Lonesome Road

Chapter Twenty-eight

Civilized life is at the mercy of its own routine. Whatever may be happening in a household, breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner follow one another inexorably. Birth, marriage, divorce, meetings, partings, estrangements, love, hate, suspicion, jealousy, battle, murder, and sudden death- through all these comes the sound of the domestic bell or gong, with its summons to eat and drink. Whether you die tomorrow or today, another meal is served.

Rachel Treherne paused at Caroline’s door, heard no sound, and followed the Wadlows downstairs. She was glad to concern herself with ordering a tray to be sent up, and when she turned to the room again discovered that there would have to be two trays. Mabel had disappeared, and Ernest, with reproach in eye and voice, informed her that an attack of palpitations was imminent, and that he had taken it upon himself to insist upon a recumbent position and perfect quiet.

“She over-taxes her strength. We should not have allowed her to excite herself. She will be prostrated for the rest of the day. Yes, certainly some lunch-her strength must be maintained. Light and nutritious food at very frequent intervals, and she should never be thwarted or allowed to over-tax her strength-those are the exact expressions used by Dr. Levitas. No one has understood Mabel’s constitution as he did. I blame myself, but I cannot exonerate you, Rachel-no sisterly kindness, no attempt to calm her, no concern about her health.” All this in low, agitated tones, with a nervous polishing of the pince-nez and small fidgeting movements.

Actually, the arrival of Ella Comperton was a relief. Ella’s range of subjects, from leper colonies to slums, might not be ideal as table topics, but they were at least preferable to a discussion of Mabel’s health and the unsisterly harshness with which she had been thwarted in her maiden attempt at forgery.

Richard and Cosmo both came in extremely late. Richard cut himself a plateful of cold beef and ate it in silence. Cosmo, on the contrary, made an excellent lunch and was in quite his best vein-social anecdotes, art gossip, the Surrealist exhibition in Paris. The flow was easy and continuous, and Rachel blessed him in her heart. She never felt fonder of Cosmo than when she had just refused him. No scowls, no sulks, no lowering of the social temperature. Not like poor Richard. What had gone wrong between him and Caroline? Some stupid little thing. Lovers did quarrel about stupid little things. It couldn’t be anything more. It-couldn’t-be-anything-worse-

She jerked her thoughts away and heard Cosmo say,

“Nightmare, not art, my dear Miss Silver.”

Miss Silver crumbled her bread.

“I speak under correction of course-but is it not the aim of the Surrealists to present those ideas which are commonly submerged in the unconscious mind?”

Cosmo laughed.

“And very unpleasant minds they must have, if the ideas are a fair sample.”

Miss Silver gave a slight cough.

“Just a little like the Day of Judgment, if I may say so without irreverence-the secrets of all hearts being opened.” She continued to crumble the bread. “If our thoughts-our intimate, secret thoughts-were to take shape and stand before us now, I wonder what we should think of them.”

Cosmo smiled his most genial smile. It was turned upon Rachel.

“You at least would be safe, my dear. I can imagine that your thoughts would make charming pictures.”

Rachel felt an almost physical pang. “My thoughts? Oh, God!” There was a horrified moment when she wondered if she had spoken the words aloud. Her thoughts- fear, suspicion, agony, resentment, terror-how dreadfully might these take shape.

Cosmo was still leaning to her and smiling.

“Singing birds and lilies, my dear.”

Ernest Wadlow straightened his pince-nez.

“It is an interesting theory. I remember discussing it with Dr. Levitas. He compared the balance of Mabel’s mind, I remember, to a chime of silver bells. She was very much pleased with the image. We both thought it a very apt one. The least disturbing element, and the delicate tuning suffers. I remember quoting Shakespeare’s ‘Sweet bells jangled out of tune.’ ”

Ella Comperton fixed him with an offended stare.

“Good heavens, Ernest-what will you say next? That was Ophelia, and she was mad. There has never been any madness in our family.”

Richard Treherne pushed back his chair, excused himself briefly, and went out. Rachel, listening, heard him go up the stair. Ernest was still talking, but she had lost the thread. Her mind seemed to have closed, and what came through was meaningless sound which made no sense.

The telephone bell rang, and she got up to answer it with relief. With the receiver at her ear, she heard Cherry’s light laugh, like the echo of a laugh from a very long way off.

“That you, Rachel? I haven’t a minute. I’m speaking from a perfectly foul call-box right off the map. There’s a village, but I don’t know what it’s called.”

The familiar desire to box Cherry’s ears restored Rachel to her normal self. She said quite sharply,

“What are you doing there?”

“My dear, what does one do in a call-box? I’m telephoning. It smells of paint and shag.”

“What do you want?” said Rachel.

The light laugh came along the wire.

“My dear-how practical! Well, I thought the parents would like to know that Bob and I were married this morning. The most expensive sort of special licence-to make up for no bridesmaids. And tell Mummy it was in a church, because Bob’s Aunt Matilda would have altered her will if it had been a register office-at least Bob said she would, so I gave in.”

“Cherry, do you really mean all this?”

“ Absolutely. Tell Mummy to save all fits for the divorce.”

Rachel hung up and came back to her place. She addressed Ernest in a perfectly expressionless voice.

“Cherry has married Bob Hedderwick. You had better let Mabel finish her lunch before you tell her.”

Ella Comperton uttered a faint shriek.

“But he was engaged to Mildred Ross! Cherry was going to be a bridesmaid!”

A spark came and went in Rachel’s eyes.

“A little thing like that wouldn’t worry her.”

Ernest Wadlow said nothing. His pince-nez fell off. His mouth fell open.

Miss Silver turned her head to listen. The faint sound which she had caught became a sound which everyone could hear-the clatter of feet on the stair-running feet. The door was flung open and Richard Treherne came half way into the room. He looked for Rachel, and spoke to her in a loud, angry voice.

“She’s gone! Taken her car! She shouldn’t have been left-she wasn’t fit!”

They were all up and round him. Rachel put a hand on his arm, and felt it rigid.

She said “Caroline?” on a mere breath of sound. “Are you sure?”

His face frightened her. He shook off her hand.

“I tell you her car’s gone! And she’s not fit to drive. What’s going on in this house? What have you done to her?”

“Richard,” said Rachel-“please. You must go after her.”

He said violently, “Where? Do you suppose I’d lose a moment if I knew where to go? She gave up her flat last month. Where would she go?”

Miss Silver came forward.

“Where did she garage her car when she was in London?”

Richard flung round.

“I’ll try that. I’ll try and catch her on the road.”

He was gone.