The Secret Journey (94 page)

He did feel ashamed now. It burned on his face—burned as he breakfasted, as he read his letters. And last night he had felt it scald. Well he had a responsibility. A moral one. He would do something for them before he left Gelton. Gelton! The name was like gall on his tongue. He loathed it. Was his mother still unconscious? Should he have gone home with his father?
Taken
him home here? Should he have asked where the others were? Were his parents still living in Hatfields? He didn't know! He knew nothing. Learning the roads of a new world he had forgotten all the roads of the old. Was Mr. Kilkey still at the same address?

‘You're not eating your breakfast, Desmond.'

‘I am,' he said, and now he seemed to feel this hot flush of shame on his face. He simply could not get them out of his mind. She was lying there helpless, yet the very thought of her could cripple him. He
was
ashamed. He had ignored them. He
must
do something about them. And he
must climb
.

‘Sheila! I want you to go to London to-morrow morning, and I want you to make all arrangements at that end. I will this end. We leave to-day week.'

At last! He had made up his mind. He was on his feet at once, saying: ‘Now I've to rush off to see this fool of a man Tinks'—it was always ‘this fool of a man'—or ‘this bloody man'—‘I may be away the whole day. Perhaps you'd meet me in town, Sheila? Would you like to do that?' He stood over her.

‘Are you sure you're doing something really wise! I mean—well—your mother.'

‘Don't talk to me about them. Haven't I always said don't talk about them? Well,
don't
! I've told you before you don't have to mention them to me! Have you forgotten all that filthy business? D'you want your mind shaken up?' He added quickly. ‘I'm sorry, Sheila! I'm in a temper with myself. Kiss me.'

The embrace made him long for her again.

She watched him rush from the room. Sitting down again she could hear him rushing about above stairs. A violent man. A strange kind of man. No half-way measures, no short cuts. Angry as a lion, cooing as a dove. She liked him best when he floundered about under her, when he couldn't fence against her subtlety. She liked him best that way. She knew he wasn't ‘sure ‘about her. She rather enjoyed that.

When he came down he had changed his mind. He wouldn't see her in town for lunch. He had just remembered something. It was rather important. A few minutes later he left the house. The thing he had just remembered, had in fact only that moment been born. He thought it a good idea. It solved awkward difficulties. It occupied his mind all the way to town.

The war raged, Gelton sprawled about in uniform. There was nothing unusual about a Captain riding on a tram-car. When he got off he decided to go and see Mr. Laurence Trears. The very man. Why hadn't he thought of him before? This made the difficulties far less; his conscience could rest. He had money, had saved money. His pay was good. He could make some sort of allowance to his mother. By this method conscience was absolved. Of course he wouldn't let it be known where or who the money came from. But Mr. Trears, who was a good man—‘I've heard he's quite good'—would manage all that. At least he would have done something. This cleared the way. Life was great, but parents were just uncomfortable. They had said he would be sorry one day. He was willing to learn. When he got to the solicitor's office the gentleman was out. That was disappointing indeed. He'd call again. Captain D. Fury.

He had lunch alone—cheese and beer—a sphinx-like waiter of sixty attended to his wants. He expected Mr. Tinks some time after one. He liked looking around whilst the job was done. What would his late foreman say? What wouldn't he say? He hung about afterwards in the lounge. A quarter to one.

He hoped Mr. Tinks wouldn't be late. He wandered about, left the lounge and went to the writing-room. He sat down. Seeing a writing-table vacant, he decided to write a letter right away to Mr. Laurence Trears, Adelphi House, Solicitor and Commissioner for Oaths. The idea still held. It was a good one. He dipped pen in the ink and wrote as follows:

D
EAR
M
R
. T
REARS
,

I should be glad to know if you would undertake a small commission on my behalf. I had better explain who I am in the first place. I think I made your acquaintance previously in the public room at the Alpacia Hotel. You did, I believe, represent my brother at his trial, and know my mother slightly. It is about her I wish to write. Having to leave Gelton very shortly for important work in London and Plymouth, it is my intention to make my mother a small allowance of ten shillings per week, and for which purpose I hope to allocate a sum of fifty pounds, the same to be renewed as circumstances will permit. I should be glad to know therefore if you would be good enough to take over this sum of money and would pay a weekly sum of ten shillings to my mother at her address—I regret I do not know it at the moment—but if you should not have it I will find it out. In anticipation of your courtesy in this matter, I have pleasure in enclosing a cheque for twenty-five pounds. The charges can be sent to me at Lynx House, London, on your regular presentation days. [Mr. Trears juggled with this phrase for half an hour.]

Thanking you in anticipation,

I remain, Yours faithfully,

D. F
URY (
Captain
).

Well, that was that! What a good idea. Splendid! He'd post it right away. Perhaps they had a postbox Peter here? As he put the letter in the box, Mr. Tinks arrived.

All smiles, Desmond approached, hand outstretched. For the fourth time he looked down at his boots.

‘Why, hello, Tinks,' he exclaimed, boisterously, hardly expecting the gentleman to react as he did.

‘Hello,' said Tinks, ‘I want to talk to you! What's your bloody game, Dessy?'

Mr. Tinks was hot, fat, and fifty. He bounced about in front of Captain Fury. In this way, it seemed, had he made his first acquaintance with the world. He couldn't run, he hardly seemed to walk at all. He simply bounced. Continuously he smothered the whole of his face in a voluminous old handkerchief. ‘You're a bloody twister, Dessy!' he said.

Captain Fury said nothing. He just stared down at the human ball, feverishly speculated. This was hardly what he had expected. Was this Tom Tinks? Better have a good look just to make sure. A grey tweed suit, expansive waist, heavy features, eyes that blinked continually, not so much from short sightedness but rather from a sense of awareness, like the blinking lights of a lightship. Mr. Tinks's eyes stood solely as sentinels in his head. He blew his nose, grunted, cleared his throat, wiped sweat from his face. All these actions occupied a second, all were executed in one movement. Captain Fury hated the cap. He had worn a cap himself. But this cap, the peak fell down over Mr. Tinks's purple forehead like a vizor.

‘Can't stand here though, Dessy,' he growled. ‘Better come to the bar. Have a drink?'

He became suddenly breathless. The handkerchief never left his hand. They went to the bar. It was empty. ‘Good!' thought Tinks. ‘Got this swine all on his own.' He looked Captain Fury up and down. What a bloody swell.… Suppose his wife dressed him up like that.

They sat down.

‘What's yours?' asked Mr. Tinks. His attitude towards the barman was no less belligerent. ‘Hurry up, dozy.' This after the Captain, who had improved his taste of late, had asked for a brandy and soda. Mr. Tinks ordered a pint of bitter ale.

With this before them they could no longer remain silent. Captain Fury, affected only by the cap, and not by anything that Mr. Tinks would say, began to speak.

‘In the first place I thought this meeting had to do with a branch at the Grinley Sheds. I thought you were going to eat me at first. The flesh is tough. However, what d'you want? You look like myself, a busy man. What do you want of me?'

‘In the first place I think you're a bastard,' announced Mr. Tinks, who now took a good look at Captain Fury. ‘Quite a swank! Yes, on
their
bloody pennies. However——You haven't heard the last of this. I heard you were pushing out of Gelton. Should have thought you'd have gone long ago.'

Desmond reddened at once. ‘Damn!' he said, ‘get it off your chest.'

‘I will! At the moment I take me time. Heart's none too good! D'you think you're doing the right thing getting these working men to follow
you
into uniform? You know, I should have thought you had more sense! The crowd you're trying to represent in your stinking old uniform won't count tuppence after this war is over. I thought an intelligent man like you would know it. Where'll you be? In Gelton? No! You'll be in the bloody gutter! You belong there.'

Suddenly Desmond Fury caught Tinks's arm in a powerful grip. At this moment he was of two minds whether to strangle Tinks or just break him in two.

‘You can't come here insulting me like this, you know. I'm not your kidney. And if I put workers into uniforms, what about it? Give them some handy experience for the militant revolution.' He paused suddenly, struck by the expression upon Mr. Tinks's face, and for one wild moment he thought that the man
really
believed what he said. He rushed ahead then at great speed.

‘You people didn't put me where I am to-day. You and your bloody pennies. I put
myself
where I am! I'd have to wait a hell of a time to be pushed into position by the workers: I worked hard for them for years. But I learned my lesson in the last strike. Mr. Tinks. Workers! You make me want to vomit! They smashed the strike, arguing and fighting like a lot of old women. Oh, I gave that up long since. Now I carve a path of my own. Even my own father is a mug. I learned from him too. Is this all you came to see me about? To tell me I'm a bastard? For two pins I'd break your bloody neck. Now get out. No, wait! You stood me a drink. I'll stand you one. We part equal. So they don't like being in uniform? What do they want? Angels' draperies! They're a lot of lousy bastards. That's all I've ever made of them. Don't even thank you for helping them. Let a live Lord smile at them, and five years of my spade work, bloody hard work, is gone down the drain. Here he is with your drink. Gulp it down and then clear.'

‘How's your ma? I hear she's in hospital, Dessy,' said Mr. Tinks.

This sudden announcement completely flabbergasted Captain Fury. Such a complete turn-round. How was his mother? He liked that! Was this fellow playing jokes?

‘I didn't know you were interested. She's not very well.' He could have laughed after saying this. He still couldn't believe that this wasn't an enormous joke at his expense. He'd come here fuming and now asked after his mother.

‘Sorry about your ma. I knew her, you know. Nice old lady,' said Mr. Tinks.

‘What exactly do you want?'

‘Nothing from you.'

‘Drink up and go. I'm busy.'

‘Are you? What have I to tell the hands at Grinley Sheds, what've struck out all along against you and the bloody Government ideas? They're the only branch in the bunch that's stood out against this regimentation, and now they know they'll be roped in. But as you once worked with them on their own level, they want to know. They're up against it. Nobody trusts you in Gelton now, Fury, you know.'

‘Tell the Grinley branch to go to hell!' said Desmond, and he got up and left Mr. Tinks to finish his drink alone. So that was all the fellow wanted to see him about. To dress him down. Might as well try that on a bloody rhino!

When he left the hotel he regretted not having asked Sheila to meet him—wonderful how at certain moments in his flying career he could reflect upon the help she could give, and she
had
helped. He had been in situations like this before. Without her at his side he would have felt humbled to the ground. Mr. Tinks was still a good honest working man. It made him laugh.

Why, if he had said to Tinks: ‘Look here, man! What about being my secretary? There's money in it. Don't be a bloody mug any longer——' why the fellow would have melted in his arms.

He walked down one street, up another, embarrassed at times by the number of soldiers who brought hands to foreheads smartly. ‘I think I'll go back home,' he said to himself. At the moment there was nothing for him to do, nobody to see. He had written Trears, seen that ‘fool of a man ‘; it made him laugh to think of it, he had thought it so important. Yes. That was an idea. He could ring the hospital. This he did, to learn that his mother was still unconscious. ‘As bad as that! Poor mother.' Then he jumped on a tram for home.

He thought of London, the departure from Gelton. How he loathed the place! But he was full of misgiving on the way home. Ought he to have gone to see his father? No! Yes! No! Hang it! He had never thought to ask where they lived. They just
wouldn't
stay in that house after all this bother, and what a bother! An unlucky house, indeed. She had had to leave it in the end. Just fancy that.…

Perhaps he
had
better see the old people before he went away. There were always accidents. You never knew. He slapped his knee and a woman looked up at him. He must find out. But how! Couldn't go about Hatfields skirmishing. Then the whole thing seemed futile and he washed it out of his mind. He hardly glanced out of the window. He was carried a quarter of a mile beyond his stopping place. He got off. The news about his mother had upset him. He
must
see his father. When he eventually got back home he found Sheila rooting the drawers.

‘See Mr. Tinks? Had anything to eat?' she asked, still immersed in her rooting.

‘Yes. Saw everybody. Had lunch. I'm going out again after tea. I must see my father before I go. I rang up to see how my mother was. It looks bad.'

‘I'm sorry, Des,' she said, and continued rooting amongst the papers.