The Empire Trilogy Part 19

The Major had glimpsed a volley of slates climbing out into the driving sky from one of the roofs to windward, perhaps from one of the out-houses. He waited to hear them smash on the rain-scoured terrace beyond, but he heard nothing.

At four o'clock it grew dark. They decided to wait no longer. Wrapped in oilskins they battled across the drive and round the Prince Consort wing in order to get to windward of flying slates, Edward carrying half a sack of cakes and currant buns. Head lowered, one hand crammed on to his hat and eyes half shut against the lashing rain, the Major struggled in Edward's footsteps. The air was full of dead leaves, twigs and branches stripped from the creaking limes and maples beside the potato field. Cold rain seeped into his collar. So difficult was it to see where one was going that when Edward stopped a few paces ahead to gaze back at the hotel the Major blundered into him.

Edward's eyes were lifted to the black, rainswept hulk of the Majestic, his thick locks of grey hair writhing and flickering like snakes in the screaming wind. In that dim light his head appeared more ma.s.sively sculpted than ever; beneath the heavy frontal bone his eye-sockets were pools of shadow and his cheekbones, glistening with rain, might have been carved by crude strokes of a chisel. With one hand he grasped the sodden sack of confectionery, with the other he pointed up at the building, shouting wordlessly at the Major. But the Major did not need to be told that there was something wrong; he could see for himself the gaping black hole in the roof of the servants' wing, he could see the slates blowing away into the swirling rain, free as petals...a sudden strong gust and a flurry of them would lift to soar away end over end into the darkness. And the black hole grew steadily larger like a woollen sleeve unravelling. Presently white wooden beams became visible.

Edward tugged at his arm and plunged on into the rain. They reached the lee of the high wall that ran down to the sea from one terrace to the next. There was a narrow path here which the Major had never noticed before, and broken steps thick with weeds which clung wetly to his ankles. It seemed strangely quiet in the shelter of the wall and the going was easier. But as they made their way down towards the lowest terrace the rain increased to a deluge. The Major licked his lips and tasted salt from the clouds of spray whipped up by the wind to cascade on to the boiling mud around them. By the time they had turned and headed with the wind behind them at a reluctant gallop towards the invisible squash court, the water had seeped inside the Major's oilskin and he had lost his hat which had blown off his head and sailed ahead into the darkness.

"That's strange. They usually come to meet me. They must be frightened."

With the outer door dragged shut it seemed, by comparison with the roaring wilderness outside, very still and quiet in the squash court, despite the drumming of the rain on the gla.s.s roof and the m.u.f.fled thunder of the breakers, now only a few feet from where they were standing. Edward had taken a lantern from its nail on the wall and while he was lighting it the Major peered into the darkness in search of the piglets, listening for the rustle of straw. The ammonia smell was even more intolerable than on the Major's previous visit; with every breath it seized his nose and throat. He longed to be back outside in the gale of fresh air. Edward did not seem to notice it, however. He was emptying the contents of his sack into a filthy wooden trough and cooing gently to attract the attention of the piglets. The iced cakes, buns and barm-bracks had amalgamated inside the sodden sack into a glutinous ma.s.s and dropped into the trough with a carnal, sucking sound...But even this failed to produce the piglets. The interior silence remained unbroken.

"Can they have got out?"

Frowning, Edward lifted the lantern and took a few steps forward on to the squelching straw. The Major, who had stayed where he was (the thought of treading in that mess revolted him), watched the rim of light creep up the far wall-on which, crudely smeared in scarlet, were the words: SPIES AND TRAITORS BEWARE! And he knew instantly what the scarlet was and where it had come from. Edward's eyes were on the ground, however, expecting to see sleepy piglets emerging to greet him, so he continued to advance until his lantern light stole over a friendly, pliable snout, on to illumine the sleepy eyes and drooping, pointed ears...and then over emptiness (except for a dollop of intestines and a discarded corkscrew tail). Between the ears and the tail there was no longer any pig. The pig had gone.

A sharp intake of breath-a sound which the Major never forgot. And then Edward stumbled forward with his wildly swinging lantern, making the walls rock.

When Edward emerged and stood beside him once more (not yet having spoken a word) the Major glanced down and noticed that his shoes were bright scarlet, oozing, the lace-holes bubbling with scarlet liquid. On the threshold of the door he left one, two, three red footprints...But then they dissolved under the lashing rain.

"If she looks at another man he knocks her cold!" Of all the Major's troubles (of which there was no shortage) this was the one which preoccupied him the most. It was also the one he could do least about. More precisely, it was the only one which he could do nothing at all about, except wonder and distress himself.

He knew that it was futile. After all, he was not a complete fool. He knew that now there was really no further hope on earth of a successful union with Sarah. Apart from everything else, he now bore her a considerable resentment. Even if they met, this resentment would prevent him (probably against his will) from being friendly. Doubtless one day it would fade into indifference and allow him to be friendly again; but it would only disappear on one condition on one condition: namely, that he was no longer in love with her. Thus, his only hope of success depended on his not wanting to succeed! An appalling but not uncommon situation in the game of which the Major was so painfully learning the rules.

Meanwhile, although he did his best to put her out of his mind by concentrating on the other manifold troubles at large under the roof of the Majestic, she continued to emerge in random but painful thoughts that sprang sharp-clawed out of the hidden lair in his mind to which they had been banished.

"What sort of gentleman would 'knock a girl cold'?" he found himself wondering with amazement, even while he was examining a truly alarming crack which he had discovered in the wall of the writing-room behind the faded tapestry. But for all he knew this crack might have been there for years! And then, what sort of girl would allow herself to be repeatedly "knocked cold"? It was all quite beyond him, both the man and the girl (and, come to that, the crack in the wall). He simply did not understand. He tried to imagine himself knocking a girl cold; but it was easier to imagine himself flying up into a tree and singing like a blackbird.

Then, later on, while he was standing, hands thrust gloomily into the pockets of his jacket, by the gatepost at the end of the drive and looking up at the notice posted by Edward: TRESPa.s.sERS FOUND TAMPERING WITH THE STATUE OF QUEEN VICTORIA WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT. BY ORDER and thinking: "But he's gone clean out of his wits! He's trying to provoke them!"-while staring up at this defiant and reckless object, he found himself thinking instead: "But how often does she 'look at other men'? How often is she 'knocked cold'? Is it likely to damage her brain?" And his thoughts would meander away, low in vitality, convalescent, as if he had really been sick (and perhaps he really was sick), round and round like tired animals in a circus ring...to arrive at last at the exit (which looked strangely similar to the entrance), concluding that it certainly couldn't be very good for one to be continually knocked senseless.

But no, it wasn't that at all...It was the intimacy which distressed him. Sarah felled in a restaurant for fluttering her eyelashes at a head-waiter; Sarah felled among the teacups at a Viceregal garden party for a lingering glance at some young officer; Sarah felled in Jury's Hotel for looking out of the window...His mind, tired and dutiful, furnished him with any amount of these images. And they were always together, Bolton and Sarah, and he was always excluded (attempts to imagine himself stepping forward to correct Bolton with a cla.s.sic uppercut proved hopeless). Bolton and Sarah...

Late in the evening, while listening patiently to Miss Bagley complaining that a maid had taken up residence in the room next to hers and the cook in the room opposite, it occurred to him that now, at this very moment, it was quite likely that Sarah and Bolton were preparing to get into bed together. His vitality dropped a few points lower and the muscles of his face became numb with despair; the moustache on his upper lip felt as heavy as antlers. He explained carefully, nevertheless, to the indignant Miss Bagley that the servants' wing was uninhabitable: the roof had been taken off as cleanly as the top off a boiled egg.

On returning from the squash court his watery footprints had diverged from Edward's b.l.o.o.d.y ones and made their anxious way along dim corridors to "below stairs" where they were baulked from proceeding any farther. A foaming cascade of water was pouring down these stairs, and farther on down where they continued into some cellars which he had never visited. Odd bits of bric-a-brac slipped gently down from one stair to the next: pieces of wood, a coloured picture of the Holy Virgin, sc.r.a.ps of newspaper, rags of cloth that might have been underclothes or antimaca.s.sars, a sodden Teddy bear.

Weeping and shivering, a young girl in maid's uniform, drenched to the skin, sat with her ankles in the torrent. The Major, still wearing his oilskins, had picked her up since she refused to move by herself and carried her back and down the other stairs to the kitchen, which was fortunately still warm and dry, depositing her without explanation on the kitchen table before the astonished, wild-eyed cook (who had never entertained a high opinion of the Major's morals and sanity). Heaven only knew what she had thought!

He described the pertinent parts of this experience to Miss Bagley, and to Miss Johnston, Miss Devere (who had returned to the Majestic after a brief and unsatisfactory flirtation with the outside world) and Mrs Rice, who had come forward with similar grievances. And he listened carefully while they demanded with indignation whether it was a "free-for-all," guests henceforth to "fight it out" with the servants for the use of bathrooms and other amenities; and said that no, of course not, that he was sure they wouldn't want the poor servants to sleep out under the stars and catch pneumonia (even though, as the hastily arriving Miss Staveley had just pointed out, "they were only servants") and that it was, again of course of course, only a temporary measure, while the roof of the servants' wing was rebuilt. But they knew, and he knew, that the roof would never, this side of paradise, be rebuilt-which weakened his argument to some extent.

And all the time, even while he listened to the rea.s.suring tones of his own voice, he could feel the extraordinary sloth of the hurt muscles of his smile, unable now to prevent himself from thinking of Bolton and Sarah making love. But perhaps, finally, the searing quality of this thought had a good effect. It helped to cauterize his festering emotions. At first he imagined that Sarah, with brutally parted thighs, was being violated-but later, simply worn out with caring, he became hard-hearted with this weakness and said to himself harshly: "Look, she wouldn't do it if she didn't enjoy it!"

True, Sarah was a woman. Therefore she was physically suited to accommodate men. There was no violation, except to the Major's feelings.

On his way to bed the Major, who had by now stayed in so many different rooms at the Majestic that he very often became confused, absent-mindedly presented himself at the door of a room he had been occupying a few days earlier. In the light of a candle he was astonished to see a young girl standing naked by the wash-basin. Without embarra.s.sment she turned and smiled at the startled Major-who withdrew with a hasty apology. There must be a new guest in the hotel whom he had not yet come across! But surely that was impossible, for nowadays the servants came directly to him for their instructions. He found the incident most puzzling.

He had reached his room (the right one this time) before he realized who this new guest must be. It was simply one of the maids who had been obliged to move out of the servants' wing. And this was the very matter that he had spent the evening discussing with the old ladies.

Later, lying in bed, he mused: "She could have been a lady for all the difference there was...Of course, without clothes on everybody looks the same. They look just like we do." And he remembered thinking on some occasion during the war how, with all the distinctions of cla.s.s effaced, one dead body resembles another...and...and...

These democratic notions must have soothed him, for he began to feel drowsy. Yet even as, hands in pockets, he strolled peacefully away into the tall waving gra.s.s of sleep, baleful yellow eyes were watching him, and then...Ah! The thought of Sarah once more pounced and clawed his sensitive heart.

"You really sympathize with Sinn Fein in many ways, is that not so? No, no, don't bother to deny it, Major. With me... och, I'm just a useless old man, you know, everyone says so...with me you don't have to pretend. Well, you must leave now before it's too late. This wretched affair in Ireland is none of your doing. No doubt you haven't helped matters, but that's neither here nor there. Now, if you've a grain of sense, you'll leave while you still have a chance."

"I can't leave with the way things are. The hotel's in a dreadful mess."

The Major had called on old Dr Ryan to ask his advice on what should be done with Edward, about whom he was becoming progressively more concerned. Edward was seldom to be seen these days. He spent a great deal of time out of doors engrossed in some work he had undertaken in the grounds (not even Sean Murphy had been able to tell him just what this work was). Once, on his way up the drive, the Major had glimpsed Edward's ma.s.sive silhouette standing on the topmost roof, outlined against a bank of white c.u.mulus clouds over Wales. On another occasion, while feeding the dogs in the yard (Evans the tutor had left on the day after the ball without waiting to be sacked, taking with him all Mr Norton's silk shirts which had been drying on a line), he had heard harsh laughter echoing amid the slates and turrets overhead-but then there had been silence, and no reply when he had called Edward's name.

What could be done to improve Edward's state of mind? But Dr Ryan, who as usual appeared to be fast asleep, had shown himself disinclined to talk about Edward. Instead, he had kept on insisting that the Major should leave, which for the Major was quite out of the question.

"Very well. If you want to act like a young fool and get yourself in a sc.r.a.pe...!"

Yes, yes, but about Edward? If, for example, he could be persuaded to take a holiday for a few weeks? But the old man was impatient with the Major's theories and laborious qualifications as to Edward's state of mind. Edward was a confounded nuisance and had been raving for years!

"But the holiday?"

"Yes, yes, take the old divil away and see he never comes back!"

The Major ground his teeth with exasperation and thought that it was really high time the old buffer retired. He was becoming more senile every day.

Naturally, when the Major suggested to Edward that it might do the twins good if he took them away for a few days or even longer ("I could look after the hotel while you're away") Edward looked at him in amazement. Leave Ireland at a time like this! At the very moment when one must stand firm! Only yesterday his property had been abused; a warning notice he had placed on the gate-post had been removed. The guilty party must be found and punished!

The Major (who was himself the guilty party) sighed and stared at his finger-nails. Edward was clearly inaccessible to reason. But perhaps the whole thing would blow over, the "troubles" would sort themselves out, Edward be restored to his senses. Although mild, the Major was a stubborn young man and determined, in any event, to salvage whatever he could. The twins should be sent to England to stay with their aunt, the one deemed "fast" who was married to a clergy-man, it couldn't be helped. Besides, she was unlikely, in the Major's opinion, to prove "faster" than the twins already were. Mrs Rappaport should also be dispatched. Perhaps the guests might be encouraged to leave as well...

"Do whatever you think best, old man. I leave it in your hands," Edward replied vaguely, with the air of someone who has more important things on his mind. And he stared into the distance, cracking his knuckles and looking insane.

When the day came for the twins to leave neither they nor Edward seemed in the least upset by their departure or by the prospect of separation. On the platform of Kilnalough station Edward grabbed a handful of blonde hair on each side of him and said: "Will you behave yourselves in London?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Will you?"

"Ouch! Daddy, you're hurting!"

"D'you promise?"

"Yes, yes!"

And with that he bundled them into their compartment and rejoined the Major, who was the only member of the party to be moved by this leave-taking. Still, he was glad to see them out of danger. He only wished Mrs Rappaport had agreed to leave also, but he had only succeeded in arousing her obstinacy. She loathed Calcutta; always had. Refused to go there. The heat was appalling.

"Calcutta? But n.o.body wants you to go to Calcutta!" A long and debilitating argument had ensued. She agreed that she would be safe there. But safety wasn't everything. One had one's duty, after all. She would stay where she was. She remained quite deaf to the Major's protestations. Once, fleetingly, she seemed to grasp that the Major wanted her to go to England, not to Calcutta, for she exclaimed: "I'm not pregnant, am I?"

"Good heavens! I certainly hope not!"

"Well, the climate here is perfectly suitable." During this baffling conversation the huge cat that crouched on her lap like a furry bulldog stared piercingly into the Major's eyes. But at last the Major acknowledged defeat; sensing this, the cat relaxed and rubbed its head against the hard leather holster which Mrs Rappaport now habitually wore strapped round her waist (the calm and practical Mrs Roche had taken care to remove the cartridges, however). The cat yawned and licked its paw to wash its face. The audience was at an end.

One success (the twins) and two failures (Edward's holiday, Mrs Rappaport). Next the Major turned his attention to the Majestic itself, afraid that the collapse of the building might be imminent. The Major, of course, knew himself to be anxious by nature and inclined to get things out of proportion. Yet he still believed that he could hear the curious cracking sounds which he had first heard during the roar of the storm. Now that all was quiet and tranquil one should have been able to hear them quite clearly. But the fact was that, although he could feel feel them, he could not hear them at all. It was merely an abrupt sensation of strain, followed by an ominous relief-a sensation that might be represented as the snapping of rotten branches under water. No doubt it was pure imagination. Nevertheless, in order to set his mind at rest he telephoned an architect in Dublin by the name of Delahunty and explained his fears, asking him if he would come down and look the place over. them, he could not hear them at all. It was merely an abrupt sensation of strain, followed by an ominous relief-a sensation that might be represented as the snapping of rotten branches under water. No doubt it was pure imagination. Nevertheless, in order to set his mind at rest he telephoned an architect in Dublin by the name of Delahunty and explained his fears, asking him if he would come down and look the place over.

Delahunty was a confident, jolly man of middle age who had been recommended to the Major by a mutual acquaintance. He laughed at the Major's anxiety; he knew the place well, he said. He had often stayed there with his parents as a child. Solid as a rock! One might just as well expect Dublin Castle to fall down. But if the Major really wanted rea.s.surance he'd be delighted to come and have a look round. It would be good to see the old place again after all these years. If it was a nice day he might even bring his swimming-costume and take a dip in the swimming-pool...Was it filled at the moment? well, yes...though, strictly speaking...that was to say, there was water in it...Capital! The Major should expect him on Tuesday. And Delahunty, who was a busy man, had rung off before the Major had time to append any more of his laborious qualifications.

On Tuesday he duly made his appearance, a bald, tubby man with sparkling eyes who greeted the Major as if they were old friends. Splendid to see the old place again. Donkey's years since he'd been in this corner of Ireland. Needed a bit of spit and polish by the look of it but solid as a rock. After all, it wasn't the paint that counted but what was underneath. Look, now that he was here why shouldn't he stay for supper as well? They could put his name in the pot, couldn't they?

"By all means."

Ah, they knew how to build in those days. They didn't just throw a house up with a couple of bricks and a lick of mortar the way they did nowadays. See, Major, listen to that-and he rapped the wall of the corridor with his chubby knuckles.

"It's quite a relief to hear you say it. I'd begun to imagine things."

"You haven't a thing to worry about. Take my word for it." And Mr Delahunty, with a smile, indulged the Major by going with him, even so, to take a look at the crack behind the tapestry in the writing-room. Nothing structural, he declared, simply an "easing of the brickwork." Happened in all old places. But the upper storeys? The dry rot? The place the Major had put his foot through?

"You're bound to find that some of your woodwork doesn't come up to scratch. 'Tis the damp in the air that does it. Any old house in Wicklow or Wexford will be the same. But that's not to say they're going to fall down. Far from it. When you feel like it, Major, do a bit of re-timbering. Take your time. There's no hurry. The old Majestic will still be here long after you and I are dead and gone."

"There's no need to take a look upstairs then?" Mr Delahunty laughed out loud at this. Taking the Major's arm he said: "Look here, Major, you can say what you like against me but I know my buildings. Take it from me, this one will last another couple of hundred years if it lasts a month. There it is. Say what you like against me..." He hesitated, as if he half expected a denunciation from the Major. As none came, however, he added quickly: "Now let's go and have some of that lovely tea you mentioned."

The Major had gone to some pains to organize tea for himself and Mr Delahunty in the privacy of the writing-room, which he had taken the precaution of locking earlier in the afternoon.

Curiously, however, after his first cup of tea Mr Delahunty's conversation languished, his amiable barks of laughter became intermittent. He even failed to respond to one or two, admittedly rather dull, anecdotes the Major found himself recounting.

"Tea all right?"

"Oh, splendid. Absolutely top-hole."

The Major attempted several topics, regretting that he knew so little about architecture. Finally he tried to inter-est Mr Delahunty in the situation in Ireland today, a subject on which he surely had a great deal to say. But although he smiled and murmured vague replies he seemed preoccupied. His eyes roved absently around the walls and the ceiling. He appeared to be listening for something. When the maid, coming for the tea-tray, slammed the door he jumped violently.

Presently he looked at his watch and held out his hand to the surprised Major.

"But I thought you were staying to supper?"

"Appointment I forgot about, old chap. Maybe another time."

As they took leave of each other in the foyer Mr Delahunty's eyes continued to rove absently here and there.

"Well, I'm glad to hear there's nothing to worry about. You've taken a load off my mind."

"Oh yes, you haven't a thing to worry about," murmured Delahunty and once more before leaving, though rather cautiously, rapped the wall with his chubby knuckles.

Now that the Major's mind had been set at rest about the structure of the Majestic it seemed less important to him that the guests should be encouraged to leave. However, the collapse of the building itself was not the only factor involved. There was also the increasing violence in the countryside, where the Majestic stood in vulnerable isolation. There was the simple absurdity of continuing to run the place as a hotel when it had long since ceased to resemble one. Above all, there was the deterioration in Edward's state of mind (not to mention the suspicion that he'd gone clean out of his wits) since the slaughter of the piglets. Bacon off the menu for ever, so the cook had been instructed. Revolvers to be laid out with the knives and forks in case of emergency at mealtimes. Clearly the fewer strains on him the better. Sooner or later, in any case, the guests would have to be got rid of. The Major was still haunted by the harsh laughter that had echoed over the rooftops.

But some of the ladies had been there for a very long time indeed. They had lasted through the winter; they had a right to stay through the summer as well. Of course they had no real rights at all. They had simply been there for so long that they seemed to have acquired the right to stay for ever-that is to say, until they died, which they would presumably do eventually. But the process might still take a considerable time.

The Major went amongst them and intimated vaguely, nothing definite yet, of course, that one of these days it mightn't be such a bad idea if they gave a little thought to where they would be moving on to after...well, after what? After Edward went completely off his head, perhaps...After the I.R.A. established their headquarters at the Majestic (and good luck to them!)...After the unforeseen, whatever it turned out to be, had happened...What could the Major say that would not be unsuitable?

He was so vague that he succeeded only in alarming them. They listened unsympathetically. Gradually they became indignant. The Major fell to a lower point in their esteem than he had reached since the day he had put an end to their punitive shopping expeditions. First they found themselves having to "fight it out" with the servants for the use of the bathrooms (the axiom that the servants "never washed" and at home kept coal or potatoes in the bathtub seemed to have proved faulty). First that and now this. It was intolerable. They had a jolly good mind to leave! The Major, eyes on his shoes, nodded miserably and looked chastened, having forgotten for the moment that this was precisely what he wanted them to do anyway.

"All I really meant was that Mr Spencer has decided against taking in any new guests-with a view to closing the place down eventually."

But the ladies were not soothed, particularly as Murphy chose this moment to shamble forward and announce that a party of young gentlemen had arrived.

"But that's impossible!" cried the Major, dismayed by the speed with which he had been unmasked. "Tell them they can't stay."

"But the master does be saying they can," countered Murphy with relish.

The Major hurried off to find Edward and remonstrate with him. But Edward had already welcomed the party, half a dozen young undergraduates from Oxford spending their vacation in Ireland in order to get to the bottom of the Irish question. He was full of enthusiasm. They were Oxford men! At last a chance for some intellectual discussion...They had chosen to make a special study of Ireland and discuss matters with various strata of society, a real attempt to get to grips with the feelings of the Irish people, not just the Shinners! There was no gainsaying the fact, young people today took a more direct, more sensible and generally less hypocritical approach to politics than the older generation. They were imbued by a new sense of social justice..."No, no, Brendan, I can see you smiling but it's true. We can learn from the young if we keep our ears open. Besides, they're only here for a night or two." And Edward went on to describe how, long before the war, he had eaten a splendid dinner in All Souls... Ah, the quotations from Aristotle and St Thomas Aquinas! The sh.e.l.lfish, too, had been magnificent. And the port peerless.

There was nothing to be done about it. The Major was turning away when Edward added: "By the way, a parcel didn't arrive for me from London, did it?"

"Not that I know of. Something from Fortnum's?"

"No, as a matter of fact. I wrote away for one of these things I saw advertised in the paper." He fumbled in his pocket and at last located a newspaper clipping which he handed to the Major. With raised eyebrows he read that Messrs Wilkinson's Sword Company was offering bullet-proof waistcoats-steel within silk, weighing only five pounds. "Send us the following particulars and we guarantee you a perfectly fitting garment. Waist and chest measurements, sloping or square shoulders, hollow or round back. Five guineas well spent would be the means of preventing a fatality."

"Would you say I have a round back?"

"Oh, I shouldn't have thought so."

"Ah, well, thanks...D'you suppose they're any good?"

"Afraid I never met anyone who wore them."

"Just thought I'd ask. It's not that I'm getting the wind up or anything like that. It's foolish, though, to risk a fatality for a ha'porth of tar. That's the first thing they teach you in the army."

Five of the undergraduates had been correctly identified by Murphy as young gentlemen, rather noisy and talkative ones. From a first-floor window the Major watched them dubiously as they sauntered out on to the lawn where Sean Murphy had been instructed to set up croquet hoops. The sixth, however, was an older man, taciturn and rather self-conscious. He sometimes laughed when the others laughed but not quite so spontaneously. If he cried: "Good shot, Maitland!" or "Your turn, Bunny!" or "Bravo, Hall-Smith!" it was usually to echo one of the others who, for the most part, addressed him with distant politeness or ignored him altogether. Later, when they came in for a specially arranged tea with cuc.u.mber sandwiches (served in the gun room to inhibit the ladies) the Major learned that this older man's name was Captain Roberts and that, yes, he had been "up" when the war broke out. And yes, it was a bit hard getting back to one's studies-at least, he added with an agonized smile, he'd found it so at first anyway. But now, of course...And his sad, shocked eyes returned to the faces of his high-spirited companions.

Presently, the latter having drunk their tea and eaten their sandwiches as unconcernedly as if such things were an everyday occurrence in their lives (as no doubt they were), they returned to their game on the lawn and Captain Roberts trailed after them, a walking reminder of the follies of the older generation if his young companions had needed a reminder (which of course they did not).

The Major viewed dinner that evening with foreboding. There was a faint possibility that Edward, who seldom appeared for meals these days, might forget to attend. Before anyone else arrived, however, he was standing at his chair in the dining-room. On each side of his own seat three empty places had been reserved for the young men: the places of honour, a fact which did little to mollify the indignant old ladies.

The undergraduates arrived late and somewhat out of breath after ragging through the corridors while changing for dinner. There had been an attempted debagging of Maitland, who was the elected b.u.t.t of the party. Then someone had pinched one of his socks and thrown it out of the window, so that when he followed the others into the dining-room he was wearing odd socks and looking so humorously aggrieved that the others could hardly suppress their laughter.

But Maitland was promptly forgotten when the impatient Edward showed them to their places. In fact they positively goggled with amazement. Laid out at each place beside the silver cutlery was a...revolver! Amazing! Everything people said about Ireland was true! The Irish were completely mad! They hardly dared catch each other's eye.

Only Captain Roberts, gloomily eyeing the dim and distant contours of the room, seemed to have noticed nothing unusual. While they were waiting for soup to be served he absently picked up the revolver set at his place, spun the empty chamber, hefted it for a moment in his palm, then put it down again, picking up a silver fork instead. Having twirled it briefly between finger and thumb, he replaced it carefully, peering in a worried fashion across the table at the three bright and gleeful faces of his companions opposite. What on earth was the joke this this time? Not for the first time since the vacation had begun he wondered uneasily whether he might not have lost his sense of humour. time? Not for the first time since the vacation had begun he wondered uneasily whether he might not have lost his sense of humour.

"Pa.s.s the word along," Bob Danby on his left whispered, groaning with pain, into his ear. "What can the last course possibly be be?"

So it was the revolvers set out with the cutlery that was arousing the mirth of his companions! As he pa.s.sed Danby's joke on to Bunny Burdock on his right he reproved himself for not having noticed-though, as a matter of fact, he had had noticed, a.s.suming merely that the hotel had rats. In the mess dug-outs in France they had been in the habit of blazing away throughout the meal at any rats scampering by-otherwise the beggars would have eaten the food off your fork. He cleared his throat, on the point of describing all this to young Hall-Smith opposite, but then he thought better of it. These young chaps listened politely, of course, when he talked about the war. On one occasion, however, while he was describ-ing some "show" or other, Maitland had said: "Oh, give the b.l.o.o.d.y war a rest will you, Roberts? It's been over for three years!" Of course Maitland had had a few beers and no doubt he had been egged on by his desire to please the others. Still, it was all past history now, all that; no reason why they should be interested. noticed, a.s.suming merely that the hotel had rats. In the mess dug-outs in France they had been in the habit of blazing away throughout the meal at any rats scampering by-otherwise the beggars would have eaten the food off your fork. He cleared his throat, on the point of describing all this to young Hall-Smith opposite, but then he thought better of it. These young chaps listened politely, of course, when he talked about the war. On one occasion, however, while he was describ-ing some "show" or other, Maitland had said: "Oh, give the b.l.o.o.d.y war a rest will you, Roberts? It's been over for three years!" Of course Maitland had had a few beers and no doubt he had been egged on by his desire to please the others. Still, it was all past history now, all that; no reason why they should be interested.

Meanwhile an argument had started between the huge craggy-faced individual at the end of the table who must be the owner of the place (he was hardly obsequious enough to be the manager) and Bob Danby, who was their spokesman for political and intellectual matters (and was strongly fancied as the next President of the Union). And Danby seemed to be in particularly splendid form this evening.

"But what you're saying isn't the least bit logical," he was now protesting. "Although I agree that the Irish people may not be the most intelligent in the world I simply can't believe that they would voluntarily voluntarily choose to elect bandits and murderers, as you call them, to handle their affairs...Come now, that really choose to elect bandits and murderers, as you call them, to handle their affairs...Come now, that really is is a bit steep, sir!" a bit steep, sir!"

"Tell me then what they've done except ambush unarmed men from behind hedges, shoot innocent people, drive cattle and plunder farms and generally bring the country to her knees, eh? Tell me!"

"You're missing the point," groaned Danby, throwing up his hands in mock despair while the others watched him with amus.e.m.e.nt (old Danby was off again!). "The point is democracy democracy, plain and simple. Only a few days ago Sinn Fein swept the country in the elections as they did in 1919. For every seat in the Southern Parliament except the four from Trinity they were elected without opposition. Look, sir, I'd even go as far as to say that if the majority of the people actually want want to be governed by murderers (though I don't agree that they are for a minute) rather than by us British then they have a perfect right...after all, it's their business. I mean, have you even read Rousseau's to be governed by murderers (though I don't agree that they are for a minute) rather than by us British then they have a perfect right...after all, it's their business. I mean, have you even read Rousseau's Le Contrat social Le Contrat social? The fact is that in 1919 the Irish people elected the people they presumably wanted...Why should they elect people they didn't want? The result was that Sinn Fein won seventy-three seats and the Unionists only won twenty-six...Now if that isn't a clear expression of the will of the people frankly I don't know what is is!"

"What did they do when they were elected?" demanded Edward, mastering himself with difficulty. "They refused to take their seats in Westminster! Is that responsible behaviour? If they were anything but a worthless bunch of braggarts and corner-boys they'd have gone to do their duty by the people who elected them instead of running around with guns."

Danby had listened to this outburst, nodding and smil-ing at his plate as if this was exactly what he had expected to hear.

"Very well, then. Why didn't they go to Westminster? It's a fair question. Why didn't they? The answer is because they knew it wouldn't do any good. What did Parnell ever accomplish? Nothing at all in practical terms. And Redmond? Even less. The point is that the Sinn Feiners knew very well that they could talk themselves blue in the face in the House of Commons without it doing them the least bit of good. They had to make a stand. Now I don't condone violence, of course, I'm a pacifist...as I think we all are here..." He looked round at the other undergraduates, who nodded their support. "But it can be argued that the source of the violence was not on the Irish side at all. The original and motive motive violence comes from us British who have been violently repressing them since Cromwell and even before that..." violence comes from us British who have been violently repressing them since Cromwell and even before that..."