Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (15 page)

 
          
 
Saranna glanced around. Millie was bustling
about, splashing the water from the basin into the slop bucket. She put out her
hand
quickly,
her fingers closing about the pendant
before, she hoped, the maid had noticed it.

 
          
 
Surely Damaris had not shown her the like of
this. Saranna would have remembered such a piece. Unless there were some of
Captain Whaley's collection which his granddaughter had not thought, or
remembered, to display. There had been some jewelry—kept in a locked case. But
this -pendant had not lain there.
Then where—?

 
          
 
Not out of her dream? It could not have come
out of her dream! Not possibly!

 
          
 
But that it was precious, a piece of great
value, Saranna was sure. And until she could question Damaris, no one must see
it. There was only one really safe hiding place—her own person.

 
          
 
She swiftly slipped the cord over her head,
pushed the pendant well down under the prim collar of her chemisette, assuring
herself by a searching survey in the mirror that it was entirely hidden.
Against her skin it felt cool, very smooth, and she was strongly conscious of
it as she hurried toward the door that she might not be late to breakfast.

 
          
 
"Miss Stowell—“

 
          
 
Startled, Saranna paused in her descent of the
wide staircase. The outer door was a little open; Mr. Fowke stood just within.
He smiled up at her.

 
          
 
Why had she ever thought his strong face
unhandsome? When he smiled in that fashion she was surprised at her own past
blindness.

 
          
 
"I'm late—" she said in what she
knew must seem an idiotic way. But again she was flustered by having his full
attention turned on her.

 
          
 
"And Mrs. Parton cannot be kept
waiting," he added, as if he were repeating some oft-heard admonition.
"Yes, Mrs. Parton is ruled by the clock's inexorable tick, isn't she? I
wonder if ever in her life she has longed to break the bonds of time, just
wander freely outside minutes, hours, and perhaps days."

 
          
 
Saranna found the courage to smile in return.
"I really don't know her well enough to venture an opinion," she
replied, her uneasiness subsiding a little.

 
          
 
Suddenly he looked almost stern, forbidding,
his glance at her so intent Saranna wondered for a moment if the jade pendant
could be seen. She raised her hand hurriedly to press against the hidden gem. Why
was he watching her with that strange measuring look, as if she presented some
problem, and one which he found at least a little
distasteful.

 
          
 
"You will doubtless be given plenty of
chance to learn and understand Mrs. Parton's quirks in the future." His
tone was now remote and Saranna was at a loss. It was almost as if she had
offended him in some fashion. Yet when she recalled her words they were
certainly harmless enough. She could not in any way see why such a commonplace
observation had brought about this change in his manner.

 
          
 
"Gerrad!
You are
already here—"

 
          
 
The door to the breakfast room had opened to
let Honora, again in riding dress, bustle out.

 
          
 
"But why did John not announce you? I vow
these house hands grow lazier every day. Saranna—" Her attention, for a
moment, rested on the girl. "My," her nose wrinkled as she surveyed
her, "we simply must do something about your clothes!
Such
a figure as you do
cut this morning! And you do want to appear your best
these days, don't you?" That ice-tinkle of laughter sounded, the eyes
above the chilly smiling mouth were hard as polished stones. "I must have
Mrs. Parton look out for some things to be altered. But," the gem-hard
eyes swung from Saranna's discreetly capped head to the hem of the girl's limp
skirt and back again, "you certainly must be prepared to make some
alterations. We are not of a size at all."

 
          
 
Saranna did not reply. She could feel the
warmth come into her cheeks at this contemptuous appraisal. That Honora would
reveal such pettiness in her own nature so clearly before Gerrad Fowke must
mean that she was indeed betrothed to him, whether or no any such announcement
had been made public. The girl longed to raise her eyes to his face, to judge
by his expression how Honora's behavior moved him. But that she would not allow
herself to do.

 
          
 
"Yes," Honora was continuing with
her usual overbearing stream of words, "you must have a new dress or two.
With your prospects it is only right. Gerrad," in an instant she turned
back to her waiting escort, "I have had a wonderful idea concerning the
garden. It came to me in the night and I wrote it down lest I would forget it.
Oh, do let us get on to Queen's Pleasure so I can show you just what I have
been thinking of—"

 
          
 
"Miss Stowell." Though Honora's hand
was now on his arm, he still lingered, making a bow in Saranna's direction.
Only his face was still tight and closed in the forbidding way.

 
          
 
Saranna inclined her head in return, feeling
forlorn now instead of angry as she had a moment earlier. She would probably
never know what had made Mr. Fowke act suddenly so different toward her. It was
with a sense of oppression and loss that she watched the door close behind the
two,
then
walked slowly into the breakfast room.

 
          
 
Damaris stood at a window, her hand pulling
aside the edge of the lace undercurtain so she could see the curve of the drive
beyond.

 
          
 
"There she goes," the younger girl
reported. "Well, she won't be
back
soon, we can
depend on that. You should have heard her this morning, you really should have,
Saranna!"

 
          
 
Coming back to the table, Damaris revealed the
old scowl which caused a most unpleasant twist of eyebrow, lift of lip on her
young face. ''She's going back to
Baltimore
tomorrow to do some shopping for her
wedding things.
Though she can't be married yet, not until
her father comes back.
However, she and the Poker have been having their
heads together —they were whispering when I came in this morning. She needn't think
she can keep any secret—I’ll learn sooner or later!" Damaris appeared a
little more cheerful, and began spreading a biscuit with an overload of
strawberry preserves.

            
Saranna, without much appetite,
assembled some of the half-cold food and picked at it. The depression which had
closed on her in the hallway seemed now a dark cloud. She felt that she must
learn one thing—had Damaris left that jade pendant in her room? If that were
true, Saranna must make certain the precious thing was returned at once to the
safekeeping where it had once lain. She had no intention of allowing the child
to make any trouble for herself, as well as perhaps Saranna, by her impulsive
gift. The porcelain cat could be easily returned. Perhaps Honora or Mrs.
Parton, if they discovered that piece in her room, would not realize its full
value. But a piece of jewelry was a far different matter, and Saranna had no
doubt that Honora would be well aware of the worth of any treasure which was an
adornment for the person.

 
          
 
"You are awfully late." Damaris had
crunched her way through her biscuit and was not watching Saranna. "Did
you oversleep?"

            
"Yes."

 
          
 
Damaris smiled. "That was the fault of
the cat light. You tried it, didn't you? I told you that you can watch it and
sleep well."

 
          
 
"But I had better not do so again,"
Saranna commented.

 
          
 
"Not if you want a hot breakfast,"
Damaris agreed frankly. "And here's Rose to clear away. Take some fruit—
we can go outside. It's a very nice day, warm so you won't need a shawl."

 
          
 
Saranna did reach for another biscuit, chose
an orange. She was eager herself to get away from the house, where there might
be listening ears, and have Damaris to herself.

 
          
 
"We'll explore," the small mistress
of Tiensin announced firmly as they came out into the full sun of morning. "You
haven't had a chance to see the outside. Of course, Rufe would be glad to show
you—" She shot a sidewise glance at Saranna, a faint trace of that
malicious amusement in her eyes.

 
          
 
"I think you know better," Saranna
refused to allow herself to be in the least ruffled.

 
          
 
" 'Course
I
do," Damaris agreed. "I was born here, you know. And when Grandfather
couldn't get around on his feet much he used to send me out to see how things
were kept. He said he could trust me—"

 
          
 
Here was another undercurrent. If Captain
Whaley had sent his granddaughter, young as she was, to check upon that part of
his estate he could no longer supervise, his action suggested he had reason to
believe that there might be trouble.

 
          
 
" 'When
a man is
at peace, he ought to be as alert as if he were in trouble; so he can forestall
an unforeseen contingency. And when he is in trouble, he ought to be as calm as
if he were at peace; thus he can bring to an end his crisis'—" Damaris
recited the words as she might some set lesson. "That was written down by
a sage. Do you know what a sage is, Saranna? The Chinese believed that some men
could learn to control their bodies and their thoughts so that they were not
men any more, but something else, that they could then live for hundreds of years.
But I don't think I can really believe that. Grandfather learned a lot of
sayings like that. There's another one he explained to me and that I do believe
—'Whether time is long or short, and whether space is broad or narrow, depend
upon the mind.' That's right. If you're very interested in something, then time
goes fast. But if you have to do something you don't like at all—the time is
very long. Now—let's start here—"

 
          
 
With some of the same competence she had used
when introducing Saranna to the resources of the house, she marched along the
curve of the drive to the back of the Manor.

 
          
 
There the various outhouses, the older girl
discovered, formed what was like a small village of their own. Damaris
indicated the milk house, corn house, hen house, cheese house, meat house, ice
house—the stables, and, farther yet beyond, the orangery where both fruit and
out-of-season flowers could be forced at a time not normal for their
development.

 
          
 
The blacks in service at the various buildings
bobbed curtsies, "made their manners," but Damaris did not speak to
any of them. In fact, she gave but a very superficial tour of this portion of
the estate.

 
          
 
It was not until they were beyond that cluster
of buildings and walking between the orchards of morello cherries and peaches,
which she said in
passing
were grown to make brandy,
that Ihe younger girl slowed pace.

 
          
 
"They don't like me," she said then.
"The Poker—she gets them to watch me sometimes. But they don't dare do
that too closely." Now she smiled. "They just don't dare. They know
what would happen if they did—"

 
          
 
"And what would happen?"

 
          
 
Damaris did not look up.
She
scruffled her slipper on the path.

 
          
 
"They'd just be in trouble, that's all—a
lot of trouble." Her answer was evasive and Saranna knew better than to
push at this moment. "There is the pergola—" Damaris pointed to a
structure beyond which curled the river. Wisteria and vining roses had been
trained up its side, hung in heavy festoons. The walls behind those were
latticed, and there was an upper deck with a balustrade about it.

 
          
 
"It's for parties—they dance there—"
Damaris explained. ''She's going to use it. See, Seth and Ralph are fixing it
up."

 
          
 
Saranna halted. The two black boys were not
alone. Rufus Parton stood watching their labors. Perhaps he was supervising.
She had no desire to catch his attention. But, neither, it seemed, did Damaris
either.

 
          
 
"We can go this way!" Her hand
thrust into the older girl's, pulled Saranna to the right. They pushed under
the low hanging limbs of a tree and out around some flowerbeds to where a bench
was backed by a wall of box.

 
          
 
"He can't see us here," Damaris
announced. "You don't really like him—?"

 
          
 
"No." Saranna was blunt.