Chapter seventeen

Nan thrust her arm through Mor's as they began to walk slowly back up the hill, taking the little path that led from the Headmaster's garden into the wood. It was the end of term. They had just been talking with Mr Everard. It was now four days since the climbing of the tower, and nothing had been seen or heard of Donald since the moment when he ran away across the playground and disappeared into the darkness. The boys who had pursued him as far as the main road had lost him there in the wilderness of fields and waste land on the other side. He had vanished, and there had been no news of him since. After two days of waiting, Mor had asked the help of the police, but without much hope of results. Nan and Felicity had of course returned home at once, and now one of them was always in the house in case the telephone rang. But it did not ring, and Donald's absence and silence continued.

Jimmy Carde had had a miraculous escape from death. He was saved largely by Mr Everard's pile of blankets; and was now in hospital with broken ribs, two broken legs, and a fractured skull. He was declared to be in no immediate danger, and likely to recover. Two of the boys who had tried to break his fall were also in hospital with concussion.

Against both Carde and Donald Mor Mr Everard had reluctantly invoked the law that decreed instant expulsion for climbers. He had been so apologetic to Mor about this that the latter had virtually had to make up his mind for him, pointing out that he had no choice but to expel them both. This was grave. What was in a way more grave was that it was now two days before Donald's chemistry exam was due to start. Everard had told Mor that there would of course be no objection to Donald's taking the exam at St Bride's and using the laboratories as he would normally have done. But Mor knew that now his son would not take the examination, and was perhaps deliberately staying in hiding until the date was past.

On the night of the catastrophe Rain and Demoyte came to see Mor at a very late hour in Rain's car, and wanted to take him back then and there to Brayling's Close. Mor had refused, since he felt he must stay in his own home in case of telephone messages or in case Donald came back. Rain had cooked him a meal, which he was unable to eat, and had administered a sedative. She and Demoyte persuaded him to go to bed, and then they went away. Since then Mor had seen her frequently, now always at the Close.

Mor's anxiety about Donald was intense. But his anxiety about Rain was equally intense; and he might, even then, have been able to speak decisively to Nan if the latter had given him the slightest chance. But Nan, as if once more to cross him, had been since her return enormously calm, reasonable, and compliant, doing her best to generate once more that atmosphere of homely ennui which Mor could still remember that he had once found reassuring.

Nan was very worried too about Donald, but she had reasoned it out with Mor that the boy had almost certainly come to no harm, and would reappear after the opening date of the examination. As far as the exam was concerned, Nan was obviously more glad than otherwise that Don would miss it, but she refrained from irritating by saying so. The person who was most genuinely afraid about what might have happened to Donald was Felicity, who busied herself with imagining the worst possible and was continually in tears.

"Evvy has been awfully nice, hasn't he?" said Nan, still clinging on to Mor's arm.

The wood was silent and empty. Many of the boys had already gone away on early buses and the rest were hanging about in the playground or the upper drive, waiting to be picked up. Some more charabancs were due at eleven o'clock to take the West Country contingent to the station.

"He's very decent", said Mor. "Did he say anything special to you before I came?"

"He said they're going ahead with the presentation dinner for Demoyte's picture", said Nan. "It's happening on Tuesday".

"Yes, I know it's Tuesday. Will you come—or shall we send an excuse? It's perfectly easy to get out of it now".

"I shall come, I think", said Nan. "We'd better go on making life as normal as possible—it'll keep us from fretting too much. I even let Ewy persuade me into saying a few words. I just hadn't the strength to say no. He said something very short would do".

"You'll answer the toast!" said Mor. "I'm so glad". But he was not glad, he thought, any more about anything connected with Nan.

He felt as if he were talking to someone who was already dead, but who didn't yet know it.

"I wish Felicity would cheer up a bit and not be wretched", said Mor. He had to talk to stop himself from thinking.

"She got a bad cold down at the sea", said Nan. "I found her wandering about in her bathing suit late one evening. She hasn't been well since".

As they reached the gravel path behind the Library a sound was to be heard of cheerful voices, laughter, and singing, and when they emerged on to the playground they saw fhe crowd of boys waiting with their hand luggage near the entrance to the drive. A charabanc had drawn up and some of the boys were climbing in. In the background, beyond School House, a few private cars could be seen drawn up on the grass, their doors wide open, being loaded with suitcases, tennis rackets, cricket bats, and other paraphernalia. The mass of those who were not yet called for stood by in a joyful chanting crowd to wave away the departing ones. On this day all feuds were forgotten, and the most puny and unpopular boy in the form would get a warm unanimous shout of farewell, heartening and misleading to his parents, especially if the latter arrived to fetch him in the latest Bentley or the oldest Rolls.

The charabanc had filled up, and began to move away amid shouting and waving. A dozen boys ran after it down the drive, pushing it while it crawled slowly from the asphalt to the gravel, and then pursuing it as it gathered pace, to escort it as far as the gates. Hands were flapping out of every window. The charabanc disappeared into a cloud of dust and cheering. Meanwhile the crowd in the playground were dancing a Highland reel, accompanied by human voices imitating bagpipes, while through the windows of echoing and empty classrooms a few late lingerers leaned out to shout to their friends or to unwind, contrary to Mr Everard's most explicit wishes, long rolls of lavatory paper which undulated in the wind like streamers.

"Let's go round the other way", said Mor. He looked on the scene with revulsion.

"Don't be silly, Bill", said Nan. She drew him firmly on across the playground towards the drive, keeping close to the wall of Main School. A group of reelers removed their capering for a few steps to Jet them pass.

"Goodbye, sir, happy holidays!" called one or two voices.

"Goodbye, goodbye, happy holidays!" came the echoing cry from the rest of the crowd.

Mor felt that he was anonymous. He was just one of the masters. He felt almost annihilated by the presence of so much happiness. "Goodbye", he said, "happy holidays to you too".

They turned along the drive. As they neared the gates a car passed them slowly. The window came down and the small head of Rigden came out, bobbing violently as if it were on a spring.

"Goodbye, sir", cried Rigden. "Good luck—and see you next term!"

Mor and Nan turned into the suburban roads of the housing estate. In a minute or two they had reached their own house. Felicity met them at the door.

"Any news?" she said. Her eyes had grown big and bloodshot with intermittent weeping and continual expectation.

"No", said Mor. "Did anyone ring?"

"No", she said, and went back to sit at the foot of the stairs.

Nan said, "I'll make some coffee. Then I really must do that ironing. What are you going to do, Bill?"

Mor was going to see Rain at Braylirig's Close. He said, "I'll go down to the Public Library on my bike—and then I'd better go back into school and do various jobs".

"Must you really work today?" said Nan, staring at him from the kitchen door. "I thought holidays had started". "I've told you a hundred times", said Mor, "holidays don't start for me at the end of term". He went into the drawing-room.

"Don't sit in that draughty place, darling", Nan was saying to Felicity. "Come and have your coffee".

Felicity said, "I don't want any coffee. I'm going to lie down for a while".

"Don't be silly", said Nan, "you'll only start crying again if you lie down".

Felicity made no reply, but walked upstairs with a heavy tread and closed the door of her room.

Nan brought in a tray with coffee and biscuits. They sat looking out of the window.

"The autumn is coming", she said. "It's strange how early you can see it. As soon as the phlox comes out you know that the best part of the summer is over. Then you can soon expect the falling leaves".

"Yes", said Mor. He finished his coffee quickly; "I must be off now", he said. "I'll be back for lunch".

Nan got up and followed him into the hall. "I think I'll just look in on Felicity", she said. "The child will make herself ill with this grieving".

Mor left the house. He took his bicycle, started off in the direction of the Library, turned sharply back down another road, and joined the dual carriageway near the brow of the hill. Then he sailed swiftly down the other side towards Demoyte's house. By the time he reached the door of the Close his heart was light.

He went straight into the drawing-room, where he found Rain sitting with Demoyte. They were a great deal together in these days. When Mor came in, Rain jumped up and ran to seize the sleeve of his coat, while Demoyte looked on with a sombre expression.

"This place is turning into a madhouse", said Demoyte. He began to gather up his books preparatory to leaving the room.

"Don't go, sir", said Mor.

"Don't give me that stuff", said Demoyte. "I'll be in the library, if either of you wants to see me, which is unlikely".

As soon as the door closed, Mor picked Rain up violently in his arms and held her as if to crush their two bodies into one. It seemed as if such an embrace must surely mend all. He set her down at last, protesting and laughing a little.

"How was it this morning?" asked Rain.

How could he tell her how it was? This morning he had suffered to extremity. This morning he had been a liar and a traitor. But now he could scarcely remember these things.

"This morning was all right", said Mor. He had already told her that there was no news of Donald.

"Mor", said Rain, tugging at his knees, "you haven't—said anything to Nan yet?"

This was the question which Mor had been dreading.

"No", he said.

"Will you—soon?" she asked. Her look of tender anxiety made Mor cover his face.

"Rain", he said, "I can't give this blow to Nan just now, just when we're so worried about Donald. We must wait a little longer".

"Mor", said Rain, "I cannot wait I know this impatience may be very tiresome or wicked. If it's wicked, it hardly adds much to the sum of what we've already done wrong. But I think we should tell Nan the truth now, even if it is a bad moment".

"Why now?" said Mor. "Or are you afraid I'll change my mind?" He held her by the chin, and looked into her eyes. He had never known before what it was to converse with someone, reading their eyes the whole time.

"Not that!" said Rain. "Yet I am afraid of something, I don't know what. I want to bind you to me". Her small hands gripped his wrists and tried to shake him.

When Mor saw her intensity and her determination, he felt deep gratitude. He drew her towards him. "So you shall, my dearest", he said. "But you must leave this other matter to me. Now tell me about something else. Have you worked on the picture again?"

"No", said Rain, "I haven't touched it. I feel far too rotten to paint. It's no good, but it'll have to stay like that".

"I'm sorry", said Mor. "I hate having stopped you from painting".

"Nothing could stop me", said Rain, "except for a moment!"

"You know this awful dinner is on Tuesday?" said Mor.

Rain shuddered. "You wife won't be there, will she?" she asked.

"Yes", said Mor, "but that won't matter".

Rain jumped to her feet. "I can't come to the dinner if your wife is there", she said, "I can't". She was almost crying.

"Darling", said Mor, "don't be foolish. It'll be awful, but it's just something we must get through. It's no madder than everything else is at the moment".

"You must tell her at once!" she said.

"Rain", said Mor, "leave it to me, will you?"

Rain was suddenly in tears. He embraced her. "I can't", she kept saying, "I can't go to that dinner, I can't".

"Stop this nonsense", said Mor, "you must come to the dinner, of course". He added, "Anything may have happened by then. I may have told Nan everything. As for the dinner, if she doesn't know the worst she won't attack you, and if she does she won't come. So stop crying". But somehow Mor did not believe that he would have told Nan by next Tuesday. There was some date by which he would have told her. But it was not next Tuesday.

Rain sat down on the floor again and went on crying.

Mor stroked her hair. He loved her. Now he made her grief. But soon he would make her happiness. Meanwhile, it was he who was to be pitied, he who had to act the murderer and the traitor. Her grief was that of a temporary deprivation. His was a grief for things which would never mend again once they were broken. There would be a new life and a new world. But that which he was about to break would never mend, and he now knew he would never cease to feel the pain of it. Inside all his happiness this pain would remain always intact until his life's end. He continued to caress her hair.