Part 9 (1/2)
”I did very much, thank you, sir.”
”And what did you make of the citizens of Mos...o...b..? Not such a bad bunch, are they?”
”Very engaging, sir. Mr and Mrs Taylor were extremely kind.”
”I wish you wouldn't call me 'sir' like that all the time, Mr Stevens. No, they're not such a bad bunch at all around here. As far as I'm concerned, I'd happily spend the rest of my life out here.”
l thought I heard something slightly odd in the way Dr Carlisle said this. There was, too, a curiously deliberate edge to the way he went on to inquire again: ”So you found them an engaging bunch, eh?”
”Indeed, Doctor. Extremely congenia1.”
”So what were they all telling you about last night? Hope they didn't bore you silly with all the village gossip.”
”Not at all, Doctor. As a matter of fact, the conversation tended to be rather earnest in tone and some very interesting viewpoints were expressed. ”
”Oh, you mean Harry Smith,” the doctor said with a laugh. ”You shouldn't mind him. He's entertaining enough to listen to for a while, but really, he's all in a muddle. At times you'd think he was some sort of Communist, then he comes out with something that makes him sound true blue Tory. Truth is, he's all in a muddle.”
”Ah, that is very interesting to hear.”
”What did he lecture you on last night? The Empire? The National Health?”
”Mr Smith restricted himself to more general topics.”
”Oh? For instance?”
I gave a cough. ”Mr Smith had some thoughts on the nature of dignity.”
”I say. Now that sounds rather philosophical for Harry Smith. How the devil did he get on to that?”
”I believe Mr Smith was stressing the importance of his campaigning work in the village.”
”Ah, yes?”
”He was impressing upon me the point that the residents of Mos...o...b.. held strong opinions on all manner of great affairs.”
”Ah, yes. Sounds like Harry Smith. As you probably guessed, that's all nonsense, of course. Harry's always going around trying to work everybody up over issues. But the truth is, people are happier left alone.”
We were silent again for a moment or two.
Eventually, I said: ”Excuse me for asking, sir. But may I take it Mr Smith is considered something of a comic figure?”
”Hmm. That's taking it a little too far, I'd say.
People do have a political conscience of sorts here. They feel they ought ought to have strong feelings on this and that, just as Harry urges them to. But really, they're no different from people anywhere. They want a quiet life. Harry has a lot of ideas about changes to this and that, but really, no one in the village wants upheaval, even if it might benefit them. People here want to be left alone to lead their quiet little lives. They don't want to be bothered with this issue and that issue.” I was surprised by the tone of disgust that had entered the doctor's voice. But he recovered himself quickly with a short laugh and remarked: to have strong feelings on this and that, just as Harry urges them to. But really, they're no different from people anywhere. They want a quiet life. Harry has a lot of ideas about changes to this and that, but really, no one in the village wants upheaval, even if it might benefit them. People here want to be left alone to lead their quiet little lives. They don't want to be bothered with this issue and that issue.” I was surprised by the tone of disgust that had entered the doctor's voice. But he recovered himself quickly with a short laugh and remarked: ”Nice view of the village on your side.” Indeed, the village had become visible some way below us. Of course, the morning suns.h.i.+ne gave it a very different aspect, but otherwise it looked much the same view as the one I had first encountered in the evening gloom, and I supposed from this that we were now close to the spot where I had left the Ford.
”Mr Smith seemed to be of the view”, I said, ”that a person's dignity rested on such things. Having strong opinions and such.”
”Ah, yes, dignity. I was forgetting. Yes, so Harry was trying to tackle philosophical definitions. My word. I take it, it was a lot of rot.”
”His conclusions were not necessarily those that compelled agreement, sir.” Dr Carlisle nodded, but seemed to have become immersed in his own thoughts.
”You know, Mr Stevens,” he said, eventually, ”when I first came out here, I was a committed socialist. Believed in the best services for all the people and all the rest of it. First came here in 'forty-nine. Socialism would allow people to live with dignity. That's what I believed when I came out here. Sorry, you don't want to hear all this rot.” He turned to me cheerily. ”What about you, old chap?”
”I'm sorry, sir?”
”What do you you think dignity's all about?” think dignity's all about?”
The directness of this inquiry did, I admit, take me rather by surprise. ”It's rather a hard thing to explain in a few words, sir,” I said. ”But I suspect it comes down to not removing one's clothing in public.”
”Sorry. What does?”
”Dignity, sir.”
”Ah.” The doctor nodded, but looked a little bemused. Then he said: ”Now, this road should be familiar to you. Probably looks rather different in the daylight. Ah, is that it there? My goodness, what a handsome vehicle!”
Dr Carlisle pulled up just behind the Ford, got out and said again: ”My, what a handsome vehicle.” The next moment he had produced a funnel and a can of petrol and was most kindly a.s.sisting me in filling the tank of the Ford. Any fears I had that some deeper trouble was afflicting the Ford were laid to rest when I tried the ignition and heard the engine come to life with a healthy murmur. At this point, I thanked Dr Carlisle and we took leave of each other, though I was obliged to follow the back of his Rover along the twisting hill road for a further mile or so before our routes separated.
It was around nine o'clock that I crossed the border into Cornwall. This was at least three hours before the rain began and the clouds were still all of a brilliant white. In fact, many of the sights that greeted me this morning were among the most charming I have so far encountered. It was unfortunate, then, that I could not for much of the time give to them the attention they warranted; for one may as well declare it, one was in a condition of some preoccupation with the thought that - barring some unseen complication - one would be meeting Miss Kenton again before the day's end. So it was, then, that while speeding along between large open fields, no human being or vehicle apparent for miles, or else steering carefully through marvellous little villages, some no more than a cl.u.s.ter of a few stone cottages, I found myself yet again turning over certain recollections from the past. And now, as I sit here in Little Compton, here in the dining room of this pleasant hotel with a little time on my hands, watching the rain splas.h.i.+ng on the pavements of the village square outside, I am unable to prevent my mind from continuing to wander along these same tracks.
One memory in particular has preoccupied me all morning - or rather, a fragment of a memory, a moment that has for some reason remained with me vividly through the years. It is a recollection of standing alone in the back corridor before the closed door of Miss Kenton's parlour; I was not actually facing the door, but standing with my person half turned towards it, transfixed by indecision as to whether or not I should knock; for at that moment, as I recall, I had been struck by the conviction that behind that very door, just a few yards from me, Miss Kenton was in fact crying. As I say, this moment has remained firmly embedded in my mind, as has the memory of the peculiar sensation I felt rising within me as I stood there like that. However, I am not at all certain now as to the actual circ.u.mstances which had led me to be standing thus in the back corridor. It occurs to me that elsewhere in attempting to gather such recollections, I may well have a.s.serted that this memory derived from the minutes immediately after Miss Kenton's receiving news of her aunt's death; that is to say, the occasion when, having left her to be alone with her grief, I realized out in the corridor that I had not offered her my condolences. But now, having thought further, I believe I may have been a little confused about this matter; that in fact this fragment of memory derives from events that took place on an evening at least a few months after the death of Miss Kenton's aunt - the evening, in fact, when the young Mr Cardinal turned up at Darlington Hall rather unexpectedly.
Mr Cardinal's father, Sir David Cardinal, had been for many years his lords.h.i.+p's closest friend and colleague, but had been tragically killed in a riding accident some three or four years prior to the evening I am now recalling. Meanwhile, the young Mr Cardinal had been building something of a name for himself as a columnist, specializing in witty comments on international affairs. Evidently, these columns were rarely to Lord Darlington's liking, for I can recall numerous instances of his looking up from a journal and saying something like: ”Young Reggie writing such nonsense again. Just as well his father's not alive to read this.” But Mr Cardinal's columns did not prevent him being a frequent visitor at the house; indeed, his lords.h.i.+p never forgot that the young man was his G.o.dson and always treated him as kin. At the same time, it had never been Mr Cardinal's habit to turn up to dinner without any prior warning, and I was thus a little surprised when on answering the door that evening I found him standing there, his briefcase cradled in both arms.
”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Stevens, how are you?” he said.
”Just happened to be in a bit of a jam tonight and wondered if Lord Darlington would put me up for the night.”
”It's very nice to see you again, sir. I shall tell his lords.h.i.+p you are here.”
”I'd intended to stay at Mr Roland's place, but there seems to have been some misunderstanding and they've gone away somewhere. Hope it's not too inconvenient a time to call. I mean, nothing special on tonight, is there?”
”I believe, sir, his lords.h.i.+p is expecting some gentlemen to call after dinner.”
”Oh, that's bad luck. I seem to have chosen a bad night. I'd better keep my head low. I've got some pieces I have to work on tonight anyway.” Mr Cardinal indicated his briefcase.
”I shall tell his lords.h.i.+p you are-here, sir. You are, in any case, in good time to join him for dinner.”
”Jolly good, I was hoping I might have been. But I don't expect Mrs Mortimer's going to be very pleased with me.”
I left Mr Cardinal in the drawing room and made my way to the study, where I found his lords.h.i.+p working through some pages with a look of deep concentration. When I told him of Mr Cardinal's arrival, a look of surprised annoyance crossed his face. Then he leaned back in his chair as though puzzling something out.
”Tell Mr Cardinal I'll be down shortly,” he said finally. ”He can amuse himself for a little while.”
When I returned downstairs, I discovered Mr Cardinal moving rather restlessly around the drawing room examining objects he must long ago have become familiar with. I conveyed his lords.h.i.+p's message and asked him what refreshments I might bring him.
”Oh, just some tea for now, Stevens. Who's his lords.h.i.+p expecting tonight?”
”I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I am unable to help you.”
”No idea at all?”