The Bachelors (16 page)

Because
one is formed in that way, and at times of utter disenchantment no distraction
whatsoever avails, even the small advertisements in the newspapers are vile, in
the same way that I, in my epilepsy, am repulsive. He recited over to himself
the passage from Philippians: ‘… all that is gracious in the telling; virtue
and merit, wherever virtue and merit are found — let this be the argument of
your thoughts.’ By a violent wrench of the mind Ronald was capable of applying
this exhortation in a feelingless way, to the company of demons which had been
passing through his thoughts. He forced upon their characters what attributes
of vulnerable grace he could bring to mind. He felt sick. Isobel is brave
simply to go on breathing; another woman might have committed suicide ten years
ago; she knows how to decorate her house and how to dress. Marlene is handsome,
Tim is lovable, Ewart Thornton is intelligent, has gone far in the world,
considering his initial disadvantages, and moreover he is a schoolmaster, and,
moreover, one who respects his career and so finds difficulty in the practice
of it. Martin Bowles is considerate to his mother. Matthew Finch is afflicted
by sex and is blessed with a simple love of the old laws. Walter Prett is beset
by neglect and foolish fantasies and he loves art and is honest in his
profession. Hildegarde has a tremendous character. Eccie has a job on the
British Council….

By four
o’clock he was in bed. At five o’clock he rose and vomited. Next morning he had
an epileptic seizure lasting half an hour; it was a type of fit in which his
drugs were useless. This often happened to Ronald after he had made some effort
of will towards graciousness, as if a devil in his body was taking its
revenge.

He
resolved to go to Confession, less to rid himself of the past night’s thoughts
— since his priest made a distinction between sins of thought and these
convulsive dances and dialogues of the mind — than to receive, in absolution, a
friendly gesture of recognition from the maker of heaven and earth, vigilant
manipulator of the Falling Sickness.

Chapter IX

I CAN’T help feeling sorry
for little Patrick Seton,’ said Matthew Finch. ‘That widow and her friends seem
to be ganging up on him in a most unpleasant way.’

‘I’m
sorry for him too, in a way,’ Ronald said.

‘He’s
half Irish,’ said Matthew.

‘The
thing is: about this letter.’

‘It
sounds like Alice’s friend, Elsie,’ Matthew said. ‘I’ll see Elsie this
afternoon.’

‘It may
be destroyed by now.’

‘I
doubt that,’ Matthew said. ‘Alice is a sentimental girl’

‘It’s
hardly a sentimental letter.’

‘What
does it say?’

‘Get
the letter back and you’ll find out.’

‘I know
I’m to blame for this, I shouldn’t have told Alice you had it,’ Matthew said. ‘I’m
a foolish fellow, you know.’

‘Where
will you see Elsie?’

‘I’ll
go round to the coffee bar. She’s always on duty on Saturday afternoons. I’ve
got to see my cousin later, but—’

Ronald’s
telephone rang. Martin Bowles said, ‘I say, Ronald. I thought it best to have
Fergusson told that the letter had been stolen. I hope you—’

‘Who’s
Fergusson?’ Ronald said.

‘The
detective-inspector who keeps his eye on Patrick Seton. He says he’ll be seeing
Seton about it and doesn’t seem to be worried about getting it back, that is,
if Seton has it. I hope you agree that was the best course. If it comes out in
court—’

‘Yes,
it was quite the most sensible thing to do,’ Ronald said. ‘I’m much relieved.’

‘Sure
you don’t mind? If it comes out in court that you—’

‘No, I
don’t mind a bit. In fact I’m glad. I ought to have done something of the kind
straight away. The police should be informed of a theft of this kind. Only, in
these particular circumstances. I doubt if Seton actually has the letter. His
girl’s got it, we think.’

‘Who’s
we?’

‘
I’ve just been discussing it with Matthew Finch. As you know, he’s a
friend of the two girls in question.’

‘
Which
two girls?’

‘Seton’s
girl and the other girl, her friend, the one we think stole the letter for
Seton’s girl.’

‘I
really can’t make out who these girls are, Ronald. What has Matthew Finch to do
with this?’

‘Well,
you know I was indiscreet enough in the first place to tell him I was working
on the letter. And he was indiscreet enough to tell Elsie, and—’

‘Who’s
Elsie?’

‘She’s
the other girl who’s a friend of Seton’s girl. I told you’

‘Yes,
but I didn’t make notes. Look, Ronald, you can’t conduct a case like this.’

‘I’m
not conducting the case.’

‘If it
comes out in court that you’ve committed these indiscretions, you won’t blame
me, will you?’

‘No,’
Ronald said.

‘I
expect Fergusson will want to see you,’ Martin said. ‘A nice chap. Straight
with you if you’re straight with him.’

‘What
the hell are you talking about?’

‘Now,
Ronald, don’t be—’ Ronald hung up. ‘Some detective-inspector is going to find
the letter,’ he said. ‘So let’s forget it.’

‘I’ve
got you into trouble,’ Matthew said. ‘My sister thought probably this would
happen when I told her about the letter—’

‘Where
are you lunching? I haven’t done my shopping yet, what with one thing and
another.’

‘I’ve
got you into trouble with my talk,’ Matthew said. ‘Would you like me to see
Elsie in any case? It wouldn’t do any harm, would it?’

‘You’d
better see Elsie,’ Ronald said. ‘Because I doubt if the detective-inspector
will find the letter.’

‘You
said just now he was going to find it.’

‘I know
I did,’ said Ronald. ‘And I’ll end up in the bin, I daresay. Come on, let’s go
out.’

The
telephone rang again just as they were leaving. Ronald returned to answer it.

‘Oh,
Ronald,’ said Martin.

‘Yes.’

‘Are
you all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look,
Ronald, I don’t want you to misunderstand me. It’s just that I’m bound by
certain rules, you know. One has to observe certain—’

‘Of
course,’ Ronald said. ‘Obviously.’

‘You’ll
help Fergusson all you can? I’ve told him you will.’

‘Of
course. But look, I don’t really think Patrick Seton has the letter. I think it’s
something the girls have cooked up.’

‘Which
girls?’

‘Polly
and Molly,’ Ronald said.

‘Who?’

‘Cassandra
and Clytemnestra,’ Ronald said.

‘Look,
Ronald. This is awkward for me. You know me, you like me, don’t you?’

Here it
comes, Ronald thought.

‘Of
course,’ he said.

‘Well,
put yourself in my place. I’ve got my old ma on my hands. She’s going blind.
Can’t see the television. The housekeeper’s going blind. They fight like cat
and dog, they were pulling each other’s hair the other day. Can’t get a new
housekeeper, and anyway my old ma won’t have anyone new. The housekeeper—’

‘Hold
on a minute,’ Ronald said, and placing his hand over the receiver, murmured to
Matthew, who was hovering at the door, to make himself comfortable on the sofa
for at least five minutes. Have a drink. Cigarette — ‘Yes, halo,’ he said,
returning to Martin on the telephone.

‘The
housekeeper,’ Martin said, ‘was my old nurse and my old ma won’t get rid of
her, she’s got nowhere to go and we can’t afford a pension. Then I do the
shopping for the week-end. Not on weekdays, I draw the line there. Then Isobel’s
affairs take a bit of looking after, you know. I give her my professional
services, she doesn’t realise what I save her. Still, Isobel’s a good sort, as
you know, and very attractive. I say, Ronald, would you say Isobel was an
attractive woman?’

‘Oh
yes,’ Ronald said.

‘Doesn’t
show her years,’ Martin said. ‘Of course she’s got the money and the leisure.
She depends on me a lot, you know. She’s had a lot of bad luck with men, and I
think she appreciates me in a way. Wouldn’t you think so?’

‘Oh, I
think she does.’

‘Look,
Ronald, come along to my club for lunch. You see—’

‘Sorry,
I’m not free.’

‘You
see, there’s a personal problem I’d like to consult you about. Could you make
it 1.30?’

‘Sorry,
really I’m not free.’

‘I can’t
make it tomorrow,’ Martin said, ‘because the housekeeper goes off in the
afternoon and I’ve promised to read
Jane Eyre
to my old ma. She says she
was forbidden
Jane Eyre
as a girl. I don’t see why, do you? You see, she
can’t see well and the television isn’t much use to her. Then tomorrow night I’ve
simply got to collect Isobel off a train. When can we meet?’

‘I’ll
come and see you in your chambers one day next week. I’ve got to go now,
Martin.’

‘I’ll
ring you on Monday, then. Sure you’re not worried about Fergusson looking into
this theft?’

‘No,
but I doubt—’

‘It’s
breaking and entering, and stealing, to be precise. They’ll be sending a couple
of fellows round to ask questions.’

‘I see.’

‘You
should have been more careful, Ronald. You can’t conduct a case…

When
they were seated in the pub Ronald said, ‘You can tell Elsie that the cops will
be looking for her.’

‘Now,
she’s a nice poor girl,’ Matthew said.

‘Well,
give the poor girl a fright. Tell her the cops will be after her finger-prints
or something.’

Elsie Forrest climbed the
stairs to an attic flat in Shepherd’s Bush, and pressed the bell on a door
marked The Rev. Father T. W. Socket, M.A. The door was opened by Mike Garland,
wearing a green and white striped dressing-gown over his suit, and looking,
with his pink cheeks, like a lump of sticky bright confectionery. He blocked
the door.

‘Father
Socket is expecting me,’ Elsie said, ‘to do some typing.’

‘Oh, I
don’t know whether it’s convenient, now. But come in.’

‘I like
that!’ Elsie said as she walked into the large front sitting-room. ‘I’ve taken
the afternoon off from the coffee bar especially to help Father Socket. So I
should hope it is convenient.’

‘I
daresay it will be,’ Mike Garland said. ‘Take a seat.’

Elsie
was irritated when he said ‘Take a seat’, for on all the chairs in the room
were cushions that she herself had made for Father Socket, and this obviously
gave her rights which rose above formalities. She had not expected to see this
strange man with his peculiar garb in Father Socket’s flat. She usually walked
straight in-to the kitchen and put the kettle on the gas.

Elsie
heard voices from Father Socket’s bedroom. She wondered if the Master was ill,
but did not like to investigate in the presence of the stranger.

The
room was hung with Chinese scrolls which reached to the low bookcases. These
contained the books of which Elsie had made a list, and for each of which,
under the Master’s instructions, she had made an index card. The Master was
learned. He was a real priest, he told her, ordained by no man-made bishop but
by Fire and the Holy Ghost; and a range of brightly woven vestments was hung in
a cupboard in his bedroom to prove it.

Elsie
had never before been to Father Socket’s on a Saturday afternoon. Thursday
afternoon was her usual time, and it was then she typed his manuscripts, over
and over again — for he was always revising them, never satisfied, like the
true Master of writing that he was.

‘He
ought to pay you for all that work,’ Alice had said. But to Elsie it was a
labour of love typing out his papers on the subjects of the Cabbala, Theosophy,
Witchcraft, Spiritualism, and Bacon wrote Shakespeare, besides many other
topics.

‘It’s a
labour of love,’ Elsie said to Alice. After all, Alice had Patrick; and it was
nice for a girl to have someone on the spiritual side of life. Men like Father
Socket lifted one up whereas young men so often pulled one down.

‘You’ve
got queer tastes,’ Alice had said the day before, sitting in the window with
Elsie, at dusk.

‘There
isn’t any sex between Father Socket and me,’ Elsie said.

‘That’s
a detail,’ Alice said.

‘He
smells of a perfume, like musk or incense,’ Elsie said.

‘You
always smell things,’ Alice said.

‘Patrick
smells of goat, like a real bachelor.’

‘Go on
with you. Patrick’s a man of the world. He’s been married.’

‘That
boy Matthew Finch who’d been eating onions that time…. It’s terrible, the
smell of onions. Because I used to sleep beside my uncle, we were all in the
one room, in Sheffield where I was born. My uncle was the only one of them that
didn’t drink, drink, drink. So I went with Matthew and yet afterwards I didn’t
like myself for it. It’s all explained in psychology.’