Many Dimensions, Charles Williams [black authors fiction TXT] 📗

in a stentorian voice, “you all know me. I will

ask you to return to your homes and leave me to discover the truth

about this matter. I am the Mayor of Rich, and if the people of Rich

have been injured it is my business to remedy it and help them. If, as

appears, the Stone of which we have heard is able to heal illness, and

if the Government are using it, as swiftly as may be, for that purpose,

it is the duty of all good citizens to accept what delay the common

good of all demands. But it is equally their right to be assured that

the Government is doing its utmost in the matter, day and night, so

that not a single moment may be lost in freeing as many as May be from

pain and suffering. I shall make it my concern to discover this at

once. I know the hindrances which must, and I fear those which may,

follow on what has happened. I will myself go to London.” He paused a

moment, then he went on. “Some of you may know that my son is dying of

cancer. If it is a matter of ensuring swiftness and order he and I will

be the last in all the country to claim assistance. But I tell you this

that you may be very sure that he shall not suffer an hour longer than

need be because of the doubts or fears or stupidities of the servants

of the people. Return to your homes and tomorrow at this time you shall

know all that I know.” He paused again and ended with a loud cry, “God

save the King.”

 

“God save the King!” yelled Oliver in a thrill of delight, and assisted

the Mayor to descend. Who turned on him at once and went on talking

before the Chief Constable could interrupt.

 

“I shall want you,” he said. “I want all the information you can give

me, and I may need your personal help. Are you free? But it doesn’t

matter whether you are or not. I demand your presence in the name of

the King and by the authority of my office. We will go to the Town Hall

first. Barker,” he went on, to a man behind him, “see that the car is

kept all ready in front of the Town Hall. Inspector, I rely on you to

see that the promise I have made is published everywhere, and I warn

you that the bench will examine very carefully any case of reported

brawling brought before them in this connexion. Chief Constable, I am

obliged for your assistance, but I think the situation is well in hand,

and the chief magistrate can dispense with any outside help. Come

along, young man—what is your name?”

 

What account exactly Oliver gave the Mayor he was never very clear.

But, whatever it was, it was bound to confirm in the other’s mind the

importance of the Stone and the need for urgent and immediate action on

the Government. Once in the Town Hall, Oliver found himself in a maze

of action. There was a small, stout, and facetious alderman who was

apparently being left in charge as deputy mayor; there was an auburn

and agitated Town Clerk; there were the girl typists who are

spread all over England; there were commissionaires and chauffeurs and

telephones and councillors and a male clerk-Oliver had had no idea so

many people could accumulate in the seat of authority of a small

country town. He was rather curious to learn what the Mayor’s own name

was, and at last by dint of studying the notices on the wall discovered

that it was Clerishaw-Eustace Clerishaw. He had hardly fixed on this

when its’owner was on him again.

 

“I shall want you to come with me,” the Mayor said. “I am going to

London at once.”

 

“But what good shall I be?” Oliver asked, as he was hurried to the

door, but without any real regret at finding himself thus caught up

again in the operations of the Stone.

 

“I may,” the Mayor went on, “want to see Lord Arglay, but I shall go to

the Home Office first.”

 

“If you get as much satisfaction as we did at the Foreign Office,”

Oliver answered, “you’ll be there for months. What do you think they’ll

do?”

 

The Mayor, taking no notice, pushed him out of the Town Hall and

followed him. There was a large crowd at the entrance, and a cheer went

up when they appeared. As they hurried down to the car which stood in

readiness a policeman sprang to open it and Oliver recognized the young

constable he had seen before. They scrambled in; the policeman banged

the door, and put his head in.

 

“Good luck, sir,” he said. “Good luck and give them hell.”

 

“Heavens above,” thought Oliver as he sat down, “the Pretorian Guard’s

beginning to mutiny.”

 

For the rest of the journey he was undergoing a close interrogation,

and by the time they reached London the Mayor seemed more or less

satisfied. He sat back and stretched his legs.

 

“The Deputy Mayor, with the help of my clerk and so on,” he said, “is

getting into touch with all the Mayors in the district. During Sunday

crowds from at least five

other centres came out to Rich, and returned, I fear, with very little

satisfaction. I have been asked questions by all the Mayors, but until

I found you I had very little information to go on. “

 

“I shouldn’t think you’d got much now,” Oliver said. The Mayor looked

at his notes. “As I understand,” he went on, slowly, “the matter is at

present in the hands of the Foreign Office, and some kind of strain

exists between that Department and the Lord Chief Justice. I heard from

Mr. Sheldrake -whom I saw for a few minutes yesterday—that Lord Arglay

was in some way connected with the whole thing—indeed, Mrs. Sheldrake

seemed to think he was responsible for the trouble. But I have always

been very much impressed by such of Lord Arglay’s judgements as I have

been able to read and follow, and I was greatly struck by an article of

his I once read on the Nature of Law. A little abstract, perhaps, but

very interesting; he defined law provisionally as ‘the formal

expression of increasing communal self-knowledge’ and had an excursus

comparing the variations in law with the variations in poetic diction

from age to age, the aim being to discover the best plastic medium for

expression in action. Very interesting.”

 

“He didn’t look a bit like that this morning,” Oliver said. “He just

surveyed everything, though he moved quickly enough when that foul

Tumulty creature was slashing round with a knife—at least, he told me

to move.”

 

“I think the best plan,” the Mayor said unheeding, “would be for you to

go straight to him. He may not, in his position, be able to do

anything, but he said in that article that law. should be an exposition

of, not an imposition on, the people—so he may be more or less in

sympathy. Yes, you go there—I had the address looked up—while I go to

the Home Secretary’s; it’s no use trying Whitehall—I’d better go to his

private house first. If I can get no satisfaction……

 

“Do you expect to?” Oliver asked.

 

The Mayor was silent for a few minutes, then he said quite quietly,

“No, I don’t. I expect there’ll be trouble before we get our way.

That’s why I want to know about the Chief Justice. If he’s on our side

it will help us amazingly.”

 

Oliver tried to imagine the large placid form who had sat comfortably

opposite him at the conference leading the crowd from Rich-by-the-Mere

to attack London. But though that picture faded too quickly, he

realized as he thought that the assistance of the Chief Justice would

give the riot an emblem of authority which would transform it into a

rebellion. Only he couldn’t see Lord Arglay doing it, and he was no

nearer to seeing it when the Mayor turned him out of the car at

Lancaster Gate and went on, leaving him staring at the front door which

concealed the Justice of England. The justice of England, he reflected,

might be out; nothing in the present state of things was more probable.

A little more cheerfully he rang the bell, and his hopes were defeated.

The maid would see if Lord Arglay was at home. Mr. Doncaster? Would he

take a seat?

 

“Doncaster?” Lord Arglay said, looking at Chloe. “Doncaster? Ought I

to…. I do, vaguely.”

 

“I think he was there this morning,” Chloe said. “Just a minute.” She

looked among her papers. “Yes, he was, I made a list of their names in

case they should be useful.”

 

“I sometimes think,” Arglay said, glancing down the slip of paper she

gave him, “that the law of cause and effect isn’t really understood.

Since whatever you do is bound to be justified, justification is

produced. This Mr. Doncaster comes merely as a result of your having

written down his name. Shall we ask him what he thinks—poor deluded

wretch!—made him call here?”

 

They had, at the moment of Oliver’s arrival, been arguing whether it

was safe for Chloe to go home alone. She had wished to go as usual; the

Chief Justice had offered his car, his servants (“though none of them,”

he put in, “would be useful”) and himself to take her. Alternatively,

was there no friend she could telephone to, who could call at the house

and look after her. “If you won’t stop here, that is.”

 

But this, considering that the servants knew nothing of the crisis, and

considering also matters of dress and convenience, Chloe declined to

do. She was more uncertain about summoning Mr. Lindsay. Frank had been

rather badly treated—and he was almost certain to be in, working—and he

would love to be called on. Ought she to give him the pleasure? “But we

should have to tell him,” she said aloud, half-unconsciously.

 

“The papers,” Lord Arglay said, “have already done a good deal of that.

And a friend of yours-” with a gesture he opened the secret to her

friend’s entrance.

 

Duty could sometimes be pleasure, Chloe thought looking at him, and

certainly pleasure sometimes looked remarkably like duty. Still…

after all, Frank had had a difficult Saturday. And nothing at all of a

Sunday, since she had refused to stir out for fear she might be wanted.

After a brief explanation therefore she got through to Frank, offered a

tepid request, and came back feeling unexpectedly gloomy. It was then

that Oliver had arrived.

 

“Yes, O yes,” Chloe said, “I should ask him. I’ll go and wait for Mr.

Lindsay in the hall.” That, she felt, described her existence—she would

always be waiting for someone in the hall. While the great people

talked in studies and drawingrooms. She rather hoped Frank wouldn’t

come, then she could get off by herself before the Chiefjustice had

finished with this Mr. Doncaster. What was the shortest time she could

decently wait?

 

“Show Mr. Doncaster in,” Lord Arglay said to the maid. “And when a Mr.

Lindsay whom I’m expecting comes, show him in. If,” he went on to

Chloe, “this fellow has anything really secret I’ll take him away,

while you tell your friend as much as you choose of the story. If you

can remember it, which is more than I shall be able to do soon. I do

wish I knew what, if anything, had happened at Birmingham. If that

fellow Pondon has come back what a difficulty he’ll have explaining to

the police. Mr Doncaster? Why yes, I