The Secret Journey (77 page)

Captain Fury beamed. ‘Oh,' he said, drawling, ‘just three months. No more.'

He sat back in his chair, a big hand round his wine-glass. A slight pressure and it seemed the glass would shatter to fragments. The hand seemed to interest Sir Digby very much. Lawyer Trears looked at Sheila, but she was engaged in deep conversation with Lady Digby. Smoke, and of a most fragrant tobacco, curled up towards the ceiling of the Alpacia, and a yard away a somewhat bored waiter followed its movement across the room. There was a leisurely contented air about the place. One could not imagine the real cause of this dinner to be one of celebrating the quickest and easiest way to prosecute a war. Blood seemed so far away. It might have been a vicar's party. It was jolly.

Everybody smiled, enjoyed the food, and only the most vulgar asked himself why this Sir Digby should have so much money. Mrs. Fury listened to two people at once. To her husband's garrulous talk through a trained ear and to the curious self-conscious chit-chat of Lady Digby. Mr. Dingley and my Lord Mayor had drawn their chairs closer together, and seemed islanded all by themselves as they talked about whether Geltonians should have music in the park on Sundays. The more serious business in helping on the prosecution of a war was one for people like Captain Fury, and Mr. Dingley was secretly pleased that the Colonel and Adjutant of the Geltonian Regiment had not elected to join in.

‘I think,' said Sir Digby, as he endeavoured to strike a tune from the rim of his wine-glass, ‘I think it was a splendid idea organizing them on purely military lines. It does mitigate the possibilities of strikes, of unrest, and of course the power vested in the Government would hold them down to a plan, a set plan of campaign. For instance …'

Here Sir Digby had to stop, in fact everybody stopped talking at once and looked up as a waiter approached the table. He looked directly at Desmond Fury.

‘Captain Fury, sir?'

‘That's me,' said Desmond, and began adjusting his belt, and arranging his tie.

‘You're wanted on the'phone, sir. At once! It's very urgent.'

‘Yes. Right!' and the Captain got up, saying almost shamefacedly: ‘Excuse me.'

Sheila watched him go out. Sir Digby watched Sheila, waiting for a chance to speak.

He had been waiting for a long time. It amused him to think that he was intrigued by her. Suddenly the waiter came to the table, bent over Sheila, and whispered: ‘Madam, Captain Fury has been called away on a matter of great urgency, and he asks me to say that he thinks you should go on home.'

The woman went suddenly pale, looked at everybody, half rose, then said quietly: ‘Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen—I——' and she was on her feet at once.

The waiter approached to get her coat and gloves. But Mr. Trears had got them already. He came round the table. ‘Allow me, Mrs. Fury! So sorry you have to rush away like this. I do hope it's nothing serious. So pleased to have met your husband.' His eyes were right on her now, the fingers of his right hand whisked away imaginary dust from the sleeve of her coat. ‘By the way, if you wish, I could run you home. I've the car here and it's no trouble, no trouble at all.'

She was already moving away, and Mr. Trears was following behind her. The remainder of the party began to pull themselves together. Departure
en masse
seemed inevitable. And in the smoke-room just beyond the dining-room Mrs. Fury was questioning the waiter. He replied to her question with the correct amount of deference. One so well trained as he could see at once that this was a
real
lady. He ‘Yes madamed' and ‘No madamed' whilst Mr. Trears respectfully stood away. Where was the call from? Who was it? The War Office or the Transport Union, or what? How long would he be? Had he left no other message beyond advising her to go home?

‘The call was from a hospital, madam. I understood it was urgent. But I don't know what hospital exactly. He seemed worried, madam. He said you were to go straight home, madam. He didn't know how long he would be, but he would get back as soon as possible, and that was all he could tell me, madam.'

‘Thank you.' She looked across at Mr. Trears smilingly and exclaimed: ‘If you don't mind, Mr. Trears. I'd be grateful. It's a long way from here, and I've a bad headache.'

She slipped something into the waiter's hand. ‘Thank you, madam.'

‘Certainly, certainly, Mrs. Fury. Only too happy to oblige. Repton Court Road. I know it. Actually I pass it. I am sorry about your headache. I hope nothing is wrong,' and Mr. Trears led the woman out of the hotel at a leisurely pace, and anybody seeing this pair emerge from the front door of the Alpacia could not help but think that the world was rather a nice place to live in. A moment later the gentle purr of a car grew into a sort of muffled roar and Mr. Trears and Mrs. Fury had vanished. A light rain like dust made a film on the windows. The wind was beginning to drive in from the east. The night was cold and a pale moon made fantastic what in the light of day was drab. The clutter of deserted streets.

‘Are you Captain Fury?' came the voice over the line; and Desmond gripped the receiver hard.

‘I am.'

‘Are you Captain Desmond Fury?' asked the same monotonous voice, and then the speaker coughed.

‘Yes. Of course I am,' he growled, and it was on the tip of his tongue to follow up with: ‘Who the hell are you?' Why hadn't he gone home as soon as the meal was over?

‘This is the General Hospital speaking. There is a Mrs. Fanny Fury here. Just brought in. Are you her son?'

‘Yes. Yes. Who
are
you? What is wrong?'

Captain Fury fidgeted violently. People were passing and re-passing. Their footsteps were unheard upon the thick pile carpet of the Alpacia, nevertheless they seemed to now stamp into that other ear. And then the voice droned on. Then he was to come at once? Yes? Urgent? His mother! Where? How? What had happened? To his own complete astonishment he exclaimed, ‘Poor mother!'

‘No,' went on the voice. ‘Not that. Complete collapse.' And he was to hurry
now
.

Captain Fury let the receiver drop with a crash. Then he called a waiter, gave him a message. He left at once, hailed a taxi, directed it to the Gelton General Hospital. The taxi sped away on wheels that had been hungry all day.

So his mother had collapsed! Good Lord! He hadn't seen her for a long time. Hadn't seen any of the family for that matter. Now he supposed he would see them all. Everybody. His father. ‘Poor dad.' But was he home? Perhaps he wasn't. And Kilkey. Joe Kilkey. ‘Completely a bachelor by now,' and Maureen. Yes, Maureen! Even that old faggot from Cork. My heavens, he hoped not. And only twenty minutes ago he was seated at the table enjoying himself. Yes, it was enjoyment, no doubt about that. Life had taught him one thing anyhow. How to enjoy himself. He enjoyed this evening. And Sheila there! And everybody admiring her. The right sort of people too. It warmed far more than the wine he had drunk. What a rich bug that Dick fellow was. Rotten with money. Stinking with money. Always had had it. Even while he, Captain Fury, had been hammering wedges into the permanent way. All that time. Just imagine. Funny seeing that lawyer fellow to-night. Poor mother! Still hoping to get Peter out! Damn it, he must write Peter a letter. Poor lad! Wonder what he thought of himself now? Fooling about with women at his age, and not content with girls of his own age. Oh no! Must have other men's wives. Silly lad! But you can't blame him. No! He had argued against all that rot without avail, and somehow the word rot made him think of his mother again. Poor mother! Her idea! And now she was in …

‘Did you say General, sir?' called the driver through the window.

‘Course I said General! Hurry, will you! Hurry, blast you!'

‘Very good, sir,' and the taxi seemed to shoot forward at a bound. The General Hospital! Now where was this exactly? ‘The Gelton General. Let me see,' and he named the half-dozen hospitals of Gelton. The General must be a new one, or had changed its name.

‘Gelton General Hospital, sir.' The taxi pulled up with a jerk and Captain Fury stepped out. The gentle drizzle had now turned into fine rain.

‘How much?'

‘Three and three, sir.'

‘Here!'

‘Thank you, sir. 'Night, sir.'

Desmond stood watching the taxi roll away into the darkness. And now he looked up at the tall building and a hundred lighted windows winked down at him. Somewhere behind one of those twinkling lights she lay. He said again: ‘Poor mother.' Then he looked higher, wondering if he had seen this hospital before. There was the tower, the big black-faced clock with its dull brass hands. There were the tall iron railings, the low sandstone wall. No! For the life of him he couldn't remember. Must indeed be new.

His hands gripped his belt. For some reason or other he looked right and left before he entered the gates. Then he walked quickly up the drive. He rang the bell and waited. The most uncomfortable feelings assailed him as the door opened and the beam of light picked him out, shining down on his uniform, showing up his powerful figure, his big and fleshy, though far from repulsive features. ‘Thank you,' he said and stepped inside. A horrible smell of disinfectant.

The porter asked him for particulars, gave a curt: ‘Thank you. Wait here, please,' and having seen the Captain seated, went off down the long corridor to vanish at length through a green swing door.

Desmond leaned his head against the wall, stared up at the clean white ceiling, the white walls—a white world. The silence of the place touched the heights of awe. The atmosphere made Captain Fury feel more uncomfortable than ever. He scraped his foot impatiently and a wave of hollow sound flooded the silence. He sat quiet, listening. How long would they be? Was it——? No, it wasn't! It couldn't be. He gripped his belt again. The flesh of the hand showed whiter.

When the swing door opened it revealed a nurse. She approached him on feet that seemed to make no sound at all. Captain Fury rose. He towered over the five foot two of the young nurse. He suddenly opened his mouth. He talked. He gave the nurse a number of particulars she enquired for. He asked countless questions. A mind into which was already stealing broken fragments of a past time, had suddenly become confused. He wondered how she looked. His mother. Poor mother. Was she … no … couldn't be—oh dear … Yes. He had sent her five shillings a week for a long time and a postal order for a pound during the week of the trial. But she had not written to thank him, for the simple reason that he wanted no thanks, and besides he had made it impossible by giving her no address to which to write. He had read the whole case. He had been there! Had been called as a witness. But he had always managed to avoid her. Was she lying still now? How? Where?

His mind became flooded by the very weight of these fragments. There followed only a mist. He thought of nothing. He simply followed the nurse, his eyes fastened upon those tiny fairy feet, the attraction of them a momentary relief. And he
was
fascinated by the way they skipped over the parquet flooring. Twice he had nearly slipped and she had turned, saying softly: ‘Ssh! Quiet please. Careful! Careful!' At that point Captain Fury had decided to remove his hat. He swung it in his hand.

They had passed through the green doors, and were now climbing white steps. He suddenly put out a hand and touched the nurse's shoulder. ‘Please,' he said. She turned and looked him full in the face. The eyes were full open upon her. Big eyes. The face was rather frightening to her, but the eyes were honest.

‘I'm rather frightened,' he stammered, and she knew this set the seal upon his honesty. He swung his hat more violently, pulled continuously at his belt.

‘Of what, sir?' she asked; and turning on her heel beckoned him on. There was something imperious, authoritative, something dignified, trusting and consoling in her very attitude. She heard him following. They stopped at a door. Was this it? His mother! He wondered, but it wasn't, and they ascended yet another flight of steps. At this height even the breathing sounded cavernous below. He stopped again. The nurse went on. He called to her in a low voice.

‘This way, please.'

Her voice was cold, impersonal. She ignored his frightened humanity. And then there came yet another white door. This was it. So it seemed to Desmond, for she had now put a hand on the brightly polished knob.

‘Is she—it's my mother! D'you think she——Was she … I … Is it——'

‘Quietly. This way, please.' She turned the knob, swung back the door, stepped aside for the Captain to enter. She stared down at the floor, looking at his big feet as he passed. A big man. Well, here big men were no better than little men. And captains no better than beggars. And fear no better than shame. Here all things were levelled and cries as well as laughs made the arches under which the hours, slow or swift, moved on like the waters of a river.

Desmond Fury looked down into a long dimly lit ward. At first sight it gave him the impression of a railway tunnel, but a very queer railway tunnel. There were long lines of beds on either side. And in the centre a great stove, tables, many flowers. Bare walls, excepting for the charts of patients, and over each bed the now extinguished lights under their cupped hoods. He looked up. Enormous height, and three lights glimmering down. The air alive with breathings. The very air itself seemed to have a voice, burdened as it was by these monotonous breaths. Then a hand touched his arm.

‘This way, please.'

When he looked down he saw that the first nurse had gone. This one looked like a sister, or was it the matron? They had gone about three yards down the ward, he on tiptoe and finding it difficult without making a deal of noise, the nurse in front with finger raised. It seemed the occupants of the ward were all asleep. She spoke softly to him.

‘Your mother is seriously ill. I think you should know.'