Some Do Not … by Ford Madox Ford (story read aloud txt) 📕

private income under his mother’s settlement; a little income from the Imperial Department of Statistics; he had married a woman of means, and he was, in the Tory manner, sufficiently a master of flouts and jeers to be listened to when he spoke. He was twenty-six; but, very big, in a fair, untidy, Yorkshire way, he carried more weight than his age warranted. His chief, Sir Reginald Ingleby, when Tietjens chose to talk of public tendencies which influenced statistics, would listen with attention. Sometimes Sir Reginald would say: “You’re a perfect encyclopædia of exact material knowledge, Tietjens,” and Tietjens thought that that was his due, and he would accept the tribute in silence.

At a word from Sir Reginald, Macmaster, on the other hand, would murmur: “You’re very good, Sir Reginald!” and Tietjens thought that perfectly proper.

Macmaster was a little the senior in the service as he was probably a little the senior in age. For, as to his roommate’s years, or as to his exact origins, there was a certain blank in Tietjens’ knowledge. Macmaster was obviously Scotch by birth, and you accepted him as what was called a “son of the manse.” No doubt he was really the son of a grocer in Cupar or a railway porter in Edinburgh. It does not matter with the Scotch, and as he was very properly reticent as to his ancestry, having accepted him, you didn’t, even mentally, make any enquiries.

Tietjens always had accepted Macmaster⁠—at Clifton, at Cambridge, in Chancery Lane and in their rooms at Gray’s Inn. So for Macmaster he had a very deep affection⁠—even a gratitude. And Macmaster might be considered as returning these feelings. Certainly he had always done his best to be of service to Tietjens. Already at the Treasury and attached as private secretary to Sir Reginald Ingleby, whilst Tietjens was still at Cambridge, Macmaster had brought to the notice of Sir Reginald Tietjens’ many great natural gifts, and Sir Reginald, being on the lookout for young men for his ewe lamb, his newly-founded department, had very readily accepted Tietjens as his third in command. On the other hand, it had been Tietjens’ father who had recommended Macmaster to the notice of Sir Thomas Block at the Treasury itself. And, indeed, the Tietjens’ family had provided a little money⁠—that was Tietjens’ mother really⁠—to get Macmaster through Cambridge and install him in Town. He had repaid the small sum⁠—paying it partly by finding room in his chambers for Tietjens when in turn he came to Town.

With a Scots young man such a position had been perfectly possible. Tietjens had been able to go to his fair, ample, saintly mother in her morning-room and say:

“Look here, mother, that fellow Macmaster! He’ll need a little money to get through the University,” and his mother would answer:

“Yes, my dear. How much?”

With an English young man of the lower orders that would have left a sense of class obligation. With Macmaster it just didn’t.

During Tietjens’ late trouble⁠—for four months before Tietjens’ wife had left him to go abroad with another man⁠—Macmaster had filled a place that no other man could have filled. For the basis of Christopher Tietjens’ emotional existence was a complete taciturnity⁠—at any rate as to his emotions. As Tietjens saw the world, you didn’t “talk.” Perhaps you didn’t even think about how you felt.

And, indeed, his wife’s flight had left him almost completely without emotions that he could realise, and he had not spoken more than twenty words at most about the event. Those had been mostly to his father, who, very tall, very largely built, silver-haired and erect, had drifted, as it were, into Macmaster’s drawing-room in Gray’s Inn, and after five minutes of silence had said:

“You will divorce?”

Christopher had answered:

“No! No one but a blackguard would ever submit a woman to the ordeal of divorce.”

Mr. Tietjens had digested that, and after an interval had asked:

“You will permit her to divorce you?”

He had answered:

“If she wishes it. There’s the child to be considered.”

Mr. Tietjens said:

“You will get her settlement transferred to the child?”

Christopher answered:

“If it can be done without friction.”

Mr. Tietjens had commented only:

“Ah!” Some minutes later he had said:

“Your mother’s very well.” Then: “That motor-plough didn’t answer,” and then: “I shall be dining at the club.”

Christopher said:

“May I bring Macmaster in, sir? You said you would put him up.”

Mr. Tietjens answered:

“Yes, do. Old General Ffolliott will be there. He’ll second him. He’d better make his acquaintance.” He had gone away.

Tietjens considered that his relationship with his father was an almost perfect one. They were like two men in the club⁠—the only club; thinking so alike that there was no need to talk. His father had spent a great deal of time abroad before succeeding to the estate. When, over the moors, he went into the industrial town that he owned, he drove always in a coach-and-four. Tobacco smoke had never been known inside Groby Hall: Mr. Tietjens had twelve pipes filled every morning by his head gardener and placed in rose bushes down the drive. These he smoked during the day. He farmed a good deal of his own land; had sat for Holdernesse from 1876 to 1881, but had not presented himself for election after the redistribution of seats; he was patron of eleven livings; rode to hounds every now and then, and shot fairly regularly. He had three other sons and two daughters, and was now sixty-one.

To his sister Effie, on the day after his wife’s elopement, Christopher had said over the telephone:

“Will you take Tommie for an indefinite period? Marchant will come with him. She offers to take charge of your two youngest as well, so you’ll save a maid, and I’ll pay their board and a bit over.”

The voice of his sister⁠—from Yorkshire⁠—had answered:

“Certainly, Christopher.” She was the wife of a vicar, near Groby, and she had several children.

To Macmaster Tietjens had said:

“Sylvia has left me with that fellow Perowne.”

Macmaster had answered only: “Ah!”

Tietjens had continued:

“I’m letting the house and warehousing the furniture. Tommie is going to