It was the hour when the three workmen had found a shady spot and were eating their lunch. They were drinking cold liquids from thermos bottles. Their muddy old Ford stood in the lane. Mrs. Barker was so sociable she could not keep away from the men.
“My goodness,” she remarked to one of them, “it must be awful hot up on that there roof shinglin’.”
“You bet it is,” he answered, “square in the sun.”
“when will it be finished?”
“By the end of the week.”
“Say, you boys work fast.”
He laughed. “We got to work with that guy Clapperton always pokin’ round, watchin’ us.”
“There he goes now,” said another. “why don’t he stay indoors and keep cool?”
“He’d sooner die of sunstroke than lose a nickel.”
“Don’t you go talking against him,” said Mrs. Barker. “He’s been awful kind to me. He’s given me a lot of good advice.”
“About what?” sneered the man.
“Human nature, if you want to know. He makes a study of it.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” laughed the man. “He’d better make a study of Tom Raikes. He could learn a lot there.”
Mrs. Barker’s attention was turned to the new bungalow.
“Look who’s on the roof,” she exclaimed.
“Darned if it isn’t Colonel Whiteoak And he’s ripping off the shingles I just put on, as fast as he can.”
They stared stupefied, bottles half-way to mouths, at the sight of the master of Jalna sitting astride the ridge-beam, prizing off, with the prongs of a hammer, shingle after shingle. At the same moment Eugene Clapperton appeared from the direction of his house and was frozen, high as was the temperature, by the sight that met him. He could for a moment scarcely believe his eyes; then he strode nearer and shouted:
“How dare you do that?”
“It comes apart damned easy,” returned Renny, “even easier than I expected.”
“Come down off that roof,” almost screamed Eugene Clapperton, “or I’ll call in the police.”
Down flew a shingle almost in his face. He turned to the workmen. “Bring that man down,” he ordered.
They presented uniformly sheepish smiles.
“Better call the police,” said one.
“Do you mean to say,” fumed Clapperton, “that the three of you are afraid to bring him down?”
“I’d hate to tackle him,” said another.
“I wouldn’t do it,” said the third. “Not on that roof.”
Mrs. Barker soothingly spoke. “Never mind, Mr. Clapperton. The men will put the shingles on again.”
Eugene Clapperton gave her a furious look and strode to the bungalow. Children from the other bungalows gathered about, open-mouthed. Shingle after shingle came frolicking down the roof.
“I’m going straight in,” cried Eugene Clapperton, his voice cracking with fury, “to telephone the police.”
Renny Whiteoak tossed up the hammer and caught it. Then he threw a leg over the ridge and slid down the roof to the top of the ladder. He descended the ladder and strolled across the gravel to face Clapperton. He, with his spirit on its way to California, had bought himself a suit of a light material, pale buff in colour, and a tie with gaudy figures on it. He wore no waistcoat.
Renny looked him over in astonishment. “So, “he said, “you’ve come to this.”
“Get off my land.”
“Yes, gladly. As soon as I’ve had a good look at you.” He gently took the end of the tie in his fingers. “Expensive,” he said, “but what a design! I wonder your wife allows it.”
Eugene Clapperton drew back as though from the touch of a viper. “You have not heard the last of this,” he said.
“And you’ve not seen the last of me. I’ll come every day and take down what your men have built. I think I can keep up with them.”
“Put Colonel Whiteoak off my property,” Clapperton ordered his men. They sniggered but did not move.
Clapperton now spoke more quietly. “You will be summoned tomorrow, sir, for trespass and damage to property.”
“Spoken like a man,” said Renny. “But I still don’t like your tie.”
He returned the way he had come. On the lawn he could see the figures of his uncles, half reclining in comfortable chairs in the shade. Indoors he found Alayne, his sister Meg, and her daughter Patience, sitting with blinds drawn, enervated by the heat.
“why, Meggie,” he exclaimed, pleased as always to see her, “and Patience! what brought you out in the heat?”
She put a plump arm about his neck and for a moment held him close.
“Oh,” she moaned, “that little house of ours! It’s simply unendurable in this weather. So I just staggered to the car and Patience drove me over. Alayne has kindly asked us to stay to lunch.
As their arrival had been timed to coincide with that meal there really had been no alternative for Alayne.
“No one,” went on Meg, “feels the heat as I do.”
“No one,” said her brother, “is as fat as you are.”
“Fat!” she cried. “Fat! I don’t weigh a pound more than a hundred and thirty-nine.”
“I dare you,” he teased, “to come out to the barn and let me weigh you.”
She ignored this remark. “what makes me feel the heat so terribly is having to do my own housework and eating so little.”
“I thought Patience did all the work.”
“I refuse to be teased. It’s too hot.”
Wrinkling his forehead, he remarked, — “I suppose I’ll find it nice and cool in jail.”
Three puzzled feminine faces were turned to him.
“Explain,” said his wife.
“Jail!” echoed his sister on a note of apprehension.
“Now what have you been up to?” laughed his niece.
“Clapperton,” he returned, “is going to have a summons served on me for pulling down one of his bungalows and tweaking his tie.”
Alayne made a sound of exasperation. “It’s much too hot to be funny,” she said, “if that is what you are trying to be.”
“I was never more serious,” he returned. “I haven’t actually razed the bungalow to the ground, but I ripped off part of the roof, and I didn’t injure his tie though it was the most obscenely ugly object I’ve ever laid eyes on and I’ve been through two wars.”
Alayne pressed her hand to her forehead. “All this,” she said, “is going to lead to very real trouble.”
Patience hugged her own body and laughed inwardly. “I’d have given worlds to see that show,” she murmured. “Not that I think Uncle Renny did right.”
“Right,” cried Alayne. “It was madness, and it’s going to bring us a most unpleasant publicity.”
Meg raised her hand. “There,” she said, “there goes the gong. How glad I’ll be of a little nourishment, for I declare I haven’t eaten enough during this heat to keep a dickybird alive.”
At table the two uncles were told by Renny of the encounter with all details added. They were enormously pleased. Nicholas demanded to hear it all twice repeated. Ernest struck his slender fist on the table and exclaimed:
“Good for you, Renny. You’ve taught that old fellow a lesson.” Though what was the lesson he did not say.
“I’ve this to say about Clapperton,” Renny looked about the table as though he challenged anyone to deny it, “I’ve this to say. I don’t believe he knows what it is to have one generous impulse. He’s a coward too, for he winced when I took a step toward him.”
“And a spiteful coward,” added Ernest. “Vindictiveness sticks out all over him.”
The object of this criticism was indeed feeling quite shaky in the legs after his encounter with Renny, and deeply revengeful in spirit. Over and over again he pictured that man ripping the shingles from the roof of the bungalow, grinning in derision at the one whose property he was mutilating. He recalled the foolish faces of the workmen as they sniggered at the scene. He
recalled the figure of the woman standing with arms akimbo. He had a mind to put them all, with finality, off his property.
The coolness of the living room was balm to his disarranged being. It was dim too, after the glare outside. He could just make out the shapes in his beloved picture of the shipwreck. He sat down in front of it trying to relax. The ornate clock on the mantelshelf chimed the half-hour. The door softly opened and his sister-in-law came in, closing it after her. She drew close, looking down on him.
“Well?” he enquired in irritable surprise.
“Eugene,” she said in a low voice, “I’ve something to tell you.”
Now what? he wondered, instantly suspicious.
“It’s about the mare,” she went on rapidly. “The one you sold because of its eyes. Well — there’s nothing wrong with its eyes. I found that out this morning. I was in the woods at Jalna painting a group of those lovely silver birches and …”
“Go on,” he urged harshly.
“And that man Wright came along and he began to talk about the trees …”
“what the devil have trees to do with the mare?”
“He says there’s nothing — absolutely nothing — wrong with her eyes. He saw her yesterday at the farmer’s who bought her from Raikes. The farmer said there never had been anything wrong with her sight. And not only that. She’s in foal. She was when he bought her and, of course, Raikes charged a great deal extra for that. Wright thought you should know. But I beg of you — don’t, don’t tell Gem I told you.”
“why?” he got out, through his rage.
“Oh, she thinks Raikes is perfect, just as you do. No — not as you do.”
“Not as I do,” he gasped. “Not as I do. In some other way. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No. No,” she cried and ran from the room.
He put his hand on the mantelpiece to steady himself. He felt dizzy. He had had suspicions that Raikes was not quite so reliable as he seemed, but he had put them from him. He stubbornly had wanted to think well of the man. He was honestly fond of him. Raikes had a soothing effect on him and he knew this was a benefit to his health. But what black suspicion Althea had planted in his brain! Not Raikes and the mare alone but Raikes and his wife. A thousand only half-noticed incidents crowded into his heated brain. Why had he not forced Althea to be explicit? She was very clear-headed beneath her oddities.
He paced up and down the room calming himself. “I shall cease trying to manipulate thoughts,” he muttered. “I relax from nervous tension. I am at peace.” But he started with a nervous jerk of the neck when Gem looked in at the door.
“Tom wants to know,” she said, “if the men are to put on more shingles.”
“My God,” he said furiously, “what a question! Certainly they are. Tell Raikes to tell them — and then to come to me here. At once.”
“what’s the matter, Tiddledy-winks?” she asked.
“I’ve a headache.”
“Oh, what a shame! Your lunch will make you feel better. It’s ready.”
“I don’t want any.”
“Oh, Tiddledy-winks —” She moved toward him.
“Tell Raikes,” he snapped.
He kept moistening his lips with his tongue, taking deep breaths, saying to himself, — “I relax from nervous tension. I am at peace. All this will be finally adjusted.”
Raikes stood in the doorway.
Eugene Clapperton saw him for the first time as a male, attractive to women — noticed the smooth brown contours of his throat, set off by the open neck of his shirt. He said harshly:
“I have just heard how you lied to me about the mare. I know that her eyes are perfect, that she’s in foal. I know everything, so there’s no use your lying anymore.”
Eugene Clapperton held himself erect. He looked at that moment impressive, an accusing figure. Yet in his heart he hoped that Raikes would deny all, even be able to prove his innocence. He had almost the feeling of a father who accuses his son.
But Raikes made no denial. After opening his eyes wide in astonishment, he lowered them and hung his head, like a bad son.
Clapperton braced himself. He said, — “I could have you arrested but I’m not going to. I shall pay you a month’s wages and you will leave this place tomorrow morning. Never set foot on it again.”
“I’ve worked hard here,” said Raikes.
“Worked to injure me.”
“You’ll not get a man that’ll work harder.”
“Get out before I throw you out!”
Raikes smiled at that.
He returned to the kitchen. Looking into the dining room he saw Gem sitting alone at table with a plate of salad in front of her. He came to the door.
“where is Miss Althea?” he asked.
“She doesn’t want her lunch. Neither does Mr. Clapperton. I don’t know what is the matter with this family.” She spoke in a tone of complete familiarity.
Raikes came in on tiptoe. His face was lighted by a loving smile. He bent and touched her hair with his lips.
“It’s goodbye for us,” he said low.
“what?”
“He’s fired me.”
She drew back staring up at him.
“He couldn’t — he wouldn’t — he —”
“He has.”
“Oh, Tom.” Her jaw dropped in tragic consternation. “But why?”
“It’s some talk he’s heard.”
“About you and me?”
“Lord, no.”
“I won’t let him.”
“It’s done.”
She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Tom, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”
He looked down on her as something desirable but not for him.
“He’s fired me right enough,” he said. “I’m to go tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” The word meant doom the way she said it.
He put his fingers inside her collar, against the creamy warmth of her flesh. He tried to think of something to say to comfort and yet to break off, but he could not. The tumult of their minds broke like waves against the rock of Eugene Clapperton’s decision. For Gem an empty life lay ahead. For Raikes a new job.
The sound of an opening door came to them. In an instant Raikes was out of the room. With heavy steps the husband advanced along the hall and came to the table.
“Have you made coffee?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I think I’d like some.” He dropped into a chair, limp, as though the strength were gone out of him.
She poured him a cup of coffee and he dropped four lumps of sugar into it. There was energy in sugar.
“I’ve sacked Tom Raikes,” he said, his eyes piercing her.
“Oh?” she returned coolly.
“Do you mind?”
“There are other men to be found.”
“I had thought we’d take him with us to California.”
“what changed your mind?” She looked at him as cool as the slices of cucumber on her plate.
“Oh, things I’ve heard.” He carefully stirred the sugar in his cup.
“Tell me.”
“You want to know?”
“Sure I want to know.”
There was something new about her, a deliberate commonness that was insulting to him and that made her, for some perverse reason, yet more desirable.
His gorge rose. He swigged down his coffee and stood up. “I’m going to lie down,” he said. “We’ll talk when this terrible heat lets up.”
She sat like a statue watching him go, only her eyes living in her pale face.
He went upstairs to the bathroom and took three sleeping tablets. He then lay down on the bed in the guest room. Shut in this unused room he felt cut off from the rest of the house and all in it. He lay waiting for the tablets to work. They took a long while about it. He had known one tablet to be more efficacious than those three. Still he lay quiet, determinedly relaxed. He pushed away the dreadful thought that his marriage was a
failure, that he would have been far better alone. A spasmodic jerk went through his whole body. He rolled over. Then the benign drug began to drowse him. He was still sleeping when Gem went to bed.
Raikes had kept out of the way, not wanting a scene with either husband or wife. This chapter in his life was over. To get his wages and leave peaceably, that was his idea. He would take out the car that night, go to his club and tell his friends goodbye, have a last game and a last drink with them.
When the house was in darkness he drove the car quietly out along the little road that led past the bungalows. The night was sweltering. Fireflies drew lines of brightness on the dark. A myriad of crickets played their feverish tune.
XVIII
JULY BLAZE
It was good luck rather than a steady head that brought Raikes safely back to Vaughanlands that night. From side to side of the road the car zigzagged. It just escaped being struck by a truck. It just missed running into a ditch. But he came back without mishap till he reached the door of the garage which he thought he had left open. But a wind had risen and blown it shut and he drove the car against it. He heard the splinter of wood. The jar threw him forward against the wheel. This sobered him a little. He alighted from the car and ruefully looked at the damage done. Well, in the morning he would push the car into the garage, shut the broken door, and they’d not discover it till after he was gone. What the hell did he care anyhow? He lurched across the gravel toward the house. On the grass plot by the kitchen door he grew dizzy and staggered. As he fell he caught hold of a feathery young shrub, but it had no strength to support him and he ripped it from the earth as he came down. He lay sprawling on the grass, the shrub gripped in his hand like a woman’s hair. There he lay, glad to be at rest, not trying to drive a car, not trying to walk.
It had been midnight when he fell. It was three in the morning when he opened his eyes and looked about. Hordes of stars were staring down at him. All about fireflies darted, as though weaving him in a mesh. The crickets, the locusts, wove a tenuous mesh of sound about him. He lay still for a bit, feeling sorry for himself — a lonely man, to whom something bad had happened, he forgot what.
Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna Page 66