Burnt Offerings (Valancourt 20th Century Classics) (6 page)

Walker wheezed past the open door, calling, “Hold y’r horses, I’m comin’!”

“Get me offa this goddamn contraption!” Brother yelled. His voice rattled and broke into a fit of coughing. The motor was buzzing on and off. Miss Allardyce rolled her eyes, said, “Excuse me,” quickly and sweetly, and started to leave the room.

“It’s movin’, it’s movin’,” Walker was saying.

“It’s movin’
up
. I want
down,
you horse’s ass!”

Miss Allardyce turned in the doorway, raised a hand to her mouth, and whispered, “He’s a cripple,” defensively. In the hall, Walker said, “You got a filthy mouth.” She slammed the door shut behind her, cutting off the sounds.

“Unbelievable!” Marian said immediately. “An absolute
steal
. There’s no question, is there, darling? We’ll grab it?”

Something had come to a thudding stop in the hall. Ben hunched his shoulders and said, “Jesus!”

Marian shook him insistently. “We’d be crazy not to.”

“In that case we’d fit right in with the rest of them.”

“Pay attention to
me,
” she said, steering him away from the noise outside. “You can’t tell me you’re not impressed.
Seven hundred
for two months!”

“I’m impressed,” he admitted.

“Then it’s set. Tell them yes and give them a check.”

“Let’s hear a little more, hunh?”

“Why, for God’s sake? They’re handing it to us.”

“You don’t find that a little suspicious?”

“Not at all. If they’re crazy, then it’s nice crazy.”

“And those qualifications? Taking care of it? It’s going to take a little more than love to keep something like this up.”

“Let me worry about that. Benjie,” she said, whimpering, “I love you too much to divorce you, really I do.”

The doors were opened. “. . . himself killed one of these days,” Walker was saying.

“I wouldn’t talk,” Brother said, “the way she bangs around in that sawed-off jalopy.”

He rode into the room in a wheelchair, a plaid blanket covering his legs. He was puffy and pallid, with thin red-gray hair covering a freckled pate; his eyes were bulging and red-rimmed. Miss Allardyce followed him, saying, “I confine my driving to the open road.” She looked over her shoulder and said, “Scram!” to Walker who disappeared, grumbling.

Brother steered the chair toward Ben and Marian. “Morning,” he called, a little breathlessly.

Miss Allardyce introduced them. Her brother’s real name was Arnold and he was full of beans today.

“I’m always full of beans,” he said. A chuckle rattled
around in his throat. “You’re the folks going to take the house, are you?” His hands were very white with large liver spots.
And extraordinarily cold.

“We’ve just been getting the details,” Ben said.

Like Walker and Miss Allardyce, Brother seemed to be studying Marian especially. “I like ’em, Roz,” he announced after a moment, “I like ’em.”

“There’s only four of them,” Miss Allardyce said, lowering her voice. “An aunt and a boy, too. The boy’s down at the beach. And the aunt’s an old gal.”

“Good enough,” Brother said. He spun around, skirted a boulle writing desk with some old leather-bound books on it, their spines broken and curling, and came to a stop just inside the open terrace doors. He squinted down at the beach.

Some distance to the left of the wooden pier was a small rock jetty which rose, jagged, about five feet above the strip of beach. David was climbing the rocks. Brother narrowed his eyes and the boy’s figure became clearer. He grabbed on to a rock, started to pull himself up, and then drew his hand away suddenly. He fell, and by squinting even more, Brother could see him slide down the surface of the jetty, his arms flying out for support. Brother’s face remained impassive. David was in the dark sand, one knee clasped to his chest; he was rocking back and forth, his head thrown back in pain, soundlessly. Brother watched a few seconds longer, with Ben and Marian silent behind him in the middle of the room.

“Cute little feller,” he said. “What is he – six, seven?”

“Eight,” Ben said.

“And full of the devil, I expect.” Brother chuckled appreciatively, and then aware of Ben approaching the window, he wheeled around quickly to face him.

“He shouldn’t be wandering around like that – ” Ben started to say, but Brother raised his hand limply and said, “He’ll be fine, just fine.” He wheeled himself through the narrow passage between the desk and a wingchair, forcing Ben back to the center of the room and blocking his view of David on the beach.

“He’s very good, really,” Marian said. “All I have to do is tell him what’s out of bounds.” She caught Ben’s eye. “
If,
”
she said to him hopefully.

“There’ve been kids here before,” Brother said. “Never any problem with them.”

“Part of what I was saying about choosing the right people,” Miss Allardyce added. “We’ve never been wrong yet, have we, Brother?”

“Nope.” He reached into the pocket of his robe (heavy flannel over pajamas buttoned to the neck) and pulled out a ragged tissue.

“Do you rent every summer?” Marian asked.

Brother was blowing his nose and turning paler. “It depends,” Miss Allardyce said. “Last time was when, Brother?”

Brother held up two fingers weakly, his nose grinding into the tissue.

“Every other year’s the way it usually works out,” Miss Allardyce said, watching Brother with some annoyance. “Like I said, it depends. Some years it works out better than other years.”

Brother lowered his hand. His eyes were wet and redder. “Our Rest-and-Recreation’s what Roz here is talking about,” he hastened to say. When he smiled, his dentures clicked. “I’m coming apart, as you can see – ”

“Oh, Brother!” Miss Allardyce said.

“Oh, brother is right.” He shook his head tragically, then summoned the strength to say to Ben, “Roz has given you all the details, I expect.”

“Yes,” Ben said.

“Including price?”

“Seven hundred for the summer.” He said it flatly, without the enthusiasm Marian would have put into it, so she quickly added a spirited “Yes!”

Brother brought his hand down on the arm of the wheelchair; he glared at Miss Allardyce. “ ’Scuse us a minute,” he said, and pushed the chair against his sister, nudging her away from them.

“I told you to ask for
nine,
” he whispered hoarsely.

Miss Allardyce looked uneasily at Ben and Marian who were watching them. She leaned closer to Brother. “It was seven before.”

“That was two years ago.”

“Brother, we’ll lose them.”

Brother smiled at Marian. “Her? Not a chance.
Nine
.”

“Why, for God’s sake? We don’t need the money.”

He was looking at Ben now. “Seven’s too low. He’s a suspicious type, can’t you see that, you old fool?”

“All right.” She moved away from him and, not at all convinced, said, “If you say nine, then it’s nine.”

She came back to them smiling guiltily and looking mortified. “Have I messed it up, have I ever messed it up!” She looked back at Brother who had not moved. He shoved her on with a jerk of his head.

“Something’s wrong,” Marian said, alarmed.

“Well . . .” she began, “Brother here’s the businessman of the family, and what with the way everything’s gone up these days – I mean, you know yourself – he says it’s nine; nine hundred for practically two and a half months.”

“Just give the price, Roz,” Brother called out pleasantly.

“Nine hundred,” she said, firmer, and waited.

“That’s a bit of a jump,” Ben said. “More than we’d planned on spending.”

They hadn’t, as far as Marian could remember, decided on any figure. And if seven hundred was a steal – which even Ben would have to admit – then what was another two hundred? Three weeks at Office Temporaries, if it came to that; or behind a counter somewhere, anywhere. Would he really get mad if she said it? He’d get over it, sooner than she would if he turned them down, and so she said, “It’s still a bargain. Let’s take it.”

“Look,” Ben said, and there was an edge in his voice under the grin, “why don’t you go sit in the car, hunh?”

“Of course it’s a bargain,” Brother said, wheeling back to them. “Where would you find a place anything like it – with all that land, all that space?” He swept his hand toward the windows, surprisingly energetic.

“Never mind the land; look at the house,” Roz said. “When’ve you ever seen a house like it?”

“It goes on and on,” Brother said. They were beside each other; almost imperceptibly, their enthusiasm was moving them toward Ben and Marian. “Rooms and rooms; ones we don’t even know are there probably. Basements and sub-basements . . .”

“A marvel of a house,” Miss Allardyce exclaimed, “an absolute marvel! Thanks to our mother.” Brother nodded. Roz passed her hand over the surface of a table. “Just look at this room, look at the treasures in here.”

“Just to live with them, Mrs. Rolfe? Ain’t it worth it?”

Marian stared at them silently.

“And, God, Brother!” Miss Allardyce said, “ – when it comes alive – tell them that, tell them what it’s like in summer.”

“They wouldn’t believe it.” His hands levelled the space in front of him. “It’s beyond anything you ever seen. Look at it, for God’s sake, look at the character of the place.”

Miss Allardyce shook her head ruefully. “And where do you find character nowadays. Nowhere, right?”

Their voices had risen. Miss Allardyce was holding onto Brother’s wheelchair. Still they were moving forward.

“Take it, Mr. Rolfe,” Brother said, “take it.”

“How on earth can they resist it, Brother? Look around, look at what the years have brought to the stone and the wood. There’s centuries in these rooms, Mrs. Rolfe. This house – why, it’s been on this land longer than anyone can remember. Isn’t that right, Brother?”

“Far as we know it’s always been here,” Brother said. “And believe me, it’ll be here when we all kick off.”

They were closer. Miss Allardyce’s voice lowered and became almost hushed. “It’s practically immortal. I sincerely believe that.”

“And so,” Brother said, “do I.”

They stopped, staring at Ben and Marian who remained very still. Marian could still hear their voices in the silence which had become tense and uncomfortable to Ben. He broke it with a small, nervous laugh. “Other things being equal,” he said, “I’d be sold.”

“We got carried away, didn’t we?” Miss Allardyce said apologetically. “It’s so easy, I suppose, when you love something as much as Brother and me love this house. We mustn’t push it, Brother.”

“We never do,” Brother said. “The house always sells itself.”

To the right people, Ben said to himself. And if it had been yes, possibly, a few minutes ago, it was closer to no, probably, now. They were watching him expectantly, Marian included. He stalled by looking thoughtfully over their heads, at the far corners of the room. He tried to ask himself why – what was behind the vague uneasiness he was feeling? Not the nine hundred necessarily; and if their enthusiasm was a little disconcerting, well, they were eccentric to begin with. Was it the splendor of the house that he found intimidating, the fact that something so clearly beyond their reach seemed to be theirs merely for the asking? It was all happening too fast, and something, he couldn’t help feeling, was being left unspoken.

“Mr. Rolfe doesn’t seem to be sold,” Brother said to Marian.

“But he can be,” Marian said, and the threat, Ben was sure, was either playful or imaginary. “Can’t he, Mr. Rolfe?”

“I’m waiting for the catch,” Ben said, smiling.

Miss Allardyce looked puzzled. “Catch?”

“You mean there’s nothing more?” Ben asked. “Nine hundred and it’s ours?”

She nodded. “Half now, half at the end of the summer. Or whatever arrangement you and Brother decide on.”

“Fine with me,” Brother said. “Agreed?”

There had been a look between them, very quick, which Ben caught. “There is a catch, isn’t there?” he said, lightening it with a grin and a wave of his finger. Brother was fidgeting and Miss Allardyce colored slightly. Ben pursued it, saying, “Uh-hunh, I thought there had to be something.”

“Well,” Brother said, red-faced, “there is . . . one other thing.”

Here it comes, Ben thought – the graceful exit; just, please, make it impossible enough to satisfy Marian.

Miss Allardyce pulled back her shoulders and dropped the sheepish look. “Hardly a catch,” she said.

“Hardly,” Brother repeated. He sat absolutely still, his white hands resting on the arms of what might have been a chair of state or an episcopal throne. The rattle was no longer in his voice when he announced it: “It’s our mother.”

“Your mother?” Ben said, and Marian put out her hand to quiet him.

“Our mother,” Miss Allardyce repeated, drawing herself up even more.

“What about her?” Marian asked quietly. From what Miss Allardyce had been saying earlier, Marian assumed their mother was dead.

Brother smiled and shook his head, lost in admiration. “An eighty-five year old gal,” he said, “who could pass for sixty.”

“Fifty,” Miss Allardyce corrected him.

“God bless her, yes! She’ll outlive all of us.”

“A woman solid as – ” She searched for something to express it.

“ – this rock of a house!” Brother said, rapping an end-table which wobbled slightly.

“Our darling!” Her voice filled the room.

Miss Allardyce fell into position behind Brother’s chair and rested her hands on his shoulders, her face directly above his.

“What Roz and me mean to say,” Brother explained, watching their reactions very closely, “is our mother – well, she never leaves the house. Never leaves her room, even, isn’t that so, Roz?”

Roz nodded. “This house is just about all the world she knows. It’s her life.”

“And vice versa,” Brother said. “The whole thing would just come down without her.”

“And so would we, Brother,” Roz said, “so would we.” She patted his shoulders, comforting.

That settled it, of course, as far as Ben was concerned; surely even for Marian. There was no surprise though that he could see, no reaction at all; only rapt attention.

“Believe me,” Miss Allardyce continued, to Ben especially, “you’ll never even know she’s around.”

“Never even see her probably,” Brother added. “That’s how quiet she is, that’s how much she keeps to herself.” He looked toward the ceiling and shook his head again, with wonder and affection. “Our mother . . .”

“Our darling,” Miss Allardyce said.

Marian was following their gaze up to the coved ceiling, trying to visualize the room somewhere beyond the plaster rosettes and the fan traceries that were speckled with gilt. And as she stared at the ceiling, the hum of their voices which had become low and soothing, hypnotic almost, brought out the exquisite patterns more clearly. She could see what the ceiling must have been like in its full glory, the room, the house, and everything in it.

“It just kills us,” Miss Allardyce was saying, “going off without her like this. But would she have it any other way, Brother?”

“ ’Course not,” Brother said. “And believe me, there’s no use arguing with her. Delicate as she is, there’s steel under it all.”