Books 5-8: Whiteoak Heritage / Whiteoak Brothers / Jalna / Whiteoaks of Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

  “Dilly,” he said mildly, “I will go to bed with you, if you want me to, but I’m damned if I’ll marry you.”

  Her answer was a sharp slap on the face.

  “You devil,” she said.

  He returned — “Some men enjoy being slapped by a woman. I don’t happen to be one of them.”

  As though she were the one who had been hurt, Dilly again broke into unrestrained weeping. The door of Lady Buckley’s room opened and she, in a massive purple velvet dressing gown and her Queen Alexandra fringe done up in curling-pins, bore down on them.

  “Whatever is going on?” she demanded. “What has he done to you, Dilly?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s the trouble,” said Renny.

  Lady Buckley looked from one to the other with concentrated disapproval. She said — “I’m shocked to think that such a scene would be made over nothing.” After a pause, she added — “I heard the slap. Who gave it and where?”

  “She did,” said Renny, “here.” And he touched his cheek.

  “This is disgraceful,” said his aunt. “I shall remain here till I hear both your doors locked on the inside.”

  She stood planted, her curling-pins detracting nothing from her dignity.

  “Good night, Aunty.” Renny kissed her long sallow cheek and, with a swift glance at Dilly, disappeared into his room and locked the door behind him.

  XVIII

  THE BUBBLE BURST

  Before Eden left for the train Rags brought him a message from Nicholas. He said — “Your uncle would like to see you in his room just for a minute, sir.”

  Eden looked at his watch. “Good Lord — I have no time to spare. I shall miss my train.” He darted up the stairs two steps at a time and appeared at Nicholas’s bedside. He was sitting up with a breakfast tray in front of him. His crest of iron-grey hair, his handsome profile, gave him dignity but he was not mindful of the toast-crumbs on his chin.

  Eden asked — “Is it about Indigo Lake, Uncle Nick?”

  “Yes. I want you to find out why I haven’t had my cheque.”

  “I will.”

  “Even if the stock has fallen I want to sell out. Make that Kronk fellow understand.”

  “I’m sure he has sold your shares. Probably you’ll get your cheque today.”

  But the cheque did not come and Nicholas was hovering near the door when Eden and Finch appeared that evening. The Horse Show was over. Darkness settled in early. The two young brothers stamped off the snow in the porch, but still they brought a certain amount into the hall.

  Eden said — “It’s a hell of a night. Why couldn’t we have been met, I wonder.”

  “Wright had to take the car in for repairs.”

  “What we need is a new car.”

  “No chance of that. Finch, run upstairs like a good fellow and bring me my glasses. They’re in my room. Bring Nip down too.”

  How good was the feel of home, thought Finch, to be in the warmth, to hear the sounds of home — his aunt’s voice, reading aloud to Wakefield — his grandmother’s laugh, as she defeated Ernest at backgammon — Meg and Rags having a heated discussion as to the relative merits of two brands of silver polish. Their voices came from the dining room. Finch found the spectacles and discovered Nip curled up on his master’s bed.

  The little dog rolled over, turning up his pink belly and making small grunts of protest. But Finch picked him up, kissed the top of his head, and rattled down the stairs with him. Nicholas and Eden were still in the hall.

  Nicholas had asked — “Well, did you see him?”

  “No, Uncle Nick. I telephoned both the office and the apartment but there was no answer. That was at noon. In the afternoon I went to the office. He wasn’t there. Then I went to the apartment and found Mrs. Kronk. She told me he’d been called out of town. She was surprised by my being a bit urgent but I told her you were surprised by the delay in sending your cheque. She said she was sure it was in the post.”

  Nicholas ran his hand through his hair. “Well,” she said, “if it doesn’t arrive in the morning, I will go and see him myself.”

  “I wish you would.”

  “Here are your glasses, Uncle Nick, and here’s Nip.” Finch set the terrier on his feet and he, for some fancied insult, flew at the great woolly sheepdog, barking in rage. Good humouredly the big dog moved away from the stove, but that was not enough. Nip gave him no peace till he went to the very end of the hall and sat himself there in complete isolation.

  “Naughty fellow,” said Nicholas. “Poor old Ben.”

  There was a fresh stamping in the porch and Renny and Piers entered.

  “What a night!” exclaimed Piers. “Winter.”

  “We had a walk from the station,” Eden said in an aggrieved tone, “facing the wind.”

  “Oh, I walked farther than that.”

  “Facing the north wind?”

  “Well, no.”

  Renny, from the shelter of his three brothers and his uncle, threw a wary glance into the drawing-room. He saw Dilly perched on the arm of his grandmother’s chair, watching the game. It was his first glimpse of her that day, for he had spent it with Maurice Vaughan. Dilly’s face, in the light of the lamp and the heat of the open fire, was blazing pink. She wore a self-conscious smile, as of an actress acknowledging applause after a scene of tragedy.

  His aunt, reading to Wakefield in the library, saw Renny through the door, which stood ajar. She closed the book and said — “Wakefield, go to your brother Renny and tell him I wish to speak to him here. We can finish the story later.”

  The little boy, already becoming restive because Augusta’s choice of books and his did not agree, ran gladly into the hall and tugged at Renny’s sleeve. “Aunt Augusta wants you. Where have you been all day?”

  “I’ve been with Maurice.” He bent and kissed the child. “Have you been well? Did you go to the Rectory?”

  “Yes and yes. Aunt Augusta wants you. Is it private? May I hear?”

  Renny sighed. “It’s private.” He went into the library and shut the door. He stood, with his back to it, like a man at bay.

  “Well, Aunty?”

  She said reproachfully — “You are making the last days of my visit very difficult for me.”

  He returned her fire at once. “You have made it difficult for me by bringing Dilly Warkworth here.”

  “She is a fine-looking girl and healthy. I thought something to the benefit of you both might come out of the visit.”

  “Oh, Aunt Augusta, how could you? She’s not at all my style.”

  She regarded him sternly. “That scene last night … why … I blush for you when I think of it.”

  He returned her look wryly, as though trying to discover the blush. He said — “I like to do the pursuing myself.”

  “Then why did Dilly slap your face?”

  Augusta’s contralto tones, her expression of exaggerated censure, were too much for him. He grinned but did not speak.

  She said — “Remember that you are the eldest brother and have an example to set.”

  He came and plumped down on the old leather sofa beside her.

  “Aunty,” he said, “if you knew what a time I’ve had preserving my virtue.”

  “From Dilly?” she boomed.

  “I should have put it the other way,” he answered. “I should have said Dilly’s virtue.”

  “I have believed her to be a young woman of high principle.”

  “Well — it’s marriage she wants, if that’s what you mean.”

  “My dear, she has a very tidy fortune.”

  “And a very untidy seat on a horse.”

  “You two have been inseparable of late.”

  “I hope to see less of her, now that the Show is over.”

  Augusta looked at him with some reproach. “Never mind, I shall soon be leaving and she with me.”

  He put an arm about her. “Aunt Augusta, you know I should like to have you here always.”

  At
that moment Wragge drew open the folding doors that led to the dining room. The table set for eleven people was revealed, its centrepiece a tall silver dish of polished red apples and purple and green grapes. On the platter, on which the Wragges had inflicted several chips, lay four cold roast ducks surrounded by parsley, and in small dishes were pickled red cabbage, redcurrant jelly, and apple sauce. Beside each plate was a chunky piece of homemade bread and the butter, also homemade, lay in a slab inside the silver butter-cooler, the high lid of which was shaped rather like a bishop’s mitre. There was cider on the table, in a yellow glass jug, and a huge pot of tea. Wragge now added the last dish to this course — a casserole of scalloped sweet potatoes. These Wakefield disliked and made a face at them as he passed. Once in his place, he slyly got rid of his portion of bread, for he disliked it too, by handing it to Ben, the sheepdog, who carried it into the library and hid it beneath the sofa.

  Ernest remarked — “I am rather glad that the Show is over. Now some other topic of conversation is possible. For weeks it has been nothing but horse — horse — horse.”

  Dilly said — “Well, on my part, I’m thankful. I’ve disgraced myself.”

  There was a chorus of oh no’s, except from Renny, who, with calculated concentration, was carving the first duck.

  She reiterated that she was disgraced and that it would have been better to have let that funny little girl of their neighbour’s ride the mare. This remark was so unfortunate that Nicholas and Ernest at once began to talk with great animation about the weather.

  Nodding her cap with satisfaction their mother agreed that winter had come. “I’m glad of it too. I shall wear my new fur coat to church tomorrow.”

  Ernest cried — “Do you think you should venture out in such cold, Mamma?”

  “I must wear my new coat. Just once. Then I’ll put it away for the winter.”

  A groan went round the table at the thought of such extravagance.

  She went on — “And I want to sit on the new cushions I’m giving for the pews. Have they come yet?”

  Meg said — “They are due next week, Granny.”

  “Good. Everything will be spruce for Christmas. Shall you buy yourself a new coat, Eden?”

  “Me, Gran? Out of that ten dollars I got for my last poem?”

  A mischievous gleam brightened her eyes. “I’ll buy you a new top-coat, boy. Any colour you like. What about blue? Indigo blue?”

  “Good idea, Gran,” said Renny. Then the name Indigo struck him. He recalled the certificate, which during the stress of the Show he had forgotten. He leant toward her with a penetrating look. He asked, “What’s this about Indigo? I seem to have heard that word before. Is it some secret password?”

  Now she looked sly. “I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbled, but she was enjoying herself.

  He jabbed the carving knife in her direction. “Gran, the truth! What about Indigo?”

  He unaware of the intricate web of deception woven about that table, she unaware that any but herself was involved, faced each other with a mixture of playfulness and antagonism. A tremor of amazement tightened the nerves of the other investors. Was she also into it? At her age! Her sons and daughter looked from her to Eden, from Eden to each other, and back again to her.

  Eden thought — “Now it’s coming out. The whole damned thing is coming out.” Somehow he did not mind. Everybody had made a lot of money. Everything was bound to come out. He caught Dilly’s eye and his lips formed the words — What fun! But, after one intimate glance and the flash of a smile, her eyes toward Renny, with a look of — what was it, Eden wondered. It seemed almost like hate.

  Nicholas thought — “That rascal Eden. Now I understand Mamma’s behaviour of late. I wonder if old Ernie is into it too. I shall advise her to sell.”

  Ernest thought — “No wonder Mamma has acted mysteriously. The fur coat … the cushions for the pews … I wonder how much she has made.”

  Piers squeezed Eden’s knee under the table. Piers was shaking with suppressed laughter. Eden caught his wrist. The two dared not look at each other. Piers said out of the side of his mouth — “Gold, you old devil.”

  Renny, having with considerable expedition served the company, now persisted — “Out with it, Gran. What about Indigo Lake?”

  She answered tartly — “Mind your own business. Indigo Lake is mine and a very lucrative business it is.” She put up her hand and set her cap at a jaunty angle. From uner its lace edge she gave him a daring look. She repeated — “A lucrative business. Don’t you wish you had a share in it?”

  Her eyes sought Eden’s and he laughed. “Now the fat’s in the fire,” he thought. On the whole he did not mind. He laid down his knife and fork and prepared for a battle.

  Renny turned to Nicholas. “What’s this all about?”

  Nicholas answered — “My mother has told me nothing.”

  “Is this a secret, Gran?” asked Renny.

  “It’s a secret,” she returned stoutly, “between Eden and me.”

  With the eyes of his uncles and his aunt on him Eden flushed. His heart quickened its beat, but he did not speak.

  Augusta demanded, in rather an accusing tone — “Are you telling us, Mamma, that you have been speculating?”

  “There’s naught to hinder me, is there, if I take a notion to?”

  “Of course not.”

  Dilly said — “Mrs. Whiteoak and I are a reckless pair. We’ve a bit of the gambler in us. Haven’t we, dear Mrs. Whiteoak?”

  “This is no gamble. This is solid gold, eh, Eden?”

  Renny turned to him sharply. “What have you to do with it, Eden?”

  Before Eden had framed an answer Ernest broke in with: “I don’t like this secrecy. I don’t like it at all. If Eden — if Eden — if Mamma —”

  He became tangled in words and could not go on for a space, then he got out — “I like openness — frankness.”

  “Then,” asked Nicholas, “why weren’t you open and frank yourself?”

  Ernest reddened. “I had made mistakes before. I acknowledge it. I didn’t want to be accused of — of folly.”

  Meg said — “Folly is scarcely the word, Uncle Ernest. Not in an investment as safe as this.”

  Renny stared at her astounded. “You too, Meg?”

  “And why not? I like to make a bit of money as well as anybody.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Renny scrutinized the faces about the table.

  “I seem to be the only one who isn’t into this!”

  Eden said — “I gave you an opportunity.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You weren’t interested.”

  “What do you think you are? A broker?”

  “Well — I’ve had some experience.”

  Meg put in — “I call it very clever of Eden.”

  Renny said to him — “I’ll see you later.”

  Wakefield’s child’s treble broke in. “Has somebody been stealing? Is there an enigma?”

  “There’s a pot of gold,” said his grandmother. “Indigo Lake Gold.”

  Rags had been changing the plates. He now placed a sizzling hot dish of pancakes and a large jug of maple syrup on the table.

  Meg said to Wakefield — “Sit up straight and don’t make a noise eating your celery. You should have finished it by now.”

  “Finch makes a noise. So does Gran.”

  “Finch has not yet learned table manners,” said his grandmother.

  “I’ve forgotten ’em. When you reach my age you haven’t the time for ’em.” She bit off a morsel of celery with gusto.

  Augusta remarked with some severity — “The child is too much inclined to making personal remarks.”

  “He is so observant,” said Meg. “He notices everything.”

  “And what eyes he has,” exclaimed Dilly.

  “Aye,” agreed the grandmother. “We run to fine eyes in this family.”

  And she opened hers wide and rolled them at her
eldest grandson. “Blue or brown, they’re well-shaped and bright. Now, that rascal there —” and she pointed her stick of celery at Piers — “he has the eyes of his grandfather, him in the portrait — blue as the sky on a May morning, ha!” She gazed for a rapt moment at the pictured face. “You’d look into those eyes and your heart would melt.”

  Dilly also gazed rapt. She said — “I always admire a blue-eyed man.”

  Old Adeline craned her neck to look at her. “You do? I thought you admired yon dark-eyed devil at the end of the table.”

  Dilly stared. “Are his eyes dark? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Dark they are and his hair is red and you hadn’t noticed! What a girl! Not like most of them, eh, Renny?”

  He replied — “When Dilly and I are together we have no time for frivolities.”

  Rags was whispering to Renny, an annoying habit he had. “I heard you mention Indigo Lake, sir, and I thought this item in the evening paper might interest you.” He laid a neatly folded page of a newspaper by Renny’s plate.

  “Thanks.” Renny bent his head to read the marked article.

  Wakefield said — “No enigmas, please.”

  Grandmother was talking of the approach of Christmas. “Well I do remember when I was a girl in Ireland how we had a roast peacock for dinner and his tail feathers spread like a fan above him. No turkey ever tasted so good.”

  “What fun!” cried Dilly.

  The pancakes were golden brown, delicious. Butter lay in little shining globules along their edge. The maple syrup filled every crevice and formed a pool on the plate. It was amazing how many of them Piers could tuck away. But the master of Jalna seemed to have lost his appetite. He gazed abstractedly at his plate, then his eyes searched the faces of those about the table, as though he were making some sort of calculation.

  Ernest was saying, with almost a simper — “I think we should have a sort of general confession in the drawing-room, when the young boys have retired. I feel that the time for subterfuge is at an end. We all have, apparently, done so well — so extremely well — that I think —”

  Nicholas took the words from his mouth. “It’s time we had a celebration, in short. I don’t mind telling what I’ve made.”