Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
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 knuckle, 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.”
M
ORE
I
NVESTORS
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.”
“Why?” rapped out Adeline.
“Furs are so expensive.”
“I have plenty of money. And I’m making more, I may tell you.”
Still no one suspected what she was up to. Yet no one could help noticing how alert, how lucid was her mind, compared with what it ordinarily was. Not only did she insist that the new coat should be inspected and several sent to her on approval, but she began to talk of other expenditures — a new carpet for her room — fresh silver plating for certain old Sheffield pieces (What if the copper
does
show through, Mamma, it only proves that they are Sheffield!) — new upholstery for the dining-room chairs — new cushions for the pews in the church. To be sure, much of this was only talk, but some of it was earnest and rather frightening.
Eden, from being thrown into panic by her every reference to money-making, now became reckless of consequences. In fact, he could scarcely restrain his mirth to see her ancient spreading of her wings and the family’s fears. When he and she were alone he would throw his arms about her, hug her, and exclaim:
“We were not born yesterday, were we, Granny?”
And she, rejoicing in his youth and freshness, would stroke his bright hair and plant a kiss on his smooth cheek.
Nicholas and Ernest both were tempted to disclose to the other his activities on the stock market, but each had at various times declared his determination never again to speculate and each held back from the disclosure till a more substantial sum had accumulated. But Ernest could not resist confiding the secret to his sister, Lady Buckley. She had been complaining of the cruel increase in income tax when he said, with that affectionate note in his voice which always drew her to him:
“Gussie, dear, it does seem a shame that you should be troubled by this when the means to overcome it is right at hand.”
She raised her arched black brows enquiringly.
“Mining stock,” he brought out. “Indigo Lake. Gold.”
“But, Ernest —”
“Oh, I wouldn’t urge you. But only let me tell you my little story. And remember it’s in confidence. I heard of this mine through Eden. He met a mining broker, by sheer lucky chance, who has these shares for sale. Through Eden I have invested just under five thousand dollars and — let me tell you — I’ve practically doubled my money!” His blue eyes sparkled with pleasure.
“Does Nicholas know of this?”
“No one knows but Eden and myself. The Americans are buying up the shares so fast that I doubt if there are any to be had, but — if there are — you couldn’t do a better thing than …”
She said judicially — “The thing for you to do, Ernest, is to sell out while the price is high and conserve your gains.”
He could not help smiling at the idea of her giving him advice. He said — “Not I. Not till I’ve made a nice thing out of it.”
“But you already have.”
“Oh, I mean a
really
nice thing. Gussie, it’s a wonderful opportunity.
Do let me have Eden tell you all about it.”
She agreed to that. Eden, who had acquired the almost professional tone, was delighted to show his aunt the brightly coloured brochure depicting the Indigo Lake Mine in action. The persuasion of Ernest, Eden, and the brochure were more than Augusta could resist. She owned some stock in a Canadian railway and these she arranged with Eden’s help to sell.
She demanded to be taken to interview Mr. Kronk that she might see for herself what sort of man he was and hear the details from his own lips. Eden had no hesitation in arranging that meeting, for he was sure that Mr. Kronk would be able to instil perfect confidence in the mind of any speculator. And he was not wrong.
Ostensibly to visit a dentist she asked Eden to accompany her. They borrowed the family car and set out, an oddly assorted pair, for the city.
She was far too honest to have said she was going where she had no intention to go, but her visit to the dentist was brief, being no more than to have a denture which caused some irritation eased a little. She had a pleasant sense of adventure.
Mr. Kronk had lately acquired an office, in the rear of a rather shabby building. You approached it by way of a long narrow passage that smelt a little of drains. His name was not on the door, which was kept locked. After a knock, a fat, pale office-boy opened the door, enquired your business, and, if Mr. Kronk were free to receive you, you were admitted. Certainly he was not only free but eager to meet Augusta and Eden. When the introduction took place he looked up into Augusta’s face with an expression so kind, honest, and intelligent that she was drawn to him at once. He held her hand a little longer than was usual, in his hand that was rather remarkably large for his size. He had black hair, a sallow complexion, and dark eyes in which there were greenish flecks. The office, though so small, was luxuriously furnished.
D
ILLY
“Tell me about your eldest brother,” Dilly had said to Eden. “He has such an interesting face.”
On a day of extraordinary heat for October they were seated on a garden seat under the old mulberry tree whose fallen berries lay wasting in the sun, and she repeated the question. “Why,” Eden returned, “there’s not much to tell. He’s a distinct character, either good or bad, according to your conception of good and bad.”
“What fun!” she cried.
“Yes, he can be great fun. On the other hand he can be quite — intimidating.”
“Should I think him good or bad?”
“I think you’d call him good. He’s a kind brother — if you behave yourself — a devoted grandson and nephew — a lover of this land and his horses and dogs.”
“Then how could he be bad?”
Eden made a small movement of irritation. “Bad is an old-fashioned word. Let’s discard it.”
“But it was you who brought it in.”
“I suppose I meant that a certain type of person might use the word bad about him.”
“Could I be that type?”
“Never.”
“Am I a type?”
“Do you want to be?”
“No, indeed.”
“Then you’re not.”
With such youthful sparring they became better acquainted. But she did not interest Eden except that he envied her the things she had done which he had longed to do. London was familiar to her. She had been to France and Italy. What she had acquired from her travels, other than a pat knowingness about sightseeing and foreign hotels, he could not discover. Yet the glamour of her experience hung like an aura about her. When he told her confidentially that he expected to go abroad next year she was ready with the advice of a seasoned traveller, though her journeys had been brief and with a group of girls under the care of a teacher and guide.
She irritated Eden by her curiosity about Renny. He himself was not without experience, he thought, and he had a mind to punish her. He would like to give her something to say besides — “What fun!” To invest. That would put a different face on affairs. Eden had an almost tender feeling toward any possible investor in the Indigo Lake Mine. If Dilly could talk largely he could do a bit of boasting himself.
He said — “I suppose you’re not interested in gold mines.”
She stared. “I’ve never thought about them. But I have a friend in South Africa whose husband is in mining. I may be going there to visit her next year.”
“I wasn’t thinking of South Africa. We have gold mines right here, you know.”