Читать книгу The Coward - Robert Hugh Benson - Страница 12

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It was at breakfast-time that the affairs of the day were arranged—usually towards the end, as by that time the whole party was arrived.

Very subtle laws seemed to govern the order and hour of these arrivals. Lady Beatrice was, as is proper, down first, and she could usually be observed from upper windows, five minutes before the gong sounded, dawdling gracefully on the terrace with her stick. (This was called “giving Jimbo a run,” and usually ended in Jimbo’s entire disappearance, by stages, in the direction of the stables, each protruding angle of balustrade and step and mounting-block having been carefully smelled en route.) Then she came indoors and made tea in an enormous silver teapot. Five minutes later the General came in, in tweeds, carrying the Westminster Gazette of the night before—tall, thin, hook-nosed, and fresh-faced. He kissed his wife and went to the sideboard, and this morning consulted her about a letter he had just opened, calling, on his return journey, for his tea. About five minutes later the girls appeared, apologising. (I forgot to say that Miss Deverell had been present throughout. She was always present at all engagements punctually, and was always forgotten, except when she suddenly made a small, shrewd, and often cynical remark, that made everyone wonder why they had not attended to her before. She sat on the General’s right hand, in black; and he always put her plate back on the sideboard with his own, and asked her whether he could give her any cold bird.)

At a quarter to ten Austin came down, silent and respectable, and slipped into the company unnoticed; he ate swiftly and unhesitatingly, and had finished before the others. Finally Val appeared between ten minutes and five minutes to ten, also silent, but with an air of slight irritability; he fumbled about between the dishes, and usually ate a good deal in the long run.

This morning he was later than usual, but he limped so noticeably that the General, who had glanced up at the clock, which began to strike ten at that moment, spared him and said nothing. Besides, he had something else to say.

“And what about plans for to-day?” said his wife. “Why, Val, are you limping?”

There was a murmur of remarks interrupting Val in his careful explanations, and it became plain that riding after tea would be arranged. It was too hot this morning; this afternoon the girls had promised to do something in the village.

“Then——” began the General.

“I don’t think I’ll ride to-day, mother,” observed Val, eating omelette composedly. “I’ve strained myself rather badly.”

“Is it bad, Val?” said his father.

“What about a doctor?” said his mother.

“No, not bad; but it hurts rather.... No, thanks. There’s no need for a doctor, unless——”

“Then——”

But again the General was interrupted.

“Doctors say it’s better to ride again at once,” put in May.

“Thanks very much,” remarked Val, with an altogether disproportionate bitterness. “But I’d rather not.”

The General flapped the table with an open letter. He had reached the limits of his patience.

“Boys,” he said, “I’ve got an invitation for you. And I think you’d better go. You must get your leg well, Val. It’s from the Merediths, and it’s to go to Switzerland for a fortnight.”

Austin looked up.

“When is it for, father?”

“First of September. It’ll just fit in before Val goes back to Eton. Eh?”

“Climbing?”

His father nodded.

“That’s it. I want you boys to learn. You’ll have plenty of time to get your things together.”

The girls broke out into exclamatory envy. May determined to talk to her mother afterwards.

“I had an uncle who was killed in Switzerland,” said Gertie tranquilly. “He was——”

“My dear!” put in May. “Don’t say such——”

“But I had! He fell two thousand feet.”

Val was conscious of a curious sense of relief, in spite of his reassurances to himself in his bedroom. It was scarcely more than a week to the first of September; and it was exceedingly likely that his strained leg would continue strained. Besides, even if it didn’t, it would surely be rash to risk straining it again just before going to Switzerland. And when he came back there would be Eton again.

Austin was asking for details, in that dispassionate and uninterested manner which superior young gentlemen of eighteen years think proper to assume. It appeared that the Riffel was the place; that “the Merediths” meant father and mother and a son; and that the son, aged twenty-two, was already a candidate for the Alpine Club.

Val listened. It seemed to him all very pleasant, and, somehow, appropriate that a new sport should present itself just at the moment when riding had begun to bore him. He had not an idea about climbing beyond what the smoking-room library told him; but he was quite confident, of course, that he would acquit himself creditably. It occurred to him as even possible that he might get level with Austin, towards whom he did not feel very favourably disposed this morning.

His father got up presently.

“You’ll see about boots and clothes,” he said to his wife. “And I’ll write to the Stores about the other things.”

“What things, father? Axes and ropes?” asked Val excitedly.

“Well—axes, at any rate.”

When Austin came upstairs ten minutes later to get “Badminton,” he was, very properly, annoyed to find Val already in the best chair, with the book on his knee. He searched, a little ostentatiously, through the shelves, as if unconscious of this, whistling in the manner that Val found peculiarly annoying, and proceeded further to turn over all the books on the table.

“Looking for anything?” asked Val at last, unable to bear it any longer.

“Yes, ‘Badminton.’ ... Oh! I see you’ve got it.”

“Didn’t you see I’d got it as soon as you came in?”

“Well, when you’ve quite done with it,” said Austin in a high voice, ignoring this pointed question, “perhaps I may have it. It happens to be my book.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

Val, with an indulgent air, as if humouring a child, turned to the first page, while Austin smiled bitterly. Val’s face changed. He stood up abruptly and tossed the book on to the table.

“There’s your book,” he said, with elaborate sarcasm. “I didn’t know it was yours. I beg your pardon for using it.”

“Oh! you can keep it till you’ve done,” said Austin, his voice higher than ever. “I only wanted——”

“I wouldn’t deprive you of it for the world,” said Val, his face working with anger. “I’ll ... I’ll go and sit in the smoking-room. I don’t want to disturb you.”

He strode towards the door.

“Your leg seems better,” remarked Austin, outwardly still calm.

Val cast a glance of venom at his brother, and faced about.

“My dear chap,” he said, “you’d be howling in bed if you were me.”

Austin simulated a genial and indulgent smile with extraordinary success. A sound burst forth from Val’s mouth, which must be printed “Psha!” Then the door closed sharply.