“What actually happened on that night?”
Ben appeared to consider carefully. “There was Joss, Desmond, Croissant, and myself. Joss was fourteen then, going to school over here. My goodness, he was a sharp one. You’d never take him for so young. He already knew what he was going to do. He was going to be the biggest opal man in Australia…oh no, not just Australia…the whole world! That was his way of looking at everything. He was already telling me what I ought to do. That made me sit up, I can tell you. But the crunch was that he was sometimes right. He already towered above us all and he hadn’t finished growing. Six feet five inches. That’s Joss now and in his stockinged feet.”
“Yes, yes,” I said a little impatiently, being eager to hear about the fateful night and tired of the perfections of his son, Joss Madden.
“Well, Joss then and David Croissant. David had merchanted stones all over Australia, America, England, and the Continent of Europe. Where opals were concerned he was a man who knew what he was talking about. Then there was Desmond Dereham. Very enthusiastic he was. We sat here in this room and Desmond laid out his plans for the Fancy and we studied them. He’d examined the land, done a bit of prospecting, and although so far he’d found only the smallest traces of opal, he had the feeling that this could prove one of the richest fields in New South Wales. Of course we wanted proof, and so far there was little to go on. He’d found opal dirt there and he’d found round, hard lumps of silica—just fine grains of sand cemented together and in this are veins of opal. Anyway it’s an indication that somewhere in land like this there could be big fine opals. We worked out where the best place to sink the shafts would be. We were going to keep it fairly small just at first, and then if Desmond’s hunch proved correct we’d go all out in a big way. David Croissant was coming to examine the first finds and decide what would be the best way of marketing them. Then we’d need cutters and the latest equipment to get things in motion. There we were discussing all this, feeling our way, as it were. I remember Desmond’s enthusiasm. He knew we were going to make a big strike, he said. Gougers are superstitious in a way. Some of them believe that there’s a guiding hand that leads them to success, and that’s how we all felt about Desmond’s hunch that night. There was something in him…a sort of sheen of confidence. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve seen it before. It nearly always means success, and I think that every one of us sitting round the table that night believed that Desmond’s Fancy was going to yield the finest opals yet come to light. We reckoned it would be black opal, and the market was growing for that kind. At one time it was all for the light, milky ones, as I’ve told you. Pretty enough, but black was coming into fashion. I said I reckoned we’d never find anything as good as the Green Flash at Sunset. Then we got talking of the Flash and they wanted to look at it.
“I brought them all in here and opened the safe to show them. There it lay in its velvet nest. What a sight! You haven’t seen opal till you’ve seen the Green Flash. Desmond Dereham stretched out his hands to take the Flash. He let her lie in his palm for a moment, and then he called out: ‘I saw it. I saw the Green Flash.’ I snatched it from him and stared at the opal. I turned it round, but I couldn’t catch the flash. You know, as I told you, I saw the real green flash once when I was coming home from Australia. Just as the sun dropped below the horizon I saw it as I had seen it once in the opal. ‘You really saw it, Desmond?’ I cried then. ‘I’m sure of it,’ answered Desmond. Joss swore he saw it too. He always had to be there right in the center of everything. No one must score over him. The next morning your father had gone. He had packed his bags and taken his belongings with him and quietly slipped away. And the Green Flash had disappeared.”
“I can’t believe that my father took it.”
“Your loyalty does you credit, but it’s never wise to blink facts when they’re as plain as all the pikestaffs in the world. Desmond Dereham came here, lived here for a while in this house, seduced your mother, promised to marry her, and then the temptation of the Green Flash was too strong for him…so he took her and ran off with her instead.”
“There must be another explanation.”
Ben leaned forward and took my hand.
“I know what you’re thinking. He was your father. Well, I understand how you feel. But what happened to the Green Flash? David Croissant wouldn’t have taken it. He’d never have had the guts. He was a salesman. He saw opals just as money. He knew their quality as few people did, but he didn’t have the sentimental feeling for any one stone. He’d see its market value, and what market value would the Green Flash have had when it was offered? It would be recognized at once, and he’d be exposed as a thief. Joss?” Ben chuckled. “Granted Joss would be capable of anything. I knew how he felt about the Green Flash, but he could see it when he wanted to. Unless of course the urge came over him to own it…”
“You said it was that sort of stone. It had a peculiar fascination.”
“Now you’re trying to put this onto Joss, are you…to exonerate your father? There were a lot of people who were afraid of the Green Flash. As I told you, it was sometimes known as the Unlucky One. There were legends attaching to it. It was said to bring misfortune. I never believed it. But look at me now.”
“But you’d lost it. I just don’t believe my father would have deserted my mother.”
“He didn’t know you were on the way then. Perhaps that would have made a difference…or perhaps not. You’ve never seen the Green Flash. If you had you might understand what effect it can have on people. There’s a lot you’ve got to learn about men and the world and this thing called fascination, obsession…never mind what you call it, it’s what it is that counts.”
“What happened to my father’s Fancy?”
“It’s now one of the finest opal fields in Australia.”
“So he was right about that.”
“Oh yes, he was right.”
“Do you think he would never have come back to look at it?”
“How could he when he had the Green Flash?”
“Do you believe he would have given up his dream…his Fancy…and my mother…for the sake of one opal which he would never be able—openly—to call his own?”
“I can only repeat, Miss Jessie, that you have never seen the Green Flash.” He reached for his crutch. “You watch me walk across the room. I’m getting used to old pegleg. I’ll soon be moving around as though I had two sound limbs. Then…”
I looked at him searchingly, but he just shook his head. I knew what he meant and that he didn’t want to tell me now. If he could get about more easily, he would be thinking of leaving Oakland Hall. I did not want to contemplate how wretched I should be without him.
***
When I left Ben that day and was coming down the Oakland drive, my grandmother, who had been taking some hemmed dusters to the “poor,” saw me. She stood very still and stared at me as though she were dreaming. I felt defiant. There was not going to be any more pretense.
“Jessica,” she cried incredulously, “where have you been?”
I answered almost flippantly: “Visiting Mr. Ben Henniker!” and waited for the storm to burst. It didn’t immediately, of course. Her sense of decorum would always govern her anger, but as we went into the Dower House, Xavier and Miriam were just coming and she cried to them: “Come into the drawing room and, Miriam, ask your father if he can tear himself away from his cards and spare us a moment.”
When we were all gathered together in the drawing room, my grandmother shut the door so that the servants couldn’t hear.
“Now, Jessica, I should like an explanation,” she said.
“It’s simple,” I retorted. “I was visiting my friend Mr. Ben Henniker.”
“Your friend!”
“Yes, and a better friend than anyone in this house has ever been to me.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“No. I am in full possession of them and that is why I seek friendship outside this house of pretense and sham.”
“Pray, be silent. You had better explain at once how you came to be at Oakland Hall.”
“First I should like you to explain why you have pretended to be my mother all these years and why you made her life so miserable that she drowned herself…”
They were all staring at me. I was sure it was the first time in her life that my grandmother had ever felt at a disadvantage.
“Jessica!” cried Miriam, looking from her mother to Xavier, seeking a clue as to what she should think, I supposed, while my grandfather looked about him as though searching for The Times to cower behind; only Xavier was calm.
“I suspect someone has told you the story of your birth,” he said.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” I answered.
“It depends on what you’ve heard.”
“I know that my mother is dead and how she died and that she’s buried in the Waste Land and you tried to forget her.”
“It was a tragic time for us all,” said Xavier.
“And mostly for her,” I cried.
Then my grandmother spoke. “We had done nothing to deserve it.”
“You deserved everything that came to you,” I retorted scornfully.
“This,” said my grandmother, “is what comes of friendship with miners.”
“Please do not speak slightly of Mr. Henniker. He’s a good man. If he had been here he would have helped her as none of you did.”
“On the contrary,” went on my grandmother, “we inconvenienced ourselves greatly to help her. We sold the silver salver and the George IV punch bowl to get her abroad, and I accepted you as my daughter.”
“You didn’t give her kindness, and that was what she wanted. You made her life miserable…you and your silly conventions. You didn’t love her and help her. Don’t you realize she had lost the one she loved?”
“The one she loved!” cried my grandmother. “A thief…a seducer…the stupid girl!”
“Oh, I can see how wretched you made her. You…who always do the right thing—or think you do. The right thing is to be cruel then, is it? Why didn’t you comfort her? Why didn’t you make life easier for her? You could have helped her. But you didn’t. You let her die, you…my grandmother pretending to be my mother. I might have known you were not, for you were never a mother to me. And you”—I turned to my grandfather—“you haven’t the guts” (I was talking like Ben Henniker and even at such a dramatic moment I saw my grandmother wince) “not you nor Miriam nor Xavier…not one of you helped her. You’re despicable. Miriam can’t face life with her curate because he’s too poor. Xavier can’t marry Lady Clara because she’s too rich. It makes me laugh. What are you made of…all of you? Straw!” I turned on my grandmother. “Except you. You’re made of the granite of unkindness and carelessness toward others put together with so much pride that there’s little else but it…” And coming to the end of my tirade I turned to the door and ran up to my room.
I was shaking with emotion. I had told them what I thought of them, and for once they had no answer for me.
Miriam came up soon afterwards. She looked bewildered and what she said was: “We shall no longer have to hide the Family Bible.” This struck me as so funny that I burst out laughing, which did something to relieve my feelings. Then she went on as though talking to herself: “I suppose it’s better to be poor than let everything pass you by.”
Later I saw the Family Bible, which had hitherto been locked away in the drawing room cabinet. There was my mother’s name inscribed in beautiful copperplate and mine too. I turned the pages and looked at the names of long dead Claverings and wondered what trials and secrets they had had to suffer.
When I went down to dinner that night nothing was said about my outburst. It was as though it had never happened, and I couldn’t help marveling at the conversation, which was all about the weather and village affairs as usual. No one would have believed that in the afternoon there had been such a storm. In a way I had to admire them.
But of one thing I was certain. No one was going to stop my friendship with Ben Henniker. Strangely enough, no one tried to, and after that I walked boldly up the drive to Oakland Hall and made no secret of my visits.
The Peacock
Change was in the air. Even my grandmother was slightly different. I often caught her watching me furtively; Miriam had grown a little bolder; Xavier was even more withdrawn; and I believed that the way in which I had stood up to my grandmother had impressed them all. It was clear that I had scored a victory, and they were less overawed by her than they had been before. Miriam grew mildly pretty. She was always going to church on some pretext or other, and I believed she was seeing more of the curate. The really alarming change, however, came from Oakland Hall.
Ben was gleefully hobbling round on his crutch. “This old wooden stump will soon be as good as a leg,” he kept telling me.
“Then you won’t be content to stay here,” I suggested fearfully.
“Time never stands still,” was his comment.
“Shall you go back to the opal fields?”
“I reckon I will at the end of the summer perhaps. That would be the best time to sail. The seas would be kinder and I’d be sailing from summer to summer.”
There was a twinkle in his eye, which suggested he was making some plans, and I believed that I might be included in them.
There was certainly something unreal about that summer. The weather was hotter than it had been for many years and people were talking about records. There was not a cloud in the sky for days on end and the conversation at meals was concentrated on the weather and the possibilities of a drought, but I knew no one was thinking seriously about it. Even my grandfather had changed and was less subservient to my grandmother.
Ben was both elated and disturbed by my clear indication of what his departure would mean to me and encouraged me to come to Oakland more frequently. Not that I needed much encouragement.
I was there every day. The servants were now accustomed to seeing me and welcomed me. Hannah told me that Mr. Wilmot had said it was like the Family’s coming back again.
One of my favorite places was the gallery. This was some hundred feet long and about twenty wide. The Family had used it as a ballroom and it was where my mother and Desmond Dereham had first met. There were window seats at either end, and sitting there I could imagine how grand it had looked when the Claverings danced through the ages while their family portraits lined the walls. The place where the spinet had stood was conspicuously empty, and the Persian rugs on the floor were those which Ben had purchased from the Claverings when he had bought the house.
I liked to sit in the window seat and picture my mother in her cherry-red dress and Desmond’s setting eyes on her for the first time. Once she had thought her coming-out dance would be held here.
One day Ben said: “You’d miss me if I went away, Jessie.”
“Please don’t talk of it,” I begged.
“But I want to talk about it. I’ve got something very important to say about it. You don’t think I’d go away and leave you here, do you? If I went I’d want you to come with me.”
“Ben!”
“Well, that’s what I thought. We’d go off together. How’s that?”
I immediately thought of myself going into the drawing room at the Dower House and announcing my departure. “They’d never let me go,” I said.
“Oh yes they would…when I got at them.”
“I don’t think you know them very well.”
“Don’t I just. They hate me, don’t they. I took their fine mansion away from them. For hundreds of years there had been Claverings at Oakland and then along comes Ben Henniker—an old gouger—and swipes the lot. Well, of course, they hate me. There’s a bit more to it than that, though.
I met your grandfather before I came here. I’ve got to tell you. I don’t want any secrets between us…well, not more than we can help. Your family’s got a special reason for hating me.”
“Please tell me,” I begged.
“I told you some of it. There’s truth and there’s half truth, and it’s funny what a picture you can build up by telling just what you want to tell and holding back the rest. You can make a fine picture of it and it all looks so natural…but then out comes the truth and that puts a very different complexion on it. I told you I came down here and saw the house and made up my mind I was going to have it, and I told you I made a fortune and put myself in a position to buy it. All true. Well, there was I with my fortune, and there was Grandfather Clavering finding it hard to make ends meet but stumbling along somehow like his ancestors had before him. I’m a wicked old man, Jessie. That’s what you’ve got to learn. I’m rich. I’ve got money to play with. The world’s my stage and I like to shift the players around a bit to make them dance to my tune. I’m also a bit of a gambler, as I’ve told you before. Not so much as the Claverings, though. I wonder if you’re a gambler, Jessie. I reckon you are. You’re a Clavering, you know.
“Your grandfather belonged to one of those London clubs. I knew it well…from the outside. I used to pass it with my tray of gingerbreads when I was first starting out. Fine, imposing sort of place with stone lions guarding the door to keep out poor gingerbread sellers like me. One of these days, I promised myself, I’ll strut up those steps with the best of ’em, and one day I did. I joined this club and there I met your grandfather. We discovered a love of a game called poker. It’s one where you can lose a fortune in an afternoon and I saw that he did. Well, it took two or three afternoons actually. I made up my mind I was going to sit at that table till the day came when he’d have to give up Oakland. It was easier than I thought.”