The Letter and the Lie

by Arnold Bennett

　　

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"Yes, Harry, that was it. You see, I'd just happened to put the letter exactly where I found it. She's no notion that I've seen it."

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IAs he hurried from his brougham through the sombre hall to his study,leaving his secretary far in the rear, he had already composed the firstsentence of his address to the United Chambers of Commerce of the FiveTowns; his mind was full of it; he sat down at once to his vast desk,impatient to begin dictating. Then it was that he perceived the letter,lodged prominently against the gold and onyx inkstand given to him onhis marriage by the Prince and Princess of Wales. The envelope wasimperfectly fastened, or not fastened at all, and the flap came apart ashe fingered it nervously. "Dear Cloud,--This is to say good-bye, finally--"He stopped. Fear took him at the heart, as though he had been suddenlytold by a physician that he must submit to an operation endangering hislife. And he skipped feverishly over the four pages to the signature,"Yours sincerely, Gertrude."The secretary entered."I must write one or two private letters first," he said to thesecretary. "Leave me. I'll ring.""Yes, sir. Shall I take your overcoat?""No, no."A discreet closing of the door."--finally. I can't stand it any longer. Cloud, I'm gone to Italy. Ishall use the villa at Florence, and trust you to leave me alone. Youmust tell our friends. You can start with the Bargraves to-night. I'msure they'll agree with me it's for the best--"It seemed to him that this letter was very like the sort of letter thatgets read in the Divorce Court and printed in the papers afterwards; andhe felt sick."--for the best. Everybody will know in a day or two, and then inanother day or two the affair will be forgotten. It's difficult to writenaturally under the circumstances, so all I'll say is that we aren'tsuited to each other, Cloud. Ten years of marriage has amply provedthat, though I knew it six--seven--years ago. You haven't guessed thatyou've been killing me all these years; but it is so--"Killing her! He flushed with anger, with indignation, with innocence,with guilt--with Heaven knew what!"--it is so. You've been living your life. But what about me? Infive more years I shall be old, and I haven't begun to live. I can'tstand it any longer. I can't stand this awful Five Towns district--"Had he not urged her many a time to run up to South Audley Street for achange, and leave him to continue his work? Nobody wanted her to bealways in Staffordshire!"--and I can't stand you. That's the brutal truth. You've got on mynerves, my poor boy, with your hurry, and your philanthropy, and yourcommerce, and your seriousness. My poor nerves! And you've been too busyto notice it. You fancied I should be content if you made love to meabsent-mindedly, en passant, between a political dinner and a bishop'sbreakfast."He flinched. She had stung him."I sting you--"No! And he straightened himself, biting his lips!"--I sting you! I'm rude! I'm inexcusable! People don't say thesethings, not even hysterical wives to impeccable husbands, eh? I admitit. But I was bound to tell you. You're a serious person, Cloud, andI'm not. Still, we were both born as we are, and I've just as muchright to be unserious as you have to be serious. That's what you'venever realized. You aren't better than me; you're only different fromme. It is unfortunate that there are some aspects of the truth that youare incapable of grasping. However, after this morning's scene--"Scene? What scene? He remembered no scene, except that he had asked hernot to interrupt him while he was reading his letters, had asked herquite politely, and she had left the breakfast-table. He thought she hadleft because she had finished. He hadn't a notion--what nonsense!"--this morning's scene, I decided not to 'interrupt' you any more--"Yes. There was the word he had used--how childish she was!"--any more in the contemplation of those aspects of the truth which youare capable of grasping. Good-bye! You're an honest man, and astraight man, and very conscientious, and very clever, and I expectyou're doing a lot of good in the world. But your responsibilities aretoo much for you. I relieve you of one, quite a minor one--your wife.You don't want a wife. What you want is a doll that you can wind up oncea fortnight to say 'Good-morning, dear,' and 'Good-night, dear.' I thinkI can manage without a husband for a very long time. I'm not so bitteras you might guess from this letter, Cloud. But I want you thoroughly tocomprehend that it's finished between us. You can do what you like.People can say what they like. I've had enough. I'll pay any price forfreedom. Good luck. Best wishes. I would write this letter afresh if Ithought I could do a better one.--Yours sincerely, Gertrude."He dropped the letter, picked it up and read it again and then folded itin his accustomed tidy manner and replaced it in the envelope. He satdown and propped the letter against the inkstand and stared at theaddress in her careless hand: "The Right Honourable Sir Cloud Malpas,Baronet." She had written the address in full like that as a last strokeof sarcasm. And she had not even put "Private."He was dizzy, nearly stunned; his head rang.Then he rose and went to the window. The high hill on which stood MalpasManor--the famous Rat Edge--fell away gradually to the south, and in thedistance below him, miles off, the black smoke of the Five Towns loomedabove the yellow fires of blast-furnaces. He was the demi-god of thedistrict, a greater landowner than even the Earl of Chell, a modellandlord, a model employer of four thousand men, a model proprietor ofseven pits and two iron foundries, a philanthropist, a religionist, theornamental mayor of Knype, chairman of a Board of Guardians, governor ofhospitals, president of Football Association--in short, Sir Cloud, sonof Sir Cloud and grandson of Sir Cloud.He stared dreamily at his dominion. Scandal, then, was to touch him withher smirching finger, him the spotless! Gertrude had fled. He had ruinedGertrude's life! Had he? With his heavy and severe conscientiousness heasked himself whether he was to blame in her regard. Yes, he thought hewas to blame. It stood to reason that he was to blame. Women, especiallysuch as Gertrude, proud, passionate, reserved, don't do these things fornothing.With a sigh he passed into his dressing-room and dropped on to a sofa.She would be inflexible--he knew her. His mind dwelt on the beautifulfirst days of their marriage, the tenderness and the dream! And now--!He heard footsteps in the study; the door was opened! It was Gertrude!He could see her in the dusk. She had returned! Why? She tripped to thedesk, leaned forward and snatched at the letter. Evidently she did notknow that he was in the house and had read it.The tension was too painful. A sigh broke from him, as it were ofphysical torture."Who's there?" she cried, in a startled voice. "Is that you, Cloud?""Yes," he breathed."But you're home very early!" Her voice shook."I'm not well, Gertrude," he replied. "I'm tired. I came in here to liedown. Can't you do something for my head? I must have a holiday."He heard her crunch up the letter, and then she hastened to him in thedressing-room."My poor Cloud!" she said, bending over him in the mature elegance ofher thirty years. He noticed her travelling costume. "Some eau deCologne?"He nodded weakly."We'll go away for a holiday," he said, later, as she bathed hisforehead.The touch of her hands on his temples reminded him of forgottencaresses. And he did really feel as though, within a quarter of an hour,he had been through a long and dreadful illness and was nowconvalescent.II"Then you think that after starting she thought better of it?" said LordBargrave after dinner that night. "And came back?"Lord Bargrave was Gertrude's cousin, and he and his wife sometimes cameover from Shropshire for a week-end. He sat with Sir Cloud in thesmoking-room; a man with greying hair and a youngish, equable face."Yes, Harry, that was it. You see, I'd just happened to put the letterexactly where I found it. She's no notion that I've seen it.""She's a thundering good actress!" observed Lord Bargrave, sipping somewhisky. "I knew something was up at dinner, but I didn't know it fromher: I knew it from you."Sir Cloud smiled sadly."Well, you see, I'm supposed to be ill--at least, to be not well.""You'd best take her away at once," said Lord Bargrave. "And don't do itclumsily. Say you'll go away for a few days, and then gradually lengthenit out. She mentioned Italy, you say. Well, let it be Italy. Clear outfor six months.""But my work here?""D--n your work here!" said Lord Bargrave. "Do you suppose you'reindispensable here? Do you suppose the Five Towns can't manage withoutyou? Our caste is decayed, my boy, and silly fools like you try tolengthen out the miserable last days of its importance by givingyourselves airs in industrial districts! Your conscience tells you thatwhat the demagogues say is true--we are rotters on the face of theearth, we are mediaeval; and you try to drown your conscience in thenoise of philanthropic speeches. There isn't a sensible working-man inthe Five Towns who doesn't, at the bottom of his heart, assess you atyour true value--as nothing but a man with a hobby, and plenty of timeand money to ride it.""I do not agree with you," Sir Cloud said stiffly."Yes, you do," said Lord Bargrave. "At the same time I admire you,Cloud. I'm not built the same way myself, but I admire you--except inthe matter of Gertrude. There you've been wrong--of course from thehighest motives: which makes it all the worse. A man oughtn't to puthobbies above the wife of his bosom. And, besides, she's one of us.So take her away and stay away and make love to her.""Suppose I do? Suppose I try? I must tell her!""Tell her what?""That I read the letter. I acted a lie to her this afternoon. I can'tlet that lie stand between us. It would not be right."Lord Bargrave sprang up."Cloud," he cried. "For heaven's sake, don't be an infernal ass. Hereyou've escaped a domestic catastrophe of the first magnitude by amiracle. You've made a sort of peace with Gertrude. She's come to hersenses. And now you want to mess up the whole show by the act of anidiot! What if you did act a lie to her this afternoon? A very goodthing! The most sensible thing you've done for years! Let the lie standbetween you. Look at it carefully every morning when you awake. It willhelp you to avoid repeating in the future the high-minded errors of thepast. See?"IIIAnd in Lady Bargrave's dressing-room that night Gertrude was confidingin Lady Bargrave."Yes," she said, "Cloud must have come in within five minutes of myleaving--two hours earlier than he was expected. Fortunately he wentstraight to his dressing-room. Or was it unfortunately? I was half-wayto the station when it occurred to me that I hadn't fastened theenvelope! You see, I was naturally in an awfully nervous state, Minnie.So I told Collins to turn back. Fuge, our new butler, is of an extremelycurious disposition, and I couldn't bear the idea of him prying aboutand perhaps reading that letter before Cloud got it. And just as I waspicking up the letter to fasten it I heard Cloud in the next room. Oh! Inever felt so queer in all my life! The poor boy was quite unwell. Iscrewed up the letter and went to him. What else could I do? And reallyhe was so tired and white--well, it moved me! It moved me. And when hespoke about going away I suddenly thought: 'Why not try to make a newstart with him?' After all ..."There was a pause."What did you say in the letter?" Lady Bargrave demanded. "How did youput it?""I'll read it to you," said Gertrude, and she took the letter from hercorsage and began to read it. She got as far as "I can't stand thisawful Five Towns district," and then she stopped."Well, go on," Lady Bargrave encouraged her."No," said Gertrude, and she put the letter in the fire. "The fact is,"she said, going to Lady Bargrave's chair, "it was too cruel. I hadn'trealized.... I must have been very worked-up.... One does work oneselfup.... Things seem a little different now...." She glanced at hercompanion."Why, Gertrude, you're crying, dearest!""What a chance it was!" murmured Gertrude, in her tears. "What a chance!Because, you know, if he had once read it I would never have gone backon it. I'm that sort of woman. But as it is, there's a sort of hope of asort of happiness, isn't there?""Gertrude!" It was Sir Cloud's voice, gentle and tender, outside thedoor."Mercy on us!" exclaimed Lady Bargrave. "It's half-past one. Bargravewill have been asleep long since."Gertrude kissed her in silence, opened the door, and left her.

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