Men, Women and Guns Part 19

Later on I too went away, carrying in my mind the picture of a girl--she was no more--holding a little bronze cross in front of a laughing baby--the cross on which is written, "For Valour." And once again my mind went back to that little plot in Flanders covered with wooden crosses.

CHAPTER VIII

JAMES HENRY

James Henry was the sole remaining son of his mother, and she was a widow. His father, some twelve months previously, had inadvertently encountered a motor-car travelling at great speed, and had forthwith been laid to rest. His sisters--whom James Henry affected to despise--had long since left the parental roof and gone to seek their Fortunes in the great world; while his brothers had in all cases died violent deaths, following in the steps of their lamented father. In fact, as I said, James Henry was alone in the world saving only for his mother: and as she'd married again since his father's death he felt that his responsibility so far as she was concerned was at an end. In fact, he frequently cut her when he met her about the house.

Relations had become particularly strained after this second matrimonial venture. An aristocrat of the most unbending description himself, he had been away during the period of her courtship--otherwise, no doubt, he would have protected his father's stainless escutcheon. As it was, he never quite recovered from the shock.

It was at breakfast one morning that he heard the news. Lady Monica told him as she handed him his tea. "James Henry," she remarked reproachfully, "your mother is a naughty woman." True to his aristocratic principle of stoical calm he continued to consume his morning beverage. There were times when the mention of his mother bored him to extinction. "A very naughty woman," she continued. "Dad"--she addressed a man who had just come into the room--"it's occurred."

"What--have they come?"

"Yes--last night. Five."

"Are they good ones?"

Lady Alice laughed. "I was just telling James Henry what I thought of his Family when you came in. I'm afraid Harriet Emily is incorrigible."

"Look at James!" exclaimed the Earl--"he's spilled his tea all over the carpet." He was inspecting the dishes on the sideboard as he spoke.

"He always does. His whiskers dribble. Jervis tells me that he thinks Harriet Emily must have--er--flirted with a most undesirable acquaintance."

"Oh! has she?" Her father opened the morning paper and started to enjoy his breakfast. "We must drown 'em, my dear, drown---- Hullo! the Russians have crossed the----" It sounded like an explosion in a soda-water factory, and James Henry protested.

"Quite right, Henry. He oughtn't to do it at breakfast. It doesn't really make any one any happier. Did _you_ know about your mother? Now don't gobble your food." Lady Monica held up an admonishing finger.

"Four of your brothers and sisters are more or less respectable, James, but there's _one_--there's one that is distinctly reminiscent of a dachshund. Oh! 'Arriet, 'Arriet--I'm ashamed of you."

James Henry sneezed heavily and got down from the table. Always a perfect gentleman, he picked up the crumbs round his chair, and even went so far as to salvage a large piece of sausage skin which had slipped on to the floor. Then, full of rect.i.tude and outwardly unconcerned, he retired to a corner behind a cupboard and earnestly contemplated a little hole in the floor.

Outwardly calm--yes: that at least was due to the memory of his blue-blooded father. But inwardly, he seethed. With his head on one side he alternately sniffed and blew as he had done regularly every morning for the past two months. His father's wife the mother of a sausage-dog!

Incredible! It must have been that miserable fat beast who lived at the Pig and Whistle. The insolence--the inconceivable impertinence of such an unsightly, corpulent traducer daring to ally himself with One of the Fox Terriers. He growled slightly in his disgust, and three mice inside the wall laughed gently. But--still, the girls are ever frail. He blushed slightly at some recollection, and realised that he must make allowances. But a sausage dog! Great Heavens!

"James--avancons, mon brave." Lady Monica was standing in the window.

"We will hie us to the village. Dad, don't forget that our branch of the Federated a.s.sociation of Women War Workers are drilling here this afternoon."

"Good Heavens! my dear girl--is it?" Her father gazed at her in alarm.

"I think--er--I think I shall have to--er--run up to Town--er--this afternoon."

"I thought you'd have to, old dear. In fact, I've ordered the car for you. Come along, Henry--we must go and get a boy scout to be bandaged."

James Henry gave one last violently facial contortion at the entrance of the mouse's lair, and rose majestically to his feet. If she wanted to go out, he fully realised that he must go with her: Emily would have to wait. He would go round later and see his poor misguided mother and reason with her; but just at present the girl was his princ.i.p.al duty.

She generally asked his advice on various things when they went for a walk, and the least he could do was to pretend to be interested at any rate.

Apparently this morning she was in need of much counsel and help.

Having arrived at a clearing in the wood, on the way to the village, she sat down on the fallen trunk of a tree, and addressed him.

"James--what am I to do? Derek is coming this afternoon before he goes back to France. What shall I tell him, Henry--what _shall_ I tell him?

Because I know he'll ask me again. Thank you, old man, but you're not very helpful, and I'd much sooner you kept it yourself."

Disgustedly James Henry removed the carcase of a field mouse he had just procured, and resigned himself to the inevitable.

"I'm fond of him; I like him--in fact at times more than like him. But is it the _real_ thing? Now what do you think, James Henry?--tell me all that is in your mind. Ought I----"

It was then that he gave his celebrated rendering of a young typhoon, owing to the presence of a foreign substance--to wit, a fly--in a ticklish spot on his nose.

"You think that, do you? Well, perhaps you're right. Come on, my lad, we must obtain the victim for this afternoon. I wonder if those little boys like it? To do some good and kindly action each day--that's their motto, James. And as one person to another you must admit that to be revived from drowning, resuscitated from fainting, brought to from an epileptic fit, and have two knees, an ankle, and a collarbone set at the same time is some good action even for a boy scout."

It was not until after lunch that James Henry paid his promised call on his mother. Maturer considerations had but strengthened his resolve to make allowances. After all, these things do happen in the best families.

He was, indeed, prepared to be magnanimous and forgive; he was even prepared to be interested; the only thing he wasn't prepared for was the nasty bite he got on his ear. That settled it. It was then that he finally washed his hands of his undutiful parent. As he told her, he felt more sorrow than anger; he should have realised that anyone who could have dealings with a sausage-hound must be dead to all sense of decency--and that the only thing he asked was that in the future she would conceal the fact that they were related.

Then he left her--and trotting round to the front of the house, found great activity in progress on the lawn.

"Good Heavens! James Henry, do they often do this?" With a shout of joy he recognised the speaker. And having told him about Harriet, and blown heavily at a pa.s.sing spider and then trodden on it, he sat down beside the soldier on the steps. The game on the lawn at first sight looked dull; and he only favoured it with a perfunctory glance. In fact, what on earth there was in it to make the soldier beside him shake and shake while the tears periodically rolled down his face was quite beyond Henry.

The princ.i.p.al player seemed to be a large man--also in khaki--with a loud voice. Up to date he had said nothing but "Now then, ladies," at intervals, and in a rising crescendo. Then it all became complicated.

"Now then, ladies, when I says Number--you numbers from Right to Left in an heven tone of voice. The third lady from the left 'as no lady behind 'er--seeing as we're a hodd number. She forms the blank file. Yes, you, mum--you, I means."

"What are you pointing at me for, my good man?" The Vicar's wife suddenly realised she was being spoken to. "Am I doing anything wrong?"

"No, mum, no. Not this time. I was only saying as you 'ave no one behind you."

"Oh! I'll go there at once--I'm so sorry." She retired to the rear rank.

"Dear Mrs. Goodenough, _did_ I tread upon your foot?--so clumsy of me!

Oh, what is that man saying now? But you've just told me to come here.

You did nothing of the sort? How rude!"

But as I said, the game did not interest James Henry, so he wandered away and played in some bushes. There were distinct traces of a recently moving mole which was far more to the point. Then having found--after a diligent search and much delight in pungent odours--that the mole was a has-been, our Henry disappeared for a s.p.a.ce. And far be it from me to disclose where he went: his intentions were always strictly honourable.

When he appeared again the Earl had just returned from London, and was talking to the tall soldier-man. The Women War Workers had departed, and, as James Henry approached, his mistress came out and joined the two men.

"Have those dreadful women gone, my dear?" asked the Earl as he saw her.

"You're very rude, Dad. The Federated a.s.sociation of the W.W.W. is a very fine body of patriotic women. What did you think of our drill, Derek?"

"Wonderful, Monica. Quite the most wonderful thing I've ever seen." The soldier solemnly offered her a cigarette.

"You men are all jealous. We're coming out to France as V.A.D.'s soon."