No, thank you, child, said old Mrs. Fairfield, but the way at that moment she tossed the boy up and said a-goos-a-goos-a-ga! to him meant that she felt the same. The little girls ran into the paddock like chickens let out of a coop.
Even Alice, the servant-girl, washing up the dishes in the kitchen, caught the infection and used the precious tank water in a perfectly reckless fashion.
Oh, these men! said she, and she plunged the teapot into the bowl and held it under the water even after it had stopped bubbling, as if it too was a man and drowning was too good for them.
Chapter 1.IV
Wait for me, Isa-bel! Kezia, wait for me!There was poor little Lottie, left behind again, because she found it so fearfully hard to get over the stile by herself. When she stood on the first step her knees began to wobble; she grasped the post. Then you had to put one leg over. But which leg? She never could decide. And when she did finally put one leg over with a sort of stamp of despairthen the feeling was awful. She was half in the paddock still and half in the tussock grass. She clutched the post desperately and lifted up her voice. Wait for me!
No, dont you wait for her, Kezia! said Isabel. Shes such a little silly. Shes always making a fuss. Come on! And she tugged Kezias jersey. You can use my bucket if you come with me, she said kindly. Its bigger than yours. But Kezia couldnt leave Lottie all by herself. She ran back to her. By this time Lottie was very red in the face and breathing heavily.
Here, put your other foot over, said Kezia.
Where?
Lottie looked down at Kezia as if from a mountain height.
Here where my hand is. Kezia patted the place.
Oh, there do you mean! Lottie gave a deep sigh and put the second foot over.
Nowsort of turn round and sit down and slide, said Kezia.
But theres nothing to sit down on, Kezia, said Lottie.
She managed it at last, and once it was over she shook herself and began to beam.
Im getting better at climbing over stiles, arent I, Kezia?
Lotties was a very hopeful nature.
The pink and the blue sunbonnet followed Isabels bright red sunbonnet up that sliding, slipping hill. At the top they paused to decide where to go and to have a good stare at who was there already. Seen from behind, standing against the skyline, gesticulating largely with their spades, they looked like minute puzzled explorers.
The whole family of Samuel Josephs was there already with their lady-help, who sat on a camp-stool and kept order with a whistle that she wore tied round her neck, and a small cane with which she directed operations. The Samuel Josephs never played by themselves or managed their own game. If they did, it ended in the boys pouring water down the girls necks or the girls trying to put little black crabs into the boys pockets. So Mrs. S. J. and the poor lady-help drew up what she called a brogramme every morning to keep them abused and out of bischief. It was all competitions or races or round games. Everything began with a piercing blast of the lady-helps whistle and ended with another. There were even prizeslarge, rather dirty paper parcels which the lady-help with a sour little smile drew out of a bulging string kit. The Samuel Josephs fought fearfully for the prizes and cheated and pinched one anothers armsthey were all expert pinchers. The only time the Burnell children ever played with them Kezia had got a prize, and when she undid three bits of paper she found a very small rusty button-hook. She couldnt understand why they made such a fuss....
But they never played with the Samuel Josephs now or even went to their parties. The Samuel Josephs were always giving childrens parties at the Bay and there was always the same food. A big washhand basin of very brown fruit-salad, buns cut into four and a washhand jug full of something the lady-help called Limonadear. And you went away in the evening with half the frill torn off your frock or something spilled all down the front of your open-work pinafore, leaving the Samuel Josephs leaping like savages on their lawn. No! They were too awful.
On the other side of the beach, close down to the water, two little boys, their knickers rolled up, twinkled like spiders. One was digging, the other pattered in and out of the water, filling a small bucket. They were the Trout boys, Pip and Rags. But Pip was so busy digging and Rags was so busy helping that they didnt see their little cousins until they were quite close.
Look! said Pip. Look what Ive discovered. And he showed them an old wet, squashed-looking boot. The three little girls stared.
Whatever are you going to do with it? asked Kezia.
Keep it, of course! Pip was very scornful. Its a findsee?
Yes, Kezia saw that. All the same....
Theres lots of things buried in the sand, explained Pip. They get chucked up from wrecks. Treasure. Whyyou might find
But why does Rags have to keep on pouring water in? asked Lottie.
Oh, thats to moisten it, said Pip, to make the work a bit easier. Keep it up, Rags.
And good little Rags ran up and down, pouring in the water that turned brown like cocoa.
Here, shall I show you what I found yesterday? said Pip mysteriously, and he stuck his spade into the sand. Promise not to tell.
They promised.
Say, cross my heart straight dinkum.
The little girls said it.
Pip took something out of his pocket, rubbed it a long time on the front of his jersey, then breathed on it and rubbed it again.
Now turn round! he ordered.
They turned round.
All look the same way! Keep still! Now!
And his hand opened; he held up to the light something that flashed, that winked, that was a most lovely green.
Its a nemeral, said Pip solemnly.
Is it really, Pip? Even Isabel was impressed.
The lovely green thing seemed to dance in Pips fingers. Aunt Beryl had a nemeral in a ring, but it was a very small one. This one was as big as a star and far more beautiful.
Chapter 1.V
As the morning lengthened whole parties appeared over the sand-hills and came down on the beach to bathe. It was understood that at eleven oclock the women and children of the summer colony had the sea to themselves. First the women undressed, pulled on their bathing dresses and covered their heads in hideous caps like sponge bags; then the children were unbuttoned. The beach was strewn with little heaps of clothes and shoes; the big summer hats, with stones on them to keep them from blowing away, looked like immense shells. It was strange that even the sea seemed to sound differently when all those leaping, laughing figures ran into the waves. Old Mrs. Fairfield, in a lilac cotton dress and a black hat tied under the chin, gathered her little brood and got them ready. The little Trout boys whipped their shirts over their heads, and away the five sped, while their grandma sat with one hand in her knitting-bag ready to draw out the ball of wool when she was satisfied they were safely in.
The firm compact little girls were not half so brave as the tender, delicate-looking little boys. Pip and Rags, shivering, crouching down, slapping the water, never hesitated. But Isabel, who could swim twelve strokes, and Kezia, who could nearly swim eight, only followed on the strict understanding they were not to be splashed. As for Lottie, she didnt follow at all. She liked to be left to go in her own way, please. And that way was to sit down at the edge of the water, her legs straight, her knees pressed together, and to make vague motions with her arms as if she expected to be wafted out to sea. But when a bigger wave than usual, an old whiskery one, came lolloping along in her direction, she scrambled to her feet with a face of horror and flew up the beach again.
Here, mother, keep those for me, will you?
Two rings and a thin gold chain were dropped into Mrs Fairfields lap.
Yes, dear. But arent you going to bathe here?
No-o, Beryl drawled. She sounded vague. Im undressing farther along. Im going to bathe with Mrs. Harry Kember.
Very well. But Mrs. Fairfields lips set. She disapproved of Mrs Harry Kember. Beryl knew it.
Poor old mother, she smiled, as she skimmed over the stones. Poor old mother! Old! Oh, what joy, what bliss it was to be young....
You look very pleased, said Mrs. Harry Kember. She sat hunched up on the stones, her arms round her knees, smoking.
Its such a lovely day, said Beryl, smiling down at her.
Oh my dear! Mrs. Harry Kembers voice sounded as though she knew better than that. But then her voice always sounded as though she knew something better about you than you did yourself. She was a long, strange-looking woman with narrow hands and feet. Her face, too, was long and narrow and exhausted-looking; even her fair curled fringe looked burnt out and withered. She was the only woman at the Bay who smoked, and she smoked incessantly, keeping the cigarette between her lips while she talked, and only taking it out when the ash was so long you could not understand why it did not fall. When she was not playing bridgeshe played bridge every day of her lifeshe spent her time lying in the full glare of the sun. She could stand any amount of it; she never had enough. All the same, it did not seem to warm her. Parched, withered, cold, she lay stretched on the stones like a piece of tossed-up driftwood. The women at the Bay thought she was very, very fast. Her lack of vanity, her slang, the way she treated men as though she was one of them, and the fact that she didnt care twopence about her house and called the servant Gladys Glad-eyes, was disgraceful. Standing on the veranda steps Mrs. Kember would call in her indifferent, tired voice, I say, Glad-eyes, you might heave me a handkerchief if Ive got one, will you? And Glad-eyes, a red bow in her hair instead of a cap, and white shoes, came running with an impudent smile. It was an absolute scandal! True, she had no children, and her husband Here the voices were always raised; they became fervent. How can he have married her? How can he, how can he? It must have been money, of course, but even then!
Mrs. Kembers husband was at least ten years younger than she was, and so incredibly handsome that he looked like a mask or a most perfect illustration in an American novel rather than a man. Black hair, dark blue eyes, red lips, a slow sleepy smile, a fine tennis player, a perfect dancer, and with it all a mystery. Harry Kember was like a man walking in his sleep. Men couldnt stand him, they couldnt get a word out of the chap; he ignored his wife just as she ignored him. How did he live? Of course there were stories, but such stories! They simply couldnt be told. The women hed been seen with, the places hed been seen in but nothing was ever certain, nothing definite. Some of the women at the Bay privately thought hed commit a murder one day. Yes, even while they talked to Mrs. Kember and took in the awful concoction she was wearing, they saw her, stretched as she lay on the beach; but cold, bloody, and still with a cigarette stuck in the corner of her mouth.
Mrs. Kember rose, yawned, unsnapped her belt buckle, and tugged at the tape of her blouse. And Beryl stepped out of her skirt and shed her jersey, and stood up in her short white petticoat, and her camisole with ribbon bows on the shoulders.
Mercy on us, said Mrs. Harry Kember, what a little beauty you are!
Dont! said Beryl softly; but, drawing off one stocking and then the other, she felt a little beauty.
My dearwhy not? said Mrs. Harry Kember, stamping on her own petticoat. Reallyher underclothes! A pair of blue cotton knickers and a linen bodice that reminded one somehow of a pillow-case And you dont wear stays, do you? She touched Beryls waist, and Beryl sprang away with a small affected cry. Then Never! she said firmly.
Lucky little creature, sighed Mrs. Kember, unfastening her own.
Beryl turned her back and began the complicated movements of some one who is trying to take off her clothes and to pull on her bathing-dress all at one and the same time.
Oh, my deardont mind me, said Mrs. Harry Kember. Why be shy? I shant eat you. I shant be shocked like those other ninnies. And she gave her strange neighing laugh and grimaced at the other women.
But Beryl was shy. She never undressed in front of anybody. Was that silly? Mrs. Harry Kember made her feel it was silly, even something to be ashamed of. Why be shy indeed! She glanced quickly at her friend standing so boldly in her torn chemise and lighting a fresh cigarette; and a quick, bold, evil feeling started up in her breast. Laughing recklessly, she drew on the limp, sandy-feeling bathing-dress that was not quite dry and fastened the twisted buttons.
Thats better, said Mrs. Harry Kember. They began to go down the beach together. Really, its a sin for you to wear clothes, my dear. Somebodys got to tell you some day.
The water was quite warm. It was that marvellous transparent blue, flecked with silver, but the sand at the bottom looked gold; when you kicked with your toes there rose a little puff of gold-dust. Now the waves just reached her breast. Beryl stood, her arms outstretched, gazing out, and as each wave came she gave the slightest little jump, so that it seemed it was the wave which lifted her so gently.
I believe in pretty girls having a good time, said Mrs. Harry Kember. Why not? Dont you make a mistake, my dear. Enjoy yourself. And suddenly she turned turtle, disappeared, and swam away quickly, quickly, like a rat. Then she flicked round and began swimming back. She was going to say something else. Beryl felt that she was being poisoned by this cold woman, but she longed to hear. But oh, how strange, how horrible! As Mrs. Harry Kember came up close she looked, in her black waterproof bathing-cap, with her sleepy face lifted above the water, just her chin touching, like a horrible caricature of her husband.
Chapter 1.VI
In a steamer chair, under a manuka tree that grew in the middle of the front grass patch, Linda Burnell dreamed the morning away. She did nothing. She looked up at the dark, close, dry leaves of the manuka, at the chinks of blue between, and now and again a tiny yellowish flower dropped on her. Prettyyes, if you held one of those flowers on the palm of your hand and looked at it closely, it was an exquisite small thing. Each pale yellow petal shone as if each was the careful work of a loving hand. The tiny tongue in the centre gave it the shape of a bell. And when you turned it over the outside was a deep bronze colour. But as soon as they flowered, they fell and were scattered. You brushed them off your frock as you talked; the horrid little things got caught in ones hair. Why, then, flower at all? Who takes the troubleor the joyto make all these things that are wasted, wasted It was uncanny.
On the grass beside her, lying between two pillows, was the boy. Sound asleep he lay, his head turned away from his mother. His fine dark hair looked more like a shadow than like real hair, but his ear was a bright, deep coral. Linda clasped her hands above her head and crossed her feet. It was very pleasant to know that all these bungalows were empty, that everybody was down on the beach, out of sight, out of hearing. She had the garden to herself; she was alone.
Dazzling white the picotees shone; the golden-eyed marigold glittered; the nasturtiums wreathed the veranda poles in green and gold flame. If only one had time to look at these flowers long enough, time to get over the sense of novelty and strangeness, time to know them! But as soon as one paused to part the petals, to discover the under-side of the leaf, along came Life and one was swept away. And, lying in her cane chair, Linda felt so light; she felt like a leaf. Along came Life like a wind and she was seized and shaken; she had to go. Oh dear, would it always be so? Was there no escape?