Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

  “Oh, he won’t do that.”

  “He won’t, won’t he? I wish you could have seen his face. I tell you he put his hand out toward me. I pity him if he ever touches me. He’s threatened to — twice. You can testify to that, Sidney. Get me a drink. I feel all in.”

  Swift went to the sideboard. “whisky and soda?” he asked.

  “No. Get the flask of brandy out of my desk. Lock the french window. He must have gone out that way. I wouldn’t put it past that man to come back and make more trouble. He’s a reckless, dangerous brute. Sidney, bring me my diary, too. I was writing in it when he came. I’ll make an entry saying he threatened me. It might come in useful if I brought a suit against him.”

  “It certainly would,” said Swift.

  By the time he returned with the flask, Eugene Clapperton was impatient. “Well, you were a long time,” he said peevishly. Swift saw that his hands were trembling.

  “The flask was not in the desk,” he returned coolly. “It was in the little cabinet in the corner.” He got a glass from the sideboard. “Better have a good stiff one,” he added.

  “Yes.”

  Eugene Clapperton again went to the window and peered out. “Did you lock the french window?” he asked.

  “Yes.” He himself took a little brandy.

  Sitting sipping the stimulant, Eugene Clapperton’s colour returned. “what do you suppose that man said?” he asked.

  “Goodness knows.”

  “He said that, if I opposed him, I’d not have a single friend in the neighbourhood.”

  “I don’t dispute it.”

  This was one of the moments, and there were a good many of them, when Mr. Clapperton disliked his young secretary. Now he exclaimed angrily:

  “It’s perfect nonsense. I’ve as many friends as he has. I’ll make him look small before I’ve finished with him. He threatened to build a piggery right beside the village. And an incinerator to smoke my tenants out.”

  Swift smiled. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “I wish,” exclaimed Mr. Clapperton, “that he’d got a bullet through him over there.”

  Swift set down his glass. He said, “I’m due at my pupil’s place shortly. Will it be all right if I leave now?”

  “I should think,” said Eugene Clapperton, with some severity, “that you would not like to go to teach a youth like Maurice, smelling of brandy.”

  “He doesn’t mind.”

  “Go along then. I think I shall walk over to the fox farm. I get a great deal of pleasure from the society of those girls, Sidney. They are friends who would not change for anything he could say or do.”

  “I am sure they wouldn’t.”

  “They mean more to me — especially one of them — than I’ve ever let on. I don’t suppose you’ve guessed anything like that.” A dull pink crept into Eugene Clapperton’s cheeks. “I’ll bet you’ve never guessed that, Sidney.”

  Swift gave a short laugh that was without mirth. “Oh, I’ve suspected it.”

  “Can you guess which one?”

  “Darned if I can.”

  “Try.”

  “You’d better tell me.”

  “I’m not going to tell you. Not just yet. Run along. Don’t stay too late, Sidney. I may need you.”

  Swift ran upstairs, changed his shoes and soon was pedalling along the country road on his bicycle. Mr. Clapperton returned to the small room where he had interviewed Renny Whiteoak. From the drawer of his desk he took a small mirror and a comb. He combed his hair though it was tidy enough, took a good look at himself and was not without complacency. Certainly he was a contrast to that red-headed Whiteoak who was apparently always on his uppers, always short of funds, who had cast an obviously envious glance at the pile of bank notes on the desk. Mr. Clapperton turned smiling to put away the bank notes. “I’m darned careless to leave money lying about like that,” he said aloud. “You’d think, the way I act, that a thousand dollars was something you could pick up on the street, like a stick of chewing gum.”

  But the complacency left his face, the smile left his face, as he looked at the place where the pile of bank notes had been. They were not there! They were gone. He stared at the top of the desk dumbfounded.

  He thought, “Now let me keep cool, I mustn’t get rattled. The money was here. It is here. I must have put it in one of the drawers without thinking.” He tore open one drawer after another. He turned out their contents, handled and re-handled the papers till there was complete confusion among them. Perhaps he had carried the notes into the dining room — he’d been excited. But no — he’d backed right away from Renny Whiteoak without going to the desk.

  “I must not get rattled,” he thought, but he was rattled. He walked in a circle about the room. The money was gone. He had drawn Renny Whiteoak’s attention to it — that proved it had been there on the desk during the interview. Now it was gone. It had been on the desk. He’d seen it, pointed to it. But now it was gone.

  Suddenly he stood stock still, petrified by the thought that had broken on him. Why — Renny Whiteoak, that hard-faced, hard-up rascal, had stolen the money! Just walked off with it, jammed into the pockets of his jacket, like a highwayman, like a thug, believing he could get away with it, believing Eugene Clapperton was so rich, so soft, he would do nothing about it. But he would do something about it. He’d raise hell about it.

  He took the receiver from the telephone and rang up Piers’ house. He left a message for Sidney Swift to return home at once. As he waited for him, the thought suddenly presented itself that Swift might have taken the money. Surely he had been longer than was necessary in finding the flask of brandy. But he put the thought from him. The young man was his own cousin, come of honest people. He had always appeared trustworthy. Still — the temptation might have been too strong for him, knowing how suspicion would inevitably be directed toward Renny Whiteoak.

  Mr. Clapperton fretted from place to place. He would not stop searching. When Swift appeared he faced him abruptly.

  “whatever’s wrong?” demanded the young man.

  “There has been a serious theft.” Eugene Clapperton fixed him with cold grey eyes.

  “Theft?”

  “Yes. A thousand dollars has been taken from the top of my desk.”

  “Gosh! Are you sure?”

  “I couldn’t be more so. It was lying there in new twenty-dollar bills when Colonel Whiteoak was with me. Didn’t you see it when you were searching for the brandy?”

  “I’d swear it wasn’t there then.”

  His expression was so open, so fearless, that Eugene Clapperton gave up all suspicion of him. He said solemnly, “Sidney, that man took the money. He crammed it in his pockets and hurried out through the french window.”

  “If he did he’s crazy. He’d know he’d be the first one suspected.”

  “why?”

  “Well — who else?”

  “what about you?”

  “Do you suspect me?” He stared almost truculently at his cousin.

  “Of course not. But he might think I should.”

  “Are you sure you’ve looked everywhere?”

  “Sure. But I’m willing to begin all over again. Let us have a systematic search.”

  They searched every corner of the desk, every inch of the room. When they had finished, Swift said, “You’d better call in the police.”

  “No. Not yet. I want to hear what he says about it.”

  “Better not accuse him openly. I believe it’s a dangerous thing to do unless you have lots of evidence. He might bring a suit against you for defamation of character.”

  “I won’t accuse him. Get him on the phone for me, please.”

  Swift did so and Eugene Clapperton, in a hard voice, asked:

  “Is that Colonel Whiteoak?”

  “Yes,” answered a voice, the very sound of which filled him with a tremulous fury.

  “Well, Colonel Whiteoak, I’ve something disagreeable to report.”

  “Oh?
Are those prospective piggeries of mine already making a stink?”

  “This is a serious matter, sir.”

  “Out with it, then.”

  Mr. Clapperton cleared his throat. “Colonel Whiteoak, there was a pile of new twenty-dollar bills on my desk, amounting to one thousand dollars, when you were with me. Do you remember?”

  “I do.”

  Mr. Clapperton’s voice became a little shrill. “Colonel Whiteoak, that thousand dollars has been taken from my desk. It’s been stolen.”

  There was laughter in Renny’s voice as he answered: “Really? Well, that will scarcely excite you — such a small, insignificant sum.”

  “It is not small or insignificant. This is a very serious matter, sir.”

  “what are you going to do about it? Do you suspect anyone?”

  “Only one person has been in that room outside of my secretary and myself.”

  “who?”

  “You, Colonel Whiteoak.”

  There was silence at the other end of the telephone for a space. Then Renny asked quietly:

  “Are you accusing me of taking that money?”

  “No — no, but I thought I’d like to know what you had to say about it? I thought perhaps —”

  At the other end the receiver was hung up. Eugene Clapperton waited, listened, slammed his own receiver on the hook. He twisted his fingers together. Swift could see that he was in a rage.

  “what did he say, Eugene?” he asked.

  “He laughed — as though a thousand dollars was nothing. He hung up. I’ll show him whether it’s nothing or not. He asked me if I accused him — then he hung up while I was still talking.”

  “You’ll not get anything out of him.”

  “Do you mean that, if he took the money, I won’t get it back?”

  “I don’t believe you will unless you can prove it and arrest him.”

  “what better proof do I need? I’ll get a detective on the job at once.” He unlocked the french window and threw it open. He drew a deep breath of the fresh air. He watched while Swift mechanically continued the search, looking again and again in the same places. He exclaimed irritably, “I wish I had my hands on that man! I’d knock his ugly red head against the wall.”

  Renny Whiteoak appeared in the french window.

  “Did you want to see me?” he inquired.

  “No — no — oh, no — that is —” Eugene Clapperton stood stammering, the colour receding from his face, leaving fine reddish veins exposed on the greyness of the skin. He drew backward a space, as Renny came into the room.

  Sidney Swift’s eyes were dancing. He said, “I guess there’s been some sort of mistake. I guess Eugene’s excited.”

  Mr. Clapperton, with the desk a bulwark between himself and Renny Whiteoak, said more calmly:

  “A thousand dollars has been stolen from this room, sir. Do you expect me to take that lying down? Would you take it lying down?”

  “what have I to do with it?”

  “I thought perhaps you could help me locate it.”

  “why?”

  “Well, it was here when you were here and — gone when you were gone.”

  Swift was looking warningly at his employer.

  Renny Whiteoak exclaimed, “You are accusing me of stealing the money.”

  “No — I thought you might have a suggestion to offer.”

  “I have. Phone for the police. But let me tell you this — when this affair is cleared up it will be better for you to move away. And another thing — if I were going to make a thief of myself—it would take more than your God-damned thousand dollars to induce me.”

  The day was sultry. He was very warm. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. He saw Eugene Clapperton and Sidney Swift staring at something lying on the rug — staring almost with horror. His gaze followed theirs. He saw, lying flat and crisp and terribly visible, as though a spotlight were turned on it, a new twenty-dollar bank note. He stared at it bewildered. He raised his eyes to the faces of his companions, as though seeking enlightenment from them.

  “Good acting,” observed Mr. Clapperton. “Very good. Very convincing. You make me almost surprised myself. Very good acting.”

  “why —” exclaimed Renny — “the thing was in my pocket!”

  “Yes — so it was. So it was. How surprising!”

  Renny bent forward and picked up the bank note. He turned it over and examined it. Then again he raised his dark bewildered eyes to Mr. Clapperton’s. “How did it get into my pocket?” he asked.

  “Look through your pockets,” suggested Mr. Clapperton, “and perhaps you’ll find the rest of the money.”

  “You think I took it!” shouted Renny.

  “what else could anybody think?”

  “It was put in my pocket to incriminate me.”

  “By whom?”

  He answered lamely, “I don’t know.” He laid the bank note on Mr. Clapperton’s desk who looked at it icily and then remarked:

  “That’s one of them but where are the other forty-nine?”

  Sidney Swift had been looking keenly at Renny. Now he asked, “Did you lay your jacket off after you left here, Colonel Whiteoak?”

  “No. It has never been off my back.”

  Now, however, he took it off, turned the pockets inside out, shook it. With it still in his hand he pulled himself together. “The money must have been put in my pocket to involve me,” he said. “There is no other explanation.”

  “Do you believe,” asked Mr. Clapperton, “that that is possible?”

  “I don’t see how it could have been. I went straight home from here.”

  “what do you expect me to do in such a case?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “what would you do if you were in my place?”

  “Think the fellow — that is me — crazy.”

  “That won’t bring the money back.”

  Again Renny mopped his forehead with his handkerchief but now the sweat that sprang on it was cold.

  “Colonel Whiteoak,” asked Swift, “have you ever had any lapses of memory?”

  “Don’t start any silly talk about lapses of memory,” said Mr. Clapperton. “This either was a theft or it wasn’t.”

  “Do I look like a thief?” shouted Renny. “Have my family been thieves? By God, I don’t think you’re used to associating with gentlemen.”

  “That’s an outworn word, sir.”

  “Not in my family.”

  “I’d very much like to repeat my question,” said Swift. “I’d like to know if Colonel Whiteoak has had any previous lapses of memory.”

  “Previous,” sneered Mr. Clapperton. “Previous. This is no lapse of memory.”

  Renny ignored him. “I had several insignificant lapses of memory,” he said, “after my concussion.”

  Then it came to him, with startling clearness, how that very morning he had been thinking very hard of something — he could not remember what — while he was dressing, and had found himself in the dining room without remembering having come down the stairs. The floor of the room where he now faced his accusers rocked with him — the little room where he and Maurice Vaughan had often had such jolly times together.

  “I believe,” said Swift, “that this is just another of them.”

  His cousin looked at him with hate. “I wish,” he said, “that you’d mind your own business.”

  “I thought you’d asked me to help solve this thing.”

  “I did. But I didn’t ask you to babble like an idiot.”

  Renny put on his jacket. He addressed Eugene Clapperton with dignity. “I want you,” he said, “to engage a detective. Arrest me if you like. In the meantime I’m going home.” He moved, with the purposeful swiftness that characterized him, out through the french window and across the lawn.

  His mind was in great confusion. He hardly knew what he was doing. The blond harvest fields that lay about him were so many blurred patches of yellow. His one clear th
ought was to hasten home. His one clear intention was to tell Alayne what had happened to him. Perhaps she could do something. Perhaps she could tell him whether he had shown any strange symptoms of forgetfulness since his return.

  The front door was standing open. He passed through the hall and up the stairs, calling her name as he went. She answered quietly, for she was used to his sudden excitements. He found her in her room with one of Archer’s socks drawn over her hand, her darning needle poised. The look on his face startled her.

  “what has happened?” she asked. “Is it Archer? Is he hurt?”

  “No.” He drew a chair close and sat down by her side. “It’s I who am hurt — damaged. By God, I don’t know what is to become of me!”

  “Hurt!” she repeated half angrily, for what she saw in his face looked like temper to her. “You look all right. Where are you hurt?”

  “Poor girl,” he said, putting his hand on her knee, “I hate to tell you this.”

  Suddenly she was frightened. She sprang up. “Tell me. What is wrong?”

  “Clapperton says I stole a thousand dollars from him and I’m inclined to think I did. I’ve no recollection of it. But you’ve remarked how forgetful I am. I’d a couple of lapses of memory after my concussion. Whether he is going to have me arrested, I don’t know.”

  “Do explain this more clearly,” she said, trying to swallow, for her mouth felt dry as paper. “Begin at the beginning and tell it clearly.”

  “Sit down,” he said, and drew her to the side of the bed. They sat down together. He drew the child’s sock from her hand then held her hand to his lips.

  “Oh, Alayne,” he exclaimed, “this is such an idiotic thing but it’s frightening too. I could almost laugh at it but it’s deadly serious.”

  “Will you tell me what it is? what do you suppose my feelings are while you keep me in suspense?”

  “I went to have a reasonable talk with Clapperton. About the village, you know. But you can’t talk reasonably with that man. We were soon having words and I thought it better to leave before I was driven to lay hands on him. I hadn’t been long at home when he rang me up to say that a pile of bank notes amounting to a thousand dollars was missing. It had been lying on his desk while we talked. He’d drawn my attention to it. Over the phone he all but openly accused me of stealing the money. He —”