Читать книгу Masks Off at Midnight - Valentine Williams - Страница 8

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They were heading for the circle of chairs where Henry Tallifer and his guests were seated. Dene, chatting amiably, led the way, Hordern following with a certain air of deference. In a flash Jenny saw catastrophe impending, at the same time knew herself powerless to avert it. It was obvious that the Englishman, all unconscious of the true state of affairs, was going to introduce Hordern to her father who, she was only too well aware, had steadfastly refused to meet him—probably Dene had met Hordern on one of the latter’s frequent trips to London. She was suddenly hot with indignation at the thought that Hordern should have stooped to exploit the Englishman’s ignorance in this way. Hordern’s words to her that morning came into her head—‘What I want, I go after.’ She might have known he wouldn’t pass up a chance like that...

It seemed to her, as she went slowly forward, that a silence had fallen upon the group under the umbrella. All the lunch party was still there with the exception of her mother and Paul Kentish. Jenny halted behind the convenient trunk of a great locust tree, within earshot but out of view of the party. Her courage failed her to draw nearer—she was acutely conscious of the fact that no one, not even Paul, had any idea that she and Brent Hordern were anything more than casual acquaintances. She was terrified of what Hordern might do or say if her father were rude to him—he would stop at nothing, she knew: he might bring her into it.

Trevor Dene’s clear, rather high-pitched English voice resounded. ‘Oh, Mr. Tallifer,’ he was saying, ‘I’ve just run into an American friend we met in London last year. Although you live near one another, you’ve never met, I think... Mr. Hordern...’

Jenny, peering out from her vantage-point, saw Hordern, with a frank smile, put out his hand. There was a moment’s icy silence, then Mr. Tallifer, with an exceedingly curt nod at Hordern, proceeded with extreme deliberation to take off his eyeglasses and stow them away in his pocket, the gesture being clearly designed to occupy his hands.

At the same instant Mrs. Waverly stood up. ‘Shall we show Mrs. Dene the bathing-beach?’ she said to Ruth Parton and, turning to Mrs. van Bossche beside her, added, ‘You and Joan come along, too!’

Old Miss Foxley had likewise risen from her chair. ‘I’m going to see if the car’s arrived,’ she told her brother. On the instant the women of the party had drifted away.

The men had stood up. Cousin Anthony and Sonny Parton flanked Henry Tallifer’s stalwart form, the three of them facing the intruder as in a phalanx.

Hordern affected to ignore Mr. Tallifer’s studied coldness. ‘I’m delighted to have this opportunity, Mr. Tallifer,’ he said in a firm, warm voice, glancing round the group. ‘It’s time we met!’

‘Am I correct in supposing that you intend to go through with this scheme of yours for incorporating Laurel Ridge?’ Mr. Tallifer demanded in a tone which he was at no pains to make conciliatory.

Hordern studied his nails. ‘Absolutely...’ he answered nonchalantly.

‘Do you think it a proper thing, at a time like this, for wealthy men to try to shuffle taxation they should rightly bear onto the shoulders of a struggling community like ours?’

The other shrugged. ‘The great majority of the inhabitants of the Ridge are in favour of incorporation, you know, Mr. Tallifer...’

‘Fiddlesticks!’ a thin voice broke in—old General Foxley was addressing Hordern. ‘You blackjacked your tenants, you and your agent, into signing the petition and you know it!’

‘The petition is signed by many who are not my tenants, General,’ Hordern put in mildly.

‘By farmers whose hay you buy and whose teams you hire,’ the old gentleman rapped back irately. ‘The whole thing’s a damned disgrace. A man like you should be run out of town on a rail!’

Hordern smiled and moved his shoulders. ‘There’s no use our getting heated about it. The matter’s as good as settled. The necessary signatures have been assembled and the petition goes before the court next week...’

‘Then you insist on going through with this damnable scheme of yours?’ Mr. Tallifer questioned tensely.

‘There’s nothing damnable about it,’ said Hordern in the same temperate tone. ‘All over the Island people are incorporating—it’s the modern method of readjusting the burden of taxation. You’ll allow me to say, Mr. Tallifer, that I think it a pity you and your friends should antagonize me. If we could only get together, there’s...’

‘We’ve no desire to get together with you, Mr. Hordern,’ Randolph Waverly now put in with deadly calm. ‘We don’t like you and we don’t like your methods...’

With an easy smile, Hordern turned to Dene. The Englishman was scarlet to the roots of his tawny hair. ‘Sorry, old man,’ Hordern remarked suavely. ‘I must apologize. It was entirely my fault. I should have warned you that I’m not precisely the white-headed boy round here. But I couldn’t resist the opportunity of discovering just how unpopular I was...’

It was Sonny Parton who answered him. He was Waverly’s brother-in-law, dark-haired and rather dissolute-looking and very sure of himself. ‘I should think you would apologize,’ he broke in, his tone arrogant and contemptuous, ‘not only to our guests but to Mr. Waverly as well...’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Sonny,’ Waverly broke in, but Parton would not be stopped.

‘You’ve got your nerve, taking advantage of the ignorance of a stranger, and a guest into the bargain, to chisel your way in where you’re not wanted,’ he declared to Hordern, ‘and if Waverly doesn’t complain to the committee of this club about it, I shall. In the meantime,’ he went on, raising his voice, ‘I trust that Mr. Dene won’t regard this incident as typical of the standard of manners in this country...’

‘That will do, Sonny,’ Henry Tallifer interposed, and added, with an icy glance at Hordern, ‘We needn’t detain this gentleman any longer...’

‘One moment, Henry,’ Parton struck in and addressed Hordern again. ‘Since we’re talking about exploiting the ignorance of strangers, let me give you a word of advice. Don’t try to crash the ball at Heathfield tomorrow night!’

The other looked at him balefully. Moistening his lips with his tongue he said, ‘Oh? Why?’

Parton dropped his eyes. ‘I’m just telling you, see?’

‘You don’t suppose I can’t go to your darned ball if I want to, do you?’ Hordern demanded.

Parton laughed spitefully. ‘You haven’t received your invitation yet, have you?’

Hordern flushed. ‘What’s the betting I won’t be there?’ he demanded tensely.

The other shrugged disdainfully. ‘I don’t care to bet on a certainty!’

‘How about, let’s say, five thousand dollars?’

Parton stared at him, palpably taken aback. ‘I don’t take bets of that amount,’ he replied, slowly reddening.

‘I’ll lay you five thousand dollars I’ll attend the ball,’ said Hordern briskly.

‘I tell you again...’ the other was beginning sulkily, when Waverly interrupted him.

‘You’ll take Mr. Hordern, Sonny,’ he said incisively. ‘The winner to pay the amount in to the Cottage Hospital. Is that agreeable to you?’ he asked Hordern.

‘Sure,’ said Hordern casually.

Parton was aghast. ‘But look here, Ran...’

‘Cut it out,’ his brother-in-law silenced him. ‘I’m going to see to it that you don’t lose your money!’

There was an awkward pause. Hordern broke it. ‘Well, that’s that!’ he remarked and turned to Dene. ‘Sorry again, old man. So long for the present! I’ll be seeing you—at the ball tomorrow night, if not before!’ He clapped him genially on the shoulder and, turning his back on the rest of the group, strolled off across the grass to the clubhouse.

Jenny had been a spellbound witness of the scene. Every word of the conversation had drifted to her over the warm, quiet air. An excited voice brought her back to earth as she lingered behind the tree. She turned to see her mother at her side.

‘What’s happening?’ Mrs. Tallifer demanded. ‘And what’s Brent Hordern doing there?’

‘Mr. Dene introduced him to Father,’ Jenny faltered. ‘There was some trouble. Mr. Hordern’s gone now...’

Without a word Mrs. Tallifer thrust her from her path and leaning on her stick, hobbled briskly to where her husband stood in heated talk with the others.