Chapter 10

It was the morning of the start to Petra.

Sarah came down to find a big masterful woman with a rocking-horse nose, whom she hadalready noticed in the hotel, outside the main entrance, objecting fiercely to the size of the car.

‘A great deal too small! Four passengers? And a dragoman? Then, of course, we must have amuch larger saloon. Please take that car away and return with one of an adequate size.’

In vain did the representative of Messrs Castle raise his voice in explanation. That was the sizeof car always provided. It was really a most comfortable car. A larger car was not suitable fordesert travel. The large woman, metaphorically¹ speaking, rolled over him like a large steamroller.

Then she turned her attention to Sarah.

‘Miss King? I am Lady Westholme. I am sure you agree with me that that car was grosslyinadequate as to size?’

‘Well,’ said Sarah cautiously, ‘I agree that a larger one would be more comfortable!’

The young man from Castle’s murmured that a larger car would add to the price.

‘The price,’ said Lady Westholme firmly, ‘is inclusive, and I shall certainly refuse to sanctionany addition to it. Your prospectus² distinctly states “in comfortable saloon car”. You will keep tothe terms of your agreement.’

Recognizing defeat, the young man from Castle’s murmured something about seeing what hecould do and wilted³ away from the spot.

Lady Westholme turned to Sarah, a smile of triumph on her weather-beaten countenance⁴, herlarge red rocking-horse nostrils⁵ dilated⁶ exultantly⁷.

Lady Westholme was a very well-known figure in the English political world. When LordWestholme, a middle- aged⁸, simple- minded peer whose only interests in life were hunting,shooting and fishing, was returning from a trip to the United States, one of his fellow passengerswas a Mrs Vansittart. Shortly afterwards Mrs Vansittart became Lady Westholme. The match wasoften cited as one of the examples of the danger of ocean voyages. The new Lady Westholmelived entirely⁹ in tweeds and stout¹⁰ brogues, bred dogs, bullied¹¹ the villagers and forced her husbandpitilessly into public life. It being borne in upon her, however, that politics were not LordWestholme’s métier in life and never would be, she graciously allowed him to resume his sportingactivities and herself stood for Parliament. Being elected with a substantial majority, LadyWestholme threw herself with vigour¹² into political life, being especially active at Question Time.

Cartoons of her soon began to appear (always a sure sign of success). As a public figure she stoodfor the old-fashioned values of family life, welfare work amongst women, and was an ardentsupporter of the League of Nations. She had decided¹³ views on questions of Agriculture, Housingand Slum Clearance¹⁴. She was much respected and almost universally disliked! It was highlypossible that she would be given an under-secretaryship when her party returned to power. At themoment a Liberal Government (owing to a split in the National Government between Labour andConservatives) was somewhat unexpectedly in power.

Lady Westholme looked with grim satisfaction after the departing car. ‘Men always think theycan impose upon women,’ she said.

Sarah thought that it would be a brave man who thought he could impose upon LadyWestholme! She introduced Dr Gerard, who had just come out of the hotel.

‘Your name is, of course, familiar to me,’ said Lady Westholme, shaking hands. ‘I was talkingto Professor Chantereau the other day in Paris. I have been taking up the question of the treatmentof pauper¹⁵ lunatics very strongly lately. Very strongly indeed. Shall we come inside while we waitfor a better car to be obtained?’

A vague little middle-aged¹⁶ lady with wisps of grey hair who was hovering¹⁷ nearby turned out tobe Miss Amabel Pierce, the fourth member of the party. She, too, was swept into the lounge underLady Westholme’s protecting wing.

‘You are a professional woman, Miss King?’

‘I’ve just taken my M.B.’

‘Good,’ said Lady Westholme with condescending¹⁸ approval. ‘If anything is to be accomplished,mark my words, it is women who will do it.’

Uneasily conscious for the first time of her sex, Sarah followed Lady Westholme meekly¹⁹ to aseat.

There, as they sat waiting, Lady Westholme informed them that she had refused an invitation tostay with the High Commissioner²⁰ during her stay in Jerusalem. ‘I did not want to be hampered²¹ byofficialdom. I wished to look into things by myself.’

‘What things?’ Sarah wondered.

Lady Westholme went on to explain that she was staying at the Solomon Hotel so as to remainunhampered. She added that she had made several suggestions to the manager for the morecompetent running of his hotel.

‘Efficiency,’ said Lady Westholme, ‘is my watchword.’

It certainly seemed to be! In a quarter of an hour a large and extremely comfortable car arrivedand in due course—after advice from Lady Westholme as to how the luggage should be stowed—the party set off.

Their first halt was the Dead Sea. They had lunch at Jericho. Afterwards when LadyWestholme, armed with a Baedeker, had gone off with Miss Pierce, the doctor and the fatdragoman, to do a tour of old Jericho, Sarah remained in the garden of the hotel.

Her head ached slightly and she wanted to be alone. A deep depression weighed her down—adepression for which she found it hard to account. She felt suddenly listless and uninterested,disinclined for sightseeing, bored by her companions. She wished at this moment that she hadnever committed herself to this Petra tour. It was going to be very expensive and she felt quite sureshe wasn’t going to enjoy it! Lady Westholme’s booming voice, Miss Pierce’s endless twitterings,and the anti-Zionist lamentation²² of the dragoman, were already fraying²³ her nerves to a frazzle. Shedisliked almost as much Dr Gerard’s amused air of knowing exactly how she was feeling.

She wondered where the Boyntons were now—perhaps they had gone on to Syria—they mightbe at Baalbek or Damascus. Raymond—she wondered what Raymond was doing. Strange howclearly she could see his face—its eagerness—its diffidence—its nervous tension…Oh, hell! Why go on thinking of people she would probably never see again? That scene theother day with the old woman—what could have possessed²⁴ her to march up to the old lady andspurt out a lot of nonsense. Other people must have heard some of it. She fancied that LadyWestholme had been quite close by. Sarah tried to remember exactly what it was she had said.

Something that probably sounded quite absurdly hysterical²⁵. Goodness, what a fool she had madeof herself! But it wasn’t her fault really; it was old Mrs Boynton’s. There was something about herthat made you lose your sense of proportion.

Dr Gerard entered and plumped down in a chair, wiping his hot forehead.

‘Phew! That woman should be poisoned!’ he declared.

Sarah started. ‘Mrs Boynton?’

‘Mrs Boynton! No, I meant that Lady Westholme! It is incredible to me that she has had ahusband for many years and that he has not already done so. What can he be made of, thathusband?’

Sarah laughed.

‘Oh, he’s the “huntin’, fishin’, shootin’ ” kind,’ she explained.

‘Psychologically that is very sound! He appeases²⁶ his lust²⁷ to kill on the (so- called) lowercreations.’

‘I believe he is very proud of his wife’s activities.’

The Frenchman suggested:

‘Because they take her a good deal away from home? That is understandable.’ Then he went on,‘What did you say just now? Mrs Boynton? Undoubtedly²⁸ it would be a very good idea to poisonher, too. Undeniably the simplest solution of that family problem! In fact a great many womenwould be better poisoned. All women who have grown old and ugly.’

He made an expressive²⁹ face.

Sarah cried out, laughing:

‘Oh, you Frenchmen! You’ve got no use for any woman who isn’t young and attractive.’

Gerard shrugged³⁰ his shoulders.

‘We are more honest about it, that is all. Englishmen, they do not get up in tubes and trains forugly women—no, no.’

‘How depressing life is,’ said Sarah with a sigh.

‘There is no need for you to sigh, mademoiselle.’

‘Well, I feel thoroughly³¹ disgruntled today.’

‘Naturally.’

‘What do you mean—naturally?’ snapped Sarah.

‘You could find the reason very easily if you examine your state of mind honestly.’

‘I think it’s our fellow travelers who depress me,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it, but I do hatewomen! When they’re inefficient³² and idiotic³³ like Miss Pierce, they infuriate me—and, whenthey’re efficient like Lady Westholme, they annoy me more still.’

‘It is, I should say, unavoidable that these two people should annoy you. Lady Westholme isexactly fitted to the life she leads and is completely happy and successful. Miss Pierce has workedfor years as a nursery governess and has suddenly come into a small legacy³⁴ which has enabled herto fulfill³⁵ her life-long wish and travel. So far, travel has lived up to her expectations. Consequentlyyou, who have just been thwarted³⁶ in obtaining what you want, naturally resent the existence ofpeople who have been more successful in life than you are.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Sarah gloomily. ‘What a horribly accurate mind-reader you are. Ikeep trying to humbug³⁸ myself and you won’t let me.’

At this moment the others returned. The guide seemed the most exhausted³⁹ of the three. He wasquite subdued⁴⁰ and hardly exuded⁴¹ any information on the way to Amman. He did not even mentionthe Jews. For which everyone was profoundly grateful. His voluble and frenzied⁴² account of theiriniquities had done much to try everyone’s temper on the journey from Jerusalem.

Now the road wound upward from the Jordan, twisting and turning, with clumps⁴³ of oleandersshowing rose-coloured flowers.

They reached Amman late in the afternoon and after a short visit to the Graeco-Roman theatrewent to bed early. They were to make an early start the next morning as it was a full day’s motorrun across the desert to Ma’an.

They left soon after eight o’clock. The party was inclined to be silent. It was a hot airless dayand by noon when a halt was made for a picnic lunch to be eaten, it was really stiflingly⁴⁴ hot. Theirritation of a hot day of being boxed up closely with three other human beings had got a little oneveryone’s nerves.

Lady Westholme and Dr Gerard had a somewhat irritable⁴⁵ argument over the League of Nations.

Lady Westholme was a fervent⁴⁶ supporter of the League. The Frenchman, on the other hand, choseto be witty⁴⁷ at the League’s expense. From the attitude of the League concerning Abyssinia andSpain they passed to the Litvania boundary dispute of which Sarah had never heard and from thereto the activities of the League in suppressing dope gangs.

‘You must admit they have done wonderful work. Wonderful!’ snapped Lady Westholme.

Dr Gerard shrugged his shoulders.

‘Perhaps. And at wonderful expense too!’

‘The matter is a very serious one. Under the Dangerous Drugs Act—’ The argument waged on.

Miss Pierce twittered to Sarah: ‘It is really most interesting travelling with Lady Westholme.’

Sarah said acidly: ‘Is it?’ but Miss Pierce did not notice the acerbity⁴⁸ and twittered happily on.

‘I’ve so often seen her name in the papers. So clever of women to go into public life and holdtheir own. I’m always so glad when a woman accomplishes something!’

‘Why?’ demanded Sarah ferociously⁴⁹.

Miss Pierce’s mouth fell open and she stammered⁵⁰ a little.

‘Oh, because—I mean—just because—well—it’s so nice that women are able to do things!’

‘I don’t agree,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s nice when any human being is able to accomplish somethingworth while! It doesn’t matter a bit whether it’s a man or a woman. Why should it?’

‘Well, of course—’ said Miss Pierce. ‘Yes, I confess—of course, looking at it in that light—’

But she looked slightly wistful. Sarah said more gently:

‘I’m sorry, but I do hate this differentiation⁵¹ between the sexes. “The modern girl has athoroughly business-like attitude towards life.” That sort of thing. It’s not a bit true! Some girls arebusiness-like and some aren’t.

Some men are sentimental⁵² and muddle-headed, others are clear-headed and logical. There arejust different types of brains. Sex only matters where sex is directly concerned.’

Miss Pierce flushed a little at the word sex and adroitly⁵³ changed the subject.

‘One can’t help wishing that there were a little shade,’ she murmured. ‘But I do think all thisemptiness is so wonderful, don’t you?’

Sarah nodded.

Yes, she thought, the emptiness was marvellous…Healing…Peaceful…No human beings toagitate one with their tiresome⁵⁴ inter-relationships…No burning personal problems! Now, at last,she felt, she was free of the Boyntons. Free of that strange compelling wish to interfere⁵⁵ in the livesof people whose orbit did not remotely touch her own. She felt soothed⁵⁶ and at peace. Here wasloneliness, emptiness, spaciousness…In fact, peace…Only, of course, one wasn’t alone to enjoy it. Lady Westholme and Dr Gerard had finished withdrugs and were now arguing about guileless young women who were exported in a sinister⁵⁷ mannerto Argentinian cabarets. Dr Gerard had displayed throughout the conversation a levity⁵⁸ which LadyWestholme, who, being a true politician, had no sense of humour, found definitely deplorable.

‘We go on now, yes?’ announced the tarbrushed dragoman, and began to talk about theiniquities of Jews again.

It was about an hour off sunset when they reached Ma’an at last. Strange wild-faced mencrowded round the car. After a short halt they went on.

Looking over the flat desert country, Sarah was at a loss as to where the rocky stronghold ofPetra could be. Surely they could see for miles and miles all round them? There were nomountains, no hills anywhere. Were they, then, still many miles from their journey’s end?

They reached the village of Ain Musa where the cars were to be left. Here horses were waitingfor them—sorry-looking thin beasts. The inadequacy⁵⁹ of her striped washing-frock disturbed MissPierce greatly. Lady Westholme was sensibly attired⁶⁰ in riding breeches, not perhaps a particularlybecoming style to her type of figure, but certainly practical.

The horses were led out of the village along a slippery path with loose stones. The ground fellaway and the horses zig-zagged down. The sun was close on setting.

Sarah was very tired with the long, hot journey in the car. Her senses felt dazed. The ride waslike a dream. It seemed to her afterwards that it was like the pit of Hell opening at one’s feet. Theway wound down—down into the ground. The shapes of rock rose up round them—down, downinto the bowels⁶¹ of the earth, through a labyrinth⁶² of red cliffs. They towered now on either side.

Sarah felt stifled—menaced by the ever-narrowing gorge⁶³.

She thought confusedly to herself: ‘Down into the valley of death—down into the valley ofdeath…’

On and on. It grew dark—the vivid red of the walls faded—and still on, winding⁶⁴ in and out,imprisoned, lost in the bowels of the earth.

She thought: ‘It’s fantastic and unbelievable…a dead city.’

And again like a refrain came the words: ‘The valley of death…’

Lanterns were lit now. The horses wound along through the narrow ways. Suddenly they cameout into a wide space—the cliffs receded⁶⁵. Far ahead of them was a cluster of lights.

‘That is camp!’ said the guide.

The horses quickened their pace a little—not very much—they were too starved and dispiritedfor that, but they showed just a shade of enthusiasm. Now the way ran along a gravelly water-bed.

The lights grew nearer.

They could see a cluster of tents, a higher row up against the face of a cliff. Caves, too,hollowed out in the rock.

They were arriving. Bedouin servants came running out.

Sarah stared up at one of the caves. It held a sitting figure. What was it? An idol⁶⁶? A giganticsquatting image?

No, that was the flickering⁶⁷ lights that made it loom³⁷ so large. But it must be an idol of some kind,sitting there immovable, brooding over the place…And then, suddenly her heart gave a leap of recognition.

Gone was the feeling of peace—of escape—that the desert had given her. She had been ledfrom freedom back into captivity⁶⁸. She had ridden down into this dark winding valley and here,like an archpriestess of some forgotten cult, like a monstrous swollen female Buddha, sat MrsBoynton…

 

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