Ford Madox Ford - The Parade's End Tetralogy - Some Do Not, No More Parades, A Man Could Stand Up & Last Post

‘Yes! . . . Oh, yes!’

Tietjens said slowly:

‘If you can listen . . . Macmaster has been married to Mrs Duchemin exactly nine months . . . Have you got that? Mrs Tietjens did not know this till this afternoon. The period Mrs Tietjens complains of in her letter is nine months. She did perfectly right to write the letter. As such I approve of it. If she had known that the Macmasters were married she would not have written it. I didn’t know she was going to write it. If I had known she was going to write it, I should have requested her not to. If I had requested her not to she would, no doubt, have done so. I did know of the letter at the moment of your coming in. I had heard of it at lunch only ten minutes before. I should, no doubt, have heard of it before, but this is the first time I have lunched at home in four months. I have to-day had a day’s leave as being warned for foreign service. I have been doing duty at Ealing. To-day is the first opportunity I have had for serious business conversation with Mrs Tietjens . . . Have you got all that? . . . ’

Port Scatho was running towards Tietjens, his hand extended, and over his whole shining personage the air of an enraptured bridegroom. Tietjens moved his right hand a little to the right, thus eluding the pink, well-fleshed hand of Port Scatho. He went on frigidly:

‘You had better, in addition, know as follows: The late Mr Duchemin was a scatological—afterwards a homicidal—lunatic. He had recurrent fits, usually on a Saturday morning. That was because he fasted—not abstained merely—on Fridays. On Fridays he also drank. He had acquired the craving for drink when fasting, from finishing the sacramental wine after communion services. That is a not unknown occurrence. He behaved latterly with great physical violence to Mrs Duchemin. Mrs Duchemin, on the other hand, treated him with the utmost consideration and concern: she might have had him certified much earlier, but, considering the pain that confinement must cause him during his lucid intervals, she refrained. I have been an eye-witness of the most excruciating heroisms on her part. As for the behaviour of Macmaster and Mrs Duchemin, I am ready to certify—and I believe society accepts—that it has been most . . . oh, circumspect and right! . . . There has been no secret of their attachment to each other. I believe that their determination to behave with decency during their period of waiting has not been questioned . . . ’

Lord Port Scatho said:

‘No! no! Never . . . Most . . . as you say . . . circumspect and, yes . . . right!’

‘Mrs Duchemin,’ Tietjens continued, ‘has presided at Macmaster’s literary Fridays for a long time; of course since long before they were married. But, as you know, Macmaster’s Fridays have been perfectly open: you might almost call them celebrated . . . ’

Lord Port Scatho said:

‘Yes! yes! indeed . . . I sh’d be only too glad to have a ticket for Lady Port Scatho . . . ’

‘She’s only got to walk in,’ Tietjens said. ‘I’ll warn them: they’ll be pleased . . . If, perhaps, you don’t look in to-night! They have a special party . . . But Mrs Macmaster was always attended by a young lady who saw her off by the last train to Rye. Or I very frequently saw her off myself, Macmaster being occupied by the weekly article that he wrote for one of the papers on Friday nights . . . They were married on the day after Mr Duchemin’s funeral . . .

‘You can’t blame ’em!’ Lord Port Scatho proclaimed.

‘I don’t propose to,’ Tietjens said. ‘The really frightful tortures Mrs Duchemin had suffered justified—and indeed necessitated—her finding protection and sympathy at the earliest possible moment. They have deferred this announcement of their union partly out of respect for the usual period of mourning, partly because Mrs Duchemin feels very strongly that, with all the suffering that is now abroad, wedding feasts and signs of rejoicing on the part of non-participants are eminently to be deprecated. Still, the little party of to-night is by the way of being an announcement that they are married . . . ’ He paused to reflect for a moment.

‘I perfectly understand!’ Lord Port Scatho exclaimed. ‘I perfectly approve. Believe me, I and Lady Port Scatho will do everything . . . Everything! Most admirable people . . . Tietjens, my dear fellow, your behaviour . . . most handsome . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘Wait a minute . . . There was an occasion in August, ‘14. In a place on the border. I can’t remember the name . . .

Lord Port Scatho burst out:

‘My dear fellow . . . I beg you won’t . . . I beseech you not to . . . ’

Tietjens went on:

Just before then Mr Duchemin had made an attack on his wife of an unparalleled violence. It was that that caused his final incarceration. She was not only temporarily disfigured, but she suffered serious internal injuries and, of course, great mental disturbance. It was absolutely necessary that she should have change of scene . . . But I think you will bear me out that, in that case too, their behaviour was . . . again, circumspect and right . . .

Port Scatho said:

‘I know; I know . . . Lady Port Scatho and I agreed—even without knowing what you have just told me—that the poor things almost exaggerated it . . . He slept, of course, at Jedburgh?

Tietjens said:

‘Yes! They almost exaggerated it . . . I had to be called in to take Mrs Duchemin home . . . It caused, apparently, misunderstandings . . . ’

Port Scatho—full of enthusiasm at the thought that at least two unhappy victims of the hateful divorce laws had, with decency and circumspectness, found the haven of their desires—burst out:

‘By God, Tietjens, if I ever hear a man say a word against you . . . Your splendid championship of your friend . . . Your . . . your unswerving devotion . . . ’

Tietjens said:

‘Wait a minute, Port Scatho, will you?’ He was unbuttoning the flap of his breast pocket.

‘A man who can act so splendidly in one instance,’ Port Scatho said . . . ‘And your going to France . . . If any one . . . if any one . . . dares . . .

At the sight of a vellum-coloured, green-edged book in Tietjens’ hand Sylvia suddenly stood up; as Tietjens took from an inner flap a cheque that had lost its freshness she made three great strides over the carpet to him.

‘Oh, Chrissie! . . . ’ she cried out. ‘He hasn’t . . . That beast hasn’t . . . ’

Tietjens answered:

‘He has . . . ’ He handed the soiled cheque to the banker. Port Scatho looked at it with slow bewilderment.

‘“Account overdrawn,"’ he read. ‘Brownie’s . . . my nephew’s handwriting . . . To the club . . . It’s . . . ’

‘You aren’t going to take it lying down?’ Sylvia said. ‘Oh, thank goodness, you aren’t going to take it lying down’

‘No! I’m not going to take it lying down,’ Tietjens said. ‘Why should I?’ A look of hard suspicion came over the banker’s face.

‘You appear,’ he said, ‘to have been overdrawing your account. People should not overdraw their accounts. For what sum are you overdrawn?’