Jackson's Dilemma Part 12

'Maybe,' said Jackson.

'You will stay with me, dear? You heard how I dealt with Benet when he rang up and asked if I had any news of you! I nearly choked! All right, I won't bother you, not yet anyway. I'm just so glad that you're with me. I do think about suicide. Well, that's a boring topic. You know Mildred's gone to India. I can hardly bear it. Perhaps one of her G.o.ds brought you along instead. Of course you're still suffering from shock, I wonder just what Benet - well, I won't enquire, whatever it is he's a b.l.o.o.d.y fool, perhaps I'll go round and horse-whip him, no I won't, I bet you wouldn't let me, you are so forgiving - d.a.m.n, what's that, go and see will you, darling, it can't be Benet so soon - no, I'd better go, it might be anybody.'

There had been a ring at the front door bell. Owen opened it. It was Mildred.

'Oh G.o.d! You're back again, you b.i.t.c.h, I thought you were gone forever! Are you coming to say another last sickening farewell? What do you want? If you're going please go now as far as I'm concerned. If you want to shed your tears of farewell once again, oh b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l - just when - oh, all right come in - come up to the drawing room, will you, I'm in the midst of something in the kitchen - don't start crying already, everybody's after me, come on, and please stay in the drawing room till I fix something, otherwise I'll scream.'

Owen pulled Mildred up the stairs to the drawing room and closed the door upon her. Then he ran down to the kitchen and closed the door there. Jackson raised his eyebrows.

'Listen, don't make a sound, it's Mildred, confound her, I don't want her to see you, just keep quiet will you, I'll get rid of her as soon as possible, I promise, just you stay here, dear boy-just close the b.l.o.o.d.y door and keep it closed.'

Jackson nodded.

Owen then hurried back to the drawing room. 'So you're back again, or are you, you can't stay here you know, all right, you've come to tell your story, it's d.a.m.ned inconvenient, yes, sit down, and I'll sit down too-'

Mildred's story, briefly, was as follows. She had put her flat up for sale, but she had not decided where she was going to live in India. She had been to the British Museum to consult her G.o.ds but had received no definite answer. She was inclined toward Calcutta, the abode of Mother Teresa, a place of absolute squalor and misery, where, however humbly, one might add one's tiny offering, on the other hand - during this time of painful indecision, as a sort of penance, she had gone to the East End of London, to prepare herself for more terrible scenes in India. Here, entering a church at random, she had met an Anglican priest who was working there, and been moved by his humble holy selfless way of life, a light to all kinds of people who came to him in their brokenness. Of course Mildred had seen many other such, but simply this particular glimpse of his simple life, the possibility of so pure a heart, brought suddenly to Mildred, as she was waiting for an illumination, a new ray of light. It had become clear to her that it was after all not necessary for her to go to India, she was not so called, what was needful was there before her. What was now so necessary, coming to her in a beam of light, was the preservation of Christianity in the form which the time, the new century, demanded, like the other great religions who knew how to mediate the past into the future, to preserve in this pure form the reality of the spiritual, keeping and cheris.h.i.+ng what was profoundly and believably true, onward into the new eras of the world. This deep mystical understanding, which had once belonged to Christianity, had been therein eroded by the great sciences and the hubris of the new Christian world which had kept their Christ and G.o.d as stiff literal persons who cannot now be credited. But what is real, the mystical truth of Christianity, as the great mystics saw it, Eckhart, Saint John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila, Julian of Norwich, as it was now seen by the few great saints of today, that is what must be preached now, where it is needed, in the West. So, Mildred concluded, it is here, in England, in London, that I am destined to preach religion in my own very humble way, and not in India. I even went to the British Museum and stood before the great image of s.h.i.+va, and saw him nod his head!

'Well, blow me down!' said Owen. 'And what about that priest of yours, when are you going to marry him?'

Mildred laughed, and said she hoped now to be ordained as priest herself. 'I may yet hold the Chalice!'

'You'll want the Grail next,' said Owen. 'See how your eyes gleam!'

Mildred said, 'The Grail is the Chalice! I'm sorry to have bothered you, but I had to tell you I was still here - don't be angry with me, dear Owen. Now I must go.'

'All right, all right. I'm glad you'll be doing your act here, not there, after all. But to the devil with that priest.'

He led her down towards the front door where, seeing tears, he kissed her. She put her arms round his neck. The front door bell rang.

'Oh f.u.c.k,' said Owen, and thrusting Mildred away opened the door. It was Benet.

'But what exactly did you say in that awful letter?'

Owen, raising his voice and preventing Mildred and Benet from beginning a serious conversation on the doorstep, had managed to push Mildred out, pull Benet in, and pull Benet up to the drawing room where he informed Benet he was sorry, he just had to rush down to the kitchen to put something on. Having closed the door upon Benet he hastened to the kitchen where he whispered to Jackson, 'Benet!' closed the door upon Jackson and ran back to Benet, closing the drawing room door.

Owen had rarely seen Benet so upset. However he had no intention of 'relieving his mind' and every intention of punis.h.i.+ng him. Benet, rambling, had been saying he so much regretted sending Jackson such an 'awful letter'.

'Well - I said I was fed up because he was always disappearing-'

'Yes, always going to the rescue of someone else. You haven't seen him since? But what did you say in the letter?'

'I said he'd been drunk, and he was drunk, at Tara, I've never seen him so overtaken - he was asleep on the drawing room sofa dead drunk.'

'What did he say?'

'Nothing, I just left him asleep, then I wrote the letter and left it in the hall and went back to Penn.'

'Good heavens, was that all?'

'I said I needed someone more reliable, and that he had had a woman in the Lodge-'

'Oh -had he?'

'I thought so - I never made that out. I said evidently he found it dull with me and this was the last straw, I was going back to Penn and wanted no traces of him when I got back to Tara.'

'And were there any?'

'Absolutely none.'

'Were you pleased then?'

'I kept telling myself I'd done something very sensible, and he had been very sensible to go away - but then-'

'You had second thoughts?'

'I began to be sorry and shocked and wondered how I could have been so hasty, I ought to have waited and talked to him, perhaps he had been taken ill, and after all I knew so little about him - '

'Oh there was very little that any of us knew about him - I doubt if we shall see him again.'

'And I started thinking about Uncle Tim-'

'Of course Tim loved Jackson, he gave him the love that Jackson wanted, and after Tim died - I thought at the time that Jackson wouldn't stay long with you.'

'I had a dream, Uncle Tim was looking at me, then looking down at the floor, and there was a long black shadow on the floor - and that was - Jackson-'

'Well, I expect we shall never know, I thought he'd vanish-he may have died of grief, killed himself, thrown himself under a train or something.'

'Oh how I wish I hadn't written that idiotic letter, just that letter, why did I write it, I was just spiteful, vindictive, I must have been mad-'

'Well, there it is - some people are so sensitive. I expect he's gone, starved himself in some miserable hole in loneliness and sorrow - he was so silent - perhaps he just felt he had run his course - '

'Oh, Owen, I shall never recover, he will never come back to me - I shall never see him again - it's all my fault!'

EIGHT.

Edward put something into his pocket, then set off early from his London house. He began to walk slowly along taking deep breaths. He had carefully chosen his tie, but now after a while he took it off and put it away. His demeanour, his walk, his eyes were evidently strange, since at times people stared at him and even turned to gaze after him. He walked as if marching. He did not appear to be in a hurry, rather to be in some state of quiet relentless determination. His arms were swinging, his lips were parted, his eyes appeared to be sightless. Some who saw him likened him to a man bent upon suicide, or else who had committed a murder or was about to commit one. He walked as if at any moment he might fall stiffly flat upon his face.

As he neared what was evidently his destination Edward began to reduce his already slow pace. He also began to look about him, moving his head slowly to and fro. At one point he actually stopped beside a lamp post and slowly raised his arm and, still staring ahead, took hold. Here his face altered, his eyes began to put on a puzzled expression, as of one who has come a long way and is now lost. A kindly woman even paused and spoke to him. Edward's head turned slowly and peered at her. She walked hurriedly on. This set Edward in motion. As he continued to walk slowly his face began to wear an anguished look as if searching for something or as one repenting of some dreadful act. A clergyman actually turned and followed him before deciding that he was simply drunk. At last he paused and stood at the corner of a road, then squared his shoulders. He even uttered a little sound like a bird or some small animal. Here, turning down the road, he quickened his pace again and began to shake his head violently as if waking himself up. He stopped outside a house, and with slow deliberation rang the bell.

Anna Dunarven opened the door. When she saw who it was she gasped and it was as if she might faint. Then she opened the door wide. Edward came in, then stood still in the hall while Anna closed the door and pa.s.sed him, moving towards the drawing room. Edward followed her. The room was full of sunlight. She turned to face him and said, 'What do you want?'

Edward replied, 'You know what I want.'

Anna sat down on a settee near to the fireplace. She covered her face. Edward picked up a chair, placed it opposite to her, and added in a matter-of-fact voice, 'I want to marry you of course -'

They looked at each other. Edward stretched out his hand. Anna took it in both of hers. Tears came from her eyes. He did not move his position. After a few moments Anna released his hand and stared at him. He moved onto the settee and they closed their eyes and put their arms about each other. Anna murmured, 'Thank G.o.d!' then, moving apart, they stared at each other.

'I'm sorry,' said Edward. 'I am very sorry. But I didn't know what to do. Of course I'd been thinking about it forever since-'

'So had I. Sometimes it was torture. But I didn't know what you knew.'

'And I didn't know what you wanted.'

'Really? I came back to see you marry another woman! That was the final torture, the last giving up of all things.'

'Anna, don't, I have been in h.e.l.l.'

'Have you not deserved it? You would have married Marian! You had a narrow release.'

'Oh G.o.d - yes - I saw you in the churchyard.'

'I saw you in the churchyard - you were hiding behind a gravestone.'

'Yes. I wanted to see both of you.'

'Ah - indeed - both!'

'Then I thought I might meet you somewhere, with Benet or - '

'I kept clear - I knew if I met you in public I would-'

'I thought you were avoiding me.'

'Only in that sense. Now my dear boy-'

'Anything can still happen. You must save me.'

'I must save all three of us, now and forever! You haven't opened your mouth?'

'No, of course not!'

'And I have said nothing.'

'And he?'

'He - well, you will see, don't be afraid. He is a very wise boy, he will not talk.'

'You mean he knows - I suppose it had to be.'

'It must be. He found out anyway!'

'And the future?'

'That will look after itself. We are strong and so is he. But really all will be well.'

'So. May I marry you at once?'

'All right, I can't remember how long it takes in England-!'

'We shall have to go somewhere else.'

'Maybe, but only for a time. Edward, don't be frightened, what matters is that you have actually come. Oh, I can hardly believe it!' Closing their eyes they held each other, then thrust each other apart and looked.

'You are so young, Anna.'

'Yes, yes, yes, be it so! But why didn't you come sooner?'

'I was waiting for a signal - no I wasn't, I'd just given up hope. I felt since everything was so d.a.m.ned crazy-'

'I was waiting for a signal. I even went down to Lipcot and looked at Hatting, just the outside, just for an instant.'

'Was I there?'

'I don't know. I just wanted to say farewell - I was so absolutely miserable.'

'I'm sorry. We'd better sell Hatting.'

'No, we won't, why should we, certainly not!'

'Now we are arguing just like - all right we won't!'

'Oh my darling, you have come so far, you have come home to me at last. You have been so brave, my dear knight!'

'And he? I felt everything was against me. Something terrible may still be against me.'

'You mean Bran.'

'I may be blown to pieces. Where is he?'

'In the garden. Shall I call him in?'

'So soon - yes, I shall die in the interim.'

As Anna left the room and ran down the steps Edward sat with closed eyes, leaning down and holding his head in a savage grip. When he heard again the quick footsteps outside, he stood up hastily, putting his hand to his heart.

Bran hurled himself at Edward. For a second Edward thought he was being attacked. Then as they both, entangled, fell back onto the sofa, Edward knew that something, the most important thing of all, was well.

'Oh Edward, Edward-'

'Oh Bran, dear Bran, you're not cross with me?'

'I love you, I love you, I've thought so long that you might come one day, I waited for you so long, then I thought you would never come -'