The Power of the Dead (38 page)

“And you served with the Gaultshire Regiment? In that case you know my nephew, Phillip Maddison?”

“He was my Commanding Officer in France and Belgium, sir.”

“Did he give you permission to fish here?”

Bill Kidd thought rapidly: his mind prompted a divided answer. “Phillip did offer me a day on his water, so did Piers, when I met them together in London, and we talked trout. As a matter of fact, I intended to look him up after my day on the Tofield beat. I’ve just come down from London, as a matter of fact, and mistaken my destination.”

Hilary decided to let it go at that. “Well, finish your day. I’ll take the lower water, by the weir.”

“That’s most generous of you, sir, but I rather fancy I’ll be expected at the Tofields’ place.” He wound in his line.

Bill Kidd had a dozen fish hidden in a bed of nettles: he didn’t want the boat to land, so pulling off his deerstalker he bowed from the neck like a guardsman in plain clothes before Royalty; then with a “Good day to you, sir, I’ll get my motor”, he walked towards the site of the ruined house. There he shoved the wads of reed together with the spars or brooches through an empty window-space into the brambles and elderberry bushes below. Had anyone stopped him on the way there and asked what was he doing with them, Bill Kidd had his answer rehearsed. ‘I’m an ex-serviceman trying to get a living. These are samples of the best wheat reed. Know any bloke wanting a thatcher? My partners and I can undercut local rates by twenty per cent.’

He congratulated himself as he returned slowly down the weedy drive. Near the farmhouse he met Phillip walking with a young man in creaking new leggings, together with the girl who had turned up the day before, whom he had seen several times at the Game Pie with a middle-aged man, who was obviously running her by the way he kept her from younger men.

“I’ve been looking for you, my Mad Son. I’ve just had the pleasure of meeting Sir Hilary, who was kind enough to give me permission to fish. But I don’t want to take advantage of his generosity while he’s here. How long’s he staying, d’you know?”

“He may be here for the rest of the summer, or gone tomorrow.”

“Blime, a fly-by-night. Seriously, I thought he was a decent old boy. A sahib, in fact. Who’s this bloke?”

“Mr. Cabton—Major Kidd.”

“Pleased to meet you, Major. What sort of car d’you call this one? ’Ot as ’ell. A joke, I perceive.”

“What sort of walking stick do you call that one? Poacher’s four-ten, what? You look out, my lad! Have you got a licence? Then watch your step! I’ve got a game licence, and that entitles me to ask questions, and don’t you forget it.”

Cabton replied in lazy tones. “What does your old iron do, if it isn’t a rude question?”

“At thirty the engine rattles, at forty your ribs rattle, at fifty a gramophone plays ‘Down Among the Dead Men’ Well, cheerio you blokes. If you, my little maid, can’t be good”—with a finger wag at Felicity—“be careful! I spied you in the Game Pie, with my little eye. Naughty, naughty!” And with a roar of
conglomerate
machinery Bill Kidd drove down the valley to the Benbow Ponds, thinking that what he knew about the little maid might one day come in useful.

*

Phillip and Felicity were walking up the borstal. His slight fear of her induced a satirical mood of defence. “In some ways, you know, Bill Kidd is a praiseworthy figure, if self-education be
considered
a matter of praise.”

“He didn’t seem educated to me.”

“He educated himself by telepathy at one of the three leading public schools in England.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The fact that, in all probability, his name doesn’t appear in the official list of ‘Old Wycks’, should be offset by the pride he must have felt before admitting himself at his advanced age, to Winchester College.” He struck at nettles with his stick; a whitethroat flew out in alarm. They peered for the nest. It was safe, thank heaven.

“Don’t heed what I said. I was assuming my satiric, worthless self, Felicity, for I do really understand Bill Kidd’s
persona
, or mask. I assumed an identical attitude when I became a temporary gent, and was attached for training to a territorial battalion whose officers were most of them from Cambridge. I had such a ragging for being a bounder—and I did behave like a bounder—that a little later on, when with another regiment, I found myself
suddenly
saying that I was up at Cambridge University just before the war. I wasn’t; I was a junior clerk in the City. I suppose it
was a natural effect of fear, of wanting to conform in all respects. What in nature is called ‘protective coloration’, which after all springs from fear.”

“That’s a generous way to look at it.”

“But isn’t it the truth?”

“They say that truth is bitter.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, isn’t it?”

He stopped and looked at her. “What did Bill Kidd mean about seeing you in the Game Pie?”

“I’ve no idea. I’ve been there only three times, always with my guardian. The third time I saw you.”

“But why do you think the truth is bitter?”

“I don’t really. Blake said, ‘Everything that lives is holy’. That’s what I really feel.” She concealed her bitten nails.

They sat down at the edge of the beech hanger. She longed to put her head against his heart, and feel his arms holding her. It was an aching feeling. But he merely spoke about Bill Kidd in Archangel. She burst out with “How can anyone
want
to be photographed beside a row of men who have been hanged?”

“They may have been dummies for a film. Tell me what he said in the Game Pie?”

She had looked flurried when she spoke about her ‘guardian’. And also, there was Piers’ remark about ringing her up the next time he went to London.
She’ll
be
only
too
glad
of
the
chance
,
I
expect.

What a hypocrite he was, pretending to Lucy that he thought of her only for help with his work. The days were drifting by, and he was not working. It had been the same with Barley—she had been between him and all thoughts about war. He
must
continue his book about the war. O, it cried out to be written: the historical truth of those years. How the war had altered not only the face of the land, with its hutment camps and practice areas, but also the faces of the people. Consider his own case—or, more obviously, the case of Bill Kidd. From being a frightened, evasive little fellow—his eyes in moments of quiet were still haunted—with moustache no bigger than one of his own eyebrows, Bill Kidd had developed, through fear and desperation, and in admiring imitation of his superiors, into a conglomerated man with a jargon improvised to fit the picture of himself as ‘a bold, bad lad’: full of ideas of his own potential valour; his old self, still the inner man, thrust behind that Kaiser moustache.

Felicity came to him with some shells of hill-snails in the palm of her hand.

“Are those ammonites, Phillip?”

“Aren’t ammonites found only in water? Felicity, I feel I’ve been mean about Bill Kidd.”

“Only because you understand him.”

“You knew him before he came here, didn’t you?”

“I’ve only seen him once before, at the Game Pie. But never spoken to him.”

He felt warmly towards Bill Kidd.

“After all, every living creature strives to get on, by copying, that is learning from, others. Birds and butterflies imitate foliage—soil—rocks—to escape being seen. All the world
is
a stage, full of invented life.”

There was a shot among the trees, the screaming of a blackbird. Cabton came to the edge of the hanger, holding up a bird.

“Ever had a blackbird pie? Not bad, eh? If I can get some clay, I’ll bake it in the embers of a fire.”

“I did that once with a sparrow.”

“Did you eat it?”

“It was not only burnt, but burst.”

“You should’ve taken out the guts first.”

He took Cabton aside. “There are a lot of young birds about, pheasants and partridges included, so couldn’t you watch them, without shooting?”

*

Hilary felt hedged-in when he saw two more strange faces in the garden. Phillip should have known better than to have his friends to stay at the same time as himself. After all, there was the rest of the year in which to invite them. However, he did his best to be pleasant, but got only monosyllabic replies from Cabton. He was finally repelled by the fellow cleaning his nails with a
single-bladed
penknife while sitting at table.

“Who is he?” he asked later, when he, Phillip and Billy were in the garden.

“Stick Gun,” said Billy earnestly, looking up.

“A writer,” Phillip hastened to say. “I’ve never met him before.”

“Then why is he here?”

“Edward Cornelian, the critic and friend of Thomas Morland, thinks he has great talent.”

“Then there was that other fellow who was poaching my trout.”

“He just turned up.”

“This sort of thing won’t do, you know, Phillip. Who’s the girl?”

“Miss Ancroft is staying at Shakesbury, and came over for the day. Lucy thought she could help with secretarial work.”

“Well, don’t get mixed up with too many people like Stiggun or Stiggin whatever he calls himself, and that other fellow, what’s his name, Kidd. There’s only one word for a man who claims to be a Wykehamist and tells you that the Test runs past Winchester. He hadn’t even bothered to look at a map to find out that the river is the Itchen. I suppose it was you three who got rid of my whisky?”

“I must apologise for not telling you earlier, Uncle Hilary. When these people called, I offered them refreshment. There was also a man from Savoy Hill. I didn’t drink any myself, by the way.”

“I don’t want to have to lock up my things, you know.”

“I tried to get another bottle to replace it, but malt whisky isn’t sold locally.”

“Why didn’t you drink any?”

“I’m trying to keep as fit as possible.”

“Well, that’s something. Good God, look at that child.”

Billy had taken one of the table knives and was trying to clean his fingernails with it.

“You really must use your judgment about whom you allow in your home, Phillip. What does Lucy think about these people?”

“Oh, she’s happy whatever happens.”

Felicity came up to them.

“I’m going now. I have so enjoyed myself. I think I’ll walk to Shakesbury. Thank you for letting me come here. Did you have some good fishing, Sir Hilary?”

“Oh, not so bad, you know.”

Phillip said, “Well, thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“I wish I could have done more.”

“Please let me pay you for the typing.”

She was pale. “Oh no. It’s been a great privilege to be allowed to come here. I’ll find Mrs. Maddison, to say goodbye—— No, I love walking, really. Please don’t bother about me——”

“Of course I’ll run you back. I expect Cabton will like a ride on the carrier, too.”

Hilary saw them off with a genial manner; he was relieved to think that now he would have the sitting room to himself before supper.

Lucy came downstairs, having put the boys to bed, to find Hilary standing by the fireplace.

“Will Phillip be long, d’you think, Lucy? I think it’s time we came to some definite arrangement. I’d like you to be present, too.”

“It takes about half an hour to go to Colham and back, Uncle Hilary.”

“Perhaps we three can talk in another room? I suppose he’ll be bringing that fellow Stiggun or Stiggin back with him? What’s Phillip doing, anyway, to allow him to walk about with that poacher’s gun of his?”

“I think he’s supposed to be getting ideas for a book.”

“Good God! Getting ideas for a book, with a Belgian
walking-stick
gun in June!”

“Anyway, I’ll tell him we have some family business to talk over after supper. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

When the supper table was cleared, and Cabton had gone out, the brushwood in the hearth was lit. Sticks blazed against the back-log, they sat in the light of cheerful flames.

Phillip had feared the worst; he was therefore surprised when his uncle began by saying, “I’ve decided to follow my advisers, and go in for milk, and take a moveable bail to the fields. We’ll build up a pedigree Friesian herd to begin with. The Government will be forced to subsidise milk sooner or later, and to build
processing
factories. Other downland farmers are going in for milk. It will mean getting rid of the ewe flocks. I want to do this at Michaelmas, before the slump really gets going. All the political signs point to a General Election in the Spring, and if the
Conservative
party has any sense it will let in the Socialists to show the country what a mess they can make of things.”

“Make a mess out of a mess, you mean?”

“Exactly. If you have anything to say, now’s the time to get it off your chest.”

“Some of the men will be stood off, I suppose?”

“Almost all of them. We’ll need five cowmen, including a head man, who will have had mechanical training. We’ll require one horseman to look after five horses, the usual number for a
teams-man
. Lads can lead the pairs in waggon, tumbril, and
water-cart
. In fact, there won’t be any water-carts. Water will be drawn to the herds in hollow light rollers, which can also be used for those cultivations required for growing oats, hay, and other fodder for the cows.”

Phillip asked about Joby the shepherd.

“He’ll have to be given notice when the hoggets are finished off next spring. Hibbs will have to go, too.”

“Poor Hibbs, he said to me that the farm should be all milk, with bails, nearly two years ago.”

“I’m afraid it wasn’t possible then, Phillip.”

“What will I be expected to do under the new scheme, Uncle Hilary?”

“You’ll have to make yourself responsible for everything generally, and particularly to see that the milk is got away in proper condition at the right time. That means early rising seven days a week, at least for the first year or two. Then you’ll have to attend regularly once or twice a week at the agent’s office, to get the hang of estate management.” Hilary leaned forward, and held up a finger for emphasis. “It’s the only way, Phillip. If you want to keep your head above water, you’ve got to learn the
business
from A to Z. Farming
is
a business, you know, and requires constant attention to detail. And as I’ve told you more than once, you’ll have to chuck this writin’ of yours. Remember the old adage—‘No man can serve two masters’.”