A great night, with room enough for Heaven to be hidden there from our not too perspicacious eyes. … It was said that an earthquake shock imperceptible to our senses set those cattle and sheep and horses and pigs crashing through all the hedges of the county. And it was queer: before they had so started lowing and moving Mark was now ready to swear that he had heard a rushing sound. He probably had not! One could so easily self-deceive oneself! The cattle had been panicked because they had been sensible of the presence of the Almighty walking upon the firmament. …
Damn it all: there were a lot of things coming back. He could have sworn he heard the voice of Ruggles say: “After all, he is virtually Tietjens of Groby!” … By no fault of yours, old cock! But now you will be cadging up to him. … Now there speaks Edith Ethel Macmaster! A lot of voices passing behind his head. Damn it all, could they all be ghosts drifting before the wind! … Or, damn it all, was he himself dead! … No, you were probably not profane when you were dead.
He would have given the world to sit up and turn his head round and see. Of course he could, but that would give the show away! He credited himself with being too cunning an old fox for that! To have thrown dust in their eyes for all these years! He could have chuckled!
Fittleworth seemed to have come down into the garden and to be remonstrating with these people. What the devil could Fittleworth want? It was like a pantomime. Fittleworth, in effect, was looking at him. He said:
“Hello, old bean. …” Marie Léonie was looking beside his elbow. He said: “I’ve driven all these goats out of your hen-roost.” … Good-looking fellow Fittleworth. His Lola Vivaria had been a garden-peach. Died in childbirth. No doubt that was why he had troubled to come. Fittleworth said: Cammie said to give Mark her love for old time’s sake. Her dear love! And as soon as he was well to bring her ladyship down. …
Damn this sweat. With its beastly tickling he would grimace and give the show away. But he would like Marie Léonie to go to the Fittleworth’s. Marie Léonie said something to Fittleworth.
“Yes, yes, me lady!” says Fittleworth. Damn it, he did look like a monkey as some people said. … But if the monkeys we were descended from were as good-looking … Probably he had good-looking legs. … How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of them that bring good tidings to Zion. … Fittleworth added earnestly and distinctly that Sylvia—Sylvia Tietjens—begged Mark to understand that she had not sent that flock of idiots down here. Sylvia also said that she was going to divorce his, Mark’s, brother and dissolve her marriage with the sanction of Rome. … So they would all be a happy family down there, soon. … Anything Cammie could do. … Because of Mark’s unforgettable services to the nation. …
Name was written in … Lettest thou thy servant … divorce in peace!
Marie Léonie begged Fittleworth to go away now. Fittleworth said he would, but joy never kills! So long, old … old friend!
The clubs they had been in together. … But one went to a far better Club than … His breathing was a little troublesome. … It was darkish, then light again.
Christopher was at the foot of his bed. Holding a bicycle and a lump of wood. Aromatic wood: a chunk sawn from a tree. His face was white: his eyes stuck out. Blue pebbles. He gazed at his brother and said:
“Half Groby wall is down. Your bedroom’s wrecked. I found your case of seabirds thrown on a rubble heap.”
It was as well that one’s services were unforgettable!
Valentine was there, panting as if she had been running. She exclaimed to Christopher:
“You left the prints for Lady Robinson in a jar you gave to Hudnut the dealer. How could you? Oh, how could you? How are we going to feed and clothe a child if you do such things?”
He lifted his bicycle wearily round. You could see he was dreadfully weary, the poor devil. Mark almost said:
“Let him off: the poor devil’s worn out!”
Heavily, like a dejected bulldog, Christopher made for the gate. As he went up the green path beyond the hedge, Valentine began to sob.
“How are we to live? How are we ever to live?”
“Now I must speak,” Mark said.
He said:
“Did ye ever hear tell o’ t’ Yorkshireman … On Mount Ara … Ara …”
He had not spoken for so long. His tongue appeared to fill his mouth; his mouth to be twisted to one side. It was growing dark. He said:
“Put your ear close to my mouth. …” She cried out.
He whispered:
“ ‘ ’Twas the mid o’ the night and the barnies grat
And the mither beneath the mauld heard that. …’
An old song. My nurse sang it. … Never thou let thy child weep for thy sharp tongue to thy good man. … A good man! Groby Great Tree is down. …”
He said: “Hold my hand!”
She inserted her hand beneath the sheet and his hand closed on hers. Then it relaxed.
She nearly cried out for Marie Léonie.
The tall, sandy, much-liked doctor came through the gate.
She said:
“He spoke just now. … It has been a torturing afternoon. … Now I’m afraid … I’m afraid he’s …”
The doctor reached his hand beneath the sheet, leaning sideways. He said:
“Go get you to bed. … I will come and examine you. …”
She said:
“Perhaps it would be best not to tell Lady Tietjens that he spoke. … She would like to have had his last words. … But she did not need them as much as I.”
Colophon
The Last Post
was published in 1928 by
Ford Madox Ford.
This ebook was produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Alex Cabal,
and is based on a transcription
