Dear Dragon

by Sara Seale

  "What a strange mixture you are," Alice said slowly, and knew that in other circumstances she might even have come to like Trelawny.

  "Don't kid yourself!" Trelawny said with Keverne's mocking grin. "You and I are never likely to vow eternal friendship. Just keep out of my hair, Alice, that's all."

  Alice walked away between the flowering shrubs to look for Doone. She walked carefully as if not only the soles of her feet were tender. The revelation of her own heart was, as yet, only something precious to be carried within her, to be treated as fragile and not examined too closely. This was not the time when Aunt Brown's gentle voice would come over the shadows, bidding her to take stock of herself.

  She found Doone in a little overgrown rock garden which had long ago been deserted. The child sat, pulling at the tangle of weeds which sprawled over the stones, her thin fingers a mute testimony of rejection.

  "You've been crying," Alice said, squatting down beside her in the abandoned rockery. "What's the matter, Doone?"

  The little girl lifted strange, unchildlike eyes to hers.

  "I don't like the way Trelawny talks to you," she said. "She's different — everybody's different. Don't ever leave me, Alice — promise?"

  "My poppet, I can't promise that," Alice replied gently. "I'm only here for a time, like the other Zombies — remember?"

  "But you aren't a Zombie. You're my Alice and I must have you for always . . ."

  "Always is a long time," Alice said, gathering the child

  into her arms. "You will grow up and I — well, I must grow up, too."

  They clung together, the young girl and the child, and Alice knew that for both of them a change of heart had come. Doone's growing pains could be shared, but her own, more adult, more sharply defined were a burden to be borne alone.

  "Come along," she said. "It will soon be lunch time. Let's go in and get you tidied up."

  "Can't I start having lunch with you?"

  "If you like. I'll tell Mrs. Biddle."

  Alice was glad that the child was abandoning, willingly, the last of her invalid ways, but the meal was not a great success. Trelawny, bored by purely feminine company, made no effort at small talk, and Emma seemed distrait. It was left to Alice to keep the conversational ball rolling and she had to admit that Doone, with her fads and whimsies, hardly helped the proceedings.

  "For goodness' sake, Doone, if you're going to be promoted to the dining-room, try to conduct yourself with some semblance of restraint!" Trelawny snapped at last.

  "It's not your dining-room! You're not mistress here, yet!' Doone replied, and Alice was a little shocked by the venom in the child's voice.

  "That's rude, Doone," she said quickly. "Trelawny is a guest here."

  "Thank you, Alice, but you needn't bother," Trelawny said, with a little curl of her lips. "Doone is, probably, merely jealous."

  "Why should I be jealous?" Doone demanded.

  "Because, my sweet, you've been the centre of attention here too long. You're only a little girl, after all," Trelawny replied, and Emma said, with an impatience that was rare in her:

  "Oh, stop trying to get a rise out of the child, Trelawny. She's quite right — you're not a mistress here, yet."

  There was a small silence, during which they all looked at each other with startled awareness. Doone, thought Alice, uneasily, could fling that sort of remark at Trelawny and merely be considered rude and childish, but when Emma said the same thing the implication had an ugly sound.

  "I'm sorry," Emma said almost immediately. "I shouldn't have said that."

  "Why not?" Trelawny drawled, recovering her composure at once. "It may not be palatable, Emma, but it's probably true."

  "No, no!" shouted Doone. "Alice is going to stay here, not you! I shall tell Pendragon — he always listens to me."

  "For crying out loud!" Trelawny exclaimed, then looked at Alice with narrowed eyes. "Is this your doing? Don't think by turning the brat against me you'll further your own ends, my dear."

  "I'll take her away," Alice said wearily. "It will be better, I think, Doone, if you continue to have your meals in your own room for the present. Come along."

  III

  The atmosphere seemed little better when the men came home in the evening. Pndragon, it appeared, had sacked the man who had thrown the brick, and he and Keverne were still arguing in the hall, while Merryn dashed upstairs to assure himself that none of his other fish had died in his absence.

  "You could have turned a blind eye, Pendragon, "Keverne was saying. "The May Day frolics usually end in brick-heaving or broken crowns. What's so sacred about Polrame windows?"

  "It's not entirely a question of that, as you ought to know," Keir replied wearily, as though the argument had been gone over many times without any conclusion. "That particular man has been a trouble-maker all along. This unrest we've been having can all be traced back to him. He's a paid agitator, from all one hears, and best out of the way."

  "It'll cause trouble. What'll you do if the men come out on strike?"

  "The same as any other company owner, I suppose. It wouldn't be the first time."

  "Can you afford to let the mine stand idle for a matter of pride?"

  "It's a matter of principle, not of pride," Keir said

  sharply. "You can't let them get away with this sort of thing. Bricks through windows is one thing, I agree, but subversive undermining of morale is quite another. You've already let me down by granting permission for the illict bonfire, so hold your peace about matters that don't immediately concern you."

  "Oh, I know very well I'm only one of the workers and have no say in the management of the business," Keverne said, with bitter sarcasm. "All the same, you can't keep your union workers down like you can your own family."

  "That old chip on your shoulder again? Then why don't you get out?" Pendragon said quite pleasantly, and Trelawny, who had been listening with brilliant, avid eyes, slipped a hand through Keverne's arm.

  "Don't rise to that one, darling," she said. "The day may not be far distant."

  "What day?"

  "When you can be bought out, if you want." "Pendragon can't do it."

  "But I can," Trelawny said softly, and held out a hand to Keir. "You wouldn't want to keep poor Keverne — or Merryn, for the matter of that — if they wanted to go, would you, darling?"

  Keir did not take her offered hand, but stood looking at her, a curious expression on his face. The slanting brows and narrowed eyes gave little away, and Alice wondered if only she saw how deadly tired he was.

  "This is old ground," he said, "and hardly concerns you, I think, Trelawny."

  "You should know better, Keir," she said softly. "I'm ready to play ball when you are."

  He must, thought Alice, be aware of the invitation behind her casual statement, of the provocation in the lines of her tall, strong body, standing there between the two dark Pendragons, but before he could answer, Merryn came stumbling down the stairs and across the hall where they were still all gathered.

  "What's been going on?" he demanded with spluttering rage. "The door of my room's been left wide open and the heater's gone out. Don't your realize my Guppies are spawning and they'll probably die!"

  "Oh, God!" Keverne exclaimed disgustedly. "Is that all you can think about when there's a crisis coming up in the mine?"

  "My fish are far more important," Merryn retorted. "Alice, it must have been you — you're the only one who has a key. What were you thinking of to leave the door open and let the heater out?"

  "I went in to check it about tea-time. I'm sure I didn't leave the door open," Alice said, finding this further distraction even more formidable than the rest. She had formed an attachment for Merryn's beautiful fish and had appreciated the compliment he had paid her in making her free of his room.

  "Don't fuss yourself, Alice, it must have been me," Trelawny said calmly. "You'd left the key in the door and I went snooping, as usual. Which are the Guppies, Merryn, and how do you know when they
're going to spawn?"

  Distressed as Alice was on Merryn's account, she was astonished to see how quickly his anger melted. Trelawny had disengaged her arm from Keverne and laid it lightly across his brother's shoulders, and her soft enquiry appeared to hold genuine interest.

  "Come and show them to me, darling. Perhaps I can help you to get the heater going again."

  They went up the stairs, arm-in-arm. Emma, Alice supposed, would say that this was simply Trelawny's old trick of playing one man off against another, but it was not fair, she thought angrily, that poor, simple Merryn's one enthusiasm should be exploited so shamelessly.

  She glanced across at Pendragon and surprised a very curious expression on his face. His eyes followed Trelawny and his half-brother up the stairs, and there was a hint of pain — or was it merely grim amusement — in the deeply cut lines about his mouth.

  It was a relief to Alice when Trelawny packed up and went home the next day. Emma had been right when she said that the girl upset all of them. The Pendragons themselves were unaccountable enough in their moods, but Trelawny had the dangerous gift of not only precipitating them, but turning them to her own advantage.

  "Does she live alone in that house across the moor?" Alice asked as she helped Emma strip the bed which Trelawny had occupied. She had never been invited to Trelawny's home and, until now, had not stopped to wonder how she passed her days.

  "Yes, since her father died. It's a big place, but she has money, of course."

  Emma sat down on the bare matress and pushed the hair back from her forehead. She did not look well, Alice thought, remembering guiltily how much they all took Keverne's wife for granted.

  "You're worried, aren't you?" she said.

  "Yes, I am. There's going to be trouble at the mine and we can't really afford a stoppage of work."

  "But the quarry is a separate interest, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but you never know if the quarrymen mightn't come out in sympathy should the miners strike. Pendragon's worried, I know — bnt that's all beside the point just now. I'm worried for you, Alice. I don't want you to be hurt. I — I've grown fond of you, my dear, but — lately I've felt it might be better if you went away, before — before it's too late."

  "It is too late, dear Emma," Alice said simply and saw the creases of worry deepen in Emma's face.

  "Too late?" she echoed falteringly.

  "Dear Emma," Alice said, smiling down at her with affection. "Can I help it if I've grown fond of Pendragon? That's what you meant, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, I suppose so. Alice, you're too young, too inexperienced, to be hurt by Trelawny as I was. Why not go before that can happen?"

  "Trelawny can only hurt me through Pendragon, and he, you see, can scarcely be expected to care."

  "One never knows with Pendragon, but, Alice-"

  "Yes?"

  "I don't know. Perhaps I shouldn't have interfered, but — first love can be painful."

  "Well, we all have to learn, don't we?"

  The two brothers came back in the evening without Pendragon who, they said, was still trying to reason with the men who had threatened to strike unless the dismissed miner was reinstated.

  Merryn looked worried and even neglected to go upstairs and inspect his fish, but Keverne was in a dangerous mood, blaming his half-brother for the whole business.

  "Pendragon won't move with the times, he's so darned high-and-mighty!" he raged. "Why couldn't he turn a blind eye? What's a brick or two anyway — not worth an unofficial strike that may lead to anything."

  "It was more than just a brick, Keverne," Emma said gravely. "That man, Isacs, has been at the bottom of all this unrest for a long time. Pendragon was only waiting for an opportunity to sack him."

  "More fool he, then! Now he'll only have to climb down and reinstate the chap."

  "Pendragon won't do that."

  "No, he probably damn well won't, just to save bis own face."

  "It isn't a question of that," Merryn said with thoughtful seriousness. "An example has to be made. You can't knuckle under to them."

  "What do you care!" Keverne scoffed. "If the men come out, we'll both be with them and that'll give you all day to moon over your perishing fish and watch them breed."

  "There's plenty of work in the quarry."

  "They'll most likely come out in sympathy and I, for one, shan't care. I've had enough of the family business run for the head of the house. I won't object to some days of idleness."

  Emma was about to speak but Merryn forestalled her, saying with surprising decision:

  "We're Pendragons. Whatever the men may decide we'll have to keep going."

  "We're paid hands, like the rest of 'em, aren't we?" retorted Keverne belligerently. "Let Pendragon carry the can, for a change."

  "Pendragon has always carried the can," Emma said quietly. "We won't wait supper, he's sure to be late."

  They were just leaving the dining-room when Pendragon walked in. Alice thought he looked deadly tired and prayed that Keverne would not promptly make a scene. Emma must have had the same thought, for she tried, not very tactfully, to get her husband out of the room, then gave it up and said she would heat some soup for Keir.

  "Well?" demanded Keverne, sticking out his chin.

  "They come out tomorrow. I couldn't make them see sense," Pendragon replied, and went to the sideboard to pour himself a stiff whisky.

  "You could take the fellow back."

  "And show weakness?"

  "That's all you think about, isn't it, Pendragon? The strong hand in the velvet glove, fhe lord if the manor, Pendragon, the king of the tribe!" Keverne sneered.

  "You're talking nonsense," Keir said mildly, and carried his drink to his place at the head of the table and sat down.

  "Nonsense, when the mine will close down!"

  "The mine will not close down. A handful of the indecisive faction will stand by us for the present. It'll mean hard work and dirty jobs but that can't be helped."

  "Don't count me among the indecisive ones, Pendragon. I'm standing by the men."

  Pendragon looked his half-brother full in the eye.

  "Are you ratting on the family's claims, Keverne?" he asked quietly.

  " Your claims, you mean! I'm only one of your paid workers, Pendragon, like Merryn here."

  "I see. Is that your view, too, Merryn?"

  "Y-yes, but I'll stand by you just the same, Pendragon," Merryn replied, with a slight stammer.

  "Thanks very much! You realize, of course, Keverne, that by siding with the men you will be openly flouting my authority."

  "Why not? The men already know my views. Now, if you could make it worth my while to bolster up your pride, I might change my mind."

  "Worth your while?" repeated Pendragon with ice in his voice.

  "No, Keverne, don't say it!" cried Alice, who knew she had been forgotten by both of them, and, as if she had not spoken, Keverne drawled insolently:

  "If you guarantee to buy me out when the trouble's over, I'll stand by you and go back to work."

  Alice's gaze was fixed on Pendragon's face, hypnotised by his rapidly changing expressions; disbelief, pain, and

  finally cold fury. When he spoke his voice held a deadly quietness.

  "Do you think you can offer bribes to me?" he said. "Even if I were in a position to buy you out, I wouldn't do so on those terms. Blackmail hasn't been one of the Pendragon failings so far."

  "An ugly word, Pendragon."

  "And an ugly proposition. If you want to get out, Keverne, get out before I fire you like that wretched little agitator."

  "I can take my share out of the business if I go."

  "Yes, you can do that. Why didn't you think of it long ago instead of perpetually griping at the hardness of your lot? Now, get out of here and try to have a cooler head by the morning. I've had about enough for one day."

  Emma came back with a bowl of soup which she set before Pendragon and, after one glance at her husband's face, told him the baby ne
eded him upstairs.

  "For crying out loud!" he exclaimed in a burst of fury. "When have I ever done nursemaid?"

  "Not often enough. He's your son; go up and see to him, please. I shall be busy in the kitchen," Emma replied calmly and, to Alice's intense surprise, Keverne turned and left the room without another word.

  "Merryn, I'm sure your fish need attention. Alice, perhaps you'll take some dishes to the kitchen for me?" Emma continued, still with that authoritative quietness, and Alice, springing at once to get herself and the dishes out of the room, saw Keir's face relax in a reluctant smile.

  "I didn't know you had it in you, Emma," he said softly. "Well, now that you've so effectively got rid of everyone in order to leave me in peace, please may I be allowed to retain Alice?"

  "Me!" exclaimed Alice, thoroughly startled.

  "Yes, you have a soothing influence and I don't feel much like my own company. We'll carry out the dishes later, Emma."

  Emma looked uncertainly from one to the other of them. Perhaps she was remembering their earlier conversation, for her eyes lingered longest on Alice with an enquiring little lift of the eyebrows, but when Alice, not pay-

  ing attention, sat down beside Pendragon, folding her hands in her lap like a good child, she smiled and left the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN I

  IT seemed to Alice, afterwards, that they sat there for a long time while moths flew in from the uncurtained windows and fluttered round the lamp, dropping every so often into little sad, brown heaps on the tablecloth. It was strange to hear the familiar noises of the house settle into silence as the night wore on, and strange, too, to listen to Pendragon pouring out the bitterness of his heart to someone he could regard as no more than a safety valve, a stranger to whom confidences could be given and forgotten without fear of reprisal.

  "I'd best let them go, the two of them," he said. "This trouble at the mine will blow over like it has before, but after that I should carry on alone . . . I've been wrong making life easy . . . thinking that family ties and loyalties were important. . . . My father, and his father before him, had such fixed ideas that if never seemed possible that all of us shouldn't share them . . . The fact of different mothers shouldn't have made any difference, should it — should it, Alice?" She knew he was talking to himself as much as to her, but she answered carefully: