The Romantic Adventures of Mr. Darby and of Sarah His Wife (18 page)

But though it seemed to him already a dream, it was a dream from which he could not escape and did not wish to escape, for his heart was deeply involved in it. He loved Newchester, he loved the office, and, he only now realized how much, he loved his home; and those old haunts of his and the life he had lived among them began already to take on a rich, emotional significance of which, at the time, he had only rarely been conscious. The train had already flung the bridge and the Dole Valley and Newchester behind it, and in Mr. Darby's mind too Newchester fell back into distance, shrank to a small compact city crowded into which the Stedmans, the Cribbs, Mr. Marston, McNab, Pellow and his other friends pursued their busy uneventful lives like bees in a hive. The rich melancholy belonging to things of the past enveloped them. Mr. Darby paid them the tribute of a sigh and immediately roused himself. This, the very moment of the launching of his career, was no time for melancholy reflection, for gazing backward. The good ship Darby had just had her wedges knocked from under her, had slowly creaked into motion from her cradle in Number Seven Moseley Terrace, and now, having flung off the prisoning enclosure of walls and sheds and land-lumber, was sliding swiftly, effortlessly down her well-greased slipway, into the open breezy waters of the world. Mr. Darby glanced at one window then at the other. On either side of him the land was sliding away smoothly behind him. This was pioneering, if
you like. He was forging ahead, driving an irresistible wedge into the unknown; discovering, every moment, and recklessly flinging his discoveries behind him, impatient for more. And not only was there this condition of constant change to be enjoyed; there was also this delightful first-class carriage, with its luxurious cushions, its mirrors and photographs of notable places, its fascinating knobs and levers for controlling the ventilation and the heating, stopping the whole train if he so desired (though at the risk of forfeiting £5. But what was £5 to a millionaire?) and the little bell labelled ‘Attendant.' A bolder spirit no doubt would have pulled the Alarm and stopped the train, had his five-pounds-worth out of it just for the pleasure of tasting his power, but Mr. Darby did not feel himself able to dominate a situation of that sort yet. Besides if one pulled it when the train was going at this speed, goodness knows if the sudden stop would not produce a ghastly accident? No, he would let the Alarm alone. And the temperature of the carriage was just right, so he wouldn't meddle with the heating apparatus. But soon, without a word to Sarah and as if the action was a mere matter of routine, he would press the little button labelled Attendant and, when the attendant came, casually order tea. He smiled and suddenly caught Sarah's eye. He had forgotten her. She was watching him and was smiling too.

‘Well,' she said; ‘enjoying yourself?'

Mr. Darby felt a little guilty at the question, for Sarah spoke almost as if she were speaking to a small boy. Had he been too obviously gloating? After all, one ought outwardly to take things for granted: it would be … well, not quite dignified to make too much of a fuss about them, whatever one might feel privately.

He shrugged his shoulders and made a gesture implying equanimity tinged with indifference. ‘Are you?' he asked.

Sarah nodded. ‘Very much,' she said. ‘There's no denying that first-class makes all the difference.'

‘Yes,' Mr. Darby admitted, ‘these carriages are very well … ah … appointed. Some of the new rolling stock, I fancy.'

‘The best thing about it, to my mind,' said Sarah, ‘is those clean white antimacassars. I never could bear the idea of leaning my head against a third-class cushion. You never know what you might get from them.'

Mr. Darby indicated the slightly open window with a gloved hand, ‘You don't feel the draught?'

‘Not at all,'said Sarah. ‘We
must
have a little air.'

Mr. Darby took up an illustrated paper from the seat beside him.

‘Quite! Quite!' he said. ‘Care to see
The Tatler? ‘
Sarah accepted it with a faintly amused smile, and Mr. Darby gravely selected
The Sketch
for himself.

At York a liveried footman invaded them, bestowed bags and umbrellas on the rack and made way for a lady and gentleman who took the seats at the other side of the carriage. The gentleman's face was vaguely familiar to Mr. Darby but where or when he had seen it he couldn't for the life of him remember. Was he, perhaps, a client of Mr. Marston's, and had he seen him in the office? He hoped not, for in his present mood he did not relish the idea of being recalled in his old role with a pencil behind his ear. It might impair the effect of this new role in the performance of which he was at present absorbed. And so Mr. Darby enclosed himself within the pages of
The Sketch
and there preserved a discreet incognito. It was not until an attendant appeared in the doorway demanding orders for tea that, hearing his fellow traveller order tea for two, he ventured to emerge and somewhat timidly hold up two gloved fingers and signal tea for another two to the attendant. After a while the attendant returned, neatly contrived a table down the centre of the carriage and then brought a tea tray for each pair. The lady and Sarah and Mr. Darby began to take off their gloves. The gentleman was gloveless already. Then Sarah began to pour out tea and so did the lady. She was a large woman, as tall, though not quite as broad as Sarah, and she poured out tea with the quick, decisive movements of a person of vigour and determination. She was not good-looking, but her face was striking and more distinguished than those of most
good-looking women. The high cheekbones, the fine beaklike nose, the blue eyes that looked straight and challengingly at whatever they looked at, would not easily be forgotten; and her talk, in the few phrases she had addressed to her husband, was straight, precise, and to the point. Mr. Darby thought her a formidable person, and though now, as she sat on the same side of the carriage as he did, he could not easily see her, her voice and manner of speech made him feel ill at ease. The gentleman looked much more reassuring, and Mr. Darby wished heartily that he had left the lady at home. He started visibly when, having handed a cup to the gentleman, she suddenly turned and said to Sarah:

‘Tea is a great help on these occasions, isn't it?'

‘It's a help at any time,' said Sarah.

It helps to kill time,' said the gentleman, ‘and that's a blessing on a dull journey like this one.'

‘I don't find it dull,' said Mr. Darby; ‘but then I'm always … ah … entertained when travelling. The view and so on! ‘he waved a hand to the window.

‘But such a dull view,' replied the gentleman. ‘However, perhaps you haven't to do the journey as often as we have. I generally prefer to do it by night and sleep through it. It saves time. Some day, no doubt, we shall all fly it, as a matter of course, in a couple of hours or so.'

‘No flying for me,' said Sarah with decision.

‘Nor for me,' said the lady. ‘I prefer terra firma.'

Mr. Darby declared his willingness and intention to fly. Travelling, he explained, was his hobby.

‘You've done much?' asked the gentleman.

‘No … ah … no, not much. In fact, remarkably little. But I hope to. And, having recently retired from … ah … business, I shall have more opportunity.'

The conversation turned to foreign parts. It appeared that their new acquaintances knew India and parts of Africa, and Mr. Darby made certain enquiries about jungles, in consequence of which many of the less pleasant details of Major Blenkinsop's information were confirmed.

‘It's all very well when you're young,' said the gentleman, ‘but for people of your and my age, it doesn't do.'

Mr. Darby enquired if he knew Australia. ‘Not at all,' said the gentleman. ‘Do you know it yourself?'

‘No,'said Mr. Darby; ‘though doubtless I shall have to go there sooner or later. I have a good deal of property there,' he added, throwing out the information in a casual and somewhat blase tone.

When both parties had finished their tea the gentleman declared his intention of having a smoke. ‘I think there's room in the smoking carriage next door,' he said, and asked Mr. Darby if he would join him. Mr. Darby rose with alacrity and followed the gentleman out of the carriage fingering his breast pocket for his cigar case.

As soon as the two women were alone, the lady turned to Sarah and said: ‘I know your face quite well. We've met before, more than once.'

‘I recognized your ladyship directly you came into the carriage,' said Sarah. ‘Your ladyship saw me often at Blanchford in old days. I was head housemaid there for some years.'

‘Of course you were. And your name was … Crouch … no, not quite Crouch. Bouch.”

Sarah smiled. ‘Your ladyship has a wonderful memory. It is over twenty years since last we met.'

‘I never forget a face or a name,' said the lady.

‘Your lady's maid Susan Stokes,' said Sarah, ‘used to be a great friend of mine. I suppose she isn't still with your ladyship?'

‘Indeed she is,' said Lady Savershill. ‘Stokes would never leave me, except to get married, and it's rather late for that now. She's fifty-two. She'll be glad to hear I've met you.'

‘I'm sure she will. Please give her my best love, my lady,—Sarah Bouch's best love.'

‘I will. But tell me what your name is now?'

‘Darby, my lady. I married James Darby, twenty years
ago and we have lived happily and quietly in Savershill ever since until a month or two ago when my husband came in for a very large fortune. That's how we come to be travelling first-class now.'

‘I congratulate you, Mrs. Darby.'

‘Don't congratulate me, my lady,' said Sarah sardonically. ‘I'd much rather be free of it. I've been accustomed to work all my life and I can't do without it. I couldn't bear to be idle. If the money was mine I would give most of it away, and glad to be rid of it. Unfortunately my husband is delighted with his forty thousand a year. He wants to travel and, though we haven't yet discussed it, I'm sure he'll want a large house and lots of servants. It was all I could do to stop him storing our furniture and getting rid of our little house in Savershill.'

‘You don't care for travelling, then?'

‘I've never done it, my lady, and I don't want to begin. I enjoy a short holiday well enough, but I hate the idea of wandering about from place to place idle and with no home to look after, and a great house full of servants, and me in the middle of it with nothing to do. Why, I'd be so envious of my footmen and housemaids and under-housemaids that I'd hardly be able to stop myself snatching the brushes and dusters out of their hands. It's all very well for your ladyship and others of your position, but for people, like me, accustomed to work and wrapt up in their work, work means … well … everything.'

‘I thoroughly understand that,' said Lady Savershill. ‘In fact, though, as you say, it may be different for some of the people who, like me, have never worked with their hands, I myself have always felt the want of it. I should have been all the better, I should still be all the better, for two or three hours a day of good hard work. You see I'm a strong woman, Mrs. Darby, and a methodical one. I should make an excellent housemaid. But if I were to insist on making the beds and washing the dishes and scrubbing the floors, people would say I was a crank. And the worst of it is, I
should
be a crank. You, for instance, would think me one, wouldn't you? ‘

‘I'm bound to say I should, my lady,' said Sarah at once. They both laughed.

‘There you are! As things are at present, I should be doing it, not because it
had
to be done but because it was my hobby, and that would make all the difference.'

‘Yes,'said Sarah, ‘it would take all the … well, all the decency out of it.'

‘It would. Even if I dismissed one of my housemaids and did her work myself, I should be doing someone out of the employment she needed and for which I could afford to pay her. But though I have to get any exercise I want out of walking and hunting and fishing, I don't lead an idle life, Mrs. Darby. Don't run away with that idea. On the contrary I work like a Trojan. I'm at my desk most days from half past nine to half past one, and often for a couple of hours after luncheon too. And when I'm not doing that I'm at Committee Meetings or inspecting hospitals. My husband you see is Chairman of the Hospital Co-ordination Society, and I'm secretary of the northern division. And besides all this I run my own houses. As Stokes may have told you, I don't approve of leaving the management of one's own house to others. I prefer to be in control. Besides, if the truth must be told, I manage it better than others would. I need hardly tell you, Mrs. Darby, after your experience at Blanchford, that the management of a large house takes a good deal of skill and experience.'

‘I know that, my lady. I often acted as housekeeper at Blanchford when Mrs. Race was away or ill.'

‘I remember that you did, and that the Duchess used to say you were better at the job than Mrs. Race.'

‘I was more interested in it than she was,' said Sarah. ‘She found it tiring and worrying. I found it …'

‘Exhilarating. I'm sure you did. And my opinion is that you have been wasted, all these last twenty years. What
you
want …'

But what Sarah wanted remained unspoken, for at that moment the Ticket Collector looked in and asked for tickets and, immediately after, Lord Savershill and Mr.
Darby returned, Mr. Darby glowing beatifically as if he had just emerged from a Turkish bath. But during the remainder of the journey this glow suffered momentary chills, for more than once he found himself to be the subject of Lady Savershill's inspection. It was not an unfriendly inspection, but he found those bright, direct, amused, analytic eyes disturbing to his composure and felt himself compelled more than once to call up his reserves of dignity.