A Grave Man (38 page)

He was not himself – that was certain. He went straight to a cupboard near his desk, poured a whisky and squirted soda water from a siphon into the glass. Edward was still at the window and it was quite evident that Vansittart had forgotten all about him. He coughed gently.

‘Lord Edward,’ Vansittart said in surprise. ‘Pray let me apologize. The fact is I have had some extraordinary news and – will you have one of these?’ He indicated the whisky and Edward nodded. ‘The fact is – and I don’t see why you shouldn’t be the first to hear it – Anthony has resigned.’

‘Resigned! Mr Eden is no longer Foreign Secretary?’

‘Correct. He will make an announcement in the Commons this afternoon. Not a word until then – on your honour.’

‘Of course, but why has he resigned?’

‘He says he cannot stay now the Prime Minister has effectively take over the conduct of foreign affairs himself. The PM has been negotiating with Signor Grandi, the Italian ambassador, behind Anthony’s back. Apparently, we will recognize Italy’s annexation of Abyssinia in return for the withdrawal of Italian troops from Spain, Furthermore, Signor Mussolini is to act as an “honest broker” between the Prime Minister and Hitler. In short, we shall give the dictators what they want in exchange for a promise that they will leave us alone.’

‘But that’s shameful! What about our treaty obligations to France . . . to the rest of Europe?’

‘They count for nothing,’ Vansittart said, draining his whisky and pouring himself another one.

‘And you . . .?’ Edward asked, caught up in the drama and speaking more freely than he had any right to do. ‘You remain to serve the next Foreign Secretary . . . Lord Halifax, I presume.’ The sarcasm was unintended but that was the way it came out and it seemed to sting Vansittart. Edward wondered afterwards if he had been in some way responsible for Sir Robert’s decision to resign but the man had principles and would inevitably have decided he could not stay to put into effect policies which he regarded as against the interests of his country.

‘I, too, Lord Edward, shall resign. Have no doubt about that. I fear I will be unable to help you as I had planned. You will have to apply to my successor but that is the way of the world. I wish you luck.’

Edward put down his empty glass. ‘Sir Robert, you are a great man and I shall always remember with gratitude your kindness to me. I salute you and admire you. I shall not take up any more of your time.’

Vansittart nodded and Edward saw, as they shook hands, that he was too moved to speak. Peace had been bought at the expense of principle and most people would just be grateful that for one day . . . one week . . . one year more the bombs were not to shower down on them. One day soon, the price would have to be paid with interest. One did not have to be Foreign Secretary to know that. As Edward left the building, he saw Anthony Eden – straight-backed and dapper in his perfectly pressed suit – get into his official car to drive the few yards to Downing Street. It was the end of an era and Edward shivered as he imagined what was to follow.

Fenton looked far from his normal calm self when he opened the door on Edward’s return to Albany. ‘My lord, I am glad you are back. Miss Cardew is here.’

‘Yes, I invited her to lunch. To tell the truth, I had almost forgotten in the excitement. You see . . .’

‘My lord, forgive me for interrupting but Miss Cardew is in your bathroom and she won’t come out.’

‘What on earth do you mean? In my bathroom . . .?’

‘She asked whether she could powder her nose and, of course, I said she could. She knows where the visitors’ lavatory is so I had no need to show her. When I re-entered the drawing-room, I realized she had chosen to use your bathroom.’

‘Well, I don’t mind. What’s the problem?’

‘The problem is that she has been in there for twenty-five minutes. I knocked on the door a few minutes ago and there was no answer. And then, just before you came in, I listened at the door and I thought I heard her moaning. I was just about to break down the door. She has bolted it on the inside.’

It was not like Fenton to take alarm without good cause so Edward hurried through his bedroom and knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Maggie! Are you all right?’ he called. There was no answer but he thought he heard something which might be a groan. ‘Hold my coat, will you, Fenton. I’m going to put my shoulder to the door.’

The bolt gave way without difficulty and the door flew open. Maggie was standing as if in a dream, staring in the shaving mirror. She had Edward’s razor in her hand and was just about to make another cut in her cheek which was already striated with bloodied furrows. She had literally harrowed her skin and turned her face to pulp. Edward wrestled the razor from her and, with Fenton’s help, half carried her into his bedroom and laid her on the bed.

While Fenton went off to ring for an ambulance, Edward knelt beside her and tried to soothe her. He did not dare touch her face in case, in his ignorance, he made things worse. ‘Maggie! Maggie! What made you do this?’ Moaning but not crying, she tried to turn her head away. ‘Maggie, can you hear me? An ambulance is on its way but I must know why you did this to yourself. Was it my fault? I thought we were happy together.’

‘Teddy – he cut his wrists,’ she muttered.

‘Oh my God. I am so sorry. Is he . . .?’

‘He had taken one of my hairpins and I don’t know how . . . used it as a knife.’

‘But he’s alive?’

‘Yes. I went to see him in the prison hospital.’

‘Well, then – why do this to yourself? Tell me!’

‘He . . . he had been told I was . . . I was seeing you.’ She swallowed her words but Edward understood what she was saying.

‘But I thought you had told him we were . . . we were friends.’

‘I did not dare because I knew he would say I was betraying him. He called me a whore . . . he said . . . he said I was more beautiful
with
my scar. He said I was as ugly as sin and no man could love me. He said there was a scar on my soul. He said . . .’

‘Oh, my poor girl. How terrible! But you are beautiful. I think you are beautiful.’

‘I came to talk to you but you weren’t here and . . . and I looked in the mirror and saw that he was right. I am ugly. I deserve to be ugly. All I could do was let my wickedness out. The Harrowing of Hell.’

Edward buried his head in the sheet. The suffering of this woman would know no end. He suddenly thought of Verity finding the razor in Maud Pitt-Messanger’s bathroom at Swifts Hill on the night she slit her wrists. Yes! The Harrowing of Hell just about described it – the desire to be released from the inferno and to find redemption in blood.

The ambulance arrived and a temporary bandage was wrapped round Maggie’s cheek. Edward went with her to hospital and she seemed to find some comfort in the pressure of his hand in hers. He thought she might be repulsed by him but what she had done to herself seemed to have brought her some sort of peace. It was as if, having paid the price, she no longer had any guilt.

Four hours later, quite exhausted, he returned to his rooms. Fenton brought him whisky and asked after Maggie. He told him that her life was not in danger but that she would be very much scarred.

‘I am sorry to hear that, my lord. I blame myself for not having broken down the door much earlier but when I showed Miss Cardew into the drawing-room she seemed quite her normal self.’

‘Don’t blame yourself, Fenton. I think it was only when she saw herself in the mirror that her grief and guilt broke through. Rationally, she knew she was doing nothing wrong in being friends with me. I was not her brother’s enemy but, unfortunately, I proved to be his nemesis. Seeing herself without the scar she had lived with for so many years, her reason broke down and she was overwhelmed with guilt. I am no Freud but I believe what she did is not dissimilar from holy men whipping the skin off their backs to punish themselves for being human.’

To Fenton, he sounded bitter and deeply depressed. The telephone rang, much to his relief, and he went off to answer it.

‘It’s the Duchess, my lord. She asks for a word with you.’

‘Oh God! I suppose I must,’ Edward said, levering himself out of his chair. Much as he loved Connie, he really did not want to speak to anyone just now.

‘Ned, I’m sorry to bother you but I felt I had to tell you.’

‘Tell me what?’

‘It’s Frank. He has gone to America with Miss Schuster-Slatt.’

‘But he’s at Cambridge,’ Edward said stupidly. ‘It’s still term time, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, and I think this will get him sent down.’

‘But why has he gone to America? I don’t understand. Did he tell you?’

‘He wrote to me. He said he wanted me to understand. He loves America. He wants to be an American and he is going to work with someone called . . .’ Edward heard paper rustling. ‘Mr Kinsey. Have you ever heard of him? Frank says he’s some sort of scientist.’

Edward heard her voice shake. Connie was trying to be brave but she was very near the edge.

‘The stupid boy! I thought he had finished with that Schuster-Slatt woman. I thought . . . I hoped she had scared him off. Blast and damnation! They’re not planning to get married or anything?’

‘He doesn’t say so. Ned, what on earth are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry, Connie, I’ll have to ring you back. There’s someone at the door. Look, don’t worry. It’ll sort itself out somehow. Frank’s not a complete idiot.’

Edward rang off hoping he was right. What a day! Surely nothing else could go wrong? As he turned he saw who his visitor was. Verity stood in the hall looking forlorn and almost scared.

‘Have I come at a bad moment?’ she asked, seeing his face. ‘Fenton’s just been telling me that Miss Cardew – Maggie . . .’

‘Yes, she wanted to put the scar back on her face,’ he said brutally. ‘Her brother had called her a whore for being friends with me. Oh, yes and Connie has been telling me that Frank has run off to America with Sadie Schuster-Slatt.’

Verity grimaced. ‘That’s terrible. Poor Edward, but your wound? Is that . . .?’

‘Have I recovered from my wound to the heart?’ he asked sarcastically. ‘How
is
Adam, by the way?’

‘Well, that’s why I’m back in England. The fact is that he’s been kidnapped – arrested, I suppose.’

‘Oh God! I am so sorry, V. When did it happen?’ Edward was immediately penitent.

‘On January 16th. He had taken me to this concert . . .’

‘I thought you didn’t like music.’

‘I don’t but Adam was . . . is mad about Gustav Mahler. I had never heard of him, of course!’ she said bitterly. ‘He wants to teach me about music . . . He managed to get tickets for a performance of Mahler’s ninth symphony which he had never heard. It was conducted by Bruno Walter. I hadn’t heard of him either but apparently he’s the nibs. Anyway, it was to be a sort of protest. You see, Mahler’s music is no longer performed in Germany because he was a Jew. And, of course, if Hitler does what he threatens and takes over Austria, he won’t be performed in Vienna either, despite the fact that he directed the Vienna Philharmonic in what Adam calls its golden age. You can guess how tense we all were. It was the most wonderful music I have ever heard and the saddest, too. It made sense of everything we are fighting for. Von Schuschnigg, the Austrian Chancellor, was there and, as we stood for the national anthem, I saw that he was weeping.’

‘But who arrested Adam?’

‘I’m not sure but Himmler’s thugs, I think. Himmler has called him a traitor for refusing to join the Nazi Party. As we left the concert hall, several men jumped out of a big black car and seized Adam. Before I could do anything, the car had driven off. I screamed and the police came but they did nothing. They don’t want to do anything which might annoy Hitler and, of course, Adam’s a German citizen.’

‘So you think he’s back in Germany?’

‘Where else can he be?’ She shrugged her shoulders and a tear ran down her cheek. Impatiently, she wiped it away with her gloved hand as though this sign of weakness annoyed her.

Edward held out his arms and she came and laid her head on his shoulder like a weary child.

‘What can I do?’ he asked. ‘I mean, you know I would do anything . . .’

‘I was going to ask you if you could see your friend, Sir Robert Vansittart. If the Foreign Office made a fuss, they might let him go.’

‘Too late for that, I fear, V,’ he said regretfully. ‘Sir Robert and Mr Eden have just resigned.’

‘Then there’s nothing to be done.’ She seemed to have surrendered any little hope she had.

‘Look, don’t give up. They’d never dare send Adam to one of those camps. He has too many important friends. How long are you staying in London? We’ll go round to the German Embassy tomorrow. And Weaver . . . if the newspapers . . .’

‘I have to get the boat train tonight. I didn’t want to leave Vienna but I thought . . .’

‘Is there anything I can do . . . anything at all?’

Verity grimaced. ‘I’m not sure . . . Well, there is one thing. Before Adam was arrested, he gave me a dog and I smuggled it back here. I couldn’t leave him in Vienna. It’s quite a small flat.’

‘And this is a big dog?’

‘Not that big.’

‘How big?’

‘It’s a curly-coated retriever.’

‘A curly-coated retriever! I’m sorry, V, but I can’t have a curly-haired dog in Albany. In fact, I can’t keep any animal here. It’s not allowed.’

‘I thought you could take it to Mersham. I thought Connie would like the company. I mean, Basil is very good-natured.’

‘Basil?’

‘Well, he was called Fritz in Vienna but, obviously, I can’t have a dog called Fritz so I changed his name to Basil. Adam liked the name.’

‘But V . . .!’ he protested.

‘He’ll remind you of me.’

‘But V,’ he repeated, ‘I was trying
not
to be reminded of you. Where is he anyway?’

‘He’s downstairs in the taxi.’

‘In the taxi?’

‘Edward – why do you say you want to forget me? We love each other, don’t we?’

‘But I thought Adam . . .?’

‘I told you I might take lovers but that I would always love you. Isn’t that enough?’

Edward started to say that it wasn’t enough but he found, after all, that it was.