Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“Then go somewhere else.”
“But our work is here!”
“Your
work
!
Breaking in colts! Let them go unbroken — let them go mad — I don’t care! Just to be rid of your presence is all that I ask.”
He now used a placating tone. “But you’ve encouraged us to run in and out of your house. You’ve said you liked to lend us things. You’ve liked the kid.”
She cut him short. “Well, — I don’t like any of you now! I’ve borne more from you than I’ve ever borne from a tenant in my life.”
He was roused. He said sarcastically, “The truth about you is that being taken up by these Whiteoaks has gone to your head. But if you think that either of those men care a curse for you, you’re damned well mistaken.”
It was with difficulty that Mrs. Stroud controlled herself. She gripped the sharp palings of the fence in her hands and bit her shaking underlip. Then she spoke with comparative calm.
“This is the end. I don’t want you to speak to me again — ever. Tell Chris not to come in to see me. Not she or anyone else can change me. Hand me your keys inside of three days.”
She turned from him and went into her house, shutting the door behind her. After a time a rap sounded on her door but she did not answer it. Looking out of a window she saw Chris Cummings climb over the fence and return to her own house.
Ernest and Eden said little on the way home. Now that they were alone together they were embarrassed by what had taken place, though Eden the less of the two. His mind was revolving about the events of the past weeks. He would have liked to know what was in Ernest’s mind. How much did Ernest care for Mrs. Stroud? How much had the family to do with it? Were they at the bottom of it? Either Ernest was a good play-actor or he was really himself entangled. Eden leaned toward this opinion. What did Amy feel? She and Ernest appeared to hit it off too well for just a casual friendship.
Eden was angry at Ernest’s interference. His evening had been spoilt. Was he never again to have the freedom in her house that had meant so much to him? Did Amy love him? Could she love Ernest? His immature mind groped among vague possibilities.
As they reached Jalna there were heavy rolls of thunder. Lightning outlined smallest twigs against the greenish sky. Large drops of rain fell.
“We’re lucky,” remarked Ernest, “to get under shelter. The rain is coming.”
He bolted the door. The gas was turned low in the hall. He examined the dim gold face of the grandfather clock. It was a quarter-past twelve. He gave an exclamation of dismay.
“We did keep that poor lady up late!” he said.
“I never knew her to be tired before,” said Eden.
“I suppose it was the weather.”
“I never knew her to mind weather before.”
“But we haven’t previously had any such heat.”
“I don’t want to go to bed, do you?”
Ernest hesitated. Late hours did not agree with him. But he was excited and it was not pleasant to be in bed during a storm. It was probable that his mother might want him. He went and stood outside her door, which was at the end of the hall. A tranquil snore came from within. It was not so much a snore as the buzzing of a bumblebee in a particularly well-honeyed flower. Ernest smiled. “What shall we do?” he asked.
“Could we have a drink?”
“My dear boy, you’re too young for drinking at this hour.”
“I feel that tonight is the time to begin.”
“I don’t know what your aunt would say.”
“Come, now, Uncle Ernie, there are just us two! Who’s to know?”
“Very well. We’ll have a whiskey and soda. It will do us good. There — listen to that!”
A deep roll had ended with a crash that reverberated through the house. Ernest again listened at his mother’s door. There was dead silence. Then the bumblebee resumed its rumbling in a more tremulous tone.
“Bless her!” exclaimed Ernest. He led the way to the dining room.
Eden closed an open window and set two chairs together at the end of the long table. Ernest fetched a bottle of Scotch and a siphon of soda from the sideboard. They sat down and Ernest poured whiskey into each glass. Eden filled the glasses with soda water.
“I don’t think,” observed Ernest, “that the storm will be heavy. The rain is already coming.”
The rain, as though a barrier had been removed, began to fall in a torrent, beating against the panes, streaming over the gravel sweep. Beyond its onslaught the distant roll of thunder could be heard.
Eden raised his glass halfway, hesitated, and then said — “To Aimee.”
“To Aimee,” repeated Ernest, and put his glass to his lips.
Eden lighted a cigarette. “It must be lonely for her,” he said, “in that house, in a storm.”
“It must be very lonely.”
“It’s a pity we came away so soon.”
“It is a pity.” Ernest took a deeper drink.
“Still, if we hadn’t come when we did, we mightn’t have got away at all.”
“You mean stayed all night?”
“Yes.” Eden again drank.
“But we couldn’t have done that — not both of us.”
“I should say two would be better than one.”
“You mean more conventional.”
“Of course — Uncle.”
“You have a curious way of calling me
Uncle
this evening.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. I don’t quite like it.”
“I’m sorry — Ernest.”
“Now that’s just silly.”
“Yes, it is rather. But our position is rather silly, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean, silly?”
“Being rivals and all that.”
Ernest was perplexed and apprehensive at Eden’s bringing what both had striven to keep secret, into the open. His confusion was added to by the fact that a glass of whiskey, such as he had now taken, went inevitably to his head. He poured himself another.
“Why — I — don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” Eden looked at him reproachfully.
“Not thought about it! It seems to me we have thought of little else for hours. You’re not afraid to admit that you
are
my rival, are you?”
“Afraid! No,certainly not, but -”
“But what?”
“I entered the field for your good, dear boy.”
“You mean the family put you up to it?”
“We discussed the matter. All we elders were present.”
“And you drew the fatal ballot!”
“I repeat that it was done unselfishly and to save you from what we considered a designing woman…. Since then my opinion of Mrs. Stroud has changed.”
Eden leant toward Ernest:
“Uncle Ernie, you are in love with Amy yourself.”
The amber of the whiskey glimmered low in Ernest’s second glass. He was less disconcerted to have his hand thus forced than he would have been only half an hour before.
“You do rush your fences, my dear boy!” he said with a slight tremor in his voice.
“No, I don’t. I only want to bring a salutory candour into the situation. When you first went to see Mrs. Stroud you thought of her as a climber, didn’t you?”
“I did, rather. But, as I said a moment ago, I have changed my opinion of her. I now think she is a woman of great sensibility and charm.”
“In short, you’re in love with her.”
“That is putting it too strongly. But I do acknowledge that I am attached to her.”
“Do you think she wants to marry?”
“No. I think she would be satisfied with male friendship and understanding. I gather that she hasn’t had much of either.”
“She’s an awful liar!”
“Do you think so? I think she is hungry and illogical, that is all.”
“You do understand women! You must have had a lot of experience.”
“I never had to learn,” returned Ernest modestly. “I was born understanding women.”
“God! I wish I did!”
Ernest spoke with benevolent seriousness. “There is plenty of time. Nothing could be worse for you than a love affair now. A detached, cool woman of the world might do you no harm. Mrs. Stroud is a different proposition.”
There was a conscious pause. Then Eden said, with what seemed unnecessary violence:
“If she’s got to choose between us, let her choose!”
“Nonsense! There is no question of a choice. How can she choose between a crusty old bachelor and a mere boy?”
“It’s a matter of dignity! We can’t go on like this!”
He sprang up and walked about the room. “Could we have the window open? It’s stifling in here.”
“Yes. The rain is lessening. Put up the window.”
Eden flung it up. The air, purified by rain, came almost palpably into the room. The Virginia creeper that covered the wall was encroaching on the window. A dripping tendril dangled across the open space. Eden picked a leaf from it and laid it on the table before Ernest.
“Look!” he said, “there is a tinge of red in it. Summer is going.”
“Yes,” agreed Ernest, “the year is on the wane.” He spoke with a touch of sentiment.
Eden went through the archway into the sitting room. He returned with a carved ivory dice box in his hand. He rattled the dice as he came. If Ernest had been less absorbed in his own thoughts, he might have noticed the mocking light in the boy’s eyes.
“I’ll tell you what, Uncle Ernest,” he exclaimed. “We’ll play for her! Three throws out of five. The one who gets the highest numbers wins. If you win I retire to the background, plunge into my work and am a good boy from now on. If I win, you keep away from Amy, tell the family that you’ve studied the situation carefully and that her friendship can do me nothing but good.”
Ernest’s hand was a little unsteady as he set down his empty glass. Eden refilled it for him. He sipped the drink, found it too strong, then said deliberately:
“Very well. I’ll do it.”
Eden handed him the dice box.
“You go first.”
The carved ivory was singularly becoming to Ernest’s hand. He shook the box and threw a six and a four.
“Good!” said Eden. He then threw a five and a two.
Ernest took the box, rattled the dice dreamily, and threw a one and a six.
“I’m afraid that will be easy to beat,” he said.
But Eden threw only a brace of twos.
“It looks bad for me,” he said.
This time Ernest threw a five and a six. A smile of satisfaction flickered across his face. He sipped the drink, which he no longer found too strong.
Eden threw a brace of sixes. He gave a crow of delight. “My luck has changed!”
Ernest rattled the dice decisively. His lips were set in a thin line. He threw a four and a three.
Eden threw a four and a five.
“Even!” exclaimed Ernest. He was now trembling with eagerness. He must, he would, make a good cast! He threw a pair of fives.
Eden’s face also was set. His eyes shone. He shook the dice and turned them out. But he could not bring himself to raise the box. Ernest and he eyed each other across it.
“Come, come,” said Ernest peremptorily. “Let’s see what you’ve thrown!”
Eden raised the box. He had thrown a five and a six.
They sat staring fixedly at the dice.
Then Eden exclaimed dramatically — “I’ve won!”
“Yes, yes. It’s pretty hard on me. My friendship with Mrs. Stroud has been a great pleasure — more than that — but I’ll abide by this. But what am I to say to the family?”
“Tell them it was no use. Tell them you know a great passion when you meet it.”
Ernest looked dazed. He rose unsteadily.
“I — I must go to bed. Very tired.”
“Shall I give you my arm, Uncle Ernie?”
“Thank you. I shouldn’t have taken that last drink. What did you say you threw?”
“A five and a six.”
“Well — what a pity!” He stood leaning on the table. “Eden, you’ve won — be worthy of her!”
Eden took his arm and led him through the door and up the stairs to his own room. He returned to put out the light land found Rags in the dining room laying some silver on a tray. Rags said:
“I’m just taking a little food to Miss Whiteoak, sir. She ate little or nothing last evening. The electricity upset her. ’Ere comes the rain again!”
A fresh rainstorm was beating violently on the windows.
“Put out the light when you come down,” said Eden.
“Yes, sir. Do you think Mr. Ernest is all right or ’ad I better go to ’im?”
“He’s all right.”
“Wot about the windows on the top floor?”
“I’m going up. I’ll see to them. Has anyone been in to my grandmother?”
“I closed ’er window, sir. It was very ’ot in there. She murmured somethink about India. ’Er parrot ’ad got off ’is perch and was sitting on the foot of the bed. ’E’s a rum ’un. ’E opened one eye and gave me a nasty look and repeated over and over — ‘Indiar — Indiar — Indiar.’ It
was
unnatural.”
“Rags.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You needn’t mention to anyone that my uncle and I had a drink here.”
“Ow no, sir! I see you ’ad a little gime of dice, sir.”
“It was nothing. Just to settle a dispute.”
“My word! Listen to that! I don’t fancy these storms. I ’ope it clears before tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“It’s my wedding d’y. I’m afraid I shall look a wreck, sir, wot with the loss of sleep and the perturbation natural to the occasion. I shouldn’t feel so nervous if we was going to fix it up at a registry office, but this ’ere walkin’ up the haisle of the church with the horgan playing the weddin’ march makes it a serious business.”
“You’ll come through it all right.”
“I call it kind of Captain Whiteoak to give the bride away.”
Eden felt that Rags would stand there, tray in hand, talking till dawn. He said goodnight to him and went up the two nights of stairs to his room.
He stopped outside the open door of the room shared by his young brothers. By their breathing, he knew they slept. A bluish flash of lightning illumined the room. Piers was lying on the bed, flat on his back, his tanned chest exposed, his attitude statuesque. The room was intolerably hot. Little Finch had carried his pillow to the window and was curled there on the floor. He slept so deeply that the rain, actually beating in on him, did not wake him.
Eden shook him irritably.
“Do you want to get your death of cold? Get into bed, you young duffer!”
Only half awake, Finch scrambled obediently to his feet and staggered toward the bed. His wet nightshirt clung to his thin body. A clap of thunder drowned the uproar of the rain.