XI
Dr Connal Darewas striding along the passage leading to the general room when he met old Jackson.
He and old Jackson met in that passage every morning, and always the same thing occurred.
Old Jackson, with the fatigues of another night of hideous dreams still heavy upon him, awaited Con’s coming with anxious face. As soon as he saw him in the distance his dull face lightened with a look of expectancy. And at sight of him Con’s face began to crinkle up amusedly at the corners of the eyes.
“Doctor! Won’t you smile for me?” the old man asked, as they drew near one another, and Con set his broad shoulders to the wall and laughed out in spite of himself and the regularity of the proceeding.
The weary old eyes gazed up at him intently, and the woe-begone old face lost some of its over-carefulness. A twisted grin flickered over it, as if in spite of itself, and then he said, “Thank you, Doctor! Sight o’ you does me a sight o’ good,” and shambled off re-inspirited, while Con, with the crinkles still in the corners of his eyes, continued his rounds.
But, though he had laughed as usual for old Jackson’s benefit, and though the remains of the laugh lingered in the corners of his eyes, he was feeling graver than he ever remembered feeling in his life before. For he had just been reading, over his breakfast, the momentous news that Great Britain, having received no reply to her ultimatum respecting the neutrality of Belgium, had declared war on Germany. And that was enough to make any man grave indeed.
He was on his way back from the women’s hospital wards, where he had two or three cases which were causing him some anxiety, when one of the attendants caught sight of him and came hurrying up.
“I’ve just taken a letter to your room, sir. Special, I think. I didn’t know where you were.”
“Thank you, Barton! I’ll go along and get it,” and he knew what that letter was likely to be.
And it was. A long official envelope with O.H.M.S. in peremptorily solid black letters above the address ‘Dr Connal Dare, R.A.M.C.’
He ripped it open and found himself no more Dr Dare of Birch Grove Asylum but Dr and Lieutenant Dare of the Royal Army Medical Corps, under orders to report himself within twenty-four hours at Medical Head-Quarters in London.
He read the orders quietly, and stood for a moment considering them and himself, and the whole matter aloofly. His eyes wandered thoughtfully round the room—over his books, his few pictures and photographs of the home-folks. It was quite within the possibilities that he might never see any of these things again. War was full of mischances, even in the non-combatant arm.
He was all ready, kit packed, notes of his cases carefully written out. He added a word or two to these and swung away to see the Chief, his mind hard at work on another matter.
Two hours later, all very spick and span in his uniform, he had deposited his baggage in the Luggage-Office at London Bridge, had invaded St. Barnabas’s and interviewed the Matron, and had masterfully talked her into breaking the rules, or at all events straining them to such a point that the desire of his heart could creep through.
He had been one of her favoured boys when he was there and they were on very friendly terms, and, as he explained to her with extreme earnestness, it was, after all, only a technical breach and—it was war-time. Hetried to prove that they were all under martial law but she only smiled at him. He might be. She was not.
Still, she was willing to admit that circumstances—such as a general European War—altered cases. She had been young herself and she understood fully how he felt. As a matter of duty she put it to him to consider whether it was the best thing to do, and he proved to her, with his most irresistible smile, that it was. And finally she sent an attendant to find Nurse Luard.
Alma came in in a few minutes and became a radiant illumination at sight of Con in his uniform—a radiance of sparkling eyes and tell-tale cheeks.
“I was expecting you,” she said happily.
“You are to arrange your work on somebody else’s shoulders and come out with me for the afternoon, Alma. Matron is not quite sure if it is wisdom orfoolishness——”
“We will prove it to be wisdom. I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Will you wait?”—as she sailed away.
“I’ll wait ten minutes,” grinned Con.
“When do you expect to go?” asked the Matron.
“As soon as the men go. And the sooner they get across the better. We ought to be in Belgium now. The Germans are hammering away at Liége, and I doubt if the Belgians singlehanded can do much. They never struck one as particularly martial.”
“Well, I hope you’ll come through it safely. It would be a terrible thing for you both if ...” and she nodded gravely.
“No good forecasting troubles. The worst ones don’t come as a rule, and it’s no good thinking about them. We’re under the Red Cross, and they fight straight and respect it.”
“Shells and bullets are no respecters of persons, and in war one never knows what may happen.”
“Anyway it will be a mighty satisfaction to know that we belong to one another.”
“We must hope you are doing the right thing. It’s a very natural thing, I acknowledge.”
“And the natural thing is the right thing as a rule, now isn’t it?”
“Sometimes,”—and Alma came in, her dark eyes dancing and her face still flushed with the thought of the great adventure on which they were bound.
The Matron shook hands with them both very warmly, and wished them ‘God-speed!’ very heartily, and then they were gliding away in a taxi to Doctors’ Commons, and from there to the nearest Registrar’s Office, and they came out of it a few minutes later man and wife.
“We’ll have a little wedding-feast at the Savoy under the guise of lunch,” said Con gaily. “I had breakfast at eight. And then we’ll taxi all the way home. I can’t possibly permit you to mingle with ordinary people in ordinary trains yet. Besides, I want to kiss you all the way down, and there’s nothing like a closedtaxi——”
“Dear, dear! What experience you seem to have had!”
“Not a quarter enough, as you’ll see, Mrs Dare. Here we are! Now we’ll get a table in the balcony and watch old Father Thames rolling down to the sea.”
“The tide is coming in,” said Alma, as she drew off her gloves.
“Good omen! The rising tide!—and here’s the sun to add his blessing,”—as the watery gray clouds up above parted and let a gleam of sunshine through.
They had the most memorable little lunch of their lives there,—with the turgid yellow-gray flood brimming below them, dotted here and there with a great creeping water-beetle of a black barge;—and the gray and black spans of the bridges, up-stream and down, looming in and out of the picture in the wavering sunlight;—and the yellow trams spinning to and fro like shuttles through the gray web of life;—and the tall chimneys and the shot tower on the opposite bank, with the ragged wharves at their feet;—and the Embankment gardens and trees and sauntering mid-day crowds, all just as usual and manifesting no undue concern about anything.
“And we’re actually at war with Germany at last,” said Con, as they sat looking down on it all.
“I’m glad we’re taking it so quietly,” said Alma. “We mean business.”
Their very polite waiter attended punctiliously to all their wants, acknowledging all orders with a grave inclination of the head and never once opening his mouth. He might have been dumb for any evidence they had to the contrary. Between courses he hovered about watchfully, seemed interested in Con’s uniform, and distinctly appreciative of Alma’s nurse’s costume and general appearance. Even Con’s very generous tip he only acknowledged with a final silent bow.
When Alma commented on such refinement of taciturnity, Con suggested that he was possibly a German looking forward without enjoyment to a change of occupation which would be less to his taste.
They had a delightful run out to Willstead, and Con made best use of his opportunities, having taken care to seat his wife directly behind the driver.
All too quickly they were there, taking Mrs Dare Senior’s breath away by the magnitude of their announcement.
“Mother—my wife!” was Con’s little way of breaking the news. “I have to leave to-morrow morning so we decided to get married to-day.”
“Well!” gasped his mother, and then took Alma to her heart and kissed her warmly.
“He never could have made a better choice, dear,” she said. “But it is very sudden.... I hope it is wisely done.”
“We think it is, mother,” said Alma joyously. “Whatever happens we have this, and it has made us very happy.”
“Have you seen the Colonel?”
“Not yet,” said Con. “Mothers come before Uncles. We’ll go along presently and make him jump. Auntie Mitt will probably have a fit.”
“Have you had any lunch,—or did this great business make you forget it?”
“We had our wedding breakfast at one o’clock in the balcony of the Savoy,” said Alma. “It was delightful.”
“Then you’re ready for a cup of tea,” and she rang the bell and ordered it in as quickly as it could be got ready.
“But won’t this mean your giving up your post, Alma?” asked Mrs Dare thoughtfully, as soon as she had time to look at the matter all round.
“Not at present. Matron had to be told of course. But Con is one of her old favourites, and she is to say nothing about it for a time. You see, if the war amounts to anything and goes on long, they are sure to be called on for nurses to go to the front and they’ll beshort-handed——”
“And they couldn’t afford to dispense with the best nurse they’ve got, on a mere technicality,” said Con. “And as soon as it’s all over I’m to join old Jamieson in Harley Street, and we’ll set up housekeeping—probably with him. He’s got room enough for four families in that big house of his.”
“Well, well!” said Mrs Dare, and said no more, but her mother’s heart prayed fervently that no whiff of the war-cloud might dim the bright and hopeful outlook of these eager young lives.
They chatted quietly over their tea, of Lois and Ray, and of Noel and young MacLean and their war-like cravings, and of Vic and Honor, and all the other little family matters in which they were all interested.
“I’d love to see those boys in kilts,” said Alma.
“They don’t know yet if there will be a Second Battalion,” said Mrs Dare. “But if they don’t get into the London Scottish they’ll join something else. They are quite set on going.”
“It’s only natural,” said Con.
“All the same I can’t help hoping they may not have to go to the front.”
At which Con shook his head. “I’m afraid you must not count on that, mother dear. One never knows what may happen in war, of course. But everyone who knows saysthe Germans are mighty fighters, and they’ve been preparing for this for many years. In fact some folks seem to think their big war-machine may even be too perfect,—so very perfect that if anything goes wrong with any part of it it will all tumble to pieces.”
“I wish it would and smother that wretched Kaiser in the ruins,” said Alma heartily.
“I don’t think it likely. They are very wonderful folks. In organization, and scientific attainment generally, they have made us all sit up and they beat us still. There is just one thing in this matter in which we have the advantage over them.”
“Ships? Guns?” queried Alma.
“No,—greater than either,—the simple fact that we’re in the right and they are utterly in the wrong. And that, you’ll find, will tell in the long run. They are forcing on this war to serve their own selfish ends; and we, thank God, have no axe of our own to grind in the matter. We’re out to make an end of wars, if that is possible.”
“That is worth fighting for,” said his mother heartily.
“Ay! Worth dying for if necessary.... It will be very hot work, I expect.... But we’ve got to win,—or go under. And that is unthinkable. But the cost may be heavy.”
“Our thoughts ... and our prayers will be with you all the time, my boy.... May God grant us all a safe deliverance!” said Mrs Dare fervently.
“And that will help to buck us all up,” said Con cheerfully. “But we mustn’t get morbid. Suppose we go over and break the good news to the Colonel and Auntie Mitt, Mrs Connal Dare!”
“I’m ready. Do it gently, Con. Remember they are older than we are.”
“Good news never hurts. Come on!”
Noel and Gregor MacLean, while anxiously awaiting news from Headquarters as to the possible formation of a Reserve Battalion, were preparing themselves for the chance by developing their skill in musketry at the privateshooting-school on the heath not far away. They went up every day and spent many pounds at the targets and then at clay pigeons, and in addition set themselves rigorous route-marches of ten and fifteen miles to get themselves and their feet into good condition. And each night they came home thick with mud and hungry as hunters, and well-satisfied that they were doing everything in their power to fit themselves for the real thing when the hoped-for call should come.
So Vic and Honor were thrown more than ever upon their own congenial companionship.
They were inseparable, and the days not being long enough for adequate expression of their feelings, they generally spent the nights together also. And Mrs Dare and Auntie Mitt were growing accustomed to the sudden announcements,—“Vic’s sleeping with me to-night, Mother,” and,—“Auntie Mitt, Honor’s going to sleep here to-night,”—and the older folk made no objection, since it pleased the girls and alternately brightened each house in turn. The times were somewhat out of joint and anything that tended towards mitigation of circumstances was to be made the most of.
And so, when Con and Alma walked into Oakdene, they found the family party still lingering over their tea-cups in the hall;—Miss Mitten’s knitting-needles going like clock-work, the Colonel expatiating on the monstrous perfidy of Germany in attacking Belgium, the girls nibbling their final cakes and listening somewhat abstractedly, wondering no doubt what those boys were doing to-day, and feeling that life—and certainly golf—without them was distinctly thin and flavourless.
“Ah—ha!” said Con magniloquently, “Here are the tribes assembled together. Colonel!”—with a punctilious military salute,—“Auntie Mitt!—and you two little girls!—we have come to gather your views on the subject of marriage. A worthy subject! Don’t all speak at once.”
“It is usually accounted an honourable estate,” said theColonel, beaming on them, while Miss Mitten peered up, bird-like, but knitted on for dear life, and the girls looked anticipative.
“We thank you!” said Con with a comprehensive bow. “Then you will permit me to introduce to you—Mrs Connal Dare,”—at which, as he swung Alma gracefully forward by the hand, they all sprang to fullest life as though pricked by an electric shock.
“Well—I’m da-asht!”
“Alma! Mydear!”
“Con!—Is it true?”
“Oh, you dear, horribly meanthings!”—
“To do us out of it all like that!”
“Horrid of them, but awfully jolly all the same!”
“You see,” said Con,—when Alma had kissed them all round, and he had insisted on one also, to the immense gratification of the girls,—“This is war-time, and I am off to-morrow, and from my earliest youth I have been taught never to put off till to-morrow what I could do to-day. And so,—well!”—with a wave of the hand towards Alma,—“There it is!... We knew we had your approval, sir. We knew Auntie Mitt would graciously accept the fait accompli. And we hoped from the bottom of our hearts that Vic and Honor would in time forgive us and receive us back into their favour. And—we’re very happy over it.”
There was no possible doubt about that, and the Colonel, who was the only one who had any right to take exception to the matter, was far too good a sportsman to cast any shadow of a shadow upon their happiness. He had witnessed very many similar cases, and most of them had turned out very happily—when they had had the chance. It was that possibility only that added a touch of solemnity to hisbenediction,—
“Well, well! You’ve certainly given us a most delightful surprise, you two. War, as I know by experience, is a mighty crystalliser of the emotions, and essentially a promoter of prompt decisions. God grant you all happiness,my dears!” and he kissed Alma as if she had been his very daughter, and wrung Con’s hand warmly.
“You look well in khaki, my boy,” he said, with his eyes still glistening.
“And feel well, sir. I am, I think, a man of peace, but the uniform makes one feel distinctly soldierly, and if I find it absolutely necessary to knock out a German or two I believe I could do it.”
“What with?” asked Vic, fingering his empty scabbard.
“Oh, with my fists if needs be. But I’m for binding not for wounding. It would only be under a sense of the sternest necessity that I should give that German a daud on the neb.”
“I think I shall be a nurse,” said Honor. “You do look spiffing, Alma.”
“Too late for this war, my child. ‘It’s a long long way to Tipperary,’ and this is to be the last war. Still there’s always plenty to do even in peace-times.”
“Will you be going out too, Al?” asked Vic.
“I don’t know yet. There’s sure to be a call for nurses. Wouldn’t it be delightful to go out and meet Con there?” and her face was radiant at the thought.
Mrs Dare had made them promise to come back for dinner, so that Mr Dare might have the chance of seeing them also. When, in due course, they went across they found him just in from the City, and Con was struck with the change these last ten days had made in him.
He made, indeed, for their benefit a brave assumption of cheerfulness and gave them very hearty greeting, but pretended to be scandalised at their escapade, and expressed the hope that the Colonel had done his duty and told them what he thought about them.
They reassured him on that point and enquired for the latest news.
“Things are moving fast,” he said soberly. “John Burns and Lord Morley leave the Cabinet. Governmenttakes over all the railways. Jellicoe is to command the Fleet, French the Army, and Kitchener is to be Minister of War.”
“That’s good. He’ll stand no nonsense anyway.”
“The Germans are attacking Liége furiously. Everyone is amazed that the Belgians can stand up against them for a day. But every hour they can hold them is gain to us and France. We are both taken unawares, you see. And the fact of their tremendous onslaught shows that they were all ready,—more than ready. What the upshot of it all will be it’s hard to say. Germany is a very big nut to crack.”
“And how are business matters, father?” asked Con quietly, between themselves.
“Bad, Con. And likely to be worse. There is to be a big issue of paper,—ten-shilling and one-pound notes, and Lloyd George appeals very earnestly to people not to draw gold from the banks. He is doing all he can. But business is at a standstill, and as to getting in any money from the Continent—! That’s all gone, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve got a few hundreds saved. Would that be any use, sir?”
“You’re a married man now and your wife must be your first consideration,” said his father with a grave smile, which, however, conveyed to Con his appreciation of his desire to help. “And your uncle-in-law has very generously offered me assistance if I need it. At present I don’t. If things come to the worst I may perhaps make some arrangement with him. You see it’s a case of the devil and the deep sea. On the one hand contracts made which I’m expected to fill, and, on the other, total stoppage of the wherewithal to fill them. And again goods I’ve paid for here and shipped, and no payment forthcoming for them from Germany and Austria.”
“There must be many in the same position. Won’t a state of war bar all unpleasantness?”
“It’s hard to say. We’ve had no experience of such a state of things, you see. No doubt there will have to be give and take all round and some working arrangement come to. I think there’s a general disposition that way. But it’s very trying business,” he said wearily.
“I’m sure it is, sir. I wish I could be of some help.”
“You have your own work cut out for you, my boy, and fine work. It will be a trial to you to leave now. But I suppose you considered all that.”
“We did, sir. It is trying to have to part so soon, but it will be a help to us both to feel that we belong to one another whatever comes.”
“I hope to God you’ll come through all right, Con. For all our sakes take every care you can, and don’t run into any unnecessary dangers.”
“Trust me for that, sir.”
Then the Colonel and the girls came across “for coffee and smokes, and to see how Mrs Con was bearing up,” as Vic said, and they all fell to talk about the war and the future, and on the Colonel’s part to the extraction of the latest news from the City.
“I hope you are not upset by these young people’s precipitancy,” said Mrs Dare quietly to the Colonel, under cover of the general talk beyond.
“On the contrary, my dear—, let me see, whatisthe exact relationship between us now? My niece, who is my daughter as it were, is now your daughter also. And your boy is my nephew-in-law. What does that make me to you?”
“I give it up,” smiled Mrs Dare. “We will remain the best of friends.”
“This makes us even closer than that. However, as I was saying, I’m entirely and absolutely pleased with them. They’ve done the natural thing under the circumstances. I’ve seen the same thing happen many times before, and it generally turns out well. There are always risks in war, ofcourse——”
“And as to that we can only leave them in God’s hands, and hope for the best.”
“Amen to that, best of friends! My girl has at all events shown wisdom in her choice of a mother. We will hope ... and—er—pray”—he added, with a touch of the naïve shyness of a man who was in the habit of keeping his inmost feelings very strictly to himself,—“for their welfare and happiness.”
“Yes.... The times are very trying and will probably be more so, but I’m inclined to think they may be the means of bringing out all that is best in us all.”
“War does that ... as something of a set-off for the darker side of it. For it also brings out the worst unfortunately.”
“Here are the boys,” said Mrs Dare, jumping up at the sound of heavy boots on the path outside. “They generally come in together and they’re always hungry. I’m the commissariat,” and she hastened away to see to their provisioning.
“Hel-lo!” cried Noel, in a pair of old riding-breeches and puttees, at sight of the assembly, while Gregor, similarly apparelled, looked eagerly over his shoulder in hopes of an approving spark in Honor’s eye. “Quick, Mac!—salute, ye spalpeen, or ye’ll be shot at dawn. Here’s a blooming little Horficer!” and they both drew themselves up and saluted Con in smartest possible military style.
“Why,” prattled Noel. “I’m blowed if it isn’t just old Con,—and Alma! So you two have managed to hit the same day this time.”
“Yes, we’ve managed it for once, No,” said Con. “How are you, Mac? Allow me to introduce you to my wife,” with a proprietorial wave towards Alma.
“No!—really?” jerked Noel.
“Really and truly,” laughed Alma. “I hope it isn’t objectionable to you in any way.”
“Lord, no! Quite the other way. If there’s two things I admire about old Con they’re his uniform and hisjolly old cheek. Think of him going and getting you to marry him right away like that.”
“He’s off to-morrow morning, you see, so I thought it best to make sure of him.”
“He’s really going? I wish we were.”
“How do things stand with you now, Mac?” asked Con. “Any nearer bull’s-eye?”
“There’s rumours of a possible Second Battalion being formed, but nothing definite. We’ve put our names down, and meanwhile we’re getting ourselves into good shape. If they don’t buck up and do something soon we shall try elsewhere. But we’d sooner be London Scottish than anything else.”
“You see, the girls there think we’d look so well in kilts,” broke in Noel.
“What on earth gave you any such impression as that, my child?” asked Honor.
“Oh, we can see it in your eyes.”
“Ah,—little boys see what they want to see sometimes.”
“When we can. Can’t always, can we, Mac?”
“Come along, you hungry ones,” called Mrs Dare from the doorway, and they sped away for a very necessary wash before eating.
Alma’s short leave expired at ten o’clock, and as Con had promised to return her safely to the hospital by that hour, they had to set off in such time as would allow a margin for contingencies.
Their good-byes were outwardly cheerful enough, and as exuberant as high and hopeful spirits could make them. But, below all the surface confidence and fortitude, not one of their hearts but was saying to itself—“This is the beginning of partings,” and was asking itself—“Shall we ever all meet again?” And the necessity for smothering, as far as might be, the chill possibilities evoked by these importunate voices, made the younger folk but the more outwardly determined on most valiant gaiety.
“Meet you across there, maybe, old man,” said Noel.
“I’ll be on the look-out for you. Do my best for you in case of need.”
“Do be careful not to lose one another on the way home,” begged Vic, with an assumption of anxiety. “You are very young, you see, and naturally somewhat entêtés at the moment.”
“I’m inclined to think we really ought to go with them,” said Honor. “They may wander away hand-in-hand, and never be heard of again. Get your hat, Vic, and we’ll go.”
“Right-o!” said Noel. “We’re on. We’ll go along too to take care of you.”
“Then we’ll stop at home,” said Honor resignedly. “We couldn’t think of taking you out again after your hard day’s play.”
“To say nothing of the fact that your southern extremities are inches thick with mud,” said Vic. “Everybody we met would think we’d taken to walking out with the gardener’sboys——”
“Or the young butcherlings. Yes, we’re sorry, dears,”—to Con and Alma, “but under the circumstances I’m afraid you’ll have to find your way by yourselves.”
“We’ll manage somehow,” said Con, and in their good-byes to the older folk there were suspiciously shining eyes and lingering hand-grips and convulsive kissings which told their own tales.
“The beginning of partings!”... “Shall we ever all meet again?” ... and hearts were heavy though faces smiled.
“God bless you both and keep you from all harm!” was Mrs. Dare’s last word, and with that in their hearts they ran across to say good-bye to Auntie Mitt, who said exactly the same words and made no assumption of anything but gloomiest forebodings as to the future.
As to the Colonel, when they had actually gone, he blew his nose like a trumpet-blast, till his moustache bristled white against the dark-redness of his face, and heturned back into the room with a fervent,—“Damn the Kaiser and all his works!... I trust you will excuse me, best of friends!”
“I will excuse you,” said Mrs Dare. “It is terrible for one man to have such power for ill in his hands.”