The Impregnable Women, page 19
Presently they walked down Princes Street to the New Club, and had lunch together. Julian ordered cold beef and pickled walnuts, but Lawless, because of his toothless condition, asked for soup and a large whisky and soda. They had scarcely begun their meal when Lawless exclaimed, ‘For God’s sake change places! There’s a man over there whose visage cloys the hungry edge of appetite. And if he sees mine, it will cloy his.’
It was Mr Comyn Curle whom he wished to avoid looking at, or being seen by. The Secretary for War was sharing a table with Sir Joseph Rumble at the other side of the room. He had a sour unhappy look, and from the evidence of his lunch – which consisted of a little steamed fish and half a bottle of Evian water – his digestion was upset.
‘Are you married?’ asked Lawlesss.
‘No,’ said Julian.
‘There’s something petty about a husband. Something petty and mean and selfish. – Soup!’ he barked at the waiter who came to remove his plate. ‘More soup, and another whisky and soda. – They’re monopolists, and I have the smug look of them. By God, when I ship my new dentures I’ll go through their marriage service like a bull through a paper gate.’
Julian frowned, and began to wish that he had found other company for lunch. He looked forward to an exceedingly jealous lordship over Rose, if he should ever regain possession of her; and already his sympathy was all on the side of the married man who must defend his own against pirates. Law-less’s mood, moreover, alternately an ebullient good humour and high-spirted irascibility, seemed to make his voice unnecessarily loud. He was attracting unnecessary attention. The waiter had obviously resented being shouted at, and clearly thought that soup and whisky was a strange meal for any gentleman to choose. As indeed it was. And now Lawless, letting his spoon fall with a clatter and leaning back in his chair, suddenly began to laugh uproariously.
‘I’m sorry,’ he exclaimed, ‘but I can’t help it. I’ve just remembered the look on Buhner’s face when he confessed to having broached the nunnery.’
‘Who’s Bulmer?’
‘One of my honest sailormen. He’s got the desperate melancholy look and the long swinging arms of an anthropoid ape. And a passionate nature. You ought to see him. And to think he went off all on his own, scaled the virgin rock, and penetrated the gynaeceum!’
‘When?’ demanded Julian. ‘And how?’
‘He’s been in for the last two nights. He’s got a young woman there. – Bring me another plate of soup, waiter. What? Well, if the last was ox-tail, make the next tomato. And another whisky and soda.’
‘For God’s sake forget about your soup for a minute, and tell me more about Bulmer. Don’t you realize the importance of this? If he’s found a way into the Castle, it will change the whole situation.’
‘No, it won’t. He goes up the side of the Rock, and then his young woman throws a rope over a wall somewhere. – She’s Lady Lysistrata’s maid, he told me. – But Bulmer’s like a cat. You won’t find anyone else who could tackle that Rock in the darkness.’
Julian was silent for a few minutes, while he considered with rising excitement and from different aspects the significance of what he had heard. Then he said, ‘I’ve done some climbing myself. I used to go to Chamonix.’
‘So you want to horn-in on the Romeo act? Well, I don’t know. It’s Bulmer’s pigeon, and I can’t promise anything, but he might take you along for a couple of quid or so. But don’t blame me if you break your neck.’
‘I wish you’d realize the importance of this, Lawless – you’re not going to ask for more soup, are you?’
‘I certainly am. – I’m going back to the ox-tail this time, waiter, and just a small whisky and soda. – That’s Scrymgeour over there, isn’t it? What’s going to happen now that he’s C.-in-C.? Somebody said he was going to break the strike by suing Lady Lysistrata for restitution of conjugal rights.’
General Scrymgeour was paying his bill at the desk. In the past twelvemonth his hair had gone grey, but his figure was as strong and soldierly as ever, and his flat Mongolian face showed no trace of anxiety or other emotion. His nomination as Commander-in-Chief of Home Defence, announced that morning, had been a surprise to everybody – though the supersession of General Puffin-Lumkyn had been long expected – and it was generally assumed that he had been appointed for the particular purpose of bringing the love-strike to an end. The fact that his wife was the leader of the insurgents did not lessen the interest with which his appointment was received; and even those who knew that his life had always been ruled by the most rigid and selfless conception of duty, could not help wondering what he would do if personal affection and public interest were now suddenly to pull different ways.
‘I must tell him about Bulmer’s discovery,’ said Julian.
‘Well, don’t get one of my sailormen into trouble, will you?’
‘You had better come and talk to Scrymgeour yourself.’
‘No damned fear. I haven’t finished my soup yet.’
‘Then where can Bulmer be found when he’s wanted?’
‘Strictly speaking, he ought to be aboard my destroyer, but actually for the last few days he’s been putting in most of his time – daylight time, that is – at 33 Rolyburn Place, Leith. That’s the address of Lieutenant Peter McCombie, R.N.R., my Navigating Officer and one of our toughest hearts of oak, whose wife has petulantly blown. She’s a striker. So Bulmer, being a handyman, is helping to look after the house and children.’
Julian inquired where Scrymgeour had gone, and found him in a small writing-room. He apologized for his intrusion, and said he had news of the utmost importance. The General listened attentively.
‘Have you seen this man Bulmer?’ he asked.
‘No, sir.’
‘It’s the name of a fellow who was a hand on a small yacht I used to sail.’
‘Lawless said that the woman whom Bulmer visits is Lady Lysistrata’s maid.’
‘Then it’s the same man. He’s got more initiative than I thought.’
A moment later he said, ‘You were in my Division, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And you organized the first attack on the Castle?’
‘But unsuccessfully, sir.’
‘We must do better the next time. Have you any experience yourself of rock-climbing?’
‘I’ve done a little in the French Alps, sir.’
‘Could you do a reconnaissance with this man Bulmer?’
‘I should be very glad to try.’
Scrymgeour, in a leather arm-chair, sat with the solid un-relaxed immobility of a Chinese god. He did not lean comfortably back, nor tautly forward, but seemed in a rigid poise to simulate the petrified comfort of an idol. He was, to some extent, aware of the impassive appearance that he presented, for within the last few months, and especially within the last few days, he had cultivated it as a barrier against the outer world, and a stockade to guard his own feelings. To find Lysistrata in command of the women’s rebellion had been for him a tragic discovery. He cared little about the nature of the rising. It might be undignified, ridiculous to some, in others’ eyes indecent. Such criticism did not affect him. It was the fact of rebellion, the naked treasonable fact, that counted. In his soldier’s religion, treason was the largest sin, and to see his own wife leading a revolt of such magnitude had not merely wounded his love, nor astonished only his pride and confidence, but because of his integrity hurt him in his whole being.
For a moment, but only a moment, he had been tempted to refuse his new appointment. He knew the difficulty of the task he was invited to undertake. He knew also that the Cabinet was hopelessly divided, and no one would defend him if he failed. Two of the Ministers had advised him to be quite ruthless; but their advice, they added, was strictly confidential. Some thought he could be stern without being ruthless, and others were of the opinion that military efficiency was, in the circumstances, not incompatible with the utmost gentleness. Several were flatly opposed to his appointment, others were luke-warm, and the Prime Minister had pleaded for the retention of Puffin-Lumkyn, a dilatory policy, and their old alliance with time; but his opinion had been disregarded. Everybody most earnestly desired that the rebellion should speedily be put down, and nobody was willing to run the risk of being charged with barbarism, or even unkindness, in putting it down. But the need was urgent to do something, and finally they left Scrymgeour to deal as he thought best with the more insoluble elements of the problem.
He had hesitated; and then, because Lysistrata was the leader of the rebels and he had that disgrace to wipe out, he had accepted the nomination they offered. He could, he thought, quite easily defeat the rebels in their various strongholds; but he was not very sure of being able to do it in a wholly inoffensive manner; and he mentioned this difficulty to Julian. The discovery that there was an unsuspected, and presumably unguarded entrance to the Castle, was therefore of considerable importance. If he could take the garrison by surprise, he need use a minimum of violence, and with its leaders in captivity, the whole rebellion might collapse.
Making a sudden movement he got out of his chair, and thanked Julian most warmly for the valuable information he had brought. ‘It may be very helpful indeed,’ he said, ‘and I’m particularly glad that it’s one of my own officers – an officer of the Fifth Division – who has come to my assistance in this way. Now where can I get hold of Bulmer?’
A minute or two later Julian left him with the well-contented feeling of a man who has done his country useful service, and attracted the favourable attention of his Commander-in-Chief. He felt that Rose might not unreasonably be comforted for the failure of the strike by her pride in him, when she learnt that he had played no inconsiderable part in bringing about its collapse.
From the stairway overlooking the hall he saw Lawless in cheerful conversation with another Naval officer; and waited till they should go.
Their voices were loud, their manner was animated; but what was the meaning or relevance of their conversation it was impossible to tell.
‘And then we tied ‘em all up in bags,’ said Lawless with a happy laugh.
‘Sacks, old boy,’ said the other officer. ‘Not bags, sacks.’
‘Well, we called them bags. Potato-bags.’
‘There’s no such thing, old boy. They were sacks. Potato-sacks.’
‘But it wasn’t potatoes, it was men we put in ‘em. Thirteen full-grown men. In potato-bags.’
‘You couldn’t put a full-grown man in a bag, old boy. It must have been a sack.’
‘Well, what the hell does it matter, anyway?’
‘It doesn’t matter a bit, old boy. Let’s go and play snooker.’
‘Snooker! That’s the very thing.’
And sacks, thought Julian, might be the very thing for which he had been canvassing his mind,
V
Lysistrata’s orderly-room was the right-hand lower one in the Governor’s House. It was there that she dealt with the perpetual task of administration and the recurrent problems of discipline. The garrison had, on the whole, behaved with remarkable virtue. There had inevitably been a few cases of insubordination – but very few, because the discipline was as mild as possible – and daily she had had to punish a score or two of impenitent young women who had stolen each others’ stockings; or impugned the morals and complexion of some sensitive neighbour; or been surprised in a hurried cuddle at the gate with the milkman or the grocer’s boy. There had been misdemeanours of this minor sort, and difficulties had several times arisen when some well-behaved girl began to weep on parade, and infected a whole company with the same disorder. Nor had it been easy to refuse to let a girl attend her father’s funeral; till evidence was brought that her father lived in Neckarboo, some four hundred miles from Melbourne. Others had sought leave of absence from the Castle on various grounds; several declared they had left the light burning in their houses, or a tap running; others were filled with a sudden anxiety for the welfare of their mothers; and one ingenious young woman had by the use of bed-clothes given herself a curious figure and sworn she was about to have a baby. But on the whole Lysistrata could congratulate herself on the good behaviour of her garrison. No serious crime – except for the desertion of a couple of sentries – had been brought to light until this morning. And now the criminal was none other than Horrocks, her own maid.
At a quarter to four that morning, about half an hour before sunrise, Horrocks had been seen with a sailor. She was bidding him an affectionate good-bye, and presumably he had been in the Castle for some considerable time. They were standing under the wall behind and below the large building that had at one time been the Armoury. After helping him over she had pulled up a rope, tied it round her waist, and hidden it under a raincoat. She had then returned to her quarters. The sentry who saw her had reported the incident to the Sergeant of the Guard, who had immediately notified the Officer of the Day, who promptly put Horrocks under arrest – she had to be wakened from a sound sleep – and discovered the rope in her bed.
When formally accused she would neither deny her guilt nor admit it. She stood speechless before Lysistrata, stubborn though ashamed. In the unfortunate position in which she found herself, her appearance did not materially help her. Her thin sharp-featured face was uncommonly sallow, and between the two exceptionally well-built young women who guarded her, her figure looked even flatter and less attractive than usual. She could not plead that beauty made her willy-nilly an irresistible lure. Neither to starry eyes nor Cupid’s mouth nor snowy breast could she point and say, ‘It is the cause, my soul.’ Though Leander had so much changed as to become a mountaineer, it was nothing to the difference between Hero and Horrocks. Yet beyond any reasonable doubt she had a lover so hot and resolute that he was ready to climb the formidable Castle Rock to come and see her; and Mrs Curle, who sat beside Lysistrata, stared at her in blank amazement.
‘Who was the man?’ asked Lysistrata.
Horrocks did not reply.
‘Was it Bulmer?’
Horrocks made a defiant movement, as if about to speak; but thought again and said nothing.
‘You are charged with a very serious offence, Horrocks, and you are not making it less serious by a show of obstinacy. I don’t want to deal harshly with you, but you are not giving me a chance to deal leniently. If you have any good excuse for your behaviour, I shall be only too glad to hear it, because I am very unwilling to believe that you, whom I have known and trusted for so long, would deliberately endanger the garrison and the success of our whole campaign. On you, more than anyone else here, I thought I could rely to the uttermost. . . .’
‘Oh, don’t, don’t!’ cried Horrocks suddenly. ‘Don’t talk like that, I can’t bear it! Send these women away, and I’ll tell you everything.’
The orderly-room clerks, the sergeant, and the guards looked indignant. But after a moment’s thought Lysistrata turned to Mrs Curle: ‘Would you mind if I were to question the prisoner in private?’
‘Darling, of course not,’ cried Mrs Curle.
‘It’s irregular, I know, but the case is important, and I think we shouldn’t let our investigations be hindered by formality.’
‘Indeed we shouldn’t, and it’s sweet of you to apologize. – But you’ll tell me afterwards, won’t you? – Come on, sergeant. Tell the girls to quick-march.’
For a little while after they had gone there was silence; and then Horrocks, with a sniff and a brave attempt to justify herself, explained: ‘I wasn’t going to tell them about Bulmer. It isn’t any business of theirs.’
‘So it was Bulmer?’
‘Yes, madam. And that’s why I didn’t want to say anything before them, because they wouldn’t have believed the special circumstances of the case.’
‘What circumstances?’
‘Well, his being my nephew, madam.’
‘Oh yes. Yes, I’d forgotten. But that is still the relationship between you, is it?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘But Horrocks, you must understand this: we’re a garrison surrounded by enemies, and even nephews aren’t allowed to visit us. Especially nephews who are forty years old and seamen in the Navy.’
Horrocks grew tearful again. ‘But I’m all he has, madam. He’s an orphan, and he relies on me for everything. He needs me, madam! He said so only last night.’
‘When is he coming back?’
‘Tonight, if it’s dark enough.’
‘He’s found a path up the Rock, has he?’
‘Yes, madam. It used to worry me at first, thinking he’d be sure to fall and break his neck. But he says it isn’t really dangerous, so long as you’re active and don’t lose your head. And Bulmer’s got a very good head for heights, considering how full-blooded he is.’
With deliberate severity, and intentional repeated reference to the faith she had formerly had in her, Lysistrata chided her wanton maid till she reduced her to tearful penitence. Then she said, ‘Now you must show me exactly where Bulmer gets over the wall, and tell me when you expect him tonight. Is there any signal that he uses, to let you know he’s there?’
‘He whistles, and I whistle back if the coast’s clear.’
‘Then you’ll have to whistle in the usual way tonight, and reassure him.’
‘Are you going to let him come in again?’
‘Yes. But he won’t get out this time.’
‘You mustn’t hurt him!’
‘No, we shan’t do him any harm.’
