The Favorite Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham (22 page)

“It was murder, that’s what it was; do you think I can possibly connive at it?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, father,” said Kathleen sharply. “You can’t give up your own daughter.”

“You’ve put me in a monstrous position,” he repeated.

Millicent shrugged her shoulders again.

“You made me tell you. And I’ve borne it long enough by myself. It was time that all of you bore it too.”

At that moment the door was opened by the maid.

“Davis has brought the car round, sir,” she said.

Kathleen had the presence of mind to say something, and the maid withdrew.

“We’d better be starting,” said Millicent.

“I can’t go to the party now,” cried Mrs Skinner, with horror. “I’m far too upset. How can we face the Heywoods? And the Bishop will want to be introduced to you.”

Millicent made a gesture of indifference. Her eyes held their ironical expression.

“We must go, mother,” said Kathleen. “It would look so funny if we stayed away.” She turned on Millicent furiously. “Oh, I think the whole thing is such frightfully bad form.”

Mrs Skinner looked helplessly at her husband. He went to her and gave her his hand to help her up from the sofa.

“I’m afraid we must go, mother,” he said.

“And me with the ospreys in my toque that Harold gave me with his own hands,” she moaned.

He led her out of the room, Kathleen followed close on their heels, and a step or two behind came Millicent.

“You’ll get used to it, you know,” she said quietly. “At first I thought of it all the time, but now I forget it for two or three days together. It’s not as if there was any danger.”

They did not answer. They walked through the hall and out of the front door. The three ladies got into the back of the car and Mr Skinner seated himself beside the driver. They had no self-starter; it was an old car, and Davis went to the bonnet to crank it up. Mr Skinner turned round and looked petulantly at Millicent.

“I ought never to have been told,” he said. “I think it was most selfish of you.”

Davis took his seat and they drove off to the Canon’s garden-party.

T
HE
new assistant arrived in the afternoon. When the Resident, Mr. Warburton, was told that the prahu was in sight he put on his solar topee and went down to the landing-stage. The guard, eight little Dyak soldiers, stood to attention as he passed. He noted with satisfaction that their bearing was martial, their uniforms neat and clean, and their guns shining. They were a credit to him. From the landing-stage he watched the bend of the river round which in a moment the boat would sweep. He looked very smart in his spotless ducks and white shoes. He held under his arm a gold-headed Malacca cane which had been given him by the Sultan of Perak. He awaited the newcomer with mingled feelings. There was more work in the district than one man could properly do, and during his periodical tours of the country under his charge it had been inconvenient to leave the station in the hands of a native clerk, but he had been so long the only white man there that he could not face the arrival of another without misgiving. He was accustomed to loneliness. During the war he had not seen an English face for three years; and once when he was instructed to put up an afforestation officer he was seized with panic, so that when the stranger was due to arrive, having arranged everything for his reception, he wrote a note telling him he was obliged to go up-river, and fled; he remained away till he was informed by a messenger that his guest had left.

Now the prahu appeared in the broad reach. It was manned by prisoners, Dyaks under various sentences, and a couple of

warders were waiting on the landing-stage to take them back to jail. They were sturdy fellows, used to Uie river, and they rowed with a powerful stroke. As the boat reached the side a man got out from under the attap awning and stepped on shore. The guard presented arms.

“Here we are at last. By God, I’m as cramped as the devil. I’ve brought you your mail.”

lie spoke with exuberant joviality. Mr. Warburton politely held out his hand.

“Mr. Cooper, I presume?”

“That’s right. Were you expecting any one else?”

The question had a facetious intent, but the Resident did not smile.

“My name is Warburton. I’ll show you your quarters. They'll bring your kit along.”

He preceded Cooper along the narrow pathway and they entered a compound in which stood a small bungalow.

“I’ve had it made as habitable as I could, but of course no one has lived in it for a good many years.”

It was built on piles. It consisted of a long living-room which opened on to a broad verandah, and behind, on each side of a passage, were two bedrooms.

“This’ll do me all right,” said Cooper.

“I daresay you want to have a bath and a change. I shall be very much pleased if you’ll dine with me to-night. Will eight o’clock suit you?”

“Any old time will do for me.”

The Resident gave a polite, but slightly disconcerted, smile and withdrew. He returned to the Fort where his own residence was. The impression which Allen Cooper had given him was not very favourable, but he was a fair man, and he knew that it was unjust to form an opinion on so brief a glimpse. Cooper seemed to be about thirty. He was a tall, thin fellow, with a sallow face in which there was not a spot of colour. It was a face all in one tone. He had a large, hooked nose and blue eyes. When, entering the bungalow, he had taken off his topee and flung it to a waiting boy, Mr. Warburton noticed that his large skull, covered with short, brown hair, contrasted somewhat oddly with a weak, small chin. He was dressed in khaki shorts and a khaki shirt, but they were shabby and soiled; and his battered topee had not been cleaned for days. Mr. Warburton reflected that the young man had spent a week on a coasting steamer and had passed the last forty-eight hours lying in the bottom of a prahu.

“We’ll see what he looks like when he comes in to dinner.”

He went into his room where his things were as neatly laid out as if he had an English valet, undressed, and, walking down the stairs to the bath-house, sluiced himself with cool water. The only concession he made to the climate was to wear a white dinner-jacket; but otherwise, in a boiled shirt and a high collar, silk socks and patent-leather shoes, he dressed as formally as though he were dining at his club in Pall Mall. A careful host, he went into the dining-room to see that the table was properly laid. It was gay with orchids and the silver shone brightly. The napkins were folded into elaborate shapes. Shaded candles in silver candlesticks shed a soft light. Mr. Warburton smiled his approval and returned to the sitting-room to await his guest. Presently he appeared. Cooper was wearing the khaki shorts, the khaki shirt, and the nigged jacket in which he had landed. Mr. Warburton’s smile of greeting froze on his face.

“Hulloa, you’re all dressed up,” said Cooper. “I didn’t know you were going to do that. I very nearly put on a sarong.”

“It doesn’t matter at all. 1 daresay your boys were busy.”

“You needn’t have bothered to dress on my account, you know.”

“I didn’t. I always dress for dinner.”

“Even when you’re alone?”

“Especially when I’m alone,” replied Mr. Warburton, with a frigid stare.

He saw a twinkle of amusement in Cooper’s eyes, and he flushed an angry red. Mr. Warburton was a hot-tempered man; you might have guessed that from his red face with its pugnacious features and from his red hair, now growing white; his blue eyes, cold as a rule and observing, could flush with sudden wrath; but he was a man of the world and he hoped a just one. He must do his best to get on with this fellow.

“When I lived in London I moved in circles in which it would have been just as eccentric not to dress for dinner every night as not to have a bath every morning. When I came to Borneo I saw no reason to discontinue so good a habit. For three years, during the war, I never saw a white man. I never omitted to dress on a single occasion on which I was well enough to come in to dinner. You have not been very long in this country; believe me, there is no better way to maintain the proper pride which you should have in yourself. When a white man surrenders in the slightest degree to the influences that surround him he very soon loses his self-respect, and when he loses his self-respect you may be quite sure that the natives will soon cease to respect him.”

“Well, if you expect me to put on a boiled shirt and a stiff collar in this heat I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“When you are dining in your own bungalow you will, of course, dress as you think fit, but when you do me the pleasure of dining with me, perhaps you will come to the conclusion that it is only polite to wear the costume usual in civilized society.” Two Malay boys, in sarongs and songkoks, with smart white coats and brass buttons, came in, one bearing gin pahits, and the other a tray on which were olives and anchovies. Then they went in to dinner. Mr. Warburton flattered himself that he had the best cook, a Chinese, in Borneo, and he took great trouble to have as good food as in the difficult circumstances was possible. He exercised much ingenuity in making the best of his materials.

“Would you care to look at the menu?” he said, handing it to Cooper.

It was written in French and the dishes had resounding names. They were waited on by the two boys. In opposite comers of the room two more waved immense fans, and so gave movement to the sultry air. The fare was sumptuous and the champagne excellent.

“Do you do yourself like this every day?” said Cooper.

Mr. Warburton gave the menu a careless glance.

“I have not noticed that the dinner is any different from usual,” he said. “I eat very little myself, but I make a point of having a proper dinner served to me every night. It keeps the cook in practice and it’s good discipline for the boys.”

The conversation proceeded with effort. Mr. Warburton was elaborately courteous, and it may be that he found a slightly malicious amusement in the embarrassment which he thereby occasioned in his companion. Cooper had not been more than a few months in Sembulu, and Mr. Warburton’s enquiries about friends of his in Kuala Solor were soon exhausted.

“By the way,” he said presently, “did you meet a lad called Hennerley? He’s come out recently, I believe.”

“Oh, yes, he’s in the police. A rotten bounder.” “I should hardly have expected him to be that. His uncle is my friend Lord Barraclough. I had a letter from Lady Barra-clough only the other day asking me to look out for him.”

“I heard he was related to somebody or other. I suppose that’s how he got the job. He’s been to Eton and Oxford and he doesn’t forget to let you know it.”

“You surprise me,” said Mr. Warburton. “All his family have been at Eton and Oxford for a couple of hundred years. I should have expected him to take it as a matter of course.”

“I thought him a damned prig.”

“To what school did you go?”

“I was bora in Barbadoes. I was educated there.”

“Oh, I see.”

Mr. Warburton managed to put so much offensiveness into his brief reply that Cooper flushed. For a moment he was silent.

“I’ve had two or three letters from Kuala Solor,” continued Mr. Warburton, “and my impression was that young Hennerley was a great success. They say he’s a first-rate sportsman.” “Oh, yes, he’s very popular. He’s just the sort of fellow they would like in K.S. I haven’t got much use for the first-rate sportsman myself. What does it amount to in the long run that a man can play golf and tennis better than other people? And who cares if he can make a break of seventy-five at billiards? They attach a damned sight too much importance to that sort of thing in England.”

“Do you think so? I was under the impression that the first-rate sportsman had come out of the war certainly no worse than any one else.”

“Oh, if you’re going to talk of the war then I do know what I’m talking about. I was in the same regiment as Hennerley and I can tell you that the men couldn’t stick him at any price.” “How do you know?”

“Because I was one of the men.”

“Oh, you hadn’t got a commission.”

“A fat chance I had of getting a commission. I was what was called a Colonial. I hadn’t been to a public school and I had no influence. I was in the ranks the whole damned time.”

Cooper frowned. He seemed to have difficulty in preventing himself from breaking into violent invective. Mr. Warburton watched him, his little blue eyes narrowed, watched him and formed his opinion. Changing the conversation, he began to speak to Cooper about the work that would be required of him, and as the clock struck ten he rose.

“Well, I won't keep you any more. I daresay you’re tired by your journey.”

They shook hands.

“Oh, I say, look here,” said Cooper, “I wonder if you can find me a boy. The boy I had before never turned up when I was starting from K.S. He took my kit on board and all that and then disappeared. I didn’t know he wasn’t there till we were out of the river.”

“I’ll ask my head-boy. I have no doubt he can find you some one.”

“All right. Just tell him to send the boy along and if I like the look of him I’ll take him.”