The Aerodrome: A Love Story (3 page)

and, peering forward and downward, watched him scramble to the ledge. Here he paused for a moment as I had done. Most merciful and divine Lord, in the mist and cold the blood was beating in me like hammers. I felt his body at the end of the rope as one might feel a fish. I threw myself sideways, jerking him from the ledge, as I knew from his whole weight on the rope and the short cry which he uttered. "Redeemer, very quickly I fastened the rope to the jut of rock that I knew was close to my right hand. Then I looked down and could see his body swinging scarcely eight feet below me, near enough, God, but with no holds for fingers or toes, and sheer rock for two hundred feet. The cloud was now dense over the face of rock. I reached down as far as I could, though still out of reach of Anthony's hands. It was difficult to see his face, but when I glanced at it, before I took out my knife, it seemed to bear a look rather of bewilderment than of anything else. I did not look at him, O God, while I was cutting the rope. Had I looked, O Great Dove, would I have desisted? Lord, thou knowest. I only know that it was at this moment that my excitement began to ebb and that I felt myself to be doing something unpleasant and almost dull. So, in an awkward position, I tussled with the thick strands of rope, as if it were a necessary task which I had unwillingly undertaken, and I never looked at him once, nor did he utter a word, till the rope parted and I saw him drop away from me into the mist. I threw the knife after him, scrambled to my knees and let out another three or four feet from the rope which I had belayed round the rock, so that it would appear that it was he who had used the knife himself while standing on the ledge. Merciful God, I spared neither his life nor his honour; for my story would be that in the mist he had lost his nerve while he was on the ledge, that I, unable either to inspire him with fortitude or to haul him up the cliff face single-handed, had made the rope fast and gone to get help; that in my absence his panic had got the better of him and that he had severed the rope himself. O God, have mercy! Christ, have mercy! Son of God, save! Spirit, Ghost, Thrones and Powers, do not utterly reject me, but look from your great height with pity upon my wasted heart! "My Dove, there is little else to say, little else but once more to implore you to extend over me your compassionate and healing wings. My story was received as true. The body was recovered by Doctor Faulkner, a great friend both of Anthony and myself. I never saw it, but I attended the funeral and, though it may seem odd to you, my Saviour, I wept as the coffin was being lowered into the ground. It was not for weeks and months, God, not till my ambitions had been realized, not till I had received the offer of this living and had married the lady who is now my wife, that the veil and mist of my deliberate sin fell from me and I began, O too late, O Hope of Jacob, to repent. And thou knowest, Lord, that even now, after twenty-two years in which I have endeavoured to do thy work, that even now my repentance is incomplete, my soul foul and unwashed, mere filthiness, my Love, and desolation." Here there succeeded a long silence, and I peered out again into the room from behind the curtain. The Rector had let his head fall upon his arms and, though his lips were moving, he uttered no words that were audible. I looked to the right and saw his wife's head, with the night-cap on top of it, protruding from the other alcove. Her eyes were clouded in a kind of mistiness, though not from tears, and I thought that her face expressed sorrow and, mingled with it, something peaceful. She was gazing at the kneeling figure of her husband, but not as though she took a great interest in the sight. For myself, I was too shocked and alarmed by what I had heard to pay any minute attention to her. I had now no thought of leaving the room, no consciousness of the dishonest position in which we were both placed. I listened as the Rector began to speak again, more slowly and in a low voice. "Even tonight," he was saying, "O God, my God, when I was speaking to that boy, even then I was unable to tell the truth. The reasons for my silence, Lord, were weighty, thou knowest; but in thy sight is not truth the weightiest thing? Might I not have told him?" He paused, bowed his head, and then raised it as though about to speak again. My heart was beating quickly as I strained after the words that were never spoken. For, just as he had opened his mouth to speak, I saw his wife slip from the alcove where she had been hidden, steal quickly across the room and take her stand by the door close to the Rector's elbow. She stood there motionless, with her hand on the doorknob, so self-possessed in her manner that even I might have imagined that she had that instant entered the room from the corridor outside. The Rector turned to her with a start, and I saw him looking sternly at her. She spoke first and said: "I am so sorry for disturbing you, but won't you come to bed now, dear?" He remained kneeling, looking at her as though he had awakened from a dream. She carried on her face that calm and contented smile which I knew so well, and so they gazed at each other for some seconds, until there was heard the sound of stumbling feet and voices from outside the study windows. It seemed, to judge from the noise, that several men were gathering into a group. Feet stamped; there were whispers, gruff ejaculations, and then silence. We in the room still listened and suddenly a peal of hand bells sounded shrill and cold and loud at such a short distance. The Rector's wife turned to her husband. "It is the bellringers," she said, "who are doing this in honour of Roy's birthday. Someone told me that we might expect them." She still smiled as the Rector rose unsteadily to his feet. "Go and see if he is in his room," she said and, opening the door, she laid her hand on his shoulder as he went through it. Then she crossed the room to the curtain which concealed me. She smiled at me, with one hand patting my cheek, and said: "When he returns I'll tell him that you have just come in through the kitchen window." The bells pealed out, often discordantly, and I guessed that the ringers must be mostly drunk. The Rector came back into the room. His face was slightly paler than usual, but his expression quite different from that which I had recently observed. Without waiting for any explanation he clapped me on the shoulder and said: "Well, Roy, so you're back at last. Now just listen to those bells." We listened, and I have seldom heard our village players give a worse performance. Soon we drew back the curtains and opened the windows. A final jangling, and the bells were still. Outside I saw the big figure of George Birkett, the chief ringer. Behind him were the others, among them were Fred and Mac, red-faced and grinning, both swaying slowly on their feet. They and some of the others guffawed apologetically, while George touched his cap and said: "Long life to Mr Roy, Your Reverence! And to you, too, and to your lady, Sir." We asked them into the hall and gave them beer and sandwiches. There was much laughter, I remember, and both the Rector and his wife played their parts well. Finally Mac had to leave the room hurriedly, and the others began to follow him. We all shook hands, and when they had gone the Rector's wife kissed me on the cheek, and then took her husband's arm. "Quickly to bed everyone now," she said. "Remember that tomorrow we have the Agricultural Show."

CHAPTER III

The Agricultural Show

IT WAS, oddly enough, the expressions I had seen on the face of the Rector's wife, her resource and self-confidence, that I thought of most when I had retired to bed, and during wakeful intervals of the night, and when I woke up in the morning. The fact that my guardian was a murderer neither shocked me much, nor, when I came to think of it, greatly surprised me. The crime had been done at least a year before I was born, at a time when the Rector was a young man, before he grew his beard. I could not imagine even his appearance at this time, and so could not connect with the man I knew the scene on the mountainside and its passion and deceit. Yet I knew the Rector to be a man of strong feelings, in spite of the gentleness which he had always shown to me, and I saw that if he had sinned he had certainly suffered for it. I might feel horror for the crime, but I could feel no enmity against the criminal. Had I still believed the man to be my father, I might perhaps have felt differently. As it was I saw the situation as one in which I could not possibly be of help and in which I was myself not even remotely implicated. With the Rector's friend, Anthony, I had not, I reflected, anything whatever to do, and it was difficult either to pity or to condemn a person whom I had never seen and of whom previously I had not heard. I was much more interested in the light which the confession had thrown on the relations between my two guardians, and it was a shock to me to realize that the Rector's wife, so docile in my experience, had ever been, even if ever so slightly, unfaithful to her husband. I began to see that, just as in the case of my assumed parentage, I had been taking things very much too much for granted. Instead of the orderly and easy system of relationships with which I had fancied myself to be surrounded, I began now to imagine crimes and secrecies on all sides, the results of forces to which previously I had given little or no attention. Were even the Squire and his sister, I began to wonder, all that they purported to be? And how much had the Rector's wife already known of the story to which both she and I had listened that night? To judge from the expression on her face when I had first seen her from behind the curtain she was not hearing anything either new or particularly horrifying; but I was wholly unable to account for what had seemed to me the look almost of satisfaction with which she was listening. And again and again my mind went back to the Rector's last words, before he had been interrupted; for these words seemed to indicate that at the dinner party he had not told me the truth, or had only told a part of the truth. Was there some even deeper mystery that surrounded my birth? Or were there clues to the mystery which he had deliberately withheld from me? And what reason could he have had for revealing something but not all? Was his consideration for his wife's honour or for his own? Or had he wished to spare me the knowledge of some degradation or disability? So I thought and questioned myself vainly during the night, and the same thoughts and questions returned to me while I was shaving and dressing for breakfast on the next day. Clearly I could ask no questions of my guardians when they were both together, but I determined that I would make, as tactfully as I could, further inquiries from each of them separately whenever an occasion presented itself. I arrived somewhat late at the breakfast table and observed nothing remarkable in the bearing either of the Rector or of his wife. The Rector had finished his egg and was reading the morning paper. His wife, who as a rule ate little at this meal, was sitting with her hands folded in her lap. She did not turn her head as I entered the room, but smiled at me across the gleaming silver of the coffee pot and milk jug; then slowly extended one hand towards the cup which she would fill for me. The Rector looked up from his newspaper. I noticed that this morning he was entirely himself; the pallor of the previous night had left his face, and his eyes were twinkling beneath his thick black eyebrows. So he would appear nearly always in the morning, fresh and energetic, though by the evening he would often be tired and disspirited, sitting for long periods, gazing into the fire, a pipe between his lips and an unopened book upon his knees. I understood him better now, and thought that every morning, perhaps, for more than twenty years he must have braced himself to carry through the day the consciousness of a crime. But, though I understood him better, I began to feel for the first time ill at ease in his company. This morning there was some embarrassment in my smile that answered his smile, and I began to wish that he would not speak to me. He began speaking at once. "Well, Roy," he said, "I'm afraid you had rather a distressing time of it last night." For a moment I thought that he was alluding to the scene in the study, and I stared at him blankly, determined not to give myself away or, if I was discovered, at least to put as good a face on the matter as I could. And I was suddenly shocked to find that my feelings towards my guardians were no longer frank and open as they had been; for now my first thought was to dissemble. The Rector went on speaking and I saw, with relief, that he was speaking not of his confession, but of the dinner party. "Did you see your friend again?" he asked. "He behaved abominably, I thought." "No," I said, "I didn't seem him again. I'm afraid I behaved pretty badly myself in not coming back again. I hope the others didn't mind. It was rather a surprise, you see." I paused, and saw that the Rector was smiling at me. I rather disliked his smile, and was shocked to find it so. "He suffers badly from nerves," I added. "Yes, yes," said the Rector. "No one is thinking of blaming you, my boy." He seemed embarrassed, I thought, and I was glad when his wife leaned towards me. "Here is your coffee, Roy," she said. "Now let's talk about something else. Have you both forgotten the show?" "No, no, my dear," said the Rector. "Most certainly not, my love. We shall enjoy ourselves no end." He looked at me as though expecting corroboration, but I was drinking my coffee and made no move. I was horrified with myself for so deliberately refusing to join in his gaiety. In a night my feelings towards him had changed, and I asked myself whether this was due to the fact that he was not in reality my father or to the fact that he was a murderer. There was a long pause and I thought of the Agricultural Show which was held every year in the meadows by the river about a mile away from our village. Last night at the pub there had been much talk of the show, of the likely winners in various classes and of the beer which could be drunk at any hour of the day, both at the canteens and, by those in the know, at the private bars at the back of the booths belonging to firms selling agricultural implements, poultry foods, dogs, rabbits, and other livestock. This year also the authorities of the aerodrome were giving an exhibition of stunt flying, and there would also be some demonstrations of the latest type of machine-guns. I wondered whether we would meet the Flight-Lieutenant and, if so, what account he would give of his behaviour on the previous night. I thought, too, of the landlord's daughter who had promised to meet me that afternoon at twelve o'clock behind the big marquee in which the horticultural exhibits were shown. I thought of her long yellow hair which I had wound round the fingers of my hand; of her smooth throat that swelled out into an arch when she leant her head back, as she had done not long ago, sitting with me on a branch projecting over the swirling river, and I had kissed her mouth and eyes and ears over and over again, trembling, for it was my first experience of love, and still I could not think of her as of a person like myself, but rather as a sudden glow on water or something exquisite and airy and apt to move away, like a bird or a cloud's shadow sweeping across a wood. Thus there was fear and perturbation in my intense happiness. Every pleasure seemed unexpected, unlikely to be repeated, too good to be true. Yet the pleasure was real and now, at the breakfast table, when I thought of it even the disclosures of the previous night, my uncertainty, my changed attitude towards my guardians ceased to perplex me, so delicious and pervasive was my feeling of desire. For days she had occupied the chief place in my thoughts and now it seemed strange to me to reflect that I had other things to think about, had indeed been thinking about them to the exclusion of all else since the dinner party. But now I could not pursue my inquiries, for from the time when breakfast was over until the time when we were due to start for the show I had no opportunity to speak in private either to the Rector or to his wife, and shortly after eleven o'clock we all three walked across the road to the Manor, for we had arranged to visit the show together with the Squire and his sister. I began to feel somewhat ill at ease as we walked down the drive that was edged with neatly clipped cypresses, for I knew that my friends had every reason to be affronted by my behaviour of last night and yet, even now, I could not see how I could have acted differently. But the manners both of the Squire and of his sister very soon reassured me. They were waiting for us in the oak-panelled hall, the walls of which were hung with a variety of interesting objects--cutlasses, riding-whips, swords, guns, oars, cricket-bats, knobkerries, musical instruments, and miniature portraits. The Squire was sitting in a high-backed chair with a rug over his knees. He did not rise to greet us, for he was, so his sister informed us, indisposed, and would be unable to accompany us to the show. "I wanted him to allow me to stay with him," she said, "but he won't hear of it." The Squire looked up at us with eyes that twinkled in his grey and sunken face. "We old men," he said "mustn't be allowed to make ourselves a nuisance. Florence" (he turned to his sister) "will be extremely happy in your company, if you are quite sure that you can make room for her in your car." "She will give us the greatest pleasure if she will come with us," said the Rector. "I am only sorry that you cannot come yourself," and his wife added: "Are you sure that there is nothing that we can do?" "Nothing, thank you," said the Squire, and his sister went upstairs to put on her coat and hat. While she was away the Squire tapped nervously with one finger on the arm of his chair, and seemed ill at ease now that the necessary courtesies had been exchanged. He was evidently relieved when his sister returned and waved to us as we went towards the door. "I am afraid that my weak health always interferes with the pleasures of others/ he said. "Please forgive me. I wish it could be avoided." The Rector's wife turned her head towards him and said brightly: "You mustn't say things like that. You know how fond of you we all are," and, as we left the hall, the Squire smiled at her as though he found her words incredible. "In a way I hate to leave him," said his sister, while we were walking up the drive, "but he would never rest if he thought I were depriving myself of anything for his sake." "He is quite a saint," the Rector said, but by now we had reached the end of the drive where we found our car which Joe, the gardener, had just brought round for us. Joe stood beside the car, his feet firmly placed apart and one hand raised in the air. He had recently taken the part of the Archangel Gabriel in a nativity play and still, on any ceremonial occasion, would adopt this stance which he had learnt to hold throughout the tableau of the Annunciation. "A fine day, Joe," said the Rector, and the Squire's sister inquired about his wife. To the statement and the question Joe replied appropriately, and then we all got into the car, with the Rector driving and myself sitting by his side. We drove up the village street and, past the pub, turned to the right into the main road that ran alongside the aerodrome. As we passed one of the great gates flanked by high pylons from which flags were flying I heard the Squire's sister say: "It seems difficult to imagine the village as it used to be, doesn't it?" I had never been near the aerodrome in her company without hearing her make this remark, and was not surprised to hear from the Rector's wife the customary reply: "Times certainly do change." I turned round in order to ask the ladies whether they would like the rug on which I was sitting, and observed on both their faces a look of wistfulness which I took to be a token of regret for the simpler days before the Air Force had established itself in this part of the country. But I did not ask them about the rug, for suddenly six or seven fighter aircraft swooped down on us from the clouds, deafening us with the roar of their engines. The ladies put their hands to their ears and opened their mouths. The Rector looked up apprehensively, for it seemed almost as though we were the object of a concerted attack, so near to us did the leading aircraft dive before it straightened out, followed by the others, and zoomed away from us over the extended airfield. "Crazy monkeys!" said the Rector. "One of these days they'll come to some harm." "There ought to be some sort of regulations," the Squire's sister said, as I turned round again with the rug and noticed that the Rector's wife was staring after the vanishing planes with a look of something very like pride or pleasure in her eyes. She caught my eye and smiled at me. I said: "I wouldn't mind flying one of those things," and as I said this she looked gravely at me and made an interrupted gesture with her hand. The Rector had heard my remark and, slightly turning his head, shouted: "We'll find something better for you to do than that, eh, Roy!" He was alluding to what he regarded as my excellent chance of obtaining a high place in the examination for the Civil Service and, knowing his solicitude for me, I was again shocked with myself for finding something repellent in the jocosity of his voice. For half a second a rude reply was on the tip of my tongue. I repressed it, with something like horror, and then for a few moments began actually to envisage the possibility of my becoming associated in some capacity with the aerodrome, although I knew that the lives and manners of its inmates were quite unlike those which were regarded as estimable by my guardians and my friends. So we sat silent until we turned again to the right and drove slowly downhill to the large meadow in which the Agricultural Show was held, and soon we saw over the tops of hedges the white sloping roofs of marquees, the flags flying, poles and pieces of machinery extending upwards into the air. We could hear the music that accompanied the roundabouts,