03 Mary Wakefield (21 page)

“I was. I thought I was going to do more than make up for my earlier losses.”

“I told you more than once that you depended too much on him.”

“No one could have depended more on a broker than you did on yours.”

“I don’t pretend to be knowing about investments.”

“Neither do I. I don’t
pretend
, but I am very cognizant of what goes on in the market. My broker told me it was quite remarkable — I mean my grasp of it all. Oh, I wish I were in London!”

“Why not go?”

“It’s too late, I tell you. Unless, of course, I had more capital. I wonder if Mamma —”

“Never. She’d never lend you a penny.”

“She might if I promised to double it for her.”

“You’re more optimistic than I am.”

“Perhaps Philip…”

“You can try him but I doubt it.”

“There he is now. He’s been fishing. It’s a propitious moment.”

Philip, seeing them, turned in their direction. He had on a disreputable old jacket, a pair of baggy duck trouser, and he needed a hair-cut. For once, the immaculate Ernest did not notice these details of his brother’s costume.

“Hullo, Philip,” he greeted him genially. “Had any luck?” Philip held up his fishing basket, in which lay eight gleaming trout.

“Oh, very nice. Quite a change from the last time when you didn’t get even a bite.”

“Enjoyed it just the same,” said Philip, laconically.

“Still, it was not like having a nice little catch like this.”

“N — no. But I enjoyed it. A lovely morning, that was.”

“Autumn is coming.”

“Yes. Look at this birch tree. I like its little yellow leaves. They’re the first to turn.”

Nicholas leant forward to look at the fish. “Good ones,” he said. “I shall have one for my breakfast.”

“Sit down, Philip,” said Ernest. “I want to tell you something.”

They made room for him on the rustic seat. He sat down and lighted his pipe. Jake, with an apologetic leer at Nicholas, moved from between his knees to between Philip’s. Philip looked enquiringly and a little defensively at Ernest.

Ernest came straight to the point. “I’ve had bad news,” he said. “Stocks I’ve been holding on to have fallen. I’m going to lose quite a lot of money, I’m afraid.”

“What a surprise,” said Philip. “I thought you were getting rich.”

“So I was! And so I should yet, if I had more capital. I’ll explain the whole matter.”

He embarked on a long explanation of the state of his affairs, and if at times he grew a little confusion, it did not really matter.

“It’s all Greek to me,” said Philip. “What do you want me to do?”

Ernest’s self-esteem was returning. “If you could make me a loan,” he said, “it would save the day.”

“How?”

“Well, these stocks are bound to revive. I could hang on till they do.”

“I never like the idea of gambling in stocks.” Philip opened Jake’s mouth and looked with concentrated interest at his teeth.

“You can’t call this gambling, Philip. These investments are sound. There’ll be little risk. Don’t you agree, Nicholas?”

“I won’t commit myself.”

“Well, as my broker has often remarked, I have a remarkable flair —”

“What’s all this?” asked a strong voice. The three rose and discovered Adeline close behind them. She placed her hands on the back of the seat and looked quizzically from face to face.

How much had she overheard, Ernest wondered. But, whether it were much or little she was bound to find out all. He could not keep anything away from her and he knew it.

“Come and sit down, old girl,” said Nicholas. He went to her and put his arm about her. He led her to a seat, gently smacking her on the hip with the flat of his hand.

A harsh note came into her voice as she spoke.

“You’ve lent Ernest money before this, Philip,” she said. “Don’t you do it again. I won’t have it.”

“Then,” exclaimed Ernest hotly, “you would have me lose my investment, for lack of a little more capital!”

“I had rather you lost it than to cripple Jalna. If Philip were anyone else, I’d say go ahead.”

“Perhaps then you yourself would be willing,” said Ernest eagerly.

“I am a poor woman,” she returned, looking gloomily at her shoes. “I have little enough to live on.”

“Poor old girl,” said Nicholas.

“Then,” said Philip, wanting to hear her confirm her opposition, “you advise me not to go into this?”

“I don’t advise. I say I won’t have it.”

Nicholas winked at Philip.

Adeline laid her hand on Ernest’s knee, who had sat down beside her. “Come,” she said. “Take this loss like a man. I heard all your explanation and I’m sure this is a bad case. Be thankful you have something left and don’t throw good money after bad. I hope Robert Vaughan has not invested in these things.”

“I’m afraid he has,” answered Ernest. “But, by no means disasterously.”

Adeline groaned, then exclaimed vivaciously, “I’ll tell you what, you, Ernest, must marry Muriel Craig! She will inherit a considerable fortune. You needn’t worry any longer.”

“Miss Craig cares nothing for me,” said Ernest, crossly. “It’s Philip she is after.”

“Then you should make her care for you,” said Adeline. “What is your feeling toward her?”

Ernest put the tips of his fingers together and said judiciously, “A kind of tepid admiration.”

“You couldn’t have a better beginning, with your temperament. You will warm to her as time goes on.”

“I repeat it is Philip she wants.”

“Well, here she comes like Paris with the golden apple and here are the three of you waiting! Let her make her choice.”

From the thick evergreens that fringed the drive Muriel Craig’s trap emerged, drawn by a pretty chestnut cob. She sat very straight, holding the reins high, the small elegant whip in one hand. She looked self-conscious, rather than confident. The three brothers went quickly toward her. Adeline looking after them thought, “If she chooses by distinction, it’s Nicholas — if by elegance, it’s Ernest — if she prefers an untidy rapscallion, as she probably does, it’s Philip.”

She greeted Muriel Craig warmly, giving at the same time an appraising look at her, out of narrowed dark eyes.

“How fresh you look, my dear, and what a pretty striped shirt-waist!”

“I’m glad you like it. My father thinks the strip rather loud.”

“Not a bit of it. If anyone can wear that stripe you can. What do you say, Ernest?”

“I say she can wear it,” he returned, tepidly.

“Mr. Ernest does not sound very enthusiastic,” said Muriel Craig. “I’m afraid he also considers it too loud.” She turned to Philip. “What do you think, Mr. Philip?”

“I always like stripes. Like ’em loud, too.”

Nicholas thought, “The girl is positively languishing for Philip. Ernest has no chance whatever.”

The children ran out of the house shouting, their lessons over, free for the rest of the day. They began to pull handfuls of grass for Miss Craig’s cob.

“Oh, the sweet children!” she exclaimed. “I must go to see them.” She sprang up and swept across the grass. A straight line might have been drawn from her chin to her instep…

“Children!” she called. “I have brought you candy!”

From the seat of the trap she took a small box of butterscotch. They were delighted. Meg thrust a square of it into her mouth, and mumbled her thanks.

“You should have passed it round first, you greedy girl,” said Renny.

Her cheek distended, her teeth glued together, Meg proffered it to her elders.
Philip had got to his feet and made as though to join Miss Craig.

Adeline gave him the dark look she had for him nowadays.

“Don’t go,” she said. “Leave that to Ernest.”

Ernest roe. He refused butterscotch but Adeline took a piece with eagerness. “A very small box,” she commented in an undertone to Nicholas. “I hope the girl isn’t mean.”

Philip watched Ernest’s progress with amusement.

“An ardent suitor, what!” he remarked.

“That fellow,” said Nicholas, “will never reach the point of proposing to any girl.”

“Ernest has plenty of character,” said his mother. “Give him time.”

Ernest had reached Miss Craig’s side. He smiled pleasantly and said, “How is your father, Miss Craig?”

“Improving every day. He is beginning to walk again. He has a most efficient nurse who seldom leaves his side.”

“How very satisfactory.”

“Yes. But she really is a detestable woman.”

“How annoying.”

“But, I hear that all nurses become overbearing.”

“I shouldn’t wonder.” After a silence he asked:

“Would you care to see our dahlias? They’re very fine.”

She hesitated. “I’m afraid I should be going. My father…”

“The dahlias really are especially good.”

Her eyes wandered to the group on the lawn.

Ernest thought, “I was never meant for this. A fortune-hunter! It’s humiliating.” Then the remembrance of Mr. Craig’s wealth stood out as promising deliverance from his financial worries, and she was a personable girl — an attractive girl. He wondered at his own coldness.

Mary came out to the porch where its drapery of Virginia creeper was just beginning to redden. Soon the frosts would set it flaming and turn the dahlias black.

“Ernest is taking Miss Craig to see the dahlias,” observed Nicholas. “That looks promising.”

“There’s Miss Wakefield!” cried Renny. “May I take her a piece of butterscotch?”

“Not just one piece,” said Adeline. “Offer her the box. Then ask her if she will be kind enough to go the Rectory and ask Mrs. Pink for the recipe she promised me. You children had better go with her. Come first and kiss me.”

He clambered on her knee, hugged and kissed her.

Philip rose. He extracted a piece of butterscotch from between Jake’s jaws which was causing him acute misery and threw it in the shrubbery. Jake at once set out on an intensive search for it.

“Don’t go, Philip,” said Adeline, more kindly than she had spoken to him since the night of the party. “I’ve scarcely set eyes on you today.”

“I’ll be back before long, Mamma,” he said, stubbornly. “Nick will be with you.”

He went toward the porch.

“Look at the shape of his trousers!” exclaimed Adeline. “The set of his jacket! I can’t imagine what any girl sees in him. Think of your father’s back — the way he wore his clothes! The contrast is terrible. I wonder Philip can be my husband’s son.”

“Don’t worry about him, Mamma. All the girls are after him.”

“Ah, if only I could get that governess out of the house! And do it I will, by hook or by crook.”

Philip stood looking up at Mary.

“Did you get my mother’s message, Miss Wakefield?” he asked. For the first time he noticed how she’d gone off in her looks.

“Yes. I’m setting out now.”

“We want to go too,” immediately came from Renny.

“I don’t think he should,” Mary said. “He runs so much on the way and gets hot and it makes his hives itch.”

“I’ll stay with him,” volunteered Meg.

“Good girl,” said her father.

She clung to one hand, Renny tugged at the other. Between them they made a wall, always between her and Philip, thought Mary, and believed he wished it so.

“Are you quite well?” he asked, thinking of what Doctor Ramsey had said of Mary’s health.

“Perfectly, thank you.” Did he think she was slack in her duties?

“You look a little pale to me. Perhaps you are losing your English complexion.”

Meg began to laugh. She put her arm about Renny’s neck and whispered in his ear, “She forgot to paint.”

“I felt the heat,” Mary said, “but this weather is lovely.”

Ernest and Muriel Craig came round the house.

“What heavenly dahlias!” she cried. “I’ve never seen their equal. Mr. Whiteoak has promised me some bulbs.” She greeted Mary with that air of condescension which made her long to escape from Miss Craig’s presence or be rude to her.

“How well your charges look!” she exclaimed. “Really they are a credit to you.”

“We look well,” said Renny, whose grin showed a front tooth missing, “because we paint.”

“Oh, you rascal!” Miss Craig threw both arms enthusiastically about the little boy. “The things you say! I tremble for what
you’ll
be when you’re a man.”

She spoke as though she had suffered a good deal at the hands of dashing men, yet not entirely without pleasure.

“He’ll be a rip, I fear,” said Ernest.

Still holding the child to her Miss Craig said to Philip:

“I have a message from my father to you. He is
so
anxious to see you — about something, I’m not quite sure what it is. Your mere presence helps him. He wondered if you could drive back with me. Then, this evening, one of our men is coming in this direction and would bring you home. For my part I’d be grateful for a lesson in driving this cob. I know I’m a silly little thing but I’m terrified of him.”

Renny had never before heard a woman call herself a silly little thing. Neither his grandmother nor aunt were in the habit of so describing themselves. Mary posed as an encyclopedia of knowledge and a Gibraltar of firmness. Yet there was something that did not ring quite true in Miss Craig’s words. He and Mary exchanged a look that on his side might almost have been called sardonic.

Philip agreed with alacrity. He had noticed Miss Craig’s self-conscious and inefficient manner of handling the reins.

“But first I must tidy myself,” he said.

“Please don’t. We know you have been fishing. If coming with me forced you to change, I should never forgive myself.
We
think he looks very nice as he is, don’t we, children?”

The children chorused, “Yes.”

Philip however went into the house to make himself respectable. Mary at once set off on her errand, for she would not remain a moment longer than necessary in Miss Craig’s company. Ernest and Muriel Craig watched her figure disappear along the drive. He felt deeply rebuffed by Miss Craig’s open lack of interest in him and in the dahlias. For once in his life he made no attempt to be agreeable to a visitor but stood silent and abstracted. Muriel Craig was silent too. Her round light eyes took in every detail of Mary’s dress and seemed to probe beneath the dress into the very body that pulsed beneath. But, as Philip’s returning steps were heard in the hall, her eyes turned to where the children were romping on the lawn with the spaniels, and she exclaimed: