CHAPTER XIX
GALVIN HOUSE AFTER THE RAID
The next day and for many days Galvin House abandoned itself to theraid. The air was full of rumours of the appalling casualtiesresulting from the bomb that had been dropped in the next street. Noone knew anything, everyone had heard something. The horrors confidedto each other by the residents at Galvin House would have kept theGrand Guignol in realism for a generation.
Silent herself, Patricia watched with interest the ferment around her.With the exception of Mrs. Craske-Morton, all seemed to desire most ofall to emphasize their own attitude of splendid intellectual calmduring the raid. They spoke scornfully of acquaintances who had flownfrom London because of the danger from bomb-dropping Gothas, theyderided the Thames Valley aliens, they talked heroically andpatriotically about "standing their bit of bombing." In short GalvinHouse had become a harbour of heroism.
Mrs. Craske-Morton, who had shown a calmness and courage that none ofthe others seemed to recognise, had nothing to say except about herbroken glass; on this subject, however, she was eloquent. Miss Wanglemanaged to convey to those who would listen that her own safety, and infact that of Galvin House, was directly due to the intercession of thebishop, who when alive was particularly noted for the power andsustained eloquence of his prayers.
Mr. Bolton was frankly sceptical. If the august prelate was out tosave Galvin House, he suggested, it wasn't quite cricket to let themdrop a bomb in the next street.
Everyone was extremely critical of everyone else. Mr. Bolton saidthings about Mrs. Barnes and her clothes that made Miss Sikkum blush,particularly about the nose, where, with her, emotion always firstmanifested itself. Mr. Sefton had permanently returned to the "womenand children first" phase and, as two cigarettes were missing from hiscase, he was convinced that he had acquitted himself with that air ofreckless bravado that endeared a man to women. He talked pityingly andtolerantly of Gustave's obvious terror.
Mr. Bolton saw in the adventure material for jokes for months to come.He laboured at the subject with such misguided industry that Patriciafelt she almost hated him. Some of his allusions, particularly to thestate of sartorial indecision in which the maids had sought cover, were"not quite nice," as Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe expressed it to Mrs.Hamilton, who returned from a visit the day following.
At breakfast everyone had talked, and in consequence everyone whoworked was late for work; the general opinion being, what was the useof a raid unless you could be late for work? Punctuality on suchoccasions being regarded as the waste of an opportunity, and a directrebuke to Providence who had placed it there.
Patricia did not take part in the general babel, beyond pointing out,when Gustave was coming under discussion, that it was he who had goneto the top of the house to call her. She looked meaningly at Mr.Bolton and Mr. Sefton, who had the grace to appear a little ashamed ofthemselves.
When Patricia returned in the evening, she found Lady Tanagra awaitingher in the lounge, literally bombarded with different accounts of whathad happened--all narrated in the best "eye-witness" manner of thealarmist press. Following the precept of Charles Lamb, Galvin Househad apparently striven to correct the bad impression made throughlateness in beginning work by leaving early.
It was obvious that Lady Tanagra had made herself extremely popular.Everyone was striving to gain her ear for his or her story of personalexperiences.
"Ah, here you are!" cried Lady Tanagra as Patricia entered. "I hearyou behaved like a heroine last night."
Mrs. Craske-Morton nodded her head with conviction.
"Mrs. Morton was the real heroine," said Patricia. "She was splendid!"
Mrs. Craske-Morton flushed. To be praised before so distinguished acaller was almost embarrassing, especially as no one had felt itnecessary to comment upon her share in the evening's excitement.
"Come up with me while I take off my things," said Patricia, as shemoved towards the door. She saw that any private talk between herselfand Lady Tanagra would be impossible in the lounge with Galvin House inits present state of ferment.
In Patricia's room Lady Tanagra subsided into a chair with a sigh. "Ifeel as if I were a celebrity arriving at New York," she laughed.
"They're rather excited," smiled Patricia, "but then we live such ahumdrum life here--the expression is Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe's--and muchshould be forgiven them. A book could be written on the boarding-housemind, I think. It moves in a vicious circle. If someone would onlybreak out and give the poor dears something to talk about."
"Didn't you do that?" enquired Lady Tanagra slily.
Patricia smiled wearily. "I take second place now to the raid. Thinkof living here for the next few weeks. They will think raid, readraid, talk raid and dream raid." She shuddered. "Thank heavens I'moff to-morrow."
"Off to-morrow?" Lady Tanagra raised her eyes in interrogation.
"Yes, to Eastbourne for a fortnight's holiday as provided for in thearrangement existing between one Patricia Brent and Arthur Bonsor,Esquire, M.P. It's part of the wages of the sin of secretaryship."Patricia sighed.
"I hope you'll enjoy----"
"Please don't be conventional," interrupted Patricia. "I shall notenjoy it in the least. Within twenty-four hours I shall long to beback again. I shall get up in the morning and I shall go to bed atnight. In between I shall walk a bit, read a bit, get my nose red(thank heavens it doesn't peel) and become bored to extinction. Onething I won't do, that is wear openwork frocks. The sun shall notprint cheap insertion kisses upon Patricia Brent."
"You're quite sure that it is a holiday," Lady Tanagra looked upquizzically at Patricia as she stood gazing out of the window.
"A holiday!" repeated Patricia, looking round.
"It sounded just a little depressing," said Lady Tanagra.
"It will be exactly what it sounds," Patricia retorted; "onlydepressing is not quite the right word, it's too polite. You don'tknow what it is to be lonely, Tanagra, and live at Galvin House, andtry to haul or push a politician into a rising posture. It reminds meof Carlyle on the Dutch." There was a note of fierce protest in hervoice. "You have all the things that I want, and I wonder I don'tscratch your face and tear your hair out. We are all primitive in ourinstincts really." Then she laughed. "Well! I had to cry out tosomeone, and I shall feel better. It's rather a beastly world for someof us, you know; but I suppose I ought to be spanked for beingungrateful."
"Do you know why I've come?" enquired Lady Tanagra, thinking it wise tochange the subject.
Patricia shook her head. "A more conceited person might have suggestedthat it was to see me," she said demurely.
"To apologise for Peter," said Lady Tanagra. "He disobeyed orders andI am very angry with him."
Patricia flushed at the memory of their good-night. For a few secondsshe stood silent, looking out of the window.
"I think it was rather sweet of him," she said without looking round.
Lady Tanagra smiled slightly. "Then I may forgive him, you think?" sheenquired.
Patricia turned and looked at her. Lady Tanagra met the gazeinnocently.
"He wanted to write to you and send some flowers and chocolates; but Iabsolutely forbade it. We almost had our first quarrel," she addedmendaciously.
For the space of a second Patricia hated Lady Tanagra. She would haveliked to turn and rend her for interfering in a matter that could notpossibly be regarded as any concern of hers. The feeling, however, wasonly momentary and, when Lady Tanagra rose to go, Patricia was ascordial as ever.
From Galvin House Lady Tanagra drove to the Quadrant.
"Peter!" she cried as she entered the room and threw herself into aneasy chair, "if ever I again endeavour to divert true love from itsnormal----"
"How is she?"' interrupted Bowen.
"Now you've spoiled it," cried Lady Tanagra, "and it was----"
"Spoiled what?" demanded Bowen.
"My beautiful phrase about true love and its normal channel, and I havebeen sa
ying it over to myself all the way from Galvin House." Shelooked reproachfully at her brother.
"How's Patricia?" demanded Bowen eagerly.
"Fair to moderately fair, rain later, I should describe her," repliedLady Tanagra, helping herself to a cigarette which Bowen lighted."She's going away."
"Good heavens! Where?" cried Bowen.
"Eastbourne."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Damn!"
"My dear Peter," remarked Lady Tanagra lazily, "this primitiveprofanity ill becomes----"
"Please don't rot me, Tan," he pleaded. "I've had a rotten timelately."
There was helpless and hopeless pain in Bowen's voice that caused LadyTanagra to spring up from her chair and go over to him.
"Carry on, old boy," she cried softly, as she caressed his coat-sleeve."It's your only chance. You're going to win."
"I must see her!" blurted out Bowen.
"If you do you'll spoil everything," announced Lady Tanagra withconviction.
"But, last night," began Bowen and paused.
"Last night, I think," said Lady Tanagra, "was a master-stroke. She istouched; it's taken us forward at least a week."
"But look here, Tan," said Bowen gloomily, "you told me to leave it allin your hands and you make me treat her rottenly, then you say----"
"That you know about as much of how to make a woman like Patricia fallin love with you as an ostrich does of geology," said Lady Tanagracalmly.
"But what will she think?" demanded Bowen.
"At present she is thinking that Eastbourne will be a nightmare ofloneliness."
"I'll run down and see her," announced Bowen.
"If you do, Peter!" There was a note of warning in Lady Tanagra'svoice.
"All right," he conceded gloomily. "I'll give you another week, andthen I'll go my own way."
"Peter, if you were smaller and I were bigger I think I should spankyou," laughed Lady Tanagra. Then with great seriousness she said, "Iwant you to marry her, and I'm going the only way to work to make herlet you. Do try and trust me, Peter."
Bowen looked down at her with a smile, touched by the look in her eyes.For a moment his arm rested across her shoulders. Then he pushed hertowards the door. "Clear out, Tan. I'm not fit for a bear-pitto-night."
The Bowens were never demonstrative with one another.
For half an hour Bowen sat smoking one cigarette after another until hewas interrupted by the entrance of Peel, who, after a comprehensiveglance round the room, proceeded to administer here and there thosedeft touches that emphasize a patient and orderly mind. Bowen watchedhim as he moved about on the balls of his feet.
"Have you ever been to Eastbourne, Peel?" enquired Bowen presently.Just why he asked the question he could not have said.
"Only once, my lord," replied Peel as he replaced the full ash-tray onthe table by Bowen with a clean one. There was a note in his voiceimplying that nothing would ever tempt him to go there again.
"You don't like it?" suggested Bowen.
"I dislike it intensely, my lord," replied Peel as he refolded a copyof _The Times_.
"Why?"
"It has unpleasant associations, my lord," was the reply.
Bowen smiled. After a moment's silence he continued:
"Been sowing wild oats there?"
"No, my lord, not exactly."
"Well, if it's not too private," said Bowen, "tell me what happened.At the moment I'm particularly interested in the place."
Peel gazed reproachfully at a copy of _The Sphere_, which had managedin some strange way to get its leaves dog-eared. As he proceeded tosmooth them out he continued:
"It was when I was young, my lord. I was engaged to be married. Ithought her a most excellent young woman, in every way suitable. Shewent down to Eastbourne for a holiday." He paused.
"Well, there doesn't seem much wrong in that," said Bowen.
"From Eastbourne she wrote, saying that she had changed her mind,"proceeded Peel.
"The devil she did!" exclaimed Bowen. "And what did you do?"
"I went down to reason with her, my lord," said Peel.
"Does one reason with a woman, Peel?" enquired Bowen with a smile.
"I was very young then, my lord, not more than thirty-two." Peel'stone was apologetic. "I discovered that she had received an offer ofmarriage from another."
"Hard luck!" murmured Bowen.
"Not at all, my lord, really," said Peel philosophically. "Idiscovered that she had re-engaged herself to a butcher, a mostoffensive fellow. His language when I expostulated with him wasincredibly coarse, and I am sure he used marrow for his hair."
"And what did you do?" enquired Bowen.
"I had taken a return ticket, my lord. I came back to London."
Bowen laughed. "I'm afraid you couldn't have been very badly hit,Peel, or you would not have been able to take it quite sophilosophically."
"I have never allowed my private affairs to interfere with myprofessional duties, my lord," replied Peel unctuously.
For five minutes Bowen smoked in silence. "So you do not believe inmarriage," he said at length.
"I would not say that, my lord; but I do not think it suitable for aman of temperament such as myself. I have known marriages quitesuccessful where too much was not required of the contracting parties."
"But don't you believe in love?" enquired Bowen.
"Love, my lord, is like a disease. If you are on the look out for ityou catch it, if you ignore it, it does not trouble you. I was oncewith a gentleman who was very nervous about microbes. He would nevereat anything that had not been cooked, and he had everything about himdisinfected. He even disinfected me," he added as if in proof of theextreme eccentricity of his late employer.
"So I suppose you despise me for having fallen in love andcontemplating marriage," said Bowen with a smile.
"There are always exceptions, my lord," responded Peel tactfully. "Ihave prepared the bath."
"Peel," remarked Bowen as he rose and stretched himself, "disinfectedor not disinfected, you are safe from the microbe of romance."
"I hope so, my lord," responded Peel as he opened the door.
"I wonder if history will repeat itself," murmured Bowen as he walkedthrough his bedroom into the bathroom. "I, too, hate Eastbourne."