Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (12 page)

 
          
 
Saranna had no idea how she would handle the
problem of Rufus Parton, but she was not going to let him intimidate her, she
made up her mind to that. She was going to walk in the garden. If he appeared
there, to again make himself objectionable, she would snub him in a manner
which would pierce even his thick skin.

 
          
 
But it was the sharp cry of pain which led her
to Rufus. That the cry came from an animal, Saranna never doubted and she
hurried toward it, certain that some poor creature was in great trouble. So she
ran, from one of the alleys of clipped box which walled the garden path, into
the open.

 
          
 
There were two figures before her, intent upon
a fox which was struggling wildly to escape from a net, the ends of which were
held by a black youth. While Rufus Parton, his face flushed, his small eyes
shining with a kind of greedy delight, rained blows with a riding crop on the
animal! Its yelps of pain were echoed by laughter on Rufe's part, and, as the
crop rose and fell with a horrible regularity, Saranna could only believe that
he was engaged in a slow and horrible process of beating the animal to death.

 
          
 
She did not hesitate to rush forward, and
Rufus did not see her, so intent was he in making sure that the animal could
not evade the crop. Thus her grasp upon his arm was so forceful and determined
that he actually swung part way around, unable for an instant or two of
surprise to break free.

 
          
 
Saranna shouted at the black boy. "Let it
go! Let it go— at once!"

 
          
 
The fox, seeming to realize her support
instantly, lunged, though still within the net, snarling at the black. With a
cry of fear, he dropped his hold, and jumped back. Out of the meshes which had
held it for that outrageous punishment, the creature won—and was gone, slipping
under the box hedge where no man could possibly crawl to track it.

 
          
 
Saranna, herself, stumbled back, Rufe having
flung her away to free himself. He swung up his arm again, the crop ready, as
if she were about to share the beating that the fox had been enduring. Then
that horrible glistening of pleasure faded from his eyes, his mouth twisted in
the smile she had detested from the first time she had seen it.

 
          
 
"You got a right hard grip for a little
girl like you. Miss Saranna." He rubbed his arm with his other hand as if
she had indeed been somehow able to bruise both flesh and muscle.
"Fiery temper, too.
Some men would be mighty put out at
your interfering when they were handlin' such vermin like they ought to be
handled. But me, I'm all soft with a pretty girl—"

 
          
 
"You know,” she put as cold a note in her
voice as she could summon, "that foxes are neither mistreated nor hunted
at Tiensin."

 
          
 
He still smiled. "That was what the
Captain always said, yes. But the Captain, he's gone. Gone where he can't come
back to give any more orders about pamperin' vermin and such. Mrs. Whaley, now
she understands proper. You can't go coddlin' beasts, you got to keep 'em
down—teach 'em to stay away and act proper—not like they own this here place.
Mrs. Whaley, I guess she's the one to give the orders here now. The Captain's
day—that's all over."

 
          
 
Before she thought, Saranna blurted out a
denial of that.

 
          
 
"Mrs. Whaley does not own Tiensin—"
she began, and then stopped short.

 
          
 
"You mean it all belongs to Missie?"
Rufe laughed. "Maybe the law says so. But no little girl's goin' to have
her
say
about this here manor—that ain't the law. Them
in charge of her, they do the talkin', seein' as how they know best.

 
          
 
"Now then, I don't want to have you mad
with me, Miss Saranna. I told you, me I like red hair, I rightly do.
Seems like you kind of have a foxy look your own self.
Not
that I mean that in a bad way. You don't find me down-speakin’ a pretty girl
like you. We're goin' to be good friends once you got over your stiff ways. I
can show you a good time—"

 
          
 
Saranna swung away and stalked off, fighting
the desire to muffle his voice out of hearing with her own hands over her ears.
But she would not give him any satisfaction of knowing that he made such an
impression on her that she loathed every word he said.

 
          
 
If Saranna had shrunk from Rufe before, she
detested him twice as much now for the nasty scene she had interrupted. His
pleasure in the pain he had caused the captive fox was so shocking. At least
the poor creature had escaped. She only hoped that the treatment it had been
accorded would warn it away.

 
          
 
But the boldness of the foxes at Tiensin was a
matter of fact. They had never been exposed to ill-treatment. Surely some of
them would come to a painful death if Rufe was allowed, even encouraged, to
continue as she had seen him in action today.

 
          
 
In the meantime, she must not let Damaris know
what had happened. Saranna was convinced of that. If the child exploded into
open rage against either Honora or Rufus, her outburst would be held against
her. Whether she wished or not, Saranna now knew she had somehow assumed
responsibility for Damans' future—to the best of her ability.

 
          
 
Her resolution was sadly tried when she
re-entered the house. There were voices—raised—and one shrill one which could
only be that of Damaris. The clamor guided Saranna to the best parlor where she
found the child behind a table on which lay a pile of soft cloths. Another was
wadded into Damaris' hand as she faced Mrs. Parton.

 
          
 
"Get out!" Damaris' face was
flushed,
she fairly spat the order at the housekeeper.
"You know I dust these, that Grandfather would not let you lay a finger on
his treasures, everl"

 
          
 
"It is you who had better go, Miss
Damaris," the housekeeper answered stolidly. "Mrs. Whaley has given
orders you are not to handle the porcelain. There is too great chance of it
being broken by carelessness—"

 
          
 
"Carelessness!"
Damaris was fairly screaming now. "I know how to handle these. Grandfather
taught me. He never allowed her to touch a single piece of it! You know that!
And she has no right to say anything about it anyway. It belongs to me, not to
her!”

 
          
 
"Miss Damaris—you're upset." There
was a faint curve to Mrs. Parton's lower lip.

 
          
 
Saranna shuddered. Though the woman retained
an almost masklike countenance, there was a faint hint now of that avid cruelty
which had marked her son far more openly.

 
          
 
"Damaris—"

 
          
 
Saranna moved forward with the same speed she
had shown when she had ended the torment of the fox. Her hand fell on the
child's shoulder, not in restraint, but as an attempt at warning.

 
          
 
"My dear, of course Tiensin's treasures
are yours." As she spoke through a sudden silence, she eyed Mrs. Parton
over Damaris' shoulder. "And, Mrs. Parton, I think since Damaris has been
handling these pieces for years and very cautiously, there can be no reason for
suggesting that she has suddenly grown careless. Perhaps Mrs. Whaley does not
understand the very great interest Damaris has in her grandfather's collection
and her concern for it. Damaris," she now spoke to the child, "no one
would presume to deny your ownership. Since everyone knows the truth of that,
it is not necessary to stress such a truth so vehemently." Her hand, still
resting on the girl's shoulder, pressed gently. She hoped that Damaris would
understand and heed what she meant as a warning.

 
          
 
If Mrs. Parton would have pursued that matter
had she not come in, Saranna did not know. Now the housekeeper shrugged and
turned away, moving with her usual silent walk, going out of the room as one
who has performed her duty in giving an order, but would leave to others the
consequences of that order not being obeyed.

 
          
 
"She—" Damaris once more scowled,
her eyes watching the door, "she does everything that one tells her. I
want her to leave, Saranna. Maybe—" The scowl lightened; there was a
strange expression taking its place. "Maybe there is a way to get rid of
them both!"

 
          
 
"Damaris."
Tightening her grip on the child's shoulder, Saranna urged her around so that
she could look straight into her face. For a long moment, it was as if Damaris
was so lost in some secret thought of her own that she was not even aware of
Saranna's presence.

 
          
 
"Damaris!" the older girl repeated
with force enough to make the other at least return her gaze. "You must be
careful. You are only a little girl as far as Honora and most others are
concerned. Everyone considers it perfectly proper for her to give orders in
this house. With her father away, she is, in several respects, your guardian. I
am afraid with such outbursts you will only make trouble for yourself—“

 
          
 
"You mean she'll send for the doctor.
That he'll say I don't know my own mind—"

 
          
 
Saraima was startled. She had not guessed that
Honora's estimate of her stepdaughter was known to the child herself.

 
          
 
Damaris
laughed,
a
harsh sound with no lightness in it. "Oh, I know what she says. I told
you—I listen. Last winter she had a doctor here. They did not tell me he was a
doctor even, but he talked to me a lot. I knew what she was trying to do, make
him believe I didn't know enough to own Tiensin. But that time, it didn't work.
I showed him some of the treasures. And I told him about Grandfather and all.
He didn't give her any satisfaction. She was mad, I could tell that.

 
          
 
"And—" again that shadow of a
strange look crossed the girl's face. "I have something—something you—no
one knows about. Something I can use if I really need help."

 
          
 
Saranna had a sudden suspicion.
"Damaris—the I Ching!
Is that what you mean? But,
child, you cannot depend upon anything like that! It isn't true, you know. You
can't foretell the future, or use any—any kind of magic. That is all a
falsehood."

 
          
 
Damaris twisted out of her grasp.

 
          
 
"I don't know what you mean, I am
sure," she said stolidly. "What kind of magic would I know? That's
all foolishness—
“ Her
quick agreement puzzled Saranna.
She had been so sure that Damaris, after her solemn play with the wands earlier
that day, had really shown herself a believer in some strange knowledge. Yet
she now denied the fact as firmly as if that scene in her bedroom had never
occurred.

 
          
 
Instead, she was busy folding together her
store of soft dust cloths with the air of one who had successfully finished a
morning's labors.

 
          
 
"I'm finished in here anyway," she
announced. "And I won't touch the library pieces until after lunch.
You—" she nodded toward Saranna, "better get ready. Mrs. Parton won't
hold back dishes for anyone. And if you're not there on time, the food gets
cold—"

 
          
 
As if no scene had ever occurred, Damaris
marched out of the drawing room, leaving Saranna to meekly follow, not quite
sure of either the situation or
her
designed part in
it. Damaris now was no child to be protected; she had the air of someone far
older than her years
who
was in complete charge of
affairs.