“For goodness’ sake,” exclaimed Mrs. Wragge.
“I was just gettin’ the best of it when Colonel Whiteoak ordered me to quit. My, what an unchristian look that man can give!”
“I don’t want to hear anything against him,” put in Wright.
Ignoring the interruption, Noah went on, — “So I quit, though I had it in me to toll the full number of his years.”
“It’d probably ’ve killed you,” said the cook. “Have some more tea.”
He pushed his cup across the table to her and cast a lustful eye on her rich curves.
“Not me,” he said, reaching for cake. “I get terrible tired but I eat wheat germ and raw carrot and I’m ready fer the next funeral.”
“Raw carrot, with one tooth!” exclaimed Rags.
“I thought you’d retired,” said Wright.
“I have — except for folk over ninety.”
Mrs. Wragge patted her hair and swept some crumbs off the table with the flat of her hand. “I’ve asked Mr. Raikes to drop in,” she said.
Her husband frowned. “I’d like to know why you asked him.”
Looking boldly back, she said — “Ah, wouldn’t you!”
“I doubt if he’ll come,” said Wright. “He’s getting above himself, that guy.”
“For the love of Pete!” she exclaimed. “why on earth?”
“Well, from what I hear, he spends most of his time in the bungalow with Mrs. Clapperton.”
“Now, look here,” she said, in defence, “don’t be mean. He’s working for her to clear away the rubble.”
“Him working! Ha, ha ha!”
“The trouble with you men is you’re all jealous of his looks,” she jeered.
“I may not be handsome,” said Wright, “but I wouldn’t change faces with that fellow.”
“Womenfolk are all for looks,” Rags said, and added jauntily, — “The missus married me fer mine.”
“He proposed to me in the dark,” she threw back.
Noah had been scraping the jam-pot. Now he said, — “I’ve got along without looks. Never had no use fer them. Except in females.”
“They say,” said Wright, “that Tom Raikes plans to step into Mr. Clapperton’s shoes.”
“I like his cheek,” said Rags enviously.
“Then there’ll be a mess of bungalows,” declared Noah. “Bungalows — blight — and bugs. D’you know how many birch trees died from blight this year? Twenty thousand. Twenty thousand bungalows was built and twenty thousand tater bugs is attackin’ the taters. Blight, bungalows and bugs. What’s the cure?” He attacked a piece of fruitcake while he waited for the answer.
“what?” demanded Wright.
“The atom bomb. That’s the cure. And I hope I’ll be here to see.”
“Cheerful, ain’t you?” said Rags.
His mouth full, Noah managed to articulate, — “The world’s agettin’ ready fer doom. Capitalism brung this state on. Communism’ll bust it up.”
“He knows all the answers,” Mrs. Wragge said admiringly.
A shadow fell across the window and the company looked up to see Raikes’ legs. His gentle knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” sang out the cook and again patted her hair.
He said a pleasant good day and seated himself at the table. Mrs. Wragge dropped an extra lump of sugar into his cup, not unnoticed by Noah who at once stretched out a gnarled hand and helped himself to another.
“And how is the old gentleman?” asked Raikes of Mrs. Wragge.
“He’s gettin’ on fine,” she answered. “I thought the shock would’ve killed him but he takes his food and he sleeps and makes his little joke, almost as good as ever.”
“Just the same,” added Rags, “he misses Mr. Ernest. We all do. I never ’ad an impatient word from ’im.”
“Clapperton and him are both gone,” said Wright, “and if I don’t miss my guess, Mr. Ernest went up and Clapperton below.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t say that,” objected Raikes.
“Wouldn’t say Clapperton went below?”
“No. We all have our faults.”
Wright gave the table a thump. “That man,” he said, “did more to upset the neighbourhood than anyone has ever done.”
“Upset this house, you mean,” said Raikes. “Nobody minded about those few bungalows but the people here. And I’ve a bit of news for you. Mrs. Clapperton has sold the Black farm — that wee farm, y’know — and the man who’s bought it plans to build sixty little houses on it. All like as peas.”
“The bloody scoundrel!” Wright set his jaw hard, then said, — “Pardon my language, Mrs. Wragge.”
“That’s nothing to what I hear,” she smiled.
“Well, I like that,” declared Rags.
“I use only one curse-word,” said Noah. “It’s served me fer nigh on eighty years.”
“Sakes alive,” screamed the cook. “You must’ve begun usin’ it in the cradle.”
“That I did. It was the first word I spoke and I guess it’ll be my last. Dang.”
Wright was brooding on building possibilities. He asked of Raikes, — “what’s to become of Vaughanlands?”
“Mrs. Clapperton hasn’t decided. She’s had several offers.”
“Another outcrop of bungalows, I’ll bet.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“It’ll ruin this property,” said Wright, with a black frown.
Raikes thoughtfully stirred his tea. “I doubt if Mrs. Clapperton will want to build a big house on the property,” he said, “though there’s a lot of good material can be salvaged.”
Mrs. Wragge asked, — “How does she like livin’ in that little bungalow alongside the Barkers?”
“Ah, she likes it fine.”
“And her sister?”
“I’m not so sure about her. She’s a quare girl.” An enigmatic smile played about his lips.
Dennis came slowly down the stairs that descended from the hall.
“Well, my man,” the cook asked, “and what do you want?”
“Something to eat,” he answered, in his clear voice.
“You’ll be eating at the proper time.” There was no encouragement in her tone.
“I’m hungry now.”
“I’m too busy. Run along.”
He sat down on a step.
Mrs. Wragge said, in an undertone, — “He’s an awful one to hang about and listen. I can’t seem to make him out.”
Rags brought a plate of cake to the little boy. “’Ere, take a piece and be off,” he said.
Dennis looked the cake over. “I don’t like that sort.”
“You just say that to give trouble.”
“No. Honestly. I like chocolate cake.”
Cook said loudly, — “There ain’t none. So you go up and shut the door at the top.”
“I wasn’t listening.”
“Ho — ho.” She turned in her chair to look at him. “Now listen. You tell me one thing we said and I’ll find a piece of chocolate cake for you.”
He tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Then you’d say I was a liar, wouldn’t you?”
A chuckle ran round the table. Wright said, — “You’re not going to fall into any trap, are you, Dennis?”
Dennis went up the stairs on hands and feet and, at the top, slammed the door behind him.
“’E’s got a sly way with ’im,” observed Rags.
“I never did like children,” said Noah, smacking his lips, then wiping them on his sleeve. “They’ve got to be. We can’t stop it. But keep them out o’ the way, I sez.”
Raikes smiled gently. “I always like young things,” he said.
After a little he rose, thanked Mrs. Wragge for his tea, and departed. He went straight to the bungalow where the two sisters lived. He could see Gem’s face at the window. His own face lighted. He raised his hand in salute. She beckoned and opened the door to him.
“Althea’s out for the next hour,” Gem whispered a
gainst his cheek. Nevertheless he locked the door.
“what’s that for?” she demanded, as though angry.
“I don’t like her walking in on us.”
“We won’t be doing anything that matters. What will she think if she finds the door locked?”
“I don’t care a damn what she thinks.”
“I have to live with her!”
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll unlock the door.” This he did, then came and sat down.
“You usen’t to sit down while a lady was standing.”
He gave her a look that tingled through all her nerves.
“You’re not a lady now,” he said.
“what am I then?”
“The woman I love best in all the world.”
She came and stood close to him, languishing against him. He wrapped his arm about her and raised his eyes, as in worship, to her face.
“I do love this little room,” she exclaimed. “Oh, you’ve no idea, Tom, what it is to me to feel free. Although this is such a tiny place I can breathe in it. I was suffocated in that big house. I’m glad it is burned.” She left him and walked up and down the room filled with cumbersome furniture from the big house. The face of Eugene had come between them, and, for a moment, pity shook her. “Don’t think I’m not sorry for him,” she added hoarsely.
“Of course you are,” he said, in a comforting voice, “and so am I. Indeed he was a fine man.”
“And I’m grateful, too.”
“Of course. And so am I. Ah, he had a kind way with him.”
“He used to call me ‘girlie.’”
“Did he now?”
“And I called him — no, I can’t say it.”
“Go on, tell me.”
“No,” she answered sharply.
A mischievous smile lighted his dark face. “I’ll bet I know.”
“You’d never guess if you guessed all night. No. That name is buried with him.”
“Poor man, he had his troubles.”
“Well, I guess he’s better dead. I couldn’t have gone on living with him.”
“He was an old stick,” Raikes added composedly.
She gave a wild laugh, throwing off her sadness of the moment.
“what’s funny in that?” he demanded.
“The way you put things … You’re irresistible.”
He took out a full package of cigarettes, extracted one, lighted it and laid the burnt match carefully on a convenient ashtray.
The feeble electric bell tinkled in the kitchen. Startled they stared at the outer door. Raikes rose to his feet and looked questioningly toward the kitchen.
“No.” She framed the word with her lips.
Raikes dropped his cigarette and put his foot on it. He kicked it under a couch. He picked up his hat. Another ring sounded. Gem went to the door.
Finch Whiteoak stood there, bareheaded, tall against the little front yard with its pink petunias. It was not the first time they had met since Eugene Clapperton’s death. Before this, they had encountered each other by the ruins of the house. He had briefly sympathized with her, and escaped, too conscious of the gossip about her. Now he entered with an air of purpose. Raikes deferentially waited for dismissal, hat in hand.
“I suppose you have met Tom,” said Gem, after she had exchanged greetings with Finch. “He looks after the place for me.”
“Yes. I know. It must be a job to get things in order.”
“Ah, it’s not so bad,” said Raikes. “We have the land let to a very good farmer. The thing is to get the place tidied up.” He spoke with gravity.
“Sit down, won’t you?” Gem said to Finch. It was exciting to have a visitor in this tiny house. “I feel like a cottage woman,” she laughed. “I ought to be dusting the seat of your chair with my apron.”
Finch seated himself and looked about the room. He wondered how the sisters could live in such a small space with so much large furniture.
Following his glance Gem said, — “I’m going to sell all this stuff and buy things suitable for small rooms.”
“Then you’re staying on here?” he asked, in surprise.
“Yes, for a while. Then I want to travel — to go back to see Wales. But I shall keep this place. Ever since these bungalows were built I’ve wished I lived in one of them instead of in the big house.”
How could she stay here, Finch wondered, so close to the scene of her husband’s tragic death. He asked:
“Are you going to keep all the property?”
“I may keep the farm and this land where Eugene planned his model village, but I’ll not have any more developing. I hate it.”
“Then why,” Finch asked accusingly, “did you sell the Blacks’ place to a building contractor? That is quite a blow to us at Jalna, you know.”
She turned quickly to Raikes, who was still standing, as though to ask him to speak for her.
This he did, in a conciliatory undertone.
“Mrs. Clapperton thought, sir, that the building on the Blacks’ little farm wouldn’t be any trouble to you, as there’s several large fields and a thicket between Jalna and it.”
Finch, ignoring Raikes, demanded of Gem, — “why didn’t you give my brother the first chance?”
Again her glance appealed to Raikes, who answered, — “Mrs. Clapperton wanted the cash, sir.”
Finch’s colour rose. Still looking at Gem, he asked, — “what made you think my brother could not have paid the cash?”
“I don’t know,” she answered lamely. Then, as though to cover her embarrassment, she said to Raikes, — “Sit down, Tom,” and added to Finch, — “Tom Raikes has been a great help to me through all this.”
Raikes gave a somewhat sheepish smile and seated himself on the edge of a straight-backed chair. He laid his hat on his knees.
Gem continued, — “It’s very hard for a woman left alone to know what is best to do for herself. Althea has no head for business.”
“Well,” said Finch, “I have come on a matter of business and should have preferred to speak to you privately, but — of course, if you —” He hesitated.
“It’s all right,” she said, with one of her bold glances, “Tom understands everything.”
“I have come,” said Finch, “to see if I can buy what’s left of the house, and all the land.”
She showed her astonishment. “But what would you do with it?”
Finch gave his quick boyish laugh. “Oh, I should rent the farm, as you do. I’d have the walls of the house pulled down and the material used to build a new house.”
“And would you live there?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re away most of the time.”
“I want to be more at home, to have a place of my own where I can write music. I’ve had enough of playing in public.”
“Good heavens,” she cried, “how can you say that? I’d give my soul to have a talent — any sort of talent that would bring me the least little bit of fame. It seems hard to me that two of my sisters are talented — Molly an actress, and Althea a painter, and me — nothing! You’d never find me retiring. I’d enjoy all the publicity possible.”
“Probably,” said Finch, and added quickly, — “Don’t think I haven’t enjoyed my audiences. But a time comes when one wants to belong to oneself.”
“Can one really?” she asked with eagerness.
“I’m going to try.”
“And you’ll live at Vaughanlands alone?”
“Yes.”
She laughed gaily. “And Humphrey Bell in his little house alone! And me in my little house!”
Suddenly grave, Finch asked, — “Have you settled on a price for the property? I mean the entire property — the farm, the farmhouse, the bungalows and the house and gardens.”
“I’ll sell everything but this bungalow for —” She glanced at Raikes.
His lips, hardening, framed a figure in excess of what they had previously settled on.
This passage was not unsee
n by Finch.
“Forty thousand dollars,” she said, almost aggressively.
“If I paid cash would you accept thirty-five thousand?”
Again her eyes sought Raikes. He nodded.
“Yes,” she said.
In a few minutes the bargain was struck and Finch left the bungalow elated.
As the door closed behind him Raikes threw his hat up to the ceiling and caught it on his head. Standing with it jauntily over one eye, he smiled happily at Gem.
“Good work,” he commended, as though patting them both on the back.
“Oh, Tom,” she cried, flinging both arms about him in ecstasy. “what masses of money we have!”
“what I want to know is,” he said, with sulkiness in his tone, “when we’re going to be married.”
“Not for a year.”
“I’ll wait no longer than next spring.”
“what will people say?”
“They’ll say no worse than if we waited a year. Come now, say you’ll marry me in the spring.”
Her kiss of agreement was fresh on his lips when they heard Althea and her dog coming up the path to the door. Raikes released Gem and glided out through the kitchen.
As the front door opened, she saw the young moon shining above Althea’s shoulder. The Great Dane, in massive elegance, stalked past her, and with a loud bark demanded his supper.
“It’s the most divine evening,” Althea said. “I met Finch Whiteoak and he told me you’d sold him the property.”
“Oh, did he? He might have left that for me to tell.”
“Are you glad he is buying it?”
“Well, it’s nice to think I’m doing something to please the Whiteoak family.”
“what do you suppose they’ll think when you marry Tom? You are going to, aren’t you?”
Gem stiffened in astonishment. Althea so seldom mentioned Raikes’ name, and when she did let it pass her lips, she spoke it in a constrained and tremulous voice. Now she put this question in a cold matter-of-fact tone.
It was Gem’s voice that trembled. “what makes you think I am?” she asked.
“Well, if I thought enough of a man to have him in my room at night, I’d think enough of him to marry him.”
Each looked at the other with a sudden cold dislike.
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 472
