The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (511 page)

This she would never have asked but that she saw forgiveness in his eyes as he looked down at her. She threw all the innocence, sweetness, and goodness she could command into her look.

“You are a rogue,” he said sternly, “and deserve to have a stick taken to your back, but this time I forgive you. Though if your Aunt Augusta knew I don’t think
she
would forgive you.”

“I believe she would, Daddy, for Uncle Finch says she was a very understanding woman.”

They had crossed a field where a cluster of Jersey cows had sought the shade, and where a flock of geese grazed by the stream. Beyond lay Vaughanlands. Renny threw his leg over a rail fence and thus elevated he surveyed the loved landscape. Adeline climbed to his side and perched there. The warm breeze fanned their faces, the sun was dazzling. Renny saw its shimmer on three strange roofs. He stared and stared again. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

“why —” he stammered — “what houses are those?”

Here was something, she guessed, to draw his attention from her misdeeds. She fixed her bright eyes on his face. “Those,” she said, “are the beginnings of Clappertown.”

“Clappertown,” he repeated, his colour rising. “what do you mean, Clappertown?”

“why, Daddy, that’s the name of the model village Mr. Clapperton plans to build.” Genuine enthusiasm came into her voice. “He’s going to do wonderful things. For instance, he’s going to have a community swimming pool and we shall be allowed to use it. There’s to be nothing ugly in the village — just pretty little houses and a special kind of people. Mr. Clapperton is going to keep everything refined. That’s the word he used.” She stopped. She could not go on, seeing the look on her father’s face. He began to get off the fence.

“why wasn’t I told this before?” he asked.

“I expect no one dared. Where are you going, Daddy?”

“To tell him he can’t do any building here.”

“Oh, please let me come.”

“No. I want to be alone with him.”

“I do so want to hear what is said.”

“You wait here till I come back.”

She watched him stride across the field. How glorious, she thought, to have him home again, even though he did stir things up. She watched him with possessive pride. No other girl she knew had a father to compare to him.

Renny made a closer inspection of the cottages before going to the large house. He inspected them with such concentrated hate as brick and mortar might well have become aware of. Indeed the widowed lady who occupied the nearest one, looking out of her window and seeing his nearness and the threatening expression of his face, hurried to her door and locked it. Like a rabbit in its burrow she peered out at him, while like a fox he stared in at her till he turned away and went to Eugene Clapperton’s door. He used the old knocker instead of the new electric bell.

Mr. Clapperton himself opened the door. He was dapper and self-possessed as always. He gave his visitor an enquiring look, though realizing at the first glance who he was. He did not in the least like his looks.

“I am Renny Whiteoak,” he said. “I’ve been home two days and I’ve just discovered your would-be village. Good God, do you think I’ll stand for that? Let me tell you that two bungalows were once built on this property and I never rested till I had them pulled down.”

Mr. Clapperton spoke in a conciliatory tone. “Come in, Colonel Whiteoak, come in and let’s talk over this matter agreeably.”

“Agreeably!” his visitor repeated. “If you think I can be agreeable about a thing like this, you’re mistaken. I’ll stay here, thanks.”

Mr. Clapperton liked him less and less. He was a disagreeable, a formidable-looking fellow. But he still spoke to him with forced friendliness.

“I’m sure you don’t understand, Mr. Whiteoak. There is a great difference between shoddy bungalows and the type of dwelling I am erecting. I am an idealist. For many years it has been my dream to build and to own a model village. Just a
very
small one, you know, but perfect in its way, where people of refined taste and small means can enjoy lovely surroundings. There is to be a swimming pool —”

“I know, I know,” interrupted Renny. “And
my
family is to be allowed to swim in it! Are you under the impression that
we
want a swimming pool? If we had wanted it we should not have waited for
you
to build us one.”

Eugene Clapperton’s anger rose. “Well, sir,” he said, “I don’t need your permission to go ahead with my plan. And what’s more, you can’t stop me. There were no building restrictions in the deeds of the property.”

“If I had been at home when the sale was made there would have been.”

“I dare say, but you weren’t.”

Renny spoke more quietly. “The properties about here,” he said, “were acquired a hundred years and more ago, in order that those who valued privacy and their heritage of British tradition, might enjoy both here. Do you want to be the one to spoil all that?”

“No, I don’t. I came into the country because I like privacy. I can’t see that I’m spoiling anything by founding a model village.”

“You may found it, Mr. Clapperton, but you can’t tell how it will go on. You won’t live for ever. Will your heirs care a damn who lives in your pretty village? Well, I’ll just say this — it’s the silliest scheme I’ve ever heard of. It’s worthy of some sentimental old lady, with no grain of horse-sense in her.”

This was too much for Mr. Clapperton. He exclaimed hotly, “I will build this village without any interference from you and I will run it, in my own way, without interference from you. From what I hear you have a very overbearing attitude in these parts but it won’t work with me.”

At this instant Renny’s dogs who were well acquainted with Vaughanlands, ran pell-mell into the house, the bulldog almost knocking Mr. Clapperton off his feet.

“Get out!” he shouted, and kicked at them.

“I should advise you,” said Renny, “not to kick my dogs. I don’t want to shake you but in that case I’d be forced to.”

“Then take them out of here,” snapped Mr. Clapperton.

Renny whistled to the dogs. Soon his tall figure disappeared through the shrubbery.

“what a change,” he thought bitterly. “when I left for the War, Maurice Vaughan was living here. It was a second home to me. Now he’s gone and this blighter Clapperton is in his place with his fantastic schemes! It’s unbelievable.”

At home he found lunch waiting. During his absence this lighter meal had been substituted for the old-fashioned one-o’clock dinner. Now dinner was at night. He helped himself somewhat grimly to salad and remarked:

“A pretty mess Meg has made — selling Vaughanlands to a crank like this Clapperton.”

“We knew,” said Ernest, “that you would be greatly disturbed by his project.”

“Disturbed!” exclaimed his nephew. “I all but shook the weasand out of him.”

A thrill went about the table. “Not actually!” cried Alayne in horror.

“Well, no. But I had a mind to.”

She drew a sigh of relief. “How did you find out?” she asked.

“I saw the cottages. Adeline told me what he is up to. I went to see him.”

“I suppose you had words with him,” said Ernest.

“Yes. Hot ones.”

“Now there will be bad feeling.”

“Certainly there is on my side, and he gave me a nasty look as I left.”

“Horrid old fellow,” put in Nicholas.

His brother looked at him critically. “Watercress,” he said, “down the front of your waistcoat.”

Nicholas peered down his front. He collected the sprays of cress with a trembling old hand and laconically poked them in under his moustache. Archer giggled hysterically.

Renny gave a scrap of scone to each of the dogs in turn. For an instant the pink interior of the sheepdog’s mouth was visible, then the morsel disappeared into his hairy face. Only his eyes gleaming through his fringe showed his eagerness for more. The bulldog chewed ostentatiously on his back teeth. He raised himself against his master’s knee and looked over the table. Delicately as a lady the little Cairn accepted his share.

“How nice it is,” said Roma, glancing out of the sides of her eyes at Alayne, “to see the dogs again.”

“I guess the War seemed long to them,” said Archer.

“Will you children please eat your lunch and not talk,” said Alayne.

“This affair of the model village is very distressing,” said Ernest.

Alayne wished the subject might be dropped. She said, “As the building is inevitable, I believe the less we say about it the better.”

“It is not inevitable,” returned Renny, “and it’s not going to take place.”

“what shall you do?” asked Finch, rousing himself from a reverie.

“Yes,” said Ernest. “I should like to hear what you plan to do.”

“I’d like,” said Nicholas, “to duck that horrid old fellow in the horse pond.”

“May God strike him dead!” said Archer.

“Archer, leave the table and go to your room,” ordered Alayne.

He rose and, rigidly straight with tow head erect, marched from the room.

“My fault,” growled Nicholas.

“He’d finished, anyway,” said Roma, her eyes slanting toward Alayne.

“That does not alter the disgrace,” said Alayne.

“It alters the feeling in your stomach,” said Adeline. Finch gave a snort of laughter.

“You two girls also may go to your room,” said Alayne. They left.

“I like children,” said Ernest, “but it is much more peaceful without them.”

“My father,” said Nicholas, “would knock me down as quick as look at me.”

“Come, come,” said Ernest, “if our father knocked you down, you deserved it.”

“I can’t remember what I did but I do remember being knocked down. What is the moral, Finch? You’ve been knocked down, haven’t you?”

“You bet I have.” Finch flushed. “But I never tried to find a moral for it.”

“If you can find a moral for your sufferings,” observed Ernest, helping himself to more raspberries, “they are easier to bear.”

“I do hope,” Alayne said to Renny, “that you will have no disagreeableness with Mr. Clapperton. You certainly are helpless in the matter.”

He frowned. “I know. I know. But give me time. In any case I’ll make a struggle. I’ve not given up hope.”

Considering all, he looked cheerful. At the end of the meal he went and stood beneath the portrait of his grandmother. “I wonder, Gran,” he said, “what you would have thought of this Clapperton?”

“Just what I think,” said Nicholas. “A horrid —”

Ernest interrupted, “Do think of something new to say about him, Nick. Reiteration grows so tiresome.”

ALMOST A PROPOSAL

W
HEN
R
ENNY
W
HITEOAK
had disappeared from Eugene Clapperton’s sight, he turned, with anger manifest in every movement of his body and entered the room where his secretary was typing. Young Swift continued to type, displaying no more expression than the machine itself.

“I suppose,” remarked Mr. Clapperton sarcastically, “that you heard nothing of the little interview I had with Colonel Whiteoak.”

“Nothing,” answered Swift, turning in his chair to face his employer. “what was it about?”

“Surely you heard something.”

“No. How could I when I was typing?”

“We were speaking loudly. He has a very penetrating voice.”

Swift preserved an irritating silence.

Mr. Clapperton clenched his hands and said through his teeth, “It is unbearable that that man should interfere with me. I bought the property, didn’t I? I paid for it, didn’t I? I’ve poured out money like water on improving the property, haven’t I? I have an ideal I’m trying to realize. Now comes this man and insults me — offers to lay hands on me!”

“Really!” Swift had heard all but it was against his nature to acknowledge it.

“Yes. I knew I’d dislike him but I never guessed how much. And his sister is so nice. I look on her as a friend. And his two old uncles! They are courtliness itself. And his wife! A charming woman. How she endures him I can’t imagine. The whole family is agreeable, with the exception of him.”

“I certainly don’t like Maurice’s father.”

“
He
is quite pleasant toward me. Now we are on the subject of likes and dislikes, Sidney, I must say I’d be very pleased if you’d make up to young Miss Vaughan.”

“Patience, you mean?”

“Yes. She’s a sweet girl and she’ll have a tidy little fortune. I’d like to see you marry into the Whiteoak family. I don’t approve of you going with Garda Griffith. I’ve been intending to speak of this for some time.”

“She’s a mighty nice girl.”

“All three sisters are. When I think what my coming here has meant to them! I’ve completely changed their lives. I’ve rescued poor little Gemmel from misery and frustration. They’re all so grateful — it’s pathetic.”

He was undoubtedly moved. He took several rapid turns about the room, then abruptly left it. Swift heard him cross the verandah, then had a glimpse of him going in the direction of the fox farm.

“So grateful to him! And how touching their gratitude is!” thought Swift. “The next thing will be that he’ll marry one of them. I’ll bet it’s Garda he’s after. Of course, it is! The old blighter! A young girl like Garda. A child! And I’m to marry Patience!
If
she’ll have me. And leave my dear little Garda to him. What he wants is to push me out and never leave me a penny of his money — after all the times he’s hinted — more than hinted — that he’ll leave me everything! I wish he
had
got a shaking.”

He in his turn fretted up and down the room. The covetous thought of Mr. Clapperton’s money was never far from his mind. In the anticipation of inheriting it, he had borne a good deal. He would find it bitter indeed to be cut off from this hope by the marriage of his employer. He admired Patience but she was too cool, too critical, to capture his affection. Little Garda had that power, though it was not in him to be loyal to any woman. But Eugene Clapperton — Eugene and Garda — he ground his teeth at the thought of it.

Althea was preparing a tray for Gemmel when the knock sounded on the door.

“It’s
him
,” whispered Garda. The magic pronoun was all that was needed to set them in a glow of eager welcome.