The Empire Trilogy (30 page)

The Major nodded, his eyes streaming. On second thoughts he decided to swing his legs back into bed and pull the blankets up to his chin.

“You got your hair cut,” the Major mused.

“Eh? Yes, so I did. Stopped in at Prost's this afternoon before going out to Ripon's place in Rathmines. I mean, I couldn't very well turn up there looking like an organ-grinder's monkey, now, could I?”

“Of course not,” agreed the Major grimly.

All next morning Edward was in a terrible rage. His anger crashed and boomed around the Majestic, rattling the windows and scaring the wits out of servants and animals alike. A small dent had appeared in one of the wings of the Standard while he had been away in Dublin. Small though it was, it appeared to be this dent which was stimulating his explosions of passion. Naturally suspicion centred on Faith and Charity, although they wasted no time in swearing on their mother's grave (and, when that failed to work, on their sister's) that they were innocent. The Major was summoned to inspect the damage, but was unable to mollify Edward by saying that he thought it trivial. The twins, meanwhile, were darting covert glances in his direction, trying to warn him by telepathy not to mention it if he had seen them by the garages.

“Besides,” the Major lied weakly, unable to resist feminine distress, “they spent most of the day with me.”

The twins looked comforted, but Edward merely glanced at the Major in scornful disbelief. The twins were banished to separate rooms, locked in, and given only bread and water for lunch. Edward retired to the squash court to brood in the company of his piglets. It was the not owning up afterwards or, in other words, the telling of lies which was the real crime. He had made that quite plain. This was something he would not tolerate in his children.

The Major listened to this pronouncement with an expression of cold surprise, with one eyebrow sardonically raised, and with a running nose. Besides, given the hotel's state of disrepair he considered it eccentric to notice a small dent in a motor car.

As for the Major, his cold was much worse and he had just decided to spend the rest of the day in bed when a message arrived from Sarah to say that she was bored and would like to come to the Majestic “to see everyone” and would he come and collect her? He was ill. He had a considerable fever (such that at times he found himself wondering whether he hadn't simply dreamed the events of the day before). His nose was red, sore and still streaming. Every now and then he was convulsed by shuddering sneezes. At intervals he felt giddy. But now that the opportunity presented itself nothing would prevent him from seeing Sarah. Inflamed equally by his fever and by some whiskey that Edward had made him drink, he stopped on the way to buy some flowers and a box of chocolates.

“The blighter must have been waiting for me,” he thought peevishly as Mr Devlin hurried out of the bank to intercept him at the gate. The flowers and chocolates he was holding made his intentions all too plain. Mr Devlin's eyes rested on them for a moment, expressionlessly. Then he was greeting the Major with his customary effusion.

He and Mrs Devlin (and a certain young lady too) saw far too little of the Major these days, he informed the Major, and for this reason he must insist, indeed he wouldn't take no for an answer, that the Major should accord him a few moments of his precious time now that he had finally had the good luck to set eyes on him...a piece of good luck which occurred all too seldom since the Major undoubtedly had a great number of good friends here in Kilnalough...so he shouldn't mind, rather he should expect to be “kidnapped” by those who suffered from the deprivation of his company.

The Major nodded moodily at this extravagant preamble, looking at his watch. But Mr Devlin did not mean to be deterred. He steered the Major firmly into the bank, along a corridor in which there hung a smell of boiled cabbage, and into a comfortless office. On entering the Major sneezed explosively and had to mop a trail of mucus from his sleeve. He sat down in misery while once again Mr Devlin's eye rested on the flowers and chocolates.

Did the Major have a cold? It was plain that he paid too little heed to his health. He must partake of a sup of something to warm him. The Major protested feebly, but Mr Devlin had already seized a bottle of whiskey and a glass. Sweating, the Major felt once more that he must be having a dream.

“I'm afraid that Sarah may be waiting for me.”

“Not at all at all,” Mr Devlin reassured him, smoothing his already smooth hair with a delicate white hand. “We have time for a nice little chat now.”

The Major drank some whiskey and blew his nose unsatisfactorily.

And how was Mr Spencer getting along these days? There was another of his good and generous friends...very generous, he had done more for “a certain young lady” (he winked roguishly, distressing the Major) than could ever be repaid, more anyway than
he
would ever be able to repay, and all out of the kindness of his heart...

A sudden pause ensued, as if Mr Devlin had just asked a question, which of course he had not. The Major, in any event, could think of nothing to add to his remarks.

Not only with money (Mr Devlin gave the Major some more whiskey), not only with money, though to give that “certain young lady” the proper care would have been beyond his own means with medical expenses being what they were, no, not only with money, though the Major was probably unaware of the extra expense involved in having a semi-invalid in the house whose prospects for marriage...ah, well, that was a different story and one couldn't blame her for that, now, could one? it was the luck of the draw...but she was a self-willed girl and though he and Mrs Devlin saved what they could they would have to provide for their old age and even with a fortune behind her an invalid would be hard put to it to make a decent match but that was life...not only with money, though he prided himself on knowing its value, but with acts of kindness, sure, he would go out of his way to help someone, would he not?

“He would,” assented the Major, the whiskey providing him with an Irish turn of speech.

He'd do anything for you and that was the truth, one had only to look at the way he had taken her up to Dublin in his motor car yesterday...but of course the Major would know all about that, since he had most probably gone up to Dublin with them?

There was a long pause until the Major said: “Really, no more, thank you. I've already had more than is good for me.”

Oh, he could manage just a little drop to boil the germs out of him, sure he could, it was rare to find a man who'd do a Christian act like that out of the goodness of his heart, so to speak, and he understood that the specialist had taken a fair old time about it, keeping the young lady waiting around annoyingly for a good part of the day, the morning anyway (?), but that he'd given her a splendid report in the end so that it was worth waiting all that time (?)...irritating though it must have been to Mr Spencer who probably had a hundred and one things to do, and to the Major?

“No trouble to me, Mr Devlin,” the Major burst out with sudden irritation, “because I wasn't there. But I think I can say quite honestly—I won't drink any more, thank you—that I wouldn't have minded waiting all week if it had helped Sarah to walk again as she's walking now.”

“To be sure, that's very kind of you. So you weren't in Dublin with them?”

“No, I wasn't. As for it being kind of me, why, anyone would do the same.”

“Ah, I suppose...”

Mr Devlin fell silent, his troubled eyes on the Major's face as if he were anxious to confide something in him but not quite able to bring himself to speak. The Major, in any case, had got to his feet, having disposed of his glass, and was walking directly to the door with a plain determination not to be stopped.

“Still, she's a worry to her mother not being married yet at her age, a great worry, it's only natural...”

“Natural or not, Mr Devlin,” said the Major sharply, having lost all patience, “it's...” But he could think of no way of ending the sentence. He left it hanging ominously in the air and strode out of the office with Mr Devlin fussing somewhere behind him and muttering deferential instructions: to the right here, there's a door, yes, then up the stairs and...

“What a frightful fellow!” thought the Major giddily. “And to have such a nice daughter.” He looked round, but Mr Devlin had retired and he was outside a door he recognized as that of Sarah's room.

He had barely rapped on it when Sarah opened it, caught him by the sleeve and pulled him inside, saying: “Why have you taken so long, Brendan? I heard your car arrive ages ago.”

“Well...”

“Oh, you're so slow,” Sarah said impatiently, “and you have a cold. Really, you're such a child! What can you expect if you wander around in that absurd bathing-costume in the middle of winter? You'll catch your death, I expect, and serve you right.”

“Your father gave me a drink.”

“My father? He said something to you? He asked you something about me?”

“Well, not really...”

“Ah, I knew as much. He wouldn't dare say anything to my face!”

“But no, I assure you, he merely wanted a chat.”

Sarah had sat down awkwardly and without ceremony, ignoring him. She stood up again and made for the door.

“Are we ready then?”

“No. Wait here. Ah, these dratted stairs...D'you know why they give me a room up here? They think they'll keep me a prisoner,” she muttered furiously, and went out, dragging the door closed behind her. The Major was left standing there with the chocolates and flowers (which were blood-red roses); he had just cleared his throat, on the point of presenting them.

A moment later he heard the sound of angry voices from below. He held his breath but was unable to hear what was being said. “Heavens!” he thought wretchedly, “I've started another family row.”

Sarah called from below that he should go down, they were ready to leave, she didn't want to climb the “dratted stairs” again. Still clutching his roses and chocolates, the Major made his way down. He was following Sarah into the street when Mr Devlin materialized at his elbow and whispered: “You mustn't mind her. She gets excited. She's very high-strung, you know, Major, but she means no harm...Indeed, it clears the air...Her music makes her temperamental, you see, it's always the way...”

The Major nodded curtly but showed no inclination to pause and discuss the matter. Mr Devlin dropped back into the shadows of the corridor from which he had appeared, murmuring that the Major should call more often, that he was always welcome under their...Under their what? The Major did not wait to hear. “Roof,” he supposed.

“What on earth are you carrying, Brendan? Are you going to visit someone sick in bed?”

“They're for you.”

“For
me
?” Sarah exclaimed, laughing. “How ridiculous you are! What on earth shall I do with such things? But, very well...I'll accept them. It's really very kind of you. In fact, you are a terribly kind person, I can see that plainly. With your flowers and chocolates you remind me of Mulcahy.”

“Oh? The rural swain?” asked the Major, offended.

“Now I've hurt your feelings, Brendan. It's just like the old days.”

As they motored through the tranquil streets of Kilnalough the Major, eyes blurred, nose red and mouth gaping like a fish, peered gloomily at the peaceful shops and houses, some of which already had turf-smoke rising from their chimneys, and wondered whether one day there would be trouble in these streets too.

On the outskirts of Kilnalough a shabby old man hurled a stone at them as they went sailing by—but feebly. It missed by a considerable distance. The Major pretended not to notice.

The twins had not been liberated. There was no sign of them in the writing-room, where a fire was blazing in the hearth and where card-tables covered in green baize had been set up, each with a neat stack of playing-cards, a scoring pad and a sharpened pencil.

“I say, you don't really feel like playing whist, do you?” asked the Major, his eyes closed to the merest slits in an attempt to avoid surrendering to another volley of sneezes. He hoped that she felt as reluctant as he did.

“But of course! That's what I came for. What a frightful smell of cats there is in this room.”

The Major could smell nothing because of his cold, but he had already noticed that one or two cats, presumably ejected by the servants who had put up the card-tables, were pressing discontented faces against the closed windows.

“Something will have to be done about the cats. Miss Staveley found a litter of kittens in her knitting-basket the other day. And at night they have the most fearful battles up and down the corridors. One can hardly get any sleep.”

Hitherto whist had been informal, merely a way of crossing some of the great expanses of time that stretched like deserts over the afternoon and evening at the Majestic, deserts through which the lonely caravan of old ladies (together with Mr Norton and, on occasions, the Major or Edward) was obliged to make its way. But this time everything was different. Not only had real card-tables been set up and the cats expelled but the ladies, forewarned that this was to be a social occasion, had dressed up in their most splendid clothes and most luxuriantly feathered hats. A glorious riot of coloured plumage waved beside extravagant creations inspired by the garden and executed in silk, satin, leghorn and organdie. And of all the magnificent hats that greeted the Major's weeping eyes none was finer, as was only to be expected, than the golden pheasant, perfect in every detail, which was riding Miss Staveley's thin white curls.

“We must cheer ourselves up some way or another,” Edward told him. “Keep up morale and so forth.”

The Major went up to his room to get some dry handkerchiefs and lingered there morosely for a while. When he came downstairs again he found that Mrs Rice, Miss Porteous and Mr Norton were all impatiently waiting for him to join their table. The cards had been dealt. The other tables were already playing.