The Quicksilver Pool

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  Ambrose and Peter were already on hand. Clothilde, the French housekeeper, and the other women servants were drawing water from the well, while men stood on ladders throwing pails of it upon the roofs of stable and servants’ quarters nearest to the danger. Over everything hung the ominous white haze and the air was uncomfortable to breathe.

  The bells of rival fire companies could be heard clanging up the hill and in a few moments the horses of the Zephyr Company appeared, pulling the heavy engine up the drive, while volunteer firemen overran the grounds. A few were equipped with red hats and shirts, but most of them had come dressed as they were when the alarm sounded. Hose was quickly lowered into the well and volunteers manned the hand pump.

  Lora stood for a few moments watching the single, thin stream of water begin the doubtful task of watering down the space of brush back of the Channing grounds. The second fire company had arrived shortly behind the first, but its men stood idly by, watching the progress of the fire up the hill. It was likely that they would not lift a finger unless the first company agreed to “slice the melon” by sharing the insurance company’s reward. The sight made Lora indignant, but she knew there was no way to oppose this ridiculous system. Not even if the house burned down.

  She went to work in the kitchen, setting a huge coffee pot on the stove. The reviving powers of the brew would be needed in the hours ahead while all hands worked at the emergency.

  Through the kitchen window she could hear the not too distant crackling of flames. The stifling smell of the fire now pervaded the entire house and her eyes smarted constantly.

  Morgan came up from the cellar carrying a stack of gunny sacking to be taken outside and soaked with water, in the event of hand-to-hand fighting with encroaching flames. She glanced at Lora, apparently taking her efforts for granted, and ran outside at once with her burden.

  Lora found big china cups kept for the use of the servants and filled them with the steaming liquid. These she set on a tray and carried outside to serve to whoever needed a respite. Again and again she made the trip, for the coffee was accepted gratefully wherever she went.

  The scene was one of furious activity by now. More distant neighbors, attracted by the blaze, climbed the hill to help. All were pitching in with a will except for the idle volunteers, who stood about cracking jokes at the expense of the working company.

  But still the flames ate their way upward and the sound of the roaring grew constantly louder. One could feel a pulsing of heat in the air, even at this distance. The wind blew in uncertain bursts and there were moments when it seemed that it might shift to another direction. But always it veered again to the uphill attack.

  Now many of the men had stripped to the waist in the warming sun, facing the still fiercer heat of the fire as it blazed up the hill toward them. Lora could not refrain from keeping a nurse’s eye out for Adam, who should certainly not be up here doing such work as this when he had been so recently ill. But she did not see him among the groups she visited.

  After she had handed around her current serving of coffee she looked for him deliberately and saw that he was working alone at a distance from the others, chopping at scrubby dry brush, working toward the line of a firebreak that had been started immediately back of the servants’ quarters. Lora set her tray of empty cups down and picked up the last cup of coffee she had been saving for him. Then she walked behind the buildings to the place where his ax lifted and fell against the brush. It looked as though there would be little time left before the whole fight would become a hand-to-hand matter, with only wet gunny sacking and that single weak stream of water to fight the devouring fury.

  Adam saw her coming and threw down his ax for a moment as he wiped dripping sweat from his forehead. He grinned as if he were really enjoying himself. His shirt was streaked with soil and plastered against his body, and he took the time now to pull it off and toss it in a heap on the grass. His muscular shoulders and stocky torso shone wet in the sunlight.

  “Hello, Nurse,” he said. “You couldn’t be more welcome.”

  He reached for the cup she held out to him and drank the coffee in a few deep draughts. As he drank he stood with his legs braced and his hand shook a little when he gave back the cup.

  She began to feel sorry that she had summoned him to this task. “You shouldn’t be doing this,” she told him. “Couldn’t you work at something less strenuous? You’re quite likely to collapse and then the others will have to stop work to come and carry you into the house.”

  “I’m not the collapsing kind,” he told her, and weaved a little on his legs.

  She put out a hand to steady him and he startled her by catching it in his own. There was a daredevil light in his eyes. Before she could pull away, he drew her into the circle of his arms and put his mouth hard upon her own. She could feel the damp warmth of his body beneath her hands, taste the salt sweat of his kiss. For a queer, heady moment her pulses quickened in response and her lips were soft beneath his own. Then she pushed away furiously, wiped her palm across her mouth.

  As suddenly as he had drawn her to him, he held her at arm’s length, laughing down at her, recognizing fully her instant of surrender.

  “Your—fever has returned,” she cried desperately, hating the tremor in her voice. “I’ll send someone here at once.”

  He had picked up the ax to return to his work, but now he let his hand fall and leaned on the handle. “Wait! I’m suffering from no fever. I kissed you because that was what I’ve long had in mind. And if you were not a rabbit—but since you are, you’d better scurry for safety, lest I try again.”

  She could find no words stinging enough with which to demolish him. She picked up her skirts and fled toward the house with the hateful sound of his laughter ringing behind her.

  He was a dreadful person—uncouth, unpredictable, dangerous. Her blood burned with hot anger and her hands trembled. She could only hope that no one had seen what had happened. But now the roar of the fire was frighteningly near and she put the thought of Adam out of her mind.

  Tiny, fluttering tongues of the enemy advance reached to the very edge of the cleared space, like the flags of an invading army, and smoke rose blue above the spreading area of fire. Every gust of wind carried drifting smudges of ash. The defenders stood ready with wet sacking to flail at any lighting spark and the firemen rested a moment at their pumping and held the hose ready to quell such attack as might be made on the roof or wall. If only the wind would cease its irregular blasts, the stable might be saved. Long since, the horses had been removed and tethered in the lower woods at John Ambrose’s direction and the carriages moved to safety. But the servants’ quarters were over the stable and now Clothilde and others were pitching their belongings out the window, or carrying them away tied in bed sheets. Now and then Lora glimpsed John Ambrose moving capably and calmly among the excited throng.

  There was no time now for coffee; the real battle was about to be posed. Lora carried her tray of empty cups to the kitchen and set them down with a rattle as the disturbing memory of Adam’s kiss swept back. Even more disturbing was her realization of the momentary response she had given him. She dampened her handkerchief and scrubbed her mouth free of his kiss. But there was no time to waste on personal resentments. She must find something else useful to do. Perhaps she could help remove valuables from this house, in case the danger increased.

  She went into the hall, meaning to look for Morgan, when she heard the sound of raised voices from the front of the house—as if some argument was going on. This was no moment for ordinary manners and she hurried to investigate.

  The drawing-room door was ajar and she pushed it wide without ceremony. Morgan and Wade stood with their backs toward her. Morgan seemed to be resisting valiantly some request which Wade pressed upon her. Lora broke in on them at once.

  “Morgan! The fire has reached the cleared places now. If it jumps to the stable anything can happen. Have you packed up what you want to save? You may have to abandon the h
ouse.”

  Morgan looked at her as blankly as though she had forgotten the fire. But Lora’s words seemed to encourage Wade in his purpose.

  “It has to come down,” he insisted to Morgan. “You musn’t risk having it burned to ashes.”

  Anger blazed in Morgan’s eyes. “I am still mistress of this house. I’ll be happy to see it burn with the house, if the house must burn!”

  Wade turned away from her to stride the length of the room as swiftly as his limp allowed him. And now Lora saw his purpose. The draperies had been pulled back from the painting of Morgan and Virginia, and as Wade went toward it she saw the kitchen knife in his hand and realized that he meant to cut the canvas from its frame.

  Morgan, however, flew down the room ahead of him, her state plainly one of near hysteria. “Let it burn, I tell you! I won’t have Virginia staring at me any longer with those pale eyes. All along I’ve wanted to see that picture destroyed.”

  “Don’t behave like the heroine of a bad play,” Wade said coldly, and there was a lash to his tone. “I’m only trying to save a valuable work of art. There are other possessions about the house which you should be giving your attention to, as Lora has pointed out.”

  Morgan seemed to go suddenly limp, and he pushed her aside easily, reached toward the picture with his knife.

  Lora ran to help him. “Here—I’ll push this desk over. Then I can stand on it and reach the higher part of the picture. It should be saved for Jemmy’s sake. Give me the knife.”

  There was surprise in the look Wade turned upon her, but he handed her the knife and would have helped her clamber onto the desk.

  But just then a shouting from outside reached them. Morgan started as if she had wakened from some spell and ran out of the room. Something had certainly occurred outside. Lora tossed the knife onto the desk.

  “Let’s see what’s happened,” she said to Wade, and he limped beside her as she went toward the rear of the house.

  They stood at the back door together, watching the frantic scene in the yard. Flames were running up the ridgepole of the stable roof, hissing as the single stream from the firemen’s hose harried them futilely. They darted along the shingles, zigzagging downward, and the crowd in the yard watched the doomed building helplessly. In a few moments a fierce burst of light behind the panes revealed that the interior too was blazing.

  But now at last the wind, having satisfied its capricious will, seemed to be dying out altogether and no more sparks and burning embers were being carried across the bare expanse of yard toward the main house. At only one point did the fire seem to have leaped across the firebreaks. Along the rest of the line it seemed to be satiating its appetite among the stubble, burning itself out in black patches.

  Adam came toward them across the yard, streakings of soot smearing his upper body, his hair and eyebrows singed. Lora looked away from him quickly, standing very close to Wade.

  “You should have arrived sooner,” Adam said dryly to Wade. “We could have used an extra hand.”

  “I’m afraid I’d have done you little good as a helper,” Wade admitted.

  Lora could only turn a furious look upon Adam, hating the flush that rose in her cheeks. Even as she turned purposefully away from him, she knew that he had noted it and was amused.

  Now the stable and the quarters above were burning fiercely and even the firemen had given up wasting further water on the conflagration. Off to the left and right down the hillside the fire seemed to be dying out—balked on one hand by a stony meadow which had long been cleared of trees, and on the other by a road which cut through the woodland, edged for a distance by a low stone wall.

  Adam stretched himself upon the ground, looking really ill now and no longer able to stand. He fumbled with his shirt, buttoning it on, then folded his arms across drawn-up knees and leaned his head upon them. If he were ill, let other hands succor him, Lora thought, still angry and shaken.

  Wade touched her arm gently. “I think there’s no further use in staying here. We ought to get back to Mother. She’ll be worried. But first let’s ask Morgan if there’s anything else we can do.”

  There was a crash and a shower of sparks as the stable roof fell in, but now more smoke than flame shot up and the blaze was quite evidently eating itself out.

  Morgan was nowhere in sight and they went through the back door into the house. Clothilde met them in the hallway, plainly distraught. She was a thin, nervous woman, dressed in black with a white apron tied about her waist.

  “Please!” she cried to Lora and Wade. “Madame Channing does the so terrible thing. Please, you will go to stop her.”

  She waved them toward the drawing room. Lora and Wade went quickly to the door.

  Morgan had climbed upon the desk Lora had pulled before the picture and she stood upon it with her legs braced and the kitchen knife upheld in her right hand. She was hacking roughly at a space near the center of the picture, and the white gash above the knife showed what damage had already been done.

  “Morgan! Stop!” Wade cried. He went across the room as quickly as he could manage with his cane. When Morgan turned he reached up and twisted the knife from her hand.

  “Give it back to me!” she cried, stamping her foot on the inlaid desk top. “You wanted the picture of Virginia, didn’t you? Well, I was going to give it to you. I don’t want it—so the thing might as well be cut in two. Then I can be free of the way she watches me.”

  Wade stepped out of her reach with the knife. “I can’t stop you if you choose to do something hysterical. But it isn’t necessary to ruin the picture. I’d thought to save the whole thing, not deface it that way.”

  She stared at him for a long moment and then crumpled suddenly on the desk, her black skirts billowing about her. She put her head in her hands and began to sob uncontrollably. Clothilde, who had hovered in the background, ran toward her and began to wave a bottle of smelling salts near her nose. Morgan flung up her head and slapped the green bottle from Clothilde’s hand. It struck a chair and shattered, staining the carpet. For a moment the pungent odor was choking.

  “Get that away from me!” Morgan cried. “And go! Go away, all of you! As if I hadn’t had enough to bear today.” She stared angrily at Wade. “What do you know of how it is—having her up there on the wall staring at me, blaming me? I’ve tried to hide her face behind those draperies, but she looks at me right through the cloth. Day and night. What am I to do? What am I to do?” She rocked her body back and forth in torment, her head in her hands again.

  Lora turned to Wade. “I’ve seen this sort of thing before. Clothilde and I will manage. Please go home. We musn’t keep your mother waiting any longer. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

  Morgan’s state was quite evidently something Wade was glad to escape. “Don’t stay too long,” he said, and went out of the room.

  Lora took Morgan’s arm firmly. “We’re going to get you to bed now. A good sleep will make you feel better. Come along with us.”

  The quiet, authoritative tones of adult to child seemed to have some effect. Morgan sobbed convulsively, but she slipped obediently from the desk. Lora silenced Clothilde’s clucking with a glance and put her arm about Morgan’s waist, led her quietly from the room. Adam stood in the hallway, leaning against the newel post as if he needed to cling to something to stay erect. But Lora had no interest in a second patient When he would have spoken she shook her head at him sternly and it was likely that Morgan, her handkerchief to her eyes, did not even notice him as Lora led her up the stairs.

  When Morgan had been undressed and given hot milk to drink, she lay back upon her pillows and closed her eyes. The hysteria had gone out of her and she was drowsy and spent Lora sent Clothilde away to help settle the servants into temporary quarters in the big house and to summon Morgan’s father here. Then only the two of them were together in the darkened room.

  Discovering that it was afternoon and she was growing hungry, Lora had accepted the glass of milk and thick slic
es of homemade bread and jam Clothilde took time to bring her. She ate now and watched Morgan drowsing in the big bed.

  But Morgan was not asleep. Once her heavy lids fluttered open and she stared at Lora. “Why are you being kind to me?” she demanded.

  “You need me,” Lora said simply. She smiled, attempting to keep her tone light. “Adam says I can never keep away from anyone who needs me.”

  A faint light of interest sparked into the dark gaze. “I saw you kissing him this morning—down there at the far corner of the yard.”

  Lora said nothing. There were no words which would place the blame on Adam and exonerate her. She could only wish that of all people Morgan had not seen what happened.

  “I don’t blame you for turning elsewhere. Not with Wade for a husband. Why do I still want him, Lora? Why should I fight anyone to get him when I know he’s not worth it?”

  “Be quiet,” Lora said. “Don’t say things you’ll be sorry for. Things that aren’t true. You don’t want Wade, and I’m not turning to Adam. Go to sleep.”

  Morgan’s eyes closed and she lay very still. When Ambrose came quietly into the room she did not stir or open her eyes. Lora put her finger to her lips.

  “I’ll stay a while,” he whispered. “But I think she’ll be right enough now.”

  Lora thanked him with a smile and made her escape.

  Downstairs she paused at the drawing-room door and looked in. The desk had been returned to its accustomed place and the green velvet curtain hid Virginia, hid the slashed place between the two figures where Morgan’s knife had cut through the canvas.

  Lora sighed and hurried to the front door, inexpressibly glad to be free of the emotional tumult of this house. On the front steps Wade sat, his cane beside him, one leg outstretched. He looked up as she came down the steps.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

  XXIV

  Wade got to HIS feet unsteadily and smiled down at her.

  “You didn’t climb that long hill again just for me?” Lora protested.