Decline and Fall, page 14
Paul saw the young ladies to their ship, and all three kissed him good‑bye. As he walked back along the quay he met Potts.
'Just arrived by the morning train, he said. Paul felt strongly inclined to tell him his opinion of the League of Nations, but remembering Potts' prolixity in argument and the urgency of his own departure, he decided to leave his criticisms for another time. He stopped long enough in Marseilles to cable to Margot, 'Everything arranged satisfactorily. Returning this afternoon. All my love, and then left for Paris by air, feeling that at last he had done something to help.
* * *
At ten o'clock on his wedding morning Paul returned to the Ritz. It was raining hard, and he felt tired, unshaven and generally woebegone. A number of newspaper reporters were waiting for him outside his suite, but he told them that he could see no one. Inside he found Peter Beste‑Chetwynde, incredibly smart in his first morning‑coat.
'They've let me come up from Llanabba for the day, he said. 'To tell you the truth, I'm rather pleased with myself in these clothes. I bought you a buttonhole in case you'd forgotten. I say, Paul, you're looking tired.
'I am, rather. Turn on the bath for me like an angel.
When he had had his bath and shaved he felt better. Peter had ordered a bottle of champagne and was a little tipsy. He walked round the room, glass in hand, talking gaily, and every now and then pausing to look at himself in the mirror. 'Pretty smart, he said, 'particularly the tie; don't you think so, Paul? I think I shall go back to the school like this. That would make them see what a superior person I am. I hope you notice that I gave you the grander buttonhole? I can't tell you what Llanabba is like this term, Paul. Do try and persuade Mamma to take me away. Clutterbuck has left, and Tangent is dead, and the three new masters are quite awful. One is like your friend Potts, only he stutters, and Brolly says he's got a glass eye. He's called Mr Makepeace. Then there's another one with red hair who keeps beating everyone all the time, and the other's rather sweet, really, only he has fits. I don't think the Doctor cares for any of them much. Flossie's been looking rather discouraged all the time. I wonder if Mamma could get her a job in South America? I'm glad you're wearing a waistcoat like that. I nearly did, but I thought perhaps I was a bit young. What do you think? We had a reporter down at the school the other day wanting to know particulars about you. Brolly told a splendid story about how you used to go out swimming in the evenings and swim for hours and hours in the dark composing elegiac verses, and then he spoilt it by saying you had webbed feet and a prehensile tail, which made the chap think he was having his leg pulled. I say, am I terribly in the way?
As Paul dressed his feelings of well‑being began to return. He could not help feeling that he too looked rather smart. Presently Alastair Digby‑Vane‑Trumpington came in, and drank some champagne.
'This wedding of ours is about the most advertised thing that's happened for a generation, he said. 'D'you know, the Sunday Mail has given me fifty pounds to put my name to an article describing my sensations as best man. I'm afraid every one will know it's not me, though; it's too jolly well written. I've had a marvellous letter from Aunt Greta about it, too. Have you seen the presents? The Argentine Chargé d'Affaires has given you the works of Longfellow bound in padded green leather, and the Master of Scone has sent those pewter plates he used to have in his hall.
Paul fastened the gardenia in his buttonhole, and they went down to luncheon. There were several people in the restaurant obviously dressed for a wedding, and it gave Paul some satisfaction to notice that he was the centre of interest of the whole room. The maître d'hôtel offered his graceful good wishes as he led them to their table. Peter, earlier in the morning, had ordered the luncheon.
'I doubt if we shall have time to eat it all, he said, 'but fortunately the best things all come at the beginning.
As he was peeling his second gull's egg, Paul was called away to the telephone.
'Darling, said Margot's voice, 'how are you? I've been so anxious all the time you were away. I had an awful feeling something was going to stop you coming back. Are you all right, dearest? Yes, I'm terribly well. I'm at home having luncheon in my bedroom and feeling, my dear, I can't tell you how virginal, really and truly completely débutante. I hope you'll like my frock. It's Boulanger, darling, do you mind? Good‑bye, my sweet. Don't let Peter get too drunk, will you?
Paul went back to the dining‑room.
'I've eaten your eggs, said Peter. 'I just couldn't help it.
By two o'clock they had finished their luncheon. Mrs Beste‑Chetwynde's second‑best Hispano Suiza was waiting in Arlington Street.
'You must just have one more drink with me before we go, said the best man; 'there's heaps of time.
'I think perhaps it would be a mistake if I did, said Peter.
Paul and his best man refilled their glasses with brandy.
'It is a funny thing, said Alastair Digby‑VaneTrumpington. 'No one could have guessed that when I had the Boller blind in my rooms it was going to end like this.
Paul turned the liqueur round in his glass, inhaled its rich bouquet for a second, and then held it before him.
'To Fortune, he said, 'a much‑rnaligned lady!
* * *
'Which of you gentlemen is Mr Paul Pennyfeather?
Paul put down his glass and turned to find an elderly rnan of military appearance standing beside him.
'I am, he said. 'But I'm afraid that, if you're from the Press, I really haven't time…
'I'm Inspector Bruce, of Scotland Yard, said the stranger. 'Will you be so good as to speak to me for a minute outside?
'Really, officer, said Paul, 'I'm in a great hurry. I suppose it's about the men to guard the presents. You should have come to me earlier.
'It's not about presents, and I couldn't have come earlier. The warrant for your arrest has only this minute been issued.
'Look here, said Alastair Digby‑Vane‑Trumpington, 'don't be an ass. You've got the wrong man. They'll laugh at you like blazes over this at Scotland Yard. This is the Mr Pennyfeather who's being married to‑day.
'I don't know anything about that, said Inspector Bruce. 'All I know is, there's a warrant out for his arrest, and that anything he says may be used as evidence against him. And as for you, young man, I shouldn't attempt to obstruct an officer of the law, not if I was you.
'It's all some ghastly mistake, said Paul. 'I suppose I must go with this man. Try and get on to Margot and explain to her.
Sir Alastair's amiable pink face gaped blank astonishment. 'Good God, he said, 'how damned funny! At least it would be at any other time. But Peter, deadly white, had left the restaurant.
PART THREE
CHAPTER I Stone Walls do not a Prison Make
Paul's trial, which took place some weeks later at the Old Bailey, was a bitter disappointment to the public, the news editors, and the jury and counsel concerned. The arrest at the Ritz, the announcement at St Margaret's that the wedding was postponed, Margot's flight to Corfu, the refusal of bail, the meals sent in to Paul on covered dishes from Boulestin's, had been 'front‑page stories' every day. After all this, Paul's conviction and sentence were a lame conclusion. At first he pleaded guilty on all charges, despite the entreaties of his counsel, but eventually he was galvanized into some show of defence by the warning of the presiding judge that the law allowed punishment with the cat‑o'‑nine tails for offences of this sort. Even these things were very flat. Potts as chief witness for the prosecution was unshakeable and was later warmly commended by the court; no evidence, except of previous good conduct, was offered by the defence; Margot Beste‑Chetwynde's name was not mentioned, though the judge in passing sentence remarked that 'no one could be ignorant of the callous insolence with which, on the very eve of arrest for this most infamous of crimes, the accused had been preparing to join his name with one honoured in his country's history, and to drag down to his own pitiable depths of depravity a lady of beauty, rank, and stainless reputation. The just censure of society, remarked the judge, 'is accorded to those so inconstant and intemperate that they must take their pleasures in the unholy market of humanity that still sullies the fame of our civilization; but for the traders themselves, these human vampires who prey upon the degradation of their species, socicty has reserved the right of ruthless suppression. So Paul was sent off to prison, and the papers headed the column they reserve for home events of minor importance with 'Prison for Ex‑Society Bridegroom. Judge on Human Vampires', and there, as far as the public were concerned, the matter ended.
Before this happened, however, a conversation took place which deserves the attention of all interested in the confused series of events of which Paul had become a part. One day, while he was waiting for trial, he was visited in his cell by Peter Beste‑Chetwynde.
'Hullo! he said.
'Hullo, Paul! said Peter. 'Mamma asked me to come in to see you. She wants to know if you are getting the food all right she's ordered for you. I hope you like it, because I chose most of it myself. I thought you wouldn't want anything very heavy.
'It's splendid, said Paul. 'How's Margot?
'Well, that's rather what I've come to tell you, PauL Margot's gone away.
'Where to?
'She's gone off alone to Corfu. I made her, though she wanted to stay and see your trial. You can imagine what a time we've had with reporters and people. You don't think it awful of her, do you? And listen, there's something else. Can that policeman hear? It's this. You remember that awful old man Maltravers. Well, you've probably seen, he's Home Secretary now. He's been round to see Mamma in the most impossible Oppenheim kind of way, and said that if she'd marry him he could get you out. Of course, he's obviously been reading books. But Mamma thinks it's probably true, and she wants to know how you feel about it. She rather feels the whole thing's rather her fault, really, and, short of going to prison herself, she'll do anything to help. You can't imagine Mamma in prison, can you? Well, would you rather get out now and her marry Maltravers? or wait until you do get out and marry her yourself? She was rather definite about it.
Paul thought of Professor Silenus's 'In ten years she will be worn out, but he said:
'I'd rather she waited if you think she possibly can.
'I thought you'd say that, Paul. I'm so glad. Mamma said: "I won't say I don't know how I shall ever be able to make up to him for all this, because I think he knows I can." Those were her words. I don't suppose you will get more than a year or so, will you?
'Good Lord, I hope not, said Paul.
His sentence of seven years' penal servitude was rather a blow. 'In ten years she will be worn out, he thought as he drove in the prison van to Blackstone Gaol.
* * *
On his first day there Paul met quite a number of people, some of whom he knew already. The first person was a warder with a low brow and distinctly menacing manner. He wrote Paul's name in the 'Body Receipt Book' with some difficulty and then conducted him to a cell. He had evidently been reading the papers.
'Rather different from the Ritz Hotel, eh? he said. 'We don't like your kind 'ere, see? And we knows 'ow to treat 'em. You won't find nothing like the Ritz 'ere, you dirty White Slaver.
But there he was wrong, because the next person Paul met was Philbrick. His prison clothes were ill‑fitting, and his chin was unshaven, but he still wore an indefinable air of the grand manner.
'Thought I'd be seeing you soon, he said. 'They've put me on to reception bath cleaner, me being an old hand. I've been saving the best suit I could find for you. Not a louse on it, hardly. He threw a little pile of clothes, stamped with the broad arrow, on to the bench.
The warder returned with another, apparently his superior officer. Together they made a careful inventory of all Paul's possessions.
'Shoes, brown, one pair; socks, fancy, one pair; suspenders, black silk, one pair, read out the warder in a sing‑song voice. 'Never saw a bloke with so much clothes.
There were several checks due to difficulties of spelling, and it was some time before the list was finished.
'Cigarette case, white metal, containing two cigarettes; watch, white metal; tie‑pin, fancy' ‑ it had cost Margot considerably more than the warder earned in a year, had he only known ‑ 'studs, bone, one pair; cufflinks, fancy, one pair. The officers looked doubtfully at Paul's gold cigar piercer, the gift of the best man. 'What's this 'ere?
'It's for cigars, said Paul.
'Not so much lip! said the warder, banging him on the top of his head with the pair of shoes he happened to be holding. 'Put it down as «instrument». That's the lot, he said, 'unless you've got false teeth. You're allowed to keep them, only we must make a note of it.
'No, said Paul.
'Truss or other surgical appliance?
'No, said Paul.
'All right! You can go to the bath.
Paul sat for the regulation ten minutes in the regulation nine inches of warm water ‑ which smelt reassuringly of disinfectant ‑ and then put on his prison dothes. The loss of his personal possessions gave him a curiously agreeable sense of irresponsibility.
'You look a treat, said Philbrick.
Next he saw the Medical Officer, who sat at a table covered with official forms.
'Name? said the Doctor.
'Pennyfeather.
'Have you at any time been detained in a mental home or similar institution? If so, give particulars.
'I was at Scone College, Oxford, for two years, said Paul.
The Doctor looked up for the first time. 'Don't you dare to make jokes here, my man, he said, 'or I'll soon have you in the straitjacket in less than no time.
'Sorry, said Paul.
'Don't speak to the Medical Officer unless to answer a question, said the warder at his elbow.
'Sorry, said Paul, unconsciously, and was banged on the head.
'Suffering from consumption or any contagious disease? asked the M.D.
'Not that I know of, said Paul.
'That's all, said the Doctor. 'I have certified you as capable of undergoing the usual descriptions of punishment as specified below, to wit, restraint of handcuffs, leg‑chains, cross‑irons, body‑belt, canvas dress, close confinement, No. 1 diet, No. 2 diet, birch‑rod, and cat‑o'-nine‑tails. Any complaint?
'But must I have all these at once? asked Paul, rather dismayed.
'You will if you ask impertinent questions. Look after that man, officer; he's obviously a troublesome character.
'Come 'ere, you, said the warder. They went up a passage and down two flights of iron steps. Long galleries with iron railings stretched out in each direction, giving access to innumerable doors. Wire‑netting was stretched between the landings. 'So don't you try no monkey-tricks. Suicide isn't allowed in this prison. See? said the warder. 'This is your cell. Keep it clean, or you'll know the reason why, and this is your number. He buttoned a yellow badge on to Paul's coat.
'Like a flag‑day, said Paul.
'Shut up, you- , remarked the warder, and locked the door.
'I suppose I shall learn to respect these people in time, thought Paul. 'They all seem so much less awe‑inspiring than anyone I ever met.
His next visit was from the Schoolmaster. The door was unlocked, and a seedy‑looking young man in a tweed suit came into the cell.
'Can you read and write, D.4.12? asked the newcomer.
'Yes, said Paul.
'Public or secondary education?
'Public, said Paul. His school had been rather sensitive on this subject.
'What was your standard when you left school?
'Well, I don't quite know. I don't think we had standards.
The Schoolmaster marked him down as 'Memory defective' on a form and went out. Presently he returned with a book.
'You must do your best with that for the next four weeks, he said. 'I'll try and get you into one of the morning classes. You won't find it difficult, if you can read fairly easily. You see, it begins there, he said helpfillly, showing Paul the first page.
It was an English Grammar published in 1872.
'A syllable is a single sound made by one simple effort of the voice, Paul read.
'Thank you, he said; 'I'm sure I shall find it useful.
'You can change it after four weeks if you can't get on with it, said the Schoolmaster. 'But I should stick to it, if you can.
Again the door was locked.
Next came the Chaplain. 'Here is your Bible and a book of devotion. The Bible stays in the cell always. You can change the book of devotion any week if you wish to. Are you Church of England? Services are voluntary — that is to say, you must either attend all or none. The Chaplain spoke in a nervous and hurried manner. He was new to his job, and he had already visited fifty prisoners that day, one of whom had delayed him for a long time with descriptions of a vision he had seen the night before.
'Hullo, Prendy! said Paul.
Mr Prendergast looked at him nervously. 'I didn't recognize you, he said. 'People look so much alike in those clothes. This is most disturbing, Pennyfeather. As soon as I saw you'd been convicted I was afraid they might send you here. Oh dear! oh dear! It makes everything still more difficult!
'What's the matter, Prendy? Doubts again?
'No, no, discipline, my old trouble. I've only been at the job a week. I was very lucky to get it. My bishop said he thought there was more opening for a Modern Churchman in this kind of work than in the parishes. The Governor is very modern too. But criminals are just as bad as boys, I find. They pretend to make confessions and tell me the most dreadful things just to see what I'll say, and in chapel they laugh so much that the warders spend all their time correcting them. It makes the services seem so irreverent. Several of them got put on No. 1 diet this morning for singing the wrong words to one of the hymns, and of course that only makes me more unpopular. Please, Pennyfeather, if you don't mind, you mustn't call me Prendy, and if anyone passes the cell will you stand up when you're talking to me. You're supposed to, you see, and the Chief Warder has said some very severe things to me about maintaining discipline.
