Promenade
II
II
The peacocks walking on the green velvet lawns of Lovel Hall had all moulted; and now, spreading their forlorn tails to a glowing golden sunset, they looked so like abandoned women that Sally couldn't bear to see them, she had been feeling so abandoned herself since Jermyn took Martha Pinshon home last night.
Where were they all gone, those visions which had once upheld her life? That vague beautiful hovering vision which had carried her through the hard early days of slavery; of bearing and suckling her children; when she had seen young men going with bright eyes and the strong tread of an army out over the waste places of the world, seen young mothers singing as they rocked the cradles. Young men, young mothers … all mine, she had felt sometimes, seeing herself divided a thousandfold and yet all one. Like God, she had thought, reverent for the glory of motherhood….
Mr Lovel had taken that away, making of her children what he chose, thought Sally, putting branches of crab-apple blossom into tall blue vases and wondering that their beauty should so hurt her. Then there had been the shining vision of Eternity with Jermyn. Was that miracle gone too? Oh, please God, prayed Sally, I don't think I can bear that….
Yet since God worked miracles he might even now be working one on Mr Lovel. Feeling quite unable to stand without the knowledge that God was helping her somehow, Sally took her embroidery and the little basket of bright silks, and went to sit in the back room with Mr Lovel. Very dull and impressive, the back room, furnished by Mr Lovel with an eye to future generations, and filled with heavy leather chairs and massive tables. Very dull and impressive, Mr Lovel, sitting among his papers with light from the solid cut-glass chandelier making a little pale ring round his long nose and neat black side-whiskers. Such an excellent and successful gentleman, Mr Lovel. Such a self-contained soul, rotating continually on its own axis.
The miracle didn't seem to have happened, but it might have. Oh, Mr Lovel, her heart pleaded, won't you help me? I have been a good wife to you, but it hasn't been easy. It has been very hard, Mr Lovel, and I'm so tired. Couldn't we talk together a little and try to understand … ?
“Mr Lovel,” she ventured, breaking a long silence with her soft little voice. Peregrine ran his finger down a row of figures, recorded the result, looked round with eyes that did not immediately focus. Canterbury land, young Greer had said, was magnificent sheep-country. Fortunes in it; but since the Government was now putting all pre-empted land up for sale it was necessary to buy it in.
Some men, Greer had said, were already buying and fencing large sections all over the Plains, hoping to squeeze the rightful owners out, and the only way to circumvent them was to pay in a lump sum the extra demanded by Government. “Don't let an acre of your pre-empted land go, sir,” urged Andrew, saying that Peregrine would be a millionaire yet.
After anxious hours of figuring, Peregrine had discovered that he could just do it, letting the land for grazing until Roddy went down next year. He must go out and ask John about Roddy; advance money for John to get merino rams from Tasmania, since Greer said half-bred merinos were best, and Roddy must learn about them first.
“I beg your pardon, my dear,” he said mechanically. Then his eyes focused on the fair wistful face leaning out of the shadows, and he blinked once or twice. Nick Flower, in that unpleasant interview for which Peregrine had never forgiven Caroline, had said that Sally was above reproach … though of course he had always known it without that impertinent comment. She was more. This charming creature of shining hair and gentle eyes, this modest delicacy of soft flesh and muslins and laces was his, even to her wedding-ring. A quite worth while investment for a Lovel who had always taken royal chances … who would take more….
Somewhat giddy over thinking of being a millionaire he drew Sally on to his knee with a kindly word of approval, jigged her up and down, rumbling in his deep bass:
Lavender's blue, diddle-diddle. Lavender's green.
When I am King, diddle-diddle, you shall be Queen.
“Now what does a handsome little wife say to that? Yet it may be—or something like it,” he added, hedging a bit, since it was never safe to let females get above themselves. “What, my love—crying?”
“Everything's so f-funny,” gasped Sally. Oh, this silly Sally, who had expected God to go on working miracles.
Peregrine set her back on her chair with a bump. Jove may occasionally nod, but it is not for Venus to mock him. He was deeply hurt.
“I do not find everything funny. People who think rarely do. Now … unless you have something special to say—? I am particularly busy.”
But Sally had nothing to say except apologies for interrupting him, and he forgot her before she was out of the room. Females were very well for interludes, but they must not impinge on a man's work. If we can get the Government contract for the new wool-ship that would give me…. Always happiness in figures, so long as they were not human.
Despite routs, picnics, and dances Andrew Greer found the figure of John's Hereford bull by far the most desirable—and elusive. Sir John, a stubborn fellow, refused to sell, though anyone could see how hard-up he was. And that snowgrass hill-country edging the syndicate's great Canterbury station was made for cattle—which could feed as far back as they chose since there were no surveys on the ranges. Andrew could see great lusty mobs there; value beyond dreams that would soon win him a share in the station. And not anywhere had he seen a bull to equal Sir John's Hereford.
So he hung on; meeting Belinda everywhere and taking it for accident instead of Darien and Caroline; betting here and there at dog-fights, cock-fights, loo, and baccarat; and paying a somewhat reluctant call on Lady Lovel after a card-evening, all in happy ignorance that his bachelor bolt was shot.
“Ah, sir,” said Caroline archly, “I know who you're looking for, but she's not behind the piano. You naughty men are vastly subtle, but you can't deceive me.”
So sure she was that after a few surprised minutes Andrew became aware of his own vast subtlety in winning a heart without knowing it and began to be very distressed and apologetic. But Lady Lovel talked fast, wiping her eyes as she spoke of her adored little Linda's unhappiness.
“The trouble I had to get it out of her you wouldn't believe. But a mother's heart, you know…. How could I rest? Linda, I said, I insist on your telling me who you are dying for. You can imagine my amaze when she sobbed out your name.”
“Mine?” faltered Andrew.
Well, you young things will be at the marrying,” said Caroline, producing a second handkerchief from her voluminous pocket. “Though what I'll do without her I can't think, and I could never have brought myself to mention it if I hadn't seen the way you looked about the room just now. Where is she? you were thinking. Ah, you can't deceive me.”
“N-no, madam,” said Andrew weakly.
“I knew it,” cried Caroline. She advanced, enveloped him with six flounces of sage-green grenadine, kissed his cheek. “My dear Andrew! I simply must call you that. I never thought I could give my little darling rosebud to anyone, but since she worships you and I know you to be so steady….”
Andrew (whose head was certainly steady) was beginning to think. Sir John couldn't refuse him the bull now. He might get a young steer as well. A man must marry some day and the Lovel connection was more than he could have expected. He felt honoured, and so far as his staggered mind would allow he said so.
“Not a word,” cried Caroline, patting his arm. “A mother must make her sacrifices when Prince Charming comes by. Now, I know you're dying to see her—”
“Shouldn't Sir John….?” Between abasement at being called Prince Charming and hopes that if Sir John wouldn't sell the bull he could get out of marrying somehow, Andrew was in a panic. A wife! Good Lord, what would he do with a wife down in that rough bachelor establishment, with every man who rode by dropping in to spend a night or a week and smoking and drinking all day long?
“Sir John thinks as I do,” Caroline said. “Indeed, if he had not spoken so highly of you I doubt if—ah, there's my darling (or must I call her your darling now?) in the garden. Wait. I will bring her to you.”
She hurried out, finger archly at her lip, and Andrew sat down and faced it. If Sir John liked him he'd certainly get the bull, and if it had to be accompanied by a wife—well, some men get only the wife. There are always compensations, thought Andrew, who was a natural philosopher.
There were carnations and fat white magnolia-buds in the garden, and Linda (who really was slimmer and paler than she had been) cutting roses into a basket. Caroline advanced with determination. There must be no scenes, and Linda was quite capable of making them, she thought, putting a tender arm round the plump waist, speaking gentle words. But Linda was not inclined to be gentle, and Caroline's hand over her mouth barely stopped a shriek.
“Hush, my love. It's a chance in a thousand, as I am always telling you. You trust me, Linda?”
“I don't know,” gasped Linda, knowing very well that she didn't.
“Silly puss! Of course you do. Such an estimable young man. So devoted—”
“Only to b-bulls,” quavered Linda, quite unable to visualize Mr Greer's devotion.
“Now, stop this nonsense,” said Caroline, putting her foot down. “I've told you a dozen times you're to marry him, and you ought to be down on your knees with thankfulness for the chance. Think of your poor sisters who can't come out till you're engaged, and don't be so wickedly selfish. Stop that snivelling. You know your nose swells when you cry. Now … a white rose in your hair and think of all he can give you. Jewels … fine clothes … trips to Sydney,” panted Caroline, dragging Linda along. “Here's my foolish girl, Andrew. So shy … so overcome with happiness.”
With the white rose in her hair and such mind as she had dazed into submission, Linda suffered Andrew to take her hand, while Caroline heartily pronounced a blessing over the bewildered pair, who, even when they parted, hardly knew what had happened to them. When they read the papers next day they knew, for Caroline had no intention of being beaten at the post. “An early marriage has been arranged….”
Arranged, thought Andrew, accepting congratulations rather dryly, was the right word.