The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (562 page)

“It’s about the mare,” she went on rapidly. “The one you sold because of its eyes. Well — there’s nothing wrong with its eyes. I found that out this morning. I was in the woods at Jalna painting a group of those lovely silver birches and …”

“Go on,” he urged harshly.

“And that man Wright came along and he began to talk about the trees …”

“what the devil have trees to do with the mare?”

“He says there’s nothing — absolutely
nothing
— wrong with her eyes. He saw her yesterday at the farmer’s who bought her from Raikes. The farmer said there never had been anything wrong with her sight. And not only that. She’s in foal. She was when he bought her and, of course, Raikes charged a great deal extra for that. Wright thought you should know. But I beg of you — don’t, don’t tell Gem I told you.”

“why?” he got out, through his rage.

“Oh, she thinks Raikes is perfect, just as you do. No — not as you do.”

“
Not
as I do,” he gasped. “
Not
as I do. In some other way. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“No. No,” she cried and ran from the room.

He put his hand on the mantelpiece to steady himself. He felt dizzy. He had had suspicions that Raikes was not quite so reliable as he seemed, but he had put them from him. He stubbornly had wanted to think well of the man. He was honestly fond of him. Raikes had a soothing effect on him and he knew this was a benefit to his health. But what black suspicion Althea had planted in his brain! Not Raikes and the mare alone but Raikes and his wife. A thousand only half-noticed incidents crowded into his heated brain. Why had he not forced Althea to be explicit? She was very clear-headed beneath her oddities.

He paced up and down the room calming himself. “I shall cease trying to manipulate thoughts,” he muttered. “I relax from nervous tension. I am at peace.” But he started with a nervous jerk of the neck when Gem looked in at the door.

“Tom wants to know,” she said, “if the men are to put on more shingles.”

“My God,” he said furiously, “what a question! Certainly they are. Tell Raikes to tell them — and then to come to me here. At once.”

“what’s the matter, Tiddledy-winks?” she asked.

“I’ve a headache.”

“Oh, what a shame! Your lunch will make you feel better. It’s ready.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Oh, Tiddledy-winks —” She moved toward him.

“Tell Raikes,” he snapped.

He kept moistening his lips with his tongue, taking deep breaths, saying to himself, — “I relax from nervous tension. I am at peace. All this will be finally adjusted.”

Raikes stood in the doorway.

Eugene Clapperton saw him for the first time as a male, attractive to women — noticed the smooth brown contours of his throat, set off by the open neck of his shirt. He said harshly:

“I have just heard how you lied to me about the mare. I know that her eyes are perfect, that she’s in foal. I know everything, so there’s no use your lying anymore.”

Eugene Clapperton held himself erect. He looked at that moment impressive, an accusing figure. Yet in his heart he hoped that Raikes would deny all, even be able to prove his innocence. He had almost the feeling of a father who accuses his son.

But Raikes made no denial. After opening his eyes wide in astonishment, he lowered them and hung his head, like a bad son.

Clapperton braced himself. He said, — “I could have you arrested but I’m not going to. I shall pay you a month’s wages and you will leave this place tomorrow morning. Never set foot on it again.”

“I’ve worked hard here,” said Raikes.

“Worked to injure me.”

“You’ll not get a man that’ll work harder.”

“Get out before I throw you out!”

Raikes smiled at that.

He returned to the kitchen. Looking into the dining room he saw Gem sitting alone at table with a plate of salad in front of her. He came to the door.

“where is Miss Althea?” he asked.

“She doesn’t want her lunch. Neither does Mr. Clapperton. I don’t know what is the matter with this family.” She spoke in a tone of complete familiarity.

Raikes came in on tiptoe. His face was lighted by a loving smile. He bent and touched her hair with his lips.

“It’s goodbye for us,” he said low.

“what?”

“He’s fired me.”

She drew back staring up at him.

“He couldn’t — he wouldn’t — he —”

“He has.”

“Oh, Tom.” Her jaw dropped in tragic consternation. “But why?”

“It’s some talk he’s heard.”

“About you and me?”

“Lord, no.”

“I won’t let him.”

“It’s done.”

She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Tom, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

He looked down on her as something desirable but not for him.

“He’s fired me right enough,” he said. “I’m to go tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” The word meant doom the way she said it.

He put his fingers inside her collar, against the creamy warmth of her flesh. He tried to think of something to say to comfort and yet to break off, but he could not. The tumult of their minds broke like waves against the rock of Eugene Clapperton’s decision. For Gem an empty life lay ahead. For Raikes a new job.

The sound of an opening door came to them. In an instant Raikes was out of the room. With heavy steps the husband advanced along the hall and came to the table.

“Have you made coffee?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I think I’d like some.” He dropped into a chair, limp, as though the strength were gone out of him.

She poured him a cup of coffee and he dropped four lumps of sugar into it. There was energy in sugar.

“I’ve sacked Tom Raikes,” he said, his eyes piercing her.

“Oh?” she returned coolly.

“Do you mind?”

“There are other men to be found.”

“I had thought we’d take him with us to California.”

“what changed your mind?” She looked at him as cool as the slices of cucumber on her plate.

“Oh, things I’ve heard.” He carefully stirred the sugar in his cup.

“Tell me.”

“You want to know?”

“Sure I want to know.”

There was something new about her, a deliberate commonness that was insulting to him and that made her, for some perverse reason, yet more desirable.

His gorge rose. He swigged down his coffee and stood up. “I’m going to lie down,” he said. “We’ll talk when this terrible heat lets up.”

She sat like a statue watching him go, only her eyes living in her pale face.

He went upstairs to the bathroom and took three sleeping tablets. He then lay down on the bed in the guest room. Shut in this unused room he felt cut off from the rest of the house and all in it. He lay waiting for the tablets to work. They took a long while about it. He had known one tablet to be more efficacious than those three. Still he lay quiet, determinedly relaxed. He pushed away the dreadful thought that his marriage was a failure, that he would have been far better alone. A spasmodic jerk went through his whole body. He rolled over. Then the benign drug began to drowse him. He was still sleeping when Gem went to bed.

Raikes had kept out of the way, not wanting a scene with either husband or wife. This chapter in his life was over. To get his wages and leave peaceably, that was his idea. He would take out the car that night, go to his club and tell his friends goodbye, have a last game and a last drink with them.

When the house was in darkness he drove the car quietly out along the little road that led past the bungalows. The night was sweltering. Fireflies drew lines of brightness on the dark. A myriad of crickets played their feverish tune.

JULY BLAZE

It was good luck rather than a steady head that brought Raikes safely back to Vaughanlands that night. From side to side of the road the car zigzagged. It just escaped being struck by a truck. It just missed running into a ditch. But he came back without mishap till he reached the door of the garage which he thought he had left open. But a wind had risen and blown it shut and he drove the car against it. He heard the splinter of wood. The jar threw him forward against the wheel. This sobered him a little. He alighted from the car and ruefully looked at the damage done. Well, in the morning he would push the car into the garage, shut the broken door, and they’d not discover it till after he was gone. What the hell did he care anyhow? He lurched across the gravel toward the house. On the grass plot by the kitchen door he grew dizzy and staggered. As he fell he caught hold of a feathery young shrub, but it had no strength to support him and he ripped it from the earth as he came down. He lay sprawling on the grass, the shrub gripped in his hand like a woman’s hair. There he lay, glad to be at rest, not trying to drive a car, not trying to walk.

It had been midnight when he fell. It was three in the morning when he opened his eyes and looked about. Hordes of stars were staring down at him. All about fireflies darted, as though weaving him in a mesh. The crickets, the locusts, wove a tenuous mesh of sound about him. He lay still for a bit, feeling sorry for himself — a lonely man, to whom something bad had happened, he forgot what.

He felt stiff and decided he wanted to go to bed. Very cautiously he got to his feet and stumbled to the kitchen door. Inside, he found he wanted a cup of tea. That would make him feel better, but instinct told him he was not capable of handling a kettle of boiling water. He did not want to get scalded. He rested against the edge of the kitchen table, feeling sorry for himself, wanting no more than a cup of tea yet afraid to make it … Well, he would have a cigarette. That would be a little comfort. With dazed deliberation he took one from a packet, lit it, blew out the match, threw it on the floor. Let her pick it up and be damned to her!

The cigarette smoked, he went quite steadily to his room. It was stifling hot. He pulled off his shirt and threw himself on the bed …

All energy in the house was suspended, with one minute exception. In the attic Althea slept naked on the sheet. Her Great Dane panted on the floor, his muzzle dry in the heat. The tortoise dozed inside his cool shell. The exception was the cigarette-end that Raikes had dropped on the kitchen table. It lay beneath a pile of old newspapers on the shelf above. Only a faint spark showed that it was not quite out, till a gust of hot wind came in at the window and blew one of the newspapers down on the table. The tiny spark fastened on the paper as though its life depended on it. After a little, a creeping flame appeared. Then, in an instant, the paper was ablaze. Then the whole heap of papers. Then the window curtains. Then the window frames. The fire had the kitchen to itself.

Before long the smoke from it poured into the hall. The acrid smell disturbed Gem Clapperton. She sprang up and ran into the passage, into the room where her husband was sleeping.

“Eugene!” she screamed, shaking him. “The house is on fire! The house is on fire!”

He was on his feet in an instant. He might have thought she was unduly terrified had he not smelled that horrible smell of smoke. She left him and ran out screaming her sister’s name. He heard Althea coming, heard the dog bark. He ran down the stairs and saw the smoke pouring through the cracks about the door that led to the kitchen. He saw a brightness in there and heard the crackling of flames. He knew better than to open that door.

One thing he would save and that was the painting of the shipwreck. But first the fire department! Keeping good control of himself he telephoned to their office at Stead. The two girls came down the stairs, Althea, wearing a white coat, holding the Great Dane by the collar. They looked distraught.

“Get right outdoors,” he ordered. “I’ve phoned for the firemen.”

“It’s horrible. Oh, I’m so frightened,” came from his wife’s white lips. Suddenly she remembered Raikes and ran toward the back of the hall. But she heard the crackling of fire and saw the smoke coming thick from under the door.

Althea was struggling with the lock of the front door.

“You fool,” shouted Clapperton, letting himself go, giving voice to what he had always thought her to be. “We can’t have a draught here.” He herded them ahead of him into the living room and slammed that door behind them.

In here was a different world scarcely yet threatened, with only a faint smell of smoke as compared to the hall.

“Tom! Tom!” screamed Gem, and ran and scrambled through the open window after pushing out the screen.

Eugene Clapperton was taking down the painting of the shipwreck. “I’ll save my pictures,” he said.

“Hand them out to me,” said Althea. She too climbed over the sill and took the painting into her hands.

“Will the house be destroyed?” she asked.

“It’s an inferno at the back.”

“Will the fire-reels soon be here?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“Tom will be burned in his bed.”

“The devil looks after his own.”

With all speed he took the pictures from the wall and handed them out to her. She was bent double under their weight. They worked together like people of one mind to save the paintings which she loathed, and each despised the other.

Gem ran to Raikes’ window. The room was thick with smoke. She could make out the pale shape of the bed.

“Tom!” she screamed, putting her face close to the screen, holding her breath. “Tom!”

He woke, rolled over, coughed.

“Tom!” She beat on the window screen but could not get it out.

He was up now. He came to the window, thrust out the screen, threw a leg over the sill. Red flames were rushing into the room.

“Oh, Tom, darling,” she cried, and put her arm about his sleek torso. “Thank God, I’ve got you out!”

“Is the house afire?” he asked, dazed.

“Blazing.”

“Och, ’tis cruel the way the smoke has got into my lungs. Every breath’s a knife.” He pressed his hand to his breast.

“Take deep breaths of the pure air, Tom.”

The sound of men’s voices shouting came to them. A woman in one of the bungalows, up with an ailing child, had seen the red smoke issuing from the roof. She had roused her husband and he had run from door to door, knocking loudly and calling out, — “Clapperton’s is on fire!”

The alarm spread to the farmhands and stablemen at Jalna, then to the house. Now there was life everywhere. Lights came on, the pale dawn appeared in the east, the sirens of the fire reels could be heard. The bright red reels turned in at the gate. The firemen fixed their helmets more firmly. The hook and ladder were ready to go to work — the men with the fire-extinguishing chemicals were there.

Raikes, as soon as he was able, went to Eugene Clapperton and said, — “We could carry a lot of this valuable stuff out, sir, you and me.” He spoke in his normal polite voice.

“Get to work on the silver in the dining room. It’s not too bad in there.”

They went into the room together and swept the sideboard clear of silver. They put the dining room chairs through the window. Grimy sweat poured down Eugene Clapperton’s face but he was oddly exhilarated. The sense of struggle with disaster, of overcoming material loss, gave him a feeling of power that he had not lately experienced.

Now the fire chief came and spoke to him.

“A bad blaze,” he said genially. “Everything’s as dry as tinder. Everyone out of the house?”

“Everyone.”

“Fine. No need for the ladders. But I don’t think we’ll save the building.”

“It looks like that.”

The fire was spreading fast, yet still was confined to the back of the house. While Raikes and the men from the bungalows and the farm labourers from Jalna were dragging out furniture and rugs, the firemen produced a hose and soon a stream of water was drenching the living room. As fire and water struggled together it was soon seen which was the stronger.

Althea came running to Gem. She had tied up the Great Dane in safety but now her face was wild.

“The tortoise!” she cried. “I forgot him. I’ll never forgive myself. I must go to him.”

Before Gem could stop her, she flew round the house toward a side door that opened on to a passage. From this passage led a short stairway to a landing and from the landing another stairway to the top floor. The fire was on the other side of the house.

It was physically impossible for Gem to run with comparable speed. Already her back felt weak and strained. She called to the men to stop Althea, but the shouting, the giving of orders, the rush of water, the crackling of fire, smothered her voice … But now she saw her husband trotting, with sagging knees, in the direction Althea had gone.

“Eugene!” she shrieked. “Bring back Althea — she’s in there.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, put forth his strength in an automaton-like spurt, and ran into the house.

He had not, in fact, heard the words that Gem had so frantically called out to him. He thought she was imploring him to keep out of danger, and in the turmoil of his mind he felt a thrill of happiness at her solicitude for him … In the midst of the confusion he had suddenly remembered a handsome silver tea service that had been presented to him by his employees at the time of his first marriage. He greatly valued this and it was kept in a locked cupboard in that same short passage.

The smoke was thickening here and the heat was almost unbearable. He fumbled for the key of the cupboard where it hung on a nail at the back. He unlocked the cupboard and threw open the door. A volume of smoke poured out. He held his breath, lifted out the tray, on it set the handsome teapot, sugar bowl, and cream jug. He held the tray in front of him and moved resolutely forward, embowered in ruddy smoke, like some grotesque picture of a grim butler. The opening of the cupboard door had let the fire through. Now it raged to get out of the cupboard.

Eugene Clapperton forgot the little step in the passage, he stumbled, he fell with a crash of silver.

Renny Whiteoak had just sprung out of his car and stood a moment appalled by the scene in front of him. Then he saw Gem Clapperton standing, helpless, wringing her hands. He ran to her.

“My sister,” she moaned. “She’s in there … And Eugene, too … He went to save her!”

Barker and Raikes came running. Gem repeated wildly, — “My sister — my husband — he went to save her.”

“I saw him go in,” said Barker. “And I said to myself — that’s risky.”

The three men went to the open door from which a black cloud of smoke shot with flame issued. It would have been madness to venture inside.

Renny came to Gem and put his arm about her shoulders. “Don’t look,” he said. “Don’t look.”

But she ran from him to where she saw Althea emerging from the shrubbery. Althea wailed, — “I daren’t go in. It was too terrible. I had to let him die. I’ll never forgive myself.” It was for the tortoise she wailed.

“Althea!” screamed Gem, in frantic joy. “You’re safe.” She clasped her sister to her.

Firemen came running with the hose and turned the stream into the doorway, but drought had made the pressure of water feeble. For a moment the fire was subdued, but only for a moment. Then the flames, like thirsty tongues, lapped up the water. Everyone now crowded outside the fatal doorway. Everyone knew that Eugene Clapperton was somewhere inside … but not living … no one could survive in that fiery trap.

Piers and his Sons joined Renny. Piers said, — “They tell me Clapperton’s dead in there. An awful end.”

Renny flung up his arm in tragic salute. “A hero’s end,” he said. “Clapperton went in to save Althea Griffith.”

“But she’s over there. She’s with her sister.”

“He thought she was in the house. His wife told me.”

“God! I wouldn’t have believed he had it in him.”

The women from the bungalows were about Gem, crying, condoling with her. Then someone shouted that the nearest bungalow was on fire, and they left her and ran screaming toward their homes. The roof of the garage too had caught fire. Raikes was pushing the smaller car along the drive to safety. Then, at risk of his life he brought out the Cadillac and had them both safe.

The firemen ran toward the bungalows with a second hose but there was nothing to attach it to. The women’s husbands, the farm workers and stablemen from Jalna fought this new fire with buckets filled with water from taps.

Now the large house was fire swept from end to end. There was no saving it. What furniture had been saved stood forlornly on the trampled lawn. A group of stalwart old pines that grew just beyond the lawn, a young one rising tall in their midst, now claimed the attention of the fire. A single bright spark sped toward the nearest. It alighted on the full plumy needles. There was no delay, no hesitation. That pine was a bouquet of fire. All its needles shone red-hot against the sky. A red spark sped to the next pine.

“The trees,” shouted Piers to the firemen. “Bring that thingamabob! That extinguisher!”

They came, their faces red beneath their red helmets. Another pine was gone. Then another and another. The firemen drenched them with the chemical. Some trees stood, one side turned red from the fire, the other still green. The young pine remained untouched. It shone green in the light of the rising sun.

Renny’s obsession was that he must get Eugene Clapperton’s body out of that furnace. Twice he was prevented by Piers and the firemen from entering the passage. Now he stood waiting with impatience for the unrestrained moment.

Piers’ son Philip stayed close to him, held by the gruesome thought of the body in there. The healthy boy had been here, there, everywhere, exhilarated by the spectacle. But now that the flames were dying down, that the house was a ruin, he remained close to this last excitement, peering into the smoking passage.

“when do you think you dare go in, Uncle Renny?”

“Now — in a minute. Everything is drenched with water. It’s safe enough.”