The Pandervils (10 page)

He said again: ‘Would you really!' And this time he could hardly keep pride and tenderness out of his voice. What wonder could ever exceed the wonder of her having been willing, indeed eager, to share, in a hayfield with the likes of himself, tea poured rudely from a jug into thick cups more than one of which shewed dirty brown cracks, instead of sipping delicately, in a ladylike fashion, from Mrs Pandervil's best china? It was impossible that there was another girl in the world with
so free and generous a spirit. And she so cultivated and accomplished, understanding poetry and all!

She nearly blushed, meeting his look. ‘Yes, why not? How absurd you are!' Quickly she glanced away from him to stare at the bronze hair of Flisher who was kneeling in front of her basket. ‘Can I be of any help?'

‘Here come the others,' remarked Egg, to ease the tension, the very existence of which, nevertheless, gave him profound satisfaction and excited him with hope. Also he was uplifted by her calling him absurd, for her manner of saying the word—her bright glance, her wide smiling mouth, the quick downcasting of the eyes that had suggested an imminent blush—imparted to it a quality that was almost fondness, as of a mother for her beloved comical child. It made him feel at once like a little boy and like a god; proud, an accepted lover; humble, a willing slave. I am a giant, I am crude and strong, his heart said; and you, so small and frail, can with a word or a glance quell me. His mind, being inarticulate, said no such thing. Nor was she in fact either small or frail, as her sex went; she was generously made and lusty with a lustiness that gave peculiar piquancy, the right touch of intoxicated madness, to his sense of her being a lovely child, young and little, helpless and unprotected. She was a miracle and by a miracle sustained; because he loved and desired her he saw her beauty sharpened by the shadow of an unimaginable danger, a danger from which,
whatever it might be, he and he alone, by virtue of this new irresistible power descended upon him from heaven, could defend her.

The approaching Algernon, seeing a strange girl, paused a few yards from the group; then with a kind of obstinacy in his demeanour came boldly on. Not waiting for an introduction, being in fact a little too obviously terrified of so idle and genteel a ceremony, he nodded towards Monica, muttering: ‘How de do, miss!' And to Flisher he hastened to say, in a voice unwontedly loud. ‘Cup a tea's just about my ticket. Got plenty of sugar in? Eh, Flisher?' The three other men—for Potty Oaks was among them, though not safe to be entrusted with a scythe and therefore of no practical use—grouped themselves dubiously at a respectful distance. ‘Come and get your tea, you men!' shouted Algernon in his grandest manner. Shewing off! thought Egg. But his mind was busy not with Algernon's awkwardness but with the question whether he could fitly offer Monica his jacket to sit on, or whether he would do better to wear it. The jacket was hanging on the gatepost ten yards away; and Egg, as he now realized with some embarrassment, was in his shirt sleeves. What a sight he must be for a lady, he all hot and sweaty and shewing his braces! But looking at her again he ceased to remember himself, being filled anew with sheer wonder and with a wish to serve. He ran and fetched the jacket and spread it at her feet.

‘Won't you sit down on this?' From his kneeling
position he looked up at her; her lips were forming a polite refusal as she glanced down. He was aware of disappointment, a hunger un-assuaged, and then, as she smiled acquiescence, of instant and heavenly relief. She had added wonder to wonder by consenting to make use of his jacket. His eyes shone gratefully upon her downsitting. For a while he thought his happiness complete.

The next time he glanced at her she was shewing unmistakable signs of distress. He turned quickly round to find Potty Oaks, with his mouth half open, staring at her hungrily and without disguise. Egg jumped to his feet, snatched up a huge piece of bread and butter, and accosted the half-wit brusquely. ‘Here, put this in your mouth. And be off with you!' Potty received the food and the admonition without a word. He continued to stare at Monica, his expression unchanged. ‘Be off, I tell you!' said Egg angrily, and seizing him by both arms swung him violently round. Reluctantly, with a sidelong glance, Potty shambled towards the gate; and Egg red with confusion, turned back in time to see a meaning leer pass from Higlett to Dan the cowman. ‘What's tickling you, Higlett?' he demanded in a fierce undertone. It was a mistake. He felt that he was making an exhibition of himself, and when he rejoined his own party he was met with curious stares by Algernon and Flisher. Monica herself was bent low over the picnic basket, contriving to hide her face in a pretended search for something. Her attitude was
eloquent of shame. ‘That lad's getting out of hand,' muttered Egg, in self-extenuation. ‘He'll be breaking out one of these days. Not safe it isn't. Why don't they put him away?'

Algernon shrugged his shoulders. ‘What makes you say that, all of a sudden? Wasn't doing any harm as I could see. Mighty touchy, aren't you?'

Flisher's smile was more pointed than Algernon's speech. Egg, to escape from it, turned covertly, sadly, towards Monica. Her back was towards him, but at that moment, as if in response to his silent appeal, she flashed at him, over her shoulder, one quick radiant glance. And at once he was a new man, a man enthroned above the stars, caring nothing for Higlett's leering innuendoes and Algernon's stupidity, and raised far beyond reach of Flisher's barbed smiles. Gratitude gushed in his heart, and he yearned with sudden passion to spend himself utterly for the author of this new life, that he might prove himself hers. His imagination became grandiose, his demands extravagant. He caught himself almost wishing that these men, these two labourers and his brother, were visibly menacing Monica instead of merely failing in due reverence to her, so that he might have fought them all and slaughtered them and thrown their silly carcases into the sea. He forgot that the sea was some hundreds of miles away—a man in love cannot think of everything. The next moment he felt a little ashamed of this braggart fancy, and he began saying to himself:
If only I could tell her. If only … if only … There seemed, alas, so little chance of that.

Labouring to create a diversion he said: ‘So Sarah didn't come to-day?'

Flisher's stare was uncompromising. ‘Whadjou mean Sarah didn't come?'

‘Down here with the tea,' said Egg. ‘She came yesterday, but not to-day,' he added lamely.

‘No, indeed!' cried Flisher importantly. ‘Because why? Because her Reverend Twigg came to see her, if you please!'

‘What, the curate!' exclaimed Algernon. ‘You never told us. Mighty secret all of a sudden!'

‘Why?' asked Egg. His surprise was sincere enough. ‘There's nothing very important in Mr Twigg, is there?' He flushed, remembering when it was too late that Mr Twigg was the Vicar's new curate, and that Monica was the Vicar's niece.

‘Oh, isn't there!' said Flisher. ‘That's all you know, my dear. Nothing very important, eh? Better tell our Sarah that, and see what happens.'

Egg, glancing at Monica, was ashamed of this conversation, ashamed of his brother and his sister. That they should expose their silly matchmaking fancies to the gaze of Miss Wrenn was a burden hardly to be borne. He himself had noticed nothing of what they hinted; but now, looking back, he had to admit that Mr Twigg's visits to the Ridge Farm had been surprisingly frequent and regular. A large fair man, this Mr Twigg, with prominent ears, and hands a size too big for him; good at games and popular with the village
lads; a little too hearty, a little too jolly, a little too solemn, every quality slightly in excess; a Muscular Christian born out of due time. Mr Twigg did not talk much about religion, but one gathered that he felt it the more for that. He sometimes, rather disconcertingly, interpolated a pregnant comment on wordly affairs when it was least expected. ‘Faith without Works is Dead, Miss Minnow,' he remarked, when his organization of the village cricket was under discussion. ‘Not everyone that saith unto me, Lord, Lord …' And indeed if anyone was disposed to say unto Mr Twigg ‘Lord, Lord!', it was Miss Minnow, a gentle fast-fading spinster of thirty-five who obviously adored him. More than once she happened to be taking tea with Mrs Pandervil when the curate called. ‘You make everything so
clear
, Mr Twigg,' she would say, with a sigh. ‘And you have such
original
thoughts.' These compliments Mr Twigg would turn aside with a mildly reproving smile. ‘Ah no, Miss Minnow! It's all in the Book, and he who Runs may Read.' Mr Twigg was ‘broad' to the point of daring; he thought that even Dissenters might escape damnation if only they ‘did good', if only they ‘led good lives'; for, as he once declared from the pulpit itself, he did not presume to set limits to the mercy of God. One gathered that, within reason, Mr Twigg gave God a free hand, always provided that there was no weakening on the great Roman question, for it was an open secret that Mr Twigg was very angry with
the Pope. All things considered, the curate was a splendid fellow. He had a rich baritone voice and he sometimes sang hearty secular songs in the Pandervils' drawing room, to Sarah's stammering pianoforte accompaniment. Small wonder that Sarah loved him—the wonder (thought Egg, with brotherly blindness) was that he should have seen anything exciting in Sarah.

Monica remarked shyly: ‘I think I ought to be going home if you'll excuse me. Auntie will wonder——'

‘Oh, don't hurry!' cried Flisher. ‘I'm coming too in a minute and Mr Twigg will take you back, won't he? They know you're safe with him.' Flisher turned to Egg, eagerly explanatory. ‘You see, Egg, it was Mr Twigg brought Miss Wrenn to see us—brought Monica, I mean.'

Egg, with a superhuman effort, said as casually as he could: ‘If Miss Wrenn really wants to go——' He turned in confusion to Monica: ‘Let me see you home.'

‘Thank you very much.' His heart leaped. ‘But there's no need for anyone to come with me. It's only a few yards.' His heart sank again. ‘And,' added Monica, ‘Mr Twigg
will
be waiting for me at your house. I'd forgotten about Mr Twigg.'

She had forgotten about Mr Twigg: that was as it should be. But the more Egg thought of Mr Twigg, the less he liked the situation. The fellow had brought Monica to see them, had he! The two were living under the same roof, the Vicar's
roof … Egg hoped with all his heart that Mr Twigg would make haste to marry Sarah.

When at the first intimation of dusk Egg and Algernon came in from the fields, they found the kitchen, where supper was laid, all but deserted, Martha alone being in attendance there and waiting for them. She, as gawky now as Flisher had been two years before, looked more attractive than usual, being greatly uplifted by her sense of office, and flushed with the excitement of being in the midst of unusual events. For the visitors, it seemed, were not yet gone; they were at this very moment in the drawing room with the seniors of the family. Sarah had been playing, with great acceptation,
List to the Convent Bells
and Handel's
Harmonious Blacksmith;
Mr Twigg had sung
Bid me Discourse
and a song about a storm at sea of which Sarah had been for weeks secretly practising the accompaniment; and Miss Wrenn, too, in a sweet husky voice, ever so deep and strange, like a man's almost (said Martha), had sung such a nice song, you never did! And, to crown the wonder, sandwiches and cakes had been provided at a moment's notice as you might say, and Mr Pandervil (in person) had broached a bottle of port wine. There never had been such an evening before, and it could have but one meaning.

‘You'd never guess,' declared Martha ‘Never.'

Egg declined to guess; but he was conscious of
immense relief, and he longed to hear that Sarah and Mr Twigg were definitely and irrevocably betrothed. The man was clearly a fool, since, having seen Monica, he still desired Sarah; but so long as he remained free he might, by some mischance, lapse into sanity.

‘We know all about it,' said Algernon. ‘Don't we, Egg?'

Martha's face fell. ‘Oh, well—' She tossed her head. ‘If you know, you'll not need telling.'

‘We don't really know, Martha,' said Egg. He shot out a hand as she was passing, caught her by the shoulder and spun her playfully round. ‘Come along, out with it.'

She eyed him dubiously a moment; then decided to struggle a little; but he was too strong for her, she couldn't escape. ‘I'll tell
you
, Eggie,' she said, ‘but not
him!
' To Algernon she showed the tip of her tongue. ‘I'll whisper,' said Martha, and, like the child she still was, put her arms round Egg's neck as he bent down towards her. ‘Somebody's engaged to be married!'

‘Who?' asked Egg.

‘Aren't you surprised?'

‘Yes, of course, I'm surprised. Somebody engaged! Well I never! But who is it, Martha?'

‘Well, it's Mr Twigg for one. I
love
Mr Twigg, don't you?'

‘You bet I do!' said Egg. ‘Who's the other?'

‘Well, it's not Flisher.'

‘Fancy that now!' exclaimed Egg, with irony that passed, as he intended it should, for appreciation
of Martha's dramatic effects. ‘Well?'

‘Egg,' whispered Martha, still more mysteriously, ‘suppose now it was Miss Wrenn?'

He stood rigid, held fast in an agony of fear. He heard his heart thumping, thumping, in a vast void. He heard himself exclaim in a loud unnatural tone: ‘Suppose your grandmother! It's Sarah, of course. Of course it's Sarah. Don't talk nonsense, Martha!'

Algernon intervened, his mouth full of bread and cheese. ‘Well, what if it is! Nothing to lose your wool about, is it?' He grinned cheerfully. ‘We'll manage without the lass, I dessay.'

Martha said no more; Egg remained stretched upon the rack of his fear. It was absurd, this surmise, but not impossible. Everything pointed to Sarah; yet it might be … it might be … And he could not bring himself to question Martha any more; he could only pray that her tongue might be loosened without his further self-exposure. Already Flisher, and perhaps Algernon too, had divined his state. He sat down at the table and began his supper. He was in a fever. His nerves twitched. He frequently shifted his position on the chair, every movement being marked by the sound of hobnails scraping the brick floor. Seeking distraction from his anxious thoughts he allowed his glance, as he munched, to wander aim lessly about the room. It came to rest at the dresser, which was full of gleaming white crockery, Mother's pride; and he suddenly thought how richly satisfying it would be to shy something at
that stuff and hear it smash and see it fall. He became aware that Martha was eyeing him speculatively, and that all Algernon's attention was on the food. And then the latch was lifted and Sarah herself stood in the doorway.