01 The Building of Jalna (37 page)

She took a handful of hair on each of their heads and gave it a tug. “Have your way, then. But there will be no champagne. A good claret cup must suffice. Make out your list, Conway. Get the pattern of the bathing costume, Mary. If we’re to have the party before the dark of the moon, we must make haste.”

They did make haste — the principal obstacle to overcome being lack of covering for their bodies. Those bidden to the party included Robert and Daisy Vaughan, the Brents, the three young Busbys, Dr. Ramsey and Wilmott. Including the five from Jalna there were to be fourteen at the bathing party. A sewing bee was held at Jalna where, with great speed and small consideration for the peculiarities of figure, costumes were produced. There was a singular likeness among them all. A bolt of dark blue flannel had been bought, along
with several bolts of white braid, for the female costumes. The males were to wear their own white shirts but, for their nether parts, white flannel knee-length trousers were made. The cutting out of these, the sewing together of the two halves, produced such extraordinary results that shrieks of hysterical laughter resounded through the house. Mary laughed till she cried so that water had to be thrown on her and work was at a standstill for some time.

Finally Sholto, as the youngest and most innocent of the males, was made to dress in the first costume completed. His shirt of course fitted admirably but the trousers, reaching midway between knee and ankle, had such a comic effect that the work was once more held up by unrestrained laughter. Sholto capered about the room shamelessly, his pale red hair on end, his thin legs flashing. Whether the trousers should be lengthened or shortened, trimmed with braid or left plain, was the subject of excited talk. It was a blessing that neither Mrs. Vaughan nor Mrs. Lacey was present.

When Philip tried on his in the privacy of his bedroom, he found he could not sit down in them.

“Adeline,” he shouted, “come here at once!”

She came expectantly.

“You may have the damned party without me,” he said. “I can’t sit down in these.”

She walked round him, examining him critically.

“You don’t need to sit down,” she said. “They’re for swimming in, not sitting in. You can swim, can’t you?”

“Certainly, I can. But do you expect me to swim about continually while the rest of you sit on the shore drinking claret? Also, I doubt very much if I could swim in them. They are extraordinary tight and a most evil shape.”

“Faith, they are,” said Adeline. “I shall give them to Wilmott and make you another pair. He’s much thinner in the thigh.”

Another pair was made of the very last of the flannel and, though from scarcity of material they had to be made rather shorter than the others, Philip did not object, for now he would be able to both swim and sit down.

The heat was unusual. There had been nothing to equal it in the preceding summer. Toward the full of the moon it grew even more intense. It seemed almost too great an effort to set out for the bathing party. At four o’clock the shadows of trees made the road to the lake less glaring. But the leaves were as motionless as though carved from metal. The sky had the hard brightness of a gem. The Whiteoaks’ new wagonette, drawn by a pair of spanking bays, bowled down the drive and through the gate, driven by Philip. He was a fine hand with the reins. The horses moved beautifully.

As well as their own party, there sat on the seats facing each other the two Vaughans and Wilmott. Hampers of food were disposed beneath the seats, as well as the boxes containing the bathing costumes. On the road they discovered the Brents in a shiny new buggy and the three Busbys in an old phaeton. Young Isaac Busby was determined to race his rawboned wild-looking horses against Philip’s, in spite of the heat. Weather meant nothing to the Busbys.

“Come on — come on!” he shouted, cracking his whip. But Philip kept his horses at a gentle trot.

They could smell the freshness of the lake before they came upon it. A breeze rose from its faintly ruffled surface. All about it the forest crowded. It was like a guarded inland sea. Flocks of sandpipers moved trimly across the smooth beach. A cloud of kingfishers rose and cast their blueness upon the blue of the lake. A dozen ruby-throated hummingbirds hovered above a tangle of honeysuckle that grew near the beach. The road ended in a rough field and there the horses were unharnessed and tethered. Dr. Ramsey came last, riding his grey gelding and throwing a bundle on to the beach with the remark that no one was to bathe until throroughly cooled off.

“Then I shall never bathe,” cried Mary, “for I am sure I shall never be cool again.”

“You should take great care of yourself, Mrs. Court,” said the doctor. “You are very thin.”

“I bathed twice a day in the Mediterranean,” she said defiantly.

“That was very reckless of you.” He came to her side with a professional air. “May I feel your pulse?” he asked.

Childishly she laid her thin wrist in his fingers.

“Just as I thought. You have a very quick pulse. You should not overexert.”

“Do feel mine,” said Adeline, “for I do believe it has stopped entirely.”

“There is no use in my telling you to take care of yourself, Mrs. Whiteoak,” he said, severely.

She gave a little grimace that made him smile in spite of himself. He coloured, for he had hoped to make her forget, by his severity, how he once had given way to amatory impulse.

A thicket of wind-blown cedars grew where sand and soil met. Here Adeline, Mary, Daisy, Kate Brent, and her two sisters disrobed themselves and put on the bathing costumes. With the exception of Mary’s, these were identical. Their full flannel skirts reached to the knees, the blouses had elbow-length sleeves, the skirts and sailor collars were edged with white braid. All wore long white cotton stockings.

Mary had kept her costume as a surprise. Now she appeared rather self-consciously out of the thicket, wearing a sky-blue bathing dress with bright red sash and scarf knotted beneath the sailor collar, and a little red silk cap. The others were enraptured, though the shortness of the skirt made Kate and her sister gasp and filled Daisy Vaughan up with envy.

“I do wonder if I could pin mine up a little,” she said wistfully, to Adeline. “Are there any safety pins about?”

“Not one,” said Adeline, firmly, “and you are showing quite enough leg.”

“It does seem hard that Mrs. Court should display limbs that are so spindling while mine, which are neither like broomsticks nor too plump like the Busby girls’, should be concealed.”

“Girls are expected to be modest.”

“At any rate, I shall let down my hair.”

She unloosed the pins which restrained her ringlets and they fell luxuriantly about her shoulders. Placing her hands on her hips she caught up her skirt in her finger tips so that as she advanced with the other females out of their retreat she displayed as much leg as did Mary. The group made such a picture that the gentlemen, already assembled at the lake’s rim, stared in admiration.

Conway’s costume, like his wife’s, was different. It was in red and white stripes running horizontally, and so much of his thin white person was exposed to view that only his youth and a faunlike quality in him preserved him from the appearance of immodesty. He flew to meet Mary who flew to meet him.

“My treasure,” he exclaimed, “let us be first in the briny deep!”

“It isn’t briny, you idiot,” said Isaac Busby.

“Then I shall shed tears in it and make it briny.”

The two, taking hands, skipped into the water.

Mary gave a cry as the chill of it touched her body. “Oh, how cold! How lovely and cold!”

“She could not do a worse thing,” said Dr. Ramsey. He stalked judiciously to the lake’s edge and took its temperature with his toes. He had provided his own bathing costume which consisted of a grey flannel shirt and an old pair of breeches.

“Hoop-la!” cried Philip. “Let’s make the plunge.”

He caught Daisy’s hand in his and they ran laughing after Conway and Mary. In another moment all were disporting themselves in the grateful coolness of the lake. It was perfect.

Nero, who had run all the way from Jalna after the wagonette and was more dead than alive on arrival, now began to notice what was going on. He came from under the willows where he had lain, loudly panting, and advanced to the shore. From beneath his curly black thatch he observed many people apparently drowning.

As it was againat his principles to allow people to drown, he uttered a loud bark of assurance, as though to shout — “Hold on! I’m coming!” and plunged into the water.

He had no especial gallantry toward the female sex. A man’s life was to him as valuable as a woman’s. Therefore as Dr. Ramsey
happened to be nearest him he swam with all his strength to rescue him.

“Call your dog, Whiteoak!” the doctor shouted, warding off Nero with an upraised arm.

Nero took this gesture as one of supplication and made haste to grasp the doctor’s shirt in his powerful jaws. He then began to drag him toward the shore.

Dr. Ramsey, in a fury, caught him a clout on the head but Nero’s head was so protected by thick curly hair that it did not really hurt him and, if it had hurt him very badly, the result would have been the same. He would have tried only the harder to save the doctor.

“Nero!” shouted Philip, controlling his laughter. “Here, sir! Nero!” He swam toward Nero.

Dr. Ramsey continued to clout him. But, by the time Nero had got him to shore, his shirt was half off his back. Nero then swam toward Daisy.

“Help!” she shrieked. “Oh, Captain Whiteoak, save me from Nero!”

Philip now had the great fellow by the collar. He dragged him to the shore and discovering a stout stick of wood threw it far out for him to retrieve. Nero gave not another glance to drowning human beings but concentrated all his lifesaving proclivities on the stick. Again and again he brought it safely to shore till at length, quite tired-out, he retired with it beneath the willows.

There was now an exquisite coolness abroad. It was exhilarating to swim or merely to bob up and down in the bright water. Little waves were beginning to rise and there was a faint line of foam on the beach. When they came out of the lake to lie on the warm sand they had a feeling of something new and strange in their relations. The old conventions seemed cast aside and they lay relaxed in childlike abandon. Brent put his head on Kate’s arm, while she wound his closely curling hair about her fingers. If ever she had had a fancy for Wilmott, it was forgotten now. She was utterly satisfied with her husband.

Young Vaughan had managed to draw Adeline a little to one side.

“I wish we two were the only ones on the beach,” he said, his blue eyes drinking in the lithe beauty of her form.

“We shall have to come together for a bathe one day.”

“Would you really? But you’re not in earnest. Your eyes are smiling.”

“What harm would there be in it?”

“None. But people are so abominable.” He took a handful of sand and let it trickle through his fingers. “May I call you Adeline? Surely I have as much right as that man Wilmott.”

“He’s an old friend. I’ve known him for ages.”

“You only met him on board ship.”

“That seems ages ago. But — call me Adeline if you like.” She scarcely heard what Robert said. She was looking across the sand at Daisy and Philip. There was an intangible something in their attitudes, a look in their eyes, that arrested her. Daisy was suddenly different. She was no longer the irresponsible girl, given to poses and extravagances, but a deliberate woman, filled with almost uncontrollable passion for a man. Her eyes devoured Philip. She was a huntress who, having made many experiments in the chase, now drew her bowstring taut, having discovered the coveted prey. That Philip was married meant little to her. She hungered for experience rather than permanence in the field of her emotions. Adeline could see how conscious Philip was of the unleashing of something wild in Daisy. Her heart gave a leap of anger, then she turned to Robert with a smile.

“I’d love to have you call me Adeline,” she said.

“Thank you — Adeline … Of course, I’ve called you that a thousand times in secret. I seem always to be thinking of you.”

“You’re a dear boy, Bobby.” Again her eyes moved toward Daisy and Philip. They were motionless, gazing at the rose-stained blueness of the lake. A single cloud hung like a crimson banner. The colour was reflected on their faces which seemed flushed by their own turbulent thoughts. Again Adeline’s heart gave a leap of
anger — anger too at herself for being so blind. Her first thoughts about Daisy had been right. She was dangerous. Yet she had been foolish enough to laugh at Daisy — to pity her for her ineffective poses. Curiously, at this moment Daisy looked beautiful.

Generous Kate Brent put the thought into words.

“Doesn’t Daisy look beautiful!” she exclaimed.

Everyone looked at Daisy who, with an enigmatic smile, continued to gaze at the lake.

“What a lucky dog you are, Philip!” said Conway. “Here I am completely under the dominance of my wife — not daring to glance at another woman.”

“You two must learn to be tolerant, as Adeline and I are,” returned Philip.

“Pray do not believe a word that Conway says,” said Mary. “It is quite the other way about.”

“Mary is right,” put in Sholto. “It was only yesterday that he slapped her and pulled her hair. I can vouch for it because I was present.”

Conway leaped up. “Now you’re in for it!” he said.

With an exclamation of terror, Sholto fled along the beach, Conway in pursuit. Their pale red hair flew backward from their pale brows.

“Will he hurt him?” asked Kate, anxiously.

“He will not kill him,” returned Adeline, “but we are an untamed family. You never can tell what we shall do when we’re roused.”

“Conway is not really angry,” said Mary.

Moved by irresistible curiosity for everything that Conway did, she rose and followed the youths who were now out of sight.

The three did not return till the picnic meal was ready to sit down to. The clothes of the bathers had been completely dried by the warm sand and the sun. They had regained appetites which the heat of the preceding days had taken away.