The Journeying Boy (24 page)

There seemed to be no reason why Humphrey should have been taken by surprise, since Mr Thewless had most meticulously knocked on his door and waited to be called upon to enter. But Humphrey, who, since making his own reconnaissance, had sat down at a small desk by his window, had it seemed responded automatically, with the result that his tutor came upon him making a flurried attempt to thrust an exercise book into a drawer. The drawer, since it was a true Killyboffin drawer, resisted the attempt. Whereupon Humphrey, with considerable presence of mind, dropped the exercise book on the floor, edged it with a deft toe beneath the carpet, and turned to Mr Thewless with a charming smile. ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘I’m so glad to see they didn’t handle you too roughly. Although they
must
have hit you on the head.’

‘I was certainly knocked unconscious for a time, my dear Humphrey, when things began falling about us in the tunnel. If it suits you to think that some villain was involved – why, I see no substantial reason why you should not do so.’

As Mr Thewless delivered himself of this indulgent speech it struck him that here was precisely what
did
suit Humphrey. The boy was clearly surrounded still by his delusions; his eye and cheek spoke of considerable excitement; and at the same time he looked in much better trim than his tutor had yet known him. Moreover, Mr Thewless could feel a new element – it was a sort of easy benevolence rather reminiscent of Mr Bolderwood – in Humphrey’s attitude to him. The boy was no longer disturbed by the fact that his tutor was sceptical; he gave the impression of rather liking him that way. At the moment Mr Thewless was given no leisure to be more than briefly puzzled by this, since Humphrey was very wholesomely intent upon proceeding to dinner. He had changed circumspectly into a dark suit; an insufficiency of soap and water was seemingly not among his numerous personal indisciplines; at the moment he nicely displayed the extravagantly scrubbed and mildly cheerful features which are the orthodox insignia of the well-conducted public schoolboy. Mr Thewless, heartened by this sight and auguring well from it for much dutifully conned French and Latin in the coming quiet and ordered life that his host had promised, fell to teasing Humphrey about his immoderate expectations from the meal they were awaiting. It was Friday, he pointed out, and what had been projected was an omelette. But owing to the ill-regulated conduct of the Killyboffin hens nothing except boxty was likely to meet them below. Humphrey must by no means expect a whopping steak, misled by his insufficient erudition into supposing the word in any way connected with
bulls
; rather that peculiar species of sea-fish sacred to Hermes, the
box
or, βοαξ, so named because of its unfishlike ability to emit a short, plopping noise, gave the true derivation of the word. They would undoubtedly find that boxty was in every sense a wholly fishy dish.

With such gamesome talk as this, immemorial to his kind, did Mr Thewless presently conduct his charge downstairs. An evening breeze had risen, blowing in from the ocean; its effect upon the respectable antiquity of Killyboffin was to set a hundred soft tongues whispering, a thousand tiny creatures moving, all around one in the bare, pervasively dilapidated house. Mr Thewless again remarked that it was a place of considerable size. Everywhere corridors ran off in a dimness of white walls and faded cream paint, with here and there the dark rectangle of an oil painting in which troops of hunters moved obscurely through Italian landscapes which time or the varnish bottle had umbered to a cavernous gloom. The house, moreover, had this peculiarity: that its contents, so soon as one should stray in person or in glance from, as it were, certain narrow channels leading from various inhabited corners to the living-rooms of the family, were for the most part swathed and sheeted after the fashion of large establishments from which the owner has taken his departure for the time. Mr Bolderwood had among his fancies, it appeared, that of living like a caretaker in his own rambling halls, and this although the confused multitude of his retainers would surely have been adequate to the dusting and polishing of the mansion several times over. Moreover, some past Bolderwood had owned a taste in statuary; another had collected armour; a third had been interested in grandfather clocks. All these objects, in common with the chairs, benches, tables, and the like which lined, after the common fashion of ornament rather than utility, the broad corridors of the house, were swathed in a white sheeting from which one could have puffed the dust in passing. The effect could not well be other than spectral. It was as if, in addition to the vociferous Denis and his rout, the place owned another body of inhabitants, who waited, shrouded and silent in the gathering dusk, the stroke of some hour that should release them to their own nocturnal offices. Nor indeed did their silence appear entire, since the wind as it sighed through Killyboffin had the effect of prompting them to sinister confabulation, the result of which was already an uneasy twitch and stir in their enveloping garments.

Mr Thewless, when he remarked this rather uncanny effect, glanced in some anxiety at Humphrey. But at the moment, at least, the boy made nothing of it. He had paused, driven by hunger though he professed to be, by a window on a broad landing, attracted by an equal prospect of sea and mountain there revealed. The gentle declivities by which Killyboffin Hall was surrounded already lay for the most part in shadow, but, on higher ground beyond, the level light of late evening was still brilliant upon emerald fields, white or pink cottages, and, in the farther distance, dun bogs scarred by the darker brown of peat cuttings. Here and there along the dykes and hedges that demarcated the tiny fields lay inexplicable streaks and splashes of colour – orange and crimson and ultramarine – much as if, casually but to a happy effect, an artist had scattered his brightest pigments over the picture.

‘Wool,’ said Humphrey. ‘Isn’t that it? They dye it themselves and put it out like that to dry. And look! There’s an old woman boiling something up in a cauldron. That must be wool too. And those girls are taking it from her and carrying it on their heads in baskets. I’ve seen that in Italy. They’re taking it to those others to wash in the stream. And – I say! – just look at the hillsides. You’d think they were so empty, and yet there are people all over them. And in those same gorgeous colours too.’

Mr Thewless looked, and saw that all these appearances were as Humphrey had remarked. Everywhere on the hillsides, and to distances that were almost remote, one could pick out slowly moving specks of brilliant colour.

‘There’s always something happening in an Irish countryside.’

It was Ivor Bolderwood who spoke; he had come up behind them and was looking mildly out through his large glasses. Humphrey turned to him with an alacrity from which Mr Thewless gathered that the young man had substantially gained his pupil’s confidence. ‘Are these people very poor?’ Humphrey asked.

Ivor nodded soberly. ‘Very poor indeed, most of them. They have to go miles and miles to the bogs where they can cut peat, and not all of them have even a donkey to bring it home on. And you will see them gathering seaweed as the only manure they can afford for their patches of potatoes. Still, they dye the cloth they make for themselves in those brave colours, and they know a lot of stories and poetry and songs. Some of those bright, moving specks are thinking of no more than their suppers, I expect – as you and I are doing.’ Ivor paused and chuckled as Humphrey faintly blushed. ‘But the minds of others are moving through old, old poems that nobody, perhaps, has ever written down – poems about kings and heroes and all the sad and splendid things that beautiful women have brought into the world.’

‘Is that really true?’ Humphrey was round-eyed. ‘Could I go among them, and would they tell me, and could I put it in a book?’

Ivor Bolderwood laughed. ‘A good many people have tried to do that. And there is a difficult language you would have to learn before you could hope to understand a great deal. But I think some of them might tell you something.’

Humphrey glanced from Ivor to his tutor, and Mr Thewless thought proper to offer an interested and approving murmur. Here, he judged, was a vein of interest altogether more wholesome than anything represented by the boy’s current reading, or by the matters on which he conversed with Miss Liberty. ‘We shall certainly,’ he said, ‘try to get into conversation with some of them.’

‘So long as they don’t suppose you to be folk off the trawlers.’ And Ivor pointed in the other direction, where from their present height they could just see the masts and funnel of a vessel anchored some way out from a little pier. ‘They dislike the way the foreigners, who don’t speak even English, often enough, come and eat out the country. But some of these sailors are interesting folk too. There’s Viking blood in some of them, and presently they will be off in their dirty little ships to the places from which their ancestors sailed to harry Ireland. In quite a short time that tub out there may have rounded the North Cape, and instead of these tiny Irish fields and cottages the sailors may be seeing the sort of things the Ancient Mariner saw: icebergs and the aurora borealis – or, at this time of year, the midnight sun.’

‘And ice mast-high came flowing by

As green as emerald.’

Humphrey, now staring out to sea, quoted the lines shyly but in a glow of pleasure. ‘But don’t you think the bit about the moon is the best?
The moving moon went up the sky–’
He broke off suddenly. ‘Hullo, here’s something else. And – I say! – isn’t she wizard?’

Round a precipitous headland which bounded the scene – the same from which Miss Liberty had conjectured that there must be a superlative view – there had appeared a vessel which Mr Thewless, unversed in maritime matters, could have defined only as an outsize motorboat. An affair of gleaming white paint and flashing brass, its thrusting bows, flowing lines, and flattened stern suggested formidable speed and power, while the scale upon which it was built seemed indicative of a craft built for blue water. Mr Thewless looked at it with mild but genuine interest, Humphrey with an enthusiasm which this time was a little conventional, Ivor Bolderwood in swift and knowledgeable appraisal. ‘She’s certainly rather grand,’ the last-named said. ‘We usually get only the most modest pleasure-craft bothering about Killyboffin.’ His fingers drummed for a moment on the window-pane. ‘Well, we had better go down, or Denis will have the triumph of announcing dinner before we’re all there, after all.’ He turned pleasantly to Mr Thewless. ‘I do hope that you will get more amusement than annoyance out of our way of things here. We can at least make some interesting expeditions. The pre-Celtic antiquities are numerous, and I have always wanted to go over them with an authority.’

Mr Thewless was pleased. That an amateur in Roman archaeology was competent to pronounce upon the monuments of prehistoric Ireland was assuredly something that young Ivor Bolderwood was much too well informed to suppose. But the success of this sort of compliment lies all in its manner, and at the end of his exhausting day (or what he supposed to himself to be its end) Mr Thewless found himself sitting down to dinner with feelings of considerable pleasure in the society of his hosts.

Nor, he presently discovered, was the dinner itself such as to depress the spirits. Although the boxty was certainly in evidence, it was given more prominence by the elder Mr Bolderwood in his conversation than by Denis as he handed the dishes; and Mr Thewless was more aware of the excellence of the salmon and the perfection of the hock. His host, it is true, was still much troubled about the eggs, and supposed that for breakfast it was impossible that they should have anything but siot or skirlie-mirlie.

Ivor, while he refrained from disputing this, pointed to the sustaining fact that in four days they would undoubtedly be eating grouse – and grouse, moreover, which they should owe to Humphrey’s rapidly increasing skill with a shot-gun. And at this Humphrey, who not much more than twenty-four hours before had been repudiating with vast humanitarian indignation the suggestion that he should slaughter living things, and who after that again had been clutching the same weapon as a resource against imaginary spies and assassins, produced in high pleasure the modest disclaimers proper in well-mannered persons of his age. Mr Thewless felt eminently satisfied, and his various meaningless alarms, together with the absurd but harmless conduct of the men with the ambulance, altogether assumed their proper proportions in his mind. He had discovered that Killyboffin was on the telephone, and he had thus been able to send a telegram to Sir Bernard Paxton, informing him of the safe arrival of his son. And when he considered Humphrey’s present equable state, and remembered the sort of dire intelligence which at one time he had been persuaded it might be necessary to despatch to his father, he saw how much he himself must at one point have been thrown off his balance. Humphrey, it was true, was still going to be nervously disturbed and thoroughly difficult from time to time; Mr Thewless stood in no doubt as to that. But Ivor Bolderwood was going to be an excellent person to take part of the strain; already he was absorbing the boy’s interest with well-informed talk about remote places and peoples; he was much what Mr Thewless himself aspired to be: simultaneously instructive and entertaining.

Nevertheless, Mr Thewless, despite his own sense of nervous relaxation, presently found himself wondering whether Humphrey was not up to his tricks again. There are children in whose presence small objects are liable to drop inexplicably off the mantelpiece, or to levitate in air and glide quaintly to another corner of the room. But in the presence of his pupil, Mr Thewless had come to believe, it was rather the furniture of the mind that was apt to suffer disconcerting small displacements; and he was by no means certain that something of the sort was not now beginning to tinge the consciousness of his elder companions. It was possible, again, that the boy had produced this effect not merely telepathically but by some direct communication to Ivor Bolderwood during their first ramble with the shot-gun. Perhaps he had assured his newly-found cousin that during his journey from London he had been the interesting centre of sundry alarming melodramatic adventures. And perhaps Ivor, abundantly sensible as he appeared to be, had been a little shaken by the odd conviction which Humphrey had the trick of importing into his fantasies.