Possession (Roche, February 1923)/Part 1/Chapter 3
By Derek's first Sunday at Grimstone he had explored every corner of the farm; had pushed his way through the densest undergrowth of the wood; knew when certain cows were expected to calve, and a mare to foal; and had even had a lesson in ploughing from Hugh McKay, which the others ceased working to observe with tolerant amusement.
He felt a sort of peace and repose on this warm, bright morning which, he liked to think, was the feeling experienced by labourers of the soil on peaceful Sunday moms. He stood with Newbigging smoking in silence while they both gazed across the lake. There was a land wind, warm, and sweet with the fragrance of blossoms and moist earth.
"On days when it blows like this," said Newbigging, at last, "ye can always see yon wide strip of pinkish red next the shore. It's awful bonny, I think, for it makes the other part green by contrast."
"The cliffs are red shale," said Derek, "and I expect it extends for some distance. As you say, it's—bonny."
"It makes a mon restive wi' the fairm work, sir. Though I do like it here, and I'll stick by ye through the summer and the apple-pickin'."
"Good. Can you tell me, Newbigging, what sort of trees these are? I don't know them. They're alive with black squirrels. There are white buds on the branches, too."
"These are elm-locusts with the coarse bark. See this bit of iron projecting. It's just a hint, sir, of a bridle hook fastened there generations ago, they say, for tying your horse to. But the bark's grown over it till it's well nigh hidden. The others are walnut trees. They get bushels of fine nuts off them in the autumn. That's why there are so many squirrels hereabouts. I think it'd be fine to be a squirrel, Mr. Vale, always independent, and out of reach, livin' up next the sky, and speirin' for nuts."
"I'm afraid you're a dissatisfied fellow, Newbigging," Derek said, laughing.
"Weel, I micht have done worse. I'd sooner be mysel', for instance, than Chaird yonder, goin' off to the Methodist Chapel wi' his fat wife, and eight yellow-faced bairns."
Derek had a glimpse of a waggonette, packed with his neighbour's family and drawn by the yellow-maned horses. Newbigging gave a sly smile. He said:
"I suppose you'll be wantin' me to get the dogcart for ye? There'll be no time to spare."
"Thanks; no," said Derek. "But I suppose you and the other Scots are going. You're a nation of churchgoers, aren't you?"
"When we're at home perhaps. But not one of the three of us have been inside a church since we left the Old Land. But I'm English Church mysel'. I used to sing in the choir in St. Mary's, in Dundee, when I was a lad." He looked thoughtful for a moment and then he said:
"Look here, Mr. Vale. If I get the cart for ye, would ye drive to the English Church at Brancepeth? Mr. Jerrold and his daughter go there. It's a pretty drive along the shore." He looked genuinely eager.
To Derek suddenly came a recollection of the two figures on horseback, and of the brightness of Miss Jerrold's hair under her black hat . . . and he had not yet seen Brancepeth. "Very well, Newbigging," he said, "I believe I shall go to church."
Newbigging soon brought around a good bay gelding harnessed to a heavy-wheeled dogcart. The road to Brancepeth lay close along the shore, now high, and, it seemed, dangerously near the edge of the bluffs; now dipping suddenly to cross some willow-shaded stream. Orchards in a storm of bloom trooped almost to the water's edge. Brancepeth was sedate, respectable, very different from the rowdy, good-humored poverty of Mistwell. He left his horse in the stable of the Duke of York, a deep-porched little hotel near the church.
He was late, and had half a mind not to go in. He pushed the inner green baize door a few inches open and saw the congregation kneeling. A low murmur came from them—"That we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life." . . . . Like the subdued sound of waves their voices rose and fell in solemn prayer and muffled response. Then came a scraping of feet, a relieved heaving of bodies, and they rose. Derek felt his arm grasped from behind, and a stout, determined-looking gentleman pushed him irrevocably inside, and conducted him to a pew. He took a prayer book from the rack before him, and found the place. As he mechanically sang the words of the Venite, he looked about for the Jerrolds. Then he remembered that he had no way of recognizing them except that Hobbs had told him that Mr. Jerrold was the handsomest man in the countryside. Decidedly then, he was not the man directly in front of him with the sloping shoulders, red hair, and protruding ears. Nor the one opposite with the officious Adam's Apple and nasal voice. Could it have been he who led him into the church? He thought not. . . . . Then, suddenly he saw them; considerably in advance of him, across the aisle. That was certainly the massive figure he had seen on horseback. He seemed to rise above the commonplace figures about him like a dark rock out of an expanse of shingle. Of his face, Derek could see only the healthy olive cheek, and, as he turned a little, a regular profile, with beautifully cut mouth and chin. Miss Jerrold was almost hidden by her father but, once, when she remained on her feet a second longer than he, Derek had a glimpse of a fair oval face framed in the bronze-gold hair, surmounted this time by a violet-coloured toque.
He thought of Edmund in the old garrison church at Halifax. He would write and describe the Jerrolds to Edmund, and make him envious.
The rector was a robust, smooth-shaven man and he preached in a hearty way, as though he enjoyed the sound of his own vibrant voice. He preached so long that Derek lost the thread of what he was saying and began to fidget. Mr. Jerrold began to fidget, too. He crossed and recrossed his legs, and turned sidewise in his pew to get more room for his length of limb. Derek could now see him very plainly. He saw him remove his watch an inch or two from his waistcoat pocket. An expression of chagrin crossed his handsome face. It had stopped. Surreptitiously he began to wind it. The sound it made was scarcely audible to Derek but he perceived at once that the clergyman heard it. He ceased his asseverations that the Fruit of the Spirit is long-suffering, and fixed his eyes very sternly on Mr. Jerrold.
Mr. Jerrold's colour rose, but he continued winding. Absolute silence prevailed except for the one delicate, persistent sound. When he had finished, Mr. Jerrold returned the watch to his pocket, folded his arms on his powerful chest, and raised his eyes with a look of encouraging interest to the clergyman. The sermon proceeded.
At last those who were not remaining for the Communion Service rose to go. Derek felt under the pew for his hat; then he saw a whispered conference between the Jerrolds, and hesitated. Very few were remaining—only about twenty—among them the Jerrolds. A compelling impulse made Derek lay his hat down. Then he half rose. Then he encountered the stare of the man with the nasal voice, across the aisle, and he dropped to his knees. There was a creaking of large boots, and the man who had led him in, moved up to the pew behind him. There was now no hope of escape. He buried his face on his arm and tried to compose his mind.
"Lift up your he-earts." The sonorous, muffled tones came from a long way off, it seemed.
"We lift them up unto the Lo-ord," moaned the twenty people on a note of abject misery.
Across his arm Vale saw Miss Jerrold's head drooping above her clasped hands; like some lovely flower bending to receive the dew of Heaven, he thought, and felt surprised at his own poetic fancy. There was a movement now towards the chancel. He shut his eyes for a time, and when he opened them it was his turn to go forward. Mr. Jerrold and his daughter were already in the aisle and he stepped out directly behind them. . . . . The man with the creaking boots pressed close after, and they stood motionless for a space between the rows of staring choir boys, while three women who had just received the Communion, filed past them with meekly lowered eyes.
The sunlight through stained glass windows fell in ruddy efflorescence on the white silk altar-cloth. Derek knelt, and fixed his eyes on the solemn shine of the cross. Then altar and cross were hidden by the billowing folds of a surplice, and sacred words were murmured above his head. . . . . When he rose to his feet his eyes fell on Mr. Jerrold. He was still kneeling; erect and motionless as the brass eagle of the lectern.
Some impulse, and he was frequently the subject of unexpected impulses, caused Derek to hurry from the church and climb into his cart at the Duke of York without another glance in the direction of the Jerrolds. The gelding was wild to be home, and stretched his long legs to good purpose along the sandy road. In spite of this Mr. Jerrold overtook him, driving a pair of spirited horses whose silver chains made a sprightly clatter as they passed.
As Derek turned in at his own gate he saw his neighbour's family entering theirs. Chard saw him also and solemnly raised his whip to the brim of his hat. When Derek next met him a degree of sourness had crept into his pale smile.
Newbigging and Gunn took his horse, both clambering into the cart and driving at a gallop to the stables. Derek had alighted near the open door of the empty apple-house, and, glancing in as he passed, he saw Phœbe and McKay inside. He had his arms around her, and evidently pinched her, for she screamed and slapped him. His attentions to her usually took the form of squeezing and pinching, and from their vicinity there often issued her cries of delighted discomfort.
Indoors was a smell of hot roast beef. Derek, thinking of the two in the apple-house, broke into a merry whistle.
In the afternoon he had descended the tottering flight of steps that were sunk into the bank before the house, and was stretched on the fine sand listening to the cries of the gulls and the rhythmic wash of the waves upon the shore. He was very drowsy, indeed almost asleep, when he felt the contact of a moist tongue on his cheek, and looked up into the face of a rough-haired Irish terrier. Mr. Jerrold was cautiously descending the steps accompanied by two other dogs.
"If these steps give way, and I break my leg," he called out, "you are responsible, Mr. Vale. Come away, Badger, you rascal!" He crossed the sand and Derek sprang to his feet.
"Mrs. Machin told me I should find you down here. I hope you're not hiding from her. I'm sure I'd be afraid of her. I am William Jerrold, a neighbour of yours. I came to see if you will come over to my place and have a cup of tea with us. I saw you in church this morning. How did you like it?"
"That's very kind of you," said Vale. "I liked the church. Good sermon, too."
They both laughed. "My watch was rather unmanageable, wasn't it? But Ramsey has forgiven me. He's at the house now. You'll like him—out of church, anyway."
"I liked him in church. But his sermon was certainly long."
"Get him talking about strawberry-growing, or poultry raising, or the best recipe for jugged hare, and he's decidedly interesting."
They had climbed the steps and were walking along the road now. Derek watched Mr. Jerrold's face with interest as he talked. In his rough tweed coat and soft hat he looked even more handsome than in church. His black wavy hair, which was becoming thin at the forehead, still curled closely around his temples. His finely moulded mouth expressed at once, engaging good humour and an ardent, quick temper. But it was his large, dark eyes under their black brows, eyes pathetic, wistful, yet full of fire, that stirred the emotions of the observer.
The two men were strongly contrasted, yet a boyish love of life and a certain pleasure in their own bodies drew them together, and each found much in the other to attract. They were talking like familiar friends when they reached the door of Durras. A fire burned in the drawing-room and its light was softly given back by ornaments of brass and silver, and dark polished wood.
Derek was introduced to Miss Jerrold and Mr. Ramsey, and a stout Aberdeen terrier was tipped from a chair to make room for him. He was provided with a cup of tea and a scone; the Aberdeen which a moment before had seemed stupefied by sleep, sat up briskly before him waving its forepaws, and fixing him with glowing, greedy eyes.
"That is Sgiath," said Miss Jerrold. "She is a great nuisance."
"Dear old Sgiath," said Mr. Ramsey, "come and have a bit of scone."
Sgiath turned to him without enthusiasm and he gave her a morsel, taking care that her nose should not touch his hand.
"Sgiath always favours the newest friend with her attentions," said Miss Jerrold, as the terrier returned to Derek and again sat up with agitated forepaws.
"She knows I like her," said Derek in a low tone.
"And that Mr. Ramsey is only pretending to like her." She looked into his eyes with an amused and friendly smile. He thought he had never seen a face in which reserve and mobility were so delicately blended.
Mr. Ramsey said: "I was delighted that you should so soon join us in partaking of the Holy Eucharist, Mr. Vale. I am sorry to say that your uncle was not a regular communicant. Your promptness is all the more agreeable."
"I was there, too," said Mr. Jerrold, with a challenging smile.
"And equally welcome," affirmed the clergyman.
"I had to do something to make up for the ill behaviour of my watch."
"Mr. Jerrold, I give you my permission to bring the clock from your stable tower and wind it, if you will become a regular communicant."
"That's handsome of you, and I'll consider it," returned his host. "Have another scone, Ramsey. And you, Mr. Vale. That rascal, Sgiath, has eaten half of yours."
"Did you notice our Communion vessels?" asked Mr. Ramsey. "They are unusually beautiful. They were presented to the church by Queen Anne."
"I'm afraid I didn't. Everything was new to me, and I am very unobservant."
"I must let you examine them some day. The chasing is very beautiful."
"How is your poultry?" interrupted Mr. Jerrold.
"He has the most amazing White Wyandottes," said Miss Jerrold. "They always lay when our hens are either moulting, or setting, or just too fat. Hobbs can never get our Leghorns or Dorkings to lay like that."
"Yet he is always boasting about them," said Mr. Ramsey. "I never meet him but he has some record broken."
"Hobbs is a good man with cattle," declared Mr. Jerrold, "but he does not understand poultry as you do."
"They take a great deal of understanding, but they repay you in the end. Why, bless you, I don't know how I should make ends meet if it weren't for mine. I shipped forty-eight dozen eggs this week. At thirty cents a dozen that amounts to fourteen dollars and forty cents. Not bad, eh? Of course, the commission comes off that, still it's not bad. And I shall soon have some plump broilers ready."
"Poor little darlings," put in Miss Jerrold.
"Oh, but my dear young lady, we couldn't have those young cockerels all over the place. And they've had a very happy life."
"But so short." She looked pensive.
"I shall let all mine grow up to be hardy old cocks," said Derek.
"And Mrs. Machin will make you eat them in the end," retorted the clergyman. He went on: "Now, what do you suppose happened while I was at church this morning? I had six hens setting in an old corn crib, and if you'll believe me, they all hatched their broods during the service. Thirteen apiece. When I fed them at eight o'clock there were just a few shells chipped. When I went to them after Matins, there were seventy-eight little chicks, all dry, and as yellow as daffodils. 'Worthy old hens!' I exclaimed, 'you have my deepest respect.'"
"When had you set them?" asked Miss Jerrold, innocently.
"Three weeks ago to the very day."
"On a Sunday," shouted Mr. Jerrold. "Well done, Grace! You cornered him. The parson sets six hens on the Sabbath. No wonder my watched stopped!"
"Come, this is too cruel," expostulated Mr. Ramsey. "What was I to do? The hens were clucking. The eggs were warm. I said a little prayer over each, and so made a respectable ceremony of it. The resultant chicks look as though they had just fluttered down from Heaven."
It was plain that he was eager to spend the remainder of the afternoon talking about his poultry, but Mr. Jerrold proposed that they take a stroll about the farm. He wanted to show Derek the stock, and to get Mr. Ramsey's opinion of a new mare.
The two older men walked ahead, Derek following with Grace Jerrold. He felt an increasing sense of happiness in the possession of such pleasant neighbours, especially since they seemed inclined to make him one of their little circle.
"Do you know, it's quite exciting to us to have a new neighbour," she said, as they crossed the lawn. "You have been one of the principal topics of our conversation since you came."
"I was afraid I was in disgrace since my horses break into your place so often. About once a week, I think Hobbs said."
"Oh, that just provides a little agreeable excitement for the men. Please don't mend the fences."
"It was very good of your father to fetch me to tea."
"Oh, I sent him." She had, it seemed, an ingenuous little way of beginning her sentences with "Oh," like a child. Then she added quickly, with a flush—"I thought you might be lonely—so far from home."
"I was—a little. There are just my brother and myself. I feel very much separated from him here."
"It's a lonely spot," she said. "We have lived here six years, since I lost my mother. I should be very lonely if father and I were not such good companions. We go about the place together all day, and at night we read aloud, or play cribbage."
"I admire your father tremendously. He attracts me more than any other man I can remember."
Her eyes were bright with pleasure. "He is attractive, isn't he? And very clever, too. But, really, I believe I have the better business head of the two. I mean I think I have a clearer grasp of the essentials, and I don't get enthusiastic over new projects till I've looked into them a bit."
"What's that, Grace?" said Mr. Jerrold, turning round suddenly. "What's she saying about me?"
"I was remarking, William dear, that I have a better brain for business than you. Mr. Vale says he can easily believe it."
They were entering the stables now, and her father replied: "Well, Mr. Vale may see for himself how I manage these."
The new mare was inspected, a daughter of Hearts Courageous, twice winner of the King's Plate. But the sixty milch cows in their immaculate stalls, the black and white of their soft coats gleaming, their overdeveloped udders pink and clean, roused in Derek both admiration and envy. His own little Jersey herd, of which he had been so proud dwindled to insignificance. Mr. Jerrold, and Hobbs who had joined them, expatiated on the superior virtues of the Holstein. Hobbs said he wouldn't give a Jersey stable room.
It seemed natural that Derek and Grace Jerrold should eventually separate from the others, while she took him to see the rose garden where the tight little olive buds were barely in sight, and the kitchen garden already heavy with the scent of lilacs. They followed the stream that entered Durras from Grimstone till they reached a low-lying meadow so wet they could not cross it. Here marsh marigolds crowded in golden profusion, more brilliant, it seemed to Derek, than anything he had ever seen.
"I think Durras is beautiful," he said. "It is like a fine English place. I had not expected anything so—mellow."
"It used to be a part of Grimstone, you know, till about thirty years ago when our predecessor bought it from your grandfather. Aren't you sorry he bought it?"
"No," said Derek, positively, "I'm very glad. I shouldn't know what to do with such a big slice of land. Besides, I want you for neighbours. It's much jollier."
"This place is a great expense." She drew a deep breath that was almost a sigh.
They now were retracing their steps. A primrose yellow filled the sky behind the burnished bloom of the cherry orchards.
They were silent a while, then, as they drew near the gate Derek said, "I've been wondering, Miss Jerrold, if I were to rig up a tennis court, whether you would come over and play."
"Oh, I should love to! But why can't we have it here? Our lawns are more level, I think."
"I want some attraction at Grimstone," he said, and she remarked, though not for the first time, that look of happy expectancy in his greenish-blue eyes.