Donkey Boy (31 page)

On the higher side of the fence Richard was busy, that Saturday evening, with sandpaper and linseed oil rag. Mrs. Bigge, looking down from the window of an upper room, watched the two men busily at work. Like two boys, she thought approvingly. A hobby kept a hubby out of mischief. Now would it not be a neighbourly thing to invite Mr. Maddison in for a cup of tea or cocoa after his labours? And might it not lead to a more neighbourly relationship? Mr. Maddison was, she considered, a man who kept himself far too much to himself. Every man needed the company of other men at times, to keep him from brooding.

Mrs. Bigge’s motive did not, she told herself, arise out of mere curiosity, but from consideration for Hetty who, poor little woman, had much to put up with. Had Hetty not told her how she dreaded the nightly games of chess her husband expected of her—games that she could never win, to Mr. Maddison’s exasperation? Josiah, on the other hand, was a good player of chess, one usually forced to play against himself, since he had no one else to play with. Again, Mr. Maddison had a fine tenor
voice—she had heard Hetty accompanying him for
The
Arab’s
Farewell
to
his
Steed
—and St. Mary’s Church in the High Street needed new men in the choir.

Mrs. Bigge had a natural inclination towards benevolence; she tried to make the world a little better than she found it. If the two men could be friends, she was sure it would help matters for Hetty. Josiah needed taking out of himself in some ways; he felt he had missed some things in life. Only the other day Josie was saying he had never learned to fly a kite, and now he feared it might be too late to learn.

Animated by good intentions, Amelia Bigge arranged her hair in the spotted Chippendale looking-glass standing on her chest of drawers. By the looking-glass stood a Chelsea china ring-stand, a long thin hand-painted porcelain box for hat-pins, her mother’s two vinaigrettes, and a pin-cushion. Having tidied up, Mrs. Bigge went downstairs, and out into the garden to the steps, made of old railway sleepers, under the arch of entwined honeysuckle and yellow ivy, which led down to the path at the end of which her hubby was working, quiet as a solitary bee. Whisperings ensued.

Josiah’s gentle “Yes my love,” and frequent noddings,
indicated
that he agreed with everything Amelia suggested. If ever two minds thought as one, they did between this husband and wife. Nevertheless a problem was presented: who was to ask Mr. Maddison in? And what would be the most suitable time to ask him? And should the invitation be spoken directly over the garden fence, thus revealing that they had known he was on the other side of the screen of Virginia creeper? If that were to be done, might it not be an affront to privacy, the purpose for which the creeper was planted in the first place? Perhaps Mr. Maddison would not like to be addressed in that manner? Would it be more fitting to write him a little note, and slip it through the letter box? And supposing, my love, that Mr. Maddison does not really want to know us? Yes yes, yes yes, we must not be too precipitant.

Four years before, when Mr. Maddison’s little wife had had scarlet fever, Mr. Maddison had shown a distinct friendly side, and Mrs. Bigge had spontaneously been able to suggest to Mr. Maddison that she would be only too pleased to hand him two meals a day over the garden fence; but since that time, Mr.
Maddison had gradually closed up, and there had been nothing beyond a bow, a “How d’you do” and the weather.

The whispering and bee-sipping noises ended in Amelia Bigge’s plan to wait by the fence up above, by the back door of the conservatory, and from there to pop up, or rather out, and, as Mr. Maddison was walking up with his table to the open french windows, she would invite him in.

There she waited, and thence she popped a few minutes later. Richard bowed, and agreed that it was a fine evening, before modestly qualifying Mrs. Bigge’s remark that he had made a very nice table.

“Oh, it will be sufficient for the purpose, Mrs. Bigge.”

Mrs. Bigge restrained herself from asking what was the purpose; instead she said, “I have some cocoa on the stove to heat, Mr. Maddison, and Josiah and I were wondering if you would care to come in and have a cup with us, and perhaps a game of chess with my husband afterwards, or are you too busy?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bigge, I shall be delighted to come. I will just wash my hands, and shall be ready in say, ten minutes, if that is convenient?”

“That will do very nicely, Mr. Maddison!”

Richard was feeling content with life. He had made his table without committing a single mistake, and the wastage of wood had been of the minimum. The sawdust had been carefully swept up and put in a paper bag, for use on the bottom of the cage when the parrot should arrive. He put his tools back in the chest, after smearing the steel parts with a thin film of oil to preserve them against rust. He was pleased that he had done what he had planned to do. The varnished steel-engravings on the wall above the stairs had settled down against the varnished wallpaper; old and new together giving a feeling which each, by themselves, had lacked before. His patent electric clock alarum operated without fault.

He had been up in the attic earlier that evening, carrying a candle; he had thought to unpack the bull’s-eye lantern from its place in the Japanned uniform case, but his hands had been dusty from his work, and he had not wanted to spoil the uniform within. This, since Richard had come to know his dead father through his journals, had become almost sacred to him. He now had a sympathy denied to him during his father’s life. He realised
now, through his own experience of being married, that his father had had quite a lot to put up with from a wife who had not really been able to share his life, but had thought only of the children. Why, if his own Mother had not shown such a preference for himself, had not wanted to shelter him so obviously from Father, he might have been able to give Father the affection he needed!

This change of view, or emotion, had affected other earlier feelings. Nowadays Richard, seeing himself as hopelessly
middle-aged
and done for in life—he would be forty in two years’ time—often felt himself critical of his mother. Her presence in his mind was a dissolving figment, somewhere near Hetty.

The visit to No. 10 was at first pleasant to Richard. Everything in the room looked new and alive to him, after the energetic use of his body in the polishing of the table. He thought that Mrs. Bigge’s daughter was a jolly young woman, and when it was suggested that he should sing a song—“You have such a nice voice, you know, Mr. Maddison”—he returned with alacrity, after only the least protest, back to his house to get the
sheet-music
from on top of the piano in the front room. An impulse to carry in the Polyphone as well came upon him; he hesitated between the wish and the thought that they might consider him to be taking advantage of their kindness. Besides, the weight of the thing, together with the steel discs, was too much to carry. Anyway, he must not stay long, as tonight there was an evening newspaper,
The
Pall
Mall
Gazette,
to be read as well as the
Trident,
before going to bed.

As on previous occasions, the Arab said farewell to his Steed in a wave-like series of throaty tenor sounds, to the piano
accompaniment
of Miss Bigge’s licenciate (Royal College of Music) playing. The Steed in Richard’s mind was not wholly equine; it was a mixture of horse, old Starley Rover, and new, magnificent, all-black, gold-lined Sunbeam with Little Oil Bath, which he had admired and desired at the Stanley Cycle Show in the
Agricultural
Hall of Islington the previous November. He had half a mind to buy one next year. It would last a lifetime. Farewell to the Starley Rover!

Afterwards, Mr. and Mrs. Bigge sang their favourite duet,
O
that
we
two
were
Maying,
by Gounod. They stood behind their daughter, the Long and the Short of it, thought Richard. He
did not know the feeling that they felt to flow between them, as it had flowed steadily, almost sedately in its own assurance, since the first meeting at the Band of Hope garden party in St. Mary’s vicarage grounds in the golden days of the Rev. the Hon. Legge, who had been the first to congratulate Josiah Bigge and Amelia Tidy on their betrothal.

After the singing, Norah Bigge played
The
Lost
Chord,
followed by her best test-piece, Chopin’s
Polonaise
Militaire,
concluding, as was suitable on Saturday night, on a quieter note,
Beethoven’s
Farewell
to
the
Piano.

As the lid was quietly closed Mrs. Bigge beamed with pride at her accomplished daughter, remarking that the world would be a happier place if all children could learn the pianoforte when they were young. This remark put Richard on his guard, lest it lead to a more direct suggestion in regard to Phillip and Mavis.

But nothing of that nature was to follow. Chess was suggested, and the well-brought-up Miss Bigge murmured about some letters to be written, as an excuse to retire to her own room. The
chess-board
was set out, and Mrs. Bigge prepared to follow her daughter upstairs, with a more direct “I’ll leave the gentlemen to their game now, and may the best man win!” At the door she said,

“I do hope that Mrs. Maddison and the children are well, Mr. Maddison, and enjoying themselves? Oh dear, I quite forgot to enquire before. How are the little dears?”

Richard replied that Hetty was well, and had written that they were enjoying themselves.

“That’s right! They will be coming back soon, I expect.”

“Yes,” said Richard, “they are to return at the end of next week.”

“The country air will do them all so much good, Mr.
Maddison
. I was telling my hubby here the other day, that I thought at first they were off to Scotland, little Phil wearing that old
deerstalker
hat,” went on Mrs. Bigge, happily. “He was so excited at the prospect of getting a bat to stuff, for his museum, he said. He looked rather like a bat himself, his little face over the fence, with those big flaps tied over the crown of the hat.”

Then observing Mr. Maddison’s face, she realised that perhaps Phillip had taken the hat without his father knowing anything about it; and with a discreet loud cough she left the room, to
hurry upstairs to Norah and confide in her daughter the fears that possessed her.

Mr. Bigge won the game easily. Soon afterwards, having thanked Mrs. Bigge for a most pleasant evening, Richard left the house and returned to his own. He locked the music of his song in his desk in the sitting-room, feeling that he wanted never to sing it again. Then he climbed through the trap-door in the bathroom ceiling and, finding that neither the hat nor the lantern were in the uniform trunk, his face became set in a reserve of suffering, that he could never, never, never trust anyone in his family.

O
N THE
following Monday Hilary Maddison arrived before the sign of the silver moon hanging over the doorway in Haybundle Street and, entering through the massive mahagony double swing doors, found himself in the Town Department, with its long mahogany desk curving round the corner. He saw Richard immediately, working with others at a long double desk with its ground-glass screen between the two rows of writing figures.

Richard saw his younger brother at the same time, and getting down from his stool, walked over to Hilary with a slight smile upon his face. After greetings, Hilary realised that Dick would not want to be kept very long from his work, and so suggested he should come back for him at his lunch hour, and take him out. Richard demurred; he was not used to such an irruption in his life. Hilary saw this, and as he had plenty of people he wanted to see, he did not press his older brother, but suggested he should call for him at six o'clock, and take him out to dinner at his club. This invitation likewise disturbed Richard, because he had no evening clothes, and furthermore, he knew that Hilary was a member of the Voyagers, to which some of the directors of the office belonged. It was not a place, he considered, where he should show himself.

“Well, anyway,” said Hilary, observing his brother's hesitation, “I'll call for you at six o'clock, old man, and we'll go somewhere quiet. Then I'll run you home afterwards with the parrot. Six o'clock then. Au revoir!”

At six o'clock there was a surprise for Richard. A motor car stood outside the Moon Fire Office, shaking with metallic heart-beats. It was painted blue, and lined-out in red, the colour of the russian leather upholstery of the high padded seats. A crowd was collected about it. Two polished brass oil-lamps gave the panting monster a look of the East. Richard thought of Aladdin's lamp. Hilary was to him a sort of wonder boy, visitant from an Eldorado of open skies and deep blue water,
coral isle and pagoda, gold and lapis lazuli. By contrast, he himself was an automaton of sooty air, imprisoning railway carriage, a failure of drab suburban existence.

“Jump in, Dick, she's a good ride. An improved model of Panhard et Levassor, with poppet valve,
and
a grilled-tube radiator! She's a continental, of course, and absolutely reliable.”

“Wherever did you get her, Hilary?”

“In Marseilles, on the way home. She was a present from a Nabob. Pretty, isn't she?”

“A
present,
Hilary? It must be worth a small fortune!”

“A mere flea-bite to a Bombay merchant nowadays. I did him a small service, and he was duly grateful,” Hilary laughed.

“Am I expected to ride in this?” asked Richard next. He was considerably disturbed, and a little afraid. What would happen to the family if he were killed?

“Yes, safe as houses.”

“But do you understand the London traffic, Hilary?” Richard had always imagined his brother travelling by rickshaw in the East. “What about the horses, Hilary?”

“Horses never so much as looked at me, coming here from the Voyagers Club in Pall Mall.”

This was true. The cab and bus and dray horses were more used to the new style of horseless vehicles upon the cobbles and wood-blocks of the twentieth-century street surfaces of London than was Richard, who, so far, had not trusted himself to a steam-driven omnibus.

It was therefore with some trepidation that he climbed up and into the lobster-blue unfamiliarity and, feeling much as a lobster with human mentality might have felt before entering hot water, seated himself upon the crimson leather. Once there, his fears lessened. It had such a wealthy feel and look about it, a solid assured feel, a Board Room atmosphere of Directors, famous and noble names signing policies placed, with silent respect, before them on the big Board Room table, swiftly to be blotted, removed, and replaced. After twenty years of sedentary life Richard felt a slight sense of importance, mingled with guilt, finding himself seated in such a thing of wealth and distinction, and before the very entrance to the Head Office in Haybundle Street, not a stone's throw from the Royal Exchange and the Bank of England.

Such constrictions of behaviour in the mind would have been unintelligible to Hilary. His mind had been formed upon the reflections of another world altogether. Aboard ship he had made many friends among the temporary inhabitants of state-room and promenade deck, one or two of whom had taken to the handsome young officer for his gaiety of spirit combined with a sense of propriety and unfailing good manners, which never for a moment permitted the ships' officer to presume upon an accidental acquaintanceship. The world upon a great liner of the Merchant Navy of the most powerful nation ruling the seven seas, carrying members of the richest country upon earth, was one of relief and stimulation for the passengers. They lived a fabulous existence after the first few days of every voyage. Freed from terrestrial perplexity, freed from contact with the world of business, from the complications of ordinary human
relationships
, the healthy among the voyagers were translated to another plane. They were guests of sempiternal sun, sea and air.
Wireless
telegraphy had not yet been installed in the “floating white cities” of the MacKarness Line. Prices of bourse and stock exchange had not yet come through the ether, to extrude from ticking machines in worms of tape, to become parasitical upon the mind, to rugate the brow, to cause fingernails to drum on state-room tables in indecision. The seas of China, India, and vast Pacific Ocean were still remote and paradisal.

Hilary Maddison was always easily conscious that he was armigerous, that he was the son of a gentleman, a landed proprietor; and any defects in his own education due to later impoverishment of the family had been made good, in his own estimation, by the proper use of the faculty of imitation. The great ones of the earth, ambassadors, viceroys, and governors-general, walking the promenade deck of the
Phasiana,
had been his models. His ambition was to be recognised and accepted as one of themselves. This had been achieved in sufficient manner. Standing invitations to houses in London and the country had followed; a noble marquis had put him up for the Voyagers; Sir Robert MacKarness himself had proposed him for the Oriental. And Hilary had his own home in Hampshire, conveniently near the Solent, where Bee, his beautiful wife, welcomed him after his voyages to the Far East. Profiting from advice given by the more communicative among the passengers,
Hilary had seen his investments more than trebled since the turn of the century; and that was only the beginning, in his own estimation.

Beside him in the Panhard et Lavassor sat Richard, clutching the edge of the seat, his mind between anxiety and pleasure, and with memory of that horseless carriage of long ago, bombarded by the filth of the streets—nearly ten years, a whole decade, previously. It really was a pleasant experience to be passing the Royal Exchange in such elevation. What would the fellows at the office think, who had seen him in such splendid state? It was remarkably smooth to ride in, quite different from what he had imagined; the propulsive noises of the engine did not disturb one, as he had thought, nor were they at all vibratory in the frame. The feeling of speed was very great; it was advisable to hold to the brim of one's hat; the thing simply sped past cabs and carts and omnibuses, doing at times nearly twenty miles an hour. In a moment they were under St. Paul's, and hardly had one time to say Jack Robinson when there was Ludgate Circus, and the vista of Fleet Street before one. Here they had to wait, for the cross traffic over Blackfriars Bridge, while the brass lamps jigged up and down. Hilary pulled on the long handle of the hand-brake.

“Nice little motor, isn't she, Dick?”

“Well, I certainly see it from a different angle now, Hilary, though there is comparatively no dust in the London streets, I'll admit. In Kent nowadays, when one is out for a cycle ride …”

“Ha ha, the thing is to leave your dust behind for others, Dick!”

That is all very well, thought Richard, who more than once had been one of the others to be half-suffocated in white dust kicked up by the beastly things on country roads. Road hogs, he called them.

Hilary drove up Fleet Street, and along the Strand, turning down a side-street in order to leave his Panhard in a space beside the new gardens on the Embankment. He intended to take Dick into the Hotel Cecil. They alighted. He mentioned it to his brother, who showed reluctance.

“I'm not used to such places, Hilary, old chap.”

“As you like, Dick. There's a comfortable little place in the Strand, Simpson's, where the saddle of mutton is good. Or
Rule's, if you like, there's more life there, theatrical people, you know, only they come in later. How about Romano's?”

“Will your motor car be all right? Won't anyone steal it?”

“Good Lord, no. There's only four like it in England. No thief would be able to dispose of a Panhard et Lavassor! Hi, there! Keep an eye on my motor, will you?”

The cab-runner sprang forward. Hilary had selected him from others waiting at the back of the hotel because his boots were polished and his clothes brushed.

“Keep an eye on her, will you? Keep the boys away, and don't let anyone go near her.” Hilary jerked his head towards a subdued queue of poor children lined up along a wall for the kitchen waste that would be available round about midnight.

“Leave it to me, sir. Thank you, sir,” said the man, eager gratitude in his face.

Simpson's it was. A sherry before the soup, another glass with it, to prepare the stomach for the roast. And what mutton it was, brought on a wheeled trolley, under a German silver cover, a flame of alcohol licking the chafing dish below. Generous thick slices, carved by the under-chef. As the trolley moved on, a waiter discreetly dobbed two tablespoons of redcurrent jelly upon each plate; another followed with baked potatoes, floury under their crisp brown crusts, breaking at a touch; and a braised onion as large as a
boule
used in play on the Mediterranean coast where the onions had been grown.

For wine, Hilary chose a claret, which was carried to the table horizontally in a wicker basket, for the dark-red crust to remain unbroken upon the inner glass. The cork being drawn, it was regarded by the host before the wine was poured, in small measure, into a glass. Hilary sniffed it, sipped it, rolled it round his mouth, and looking up at the wine-waiter, gave a nod of approval. The wine-waiter, subdued pleasure on his face, bowed to Hilary, and poured a little wine into a fresh glass placed before the host; and the honours being done, he proceeded to the guest, to fill his glass three parts full. Then Hilary's glass was filled. With a slight bow the wine-waiter retired, leaving the bottle in the basket by Hilary's hand, which had slipped half-a-crown into his palm.

Food and drink soon released their generosity of life in Richard.

“Viccy's little girl must be three years old now. The last time I saw her, she was crawling all over the garden. Have you been to see them recently, Dick?”

“I don't think I've been there since Hetty had scarlet fever, Hilary. One gets out of touch, you know, in my sort of life, more's the pity.”

“That's some time back, isn't it—let me see, it was before the old Queen died. Yes, my god-daughter Virginia Lemon must be three now.” Hilary took out his note-book. “How old are your children now, Dick? When are their birthdays?”

“You really should not bother about them, Hilary. You must be a very busy man——”

“Not too busy to take an interest in my nephew and nieces, Dick. Phillip was born in April, eighteen ninety-five, I know that. Mavis?”

Richard told him the date in June 1897; and Doris's birthday in 1901; and protested once more what was, in effect, a disturbance of his own life. He was outside the rest of the family now; he was a failure.

“I'm told John has changed a lot since Jenny's death, Dick. Let himself go completely. William, his son, was born after Phillip, wasn't he, in the winter of 'ninety-six? I must go and look him up. How about coming down with me one week-end? I could run you over, you know, and back again, without any trouble.”

“I hope that isn't too literal an offer!” and Richard laughed at his joke, hoping thereby to divert his brother's intention. He could not bear the idea of seeing his old home again.

“Why are you laughing? Oh, I see! No fear of that! The Panhard's as safe as houses. You must also come with me to the Lemons. You're Viccy's favourite brother, you know. In fact, to all us three younger ones you were our hero.”

“Oh come, my dear fellow! I?”

“It's a fact, all the same, Dick. You were the big brother, helping Father to keep the old place together.”

It was eight o'clock when they left. The sky beyond Nelson's column was nearly drained of colour. Spots of yellow light were dancing with the jingle of hansom cabs in the street. Shops were being shuttered, with clank of iron bar, and roll of iron
wheel. They walked down to the Embankment, seeing the river gleaming on the flood. The faithful runner stood by the mechanical horses. He too received half-a-crown, rare receipt equal to a day's pay for a labouring man. The runner added God's blessing to his thanks, declaring that he knew a real gentleman the moment he saw him. With the greatest eagerness he leaned forward to give unspoken sympathy to his benefactor heaving at the handle cranked to shaft and massive flywheel.

“Stand back, you boys!” he cried, glaring around. “Can I help, sir?”

“It might break your wrist if the engine fires on the wrong stroke.” Hilary tugged again. Suddenly he fell back as the thing spat, hissed, and clattered at him.

He tried again, after retarding the spark. An enormous bang followed. This, he said, was due to the spark being too retarded. Adjustments were made. Once again he turned, licking his lower lip. With a soft connecting sound the engine set its
superstructure
dancing; power thumped confidently. Hilary lit the oil lamps. The brothers Maddison climbed up. A scraping of cogs followed; a heartier thumping; and then four thin grey rubber tyres, taking the weight of successive vertical spokes of ash upon the lowest section of their containing rim, rolled in the direction of the Houses of Parliament, dark against the lowering west. The parrot in its cylindrical cage, covered with green baize secured with string, was waiting with the porter in his lodge within the wide doors of the Voyagers. Held on Richard's lap, it travelled upright in the Panhard steering for Westminster Bridge. River lights were left behind, to be succeeded by a far converging avenue of yellow twinkles remote and brown in the dim dark distance of the Old Kent Road.