I was too much disturbed to go to bed myself. I decided to wake Roy Calvert; it was a strange reversal of roles, when I recalled the nights of melancholy in which he had woken me. In his sitting-room the embers were still glowing. He must have had a large fire and sat up late. Proofs of the liturgy lay stacked on his lowest table, and I noticed the dedicatory page IN MEMORY OF VERNON ROYCE.
He was peacefully asleep. He had not known insomnia since the summer, and always when he slept it was as quietly as a child. It took some time to waken him.
‘Are you part of a dream?’ he asked. They were his first coherent words.
‘No.’
‘Let me go to sleep. Rescue my books yourself. Is it a fire? I need to go to sleep.’
He looked tousled and flushed, and, though his hair was already thinning, very young.
‘I’m very worried,’ I said, and he shook himself into consciousness. He jumped out of bed, and put on a dressing-gown while I told him of Pilbrow.
‘Bad. Bad,’ said Roy.
He was still sleepy, but we moved into the sitting-room, and he warmed himself over the remnants of the fire.
‘What is our move, old boy?’
‘We may be losing. I’m afraid for Jago now.’
‘Just so. That gets us nowhere. What is our move?’
He took out his box of bricks and arranged the sides again. ‘7–6 for Crawford. That’s the worst it’s been.’
‘We’ve got nothing to lose if we tackle any of them. I wish we had before. We certainly ought to try everything we know on old Gay,’ I said.
‘Just so. I like the sound of that. Ah. Indeed,’ said Roy. He smiled at me. ‘Don’t be too worried, old boy.’
‘We’ll try anything, but the chances are against us.’
‘I’m sorry for poor old Jago. You’re frightfully sorry, aren’t you? He’s got hold of your imagination. Never mind. We’ll do our damnedest.’ Roy was enjoying the prospect of action. Then he smiled at me again. ‘It’s extremely funny for me to be consoling you.’
34: Obligations of Love
Although I had had only a few hours’ sleep, I was lying wakeful when Bidwell called me. He drew the blind and let in the grey half-light of the December morning: I turned away, longing for sleep again, I wanted to shirk the day.
Bidwell had not lit the fire in my sitting-room early enough; there were only spurts of flame among the great lumps of coal. Smoke blew out of the grate, and it struck cold and raw in the lofty room. I sat down heavy-heartedly to my breakfast. With an effort, I roused myself to call down the stairs for Bidwell. He entered with his usual smile, intimate, deferential, and sly. I sent him to find whether Pilbrow was up yet, and he returned with news that Pilbrow had pinned a note on his door saying he proposed to sleep until midday and was not to be disturbed.
I knew that, as soon as he was about, he would be punctilious in warning his former side of his change of vote. His views were eccentric for an old man, but his manners had stayed gentle and nineteenth century; the only grumble I had ever heard him make about his young friends of the left was that, though he was sure there was some good reason for it, he could not for the life of him understand why they found it necessary to be so rude.
It was certain that Jago, Brown, and Chrystal would receive his note of apology by the end of the day. I did not want to break more bad news to Brown; over breakfast, I decided to leave it, he would find out from Pilbrow’s note soon enough. Then I thought I had better face the trouble, and sent out Bidwell with another message, asking Brown to visit me as soon as he came into college.
He was busy with the scholarship examination, and it was not until eleven o’clock that he arrived.
‘Is it anything serious? Have you heard about a meeting?’ he asked at once.
I told him of Pilbrow’s visit. His face flushed an angry purple, and he cursed with a virulence I had never heard before. He ended up: ‘It’s all his confounded politics. I always thought that he’d never grow up. It’s bad enough having people with cranky opinions in the college, saving your presence, Eliot, but it’s a damned scandal when they interfere with serious things. It’s a damned scandal. I shall never think the same of Pilbrow.’
It was the first time in the whole year that he had lost his balance. At last he said, with regretful bitterness: ‘I suppose we may as well tell Chrystal. I should have hoped at one time that he would take it as much amiss as I do.’
Chrystal listened to the news with attention, and received it quite differently from Brown.
‘Well. That’s that,’ he said. ‘I can’t say I’m much surprised.’
His response was mixed from the first moment — mixed, with his soft-hearted concern for his friend’s misery, his guilt at his friend’s anger, his delight at a hidden plan, his strong but obscure gratification.
‘It’s just as well I established contact yesterday,’ he said triumphantly. ‘We hadn’t told you, Eliot. Brown was not happy about going on. But some people on the other side would welcome a meeting. Of everyone who wants to come. Throwing everything into the melting pot. I told Brown yesterday it was our best way out. Now I’m sure of it.’
‘The position was different yesterday.’
‘I took it for granted there were floating votes.’
‘I don’t want a way out from Jago, and I never should,’ said Brown.
I asked if the meeting had been decided on.
‘I don’t think they’ll back out,’ Chrystal replied. ‘I’m not sure if they want to.’
‘Not even,’ I said, ‘now that they can see a majority for Crawford? When they hear about Pilbrow, they’ll feel they’re winning for the first time. Why should they want a meeting?’
‘They would be very foolish to contemplate such a thing,’ said Brown heavily to Chrystal. ‘Yesterday was a different situation. They stood to gain by saying yes to any approach you made. It was only decent common sense for them to draw you on. I shouldn’t think much of their judgement if they hadn’t welcomed any discussion you liked to suggest. They knew that we were showing our weakness.’
‘It’s turned out right. It may save us,’ said Chrystal.
‘I’ll believe that when I see the slightest sign that they’re willing to compromise — now they’re sitting with the majority.’
‘I’ll see there’s a meeting,’ said Chrystal. ‘It can be done. They’ll be willing to compromise.’
After lunch, Roy and I were sitting in my rooms. We intended to walk out to Gay’s house in time for tea; it was no use leaving the college until three, for the old man took his afternoon sleep according to the timetable which regulated all his actions and which had not varied for forty years.
I had deliberately kept back from Brown and Chrystal that we were making an attempt on Gay. Chrystal was now set on a compromise, and I did not think it safe to tell him. Unless Jago’s chances were revived, there was nothing Chrystal would do to help: he was more likely to hinder.
‘Just so,’ said Roy. ‘He’s an interesting man. If he’d been as single-minded over poor Jago as he was about making Sir Timberlake unbelt, we should have raced home.’
We talked about personal politics, of which in different places we had now seen a good deal. One point had struck us both: will, sheer stubborn will, was more effective than cunning or finesse or subtlety. Those could be a help; but the more one saw, the more one was forced to the banal conclusion that the man you wanted on your side was the man who believed without a shade of doubt that you were right. Arthur Brown was cunning and resourceful; but he had been the mainstay of Jago’s cause because, more powerfully than any of us, without any qualifications at all, he was determined to get Jago in. And Crawford’s side, which had so long been numerically weaker, began with Despard-Smith, Winslow, and Getliffe, not one of whom ever felt a doubt between Crawford and Jago. In that they were luckier than we had been; for Chrystal, whose will could be as strong as any of theirs, had had it split throughout the entire struggle.