“Why?” rapped out Adeline.
“Furs are so expensive.”
“I have plenty of money. And I’m making more, I may tell you.”
Still no one suspected what she was up to. Yet no one could help noticing how alert, how lucid was her mind, compared with what it ordinarily was. Not only did she insist that the new coat should be inspected and several sent to her on approval, but she began to talk of other expenditures — a new carpet for her room — fresh silver plating for certain old Sheffield pieces (What if the copper does show through, Mamma, it only proves that they are Sheffield!) — new upholstery for the dining-room chairs — new cushions for the pews in the church. To be sure, much of this was only talk, but some of it was earnest and rather frightening.
Eden, from being thrown into panic by her every reference to money-making, now became reckless of consequences. In fact, he could scarcely restrain his mirth to see her ancient spreading of her wings and the family’s fears. When he and she were alone he would throw his arms about her, hug her, and exclaim:
“We were not born yesterday, were we, Granny?”
And she, rejoicing in his youth and freshness, would stroke his bright hair and plant a kiss on his smooth cheek.
Nicholas and Ernest both were tempted to disclose to the other his activities on the stock market, but each had at various times declared his determination never again to speculate and each held back from the disclosure till a more substantial sum had accumulated. But Ernest could not resist confiding the secret to his sister, Lady Buckley. She had been complaining of the cruel increase in income tax when he said, with that affectionate note in his voice which always drew her to him:
“Gussie, dear, it does seem a shame that you should be troubled by this when the means to overcome it is right at hand.”
She raised her arched black brows enquiringly.
“Mining stock,” he brought out. “Indigo Lake. Gold.”
“But, Ernest —”
“Oh, I wouldn’t urge you. But only let me tell you my little story. And remember it’s in confidence. I heard of this mine through Eden. He met a mining broker, by sheer lucky chance, who has these shares for sale. Through Eden I have invested just under five thousand dollars and — let me tell you — I’ve practically doubled my money!” His blue eyes sparkled with pleasure.
“Does Nicholas know of this?”
“No one knows but Eden and myself. The Americans are buying up the shares so fast that I doubt if there are any to be had, but — if there are — you couldn’t do a better thing than …”
She said judicially — “The thing for you to do, Ernest, is to sell out while the price is high and conserve your gains.”
He could not help smiling at the idea of her giving him advice. He said — “Not I. Not till I’ve made a nice thing out of it.”
“But you already have.”
“Oh, I mean a really nice thing. Gussie, it’s a wonderful opportunity.
Do let me have Eden tell you all about it.”
She agreed to that. Eden, who had acquired the almost professional tone, was delighted to show his aunt the brightly coloured brochure depicting the Indigo Lake Mine in action. The persuasion of Ernest, Eden, and the brochure were more than Augusta could resist. She owned some stock in a Canadian railway and these she arranged with Eden’s help to sell.
She demanded to be taken to interview Mr. Kronk that she might see for herself what sort of man he was and hear the details from his own lips. Eden had no hesitation in arranging that meeting, for he was sure that Mr. Kronk would be able to instil perfect confidence in the mind of any speculator. And he was not wrong.
Ostensibly to visit a dentist she asked Eden to accompany her. They borrowed the family car and set out, an oddly assorted pair, for the city.
She was far too honest to have said she was going where she had no intention to go, but her visit to the dentist was brief, being no more than to have a denture which caused some irritation eased a little. She had a pleasant sense of adventure.
Mr. Kronk had lately acquired an office, in the rear of a rather shabby building. You approached it by way of a long narrow passage that smelt a little of drains. His name was not on the door, which was kept locked. After a knock, a fat, pale office-boy opened the door, enquired your business, and, if Mr. Kronk were free to receive you, you were admitted. Certainly he was not only free but eager to meet Augusta and Eden. When the introduction took place he looked up into Augusta’s face with an expression so kind, honest, and intelligent that she was drawn to him at once. He held her hand a little longer than was usual, in his hand that was rather remarkably large for his size. He had black hair, a sallow complexion, and dark eyes in which there were greenish flecks. The office, though so small, was luxuriously furnished.
XI
DILLY
“Tell me about your eldest brother,” Dilly had said to Eden. “He has such an interesting face.”
On a day of extraordinary heat for October they were seated on a garden seat under the old mulberry tree whose fallen berries lay wasting in the sun, and she repeated the question. “Why,” Eden returned, “there’s not much to tell. He’s a distinct character, either good or bad, according to your conception of good and bad.”
“What fun!” she cried.
“Yes, he can be great fun. On the other hand he can be quite — intimidating.”
“Should I think him good or bad?”
“I think you’d call him good. He’s a kind brother — if you behave yourself — a devoted grandson and nephew — a lover of this land and his horses and dogs.”
“Then how could he be bad?”
Eden made a small movement of irritation. “Bad is an old-fashioned word. Let’s discard it.”
“But it was you who brought it in.”
“I suppose I meant that a certain type of person might use the word bad about him.”
“Could I be that type?”
“Never.”
“Am I a type?”
“Do you want to be?”
“No, indeed.”
“Then you’re not.”
With such youthful sparring they became better acquainted. But she did not interest Eden except that he envied her the things she had done which he had longed to do. London was familiar to her. She had been to France and Italy. What she had acquired from her travels, other than a pat knowingness about sightseeing and foreign hotels, he could not discover. Yet the glamour of her experience hung like an aura about her. When he told her confidentially that he expected to go abroad next year she was ready with the advice of a seasoned traveller, though her journeys had been brief and with a group of girls under the care of a teacher and guide.
She irritated Eden by her curiosity about Renny. He himself was not without experience, he thought, and he had a mind to punish her. He would like to give her something to say besides — “What fun!” To invest. That would put a different face on affairs. Eden had an almost tender feeling toward any possible investor in the Indigo Lake Mine. If Dilly could talk largely he could do a bit of boasting himself.
He said — “I suppose you’re not interested in gold mines.”
She stared. “I’ve never thought about them. But I have a friend in South Africa whose husband is in mining. I may be going there to visit her next year.”
“I wasn’t thinking of South Africa. We have gold mines right here, you know.”
“Not really!” Her tone implied disbelief.
“Well, look here.” He took the folder from his pocket. He had got a fresh uncrumpled one from Mr. Kronk. He showed her the pictures, read from it what she could understand, and ended — “Please don’t mention it. My family know nothing of it.”
She stared. “But I thought you were studying law.”
“So I am. This is just on the side.” He could not keep from adding — “Large fortunes are being made out of this mine. Not by me, of course. But — well — I haven’t done too badly.”
It came, just as he had expected.
“What fun!”
The midday sunlight discovered no flaw in Dilly’s complexion. The whites of her eyes were exquisitely clear. Eden put an arm along the back of the seat in a new intimacy.
“Remember, this is a secret — between you and me,” he said. “Renny’d be in my hair if he found out.”
“Oh, I’m such a one for secrets! Everybody tells me their secrets. I wonder why.”
Eden also wondered why, but he said — “I suppose you have the gift of inspiring confidences. But this is scarcely worthy of you. It’s just hard-headed business.”
She exclaimed — “But I come from a business family. Cotton mills. I know a great deal about business. I wish I were into this gold mine affair — if it were ever so little. It would give me something new to think about.” A shadow crossed her face and Eden remembered she had a disappointment in love.
He said gravely — “The shares cost little, considering the potentialities. But they’re being bought up very fast.”
“What do they cost?” She spoke with almost abrupt shrewdness.
Eden explained the present position of Indigo Lake shares with a skill equal almost to that of Mr. Kronk. He smiled as he heard himself use the broker’s very phrases. He had little hope that she would buy shares, yet the mine loomed so large in his thoughts that he could no resist talking of it. But Dilly was surprisingly receptive and showed herself eager to learn all he had to tell her of Indigo Lake. Suddenly she said:
“I have a thousand dollars which my trust company has deposited in a bank here — for travelling expenses or in case of emergency. But I don’t want to travel. I want to stay here in this delightful house — that is, if you think your family can tolerate me.”
“Oh, they all — we all, love having you.”
She said happily — “Then I’ll do it!”
“What if an emergency crops up?”
“Then I could sell my shares, couldn’t I?”
“Of course. And at a profit.”
It was too easy, he thought. The girl had more money than brains. Almost he wished he had been more reticent. Now there would be six investors at Jalna. Eden smiled to himself considering all he had accomplished in so short a while, and to the benefit of all six. Looking up into the mulberry tree, he forgot Dilly, and saw himself strolling along a street in Paris, past shrubs in green-painted tubs, in front of pavement cafés where those seated at the little tables had a gaiety he longed for. Their glances seemed to beckon him. Then he was on the Corso in Taormina watching the goatherd driving his little herd to be milked in the purple twighlight.
“Dreams,” said Dilly, and he felt her hand on his hair.
He started, bringing himself up with a jerk.
“Now I’ve shocked you,” she cried.
“Lord, no.”
“But I had to touch it. It’s so beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He stroked down the rumpled lock.
“I know you think I’m forward,” she said, “but I never was what you’d call shy, and this coming to a new country has excited me. I feel ready for anything. Have you ever felt like that?”
An odd smile bent Eden’s lips. “A few times.”
“Oh, tell me.”
He was relieved by the appearance of Pheasant Vaughan, who could be seen through the trees that rose above the ravine making her way toward the stables.
“Who is she?” demanded Dilly. “Is she in riding clothes?”
“Yes. She’s the daughter of a neighbour. She’s going to ride one of our horses at the Show.”
“What fun!” But Dilly, for some reason, did not look amused. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
“How ridiculous — she’ll never do it properly.”
“She couldn’t make a fault on that horse. Besides she’s very good, though my brother has only been training her for two months. Should you like to come over to the paddock and watch them?”
Dilly sprang up with an elastic strength and buoyancy. “I’d love to.”
She led the way, as though restive. “Do you think your brother would lend me a horse to ride? I adore riding.”
“I’m sure he would,” Eden promised, not being at all sure.
At the white-painted palings they found Renny and the two grooms Scotchmere and Wright. Piers and Pheasant were trotting round the paddock mounted on two beautifully groomed show horses. To see them was to feel the happiness that emanated from them. Two stable-boys set up a bar and the two riders leaped it with graceful ease.
Scotchmere, chewing a straw, remarked — “She’s coming on — the young lady, I mean. But she ain’t got the judgement she needs for the Show — when the band is playing and the crowd cheering. You’ll find that out, sir. I told you at the first you’d made a mistake and I stick to it.”
Wright said — “All that little mare asks is someone to set on her and hold the reins. She’ll go over the jumps herself.”
Scotchmere spat out the straw. “Of all the silly remarks I ever heard that’s the silliest,” he said bitterly. “Any horse needs to be rid properly.”
“Well, now, just look at her,” exclaimed Wright and his ruddy young face glowed in admiration as the mare skimmed lightly over the bar now somewhat raised. Piers followed, felling in this moment of splendid exhilaration a desire to follow Pheasant to the ends of the earth.
Renny turned to Dilly. “Pretty sight, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Isn’t it fun!” she laughed, showing more of her white teeth than he had heretofore seen any woman show. He looked speculatively into her mouth, as though she were a horse whose age he was about to assess.
Pheasant, proud of her increasing skill, filled with love for Piers and the mare, was careless. Down rattled the bar to the ground. Piers’s horse shied. The mare danced skittishly, and Renny sang out:
“That won’t do!”
Round the corner of the stable Meg appeared. It was seldom she came in this direction, for not one member of the family was so little interested in the activities of the horses as she. And of all the family she was the one whom Renny least wanted to see there. He knew how bitterly Meg would resent Pheasant’s riding of one of his horses at the Show. He had hoped, in a primitive masculine way, to hide what he knew could not be hidden, or in any event to conceal it to the last possible moment, even to the moment when Meg in their box at the Show would see Pheasant ride on to the tanbark. His brothers had taken care not to mention Pheasant’s daily presence in the paddock to Meg. Eden indeed thought little about it, for his mind was intent on other matters, and Piers, of his own desire, was even more eager than Renny to keep the secret.
But now she was upon them and saw the girl mounted and flying, with happy thud of hooves, toward the next jump. In the first moment Meg could not be sure who was the rider, for it was seldom that she saw Pheasant. Then, as the mare passed closed to the palings, she was made certain indeed and her heart caught up the thud of hooves and joined its own wrathful beating.
With her hand pressed to it, she went to Renny, who watched her approach with a grimace of chagrin.
“What does this mean?” she demanded.
“Keep your voice down,” he said.
“What does it mean — that girl here on one of your horses?”
He returned, frowning sulkily — “I had to find someone to ride for me.”
“What utter nonsense!” she cried.
“Keep your voice down.”
She raised it. “She did not ride for you last year or any other year!”
“I was not then entering a horse in this event. Now I can.”
“But Renny” — now tears came bright into her eyes — “think of me.”
“That’s right,” he said, “tell your whole history to the world…. Anyhow, that’s nearly sixteen years ago. Everyone has forgotten it.”
She spoke more quietly. “I have not forgotten it.”
He too spoke quietly and laid a
sympathetic hand on her arm.
“Meggie, you know how badly I felt over that. But I see no reason for remembering it in this instance. It is a matter of business that I should have someone to ride this mare for me as she should be ridden.”
“I will refuse to go to the Show.”
This to him was not only unreasonable but was to deny herself one of the great pleasures of the year. Now she not only looked at him with tears in her eyes but a sob shook her plump body. At the same time things were going badly in the paddock, for Pheasant — with a shock — had seen Meg. The mare, conscious of her nervousness, twice refused, then, when at last she jumped, did so in a helter-skelter fashion. Piers’s mount, temperamental and excitable, danced about like a skittish colt though he was eight years old.
Scotchmere approach Renny and Meg, a scowl darkening his wizened face.
Young Wright, looking as though the end of the earth had come, ran into the paddock to tighten the mare’s girth. Finch, hanging over the palings, gave vent to hysterical giggles.
“I’ve said all along,” continued Scotchmere, “that the little lady is too young. She hasn’t experience and it ain’t possible to give it to her in a couple months.”
Though Pheasant was astride the mare her spirit was gathered tremblingly into the little group now discussing her. She could not see, she could not hear, but, in a chaos of bewilderment and apprehension, felt that she knew all.
As Wright straightened himself and drew away Pheasant said in an undertone to Piers:
“Your sister … she doesn’t want me.”
“Nonsense. Come — forget them all! We’ll show them.” He patted the mare.
His own horse was still misbehaving and he brought the whip down on its flank. The pair trotted back to the starting point. No one quite knew how it happened but at the first jump Pheasant was thrown. She was tossed off and was on her feet by the time Renny had vaulted the palings and reached her side.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No — oh, no. I don’t know why I was thrown…. Just stupid, I guess.” She was panting and she gripped her elbow.
06 The Whiteoak Brothers Page 11