The Golden Virgin (26 page)

“How do you
know
so much about everything?” said Lily, as they came in sight of a tall barbed-wire fence among the trees in front. “Hush!” he whispered, as he went on slowly, crouching slightly, putting one foot before the other to press down the dead leaves and sticks of the ferny path, wary of cock pheasants whose pitter-pattering away on the woodland floor on all sides might at any moment break into raucous rising cuckettings of alarm, and so betray their presence at that very private and secluded place. Lily followed behind, thrilled with the mystery and beauty, with a feeling, as she looked up through the canopies of the great oaks, of being part of the pale blue sky.

By good luck the gate was not locked, only secured by a bolt; and sliding this back gradually, lest it squeak or clank, he pulled back the frame of iron and threaded barb, and closed it behind them.

“The Lake Woods!” he whispered, turning to her.

“Oh,” she said, with a long sigh. “It’s all just like a picture!”

The first lake was the deepest. It was surrounded by azaleas and rhododendrons, a boat-house with shingled roof among them, and waterlilies on its brownish-green surface. Old beech mast lay on the mossy path, crackling as they walked on, to the lower terraced ponds, where a heron flew up dishevelled and angular so that she clutched his arm, saying, “Is that a crane?” “Yes,” he said, “that was the old name for it,” as they sat down by the water, and watched a shoal of red-finned roach moving just under the surface.

“I can’t believe it is true,” said Lily.

“Yes, it seemed like that to me, when I came here first, about five years ago. It made all the difference to my life. I felt all the birds were mine. I watched them at their nests and saw what they did, and it seemed they were very much like human beings were, only truer, somehow. Oh, I wish we could hear a nightingale. I am sure it sings because it has a feeling for music. It’s born with it. There must be a God, even if it is called evolution. Anyway, Spirit gave colours to some birds, speed to others, song to others, skill in architecture to others. There’s the Bower Bird, but not in England, which adorns its nest and courtyard with shells, stones, and other things. They say it is only to attract a mate, but he brings in the things after the courtship, as well as before. Why shouldn’t a man paint his house after he’s married, if he loves his home, and is happy there? It’s only the unhappy people who don’t care what squalor they live in, don’t you think?”

He now could look frankly at her, trusting himself to the blue pools of her eyes.

“‘Bluebell’, he calls you, does he? Poor old Dashwood. I think you are a lily, like your name.

“Tennyson knew that at night the water-lily pulls its blossoms under the surface of the water. The lily closes her eyes, the lily withdraws her beauty. Your eyes are beautiful, too, human Lily! Eyes are made of water, so why should their colour not come from blue water, or from the sky, which after all makes all things? That poet I told you about wrote,

“‘And Life is Colour and Light and Warmth’; well, they’re all there in your eyes.” Then alarmed at what he had said, “Shall we go on to the Saltbox, and have boiled eggs and bread and butter for tea? It’s possible that there will be a nightingale singing in the steep lane below Biggin Hill there. It was another favourite place of mine, years ago.”

They returned to the road, and on
Helena
pushed off on the slope beyond the turn of the road below the paling fence; and drummed along the road to Westerham until they came to the tiled and brick cottage built in the shape of an old-fashioned wooden salt box. After tea, served by the old woman in black bodice and lace cap, they went into the beechwood below.

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Lily.”

“Dr. Dashwood said there was one singing in the Infirmary gardens, what is now the Military Hospital, on the other side of the Randisbourne.”

“Really? How lovely! I thought they’d all left the district, driven away by soot, moggies, and river rats. But I’d like to hear it. Do you mind going into the Rec.?”

“Not now,” she said. “I don’t mind anything now.”

The young moon was showing brighter in the western sky. He looked at his watch.

“It’s getting on for nine. If we go now, we’ll be in time for a drink at Freddy’s, and perhaps see Desmond. He’s coming on leave tonight. We’re catching the morning train from Waterloo tomorrow, so it will be the last chance to hear a nightingale this year.”

Freddy said, as he poured two small whiskies, “No, your friend hasn’t been in yet. What time are you expecting him?”

“He did say about half-past nine. If he comes, tell him we’re going in the Rec. to try and hear a nightingale.”

“Yes, Dr. Dashwood was saying only last night ’e ’eard one there. Though what colour it was, he didn’t say,” tittered Freddy.

“Oh, hell,” said Phillip through closed lips to Lily, a minute later. “Here’s Ching. Go out quick, I’ll follow. Meet me in the churchyard.” Ching passed through into the billiard room, apparently to the lavatory.

Phillip said to Freddy, “If Desmond comes, tell him we’ll be between the two rustic bridges, for it’s supposed to be singing in the Infirmary Gardens.”

With a slight wink Freddy said, “I think I understand, sir,” as Phillip swallowed his drink, then Lily’s, afterwards leaving.

Ching had listened and watched from the sliding panel in the stained-glass screen. When, five minutes after Phillip had left, Det.-Sergt. Keechey came in with his plain-clothes man, Ching told them what he had overheard, while a thin wire of glee spread up from his middle, akin to that Phillip had felt when Peter Wallace had been punching Albert Hawkins’ face held under his left arm.

“Come on,” said Keechey. “Not you!” he shot at Ching. “You keep out of this!”

*

The night was quiet. Soft darkness brooded over the flats of the Recreation Ground. Clouds had come up, shutting out the after-glow of sunset. Rain seemed possible. Disliking the crunch of gravel underfoot, Phillip vaulted over the iron railings, and stood with his back turned while Lily climbed over. They walked across the grass of what once was a water-meadow beside a trout stream where salmon, coming up the Thames by the Isle of Dogs, had run to spawn, below banks flowery with meadowsweet and ragged robin. Now the Londonised soil was packed hard, sour with the soot of the age of factory and deflowerment, during darkness a place of hard-eyed fornication. But soldiers, like sailors, don’t care for the warnings of the respectable, or knowledgeable; and here on that early summer night came Phillip and Lily, to sit on the circular rustic seat around a solitary aged willow that had somehow managed to live on. The tree was equidistant from a gravel path beside a pointed stockade fence, made of old railway sleepers, guarding the railway line on one side, and the gravel path beside the polluted brook, on the other.

“I feel this is a happy tree now, Lily.”

“Oh, how did you know I wanted you to sit beside me here?”

“I think it’s best, really, to face up to things that frighten one. I used to be terribly afraid of my Father; but suddenly, facing up to him on his allotment, I realized he was a poor old fellow, cooped up in an office all his days, working away to keep the home going.”

“Oh, I love this tree over us,” sighed Lily, as the leaves rustled in the breeze.

As they sat there two shadowy forms came towards the tree from opposite directions; and pouncing suddenly, confronted them with accusations obviously rehearsed.

“No need to ask what you two are doin’ here! We both seen you. Did you see them, Jimmy?”

“I seed what they was doing, sergeant.”

“Come along with me, you, to the station, before the Inspector! I’ve been watching you for some time.”

“You can’t arrest an officer of His Majesty’s Armed Forces.”

“You’re not in uniform. If you resist arrest, I’ll ring up the Horse Guards, an’ inform the Provost Marshal’s department. Your bluff is up! Better go quiet with my constable!”

“Don’t say anything, Lily,” said Phillip. “Not a word!” Then to the dim form of Keechey, “I refuse to leave my friend here with you. This is a conspiracy, and you know it!”

“You’ll know something else if you don’t come quiet,” said the plain-clothes man with the black moustache, shining a torch in his eyes.

“Put that light out!” cried Phillip. “That is a military order!” Then he said in a quieter voice, “What is the charge, may I ask?”

“The Inspector wants to see you at the station. I am asking you to come along.”

“That is better. Come along, Lily.”

He thought that it was his word against that of the two plain-clothes men.

“Lily, I’ll want you as a witness. We’ll both ask for a medical inspection from Lt.-Col. Toogood. I’ll demand that we both see the Inspector! Law-abiding citizens can’t be charged for sitting quietly in a public recreation ground.”

Lily walked quietly beside him. Outside the station Keechey said in an entirely different tone of voice, “The Inspector asked me to find you, because an urgent telegram came in duplicate to us, so I was asked to invite you here to read it.”

“I’ll see you later, Lily,” said Phillip, as he went inside.

“I managed to locate this officer, sir. I told him you wanted to see him.”

The Inspector said that a report had been called for from the Machine-Gun Training Centre, Grantham, as to why it had been necessary to make an enquiry about him.

“A report was returned from this Station based on what you told Detective-Sergeant Keechey a few days ago. A copy of a telegram sent to you was telephoned to us tonight, and on learning that you were in the neighbourhood, I gave orders that you were to be invited here to read it, in view of its urgency. Here is the copy.”

“There is another matter, concerning your motor vehicles. I think you are the owner of a Swift runabout, GT 18, and a motor-cycle, LP 1656? Have you taken out licences of £3 and £1 respectively for these vehicles? Well, if you use them on the highway in future, O.H.M.S. or not, licences should be taken out. You have a driving licence?” Phillip showed him his card. “Well, I won’t go further in the matter of licences now, but you might remember for the future. Now will you sign here that you have read the copy of the telegram.”

As Phillip went out through the doors his father came in under the blue lamp, peaked cap on head and special constable’s armlet around sleeve.

“Well, Phillip, what is all this?”

“I’ve just been recalled to duty. It looks as though the Big Push is coming. I’ll have to leave right away, I think, so if you don’t mind I’ll say goodbye now.”

Shaking hands with his father he said, “Well, good luck to the allotment.” Rain drops were beginning to fall. “This will help your plants. Au revoir.”

He hurried after Lily, but could not see her. He must go back and pack. It was hardly worth while to light the acetylene lamp. The police would not be likely to report him for having no light now that they knew the urgency of his orders. Even if they did, to hell with the summons. Returning, after another cursory look
around for Lily, to the fire station where he had left the machine, he thudded home in the rainy darkness. Leaving it under the porch, he walked down the road to say goodbye to Mrs. Neville.

Desmond came down to open the door. “I don’t wish to see you,” he said. “Come up, Phillip,” called out Mrs. Neville. He followed Desmond up the stairs and went into the sitting room. A moment later Desmond looked round the door and said quietly, “I’m going to bed, Mother, good-night,” and went down the short stairs to the kitchen.

“Well,” said Mrs. Neville. “Can I believe my ears? Was that my son? What can be the matter with him? He was so looking forward to going away with you to Devon, too. You wait here, Phillip, I’ll have a word with him.”

She heaved herself out of her chair, and went down to the kitchen. Phillip heard her speaking; then the door closed. After some minutes, she came back.

“Well, I can only say that I don’t understand what it is all about. Did you take that girl Lily for a ride on your carrier? Of course I believe you that you meant no harm by it, but it was just a little ill-advised, wasn’t it, Phillip? Still, I see your point of view. A little country air would do her good, after all the steam in that laundry! Don’t you worry, it will come all right in the morning. If I were you I shouldn’t try to see Desmond tonight. He’s in one of his moods, and tired. A good night’s sleep will make all the difference. You look tired, too. Go home to bed, and you’ll find that tomorrow it will all have blown over. What do you say, dear? You may be going to France? Your leave is cancelled?”

She read the telegram. “I must tell Desmond this! Desmond, come here, will you?” When he came she said, “I’ll leave you two to talk, and make some coffee.” She went out of the room and down the stairs; then with an agility surprising in one so heavy, she turned about on the third step, and crept silently into her bedroom, to stand behind the open door and listen. To her astonishment she heard her son’s toneless voice saying,

“I am glad to hear that you are going back to France. I have come to the conclusion that you are too complicated a person to live. Perhaps this time your fate will catch you up.”

At first Phillip was too shaken to reply; then he thought that Desmond did not mean what he said. He pretended to believe it, hoping that Desmond would relent. “My fate? What is that?”

“It will be best for everyone if you are killed.”