Our Time Is Gone (82 page)

‘When I know,' she muttered softly to herself, ‘when I know, I will bear it. But I won't believe it. Oh, God! I can't believe it. He's all—everything now.'

The priest raised the chalice, the sounds of rustling silk were in her ears as silently he seemed to glide down from the altar steps. She heard the words on his lips. ‘Dominus vobiscum. Domin—Domi——'

She opened her mouth, raised her head slightly. The priest stood before her, looking down at her face. She was the last communicant. He held high the chalice, placed the bread upon her tongue, saw her long face tremble, some tears roll down her face. ‘Dominus vobiscum—Domin——

She held her mouth open, did not move—motionless. She cried there silently, and the priest saw, then turning, walked back up the altar steps.

A sob broke from her, and quickly she closed her mouth, bowed her head, and it rested heavily upon the brass rail. The altar boy came down and under his surplice his collar shone, face shone, hair glistened in the light. He came through the little gateway, and went up to her, put an arm through hers, whispered in a somewhat frightened voice: ‘Come, please.'

Mrs. Fury rose, went with him, passed those bowed heads. He saw her to her seat, saw her seated, looked hard at her for a second or more, then glided noiselessly back to the altar. The mass began.

The boy knelt on the bottom step, the priest stood towering over him. In the benches two heads were raised. The boy's voice sounded flute-like on the air.

‘
Suspicius dominus sacrificium de manibus tuis ad lorem ad gloria ad nominus sui ad utilitatem quoque nostrum
——'

Mrs. Fury sat erect in her seat. She watched.

‘Oh, God! I can't! I can't pray,' she said into the emptiness of her seat, rose to her feet, clung to the bench, looked round, hurried from the bench, genuflected quickly, went down the aisle. Nobody looked. She went out in silence.

It was light. She sat down on the wooden bench.

‘I couldn't! Oh, God! I couldn't! I tried! I did try. He knew I tried. He understood me. Denny understood me.'

She got up and walked back to Edcott Court. Many workpeople passed her by. A milk-cart rattled along. The first tramcar screeched and rattled its way towards the suburbs. The world around her began to swim. She reached the Court. On almost every stair she paused, as though she were counting them—one—two—three—four.

‘No! It's impossible. It couldn't be. I won't give up hope. I won't! It's—oh, Denny, wherever you are I am, I don't—I
won't
! Oh,
God
, I won't believe it.'

She closed her door, looked at things in the room. The table, the chair, the small dresser, the altar, the mantelpiece, the muslin curtains. She sat down heavily on the bed. Doubled up, she suddenly slept.

The clock ticked. The woman snored. Edcott Court began to shake under the rushing tide of sound. People went up and down the long flights of stone steps. A basin clattered on the landing. A child shouted from the area below.

It grew lighter. A baker knocked at Mrs. Fury's door. Eight o'clock. A letter came under the door. A postman banged. A butcher called, went away unanswered. Nine o'clock, a boy hammered on the door, cried: ‘Greengroceries.'

The woman slept. Cars and lorries roared below. Trains shunted. Ships' sirens blew. A man shouted into the building: ‘Special edition.' A woman rushed down the stairs, a man behind her. ‘It's Titular, the name is. I told you all along. Running in the two-thirty.'

Some dead ashes moved in the grate. It was ten o'clock. A girl hummed a tune, nursing a baby. Seated on the lower stairs, she began to sing to the child: ‘It's a long, long trail a' winding.' A dog barked defiantly.

Towards eleven Mrs. Fury woke up. She lit the fire, and whilst the kettle boiled, began to tidy the room. She made herself some breakfast, and then went out.

‘Even Mrs. Gumbs is away,' she said, as she went down to the street.

She turned in the direction of the shipping office. Outside the stationer's shop she saw a poster announcing: ‘Another liner torpedoed. Heavy death roll feared.' Another poster read: ‘Famous Comedian Divorced. Heavy damages.'

When she reached the offices she stood for a minute or two watching people streaming in and out of the swing-doors. The doorman walked up and down in front of the building, slapping his one arm against his thigh. He smiled at everybody. His shadow danced before him in the morning sunshine. Men, women and girls came out. Some laughed, some chattered gaily, some were silent, even studious of expression.

Mrs. Fury climbed the steps. Always she had had a horror of these enormous doors that swung in and out with an air of wild abandonment, and as she had always done she now waited until a little group of people were on the point of entering. Her reflection swept by as the glass moved, and she found herself inside, the group about her fell away, scattered and were gone from sight.

There were many women there. She recognized a face, a hat, a coat, a voice. Some clustered round a notice-board.

‘We regret to announce that all hope is now abandoned, and it is feared that H.M.T.
Ronsa
sank with all hands in a few minutes.'

They read, and did not read—saw and did not see. They drew closer together, mumbled, talked loudly, stared into each other's faces.

‘It's only twenty-four hours ago. I don't believe what it says on the board.'

‘What's the name there?'

‘Where?'

‘There.'

‘Oh, I don't know. Such scribble.'

‘Damn the name. I'm not satisfied. They sank a ship last night. The
Ronsa's
forgotten. I'm going up. I'm going to see Mr. Crisp. He's decent.'

‘I'm going.'

‘Me too.'

‘A bloody lot we get out of their old war!'

‘I had husband and son on her.'

‘Who cares a goddam if you had all your family? Nobody. Blast their war! Won't bring them back now.'

The woman screeched into the building drowning out sounds of bells, whose echoes spiralled about the high roof.

‘Um—um,' another said, ran from the group about the board, caught the lift gates, rattled them.

‘Um—um,' she said.

She pulled, stretched her body, seemed to hang suspended on the lift gate.

‘Look out,' one said.

‘Um—um,' she said, being dragged away by men's hands.

‘Don't laugh.'

‘I'm not laughing.'

‘I just thought you were.'

‘Hennesy?'

‘Sir?'

‘Take this woman to the top floor and look for Mr. Cully. He'll understand. Nobody else will.'

‘Um—um,' the woman said, caught the man's hand like a child. They soared upwards in the lift. ‘Um—um,' the woman said, islanded in the corridor.

‘Oh—Mr. Cully. A moment. This lady. Deaf and dumb. I expect it's about the
Ronsa
! Read about that big engagement on the Somme last night?'

‘Yes—yes—no.'

The woman followed Mr. Cully down the corridor, vanished through a door.

‘All these faces,' Mrs. Fury thought. ‘All these faces.'

She stood at the bottom of the stairs. Who knows? Who knew? Two hundred doors, swinging in—out, forty corridors like tunnels to nowhere, everywhere! Shining bare walls. Tinkling bells. Who knew? Who held the key? Who told the truth? How did they know?

‘I wonder,' she said. ‘I wonder.'

She went upstairs, walked up and down corridors. Read on a door. ‘Mr. Lake.' Lake! Mr. Lake! Oh, I know him. He'll know. He'll——

She did not knock, but turned the handle of the door and walked in. Two red faces confronted her. Two pairs of eyes glowered. She had merely disturbed.

‘Caught,' her face said to them. ‘Caught.' A man's hand round a girl's waist, sweet words. ‘Disturbed,' their blushes said.

‘Who are you?'

‘Is Mr. Lake here?'

‘Afraid not.'

‘Any further news about the
Ronsa
?'

‘I believe you'll find it on the board in the hall below.'

‘I read the board.'

‘That's it,' the man said. ‘Quite correct. I saw the notice pinned there about ten o'clock.'

‘Is there any further news yet?'

‘'Fraid not.'

‘I don't believe. Honest to God. I can't! I can't!' Her fingers were drumming upon the broad mahogany counter.

‘Did you get the clearing papers for
Sipia
? I have to check them, Miss Knowles.'

‘I don't believe it. There must be more news. Oh, God! Doesn't anybody know?'

‘I put them on the desk there. Can't you see them? Two hundred and eighty-four.'

‘Why, of course.'

‘For God's sake!' she said and leaned over the desk, trembled violently.

‘I'm awfully sorry, but Mr. Lake is down on the lower floor. This is the wages department. I'm sorry. Take the lift. Mr. Lake is the man to see.'

‘Mr. Lake is the man to see! To see! Mr. Lake! Lake.' The words bounced up and down in her head. ‘The man to see—to see—see—Mr. Lake.'

‘Good morning.'

‘Good morning.'

‘Good morning. So sorry——Oh, Miss Knowles, take this down, please.'

She walked out, closed the door, was gone. But they hadn't noticed it. They had yesterday. Everybody had. A terrible shock. But another was sunk to-day. One was history, one was in the offing, waiting for verification. Outside she suddenly struck the wall with the flat of her hands. Pattered upon it.

‘My God! He's gone! Gone! I know! Denny! Oh, Denny!'

Gone! Gone! her hands said: Gone!

Gone! the wall answered.

‘I'm sure he was brave! God have mercy on him this morning, Denny!'

The wall answered: ‘I'm sure he was brave, Denny.'

Gone! Her hands cried Gone!

In the inner office voices murmured.

‘I saw that Chaplin one last night.'

‘Did you! What's it like?'

‘Oh, Lord! That man is funny!'

‘I heard Jones talking about it coming in this morning. These women, he said.'

‘What?' she said.

‘These poor women,' he said. ‘Hundreds! Hundreds! Hanging round.'

‘Are you going to play tennis this evening?'

‘Well, I might—might not. All depends! The weather. Can't trust it lately.'

Outside one hand made a circling movement, round and round the wall.

‘Denny! Oh, Denny!'

‘Are you not well?'

‘I'm all right, thank you,' she said.

‘Oh, sorry——'

‘I'm well. I'm not well. I'm——' She turned away, went down the stairs.

One flew past her, crying: ‘Oh, the bastards out of hell! The bastards out of——'

There was the board. The agents of the sea rose from their beds, and took the keys of the sea, and opened it. There was the board and what they found on it.

‘All hope abandoned. We regret to inform, etc. etc.

She passed out of the building, clumsily, dreamily, passed from the building.

‘I'm sure Denny was brave! God rest him! I'm sure he was—was——'

‘
Gelton Times
.'

‘Special.'

‘Victory on the Western Front.'

‘Special. Special.'

A woman in the gutter sang: ‘It's a long, long trail a' winding——' Watched the people come out—the droves of women, put pathos into ‘long.' It was pay day at the offices for three ships—allotment payments for two.

‘Nice flowers, lady! Fresh violets, lady.'

‘See the jumping German general. One, two—three! There he goes. Penny each.'

‘Spare a penny, lady! Boer War. No pension.'

An ugly stump of arm rose, threatened to touch Mrs. Fury's face.

‘It's a long,
long
——'

‘Nice flowers, lady.'

‘Have you any bluebells?'

‘No, lady. Nice violets, lady. Only penny the bunch.'

‘Real souvenirs, lady. Made from real souvenirs! One for your coat, lady.'

‘I can't cry any more,' she said to herself. ‘Nothing matters. I tried! Nothing matters. I hope God was merciful. I'm sure Denny was brave. I must be. Must be. I'll go away. Away somewhere! I don't want to see anybody. Nobody. Nobody!'

‘'Tis the last ro-ho-ose of summer'—the woman's voice seemed to crack as she reached the top note, the lower register was deadly mute—‘of
summ-mer
.'

‘Only a penny, lady. Watch Hindenburg jump, lady. Penny each. Penny each.'

It was turned two o'clock. She walked down to the river. Took a seat there with others who watched the sea-gulls wheel and soar, swoop and perch dizzily upon the masts of ships. Their cries fell like showers amongst the crowds of people. The sun shone strongly and the turbulent green water seemed gay under the light. Many ships rode at anchor, for the dock berths were full. Somewhere behind the sheds the ships she had worked on would be lying, loading or unloading, and there, by merely turning her head a little to the right, she could read in gigantic green lettering painted the length of the shed. ‘Dublin and Irish Mail.'

Dublin and Irish Mail.

Nearly fifty years ago she had come by ship there, to that very shed. Fifty years. What a long time it was! Children scampered about in front of her. A man read the noon paper, looked for the winning horse at Sandown. She saw: ‘Casualty Lists for Monday. Local.' She saw barges go by, a ship towed. The green water pranced below.

‘I'll go home,' she thought.

‘Excuse me,' she said.

CHAPTER XIV

I

3 E
DGOTT
C
OURT
, G
ELTON
,

August
16
th
, 1916.

D
EAR
A
NTHONY
,