Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
In spite of himself Humphrey Bell felt curious, also anything was better than talking about himself. He said:
“Someone told me she’s very shy.”
“Shy! That’s putting it mildly. I believe she’d run away from her own shadow. That’s just her state of mind. She’s neurotic. She’s supersensitive. But all that could be cured by proper handling.”
“why don’t you set about curing her?” Bell asked, bitterly sarcastic.
“Ah, I might — but one symptom of her sickness is dislike of me. Just imagine. She avoids me whenever possible. However, I do my best to help her. I encourage her in her hobbies. One of them is painting. Now I don’t find much in her paintings to admire but you might like them. I’ve offered to pay for lessons for her from a first-rate teacher but she’ll not hear of it. I’ve offered to pay for treatment from a psychiatrist, but at the mention of it she went to her room and stayed there for two whole days. Now it seems to me that you two could do a great deal for each other — if you could just get together.”
“Control yourself,” Humphrey Bell was repeating inwardly. “Don’t let him know how you’d like to bash his head in with that poker. Don’t begin throwing things at him. Don’t look as though you minded.” With these thoughts in his head he sat on his hands like a child staring at Clapperton, his small pale face set, his pale hair standing erect as though in surprise.
“Of course, it’s the war,” said Clapperton. “Neither you nor Althea were what you now are before that. She lost her only brother. She thought the world of him. Just imagine what it would have done to your four sisters if you’d been killed. You have four sisters, haven’t you?”
“Hm …” grunted Bell.
“Then there’s yourself — I mean your experience as a prisoner of war.” He looked piercingly at Bell. “It might do you good to talk of that to me. Just to pour out what’s been bottled up in you for so long. It might be the keynote of your recovery.”
Bell sat and stared.
In an encouraging voice Clapperton continued, — “You must have seen and suffered terrible things. Now I’d like to hear of your treatment at the hands of the Germans.”
“They treated me fine,” Bell said almost in a whisper.
“And you don’t look back on that time with horror?”
“I liked it,” Bell got out.
Eugene Clapperton rose. He came and put his hand on Bell’s shoulder. “You are even more mentally sick than I had suspected. You must let me help you.”
Bell rose also and the two stood facing one another.
One more question came. “
Will
you consult a psychiatrist?”
“No!” shouted Bell. “I’ve told you that before. I’m perfectly well. I have never been happier. All I ask is to be let alone.”
“Come, come, don’t get excited,” soothed Clapperton. “I’m only trying to get you of the rut you’re in. I’ll go now and leave you but I’ll be back again. In the meantime work away at your hobby, feed the birds, get plenty of outdoor exercise. Above all, don’t avoid people. Uproot all fear from your heart. Ninety per cent …”
Bell was gently urging him to the door. Now the door was open, the snow was blowing in. The cat drifted in. Eugene Clapperton inexorably took Bell’s hand. He pressed it till it hurt.
“Goodbye,” he said. “And don’t let yourself be discouraged. We’ll get this condition of yours under control — never fear. But — I must have your cooperation. Ninety per cent …”
Humphrey Bell closed the door. He returned to the room and threw himself on the sofa. He lay on his back with his legs straight in the air like a man doing exercise. He did not know what to do with himself to express his relief at getting rid of Eugene Clapperton, his anger at having been subjected to his presence. The cat leaped to his chest. She put her face close to his and pressed her cold lips and frosty whiskers against his cheek. Every hair on her body stood out electric with cold. When she began to purr it was not a comfortable purr but a hoarse, commanding purr right into his face.
THIS WAY AND THAT
“It’s just as I feared, sir,” said Raikes. “It’s all up with the poor mare’s sight.”
“That is what the vet said, eh?”
“That’s what he said.” Raikes’ head drooped, his large sensitive mouth hung open a bit in his dejection.
“This is the limit. One sickening thing after another. The young pigs — the cow — the car — and this! Well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it. I certainly won’t ride her again.”
“It wouldn’t be safe for you, sir.”
Mingled with his exasperation Clapperton felt relief from the obligation of riding. He could get all the exercise he needed on Shanks’s mare. Yet he was regretful that he would no longer cut a fine figure on the handsome bay. The thought of buying another did not occur to him. He wondered if it were possible that Renny Whiteoak had known of the threat to the mare’s sight — but no, three years had passed since the purchase.
“I have a friend, sir,” Raikes was saying, “who has a small fruit farm. He’s been wanting a horse for light work. He’d give the mare a good home and the best of care but he’d not be able to pay a high price, sir.”
“How much?”
“Not more than fifty dollars, sir.”
“Fifty dollars! Good heavens — I paid five hundred and fifty for her!”
“Ah, but she’s not what she was. She’d get a good home with my friend, sir.”
Eugene Clapperton considered. The price offered was an outrage yet what better could he do? He would like to be rid of the beast — never see her again — and he had been so proud of her! Raikes’ contemplative gaze was on him. He gnawed his lip, not able to make up his mind.
“She’d be no use to you the way she’s got this trouble with her eyes, sir, and my friend would give her a good home. He’d make a pet of her.”
Eugene Clapperton heaved a sigh. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll do it.”
“I’m sorry this has happened to the mare, sir,” said Raikes. “I hope you don’t think I’m to blame at all.”
“No, no, no, you’re not to blame.”
“I do the best I can, sir.”
“I know you do.” He spoke with something approaching heartiness. He never had had a man he liked so well as Raikes. Raikes was the only one in a succession of men who showed sympathy in one’s bad luck, the only one who was really human.
That same afternoon Raikes drove the D.P. to the railway station.
She sat beside him impassive in the car, clutching a large handbag and a bundle. Her cheekbones were so high that, when he glanced sideways at her, he saw only the tip of her nose. Her mouth expressed strong purpose mingled with distaste. A wisp of black hair blew across her face. Raikes drove in such a way that the discomfort of every rut on the road was felt in a bounce. He said:
“So you didn’t like the work here?”
“Can’t do,” she snapped. “I go. Please.”
“where might you be goin’ to?”
“You shut up. Please.”
“By jingo, your English is coming on! who did you get that one off of?”
She gave him a black look. After a silence he said:
“You’re the first woman I’m not able to get on with.”
“You shut up. I go.”
Raikes showed his white teeth at her. “Aren’t you goin’ to kiss me goodbye, Tania?”
“Can’t do.”
“why don’t you like me? Sure I’m not so bad, am I?” She sat inflexible. An especially rough bounce made her set her jaw and give him a thunderous look. They were now at the little railway station. Suddenly dignified, Raikes lifted out her trunk, her suitcase, and set them on the platform. If he expected a smile of thanks he did not get it. Looking straight ahead of her she said:
“I know. Can’t do. I go. Please. Shut up.”
Raikes grinned cheerfully. “Givin’ me the whole works, for a goodbye treat, aren’t you? Fine. Bye-bye, Tania.”
He left her standing on the platform, a stocky black figure against the whiteness of the snow. The scream of a locomotive sounded in the grey distance. She turned toward the oncoming train.
Raikes drove home pensively, carefully. He liked the Cadillac and only wished the boss would let him have full use of it. He flicked a bit of fluff from the seat the D.P. had occupied. Well, that was the last of her and he was not sorry. Her watchful eyes had seemed to be always on him. Now he would breathe freer, act freer. He put the car into the garage, stamped the snow from his boots, and went into the kitchen.
He could hear Gem Clapperton’s sweet voice singing. She was in the pantry where there was a sink. He could hear the slosh of water as she washed the tea-things. He went to the door and looked in at her with his deferential comforting smile. She stopped singing.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but won’t you let me do that for you? It’s a shame to see you with your hands in the dishwater.”
“I like it,” she answered. “It’s a treat to me to do housework. You know, I was an invalid — I was crippled all my girlhood. Even now I can’t stand for very long at a time.”
“You’re tired now, I’m sure. Please let me fetch a chair for you.” He brought a chair and she sat down, laughing to find the dishpan now too high for her. “How ridiculous!” she said and stood up again.
“Please let me,” begged Raikes. With sudden male overbearingness he took the dishmop from her hand and her place by the sink.
“Then I shall dry,” she said quietly. She polished the china teapot, her eyes on his muscular hands wet with suds.
“There’s so little work for me now,” he said, “except for shovelling the paths and feeding the stock. I can do all the dishwashing and cleaning and peel the potatoes. Ah, we’ll get along fine!”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, Tom. Of course, my sister will help but it’s my husband who has always been used to having maids. He can’t understand how lonely it is for them in the country.”
“Ah, it’s hard to get maids to settle down in the country. But meself, I’m country bred and I’ve no use for the town except for the races.”
She widened her eyes at this new light on him. “So you like horseracing! I’ve never been to a race.”
Raikes regarded her with pity. “Never been to a race, ma’am? Well, I never. You’re just the one I should think would like racing.”
“why, Tom?”
“Ah, I can’t just tell. But I’d think you’d like the excitement of it.” He put into her hand half a dozen silver spoons.
“How clever of you! I love excitement — anything new and strange. I was brought up in Wales, you know, and it was very remote where we lived.”
“Ah, Wales is a lovely country,” he said, wringing the dish mop and hanging it up.
Her face glowed. “It’s the most beautiful country in the world. It’s my dream to go back there. But first I want to travel.”
“Sure. Mr. Clapperton will take you travelling, now that it’s more comfortable getting about.”
Her face closed in. She hung up the towel and asked, — “Have you ever been to Wales?”
“Yes, indeed. I’ve crossed over from Ireland on a cattle boat to look after the beasts.”
“You’ve done so many things,” she said, as though enviously.
“I’ve done a good few.”
“And what did you enjoy most?”
“Working about horses, ma’am.”
“It’s a wonder you didn’t go to Jalna to work. They are such people for horses there.”
“I don’t think I’d get on with Wright, ma’am, or with Colonel Whiteoak either. I like being where I am.”
“I’m glad of that, because my husband and I are very well satisfied with you.”
“Sure, I do the best I can.”
How uncommunicative he was! She wished she might know all his past, be aware of his thoughts as he stood gently smiling at her. She said abruptly;
“It’s odd you haven’t married, Raikes.”
“Ah, I never was much of a one for the girls.”
“But they must have been after you,” she laughed.
Imperturbably he replied, — “Well, look at Tania. She couldn’t bear the sight of me.”
“Tania hated everyone.”
“It was the loneliness of the country that upset her, ma’am. She’ll be better in the town.”
It was obvious he did not want to talk about himself. She gave him a speculative look. “You’re very dark for an Irishman,” she said.
“I expect it’s the Spanish in me, ma’am, from those fellows shipwrecked off the Armada, or so they say.”
The room was almost dark. She looked about and said, — “I wonder what I ought to do next.”
“If it’s the evening meal you’re thinking of, ma’am, don’t worry. I’ll be after getting that.”
“Oh, you can’t, Tom.”
“Indeed and I can. You’d be surprised at all I can do.”
“My sister has such a headache — I sent her to lie down.”
“I’ll carry up a tray to her,” he said at once, eager to help.
“You
are
kind, Tom. I shall get it ready and you may carry it up.”
She lingered a little watching him bring potatoes from the basement and set to peeling them. He did everything as though with a quiet enjoyment. It was almost touching to her to see him moving about the kitchen in his heavy boots trying to make no noise.
In the living room she found her husband reading the
Reader’s Digest
. He laid it down.
“I’ve just been enjoying a splendid article,” he said, “on causes and cures for mental illness. Several books are mentioned in it and I have a mind to get them. The trouble is that the books become too long-winded and complicated. On the whole I prefer condensed articles. D’you know, Gem, if I were a young man today I’d go in for psychiatry as a profession.”
“Really?” she said indifferently.
“Well, don’t you agree that there is nothing more interesting than the study of human nature? The real motives behind people’s actions, all the queer frustrations and inhibitions that beset the weak? I feel that I am cut out for this study, being absolutely free of all these disabilities.”
Suddenly she looked at him hard, laughing.
“You’d never make so much money at that sort of thing,” she said.
He laughed too. “Oh, shouldn’t I? I’d probably make more. Those psychiatrists do pretty well. I’d make money! You can trust your Tiddledy-winks for that, girlie.”
“I believe you,” she agreed.
“Well,” he said seriously, “I’ve always thought out what I wanted and gone straight for it.” He stretched out a hand and caught at her skirt. “You, for instance.”
She avoided the hand, went to the window, and looked out. The house was built in a hollow and in that shelter the trees grew thick and close to the house. The snow-laden air lowered itself to their tops. She said:
“Darkness is coming fast, and more snow with it. Shall we never have spring?”
“Spring will come, girlie. Nobody will be gladder of it than me. I think I’ll take you down to Atlantic City. How would you like that?”
“It would be lovely,” she said absently.
He regarded her with some irritation. “what’s the matter with you, girlie? You used to be so enthusiastic. Now you’ve got so don’t-care about things.”
“It’s the winter,” she said. “It’s so long.”
“You weren’t like that last spring.”
“Wasn’t I?”
“what you need is a change.”
“what about Althea — could she come?”
“No.” He spoke sharply. “One thing that is wrong with us is her being always on the spot. Love her as we may we need to get away by ourselves for a while. It’s not right for married people to always have an outsider with them. After I’ve gone a little deeper into the subject I intend to make a close study of Althea and find out just what her particular emotional upset is. Now young Bell I understand. His neurosis is definitely the result of his imprisonment in Germany. I sometimes fear for his sanity. You’d never guess what he said to me. He said he
liked
the prison camp.”
“Perhaps he didn’t enjoy your probings.”
Eugene Clapperton gave a smile of self-satisfaction. “He had no idea I was probing. It was all done so delicately. That’s what we psychiatrists have to be so very careful about — to do it delicately.”
It was out! He had called himself what he had been longing to! Gem turned away to hide the sardonic grin that bent her mouth down at the corners. She said:
“Well, you have two patients right at hand.”
“Three, Gem!” he cried. “But the third is incurable. I wouldn’t bother about him. I refer to Colonel Whiteoak. He’s got a family estate fixation — a grandmother complex — and a fear neurosis — all inside that foxy red head of his.”
“I find it hard to associate fear with him,” Gem said coldly.
Her husband gave his loud, rather mirthless laugh. “Fear! He’s one bundle of it. He’s always afraid of what I’m going to do, when my ambition is to be a benefactor to the neighbourhood.”
“You don’t call those bungalows a benefit, do you?”
“I do. They’re well built. They’re pretty, in my opinion. I’m going to build a pretty little village here.”
“what about the Blacks’ farm?”
The skin about his mouth tightened. “I’m going to make a nice little pile of money out of that. If Colonel Whiteoak doesn’t like what I build he can lump it.” He gave a consciously nonchalant yawn and added, — “It might be a jam factory.”
“But, Eugene,” she cried, “you promised —”
He cut her off with an almost violent change to a tone of authority. “Don’t remind me again of any half-promises I made.”
“They weren’t half-promises!”
“You said that bungalows on Vaughanlands would annoy you. This is a different matter. All Jalna lies between us and Black’s farm.”
“It would depreciate all the property in the neighbourhood.”
He spoke with resignation to that possibility. “We needn’t worry about that, girlie. We’ll, in all probability, be far away.”
“Eugene! what do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m getting tired of the old-fashioned Victorian atmosphere of this place. Ninety per cent of the neighbourhood are reactionaries and Colonel Whiteoak is the worst of them all.… He’d threaten me, would he? Threaten he’d lay hands on me! We’ll see. We’ll see. He who laughs last, laughs …” So worked up was Eugene Clapperton that he could not recall the last word of the proverb but kept on repeating — “laughs — laughs …”
She was intimidated by his manner. She could only ask, — “where would we go? why, I thought you intended to spend the rest of your life here!”