She had put her hand up to her mouth and turned away. Fashion had dropped from her thickened figure. Much affected, Gradman turned to the door.
‘Shan’t leave my clothes off, in case I’m wanted. I’ve got everything here. Good-night!’
He went upstairs again, tiptoeing past the door, and, entering his room, switched on the light. They had taken away the pickles; turned his bed down, laid his flannel nightgown out. They took a lot of trouble! And, sinking on his knees, he prayed in a muffled murmur, varying the usual words, and ending: ‘And for Mr Soames, O Lord, I specially commend him body and soul. Forgive him his trespasses, and deliver him from all ‘ardness of ‘eart and impurities, before he goes ‘ence, and make him as a little lamb again, that he may find favour in Thy sight. Thy faithful servant. Amen.’ And, for some time after he had finished, he remained kneeling on the very soft carpet, breathing-in the familiar reek of flannel and old times. He rose easier in his mind. Removing his boots, laced and square-toed, and his old frock-coat, he put on his Jaeger gown, and shut the window, to keep out the night air. Then, taking the eiderdown, he placed a large handkerchief over his bald head, and, switching off the light, sat down in the armchair, with the eiderdown over his knees.
What an ’ush after London, to be sure, so quiet you could hear yourself think! For some reason he thought of Queen Victoria’s first Jubilee, when he was a youngster of forty, and Mr James had give him and Mrs G. two seats. They had seen the whole thing – first chop I the Guards and the procession, the carriages, the horses, the Queen and the Royal Family. A beautiful summer day – a real summer that; not like the summers lately. And everything going on, as if it’d go on for ever, with three per cents at nearly par if he remembered, and all going to church regular. And only that same year, a bit later, Mr Soames had had his first upset. And another memory came. Queer he should remember that to-night, with Mr Soames lying there – must have been quite soon after the Jubilee, too! Going with a lease that wouldn’t bear to wait to Mr Soames’s private house, Montpelier Square, and being shown into the dining-room, and hearing someone singing and playing on the ‘pianner’. He had opened the door to listen. Why – he could remember the words now! About ‘laying on the grass’, ‘I die, I faint, I fail,’ ‘the champaign odours’, something ‘on your cheek’ and something ‘pale’. Fancy that! And suddenly, the door had opened and out she’d come – Mrs Irene – in a frock – ah!
‘Are you waiting for Mr Forsyte? Won’t you come in and have some tea?’ And he’d gone in and had tea, sitting on the edge of a chair that didn’t look too firm, all gilt and spindley. And she on the sofa in that frock, pouring it out, and saying:
‘Are you fond of music, then, Mr Gradman?’ Soft, a soft look, with her dark eyes and her hair – not red and not what you’d call gold – but like a turned leaf – Um? – a beautiful young woman, sad and sort of sympathetic in the face. He’d often thought of her – he could see her now! And then Mr Soames coming in, and her face all closing up like – like a book. Queer to remember that to-night!… Dear me!… How dark and quiet it was! That poor young daughter, that it was all about! It was to be ‘oped she’d sleep! Ye-es! And what would Mrs G. say if she could see him sitting in a chair like this, with his teeth in, too. Ah! Well – she’d never seen Mr Soames, never seen the family – Maria hadn’t! But what an ‘ushl And slowly but surely old Gradman’s mouth fell open, and he broke the hush.
Beyond the closed window the moon rode up, a full and brilliant moon, so that the stilly darkened country dissolved into shape and shadow, and the owls hooted, and, far off, a dog bayed; and flowers in the garden became each a little presence in a night-time carnival graven into stillness; and on the gleaming river every fallen leaf that drifted down carried a moonbeam; while, above, the trees stayed, quiet, measured and illumined, quiet as the very sky, for the wind stirred not.
Chapter Fifteen
SOAMES TAKES THE FERRY
THERE was only just life in Soames. Two nights and two days they had waited, watching the unmoving bandaged head. Specialists had come, given their verdict: ‘Nothing to be done by way of operation’; and gone again. The doctor who had presided over Fleur’s birth was in charge. Though never quite forgiven by Soames for the anxiety he had caused on that occasion, ‘the fellow’ had hung on, attending the family. By his instructions they watched the patient’s eyes; at any sign, they were to send for him at once.