Burnt Offerings (Valancourt 20th Century Classics) Read online

  “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 d
o,” 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.”

  Miss Allardyce laughed lightly. “Oh, we’ve learned that all right. Her word is law. Always was and always will be, as long as she’s with us. Which is always, please God.”

  “Always,” Brother repeated reflectively.

  For a moment the ceiling had become almost transparent to Marian, the pattern working on her like a trompe l’oeil. Brother went on, his voice growing softer, more inward, as though he were alone in the room.

  “In her room all the time,” he said, “way at the end of the house where you’ll never see her, never even know she’s there.”

  “All you’d have to do is leave a tray for her,” Miss Allardyce said, “three times a day. Just put it on the table in her sitting room – ”

  “Never the bedroom,” Brother cautioned Marian. “It’s kept locked all the time.”

  “Always,” Miss Allardyce said, “our poor, gentle darling.”

  Their voices were blending. Marian could barely hear the difference.

  “What could be simpler? A tray in the sitting room three times a day – which she might, and then again, might not, even touch.”

  “And for that simple – ‘catch,’ as you call it, Mr. Rolfe,” Brother said, “everything here’s yours, with no strings attached.” He repeated the word to Marian: “Yours.”

  “Her marvelous house,” Miss Allardyce said, letting her eyes roam around the room, “that’s been here for so many years; that she’s watched come alive and grow so many times . . . when we’ve despaired, Brother and me.”

  “She’s been a pillar of strength to us . . .”

  “A tower of hope . . . our darling.”

  Miss Allardyce’s hands were tight on Brother’s shoulders. She loosened them in the silence and let them fall to her sides with a long, weary sigh, keeping her eyes, soft and distant, on Marian and Ben who remained motionless. Brother reached for his tissue again, and the sound seemed to call Ben back. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. The voices had worked on him like a moving point of light – a coin or a candle flame. Was it just him; the mind suddenly going blank again, like another car incident? He looked at Marian whose eyes were wide and shining. She faced him slowly.

  “I wouldn’t mind, Ben,” she said. “Really I wouldn’t.” She was saying it as much to the Allardyces as to him.

  It took him a while to collect himself, to wrench the sound of their voices from his mind; he covered it by looking even more thoughtful. When he was sure it would come out normal and even, he said, “That’s something we hadn’t counted on.”

  “I suppose not,” Miss Allardyce agreed.

  Marian kept silent; obviously she had made up her mind.

  “And you’d just . . . leave her?” Ben asked them.

  “We’ve done it many times, Mr. Rolfe.” There was a note of resentment in her voice.

  “That’s what keeps her young,” Brother said. “Why, if she thought Roz and me would pass up our trip this summer, she’d become an old woman overnight. Believe
me she would.”

  “She’s that independent, that self-sufficient.”

  “Like Aunt Elizabeth,” Marian said, thinking aloud. She looked at Ben and repeated it.

  Again, they were waiting for him to reply, all three of them. His impulse was to come right out and tell them – predictably, Marian would surely think – “Thanks, but no,” and assume that she would have sense enough eventually to see beyond the house and realize the absurdity of the whole deal. There was still something being left unspoken, he was convinced; something more than mere eccentricity to the Allardyces. But he recognized the look in Marian’s eyes; the house had indeed sold itself to her instantly, and it would take more than a blunt “no” to dislodge it.

  “We’ll think it over,” he said as sincerely as he could, “and let you know, okay?”

  “But, Ben . . .” Marian said, grabbing his arm. No pout this time; it was genuine protest.

  He didn’t bother to lower his voice. “Marian. The responsibility of an – ” He caught himself, “ – elderly woman . . .”

  “For this?” she broke in, almost embracing the room. “For all this?”

  Brother nodded confidently to Miss Allardyce who looked away from him quickly. “You won’t even know she’s here,” she insisted. “I promise you. She stays in her room all day. All day.”

  “Sleepin’ most of the time,” Brother said.

  “And when she’s not sleeping, she’s working on her collection. Right, Brother?”

  He agreed. “Her pitchers. Old photos, she’s got thousands of them.”

  “The memories of a lifetime,” Miss Allardyce said.

  “It’s her hobby,” Brother explained, “like mine is my music.”

  Miss Allardyce’s voice dropped. “What music?” she asked.

  “My discs, my record collection.”

  “That.” She waved it away. “Give him his Mantovani and his whatyoumacallits . . .”

  “Roz here’s got no hobbies, no interests at all.”