06 The Whiteoak Brothers

by Mazo de La Roche

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” said Finch. But he could not stop himself. He would have this secret with Wake, so that Wake would not tell of his piano strumming. Of late he was ridiculously sensitive to teasing.

  He drew open the drawer.

  “That’s what I thought was a skull,” Wake whispered. “It’s just a big new sponge. And there’s the sachet Miss Pink gave her, and there’s the little box with the Chinamen on the lid.”

  “We’ve no business to look in here,” said Finch, ashamed. Then something caught his eyes. On the very bottom of the drawer lay the certificate of the shares in Indigo Lake. It was the word Indigo which held him. He remembered his grandmother’s cryptic uttering of that word and how Eden, more than once, had appeared embarrassed by it. But it was none of his affair and he was about to shut the drawer when a particularly hard head was thrust between those of the two boys.

  “What are you up to?” Renny demanded.

  “Oh, nothing — nothing at all,” stammered Finch.

  Wakefield added — “We were just having a little look at my grandmother’s treasures.”

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, and I have a mind to take a stick to your backs.” Then he saw the certificate. He bent lower for a moment to look at it, then sharply shut the drawer.

  “Don’t come in here again,” he said, “when Gran’s not here. I’m ashamed of you.”

  “You looked at it too,” said Wakefield. “What does it mean?”

  From the library came Boney’s voice screaming:

  “Gold — you old devil! Pieces of eight!”

  XVII

  AFTER THE SHOW

  Nicholas waited, not with anxiety, but with some impatience, for his cheque from the sale of his shares in Indigo Lake. But like all those at Jalna, his mind was filled by the excitement of the Horse Show. Renny’s horses were doing well. He himself was the prize for the best performance in high jumping in the Hunter class. Dilly Warkworth achieved a third prize. Piers, riding polo ponies, carried off several. One of their Jersey cows won a prize and a team of Percherons received honourable mention. By the time the Show was over and the animals restored safely to their stalls everyone was satisfied and almost sated, for the weather had turned wet and they had travelled in the old car with its buttoned-down sides that did not keep out the wind and scarcely kept out the rain. The rag with which Renny wiped the misted windshield was often in his hand. Those who had been to the Show alighted from the car rather stiff and dazed. The trees, blacker than the darkness, sucked up the moisture into their roots. The dogs came barking into the porch to welcome them. Rags could hardly wait to hear the news of that day’s success or failure. He himself went twice to the Show, once taking his wife with him. On the night when he went by himself he got tight and did not show up at Jalna till the next day.

  After the return, those of the family who had been to the Show had a late supper. They sat long about the table, relishing the cold roast beef, the cheese, the homemade bread, the crisp sticks of celery. A decanter of wine and one of whisky stood on the damask tablecloth, catching and holding the light. Even through two closed doors, the talk and laughter would rouse the grandmother and she would thump on the floor with her stick, and to the one who went to her would exclaim:

  “Tell me who won. I don’t want to be left out of things.”

  She liked best to have Renny answer her call, because from him she had the Show in greatest detail. He would sit on the side of her bed relating the prowess of each of his horses in turn. He would excite her till her old eyes would shine and she would say — “I can smell the tanbark. I can hear the band but — Lord, you should see the Shows in Ireland!”

  “I have seen them, Gran, and they’re no better.”

  “Ah, that’s the country for horses and the hunt. You should have seen me, when I was a girl, and my horse scrambling over the walls and me clinging to him for dear life. It was at the hunt in Ireland that I met my dear Philip.”

  “Why, no, Gran, you met him first in India.”

  “So I did. So I did. What a bad memory I’m getting! To think I would forget that — of all things. But now I remember how I’d tell him of it and he’d say he wished he’d been there. And now I imagine he was there, dear one! But you must tell me more about the Show. How did that girl Dilly ride the mare?”

  “She should — the mare, I mean — have had a First but the way Dilly handled her it was a Third. Now I’ll show you what I mean.” And he took a small chair and perched himself on it and bobbed up and down, and beat it with an imaginary whip, so that his grandmother pulled her nightcap over one eye and laughed so loud that they heard her in the dining room, and Ernest came to the door and put his head in and said — “All this excitement is bad for you, Mamma. You’ll not sleep.”

  “Mind your own business, Ernest,” she retorted. “I want to see this Show out.”

  Boney took his head from under his wing and stared at them sleepily with one eye shut.

  Adeline Whiteoak did indeed lie awake for a long while but her thoughts were pleasant. Indeed she had no actual thoughts, but a succession of pictures moved through her mind — she counted the leaping horses, as one might count sheep to put oneself to sleep. She saw the scarlet coats of the Mounted Police. She heard the band and saw the applauding crowd. In the dim night-light she saw her eldest grandson bouncing on the chair, his head the colour of the autumn leaves that were blown against her window that day. She heard laughter from the other room. The flying leaves, the leaping horses were mingled in her dreams.

  The last upstairs were Dilly Warkworth and Renny. At the foot of the stairs she said:

  “I know you are not pleased with me.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’ve never ridden so badly. I could kill myself.”

  “Nonsense. You won a ribbon.”

  “A Third! It should have been a First.”

  “Yes, it should,” he agreed.

  “And I tried so hard — for your sake. Do you hate me?”

  “It’s time you went to bed. You’re tired out.”

  She put her face against the newel post and began to cry. He just touched the nape of her neck which was extremely pretty. That was enough. She twined both arms about his neck and drew his face down to hers. He kissed her without feeling, but he thought he never had seen her so attractive. She looked tired and pale, yet somehow younger and rather touching. He noticed that she had long eyelashes and charming little ears.

  He said — “You’re not to worry about tonight. You’re to go to bed.

  You’re tired.”

  “We are made for each other,” she said breathlessly. “You know that. We can’t help coming together, can we?”

  He stroked his left eyebrow with his forefinger. “I don’t see why,” he said.

  “We are so much alike. We love the same things.”

  “We don’t love each other.”

  “I do. I adore the ground you walk on.”

  “I’m not the marrying sort,” he said. “If that’s what you have in mind.”

  “I have never thought of anything else.”

  “You surprise me,” he said, “and that’s putting it mildly.”

  “What did you think I was?”

  “Oh, rather lighthearted. You’re always saying what fun things are.”

  She made her large eyes larger. “I have had tragedy in my life.”

  “Girls are disappointed in love every day.”

  “Not girls with the deep feelings I have.”

  “Come, come, get to your bed.”

  “Bed — bed — why do you keep talking of bed?”

  He gave her a shrewd look. “You have a funny mind, Dilly.”

  “I feel faint,” she said. “Will you get me something to drink?”

  “You’ve had enough to drink.”

  “What a brute you are! I ought to hate you. But I don’t — I don’t — I don’t —”

  The repetition b
ecame smothered in sobs. Her head moved about, feeling for his shoulder.

  “My God!” he exclaimed in exasperation, “I wish you’d go to bed.”

  “I’m faint. I simply couldn’t — couldn’t walk up those stairs.”

  She did look pale.

  He moved behind her, took her by the arms, and half-carried, half-pushed her up the stairs. He opened the door of her room, which was across the passage from his own, and put her inside. Still she clung to him. She had ceased her crying and now, half-laughing, she said, on a deep cajoling note — “Let’s get engaged. It would be such fun.”

  “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 h
ave 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.