The Master of Phoenix Hall (11 page)

I strolled on up to the main area. There were countless booths, all of them offering various wares. One could buy hot bread, pies, sausages, ribbons, lace, fine carved wood. There were pens of squealing pigs and coops of chickens. A lonely old woman in black sat before gilt cages of green and yellow parakeets. A man with a flushed face sold smoked fish yelling of their excellent quality to all who passed by his stall. There was a faded orange and pink striped tent where an old gypsy woman in blue scarves and tarnished gold beads was telling fortunes. Three tired, forlorn looking donkeys were tied outside the tent, their backs laden with carpets and old pots and pans. Nan had rushed directly to this tent, a protesting Billy Johnson dragging along with her.

People yelled greetings, small children darted underfoot, delighting in their day of freedom. But the young men and women of Lockwood dominated the scene. The strong country lads in their best homespun shirts stood together in loud groups, slapping one another on the back and laughing as they eyed the girls, healthy, husky creatures who reminded me of a group of overgrown schoolboys. They seemed to be bursting with energy, eager for the Maypole dance when the girls would choose their partners. By some mutual agreement the boys and girls stayed apart now, sizing each other up and waiting for the dance, when pandemonium would break out. The girls laughed coyly and flitted past the males, swishing their skirts and tossing flaxen blonde curls. They were as eager as the men, longing to feel those strong arms about their waists and to cavort off to secluded spots. The air was electric with all these ready-to-burst emotions.

I purchased a glass of lemonade and found a seat beneath an oak tree. The limbs spread layers of thick purple shade over the grass, the boughs hanging low. It was cool here, and not nearly so noisy as it was a little distance away from the main activity. I could sit here and wait for Greg and watch the bright interplay of color without being a part of it. I watched the carousel as it whirled around, the painted horses bobbing up and down with flushed children holding the reins. Two large Maypoles stood on a brightly green lawn, their long colored ribbons entwined with flowers. Each girl would take a ribbon and dance as the boys darted, in and out, the girls wrapping their ribbon around the boy they favored. A huge wooden dance floor was set up nearby. Colored lanterns would be put up at dusk and musicians would play as the couples danced.

I was tired already. We had been here since noon and I had helped Greg with the boys. They were like a pack of noisy puppies, delightful to be with for a while but draining energy. Greg had bought them lollipops and lemonade, much to the disapproval of Mr. Stephenson, and we had taken them to inspect all the booths. I was glad that I could beg off the canoe ride and sit here alone for a little while. I had tried to do as the villagers and put aside all cares, but I could not shake off the intense anger and alarm I had felt upon reading the note, knowing as I did that Roderick Mellory had sent it. Nor could I forget the insult of the dress. Both things bothered me still, and I was irritated with myself for letting them put me in such a state.

“Miss Todd, isn't it?”

I must have been lost in thought, for I had not heard anyone approaching the tree. Paul Mellory had come up from behind, wheeling his chair silently. He sat there gazing at me with melancholy brown eyes, a lock of brown hair fallen across his forehead. There was a green and blue plaid rug over his knees and a slender book of poetry in his lap. I did not know how long he might have been there contemplating me as I thought about his brother.

“You—you startled me,” I said.

“I have that ability,” he said bitterly. “Startling people, you know.” He looked down at his concealed legs, his thin lips grimacing. He was a handsome boy, perhaps a year or two older than I, but the bitter lines and the shadowy eyes were those of one much older.

“It is Miss Angela Todd, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I saw you at church Sunday. You saw me, too.”

I blushed. I could feel the color staining my cheeks.

“I did not intend to stare,” I said, remembering the hate-filled look he had given me as the Mellorys' carriage drove away.

“I am quite accustomed to having people stare,” he said, “which is one of the primary reasons I seldom go out. I'm here today only to indulge my sister. She thinks I should get out more, meet more people. Ordinarily, she is a very sensible young woman.”

He spoke in a hard, sharp voice, enunciating each word as though it were hated. All the while he talked his dark brown eyes examined me as though I were an unusual specimen, a butterfly that he had impaled on a board.

“The fresh air will do me good, she says,” Paul Mellory said. “I suppose it can't hurt me.”

“Is your sister here?”

“Yes, Laurel wanted to come. She wants to buy some lace and some material—probably some bracelets and beads and ribbons, too. But she has so little opportunity to indulge in such foolish, feminine things.”

“You consider such things foolish?” I asked.

“I consider most of life foolish.”

“Then I pity you,” I replied.

“I am accustomed to pity, too.”

“You're not a very pleasant person, Mr. Mellory.”

“Should I be”—he pointed to his legs—“with this?”

“I'm sure you find it convenient.”

“Convenient, Miss Todd?”

“It gives you something to hide behind. Because you are crippled, you can sneer at people, and life, and justify yourself in doing so. It gives you an excuse for being so unpleasant.”

“You're quite the little thinker,” he said.

“No, I just see what's before my eyes.”

He smiled bitterly, but the look in his dark brown eyes changed. There had been active dislike before, but now there was something almost like admiration. At least there was an active interest, whereas there had been only disdain previously. Perhaps in insulting the man I had touched some hidden spring, had drawn him out of his obsessive self-pity. The smile flickered on his lips and died.

“You don't find life intolerable?” he asked.

“Why should I?”

“Because it is.”

“Not from where I stand, Mr. Mellory.”

“I suppose you're one of those active little do-gooders, like my sister, full of sunshine and always ready to find the bright side of things.”

“That sounds loathsome,” I said, “and not like me at all. I am afraid I am primarily interested in Miss Angela Todd, although I find the rest of the world interesting, too.”

He spread his hands out, encompassing the fair grounds and all the people thronging about it. “Look at this,” he said, “you don't find it a disgusting spectacle? Sober, hard working people throwing away money they don't have, acting like children. And later on it becomes even worse. It's like a primeval mating ceremony, those Maypoles, those young people dancing in the most scandalous manner.…” He fell into silence, contemplating this as though it was hard to conceive.

I said nothing. I sensed the reason why Paul Mellory felt harshly about the May Day Fete. He could never dance and be caught up in a flower-garlanded ribbon, could never fling his arms about a slender waist and carry a young girl off to a secluded spot. He resented that others could do what he couldn't. He moved suddenly and the book fell out of his lap. I picked it up. It was a copy of the Sonnets of Milton. I handed the book to him.

“I find it hard to believe that you can be so bitter about life, Mr. Mellory, and still appreciate the poems of John Milton.”

He stuck the book under his rug, as though he was ashamed of it. He glared at me with defiant eyes.

“Poetry is something different,” he snapped.

“Poetry is the breath of life.”

“How would you know?”

“I am not illiterate, Mr. Mellory.”

“You like poetry?” he asked, as though it were inconceivable.

“Very much. And music too. When I lived in London I went to all of the concerts I could afford, and to the theater.”

“You are an unusual young woman, Miss Todd. Very unusual. I must confess I was curious about you. I saw you sitting under this tree and I came over solely to find out what kind of woman you were, what kind of woman it took to defy my brother.”

“I take it he is not used to being defied?”

“Not at all. When he offered such a nice sum to your lawyer, he was certain Dower House would be in the family again. He had no idea that he would be turned down. It bewildered him.”

“Why does he want Dower House so desperately?” I asked.

“It's a fixed idea with him. Phoenix Hall must be maintained in the grand style of the past, and that cannot be done with a stranger living on the premises. Not many men have a purpose in life. Rod does, and he has devoted most of his adult life to it. It almost killed him to see Phoenix Hall slipping: money going out, none coming in, plaster falling in the halls, bricks crumbling, varnish peeling. My father was a wonderful man, but he was a poor manager. He was lax, and he was too kindhearted.”

“Can one be too kindhearted?” I asked.

He paused, reflecting. “My father was,” he said slowly. “Phoenix Hall suffered for it.”

“And now Phoenix Hall prospers and the people suffer.”

“You might say that. Rod closed down the quarries. They hated him for that. They had to get out and find some other means of livelihood. They had to use some initiative. Phoenix Hall has been supporting too many of the people for too long a time. Now it doesn't. Now they work on farms and produce more grain and vegetables. Some of them have gone into various trades. Now that they do not rely on Phoenix Hall they are doing more for themselves and for the whole of Lockwood. Ultimately, it will mean a richer Lockwood because my brother refused to go on working the quarries when the demand for granite had ceased.”

This was not said with conviction. He said the words as though he were repeating an argument someone else had given.

“That is a philosophical way of justifying it,” I replied.

“One must justify it somehow,” he said quietly.

I looked up at him sharply. Something about the way he said those last words gave me an insight into his true nature. He was not in accord with his brother. He was a sensitive young man who was considerate of other people, despite his pose to the contrary. Mr. Patterson had told me that Paul Mellory was like his father by nature, and I saw that now, behind all his pretense. He did not want people to see his true nature. It would make them pity him all the more, and it would make him vulnerable to them. He was too proud for that.

“You don't approve of what your brother did?” I asked.

“I did not say that, Miss Todd.”

“But you implied it. You would not have put the people out of work if you had been in charge. You really don't approve of your brother at all, do you?”

“But he is my brother, Miss Todd.”

“And you are loyal. I admire that.”

“I respect him for his ability to accomplish what he sets out to accomplish. I admire his ability to let nothing stand in his way, to achieve his goals no matter what the odds against him.”

“And I am in his way now?”

“It would seem so.”

I smiled to myself. I brushed bits of grass from my sapphire blue skirt and accidently exposed a ruffle of my fine lace petticoat. A ray of sunlight slanted through the overhanging limbs of the tree, touching my lustrous brown hair. I could see Paul Mellory looking at me with admiration. The conversation had stimulated me, and I was flushed, my eyes sparkling.

“It would appear that my brother has met a worthy opponent,” Paul Mellory said.

“Thank you, Paul,” I replied.

The name had come to my lips instinctively, and I had already spoken it before realizing my error. He looked up, pleased. I felt his friendliness then, and I knew that I had won him over. He would be my friend regardless of what happened between his brother and me. That was satisfying to know.

“I am very sorry about the incident the other day,” Paul said. “My brother told me what happened, although he told Laurel merely that you had stumbled over a piece of lumber. Both of us were concerned. Laurel wanted to go to Dower House the next morning and take some broth and see if you were all right, but Rod wouldn't let her.”

I was touched by his sister's concern, but I could see why Roderick Mellory did not want her to know exactly what happened.

“My brother was greatly upset over the matter,” Paul continued. “He discharged the men immediately. He was quite brutal about it, would not give them their wages and threatened to beat them to a pulp if ever they showed their faces in this neighborhood again. The men were brutes. It is in their nature. I hope that this will not sour you on Phoenix Hall completely, Miss Todd.”

His voice became suddenly much younger, suddenly very sincere. “I hope you will come to see us quite often,” he said, hesitating just a little. “I—I would enjoy that. There are so few interesting people around here, people you can talk to, I would like very much to be able to talk to you more. You like Music. Perhaps I could play for you.”

“I would enjoy that, Paul.”

“Here comes my sister,” he said. “Don't mention any of this, Miss Todd. She doesn't know what happened.”

“Of course I won't mention it.”

Laurel Mellory came up to us, walking in the springing, lilting way of a person very young, very exciting. She was wearing a pink and powder blue striped dress, and the skirt swirled as she walked. Silvery blonde hair bounced about her shoulders. There was a faint pink flush on her cheeks. Her dark blue eyes were alive with excitement. I thought she looked too intense, too animated, as though she was not used to as much excitement as she had had today. There was still something very sad about the girl, for all her animation.

“See, Paul!” she cried, holding out a bracelet of dangling gold bangles, “I bought this from the gypsy woman. She told my fortune, too. And this lace”—she held out a bolt of the exquisite stuff—“it is the very finest, and quite expensive, but it will be lovely on my petticoats. I had a huge sausage rolled in bread, and some candy.” She was chattering like a child let out on holiday after months of dreary imprisonment. Paul listened to her as one would listen to a child, letting them prattle on, not really paying any attention.