The Empire Trilogy Part 11

"For me 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.

Sarah was at a table with Miss Staveley, Edward and the Reverend Mr Daly. As for the Major, he was expected to partner Mrs Rice throughout the afternoon. He already knew from past experience that her grasp of the principles of the game was anything but firm. He mastered with difficulty a great explosion of rage as she led with her trumps on the first hand, but he knew that the real reason for his irritation was the deprivation of Sarah's company, for which, feverish and vulnerable, he felt an acute longing.

For most of the afternoon he sat at the same table (for Edward had organized the contest so that winners moved to the next table, losers stayed in their seats), periodically convulsed by sneezes which had opponents and partner wincing away from him, eyes barely open, light-headed, moustache bedraggled, miserable beyond words. And yet this rare social occasion was undeniably a brilliant success. The ladies of the Majestic had been in poor spirits recently. With the approach of winter, aches, pains, insomnia and bowel discomforts proliferated; under the compulsion of shortening days the ladies were once more funnelled towards the dreadful gauntlet of December, January and February which most of them had already run over seventy times before, reluctantly forced through it like sheep through a sheep dip-it was appalling, this ruthless movement of the seasons, how many would survive? Looking round bleakly, the Major was sorry for them and for a moment, as his mind strayed from his own misery, was glad that they were enjoying themselves. Troubles forgotten, shawled and feathered, they sat round the card-tables chattering and squabbling like great plump birds around a feeding-trough, laughing, teasing young Padraig (who had appeared with his grandfather) and forgetting what they were saying and whose turn it was to play and all talking at once and no one really listening. The men too were enjoying themselves. Mr Norton had allowed his preference for youth to lapse for the occasion and flirted with any lady who appeared at his table. The Reverend Daly beamed cheerfully and encouraged his partner to greater efforts. Even old Dr Ryan who, chin on chest and grumbling constantly, seemed positively unable to keep his eyes open, nevertheless won consistently in company with Miss Archer, hand after hand after hand-which caused immense difficulties since his body, if not his mind, was to all intents inert and had to be carried, chair and all, from one table to the next (the rule that winners moved, losers stayed where they were, being quite inflexible). Murphy, naturally, was selected to do all the carrying, but he mumbled and groaned and heaved to such pitifully little effect that Sean had to be called from the garden, springing immaculately groomed from the neighbourhood of the compost heap, to help.

Of the gentlemen only the tutor, summoned from his room above the kitchens to make up the numbers, seemed ill at ease, perhaps because Miss Bagley was cross at being given him as a partner: after all, he was "practically one of the servants," she whispered to the unsympathetic Major when they found themselves at the same table. She watched him like a hawk and rebuked him sharply if his attention appeared to wander, calling him "partner" with bitter irony. A faint flush crept up Evans's pale pocked cheeks. The Major sighed, feeling sorry for the man (Miss Bagley, besides, was by no means his favourite among the old ladies), but at the same time he was irritated. After all, the fellow could surely afford to buy himself a new collar or two to replace the thing like a dish-rag that he was wearing.

Old Mrs Rappaport was blind, of course, and so could not play. She sat on a straight-backed chair by the fire, glum and disapproving, refusing to admit that she was comfortable and warm enough, refusing to answer the pleasant remarks that were spoken into one ear or another as the winning players shuffled past her in the periodic changing of tables. Shortly before tea was served, a thickset marmalade cat (which the Major thought he recognized as a former inhabitant of the Imperial Bar) emerged from the forest of chair- and table-legs and jumped on to her lap. It was greeted with cries of surprise. Where had it come from? Windows and doors were shut. The room had been diligently searched beforehand. There was a fire in the fireplace, so it could hardly have come down the chimney (a favourite trick of the cats at the Majestic), it was absolutely impossible that the beast could have got in...yet here it was! The Major, as it happened, knew the answer to this problem. He had earlier noticed that evil, orange, horridly whiskered head poking itself out of a rent in the side of a ma.s.sive velvet sofa on the far side of the room. The creature presumably lived in there. The Major took a perverse pleasure in keeping this knowledge to himself, merely smiling in a superior way at the general bafflement. Nor did he relent when Mr Norton genuinely alarmed some of the ladies by saying that there must be a witch in the room, that the cat was quite plainly a witch's familiar and that he for one had already had a spell put on him by one of the ladies present (he glanced roguishly at Sarah and attempted to place a trembling hand on her knee). A witch in the room! The ladies laughed nervously and tried to avoid looking too plainly into each other's haggard, wrinkled faces.

"What piffle," said Edward. "We'll soon get rid of the animal." And getting to his feet he made to remove the cat from Mrs Rappaport's lap. But she would have none of it, demanding petulantly that "her" cat should be left in peace. She even went so far as to call it "p.u.s.s.y"; the cat narrowed its acid green eyes and flexed its claws, which were as sharp as hatpins.

"You're all enjoying yourselves," she cried. "I just sit here...I don't know, why haven't I got any tea?"

"No one has yet," Edward soothed her. "Tea will be served in a few minutes."

Mrs Rappaport sniffed ill-temperedly. The attempt to remove the cat was abandoned and it remained where it was, relaxed but alert, flicking its tail from time to time as it watched the swaying feathers and nodding plumes of the ladies' hats.

After tea the Major sank into a nightmarish daze in which it no longer seemed to matter when Mrs Rice played an ace or a trump to make doubly sure of tricks he had already won. He even gave up trying to win enough tricks to progress to the next table where Sarah and Edward had been losing steadily for some time; all his attention was taken by sucking in air through his parched lips and dealing with the steady trickle of fluid from his nose with sodden handkerchiefs. Slumped in his chair, he thought wearily: "What a disgusting animal I am!" But at that moment Mrs Rice eagerly tugged his sleeve and alerted him to the fact that they had won at last. While he had been day-dreaming she had played her cards with the cunning of a fox. At last they could move. Moreover, Sarah and Edward had lost yet again, so they would be at the same table.

"You poor thing," Sarah said to him cheerfully, putting cool fingers on his damp brow. "You do look a mess! Edward must fill you with whiskey after supper and you must go to bed."

"Oh, I'm all right."

"Don't be so grumpy."

"I'm not."

"You certainly sound it."

"I can't help that."

Sarah grimaced with annoyance and turned away to talk to Mrs Rice, who was still flushed and jubilant over her victory.

They began to play. The Major played his cards at random, no longer able to remember what his partner and opponents had played. Sarah glanced at him one or twice but said nothing. He fell into a gloomy reverie until suddenly, without warning, Mrs Rice asked: "And how was dear Ripon, Mr Spencer? I hear you went to see him when you were in Dublin yesterday."

The Major glanced from Edward to Sarah, who was studying her cards serenely as if she had not heard the question. A faint flush, however, had tinged her neck and cheeks. What could Edward say? The Major coldly watched the troubled expression on his face as he framed a reply. He was on the point of answering Mrs Rice's question when he was prevented by a sudden and most terrible commotion.

The recent rearrangement of opponents had brought Miss Staveley to within a few feet of where Mrs Rappaport was sitting with the cat on her lap. For the past few minutes the cat's bitter green eyes had been glued to the plump pheasant which clung defencelessly to the crown of Miss Staveley's magnificent hat. With each movement that she made the bird's sweeping tail-feathers trembled deliciously. At last, tantalized beyond endurance, the cat sprang from Mrs Rappaport's lap, hurtled through the air in a horrid orange flash and pounced on Miss Staveley's black velvet shoulders, sinking its hideous claws into the bird's delicate plumage. Miss Staveley uttered a shriek and sank forward on to the card-table while the cat, precariously balanced on her shoulders, ripped and clawed savagely at her headgear in an explosion of feathers. There was pandemonium. The ladies cried out in alarm. The men voiced gruff barks of astonishment and leaped to their feet. But still the beast savaged its prey. At last Edward and the Major, knocking chairs aside, stumbled to the rescue. But before they could reach Miss Staveley the tutor sprang forward and dealt the beast a terrible blow on the back of the neck. It gave a piercing wail, thin as the shriek of a child, and dropped senseless to the carpet.

Silence fell. Everyone in the room froze. In the sudden stillness the crackling of a log in the fireplace seemed unnaturally loud. The tutor stooped and picked up the cat. For an instant, as he held it high over his head, there was a savage rictus on his white pocked face. Then he hurled it across the room with terrible force. It smacked against the wall with a sickening thud and dropped lifeless to the floor. There was a sharp intake of breath, and everyone peered at the shapeless marmalade bundle.

The Major was not quite sure what happened next. He saw the fierce exultation slowly fade from the tutor's face. His eyes dropped to the carpet and he shuffled back to his table, flushed and self-conscious. n.o.body said a word to him. He began to study his cards with unseeing eyes.

Meanwhile Edward and the ladies were bustling around Miss Staveley with smelling-salts and sympathy while she sobbed fitfully and tried to unpin the shattered remains of her hat from her white curls. The doctor was applied to for advice and although he murmured disagreeably: "Och... give her some air. She'll be all right," n.o.body was prepared to accept that this was all he had to say. The Murphys were summoned to pick up his chair and he was carried bodily across the room (muttering unheeded protests) to be deposited at Miss Staveley's side. There the lids came down over his eyes and he appeared to fall asleep. Miss Staveley, in any case, was coming along splendidly and really had no need of medical help. She was even beginning rather to enjoy being the centre of attention and presently she was describing what it feels like to be pounced on and to have "cruel claws" digging into one's shoulders. What a business! Everyone was trying to make himself heard over the babble, to describe how it had looked to him him, from where he was sitting, that ruthless feline thunderbolt which had sped across the room to attack Miss Staveley's hat. In the hubbub of voices only Mrs Rappaport, grim and catless on her chair by the fireside, remained silent.

"Would you like some more tea, Mrs Rappaport?" asked the Major, who felt sorry for her. But she merely shook her head. The corners of her mouth drew down as if she were about to cry.

As interest in Miss Staveley subsided people remembered the cat which had been the cause of the commotion. It was still lying there against the foot of the wall. Its mouth was partly open; through its wickedly sharp teeth a little blood was leaking on to the parquet floor. The elder Murphy was told to dispose of it but he refused, saying he didn't dare touch it. Edward grimaced with annoyance but did not waste time arguing the point. There was a moment of tension as he turned it over with his shoe, as if everyone expected it suddenly to revive and start tearing him to pieces. But the animal was quite plainly dead.

"Mr Evans, I wonder, would you mind?" The tutor looked up from the cards he was studying. He hesitated for a moment, his face expressionless, then he got to his feet without a word, picked the cat up by its dark-ringed orange tail and left the room.

"The strength of some of those fellas is positively fr-frightful..." Mr Norton said to the Major, who was not sure whether he was referring to the tutor or to the cat.

When Evans returned Edward said that, rather than end on such an unfortunate note, everyone should sit down and play another hand or two, if they felt like it, and try to forget this unpleasant little episode. And presently, though in a rather subdued fashion, the players began to chatter about other things. The odour of fear and violence gradually dissipated.

When he had thrown a few more pieces of turf and wood on to the fire Edward sat down and said cheerfully: "Now whose turn was it to play and what were we talking about?"

"Your turn. Mrs Rice had just asked you about your visit to Ripon when you were in Dublin yesterday."

"Ah yes," said Edward and once more a strained expression appeared on his face. But before he could say a word Sarah exclaimed: "Oh, we had a lovely time, Mrs Rice, and Ripon is getting along wonderfully. Did you know that he married a friend of mine, Maire Noonan, from Kilnalough? Such a nice girl..." and she went on to talk about Maire, though Mrs Rice, who believed she was missing one of her cards (how many did everyone else have?) was not really listening. As for the Major, he lowered his jealous eyes to the fan of cards in his hand and said no more. He thought: "That evening with me in London must have meant nothing to her after all."

Certain of the guests, including Dr Ryan, his grandson and Sarah, had been invited to stay for supper. Padraig had begun the afternoon affecting a cautious and supercilious manner. He had relaxed, however, on hearing that the twins had been locked up and soon became expansive, even voluble. Like the Major he appeared to be partial to older ladies. The Major, who was looking for the doctor (his cold was at its zenith and he was afraid he had pneumonia), overheard the lad describing to Miss Bagley in minute detail the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian. Miss Bagley murmured "Dear me!" at intervals, genuinely horrified.

The doctor had vanished, as he had a habit of doing when the old ladies might want to discuss their ailments with him. But he was so old and infirm that the Major was confident that he would be able to track him down without much difficulty-and so it proved. He came upon him sitting in the Palm Court, little frequented these days for a number of reasons: one, of course, was the usual difficulty of the foliage having swallowed up most of the chairs and tables; another was the lack of light, since there were no gas mantles and the "Do More" generator had been idle for many a month-there were oil lamps, of course, but they gave the place such an eerie and frightening atmosphere (all those weird shapes and shadows lurking beyond the circle of light) that it was almost better to do without. Yet another, and even more conclusive, reason was the fact that Miss Porteous had somehow convinced herself that she had been bitten in there by a poisonous spider. The Major had declared this to be nonsense, but curiously enough Miss Porteous did have an enormous blue swelling on the wrist over which the offending spider was supposed to have walked. At any rate, after dark none of the ladies would have considered going in there for a moment-which was why the Major was not in the least surprised to see the doctor there, sitting in a cane chair beside the gla.s.s door into the lounge. This door afforded enough light for the Major to see that the doctor was awake. He explained that he had a cold, a very bad cold which he was afraid-he added ominously, seeing the doctor stir with impatience-might turn into something worse.

"A cold, is it?" grunted the old man querulously. "Sure, we all get 'em...a cold is nothing at all."

And he went on to say something confused about things not being the way they used to be...or perhaps people weren't the way they used to be, one or the other, or perhaps both, it was hard to make out precisely.

"But I just want to know what medicine to take," the Major interrupted him plaintively. He had been going hot and cold by turns and felt that at any moment he would be suffocated by fever or roasted alive, if he was not actually poignarded to death by the painful "absence-of-Sarah" that had suddenly started to afflict him-indeed, the pangs of self-pity and Sarahlessness became appallingly acute as he listened to the old man grumbling on. A wave of fever clutched him. His shirt and underwear clung damply to his skin.

"Thought you'd come sooner or later," the doctor was saying contemptuously. "This is no place for the likes of you...You must leave Ireland, leave Kilnalough, it's no place at all now for a British gentleman like you. Clear yourself out of here, bag and baggage, before it's too late!"

"But I only asked about my cold," protested the Major petulantly. "I suppose I shall have to go to bed before it gets any worse."

"Yes, go to bed, go to bed, that's it," sneered the doctor. "You're as right as rain, just sorry for yourself."

The doctor, splendid old chap though he no doubt was was, thought the Major indignantly, was really becoming a tiny bit tiresome.

The great gong boomed for dinner. The Major dolefully wandered along a corridor. Padraig was still talking volubly to the alarmed Miss Bagley as they pa.s.sed on their way to the dining-room. Did she know...did she know...did she know then what had happened to Heloise and Abelard? he was asking slyly, well, to Abelard anyway, since nothing much in that that line could happen to Heloise? Well, he'd better not be telling her because it might spoil her appet.i.te... line could happen to Heloise? Well, he'd better not be telling her because it might spoil her appet.i.te...

The Major decided not to go in to dinner. Instead he sat down dizzily in an armchair in the residents' lounge, not his favourite room at the Majestic but he felt too weak to go any farther. His mouth open like a dying fish, he fell asleep. His last conscious image was of Dr Ryan pottering past, grumbling to himself, his stick held in a k.n.o.bbly, freckled hand.

"Go on out of it, the whole bally lot o' ye," he might have been muttering as his boots sc.r.a.ped by on the other side of the Major's drooping eyelids-but before it had time to consider this, his waking mind had slipped away into a quieter and darker area beyond.

MESOPOTAMIA.

Serious Agitation on the Lower Euphrates The situation in Mesopotamia shows some improvement in the disturbed areas, but is becoming more tense in the districts not yet in open rebellion. The Lower Euphrates and Hammar Lake neighbourhood are being seriously affected by the agitation now breaking out among the Muntafik Arabs. The besieging forces are said to be increasing in numbers.

TERRIBLE OUTBREAK IN BALBRIGGAN.

Town Partially Destroyed by FireDuring Monday night and Tuesday morning there was a violent outbreak in Balbriggan, following the murder of Head Constable Burke in that town. Head Constable Burke, with other police in plain clothes, had motored from Dublin on their way to Gormanstown. At Balbriggan they stopped for refreshments, which were refused by the publican. In the disturbance which appears to have ensued, revolver shots were discharged, and the Head Constable was shot dead, and his brother, Sergeant Burke, was wounded. Subsequently, it is stated, a number of auxiliary police stationed at Gormanstown came into Balbriggan. Many houses were burned and shots fired in the streets. Two civilians were killed during the night. In the morning large numbers of the panic-stricken population left the town by road and railway and apparently only those who were unable to get away remained.

EYE-WITNESS STORYAn old gentleman resident, describing what followed the shooting, said: "Myself and my wife went to bed, and some time later we were awakened by a tremendous knocking at the door which greatly alarmed my wife. We thought it was some persons intruding. On going down to the door, I found there two 'black and tan' policemen, with two children of the barber, James Lawless. One of the children was suffering from pneumonia and the other was an infant of not more than two years old. I took the two children upstairs and put them into my own bed as they were. I was told that the house of Lawless, the barber, had been wrecked, and this morning I learnt that Lawless was dead-that he had been taken from his house and shot, and also that a young man named Joe Gibbons, a dairy farmer, had been killed."

GOVERNMENT TO PREVENT REPRISALS.

The Pall Mall Gazette Pall Mall Gazette last evening published the following telegram from Sir Hamar Greenwood, Chief Secretary for Ireland. last evening published the following telegram from Sir Hamar Greenwood, Chief Secretary for Ireland.Monday DublinThere is no truth in the allegations that the Government connive in or support reprisals. The Government condemn reprisals, have issued orders condemning them, and have taken steps to prevent them. Nearly one hundred policemen have been brutally murdered, five recently in Clare on one day, by expanding bullets, resulting in horrible mutilation. In spite of intolerable provocation the police forces maintain their discipline, are increasing in number and efficiency, and command the support of every law-abiding citizen. The number of alleged reprisals is few and the damage done exaggerated.(Signed) HAMAR GREENWOOD * * *

If the ladies at the Majestic had needed something to improve their morale before, now, with the country "put to the fire and the sword," as Miss Johnston expressed it not without satisfaction, with "the troubles" yesterday at Balbriggan, tomorrow perhaps in Kilnalough itself, how much more they needed this something! Once again whist proved to be the answer. A couple of tables were started in the residents' lounge, although without the circ.u.mstance and the finery of the occasion in the writing-room. These tables rapidly became the centre of social life in the hotel; each player found a retinue of advisers and confidantes at her elbow providing a constant stream of conflicting advice and encouragement and when she became weary her place would promptly be filled by someone else. Within a day or two this epidemic of whist had taken such a grip that play began immediately after break-fast on the green baize tables (opportunely salvaged from the writing-room but dispensing, nevertheless, a faint odour of cats) and continued almost without interruption throughout the day and on into the night. There was an excellent spirit at these games: an air of gaiety and abandon, almost of recklessness, reigned over the chattering groups. By the end of the chilly autumn evening, with dampness and dark beyond the window panes, the hooting of an owl in the park or the lonely cry of a peac.o.c.k, when one of the ladies irrevocably dozed off with the cards in her ancient arthritic fingers and there was no one at hand to replace her (which meant the end of the game, of course), one pair of players might add up the score and find that they were winning or losing by some prodigious number of tricks acc.u.mulated during the day, several hundred perhaps...And everyone would climb the stairs chuckling to their rooms and dream of aces and knaves and a supply of trumps that would last for ever and ever, one trump after another, an invincible superiority subject to neither change nor decay nor old age, for a trump will always be a trump, come what may.

Around these tables rumours continued to circulate and prosper. One day it was thought that a brigade of Cossacks, emigres from Russia whose fiendish Bolshevists they no longer found it worth their while to quell, had been hired en bloc by Dublin Castle to subdue the Irish. Someone else announced confidently that a hungry mob in County Mayo had seized and eaten a plump Resident Magistrate; because this story, absurd though it was, happened to coincide with the actual disappearance of an R.M. (though not from County Mayo) it gave all the ladies a dreadful frisson and a kaleidoscope of bad dreams. But then the R.M. was discovered, in a coffin left on a railway line, and all was well. It said in the Irish Times Irish Times that he had been buried and dug up again (reprisals had been threatened if his whereabouts were not made known), but there was no mention of cannibalism. that he had been buried and dug up again (reprisals had been threatened if his whereabouts were not made known), but there was no mention of cannibalism.

But while the ladies gossiped cheerfully and playing-cards continued to snow down on the green baize tables the Major was at his most despondent. Above all, he took a gloomy view of the reprisals at Balbriggan and elsewhere. The result of this degeneration of British justice could only be chaotic. Once an impartial and objective justice was abandoned every faction in Ireland, every person in Ireland, was free to invent his own version of it. A man one met in the street in Kilnalough might with equal justification (provided it fitted into his own private view of things) offer you a piece of apple pie or slit your throat. But given the way things were going (the Major could not help feeling) he would be more likely to slit your throat.

If no throats were actually slit in Kilnalough in the first days after the disturbances, there were, nevertheless, some ugly incidents. Miss Archer was rudely barged into the gutter by two mountainous Irishwomen clad in black and wearing men's boots. She then dropped her m.u.f.f, which was trampled on and kicked around like a football by a group of urchins. Wisely she left it to them and fled before anything worse happened. Not long afterwards a young hooligan in Kilnalough put his stick through the spokes of Charity's bicycle, causing her to fall and graze her knees and palms. Stones were thrown at the people from the Majestic but without causing any great harm. Viola O'Neill, while buying b.u.t.tons in the haberdashery (Boy O'Neill informed the Major), had had some obscene words spoken into her innocent ears which, naturally, she had failed to comprehend.

But presently the Major's sense of shock and dismay over the degeneration of British justice evaporated, leaving only a sediment of contempt and indifference. After all, if one lot was as bad as the other why should anyone care? "Let them sort it out for themselves."

He was bored, he was lonely, and one day he realized that Edward was getting on his nerves. The more the Major thought about this, the stronger his aversion grew. Strange that he had never noticed before how he disliked the fellow. These days the mere sight of Edward was enough to set him grinding his teeth. Everything about him was capable of awakening the Major's irritation: his overbearing manner; the way he always insisted on being right, flatly stating his opinions in a loud and abusive tone without paying any attention to what the other fellow was saying; and the unjust way in which he dealt with the twins, locking them up for telling lies when he himself was in the process of telling them, tyrannizing them unmercifully whenever the whim crossed his mind. But no less offensive were Edward's demonstrations of tenderness towards these same twins, the mildness and self-mockery that cohabited uneasily with his ferocity and conviction of always being in the right. "He's weak and sentimental," the Major would think on these occasions. "How can I have ever liked the chap?" Even Edward's clothes, the impeccable cut of his suits and the creases in his trousers, became an affront. "Don't you think that Edward looks like a tailor's dummy?" he remarked one day to Miss Archer as Edward sauntered past. Indeed, the only satisfactory thing about Edward was his evident liking for the Major. "He can't help but admire me because I did what his wash-out of a son should have done. What a joke!"

Perhaps it was inevitable that sooner or later the Major and Edward should have a row.

"The Black and Tans who sacked Balbriggan should be punished," the Major said one day after he had glimpsed Edward and Sarah walking together on the terrace outside the dining-room. Edward looked at him, irritated and surprised-it had obviously never occurred to him that the Major might not approve of reprisals.

"Or perhaps you think that there should be one law for them and one law for other people?" went on the Major aggressively.

"But, Brendan, a man was killed in cold blood."

"That's still no reason for going on the rampage."

"A man was murdered. These people have to be taught a lesson."

"By all means let the culprits be taught a lesson. And leave law-abiding people alone."

"Ach, they're all the same. They laugh behind their hands when one of our chaps is killed."

"That's not against the law. Burning people's houses is."

"But how can the police possibly be expected to find who's guilty and who isn't when they're all in it together?" shouted Edward, losing his temper. "Dammit, man! Be reasonable."

"If they don't know who's guilty they should find out before going berserk and punishing people at random the way they did at Balbriggan."

"I don't want to hear any more of this. If you don't care about the poor fellow who was killed doing his duty, I do do!" And with that Edward strode away, clenching and unclenching his fists furiously. After a few strides he paused and shouted back: "Are you disloyal, Major, or what?" Then he departed without waiting for a reply.

Edward muttered an apology later in the day for this last abusive question and the Major, who was ashamed of himself, murmured sadly that that was quite all right, he hadn't taken it to heart. Later the Major wondered why he should feel ashamed of himself. After all, he genuinely believed in what he had said to Edward.

"If the R.I.C. take to behaving as badly as the Shinners," he remarked to Miss Archer, "pretty soon the whole country will be in chaos and it'll be every man for himself."

Later again the painful image of Edward and Sarah walking together on the terrace came to his mind.

"She's a Catholic and he's old enough to be her father," he told himself sourly.

"This is no place for a young man to spend his time, surrounded by a lot of old women," Miss Archer said to the Major with a smile.

"Yes, perhaps I shall still go to Italy...Florence maybe, or Naples. But I hear that travelling abroad is becoming impossible. All the papers one needs...not like before the war when all you needed was a ticket. But you're quite right, Sybil. I must make up my mind."

And yes, the Major was seriously thinking of leaving Kilnalough. Now that relations were strained between himself and Edward there was even less reason to stay. He could go anywhere in the world. He no longer had any ties, either in London or elsewhere. Yet this was precisely the trouble. In all the aching void of the world where should he go? Why should he choose one place rather than another? For wherever he went, Sarah would not be. Sarah would remain behind in Kilnalough.

The Major still had hopes, although now somewhat insubstantial, of establishing once more the intimacy which had existed between them during Sarah's brief visit to London the previous winter. He still sometimes, at his writing-desk or in bed with a book open on his chest, fell into a reverie for minutes on end, day-dreaming delightfully about Sarah in the Strand with her arm through his, asking him questions, Sarah in a restaurant not knowing which knife and fork to use, sad and sweet, page after page of an old photograph-alb.u.m...with himself at her side, amused, paternal, indulgent, and a tiny bit world-weary. He still had hopes.

She often came to the Majestic in the afternoon. He did not know what to make of her relationship with Edward: it was not as if she took any trouble to be alone with him. She seemed to enjoy the Major's company just as much. Of course, the wide-eyed Sarah whose excitement at finding herself in a strange city he had found so touching was a very different person from Sarah in Kilnalough where she was so sure of herself. She was sometimes impatient with him. Sometimes, it was true, she laughed at him as if she found him ridiculous (he was still nettled by the thought of the bunch of roses and the chocolates). She enjoyed teasing him but she enjoyed flirting with him too, sometimes.

"You may kiss my hand, Brendan, if you want to very badly, as I can see you do," she would say, laughing.

"Nothing could interest me less," the Major would reply gruffly, laughing also but in a rather strained manner (he dimly divined that if he was to get anywhere he must refuse these tempting little offers, although the effort of doing so wore him out).

In front of the fire in the gun room stood an old leather sofa, a first cousin of the one in Edward's study, b.u.t.toned and bulging like a sergeant major. Sitting on this one evening while Edward was away at the Golf Club, idly playing with a large family of new-born kittens that lived in the turf-basket, the Major suddenly found himself being kissed by Sarah. When they paused for breath elated thoughts sped through the Major's mind like scared antelope. He was unable to speak. Sarah, however, merely remarked: "Your moustache has a taste of garlic," and went on with what she had been saying a moment before about the races at Leopardstown. This comment staggered the Major but he said nothing. It was clear that he was a traveller through unmapped country.

On the other hand she was also quite capable of falling into a cold rage for no reason that he could perceive. At such times she could be very cruel. One day when he had been speaking, though impersonally, about marriage and its place in the modern world, she interrupted him brutally by saying: "It's not a wife you're looking for, Brendan. It's a mother!" The Major was upset because he had not, in fact, been saying he was looking for either.

"Why are you so polite the whole time?" she would ask derisively, while the Major, appalled, wondered what was wrong with being polite. "Why are you always fussing around those infernal old women? Can't you smell smell how awful they are?" she would demand, making a disgusted face, and when the Major said nothing she would burst out: "Because you're an old woman yourself, that's why." And since the Major maintained his hurt and dignified silence: "And for Jesus' sake stop looking at me like a stuffed squirrel!" how awful they are?" she would demand, making a disgusted face, and when the Major said nothing she would burst out: "Because you're an old woman yourself, that's why." And since the Major maintained his hurt and dignified silence: "And for Jesus' sake stop looking at me like a stuffed squirrel!"

After one of these outbursts the Major might climb tragically to his room and in front of the mirror decide that it was all over, his hopes had been illusory. And then perhaps he would draft a curt note explaining that circ.u.mstances obliged him to leave Kilnalough never to return-debating with himself for half an hour whether one could could actually say: "Circ.u.mstances oblige me to leave Kilnalough never to return," or whether it did not sound a bit foolish. Anyway, by the time he descended the stairs again, armed to the teeth with polite, coldly glinting words which would skewer Sarah's heart like a shish kebab, well, her mood would have changed completely. Without the slightest hesitation she would grasp his wrist and say that she was sorry, that she was a pig, that she hadn't meant whatever awful thing it was she had said. And no matter what stern resolutions the Major had taken five minutes earlier, he would allow himself to be mollified with indecent haste. Later he would be sorry that he had allowed himself to capitulate so quickly because, here again, he had dimly begun to perceive that it was poor strategy. actually say: "Circ.u.mstances oblige me to leave Kilnalough never to return," or whether it did not sound a bit foolish. Anyway, by the time he descended the stairs again, armed to the teeth with polite, coldly glinting words which would skewer Sarah's heart like a shish kebab, well, her mood would have changed completely. Without the slightest hesitation she would grasp his wrist and say that she was sorry, that she was a pig, that she hadn't meant whatever awful thing it was she had said. And no matter what stern resolutions the Major had taken five minutes earlier, he would allow himself to be mollified with indecent haste. Later he would be sorry that he had allowed himself to capitulate so quickly because, here again, he had dimly begun to perceive that it was poor strategy.

Until now, incredible though it may seem, the Major had never considered that love, like war, is best conducted with experience of tactics. His instinct helped him a little. It warned him, for instance, against unconditional surrender. ("Do with me as you see fit, Sarah.") With Sarah he somehow knew that that would not work. He was learning slowly, by experience. Next time he had a love affair he would do much better. But to the love-drugged Major that was not much consolation.