The Duchess of Wrexe Part 90

One might fancy that this was no crowd of human beings, but some new, unknown creature, dragging its coils from the sluggish bed of some hidden river, stamping to destruction as it went.

Then as though one were watching a show, with a click, the human element was back again. There two girls, their hats pushed aside, their hair half uncoiled, their cheeks flushed, their eyes partly bold and partly frightened, were screaming:

"Oo're yer 'itting? Don't again then. Good old England! Gawd save----"

It was not on the whole a crowd stirred only by national joy and pride.

It may, in its units, when it first left its many homes, have announced its intention of giving "a jolly 'ooray" for our splendid country and our Beloved Queen, but, once in a position from which there was no returning, once in the hands of a force that was stronger than any felt before, it had forgotten the country and its defeats and successes. Only two courses open. Either admit fear, feel that the breath of you is slowly but quite surely in process of being crushed out of you, feel that your arms and legs are being torn from you, that your ribs are being smashed into powder and that your heart is being pressed as flat as a pancake, let then panic overwhelm you, fight and scream to get out and away from it, see yourself finally falling, trampled, kicked, your face squashed to pulp, your eyes torn out, your breath strangled in your body ... so much for Fear. Or, on the other hand arouse Frenzy!

Be above and beyond your body, scream and shout, rattle rattles and blow whistles, trample upon everything that is near you, smack faces with your hand, pull off clothing and scatter hats and bonnets, scream aloud, no matter what it is that you are screaming, let your voice exclaim that at length, at length, you, a miserable clerk on nothing a week, in the City, are, for the first time in your existence, the Captain of your soul, the ruthless master of a wretched, law-making tyrannous world....

So much for Frenzy!

Either way, be it Frenzy or Fear, the Country has not much to say to it at all. With every moment it seems that from the Circus more bodies, more arms and legs are being pressed and crushed and packed; with every moment the clanging of the bells is louder, the fire in the sky higher and wilder, the singing, the screaming, the oaths and the curses are nearer, the defiance that loss of individuality gives.

"Let's get back," said Brun. He turned, but, at that moment, someone from behind him cried, "Oo are yer shoving there?" He was pushed, with Christopher, half falling, half clutching at arms and shoulders, forward into the street.

They righted themselves, Brun fastened upon Christopher's arm, shouting into his ear, "We'd better go along with the crowd for a bit. We'll get a chance of cutting up Half Moon Street. Can't do anything else."

They were pressed forward. Now, received into the bosom of the crowd, they were conscious both of the human element and of the stronger composite spirit that was mightier than anything human, a creation of the City against whose walls they were now so riotously shouting.

Next to Christopher was a young man in evening dress; his hat had disappeared, his collar was torn, sweat was pouring down his forehead and at the top of his voice he screamed again and again:

"Good old England! Good old England! Good old Bobs! Good old Bobs!"

Squeezed up against Christopher's arm was a stout body that looked as though it had once belonged to some elderly gentleman who liked white waistcoats and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons. From somewhere, in obvious connection with these b.u.t.tons, came a weak, breathless voice: "You'll excuse me hanging on so, sir. It's familiar--not my way--but this crowd ..."

A girl, with crimson face, leant against Christopher, put her arm round his neck, tickled his face with a feather; she screamed with laughter: "Oo-ray! Oo-ray--Oo-b.l.o.o.d.y-ray!"

"Look out, you swine!" somebody shouted.

"And 'e shouted out, did Bobs Come along, you stinking n.o.bs, We will show you--"

Around them, above them, below them there tossed a whirlpool of noise, something outside and beyond the immediate sounds that they were making.

Bells, voices, shouts that seemed to have no human origin, the very walls and stones of the City crying aloud.

Then, opposite the entrance to Half Moon Street another crowd seemed to meet them. There was pause. "Get out of it!" "Go the other way." "d.a.m.n yer eyes, step off it." "Go back, carn't yer?"

It was then that for the briefest moment and for the first time in his life Christopher was afraid. Someone was pressing into his back until surely it would break, some other was leaning, and driving his chest in, driving it so that the breath flooded his face, his eyes, his nose.

Colours rose and fell; someone's evil breath burnt upon his cheeks.

Light flashed before him in broad, steady flares.

"Brun, Brun," he cried.

"All right," a voice from many miles away answered him.

He was seized with the determination to survive. They thought that they could "down" him, but they should see that they were mistaken; his rage rising, he was no longer Dr. Christopher of Harley Street, but something savage, lawless beyond even his own control. He drove with his arms; curses met him and someone drove back into him and a ridiculous face with staring eyes that stupidly pleaded and a nose that was white and trembling and a mouth that dribbled at the corners came up against his.

"Keep back, can't you?" someone shouted.

"Brun, Brun," he called again, and then was conscious that bodies were giving way before him. His hand met a stomach covered with cloth and little hard b.u.t.tons, and then coming against a woman's arm soft and warm, Christopher had instantly gained possession of his soul once more.

"Hope I didn't hurt you," he heard himself saying, then, some barrier of legs and bodies yielding, found that he was flung out, away, stumbling, in spite of himself, on to his knee.

He caught someone by the arm, and it was Brun.

"Good Lord!" said Christopher.

"It's all right," answered Brun. "We're in Half Moon Street. We're out of it."

II

Somewhere in the peaceful retirement behind the clubs they surveyed one another and then laughed. Brun--the dapper perfect Brun--had a bleeding cheek, a torn waistcoat, and a large and very unbecoming tear in his trousers. He was half angry and half amused--finally a survey of Christopher, with mud on his nose and his collar hanging from one b.u.t.ton and revealing a fat red neck, restored his good temper.

"You'd better come back with me," said Christopher, "and be cleaned up."

They went back to Harley Street and half an hour later were sitting quietly in easy chairs, with the house as though it were made of cotton-wool, so silent and hidden was it, about them.

Both men were excited; Christopher had been changed by the events of the last few weeks, and Brun, if he had not been so personally involved, had seen enough to excite his most eager curiosity and speculation.

Brun's sharp little eyes, flas.h.i.+ng across the tip of his cigar, sought Christopher's large comfortable face, fell from there over his large comfortable body, down at last to his large comfortable boots.

"Well ... First time I've seen a Continental crowd in England."

"Continental?"

"Always your Englishman, however excited and of whatever rank, knows there are things a gentleman doesn't do. Those people to-night had not that knowledge. Very interesting," he added.

Christopher peacefully smoked, his body well spread out in the chair, his broad rather clumsy-looking fingers clutching devotedly at his pipe.

"So you were at the funeral the other day?"

"I was. I expect I mourned her more sincerely than any of you. I'd never seen her, but she meant a lot to me--as a symbol. And I like symbols better than human beings."

He pulled his body together with a little jerk and leaned forward: "Christopher, do you remember, a long while ago, going into a gallery in Bond Street and meeting Lady Adela Beaminster there and Lady Seddon? It was just after Ross's portrait was first shown."

"I remember," said Christopher, nodding his head. "You were there."

"I was. I was there with Arkwright the African explorer man. I only mention the day because Arkwright was interested in Lady Seddon, wanted to know all about her, and I talked a bit, I remember. My point to him was that there was a situation between that girl and her grandmother that would be worth anybody's watching. I followed it myself for a while and then I lost it. But you're a friend of the family--tell me, Christopher, what happened between those two."

"Nothing," Christopher said, laughing.

"Oh, nonsense," Brun answered. "They were all in it. Something went on.

Then Seddon had that accident ... Breton was in it."

But Christopher only smiled.

"Well, if you won't--_n'importe_--I have my own idea of it all. That girl was a fine girl, and the old woman was fine too--

"But how they must have hated one another!"