The Feast (25 page)

They were waiting for Gerry to bring out the tea basket before adjourning to their night’s quarters on the cliff.

‘No,’ said Mrs. Paley. ‘I believe he’s gone to St.
Merricks
with Mrs. Lechene. But Duff and Robin are coming, I think.’

Evangeline made a face. She did not much want Duff and Robin.

‘What were you and the chauffeur talking about so late?’ she asked.

‘A lot of things. He told me about Nancibel’s plan for a party for the Coves. I’ve promised to help with it.’

‘What sort of party?’

‘A kind of universal beano, as far as I can make out. That’s what they want. But they’ve got no money, poor chicks. However … that can be remedied. It’s
collecting
the food….’

‘Perhaps I could help,’ said Angie. ‘I’ve some sweet points. When is it to be?’

‘As soon as they are quite well again. I think Friday would be a good day. And it has to be in the evening, because they want to invite the staff.’

‘I hope it will be outside,’ said Evangeline. ‘I hate this hotel. It’s so shut in, with the cliffs hanging over it. Mrs. Paley! I … I want to talk to you. I can’t make up my mind … about … if only … Gerry Siddal is so nice … but of course there’s …’

‘Talk connectedly or not at all,’ commanded Mrs. Paley.

‘Well … my father says I run after men.’

‘You don’t, I’m afraid. I wish you did.’

‘Oh, Mrs. Paley!’

‘A girl who runs away from men is a fool, Angie.’

‘But he says … he’s often said, that I’d snatch at anything in trousers, just to get away from home.’

‘Very natural if you did. I know I would.’

‘Yes. But I wouldn’t want to snatch at Gerry. He’s so nice. I’d want to be sure I really … I mean, I believe I could make him so sorry for me that … but
it wouldn’t be fair. He ought to get somebody who really … who really … I’d never feel sure that I hadn’t just snatched …’

‘Are you worrying about your feeling for Gerry, or his for you?’

‘Mine for him, I suppose. Do I really … or is he just a harbour?’

‘You’ll have to fight like the devil to get
him, Angie. Only a very determined girl could face it. I think by the time you’re through you’ll find that you’re very sure of yourself. You’ve got to rescue him from his family.’

‘Yes,’ said Evangeline, flushing. ‘It’s
abominable
….’

‘You’re not good at fighting for your own rights. You are more likely to become obstinate about his rights. And why should you do that, unless you care for him? Here’s Mr. Siddal. Now don’t get up and rush away. Stay and talk to him. He may be your father-in-law one of these days, and he has no idea what you are like.’

Evangeline subsided, trembling, on to the swing seat beside Mrs. Paley, and watched the approach of Mr. Siddal, who had washed and dressed and come out of the boot hole to mix with the visitors. He had looked into the lounge but found nobody there except Sir Henry, listening morosely to the wireless. So he strolled out onto the terrace where Mrs. Paley and Miss Wraxton greeted him with inviting faces.

He took a seat in a deck chair beside them and prepared to talk, to lecture indeed, upon any subject they should choose. Once launched, he seldom allowed anyone else to get a word in, but he always left the selection of a topic to his victims.

‘So what,’ he said to them, ‘shall we discuss to-night?’

Mrs. Paley was obligingly ready with a subject.

‘There was something I wanted to ask you,’ she said.

‘I’m always at your service, Mrs. Paley.’

‘What is the difference between pride and self-respect?’

There was a short pause while Mr. Siddal arranged his ideas.

‘Pride …’ he began.

‘What’s that?’ cried Evangeline.

Something had fallen on the grass quite close to them. She jumped up and searched for it in the gathering dusk. After a few seconds she found it, and brought it to them.

‘It’s a little … where did it come from?’

Mr. Siddal laughed and took it from her.

‘It’s soapstone, I think.’

‘What?’ cried the ladies, who had both heard the story. ‘Again?’

‘We have a poltergeist, apparently.’

‘They are generally little girls,’ said Mrs. Paley.

‘Quite so. And this hotel is full of little girls. I’ll give this to my wife. She’ll know what to do with it. I’m terribly frightened of Mrs. Cove, aren’t you?’

‘You mean you think it’s the little Coves?’ asked Evangeline. ‘But they look so meek and timid.’

‘Not all of them. Personally I suspect the visionary one with the bad back. Well … pride …’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Paley. ‘Pride. And self-respect.’

‘And self-respect. As you say, Mrs. Paley, they are often confused. This is because they give rise, to a certain extent, to the same kind of conduct. Proud people and self-respecting people prefer to sail under their own steam, paddle their own canoes and boil their own kettles of fish. They do not demand help or sympathy. But the motive …’ he emphasized the word by patting her knee, ‘the motive is different. Self-respect regards
independence
as a social and moral duty. We must not fling our burdens on to the shoulders of other people. We must not inflict on them the story of our woes. But self-respect is not antagonized by sympathy or offers of help. It may feel obliged to refuse them, but it can be touched by the offer and respect the generosity which makes the offer.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Paley, ‘and the proud man is angry with any one who offers him help.’

‘The proud man is humiliated that anyone should suppose he needs help. The offer is an insult. His motive is not that of social obligation, but a desire for superiority. He always thinks in terms of superiority and inferiority. Help, he imagines, is given by the superior to the inferior, and to offer it to him is to degrade him. If he is obliged to accept generosity he hates the giver. His independence is an indulgence of his own ego.’

Mrs. Paley sighed. And then she thanked Mr. Siddal.

The chimes of Big Ben rang out over the terrace, for Sir Henry was listening to the nine o’clock news in the lounge, with all the windows open.

‘And I want to know about patience,’ said Evangeline timidly. ‘Do you think a person can be too patient?’

Mr. Siddal smiled. He did not often get such a
respectful
audience.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Patience must not be confused with submission. When we say that a person is too patient, we generally mean that he is not patient at all, but merely submissive….’

‘Then what is patience, exactly?’ she persisted.

‘Patience is the capacity to endure all that is necessary in attaining a desired end. The patient man is master of his fate. The submissive man has handed his fate over to somebody else. Patience implies liberty and superiority. Impatience nearly always involves a loss of liberty. It causes people to commit themselves, to burn their boats, to put it out of their power to alter or modify their course. Patience never forsakes the ultimate goal because the road is hard. There can be no patience without an object.’

Evangeline, in her turn, thanked him. To both ladies he had given, though he did not know it, advice on their own particular problems.

‘I think it’s getting chilly,’ said Mrs. Paley, getting up. ‘I’m going to stroll up and down.’

They all three strolled up and down the terrace while Mr. Siddal illustrated his thesis on patience by quotations from
King
Lear.
But he paused as they passed the lounge
windows to listen to a rich voice which rolled out into the dusk. It said:

‘Many of you will still be on your holidays or will have just finished them in this beautiful summer sunshine. God bless you all, you and your families. Get all you can of happiness and health and strength out of the sun and the sea and the fresh air….’

‘Sounds like a bishop,’ said Mr. Siddal as they passed out of earshot. ‘The news must have been over quickly.’

‘I daresay it’s the Government,’ said Mrs. Paley. ‘Well, thank you very much. It’s wonderful how you put things. You have always thought it out so clearly. I think it’s a pity you didn’t go into the Church, Mr. Siddal.’

‘So do I,’ he agreed. ‘I might have been a Dean by now. I’d have liked to be a Dean. Deaneries are
generally
such nice houses, and very good kitchen gardens. Good fruit trees.’

‘I shall never forget what you said on Sunday about innocence.’

‘Innocence?’

‘How it’s the innocent people who save the world.’

Mr. Siddal smiled, but did not commit himself to a sequel on his Sunday subject, which was as well for he was quite capable of taking the other side and proving that innocence is the source of all evil. He could make out a very good case for any side of any question.

After another turn they all went into the lounge where the rich voice was reaching its peroration.

‘… and so I say to you, as was said long ago: Only be thou strong and very courageous.’

Sir Henry was alone in the lounge. He was sitting beside the wireless and his face looked yellow.

‘Who was that?’ asked Mr. Siddal.

‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer. Broadcasting to the nation after the nine o’clock news.’

‘
Was
it? What’s he been turned on to tell us this time?’

‘American loan. Run out. No more dollars.’

‘Well. I’ll be … whitewashed! I’d rather hear Shinwell. He doesn’t quote the Bible at us when he tells us he can’t get any coal.’

‘I was sure it was the Government,’ said Mrs. Paley placidly.

Hebe’s absence at supper was remarked, but it was supposed that she must be sulking somewhere and nobody troubled to go in search of her. They had all finished and dispersed before Bruce brought her back. He left her in the yard, in the car, and went to the scullery door where Nancibel, who had again stayed late, was still washing-up.

She was surprised to see him back from St. Merricks so soon, but she would not show her surprise and
continued
to scour saucepans with her nose in the air.

‘Nancibel, I must speak to you.’

‘How often must I tell you that I don’t want to have anything more to do with you.’

‘This isn’t about us,’ he explained. ‘It’s Hebe.’

‘Hebe? What’s she been up to now?’

‘I’ve got her in the car. I want to smuggle her into the house and put her to bed without anyone knowing.’

‘I’ve no use for Hebe. If she’s in a jam, let her get herself out of it.’

‘Oh, Nancibel, please! Don’t be too hasty. It isn’t her fault. When you understand you’ll be as upset as I am. Come and look at her.’

‘What’s she been doing?’

‘Well … she’s pickled, for one thing. Passed out.’

‘Hebe? No! How disgusting!’

‘It’s not her fault, I tell you. That kid’s been in enough
trouble for one day. You know what they’re like in this hole … Miss Ellis … Mrs. Cove….’

‘I do,’ said Nancibel, softening a little. ‘Oh well, all right. I’ll come. We’ll smuggle her up the back stairs. Where’s the car?’

‘At the stables.’

As they went to the yard Bruce told her briefly what had happened. She heard him out in a stony silence. Between them they got the inert Hebe out of the car and up the back stairs and laid her upon her bed. Then Nancibel spoke.

‘I’ll undress her and put her to bed,’ she said. ‘And you can go. To-morrow I shall go to Sir Henry and tell him what you did, you and Mrs. Lechene. I’ll see that Hebe doesn’t get blamed. But if you don’t go now, at once, and if you say another word, I’ll go to Sir Henry at once.’

‘I didn’t …’

‘I’m giving you time to clear out, see? If you don’t want Sir Henry after you, you’d better clear out now.’

‘I can’t see that it was my fault. I didn’t know she was in the car.’

‘There’s telephones, isn’t there? When you did find out you could have rung him up from there. If you’d so much as threatened to ring him up she’d have sent Hebe back right away, and this would never have
happened
. Now go, and don’t let me see you again.’

Bruce went. In the stable loft he packed his suitcase. Before he left Pendizack he wrote two letters.

The first was to Anna. It said:

The letter to Nancibel was harder; he re-wrote it several times and it was late in the evening before he had finished it.