Arthur & George

Arthur, but you know my thoughts on dressing up.’ He also felt that, having already been cast as Watson, playing Holmes as well would be beyond his dramatic elasticity. ‘I may be more use to you practising my billiards.’
    ‘Quite right, Alfred. You hold the fort. And don’t neglect your double-baulks. I’ll see what Anson’s made of.’
    While Arthur is planning his trip to Staffordshire, Jean is thinking further ahead. It is time to address her transition from waiting girl to non-waiting wife. It is now the month of January. Touie died the previous July; clearly, Arthur cannot marry within the twelvemonth. They have not yet talked about a date, but an autumn wedding is not an impossible thought. Fifteen months – few could be shocked by such an interval. The sentimental prefer a spring wedding; but the autumn suits a second marriage, in Jean’s opinion. And then a Continental honeymoon. Italy, of course, and, well, she has always felt a yen for Constantinople.
    A wedding means bridesmaids, but this has long been settled: Leslie Rose and Lily Loder-Symonds are marked for the task. But a wedding also means a church, and a church means religion. The Mam brought Arthur up a Catholic, but both have since deserted the faith: the Mam for Anglicanism, Arthur for Sunday golf. Arthur has even become covert about his middle name, Ignatius. There is little chance then, that she, a Catholic from the cradle, will marry as one. This may distress her parents, especially her mother; but if that is the price, Jean will pay it.
    Might there be a further price? If she is going to be at Arthur’s side in all things, then she must face what up till now she has run from. On the few occasions that Arthur has mentioned his interest in psychical matters, she has turned away. Inwardly, she has shuddered at the vulgarity and stupidity of that world: at silly old men pretending to go into trances, at old crones in frightful wigs gazing into crystal balls, at people holding hands in the darkness and making one another jump. And it has nothing to do with religion, which means morality. And the notion that this … mumbo-jumbo appeals to her beloved Arthur is both upsetting and barely credible. How can someone like Arthur, whose reasoning power is second to none, allow himself to associate with such people?
    It is true that her great friend Lily Loder-Symonds is an enthusiast for table-turning, but Jean regards this as a whimsicality. She discourages talk of seances, even though Lily assures her they are full of respectable people. Perhaps she should talk the matter through with Lily first, as a way of conquering her distaste. No, that would be pusillanimous. She is marrying Arthur, after all, not Lily.
    So when he arrives on his way north, she sits him down, listens dutifully to news of the investigation, and then says, to his evident surprise, ‘I should very much like to meet this young man of yours.’
    ‘Would you, my darling? He is a very decent fellow, horribly traduced. I am sure he would be honoured and delighted.’
    ‘He is a Parsee, I think you said?’
    ‘Well, not exactly. His father –’
    ‘What do Parsees believe, Arthur? Are they Hindoos?’
    ‘No, they are Zoroastrians.’ Arthur enjoys requests like this. The fundamental mystery of women can, he thinks, be encompassed and held at bay as long as he is allowed to explain things to them. He describes, with settled confidence, the historical origins of the Parsees, their characteristic appearance, their headgear, their liberal attitude to women, their tradition of being born on the ground floor of the house. He passes over the ceremony of purification, since this involves ablution with cow urine; but is expatiating upon the central position of astrology in Parsee life, and heading towards the towers of silence and the posthumous attention of vultures, when Jean raises her hand to stop him. She realizes that this is not the way to do things. The history of Zoroastrianism is not helping make the smooth transition she has somehow hoped for. Also, it feels dishonest, against her view of herself.
    ‘Arthur, my dear,’ she interrupts. ‘There is something I wish to talk about.’
    He looks surprised, and slightly alarmed. If he has always valued her directness, there is a residual suspicion within him that whenever a woman says something must be talked about, it is rarely something to a man’s comfort or advantage.
    ‘I want you to explain to me your involvement