05 Whiteoak Heritage

by Mazo de La Roche

  “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?”
<
br />   “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.

  “Oh, gee,” he whimpered, “the storm’s awful!”

  Eden grinned. “I thought you liked it. I thought you’d like to sleep right out in it.”

  Finch opened his eyes which he had kept tightly shut. They were met by the fierce glare of lightning. He shut them again and scrambled in a panic across Piers’s body. Eden put his pillow beneath his head, turning the wet side down.

  “Thank you, Eden.” Finch burrowed into the pillow. He pulled the sheet over his head.

  Eden jerked Piers’s pillow from under his head and plumped it down on his face.

  “Take that! You lazy dog!” he said.

  He closed the window and went to his own room. He sat down by his desk and leant his head on his hand. He did not close his window but sat looking out into the storm. A feeling of melancholy crept over him. What was it all about? What had happened to him tonight? No great experience was over but something was done with. Why had he made a fool of Uncle Ernest? He had got the better of him. He had shown the family that he would go his own way. But what was that way? Where, oh where, would it lead him?

  XIV

  RAGS’S WEDDING

  AFTER THE STORM, morning broke fair as a flower. The grass had been washed till every blade shone. The curled petals of dahlias which had been filled with rain now spilled it out as the heavy blooms drooped. There was a wind from the west and round white clouds like chariots were rolled across the sky.

  In the kitchen all was preparation for the wedding. Eliza had come back to take Rags’s place while he went on his honeymoon which was to be a two days excursion to Niagara Falls. Eliza was disapproving of the union between two people both of whom she disliked. It would have been better, she thought, if neither of them had come to Jalna, let alone being married there and settling down to be as common and as wasteful as they chose. She disapproved still more the family’s making their wedding a gala occasion, just as though the two had been serving well at Jalna for years. But the old lady had taken a fancy to Rags, also she liked excitement of any sort, on any pretext. There she was in her room, choosing what cap to wear, just as though it were the wedding of one of the family! She had bought Maggie a fine silk dress and Rags a pair of cufflinks. Generally she was close enough. It took a wedding to loosen her purse strings. It was a pity there were no weddings in the family. There was Mr. Ernest who should have been married long ago. There was Miss Meg who had been treated so cruelly by Mr. Vaughan. If only some other nice man would come along and win her!

  There was Mr. Renny! Eliza’s lips took a downward curve when she thought of him, but her eyes softened. There was one thing about the affair, she would enjoy doing her old work again for a couple of days, investigating the corners, seeing how Rags kept the silver. Eliza would say this for Maggie, that she had prepared an appetizing array of dishes to tide the family over her absence. But what airs the woman put on, with her hair frizzed and her feet crammed into high-heeled slippers, and a red fox fur for going away in — with the thermometer likely to rise to eighty. Worst of all, Rags had stuck labels from a hotel in Paris on their two suitcases! How had he come by them? Eliza could not trust herself to speak of these. She just gave them a look of scornful unbelief as Rags set the cases, with a lordly air, by the kitchen door for the housemaid to carry out. Still, it was nice to be at Jalna once more, to take the old lady’s breakfast to her, to fetch Mr. Renny’s shaving water and to see how little Wakefield had made friends with him.

  The boys were to miss afternoon school in order to be home in time for the wedding. The preparations for it had given Piers and Finch that feeling of hilarity which made them mislay each of their belongings in turn, dawdle over their breakfast and seem likely to miss their train. Eden was preoccupied and inclined to be irritable with his juniors.

  As the three sped along the country road on their bicycles toward the little railway station, Eden felt irked by the monotony of these journeyings. Yet he infinitely preferred them to being in residence in the college. He wished he had Oxford ahead of him. His uncles had gone there but the family exchequer would no longer run to it, or so at least Renny said. For some reason which he did not try to fathom, his mind turned resolutely away from the affair of the night before. The poetic intimacy between him and Amy Stroud he felt was no longer possible. What would follow he did not know. What he did know was that she no longer existed for him as a woman. She had become a symbol. As a symbol he would defend her against — what? Again his mind turned away from the thought.

  His brothers were pressing too close behind him. It was understood that he should lead the way. Yet he could see the front wheel of Piers’s bicycle and he gave him a warning look over his shoulder. The freshness of the air succeeding the sultriness of the day before, the hilarity of the wedding preparations, made Piers oblivious to Eden’s senior claim. He rode past him through a deep puddle, sending a spray of muddy water over Eden’s grey-flannelled legs. Finch, following blindly in Piers’s wake, did the same. As he passed Eden and saw the fury in his face, he pedalled with all his might, almost colliding with Piers’s back wheel.

  “Look out!” shouted Piers.

  “You young blighters!” exclaimed Eden.

  Finch wobbled distractedly. It seemed that he would topple over and that Eden would crash into him but somehow he righted himself and sped, grinning insanely, after Piers into the station yard.

  Eden followed slowly, wishing that he had the two at home. They hurried, exchanging mischievous looks, into the baggage room where they were allowed to keep their bicycles. They stood them against the wall and, not able to control their hilarious grins, watched Eden approach.

  “I suppose you think you’re funny,” he said scathingly.

  They stared speechless at his damaged trousers.
/>
  “It’s hard on a fellow,” he said, “to have two such imbeciles always at his heels.”

  Piers’s eyes met his daringly. Finch giggled. Eden banged his bicycle into its place. He continued:

  “I had a mind to pull you off your bikes and roll the two of you over into that puddle.”

  “Oh no, you wouldn’t!” said Piers.

  “I wouldn’t, eh?”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “I’d like to know why.”

  “You might do it to the kid — not me!”

  “Not you, eh? Come back with me now and I’ll show you.”

  “All right.” Piers turned truculently toward the door. Eden walked close beside him. He said:

  “If you come back with me to that puddle, you’ll be sorry.”

  “So will you.”

  The whistle of the locomotive shrieked at the crossing. Several people, carrying suitcases, hastened across the platform.

  “I can’t do it in front of these people,” said Eden. “I’ll see you about it later.” He took out his handkerchief and attempted to dry the mud spots on his trousers.

  He jostled Piers against the door as they entered the carriage, and had the satisfaction of seeing him wince. There was only one vacant seat to be had. Eden took it and, drawing a book from his pocket, settled down to dignified reading. He ignored the two who had to stand by his side all the way to town. Each time Finch raised his eyes to Piers’s face. Piers winked at him.

  Ernest slept late that morning. He had slept heavily the whole night through. He felt heavy-eyed and oppressed in spirit when he woke but after a cold bath his depression lifted. In reviewing the events of the night before he felt the exhilaration of one who has had a narrow escape. What might not have happened if his intimacy with Amy Stroud had progressed? He might have been drawn into marriage with her and some instinct told him that she was not the wife for him. He doubted if the woman lived who was the wife for him. He had done his best to win Mrs. Stroud from Eden. He had been worsted. His spirit was tranquil. No more hot walks to her house. No more long fervid conversations that left him feeling tired. He would gracefully fade out of the picture. He would pass the torch to other hands. Let Nick have a go at her!