Charles Snow - The Conscience of the Rich

I was thinking, I had never seen her flirt. Only once had I seen her so much as give any meaning to another man’s name: that was the first afternoon at Haslingfield, when Charles was baiting her and she replied by praising Ronald Porson. She had done it to defend herself, to provoke Charles. Apart from that, although she was admired by several other men, she had not let Charles worry about them.

Actually Porson was pressing her to marry him. She had talked of him to me once: he had meant little to her, but he had been infatuated with her for years: she felt a last shred of responsibility for him on that account. She found it hard to say the final no. From her description, he seemed to be an eccentric, violent character, and I thought that perhaps his oddity had found some niche in her imagination.

That night at Claridge’s, I was on the point of asking her about him, when by chance I said something about politics. At once she was on to it; she was eager to discover whether I was an ally there also. In a few minutes I discovered that she was not playing. This was not just a rich young woman’s fancy.

I had not been able to understand her outburst at Haslingfield; I was still puzzled by it, after this talk with her alone; but at least I respected her in a way that I had not reckoned on. Most of the radicalism of the younger Marches I could not take seriously, after being brought up in a different climate, the climate of those born poor. But Ann was different again.

As we argued that night, I could not help but see that there was nothing dilettante about her. This was real politics. She knew more than I did. She was more committed.

I respected her: on many things we agreed: it was a curious pleasure to agree on politics, to see her pretty face across the table, to feel that her warmth and force were on one’s side. But, even then, it seemed a bit of a mystery. Much more so when I thought about it in cold blood. Why did politics mean so much to her? Why was she like this? What was she after?

I could not find any sort of answer. To another of that night’s mysteries I did however get an answer — when, just before Christmas, I came back to my room late in the evening. As I got to the landing, I saw a crack of light under the door. When I went in, I had an impression they had waited for me. Ann was sitting in a chair by the fire, Charles on the rug at her feet. She was running her fingers through his hair. They went on talking as I laid down a brief. For an instant, I fancied I caught the words from Ann ‘when you’ve finished at hospital’. I thought I must have misheard. But, as I came to sit down in the other armchair, she used the same phrase, unmistakably, again.

It seemed to me fantastic. It seemed so fantastic that I was just going to ask. But Ann then said: ‘We’re thinking that Charles might become a doctor.’

‘That’s going a bit far,’ said Charles, who was in high spirits. But chiefly I noticed Ann’s pleasure — soft, intense, youthful.

‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea?’ she said.

Charles teased her for her enthusiasm, but she did not let it go. ‘You wanted him to know, didn’t you?’ she said.

‘It’s only the barest possibility, you understand?’ said Charles to me.

‘But he wants to hear what you think.’ Ann also was speaking to me.

Charles insisted that we keep secret even the most remote mention of the idea. As she promised, a smile flickered on Ann’s happy face, and the sight of it made Charles, after an instant’s lag and as though reluctantly, smile too.

One afternoon in January, I went to tea at Bryanston Square and discovered that Charles had just confided in Katherine. I discovered it through their habit of repeating themselves. When I arrived, they were talking of a rumour that Aunt Caroline had been making enquiries about Francis Getliffe: how often did he go to Bryanston Square? How often did he go when Charles was otherwise engaged? Katherine was agitated and excited. There was another rumour that Caroline was considering whether she ought to speak to Mr March. Was it true? Then Katherine said, harking back to what they had been saying:

‘I suppose he won’t mind this idea of yours. Don’t you agree that he won’t mind it?’

‘Can you give me a good reason why he should?’

‘It will be a shock to him, you realize that?’ she said. She looked at me, and went on: ‘Does Lewis know anything about this, by the way?’

‘He’s had a bit of warning.’ Charles then said to me: ‘I’ve told Katherine this afternoon that I’m going to try to become a doctor.’

Since that hint in my room he had not asked my advice nor anyone else’s. Only Ann had been inside his secret. He was presenting us, just as he had done when he gave up the law, with a resolution already made. By the time he told us, it was made once for all, and the rest of us could take it or leave it.

Katherine was frowning. ‘I can’t understand why you should do this.’

‘It isn’t as difficult as all that, is it?’

‘You could do so many things.’

‘I’ve evaded them so far with singular success,’ said Charles.

‘Is it the best scheme?’ Katherine said. ‘Don’t you think he’ll be wasted, Lewis?’

‘It’s exactly to prevent myself being wasted that I’ve thought of this.’ Charles looked at her with a sarcastic, affectionate grin. ‘I agree, I wouldn’t like to feel that I had wasted my time altogether. The chief advantage of becoming a doctor is precisely that it might prevent me doing that. I shall still be some use in a dim way even if I turn out to be completely obscure. It’s the only occupation I can find where you can be absolutely undistinguished and still flatter yourself a bit.’

‘That’s all very well for one of nature’s saints,’ said Katherine. ‘But are you sure it’s your line?’

Charles did not answer. He hesitated. He was embarrassed. Sharply, he went on to a new line:

‘I’ve told you, there’s a perfectly good practical reason. You both know, I’m hoping that Ann will marry me. We’ve got to look a reasonable way ahead. I suppose Mr L will make me independent when I’m twenty-five, that is in April. He’s always promised to do that, or when I marry, “whichever shall be the earlier”, as he insists on saying. And I suppose I shall come into his money in time. But don’t you see? I daren’t count on any of this lasting many years. If I come into Mr L’s money, I daren’t count on that lasting many years. Too much may happen in the world. It’s not exactly likely we shall be able to live on investments all our lives. Well, I think there’s more security as a doctor than as anything else I could take up. Whatever happens to the world, it’s rather unlikely that a doctor will starve.’

Those words sounded strange, in the drawing-room at Bryanston Square, from the heir to one of the March fortunes. But we had already begun to speak in those terms. On this winter evening when Charles was talking, such an anxiety seemed, of course, remote, not quite real, not comparable for an instant with that which Katherine felt when she saw a letter from Aunt Caroline waiting for Mr March.

When Charles told Mr March a few days later, he gave the same justification — the desire to be some use, the need to be secure, though he did not mention Ann’s name.

For some time, Charles’ insight failed him; he did not understand how his father had responded. Mr March began by opposing: but that was nothing unusual, and Charles was not disturbed. Mr March’s first remarks were on the plane of reason. He put forward entirely sensible arguments why Charles could not hope to become a doctor. He was nearly twenty-five. At best he would be well into the thirties before he was qualified. He had had no serious scientific education, and was, like all the Marches, clumsy with his hands. It would be an intolerable self-discipline to go through years of uncongenial study. ‘You might begin it,’ said Mr March, ‘but you’d give it up after a few months. You’ve never shown the slightest disposition to persevere with anything when you’re not interested. You’ve never shown the slightest disposition to persevere with anything at all. I refuse to believe that you’re remotely capable of it.’