She and Alayne sat together on the terrace and left the hammock-couch under its striped white-and-green awning to him. There was a garden pool circled by irises and a magnolia tree. Most of the flowers in the garden were white and heavy-scented.
Alayne thought that a marriage with Sarah was the perfect thing for Finch. She was not too sensitive but she was strangely and subtly alive.
The weather continued in settled loveliness. Each day imitated the one preceding, adding to it the brightness of advancing summer. Only occasionally a small cloud stole shyly across the steady blue of the sky. It was hot by day but at night a coolness came. The gardener soaked the lawn from the hose and the flowers went to sleep with wet petals.
Finch improved in looks and spirits more quickly than Alayne had dared hope. He sought out Sarah and her instead of shunning them.
At the end of the week Alayne left. Meg had been keeping her child for her and she dreaded to hear what mischief or tempers might have upset Meg’s house.
When she was gone and Sarah and Finch were alone together, they were startled by the change her going made in their relations. They did not know what to say to each other. This new intimacy frightened them. Alayne’s presence had held them together and kept them apart. They wandered about house and garden, avoiding each other. When they were together every word they spoke seemed profoundly significant. Sarah would think—“Oh, why did I say that? I shall drive him away!” Or—“That hardness in his voice is a sign of his hate.”
Finch would think—“Why did she say that? I believe that she is trying to tell me that I mean nothing to her.” Or—“I must not give myself away—must not let her know how being alone with her affects me.”
Hour by hour his strength and vitality increased. He was getting well and strong. He felt life and the desire for life abounding within him. A reaction against the melancholy of winter and spring had begun. The hot summer sun, the warm moonlit nights, filled him with a sense of power to enjoy. A sensual magnetism drew him toward Sarah. He began to realise that he drew a strange nourishment from her. He was stronger for her nearness. Yet, if she had her way, she would hold him a prisoner. The thought of bonds was horrible to him.
When they went out together he was restive to return to their isolation.
She said, at the end of the second week:
“I am going to sell this place.”
He hid his surprise.
“I thought you were quite settled here.”
“Me settled here? Oh no. I’m too much an outsider. I shall sell it and go back to Ireland.”
He said politely—“We’d miss you, Sarah.”
“The others may—a very little. Not you. You’re too much absorbed by yourself—your music—and that is right.”
“You are unjust. I should miss you terribly.” He added quickly—“You are a link with so much that has been beautiful in my life.”
“Well, perhaps—a link. But a link is not in itself important… It will soon be as though you had never seen me.”
“And what about you? Will you forget me so easily?”
She was desperate. She threw off the veil of her concealment.
“You will be always with me.”
“Sarah, I can’t let you go! I—I need you. I’ll lose something, if you go, that no one else can give me. Why should you want to leave me?”
A quiver trespassed the immobility of her lips. She said:
“I must leave you. It is because of you that I must go. Don’t let us talk about it… But I had to tell you.”
He rose quickly and left the room which opened on to the garden. He went to the far end and stood among the flowering shrubs, listening to the hurried beat of his own heart. “I’ll go home,” he muttered aloud. “I’ll go home. I won’t stay here. She’s cruel. She wants to torment me.”
He could not see her side of any question. It was always that she was cruel—that she wanted to torment him.
The tea was set on the brick terrace and he saw her waiting for him. He crossed the warm sun-splashed grass and approached her with a dark brow. She saw his strong lithe movements, how his face had filled out in the past fortnight. But, when he drew close, she looked down at the teacups.
He said, after a silence:
“I must go home. I really should not have stayed so long. It’s been frightfully good of you to have me.”
Her fingers were pressed to her cheek and he saw the pressure increase against its white firmness. But she said, almost coldly:
“I think the change has done you good. I’m glad of that.”
She did not oppose him when he suggested going that evening. They spoke little to the time of his leaving, when he held her hand for a moment and thanked her stiffly for her hospitality. He left her standing by the magnolia tree, the pug sitting at her feet.
As the train moved past the summer fields and the lake he began to feel that he had torn himself from all that was most desirable in life. Torn himself from one who desired him, to return to the intricate relations of his family to not one of whom he was necessary, a house heavy with memories of Eden. He shrank from the house and the people in it. He sank lower in his seat, staring gloomily out of the window.
He was roused by the name of the station preceding his own. The woman in the seat opposite was alighting there. She was old and laden with packages. He found himself helping her with them, then following her to the platform. He found himself watching the train steam out of the station, with no thought of the suitcase he had left in the rack.
It was growing dark as he stood waiting for a bus. It came and he climbed into it, found it almost empty and, pulling his hat over his eyes, settled himself in a corner. He did not ask himself why he was returning to Sarah moved by an impulse stronger than that which had driven him from her. Without question he accepted the fact that he could not, at this moment, do without her. He did not even ask himself what he would say to her in explanation of a so abrupt change of mind. He slumped in his corner, clasping his knee in his hands, his bony wrists projecting from his sleeves, thought almost suspended. Only instinct was alive, turning toward Sarah.
The light had faded from the sky and the street lamps passed in blurred procession outside the pane. In the town the streets were beginning to fill with the evening crowd, working men, clerks and their girls, walking arm in arm, and sometimes groups of laughing girls together. Finch gave them a sidelong glance from under the brim of his hat but there was an unseeing look in his eyes.
After the bus it was necessary to take a taxi. As he got into it he remembered the suitcase he had left in the train and he gave a growl of derision. What a fool he was! Rushing away like that… Losing his suitcase… Rushing back… But he must return to Sarah… come what may.
What if she had gone out? He pressed his face to the window and peered out to see if the house were in darkness. The street was dark and quiet. Yes, there were softly shaded lights in the house.
He paid the driver and went slowly toward the door. Sarah had given him a latchkey which he had forgotten to return. He went into the house and stood motionless in the empty drawing-room.
The pug had heard him come in and it now entered and came to him with an amused, cynical expression. There was a cool, detached, humorous expression in its wrinkled face. It seemed to be saying—“You are a fool, but it is not yet too late. Escape while there is time.”
What irrevocable thing was he contemplating? Offering himself. Binding himself, forever and forever. That pale china clock was ticking away the hours, ticking away the life which he was passionately eager to make the most of. And he was going to offer his young, free life to another… to be bound… to be enslaved… not to art… but to Sarah’s white flesh, to Sarah’s black hair, to her desire…
No, no, he could not do it! Now he was awake. He could see clearly the danger of it. Why had he ever thought of coming back! But yet… Indecision moved him this way and that as a reed in conflicting currents. He stood pulling at his lip,
staring, with an expression of fear at his reflection in a mirror.
When Sarah opened the door he backed away from her as though she were a ghost. And like a ghost, she was so pale, she moved glidingly toward him.
“I—I’ve come back,” he stammered.
“Yes?” She looked at him expectantly.
“Sarah!” He ceased to move backward and she to move forward. They stood rigid. The pug stood between them with an air of resentful solemnity.
Then the enchantment of her presence overcame his fears. Fate could not touch him with her always beside him. She would always be there to pour out his love upon. Aphrodite to whom he might offer his body… From retreating he advanced, and she stood waiting.
XXVII
THE FAMILY AGAINST HIM
MAURICE AND MEG were overheated when they reached the shady corner of the lawn where Nicholas and Ernest were sitting, each with a glass of barley water in front of him and a slowly swaying fan in his hand. Alayne had been reading aloud to them and had left the book upside-down on her chair while she went into the house in answer to the telephone. It was ninety degrees in the shade.
The two uncles smiled their welcome at the advancing pair, for a call from them was an unexpected pleasure on such an afternoon.
“Meggie does look hot, poor creature,” observed Ernest, “but then she’s getting so stout.”
“Maurice is heavy, too. He looks older.” Nicholas then called out:
“You are courageous! Come and have some barley water. There’s nothing better for cooling one.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Meg. “This is the hottest day yet! But how comfortable you are here! There’s always a breeze stirring at Jalna. It’s so different from the hollow where we are stuck.” She sank into a chair.
Maurice, dropping to the grass, uttered a deprecating grunt. “I can’t feel much difference,” he said. “It’s hellish everywhere.”
Nicholas quickly drained his glass and refilled it for Maurice, his handsome old hand with the heavy seal ring shaking a good deal, so that some of the liquid was spilt on the rustic table.
Meg took up Alayne’s glass. “Whose is this?” she asked. “Alayne’s? Well, she won’t mind if I finish it. Oh, how delicious !… And how cool!”
“It must have been very hot coming through the ravine,” said Ernest, fanning her. “You should have waited till later in the day.”
Maurice replied—“As a matter of fact, we wanted to get here before Renny returned. We’ve something we want to talk over with you.”
Meg refilled her glass to the brim. “Yes, Maurice, tell them about it quickly, while we are alone. For I suppose Alayne will soon be out. I’ve never known anyone who seemed to be always on deck as she is.”
“She’s a good girl, a good girl,” said Nicholas.
Ernest leaned forward with intense interest but still fanning Meg.
“Do tell us what you have in mind. As you say, we shan’t be alone for long.”
Maurice gave a grim laugh. “She’ll soon have to know all about it. Perhaps she will be able to solve the mystery.”
Ernest drew a deep breath. “The mystery! What mystery? I do hope there is nothing wrong.”
“As far as I am concerned,” answered Maurice, “there is nothing wrong. As for Renny—he’s got his own way—as he usually does. He’s bought the land I was subdividing—lock, stock, and barrel. Paid me cash for it!”
“Good God!” ejaculated Nicholas. “But how could he? Where did he get the money?”
Ernest exclaimed—“But what about the lots you had sold? There were two bungalows going up! What about them?”
“Oh, they were barely begun. But he bought them and the lots too. He bought everything. The first time any land has been added to Jalna for a good many years, eh?”
“Well, well, well,” said Nicholas, grinning with satisfaction, “this beats all! I must say I admire him for that. A slice of Vaughanlands for Jalna, eh?”
“Mamma would have been pleased to have seen a stop put to those bungalows,” said Ernest. “I’ve known for several days that Renny had something up his sleeve. Some scheme or other. And I worried a little, for I don’t always see eye to eye with him in his schemes. When did the transaction take place?”
“This morning. He came over in a most hilarious mood. He laughed and ragged me about the bungalows for quite a while before he came to the point. Then suddenly he got rather disagreeable. Demanded what was my lowest price for the damned land. I told him and he wrote me a cheque on the spot. Then he told me that he had bought the four lots and the buildings. Of course, I’m awfully glad for your sakes and ours too, but I’m wondering how it all came about. Meg thought perhaps you’d know.”
“There is only one way,” said Ernest, “and that is Alayne’s private means. She must have handed that over to him.”
“Well, and I think she should,” said Meg. “If I had money I should consider it my duty to give it to Maurice at such a time as this. A wife must sacrifice herself.”
They saw Alayne coming toward them across the lawn. Temperate greetings were exchanged.
“Shall I tell her?” Ernest had whispered, and Meg had nodded an affirmative. He therefore said, with a playful air:
“Alayne, dear, we’ve heard the news! And we’re delighted, every one of us. It’s such a relief to think that the subdivision is no longer necessary.”
“All we wonder,” said Meg, “is that you didn’t do it before.”
“Do what before?”
“Why, buy the land and the lots before!”
“I’m quite in the dark,” Alayne returned, sitting down on the seat beside Nicholas. There was both coldness and apprehension in her voice.
“Oh, well,” said Maurice, “if you don’t want us to talk about it, we won’t.”
“I have not the faintest idea what you refer to. Perhaps if you explained I should understand.”
The other four looked at each other blankly. Then Nicholas said:
“Maurice has just been telling us that Renny has bought the land he was subdividing as well as the lots already sold. We thought you would probably have talked it over with him.”
“It is news to me,” said Alayne, and a flush came into her cheeks.
“But where else could he have got the money?” asked Meg.
“I don’t know, I’m sure.” She spoke with intense irritation.
Nicholas demanded of Maurice—“Why didn’t you ask him plump and plain? I think you’d have been quite justified.”
Ernest asked gently—“Have you cashed the cheque?”
Maurice grinned. “Yes, I went into the bank at once. Not that I had any doubts of him!”
“Well, I should hope not!” exclaimed Meg hotly.
“Of course not, of course not,” Ernest hastened to say, “but it’s all so extraordinary! I thought perhaps the heat— it’s very intense—might have gone to his head. He’s really been rather odd lately.”
“The money was there in hard cash,” said Maurice. “In the mood he was, I didn’t like to ask him where he got it…”
“I know!” cried Meg. “Finch!”
The certainty of this conclusion pricked the bubble of their conjecture. They only wondered it had not been thought of before. Alayne was aghast.
“But,” she said, “Finch has so little left of his grandmother’s money! Not more than fifteen thousand dollars, I think. It would take all of it, wouldn’t it?”
“Renny gave me a cheque for twelve thousand dollars,” said Maurice tersely.
“What a pity he is not here!” cried Ernest.
“We could call him on the telephone,” suggested Meg.
Nicholas said—“I cannot quite believe that Renny would borrow from Finch. He’s always been against touching that money. I know he wanted Finch to buy the land himself and that Finch refused. No—I think we’re off the scent! I think he’s got it in some other way.”
“May he not have sold some stocks of his own?”
suggested Ernest.
“Any stocks he has are of little account now,” said Maurice. “But he holds a mortgage or two, doesn’t he?”
Nicholas rumbled—“Can’t get anything out of those. He told me so. And he’d never foreclose unless Jalna itself was at stake.” He turned his eyes toward the house steeped in sunshine. He asked of Alayne then:
“Who was it on the telephone?”
“Sarah. Finch is staying a little longer with her.”
Ernest frowned. “I don’t think it is quite proper. People will be talking.”
Meg exclaimed—“I wonder if it might possibly be Sarah! She is such a dear girl! I’m sure it would make her very happy to help Renny.”
The eyes of the sisters-in-law met with only half-concealed dislike. Alayne said:
“I hope and pray that she has done nothing of the sort.”
“She never would,” said Nicholas, “without good security. That girl is as shrewd as the devil.”
“But however Renny got the money,” cried Ernest, “what a relief to think we shall not have those terrible neighbours!”
“And a new piece of land is added to the estate,” said his brother. “That’s very nice. Augusta will be pleased.”
The sound of horse’s hooves moving in a walk came to them from the drive. The group on the lawn turned their heads as one. Between the branches of the evergreens they saw the gleam of a bright chestnut flank and in a moment horse and rider appeared and hesitated before turning in the direction of the stable.
Nicholas called out impatiently:
“Come here! We want you. We’re on tenterhooks of excitement.”
Renny turned the mare’s head in their direction, crossed the intervening stretch of lawn, and slid from the saddle. A glance at the faces about him discovered on what their minds were bent… An aeroplane was flying overhead and he raised his eyes to its swift glitter and stood thus, reins on arm, as though enthralled.
Books 9-12: Finch's Fortune / The Master of Jalna / Whiteoak Harvest / Wakefield's Course Page 71
