, wondered if she could warn Adrian without hurting George’s feelings. But before she could find an opportunity, twelve o’clock had struck, and the New Year had begun. George Knox industriously ladled out glasses of punch from his witch’s cauldron.

  ‘Happy New Year to everyone,’ said Laura. ‘You and Sibyl, George, and you, Miss Grey, and Dr Ford and you, Adrian, coupled with the name of Anne Todd.’

  The toast was enthusiastically drunk.

  ‘Now I’ll give one,’ said Miss Grey. ‘To Mr Knox’s next book, and may it be the greatest success of all, except the one that comes after it – the one we are just beginning.’

  If wishes could kill, four people in the room would have been murderers at that moment.

  ‘And I’ll drink to Miss Grey,’ said George Knox, ‘and long may she help me.’

  Laura, Dr Ford, and Sibyl could not but drink, but their eyes met, prophesying disaster.

  ‘And I’ll say one more,’ said Adrian. ‘Your boys, Laura, dear.’

  Upon this, what with the emotions of the evening and George’s punch, Laura nearly cried, but just managed to pull herself together and say ‘Thank you.’ She was also a little worried about Adrian. Where Laura, Miss Grey and Sibyl had sipped from choice, and Dr Ford from professional principles, Adrian had drunk more deeply, and George had filled his glass for him several times. He looked extremely handsome and a little blurred. Laura was anxious to bring this nightmare evening to an end as soon as possible, and hoped that the cold night air would steady her cavalier. Good-nights were said. As Dr Ford got into the two-seater, he pressed Laura’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for remembering Anne Todd,’ and he drove off.

  Adrian tucked his big fur rug round Laura, and started the car. His driving was certainly not so steady as she might have wished. Luckily the road wasn’t frozen, otherwise a skid might have landed them in the brook, which would have been very uncomfortable, if not exactly dangerous.

  ‘Don’t go too fast here, Adrian,’ said Laura, as they turned into the high road. ‘It’s rather narrow before we get to High Rising, and there may be belated revellers.’

  Adrian obediently slackened speed, but the wheel was wobbling perilously. As they reached the narrowest part of the road, they saw a car just in front. The Demon of Mixed Drinks, seeing his chance, caused Adrian to accelerate furiously, without sounding his horn. The car in front did not pull over to the left. Adrian tried to go round it. Laura, feeling a smash inevitable, pulled the rug right over her head and thought agonisingly of Tony. The car ran along the grass edge, which slightly checked its speed. Adrian, recovering his senses rather too late, jammed on the brakes and the car fell over on its side, against a low bank. Laura, still muffled in the rug, was thrown violently against Adrian, and waited for death, but death was otherwise engaged. ‘Damn!’ said Adrian very loudly, and turned the engine off. They lay in complete silence and darkness, for the headlights had evidently been broken, heaped up together on the steering-wheel.

  ‘Laura,’ said Adrian, in a shaken voice. ‘Are you all right?’

  Laura, who was finding considerable difficulty in unwinding herself, said crossly that she was. And what, she added with some asperity, did he think they were to do now? As Adrian was jammed under the low steering-wheel, with Laura and the fur rug on top of him, he could obviously do nothing. With a good deal of difficulty Laura got herself out of the rug, and, kneeling heavily on Adrian’s body, tried to open the door which was uppermost.

  ‘It’s stuck, of course,’ she said coldly. ‘Do we spend the night here? It may be respectable, in view of the limited opportunities, but it’s not my idea of comfort.’

  Adrian, with heaves and jerks, managed to get himself out from under Laura and the wheel, and wriggled over on to the back seat. The other door was also jammed, and so was the window.

  ‘Is your window working, Laura?’ he asked. By great good luck it was, so Adrian climbed back into the front seat, trampling on Laura as little as possible, and with considerable difficulty got out of the window on to the grass.

  ‘Come on, Laura,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

  ‘How can I get out of a small window above my head, you soft gobbin,’ said Laura angrily. ‘I’ll never take you to a party again.’

  But as it would have been cold and uncomfortable to spend the night alone in an overturned car, she consented to try, first pushing the rug through the window, with instructions to Adrian to put it where she was most likely to fall.

  ‘You’d better come head foremost,’ Adrian advised. ‘Put your arms round my neck, and I’ll help to haul you out.’ It is no joke to haul a fine figure of a woman out of a small window, but Adrian, though annoyingly conscious that he was kicking the lovely enamel of his car unmercifully, hauled and pulled, till at last Laura was extricated.

  ‘Well, thank heaven I made you put the rug there,’ said Laura, getting up and twisting her hair into a bundle. ‘Nobody’ll steal your car. Come straight home and I’ll tell you what I think of you there.’ Accepting Adrian’s arm, she picked up her skirts and they walked the remaini
ng few hundred yards in silence. In silence Laura unlocked the front door and led the way into the drawing-room, where there was still a good fire, and a tray of drinks, two thermos flasks, and sandwiches, left by the thoughtful Stoker.

  ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Laura. I’ve never done such a silly thing before. Are you sure you aren’t hurt? You’d better have a stiff drink and go straight to bed,’ said Adrian abjectly, hoping to flee from the wrath to come.

  ‘What you need, Adrian – take your coat off and sit down there – is to join the Blue Ribbon Army for a year. I’ve never been so ashamed of you in my life. I’ve no objection to your partaking freely of George Knox’s excellent vintages all through dinner, but when it comes to overdoing it with punch, just before you drive a lady home, words almost fail me – but thank goodness, not quite. I should have thought a man of your age who had been at Bump Suppers and Authors’ Benevolent Society Dinners and what not,’ said Laura, unjustly confounding two quite separate festivities, ‘would have the wits to know how strong George’s punch was. George is a fool, anyway, but that is no reason why you should be one. Here am I, trying to give you a Happy New Year, and all you do for me is to run a car – your own car, thank God, and I hope it isn’t insured – into a ditch and frighten me out of my wits, and drag me out of a window like a dead sheep, all because you and George Knox are a couple of idiots. I hate you both.’

  Upon which Laura’s hair began to come down again, her much tried nerves gave way, and she cried bitterly.

  Adrian got up and stood aghast. Laura was perfectly right. There had been some intoxication in the evening which had made him quite oblivious of what he drank. He supposed the punch had been strong, and of course he ought to have noticed it. Never before had he done such a silly thing with a car, and never would he again. It was unforgivable in him to have frightened her like that. And now she was in tears and all his fault. What a beginning to the New Year. He had come down looking forward so much to this weekend, to talks with Laura, to seeing that delicious Sibyl Knox again. Now Laura would tell Sibyl he was a confirmed drunkard. No, she wouldn’t, she was too kind, too noble. Dear Laura. What a brute (said he to himself for the second or third time, being still a little confused) he had been. She was all alone, with four children to support, and he had made her cry. How could he make amends, how show a devotion which would atone for his horrible folly?

  Laura, rather enjoying the very rare self-indulgence of tears, found her handkerchief inadequate.

  ‘Handkerchief, please, Adrian,’ she said in a snuffling voice, stretching out her hand behind her. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand, and at the same time, to her great surprise, a manly arm came round her waist, and a kiss of respectful devotion was placed on the top of her head.

  ‘Laura, dear,’ said the voice of her publisher, thick with emotion and the remains of George Knox’s punch, ‘can you ever forgive me? When I think of you so brave, all alone, and what I have been, I could kill myself. Laura, couldn’t you marry me, and let me bear your burdens, and be a father to your boys?’

  Laura, who belonged to the school of Miss Skiffins, unwound Adrian’s arm and blew her nose violently. Then, without a word, she opened one of the thermos flasks, poured out a large cup of black coffee, and handed it to Adrian.

  ‘Sit down and drink this at once,’ said she, not unkindly, ‘while I tell you all about yourself.’

  Adrian, already horror-struck at his own precipitancy, sat down obediently, with the cup in his hand.

  ‘You may be a good publisher,’ Laura began, keeping the advantage which a standing position gave her, ‘but you are the world’s most blethering ass, Adrian Coates. If I really wanted to punish you, I’d accept you on the spot. Do you think I want a husband, and if I did do you think I’d want you? I’m old enough to be your mother, or at least I would be in India. And as for being a father to my boys, do you think three independent young men who are earning their own livings need a father? Bah! As for Tony he doesn’t require one. We get on very well, thank you. Bear my burdens, indeed. You great mass of incompetence and conceit, you revolt me. You really do. Here, drink that coffee.’

  Adrian finished his coffee, and began to feel really and soberly ashamed.

  ‘I can only say, Laura, that I was a bit shaken by the car upsetting. Yes, I know it was my fault, but you were so plucky about it, and I admire you so tremendously, and I do want to help you.’

  ‘Listen to me, Adrian. I knew a young man once, at least he wasn’t so young as all that, but he thought he was. Well, he went to some races somewhere with a girl, and coming back late they had a motor smash, and just because he was over-excited he proposed to her at once and she accepted him. And the next thing was, it was broken off in The Times. You don’t want to be broken off in The Times. And I’ll tell you something else. You’re in love with Sibyl Knox.’

  ‘You are perfectly right, as usual,’ said Adrian, and dropping his head into his hands he groaned loudly.

  ‘Don’t make that noise,’ snapped Laura. ‘You might at least be grateful to me. I’ve done everything I can to help you, and Sibyl is a darling girl, and all I get for it is you behaving like a Tom Fool.’

  ‘Sorry, Laura. A thousand times sorry,’ said Adrian, at last completely sobered. ‘May I ask forgiveness?’

  Laura began to laugh. ‘You may, my poor nincompoop, and I’ll give it gladly. Only you are to promise me you’ll get engaged to Sibyl as soon as she’ll have you. Shake hands. And now,’ she continued, ‘eat some sandwiches, and you can pour out coffee for us both, with milk this time, and we’ll talk about Sibyl. It’s going to be an awkward job, Adrian, because of the Incubus, but I can help you quite a lot while I’m down here. One thing is that you’ve offended her so much, I believe, by your quite unnecessary lies about brother Alfred’ – Adrian looked a little ashamed – ‘that her girlish passion for you is entirely shattered. But she’s a jealous cat, and if she thinks Sibyl has hopes of you, she’ll probably make a nuisance of herself on general principles. However, I’m very likely exaggerating. It’s poor George Knox that she seems to be really after and we’ll have to rescue him somehow.’

  ‘You can if anyone can. Oh, Laura, do you think I have any chance with Sibyl?’

  ‘Of course you have. She never sees a man from year’s end to year’s end, except the locals,’ said Laura unkindly. ‘Oh, Adrian, don’t forget about her writing – you must do what you can for her.’

  ‘Of course I will. I’m sure it is something exquisite. But I hope she won’t want to patronise literature when we are married,’ he said anxiously. ‘There’s quite enough of that in the trade already. Think of Mrs Johns, and a dozen more.’

  ‘That’s all right. Living with George Knox must give one a sickener of literature. Besides, if I know anything of her she’ll want to breed dogs and have a large family.’

  ‘You’re rather premature, Laura. But of course, a family would be desirable. When I saw you and Tony tonight, Laura, something came over me – I’d never felt it before—’

  ‘Sentiment,’ said Laura judicially. ‘You get attacks of it. I’ve seen you as sentimental as a love-bird because of twins in a double perambulator. You want a family of your own. That will clear your mind of cant. Now go to bed at once. Stoker shall bring you up some breakfast, and I don’t want to see you or hear of you till lunch tomorrow. I’ll see about the car. If my friend at the garage is shut, being Sunday, I’ll see the farmer about it – he’s a friend of mine, too, and he’ll oblige with some horses. Off you go.’

  She hustled Adrian upstairs, and sat down at her desk, where she rapidly sketched a draft for a story, based on the events of the night, her role being played by a rich countess, Adrian’s by a young dress designer of genius, while Sibyl was represented by the mannequin of poor estate but noble birth, so much beloved by her readers. As for Miss Grey, she could not decide whether she should be a Russian anarchist, or a White Slave agent who specialised in poor but highly connected man
nequins, so she queried this and went to bed, where she read part of an enchanting story called Death in the Potting Shed, till she went to sleep. Peace and darkness reigned.

  6

  New Year’s Day

  ‘Happy New Year, darling,’ said Laura, going into Tony’s room next morning. ‘And church this morning, so try to look clean.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, need I? I had something very important to do with my train today.’

  ‘Yes, you must. I’m sorry about the train, but we must go to church once in the holidays, or the vicar would be disappointed,’ said Laura, feeling that to go to church on social grounds was perhaps a little better than not going at all. Besides, one ought to have the Church Service as part of one’s background on account of the beauty of the language. ‘And what about saying Happy New Year?’ she added.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ said Tony grudgingly. ‘I hope they’ll have some decent hymns.’ However, by breakfast time he was quite in spirits again. Laura told him that they had had an accident last night, but before she could give any details, Tony had embarked on a long, dull and circumstantial account of an accident which had occurred to a Scotch express in 1907. But on hearing that Mr Brown of the garage was going to jack the car up that afternoon, he temporarily forgot about trains, and rushed off to make arrangements with the vet to take the foxhound, whose leg was nearly well, to see the fun.

  Church with Tony was apt to be an anxious business. School chapel was his standard of public worship, and any departure from its procedure was looked upon with suspicion. A further complication was that he could not easily find his way about the Prayer Book, but deeply resented any offers of assistance, preferring to turn over the pages himself with disturbing loudness. As the first hymn was given out, his face cleared. ‘We often have that in chapel,’ he whispered to Laura. But when the harmonium played the opening bars, he remarked audibly, ‘Wrong tune,’ shut his hymn-book and looked about him in bored despair. It was only in keeping with things that he should lose the sixpence that Laura had given him for the plate, and disturb the other occupants of the pew by hunting among their legs, but the sixpence was not discovered till, during the blessing, Tony, to his mother’s horror, pulled out a filthy grey handkerchief, from which the sixpence bounded into the aisle and disappeared down the hot-air grating. Tony looked at his mother with a persecuted face, shrugged his shoulders, and gave it up.