“That’s the idea. Quote me.”
A warm intimacy of atmosphere rose, as though from the stream, and enveloped them.
He said, rather breathlessly — “Shall we move on?”
She nodded and they rose and climbed the steep path that led up from the ravine into a little grove. The path then crossed a field beyond which was Maurice Vaughan’s house. Once they were in the grove he put his arm about her waist. A feeling of power enriched all his being.
Pretending not to notice his arm, she asked — “What will Eden do with the money?”
“Travel. Go to Italy.”
“And you?”
She turned his eyes full on him and he became aware of their beauty.
He gave a little laugh. “Oh, I have other plans. I’d be satisfied right here, if …”
“Yes?”
“If I knew there was someone who cared a lot about me.”
She could not speak. His arm tightened about her. Once again they kissed, but briefly, shyly. Then he asked:
“You’ll come to Jalna tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
They stood, reflected in each other’s eyes, eyes that expressed no desire, but rather a beaming surprise as though each discovered in the other a new person. He put out his hand and touched her.
“Well, goodbye.” he said.
“Goodbye.”
“We’ll come back this way tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t mind, did you?”
“Oh, no.”
“Goodbye.” He had heard Eden, talking on the telephone, call some girl “little one.” So, after a moment’s hesitation, he added — “little one.”
He turned then and almost ran from her. He did run down the path into the ravine and, exulting in his power, he would not cross the bridge but leaped over the stream, a flying white figure, and, panting a little, mounted the opposite steep.
IX
AUNT AUGUSTA AND DILLY
Piers had a desire to protect Pheasant, even a desire to fight for her, if there were anyone to fight. This new sensation of love made him feel aggressive, rather like the young turkey-cock on the lawn which spread his handsome tail, with a rustling sound, shook his fiery wattles, and turned round in front of his favourite hen. But there was none to challenge the young cock.
He stood on the green lawn before the house, his inward eye picturing who knew what combat? The glossy hen-turkey trilled softly to herself.
Piers stood watching them for a little, not quite knowing what to do with himself. By dressing in white he had precluded any further work that day. Well, he’d worked hard that summer, he deserved a rest. He saw Finch loafing in the porch and remembered the ridiculous way he’d behaved over gathering the pears, and what he’d heard him say. There’d been a jeering look on his face, a very irritating look. Piers felt he ought to do something about that.
He strolled across the lawn, the turkey-cock, with great dignity, making way for him. Finch gave rather a sheepish smile because of something he saw in Piers’s eyes.
Neither spoke till Piers said quietly when he stood beside Finch — “I suppose you thought you were being funny.”
“Funny? When?”
“You know when. I have pretty good hearing and I heard you say wasn’t I sweet.”
Finch giggled — “Well — aren’t you?”
“Not a bit.”
“But l-look here,” stammered Finch, “I didn’t mean any harm — not — anything at all.”
“Did you expect me to like being called sweet by you?”
“Why — I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Then why did you stop when I came near?”
“I — I dunno. Honestly, Piers.”
Piers moved closer to him. He moved right against him and crowded him against the wall. Finch growled in discomfort as Piers’s muscular body inexorably pressed on him. Now Piers’s eyes were laughing into his. Finch would not speak, he would not groan. He thought — “No matter what Piers does to me I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me,” but, in spite of himself, he gave a gasp, as though air were being pressed out of him.
The door opened on to the porch and their eldest brother stood beside them. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the look on Finch’s face.
“What’s this?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” answered Piers, moving away from Finch, who still remained as though plastered against the wall.
Renny gave a glance into Finch’s flushed face. He could see that he had been hurt. He said, “You two are not very well matched. And Piers — if you feel like pushing anyone about, try me.”
The boys remained mute, looking at him. Authority and the atmosphere of the soldier emanated from him. He said — “Remember that Aunt Augusta and Miss Warkworth are here and don’t let’s have any rough house. You know Aunt Augusta doesn’t like it.”
“Gran does,” said Finch, in a belligerent voice. He straightened himself, nursing his aching shoulder.
Renny laughed. “It amuses Gran but it does not amuse Aunty.”
“Why did she bring that girl with her?” asked Finch.
Now Renny’s eyebrows came down in a puzzled frown. “Damned if I know.”
“I know,” said Piers.
“Why, then?”
“You won’t like it if I say.”
“I shan’t mind.”
“Well, then, to marry you. She has money.”
Renny gave a short laugh and wheeled to re-enter house.
Finch asked — “What are they doing in there now?”
“Having tea. You’re late. Tidy yourself, Finch. You look elegant, Piers.”
“Well, I thought it only decent to please Aunty.”
In spite of the ache in his shoulder Finch gave a hoot of derisive laughter. Renny said to him — “Let me see you raise that arm.”
Finch raised it and grimaced with pain. A small smile dimpled Piers’s sunburnt cheek.
Renny said to him — “Don’t do that again.” He gave Finch a gentle push. “Go upstairs and make yourself presentable.” He followed Finch into the hall.
Finch muttered — “I don’t feel like going in for tea.”
Renny asked sharply — “Did he hurt you badly?”
“No. But … there’s that girl.”
“Get upstairs with you and brush your hair. The girl won’t notice you.”
“How long will she stay?”
“A month or more. She’s a sort of connection, you know. Her mother was a Whiteoak.”
“Hmph. Meg says she’s been ill.”
“Nothing worse than a disappointment in love.”
“Good Lord — she’s had time to get over that. How old is she, Renny?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Old enough to know better.”
They were having tea in the drawing-room, where a table was spread, with thin bread and butter, strawberry jam, scones and raisin bread, brittle ginger cookies, and an iced cake. The group appeared much more feminine than was usual with the addition of the two visitors. The elder was Adeline Whiteoak’s only daughter, Lady Buckley, a widow whose husband had inherited a baronetcy. Her title had always been a source of irritation rather than pride to her mother, who, being the granddaughter of an impoverished Irish marquis, looked on an English baronetcy of only two generations as insignificant, and, as she sometimes remarked, did not approve of titles. Yet it might have been noticed that she was never in the company of a new acquaintance for long before she would mention the name of her grandfather; being very old, she had forgotten many things but never did she forget that.
Lady Buckley was in her early seventies, an imposing figure, as tall and stately in her bearing as her mother was bent with the weight of years, and in bearing waggish rather than stately. Lady Buckley still wore her hair in a Queen Alexandra fringe, and her dresses were in keeping with this. Her hair was very thick and of a purplish brown. Her complexion was rather sallow, and her promine
nt dark eyes gave the impression that what she saw was not pleasing to her. Yet her nature was amiable and her kindness to her family never failed. All her married life she had spent in Devonshire but with frequent visits to Jalna. During these visits old Adeline was inclined to be irascible or what Meg called “showy-off.” This she was being at the present moment, eating more cake than was good for her and audibly drinking her tea.
The young woman whom Lady Buckley had brought with her was Dilly Warkworth, a distant cousin whose home was in Yorkshire. She had an illness, though her round face showed no sign of it, and the doctor had recommended a sea voyage. She had been visiting Lady Buckley and so it had been arranged that she should come with her to Jalna. She had dark-brown fuzzy hair, large light eyes of an uncertain colour, and a complexion so exquisite that her features seemed unimportant.
Now as Finch entered the room, his aunt exclaimed: “This boy had grown inches since I saw him two years ago. And I do think he’s better-looking.”
Meg said — “Well, I’m glad you think so, Aunt Augusta. The poor fellow is at the awkward age and it is good for him to feel that he has improved.” Meg raised her voice as though Finch were deaf. “Aunt Augusta thinks you are much better-looking, Finch.”
Wakefield put it — “She didn’t say much better. She only said better.”
Augusta put out a long hand and stroked the little boy’s hair. “There is no lack of looks here,” she said, “but such delicacy.”
“Yes, indeed,” Meg spoke sadly, “his health gives us a good deal of anxiety. His heart, you know —”
Renny frowned. “Please don’t discuss it in front of him.”
Miss Warkworth drew Wakefield on to the chair beside her. “Never mind, I’m delicate too.”
Wakefield looked up into her face. “I think you’re nice,” he said, “and pretty.”
She laughed and hugged him to her.
“What’s she laughing at?” demanded the grandmother of Ernest. “I want to hear the joke.”
“Sh, Mamma,” he whispered. “There is no joke.”
“Hmph. I want some cake. That dark sticky cake.”
Ernest brought it to her. She said — “Tell Eden I must speak with him.”
Eden, hearing his name, came and sat beside her. He said, in a low voice — “Remember, Granny, not an indiscreet word.”
She chuckled. “Not a word. But listen. That girl has brass….”
“For God’s sake hush, Gran!”
But she persisted. “Get her to invest. Why not?”
“Yes, yes, but we can’t talk of it now. Have some more tea.”
“Thanks. I will.” Then she turned her aquiline face, surmounted by a beribboned lace cap, toward the girl. “This is a wonderful country, isn’t it? A rich country. We have gold mines here.”
“Yes,” answered Dilly. “So I’ve heard.”
“Did you hear of any mine by name?”
“No. Just that it is a great country for investors.”
Nicholas and Ernest were amused by their mother’s sudden interest in mines. Neither had an inkling that the other or she had put money into Indigo Lake. Eden felt something approaching panic.
Now she said — “What you should do, my girl, is to marry out here. You’ve a choice right in this house. Invest in a husband and a gold mine.”
Eden, for the hundredth time, wished he had never drawn her into his net. Sometimes he almost believed she took pleasure in teasing him. Yet she had the good sense to refrain from pursuing the subject. He felt sure the day would come when the temptation to speak outright of Indigo Lake would be too much for her. By the time that day came he hoped to have enough put by to pay for a year, or even two years, in Europe. The mounting of his savings account ran through his thoughts like a golden thread. And now his thoughts turned to his aunt and the visitor. Why not give them the opportunity to increase their income? On her last visit he had heard Lady Buckley remark that, since the war, certain of her investments did not yield what they formerly had. Indeed, it seemed a shame that the entire family should not put all they possessed into the gold mine. Especially Eden wished this for Renny, who was often pressed for money. Yet it would be useless to try to interest him.
Lady Buckley asked of Wakefield — “Do you still have lessons with Miss Pink?”
“No, Aunt Augusta. My sister Meg has been teaching me.”
“And do you enjoy your studies?”
“Very much, thank you.”
How mannerly he is, thought Meg, and was proud of him. But Finch regarded his junior with a pessimistic eye. Smug little hypocrite who always slacked on his homework and played up his delicacy!
“And do you still recite poetry?” Lady Buckley enquired, leaning toward her youngest nephew so that a tinkling sound came from the several strings of jet and amber that overhung her firmly corseted bosom.
“Yes, Aunt. I know several new pieces.”
“Do you indeed? Well, supposing you recite one for us now, so that Miss Warkworth can hear you.”
Wakefield at once slid from his chair, took out a crumpled ball of a handkerchief and wiped his lips.
“Make it short,” growled Finch to him in an undertone, and was rewarded by an unobtrusive but well-aimed kick on the ankle-bone.
Wakefield stood up straight, a thin pretty child with curling dark hair and large dark eyes, and declaimed without hesitation in his clear treble:
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
“Thank you. Very, very nicely spoken,” said Lady Buckley.
“Oh, what fun!” exclaimed Dilly Warkworth. This was the latest catchword in London and she introduced it whenever possible.
Meg did not think this expression at all appropriate praise of her small brother’s performance and her fair face expressed her disappointment.
The grandmother said — “Now I don’t call that poetry at all. ‘Like a plumcake he falls!’ Whoever heard of such a thing? Why don’t Meggie teach him something sensible?”
“Not plumcake, Gran, thunderbolt,” several voices corrected, but she liked her own version and repeated the word several times, adding — “I haven’t had a piece of plumcake in a long while. Have some made, Meggie. I like it very much.”
Eden said to Dilly Warkworth — “I hope you won’t find your visit here too dull, after London.”
She gave her gay laugh. “Oh, it’s great fun.”
“Isn’t my grandmother amazing for her age?”
“Oh, she’s wonderful fun!”
Eden looked into her eyes and wondered what went on inside that head. If she had been disappointed in love, as they said, she was certainly taking it well. She gazed admiringly at Wakefield who now was perched on Renny’s knee. She asked — “Is he delicate? He doesn’t look very strong.”
“He’s not strong. Renny took him to a specialist a few months ago, who says he has a weak heart. I think Renny’s afraid he will never raise him, but Wake will probably outgrow the trouble.”
“What fine eyes he has! But then your family run to fine eyes. Yet none of you resemble each other.”
“Not Meg and Piers?”
“Oh, yes — they do. What fun!”
The windows stood open, the window-curtains gently fluttered. The sunshine, broken into darkling splashes of gold by the moving branches of the old trees, shone on the silver tea tray, the massive blue-and-gold teapot, she polished mahogany of the cabinet that held curios from India, the rings on the grandmother’s hands, planted firmly on either knee, now that her tea was finished. It also showed up the worn spots on the carpet, the scratches on the side of Ernest’s chair made by the claws of his cat Sasha (now certainly Ernest’s hair was receding at the temples), Renny’s scraped knuc
kle, the two spots on Finch’s chin, the peculiar purplish shade of Lady Buckley’s hair.
Dilly Warkworth leaned close to Eden to whisper — “Tell me all about your eldest brother. I’m so glad I’ve come.”
X
MORE INVESTORS
A feeling of affluence, such as had not existed at Jalna for some years, now emanated from those who were the lucky holders of shares in the Indigo Lake Mine. Adeline Whiteoak, who was not given to reckless spending, now changed her habits in a way that was quite alarming to her sons and her daughter. Augusta expected nothing more than a memento on her mother’s death, but she hoped greatly that her favourite brother Ernest would be the principal legatee, and she saw no sense in the frivolous spending of good dollars in which the old lady now began to indulge. After decades of spending almost nothing, for she had a supply of clothes to last the brief while remaining to her, she suddenly decided that she wanted a new fur coat.
“But, Mamma,” her daughter expostulated, “your seal coat is still in good condition, Meg tells me. Don’t you think you can make it do?”
“It’s out of date. I want something with style to it.”
Here Nicholas had a word to say. “But you haven’t had your seal coat on your back for at least five years. You never go outdoors in the winter, you know.”
“I shall this winter.”
“What if you caught a bad cold?”
“I shan’t catch cold if I have a new warm coat on me.” Suddenly she remembered something. “Where’s my little old mink jacket and muff? I want to see them.”
Ernest said — “Don’t you recall, Mamma, how you gave them to the boys’ mother? She was delicate, you remember, and felt the cold of our winters.”
“Aye, I remember. But she died. Where’s the coat?”
Meg spoke up. “I wore it for a while, but it was old-fashioned and the moths got into it.”
Her grandmother returned, with sudden shrewdness, “Mink is well thought of in these days. Perhaps I’d better have a new mink coat.”
Meg cried — “But your seal coat is not Hudson seal, Granny, it’s real seal! Do try to be satisfied with it.”
06 The Whiteoak Brothers Page 10
