Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

Chapter 12

It was not cricket season, so the Major was confused for a moment by the muffled sound of wickets being hammered into turf. The sound shivered along the grassy rise of the field at the bottom of the garden and flushed a few pigeons from the copse on the hill. The Major, carrying a mug of tea and the morning paper, went down to the fence to investigate.

There was not much to see, only a tall man in rubber boots and a yellow waterproof coat consulting a theodolite and a clipboard while two others, following his directions, paced out lengths and hammered bits of orange-tipped wood into the rough grass.

“Major, don’t let them see you,” said a disembodied voice in a loud stage whisper. The Major looked around.

“I’m keeping my head down,” said the voice, which he now recognized as belonging to Alice from next door. He walked toward the hedge, peering to see where she was.

“Don’t look at me,” she said in an exasperated tone. “They’ve probably spotted you, so just keep looking about as if you’re alone.”

“Good morning to you, Alice,” said the Major, swallowing some tea and “looking about” as well as he could. “Is there some reason we’re being so covert?”

“If we’re going to take direct action, it won’t do for them to see our faces,” she explained, as if to a small child. She was crouched on a folding camp stool in the tiny space between her own compost box and the hedge that divided her garden from the field. She did not seem bothered by the slight tang of rotting vegetables. Risking a quick glance, the Major saw a tripod and telescope poked into the greenery. He also noticed that Alice’s attempts at discretion did not extend to clothing, which included a magenta sweater and orange pants in some kind of baggy hemp.

“Direct action?” asked the Major. “What kind of—”

“Major, they’re surveying for houses,” said Alice. “They want to concrete over this entire field.”

“But that can’t be true,” said the Major. “This is Lord Dagenham’s land.”

“And Lord Dagenham intends to make a pretty penny from selling his land and building houses on it,” said Alice.

“Perhaps he’s just putting in new drains.” The Major always found he became deliberately more cautious and rational around Alice, as if her woolly enthusiasms might seep into his own consciousness. He liked Alice, despite the handmade posters for various causes that she taped in her windows and the overblown appearance of both her garden and her person. Both seemed to suffer from a surfeit of competing ideas and a commitment to the organic movement.

“Drains, my arse,” said Alice. “Our intelligence suggests there’s an American connection.” The Major felt a shift again in his gut. He was miserably sure she was right. There was a slow murder going on all over England these days as great swaths of fields were divided into small, rectangular pieces, like sheep pens, and stuffed with identical houses of bright red brick. The Major blinked hard, but the men would not disappear. He felt a sudden desire to go back to bed and pull the covers up over his head.

“Since they’ve seen your face, you might as well go and interrogate them,” said Alice. “See if they crack under direct confrontation.”

The Major walked around into the field and asked to speak to the man in charge. He was directed to the tall man, in glasses and a neat shirt and tie under his yellow coat, who seemed perfectly pleasant as he shook hands but politely refused to explain his presence.

“I’m afraid it’s all quite confidential,” he said. “Client’s all hush-hush.”

“I quite understand,” said the Major. “Most people round here have a quite ridiculous dislike of any kind of change and can make themselves a nuisance.”

“Well, exactly,” said the man.

“When I shoot with Dagenham on the eleventh, I’ll have to ask him for a private peek at the plans,” said the Major. “I’m quite interested in architecture—in an amateur capacity, of course.”

“I can’t promise they’ll have all the architectural plans by then,” said the man. “I’m just the engineer. We have to do all the top fields, and then there’s the traffic studies for the commercial area, which takes time.”

“Yes, of course the commercial will take some months, I imagine.” The Major felt quite faint. Behind him, he could feel Alice’s eye at the telescope watching. “What should I tell people if they ask?”

“If they’re persistent, I tell ’em it’s drains,” said the man. “Everyone’s in favor of drains.”

“Thanks very much,” said the Major, turning away. “I’ll tell Lord Dagenham you’re on top of things.”

“And tell ’em not to try pulling out my stakes,” said the man. He cocked his head at the buzz of a small plane approaching and jabbed his thumb skyward. “Aerial photos of every completed site. Usually beats the local vandals.”

Back behind his own gate, the Major felt a small spasm of grief. He had been feeling better in recent days and it was a surprise to find that his sorrow over his brother had not gone away but had been merely hiding somewhere waiting to ambush him on just such an occasion. He felt his eyes water and he pressed the fingernails of his free hand into his palm to stop it. He was keenly aware of Alice, crouched behind the hedge.

“My informant is back,” said Alice into a cell phone. The Major was sure she would have preferred a two-way radio. “I’ll debrief right away.”

“I’m afraid you may be right,” said the Major, being careful not to look down at her. He gazed instead at the sunlit rear façades of the houses camped out like so many sleeping cows along the edge of the field. “It’s houses for sure—and some commercial component.”

“Good God, it’s a whole new town,” said Alice into the phone. “Not a moment to lose, of course. We must take action right away.”

“If anyone asks you, please tell them I said it was drains,” said the Major, preparing to retire to the house for a second cup of tea. He felt quite ill.

“You can’t just walk away from this,” said Alice. She stood up, phone still pressed to the ear. He wondered who was on the end of the phone and pictured a group of faded hippies, with ripped jeans and balding heads. “You must join us, Major.”

“I’m as upset as you are,” said the Major. “But we don’t have all the facts. We should contact the council and find out where we stand regarding planning permission and so on.”

“Okay, the Major will head up communications,” said Alice into the phone.

“No, really …” began the Major.

“Jim wants to know if you could whip up a few posters,” Alice said.

“That would be rather too arty for me,” said the Major, wondering who Jim was. “Not one for the Magic Markers.”

“The Major is reluctant to join us, officially,” said Alice into her phone. “With his connections, maybe he can be our unofficial man on the inside?” There was some excited chatter from the other end of the phone. Alice looked the Major up and down. “No, no, he’s completely reliable.”

She turned away and the Major could barely hear what she was saying behind the broad curtain of her curly hair. He leaned toward her. “I’m prepared to vouch for him,” he heard her say.

The Major found it slightly preposterous but touching that Alice Pierce should be vouching for him. He could not be sure that he would be able to do the same for her if called upon. He perched on the side arm of the bench that sheltered under the dividing hedge and let his head flop onto his chest with a sigh. Alice shut her cell phone and he could feel her looking at him.

“I know you love this village more than anyone,” she said. “And I know how much Rose Lodge means to you and your family.” She spoke with an unusual gentleness. He swiveled to look at her and was touched to see it was entirely genuine.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been quite a while in your house, too.”

“I’ve been able to be very happy here,” she said. “But it’s only been twenty years, which hardly counts in this village.”

“It makes me feel old and foolish—I assumed progress couldn’t touch our little corner of the world,” he said.

“It’s not about progress,” she said. “It’s about greed.”

“I refuse to believe Lord Dagenham would give up his lands like this,” said the Major. “He’s always supported the countryside. He’s a shooting man, for heaven’s sake.” Alice shook her head as if at his naïveté.

“We’re all in favor of preserving the countryside until we see how much money we can make by adding on, adding up, or building down the back of the garden. Everyone’s green except for their one little project, which they assure us won’t make much difference—and suddenly whole villages are sprouting attic windows and two-car garages and mum-in-law extensions.” She rubbed her hands through her hair, shaking out the curly mass and smoothing it backward. “We’re all as guilty as Dagenham—he’s just on a bigger scale.”

“There is his obligation to stewardship,” said the Major. “I’m sure he will realize and change his mind.”

“When that fails, we fight,” she said. “It’s never over until you’ve charged the bulldozers and been thrown in jail.”

“I admire your enthusiasm,” said the Major. He stood up and threw the dregs of his tea over a dead dahlia. “But I cannot, in good conscience, assist you with any civic unrest.”

“Civic unrest? This is war, Major,” said Alice, chuckling at him. “Man the barricades and break out the Molotov cocktails!”

“You do what you must,” said the Major. “I shall write a stern letter to the planning officer.”

That afternoon, the Major walked down to the postbox with his letter and stood for some time, envelope in hand. Perhaps he had been too blunt in his request. He had excised the words “we demand” from several places and replaced them with “we request” but still he felt he was putting the planning officer on the spot. At the same time, he had feared Alice would not look kindly on his being overly polite, so he had added a phrase or two about the need for transparency and the council’s responsibility for the stewardship of the land. He had toyed with “sacred land” but to avoid confusion with fields owned by the church had made it “ancient” at the last minute. He had also debated copying the letter directly to Lord Dagenham but decided that this might be put off, perhaps until a date after the duck shoot, without any serious moral compromise. The insertion of a crisp folded letter into a fresh envelope always gave him pleasure, and as he looked at the envelope now, he decided his words were adequately composed and the letter suitably concise and grave. He popped the envelope into the box with satisfaction and looked forward to the entire matter being resolved in an amicable manner between reasonable men. The letter posted, he was free to look at the village shop and decide, as if hit by a sudden idea, to go in and inquire after Mrs. Ali and her nephew.

Inside the shop, Mrs. Ali was seated at the counter pushing small squares of silk into the raffia baskets that she usually filled with sandalwood candles and packets of tuberose and eucalyptus bath salts. Wrapped in cellophane and a silk bow, they were popular gifts. The Major had bought two the year before to give to Marjorie and Jemima for Christmas.

“Those sell quite well, I believe,” he said, by way of greeting. Mrs. Ali looked startled, as if she had not paid attention to the doorbell. Perhaps, he thought, she had not expected to see him.

“Yes, they are the favorite last-minute purchase of people who have entirely forgotten the person for whom they must buy,” said Mrs. Ali. She appeared agitated, twirling a completed basket at the end of her long slender fingers. “There is profit in panic, I suppose.”

“You appeared to be somewhat in distress yesterday,” he said. “I came to see whether everything was all right.”

“Things are … difficult,” she said at last. “Difficult, but possibly also very good.” He waited for her to elaborate, finding himself curious in a way that was entirely unfamiliar. He did not change the conversation, as he would have done if Alec or some other friend had ventured to hint at some personal difficulty. He waited and hoped that she would continue.

“I’ve finished polishing the apples,” said a small voice. The boy, George, came from the back of the store holding a clean duster in one hand and a small green apple in the other. “This one is much smaller than the others,” he added.

“That is just much too small to sell, then,” said Mrs. Ali. “Would you like to eat it up for me?”

“Yes, please,” said George, his facing breaking into a large grin. “I’ll go and wash it.” He walked to the back of the shop. Mrs. Ali watched him all the way and the Major watched her as her face relaxed into a smile.

“I would say you have a special touch with children,” said the Major. “However, in the case of straight bribery one should reserve judgment.” He had meant to make her laugh, but when she looked up at him her face was grave. She smoothed her hands along her skirt and he noticed that her hand trembled.

“I have to tell you something,” she began. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but if I do, perhaps it will help make things real….” Her voice died away and she examined the backs of her hands as if searching for her lost thought among the faint blue veins.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “But be assured anything you choose to tell me will be kept in complete confidence.”

“I am in some confusion, as you can see,” she said, looking at him again with just a hint of her usual smile. He waited. “Amina and George stayed with us last night,” she began. “It turns out that George is my great-nephew. He is Abdul Wahid’s son.”

“Is he indeed?” said the Major, feigning ignorance.

“How could I not have guessed, not have felt it?” she said. “And yet now, with a word from Amina, I am welded to this small boy by a deep love.”

“Are you sure it’s the truth?” said the Major. “Only there are cases, you know—people do take advantage and so on.”

“Little George has my husband’s nose.” She blinked, but a tear escaped and rolled down her left cheek. “It was right there but I couldn’t see it.”

“So you are to be congratulated?” asked the Major. He had not meant to phrase it as a question.

“I thank you, Major,” she said. “But I cannot escape the fact that this brings shame on my family, and I would understand if you preferred not to continue our acquaintance.”

“Nonsense; such a thought never crossed my mind,” said the Major. He could feel himself blushing at this small lie. He was doing his best to squelch the uncomfortable desire to slide out of the shop and free himself from what was, however you looked at it, a slightly sordid business.

“Such humiliations should not happen in good families,” she said.

“Oh, it’s been going on for a thousand years,” interrupted the Major, feeling the need to bluff himself as well as her. “The Victorians were worse than the rest, of course.”

“But the shame does seem so trivial compared to that beautiful child.”

“People are always complaining about the loosening of moral standards,” the Major went on. “But my wife always insisted that prior generations were just as lax—they were merely more furtive.”

“I knew Abdul Wahid was sent away because he was in love with some girl,” she said. “But I never knew there was to be a child.”

“Did he know?” asked the Major.

“He says not.” Her face darkened. “A family will do many things to protect their children, and I fear life has been made very difficult for this young woman.” There was silence as the Major searched in vain for some useful words of comfort. “Anyway, they are here now, Amina and George, and I must make things right.”

“What will you do?” asked the Major. “I mean, you hardly know anything about this young woman.”

“I know I must keep them here, while we find out,” Mrs. Ali said, her chin lifted in an attractive arc of decisiveness. He recognized a woman on a mission. “They will stay with me for at least a week, and if Abdul wants to continue sleeping in the car, that is what he will have to do.”

“Sleeping in the car?”

“My nephew insists he cannot sleep under my roof with an unmarried woman, so he slept in the car,” said Mrs. Ali. “I pointed out the obvious, inconsistency in his thinking, but his new religiosity permits him to be stubborn.”

“But why have them stay at all?” asked the Major. “Can’t they just visit?”

“I fear if they go back to town, they may disappear again,” she said. “Amina seems very highly strung and she says her aunt is practically hysterical with people asking questions about her.”

“I suppose renting a room at the pub is not allowed,” said the Major. The landlord of the Royal Oak offered two flowery bedrooms under the eaves and a hearty full breakfast served in the slightly sticky bar area.

“Abdul Wahid has threatened to go to town and ask the Imam for a bed, which would mean our business would be the gossip of the entire community.” She covered her face with her hands and said softly, “Why must he be so stubborn?”

“Look here, if it’s really important to you to keep them all here, how about your nephew coming to stay with me for a few days?” The Major surprised himself with the offer, which seemed to emerge of its own accord. “I have a spare room—he wouldn’t be in my way.”

“Oh, Major, it is too much to expect,” said Mrs. Ali. “I could not trespass this way on your kindness.” Her face, however, had lit up with anticipation. The Major was already deciding to put the young man in Roger’s old room. The spare room was rather cold, as it was north facing, and the bed had a few suspicious holes in one leg that he had been meaning to investigate. It wouldn’t do to have a guest fall out of bed because of woodworm.

“Look, it’s really no trouble,” he said. “And if it helps you resolve this problem, I’m glad to be of service.”

“I will be entirely in your debt, Major.” She stood up from her stool, came close and laid her hand on his arm. “I cannot express my gratitude.” The Major felt warmth spreading up his arm. He kept still, as if a butterfly had alighted on his elbow. For a moment nothing existed but the feel of her breath and the sight of his own face on her dark eyes.

“Well, it’s quite all right.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“You are a most astonishing man,” she said, and he realized he had inspired a sense of trust and indebtedness that would make it entirely impossible for an honorable man to attempt to kiss her anytime soon. He cursed himself for a fool.

It was dark when Abdul Wahid knocked at the door of Rose Lodge. He was carrying a few belongings rolled tightly in a small prayer rug tied with a canvas strap. He looked as if he were used to rolling his life up in this simple bundle.

“Do come in,” said the Major.

“You are very kind,” said the young man, who wore the same frown as usual. He carefully removed his battered brown slip-on shoes and placed them under the hallstand. The Major knew this was a sign of respect for his home, but he felt embarrassed by the intimacy of a stranger’s feet in damp socks. He had a sudden vision of the village ladies leaving imprints of their stockings in coven circles on his polished boards. He was glad his own feet were encased in stout wool slippers.

Leading the way upstairs, he decided to show the nephew to the north-facing spare room after all. Roger’s room, with its old blue rug and the good desk with the writing lamp, seemed suddenly too luxurious and soft for this hard-faced young man.

“Will this do?” he asked, surreptitiously kicking the weak bed leg to make sure it was sturdy and no dust fell from the wormholes. The thin mattress, the pine chest of drawers, and the single print of flowers on one wall seemed suitably monastic.

“You are too kind.” Abdul Wahid deposited his few belongings gently on the bed.

“I’ll get you some sheets and let you settle in,” said the Major.

“Thank you,” said Abdul Wahid.

When the Major came back with the linens, and a thin wool blanket that he had selected instead of a silk eiderdown, Abdul Wahid had already settled in. On the chest were laid out a comb, a soap dish, and a copy of the Qur’an. A large cotton dishtowel, printed with calligraphy, had been hung over the picture. The prayer rug lay on the floor, looking small against the expanse of worn floorboard. Abdul Wahid sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees, staring into thin air.

“I hope you’ll be warm enough,” the Major said, placing his bundle on the bed.

“She was always so beautiful,” whispered Abdul Wahid. “I could never think straight in her presence.”

“The window rattles a bit if the wind gets round this corner of the house,” the Major added, and went over to tighten the catch. He found himself slightly unnerved at having the intense young man in his home and, for fear of saying something wrong, he decided to play the jovial, disinterested host.

“They promised me I would forget her, and I did,” said the young man. “But now she is here and my brain has been spinning all day.”

“Maybe it’s a low-pressure system.” The Major peered out through the glass for signs of storm clouds. “My wife always got headaches when the barometer dropped.”

“It is a great relief to be in your home, Major,” said Abdul Wahid. The Major turned in surprise. The young man had stood up and now made him a short bow. “To be once again in a sanctuary far from the voices of women is balm to the anguished soul.”

“I can’t promise it will last,” said the Major. “My neighbor Alice Pierce is rather fond of singing folk music to her garden plants. Thinks it makes them grow or something.” The Major had often wondered how a wailing rendition of “Greensleeves” would encourage greater raspberry production but Alice insisted that it worked far better than chemical fertilizers, and she did produce several kinds of fruit in pie-worthy quantities. “No sense of pitch, but plenty of enthusiasm,” he added.

“Then I will add a prayer for rain to my devotions,” said Abdul Wahid. The Major could not determine whether this was intended as a humorous remark.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said. “I usually put on a pot of tea around six.” As he left his guest and proceeded down to the kitchen, he felt in his bones the exhaustion of such a strange turn of events.

And yet he could not help but register a certain sense of exhilaration at having thrust himself into the heart of Mrs. Ali’s life in such an extraordinary manner. He had acted spontaneously. He had asserted his own wishes. He was tempted to celebrate his own boldness with a large glass of Scotch, but as he reached the kitchen he decided that a large glass of sodium bicarbonate would be more prudent.