This went on for nearly three-quarters of an hour, interrupted only by murmurs of ‘Superb’ and occasional sly chuckles of appreciation, and then, after Mr Mybug had done, and the feverish applause had ceased, Mdlle Avaler stood up looking positively edible in a cream muslin gown with bright grey ribbons and began to read a poem written in a mixture of English and German by an Existentialist Italian poet residing at Padua. Though it went like this:
Swathed in nought the Dasein is,
Geworfen like a shard;
Values antithetical
Of salve and sin
Yield not to dialectical –
(and so forth)
Flora could not detect any signs of irritation or boredom upon the faces of the audience, and she decided that this was partly because some of them actually did understand what the poem meant (and much good that does them, she thought) and partly because the gentlemen, at least, enjoyed contemplating the cruel charms of Mdlle Avaler’s twenty summers.
The proceedings continued with a reading by a Managerial Revolutionary from the pamphlet entitled The Replacement of Electric Fuses in the Typical Fuse-Container, this being chosen as representative of the contemporary technical literature on the subject. Someone then slavishly suggested that Mr Hubris be invited to read from a work entitled The Managerial Function, but as no one dared to go behind the tree where he lay with his cigars and a dirty book and wake him up, the idea was allowed to drop, and a dim scientist, doped with ether, read aloud two pages from a completely unintelligible work on atomic physics in an inaudible voice before he collapsed. He was briskly hauled aside by two of the Managerial Revolutionaries, and amid a murmur of relieved applause the proceedings came to an end.
‘Have you had a good day, Teacher?’ asked Flora, as the Sage strode past her on his way to the brake. It was plain to see that amidst the bustle of departure and the necessity of restraining the follower’s desires, he had forgotten to await the two strong men who should carry him unresisting to his place, and Flora was relieved, for it meant that she would not have to fag round arranging it.
‘No, daughter. Monkey has been present; Monkey has been running here and there scratching himself and sniffing out distractions and causing feet to stray from the Path.’
‘Oh dear. Didn’t you even like the fresh air and the cucumber sandwiches?’
‘The food was a device of Monkey, daughter; I did not eat it. But contemplation’ – glancing at the beech trees in the late afternoon light – ‘permitted this one’ – touching his breast – ‘and that one’ – glancing at the follower – ‘to acquire a little, a very little, merit. The day has not been entirely given over to Monkey.’
He salaamed and went on his way, and the follower scurried after him. His expression was remorseful and glum, but this was only to be expected, for whenever Flora had happened to catch sight of him throughout the day he had appeared to be very much given over to Monkey.
The departure of the cortège was delayed for some surprising moments while the helper-out, who had been resting his naked what he called plates-of-meat on the moss, pantingly resumed socks and boots under the lofty and incredulous gaze of all the delegates (Mr Claud Hubris could hardly believe his eyes, and almost made a note of the affair with a view to lodging a complaint to the Organizing Secretary), but it set off at last, and the homeward journey passed without untoward incident.
8
‘Come in,’ called Flora, in response to a soft tap upon the door of the Green Parlour, where she sat writing a letter to Charles after dinner on the evening of that same day.
Nancy entered, neatly dressed as always and looking pensive.
‘Good evening, Nancy. Sit down, won’t you?’ said Flora briskly, putting aside her letter. ‘Now how did you get on? Did you ask Reuben to whom he swore the Oath?’
‘Oh yes, Mis’ Fairford, arter tea.’
‘And did he tell you?’
‘Oh no, Mis’ Fairford.’
‘Was he annoyed?’
‘Oh yes, Mis’ Fairford. ’Twere goreish. Un did have a fit, like.’
‘How tiresome. But he wouldn’t tell you?’
‘Un couldna. Un’s face was beswole and un’s eyes beblooded wi’ rage an’ un did foam –’
‘Yes, it must have been very distressing. I hope he has recovered?’
‘I left un readin’ football results in T’ South Sussex Star, Mis’ Fairford. But niver a word will un say about who un sweered th’ Oath to.’
‘How very annoying.’ And Flora reflected for a moment while Nancy stared placidly out of the window at the twilight.
‘I have it!’ suddenly said Flora. ‘You must ask him to come and see me, Nancy. Then I will ask him.’
‘I doubts if un wull come, Mis’ Fairford.’
‘Why not? We are second cousins three times removed.’
‘Ay, but tomorrow evenin’ us ull be main moithered wi’ th’ beetroot dryin’ for th’ winter, Mis’ Fairford.’
‘Tomorrow evening will be too late, Nancy. Reuben must come tonight.’
‘Ter-night! Oh dear-me-soul! Ter-night!’
‘Certainly tonight. The Conference ends on Saturday, and I must return to town. I should like to see the Starkadders back at Cold Comfort by Sunday morning.’
‘In time fer eleven o’clock church!’ said Nancy raptly.
‘My own thoughts exactly.’ Flora bestowed upon her a glance of approval, suppressing the thought that if eleven o’clock saw the Starkadders filing into church next Sunday morning, the Starkadders would be changed indeed. ‘You had better go now, Nancy,’ she continued. ‘I shall expect Reuben at midnight.’
‘Alack, Mis’ Fairford! Midnight!’
‘Yes, I realize that his beauty sleep will be curtailed, and I am sorry to name so late an hour, but by that time the ladies and gentlemen will all be talking or otherwise engaged and not so likely to disturb us.’
At the door Nancy lingered.
‘Please, Mis’ Fairford, how wull ee get ’em all whoam from South Afriky so soon?’
‘By cable and aeroplane, Nancy. It is possible to use such devices for good, and this is one of the occasions when it may be done. Good night.’
The evening drew peacefully on into night. Flora finished her letters, embroidered a small rodent upon a garment for her youngest daughter and read one chapter of an enjoyable stodgy novel. When she shut the book and glanced at the clock, she saw that the hour wanted twenty minutes of midnight. A distant steady roar of conversation pierced by an occasional nervous scream came from the Greate Kitchene, where the delegates were assembled, but fortunately none of them came bothering into the Green Parlour (she could not learn to think of it as the Quiete Retreate), and she was peacefully gazing out through the window, open to the warm dark night, when she saw a light, low down near the ground, moving across the Big Field.
It could not be Reuben’s mog’s-lanthorn, for Reuben would not come from that direction, but it was a lantern, and whoever bore it was moving in a straying, uncertain manner towards her, pausing every now and again as if to search for something lying on the ground.
The light was now no farther than twenty feet from where she sat.
She leant out of the window and called clearly.
‘What are you doing?’
Instantly there was a loud shriek and the light went spinning wildly away and then went out. It is a Starkadder, thought Flora, and sat down to wait.
Pretty soon she heard gasps and faltering footsteps and then a voice, which was familiar though unidentifiable, muttering in the darkness.
‘Me an’ th’ water-voles, we’ve had it. Niver no more, niver no more,’ and the next instant Urk staggered up to the window and his white-and-purple face glared in at her. He wore a frock coat stained with earth and dew, and his top-hat was stove in at one side.
‘I am sorry I alarmed you,’ remarked Flora pleasantly.
‘Arter twenty years! Ten generations o’ water-voles has lived an’ loved an??
? whelped an’ gone to meet their Maker, but you ain’t altered a mite, Robert Poste’s child, sin’ the day you robbed me o’ my Elfine!’
‘It is sixteen years, not twenty (though I admit that “twenty” gives a fruitier ring to your sentence). And surely more than ten generations of water-voles? (Do come in, won’t you? The dew is falling. I am expecting Reuben at any minute for a little talk).’
‘What do town-dwellers know o’ water-voles, Robert Poste’s child?’
‘Next to nothing, I am happy to say, and do you think you could manage to call me Mrs Fairford?’
Urk stared at her with a stony, glozen expression.
She passed a light cane chair out of the window to him, saying winningly, ‘I do wish you would sit down,’ but he flung it from him with an oath.
‘As you please, of course. Is something the matter? What are you looking for? Herbs?’
Urk seemed to be recovering his self-possession. He uttered a short, unpleasant laugh and pushed his hat back into shape.
‘Nay – no, I should say,’ he answered in tones lacking the Starkadder circumlocutions and burr, ‘I employ four lads to pick herbs for me, and in any case they would not be working at this hour. The Junior Herb Cullers Union does not allow its members to pick, pluck, procure, or gather any herb, weed, fungus, moss, pulse or bine between ten p.m. and ten a.m. You will be wondering, of course,’ holding up a very dirty hand as if to check her question, ‘how I contrive to manage the plucking of herbs recommended to be plucked with the dew on them. Your question is perfectly legitimate, and I shall answer it. I employ an extra-union worker, a lad named Hick Dolour. He has been away for a week owing to indisposition, but I expect him back on Monday.’
‘How very interesting,’ said Flora, relieved to see that he had grown quite calm (as calm, that is to say, as a Starkadder could be) while relating all this. Nevertheless, she hoped that he would go away before Reuben arrived. ‘And how is Mrs Starkadder – Meriam?’
But she had said the wrong thing. Urk turned white and purple and bashed his hat in again (at the top this time).
‘Curses on her for a grasping she-rat!’ he gasped. ‘She’ll gie me no peace by day or night until her back’s covered by a water-vole coat. I ha’ offered her coats o’ ivery other fur, ay, an’ bought her one, tu, a main gurt mantle o’ Siberian Swamp Rat at a sale in St Leonard’s; but ’tes in vain – it’s no use, I should say. She du know full well’ – he paused and gulped – ‘what water-voles du mean ter me, iver sin’ I were a liddle ninnet up at our Ticklepenny’s Well. So on dark nights she du send me forth to slay ’em.’
‘Why on dark nights?’ asked Flora, glancing unobtrusively at the clock, which said five minutes to twelve. ‘Surely that makes it more difficult to see them?’
‘Nay. On dark nights they holds their parliaments.’
‘Do they really? I had no idea.’
‘Why should ee hev? They keeps theirselves to their-selves, th’ water-voles du. But they’re gettin’ wise an’ cunnin’, the water-voles are. They’re leavin’ Sussex an’ settlin’ theirselves in Hampshire. Niver a vole did I find this night.’
‘I am glad to hear it. I cannot say that I am surprised at Meriam, because I remember what she used to be like, and I suppose she is still the same, but it does seem a pity about the water-voles. Have you seen Ticklepenny’s Well lately? You always took such an interest in it, I remember.’
‘Nay, I niver goes theer. It fair curdles my belly ter see ut. Th’ well! wheer I used ter spit down into th’ dark secret waters!’
‘Yes, it must be very upsetting for you. There is no water there now, you know.’
‘Th’ water knows.
An’ th’ water flows’ crooned Urk, gazing off through the darkness towards Ticklepenny’s Field, ‘Ay, it’s gone away after th’ water-voles, th’ water has.’
‘It would be a good thing to get the well working again, with constant cold water and a bucket. Don’t you agree?’
After a longish pause Urk made the helpful remark that there was now a curse on the well, so that neither water nor water-voles could return to it.
‘Surely it is simply a question of removing the bricks which block the hole where the stream enters?’ said Flora.
‘Nay. Ye dunna know. ’Tes a curse.’
‘It’s bricks,’ muttered Flora, but did not argue the point, for his interest was aroused and she did not want to annoy him.
She was about to ask him why he let Meriam drive him out at midnight to hunt water-voles when there was a bang on the parlour door, and Reuben slouched in. He looked pale and sullen, and when he caught sight of Urk he started back, crying:
‘Treason, treason! What’s yon goglet o’ tractor oil doin’ here?’
‘Don’t be silly, Reuben; Urk was out hunting and he saw the light from the window and just came in for a chat,’ said Flora.
‘Ay, huntin’ on my land.’
‘Very poor land it is, too,’ retorted Urk, in the oleaginous and superior voice he now used all the time except when he grew excited. ‘Nothing but Live-and-Let-Live and Pussy’s Dinner growing everywhere, and never a water-vole on the place.’
‘An’ whose fault? An’ whose fault?’ Reuben burst out passionately, stepping forward and grasping Urk by his shirtfront and hauling him bodily in through the window. ‘Who ran off like a vole wi’ his belly full, an’ left me here to till an’ toil alone? Ye were th’ first to go, Urk Starkadder, an’ I’ll lay ye’ll be th’ last to come back.’
‘Excuse me, Reuben, I was not the first to go. Pa was the first to go, as you know well. On the night of the last Counting, before Grandmother left for Paris, Pa went off to catch the milk-train in Agony Beetle’s brother’s van, and never came back. So why impute to me a priority I cannot justly lay claim to?’
‘But ee was the next to go, earwig-shard that ee bee’st!’
‘Do sit down, please, both of you,’ said Flora firmly, shutting the window and indicating two chairs. ‘I am glad you have come, Urk, because now we can arrange about re-doing the well; I have always regarded it as your especial interest, and I rely on you to climb down it and remove the bricks when the time is ripe. Now, Reuben, please, if you will just unswear that Oath you took about ploughing the land with the lone hand, we will have the male members of the family back here on Sunday morning in time for eleven o’clock church.’
But Reuben uttered a great cry and sprang from his chair.
‘Niver, Cousin Flora, niver in thissy world nor th’ next! Unswear me oath! I’d liefer lie cold an’ mortsome out on Ticklepenny’s under th’ liddle sparkly stars, I’d liefer cut th’ fursome white throat o’ our Hymie th’ Angora rabbit, I’d liefer –’
‘Yes, I gather what you mean,’ said Flora patiently, ‘and I quite see that there are difficulties. I thought there would be. But if you don’t care to unswear the Oath yourself (I’m not suggesting you should break it, you will notice, only that you should unswear it), why not ask the person you swore it to to absolve you from it?’
Reuben flung up his massively-thewed arms with a wild laugh and turned to Urk.
‘She dunna understand. It needs Starkadder blood to unnerstand,’ he said.
‘I have always understood that my mother was a sister of Aunt Ada Doom,’ said Flora, with dignity. ‘It is true that I have not inherited some of the family characteristics, but I certainly understand the nature of an oath. What I cannot understand is your refusal, when you see what a state the farm is in, to unswear it.’
‘I must be getting along,’ interrupted Urk, importantly, glancing at a platinum watch on his hairy wrist. ‘The wife will be expecting me.’ He turned to Flora. ‘Personally, I see nothing wrong with the farm, except that –’
‘’Cept that her beant a farm no more an’ there beant no Starkadders a-tillin’ o’ her breast,’ interrupted Reuben, gritting his teeth.
‘– Except that parts of the land are overrun with weeds of a non-commercial type and – and,’
his voice faltered and changed, ‘an’ th’ well wheer th’ water-voles an’ me used ter chase each other roun’ and roun’ when we was liddle is all dried up, an’ th’ waters hev followed me liddle playmates into th’ Great Dark.’
‘There you are, you see,’ put in Flora. ‘Reuben loves the land, and you have – er – childhood recollections associated with the well. I do really think, Urk, that you ought to persuade him to unswear that Oath.’
‘Keep yer oily tongue off of me!’ shouted Reuben, towering over his brother. ‘Persuade me! Let un try, an’ see what un wull git. Un hasna’ forgot what I did to un when un tried to persuade th’ sukebind rights off of me.’
‘The sukebind rights?’ said Flora.
‘Ay. Th’ right to pick un off th’ farm lands an’ dry un up, an’ – an’ – use un.’
‘I have, among other enterprises, a small commercial establishment in one of the coastal towns, where I am a stockist of herbal specialities,’ said Urk rather hastily, ‘and I did at one time, on my wife’s advice, suggest that the sukebind might be medicinally utilized. My wife, who has psychic powers, practises cheirotherapy under the pseudonym Madame Zulieka, in premises above my own, and it was she who proposed to prescribe it for her clients. But it was only an idea. Nothing came of it.’
‘No, but ut would hev, if so be as I hadn’t bashed ee,’ said Reuben.
‘Do let us get back to the point, Reuben,’ interrupted Flora. ‘I want to know who you swore that Oath to. Do tell me, won’t you?’