The Spring of the Tiger Read online

  My half sister was not mentioned; nor was my father's first wife. They must be matters for family ears alone. I meant to ask about my sister as soon as I could.

  So we heard instead about the kings of Ceylon and how the King of Kandy had sought British help against the Dutch, but the British at that time were reluctant to take on new responsibilities. Later it was different.

  "England had become the world leader," said my father. "Trafalgar had been won and we were becoming an empire. The revolution had crippled the French. India was the brightest jewel in the Imperial Crown and the East India Company was seeking a base. The Dutch had put up little resistance and had been driven out by the British; the Kandyan kings were violent and cruel and the people of Ceylon welcomed the British, and Ceylon came under the shelter of the imperial umbrella."

  He turned to me. "When you see it, Sarah, you will be enchanted. Will she not, Clinton?"

  "I hope I shall be there to witness her ecstasy," he said.

  I ignored him and my father went on: "Picture bamboo-lined streams . . . streams which wind their way through the paddy

  fields. The mountains are beautiful, Sarah. There is one part which reminds me of our own lake district. The scenery changes so . . . rather as it does at home. But there it is more dramatic. You go from rice fields to mountains and to forests of wira and palu. They are so tall, those trees. Then up in the northwest where it is dry there is nothing but scrub. The beauty of the country has to be seen to be believed."

  "In fact," said Clinton Shaw, "every prospect pleases and only man is vile."

  "Perhaps not all men," I countered.

  "Not all. . . but a great many, I fear."

  We took coffee in the winter parlor and I saw that my father was almost asleep.

  Clinton Shaw leaned toward me and whispered. "I think your father should retire. It has been an exhausting day for him."

  Aunt Martha heard him and rose. "I do hope you will be comfortable," she said.

  We said good night and went to our rooms.

  I knew I should not sleep. I took off my dress and put on a loose dressing gown, shook out my hair and started to brush it.

  I took stock of myself before my mirror. There was only one lamp in my room but I had candles at the dressing table.

  My reflection looked back at me. I wondered what my father had thought of me. And what had Clinton Shaw thought? I realized that ever since I had seen him I had been trying to thrust him out of my mind, but he would keep intruding. He was like that. He would always be pushing forward where he was not wanted. He was too forceful, too forthright. Everard and Toby had been so different. They were so courteous; they made one feel looked after. With this man one felt as though it was necessary to be on the alert all the time and able to defend oneself against that overpowering masculinity.

  He was interested in me. He had made that clear. I was sure that had he not been he would have made no effort to pretend he was. I had so often found him looking at me in that bold direct manner, and when I showed I was aware of it and resented it, he was quite unperturbed.

  Strangely enough, tonight I felt I looked my best. The thick brown hair was as unmanageable now as it had been when Meg had wound strands of it around pieces of rag in the hope of achieving a corkscrew effect by the next morning; but somehow its obstinate straightness suited me on this night. My eyes, which were neither quite green, nor gray, nor brown but a bit of each, always seemed colorless to me; now they sparkled and seemed to have borrowed a hint of blue from the dressing gown I was wearing. My only beauty, which I had inherited from my mother, was her long eyelashes. For the rest I could see I had the Ashington straight nose that was a little too long—Aunt Martha had it in the extreme. There were two tj'es of Ashington mouths—the tight-lipped variety, which the aunts had, and the rather sensual kind, which I had inherited from my father. Tonight there was a fresh color in my cheeks, which usually were rather pale. It was to this I no doubt owed my more than usually attractive appearance.

  It is excitement because my father is home, I assured myself. But I knew it was something else besides.

  That man would not be v'th us long. He was staying for a few nights and then he was going to London, where he would execute his business and so would my father for a while. I wondered why my father had joined up with such a man. I should have thought he was hardly an ideal companion, but then of course they were close neighbors since their plantations touched.

  I was brushing my hair rhythmically when a sound outside my door startled me. Footsteps. They paused at my door. There was a knock.

  I stood up. "Who's there?" I demanded.

  The door opened. "May I come in?" said Clinton Shaw. "There is so much I have to say to you."

  I felt the color rushing into my cheeks. I gripped the hairbrush as though it were a weapon of defense.

  "Here! Now!" I cried and my voice sounded shrill. "In my bedroom!"

  He looked around, smiling. "I couldn't think of a spot where we should be less likely to be disturbed."

  "Mr. Shaw..." I began.

  "Please call me Clinton. As I call you Sarah it would be more

  appropriate. Many of my friends call me Clint. Odd name, isn't it? It is after a place where my family lived and there have been Clintons through the generations. Would you prefer Clint?"

  "If I have to make a choice I prefer Mr. Shaw."

  "As long as you prefer me in some form, that will have to do for the time being."

  "Mr. Shaw," I said, "I have no doubt that you think you are very witty and irresistible . . ."

  "I wonder what put that into your head. I believe it can only have come from your own opinion."

  "I am sure that what you have to say could be said tomorrow and in another place. You are a guest in this house and it is not acceptable that you should come into my bedroom at this time of night. . . uninvited."

  "How delightful it would have been if I had been invited," he said regretfully.

  "I think you are presumptuous and a little insulting. Will you please go or shall I pull the bell rope?"

  "There is so much I have to say to you. It is about your father. I really thought you would wish to know as soon as possible."

  "What about my father?"

  "Shall I sit down? It would be more comfortable for us both.*'

  He did not wait for my reply and looked about him. At first I thought he was going to sit on my bed. Instead of which he advanced into the room and sat in the armchair.

  I felt incensed, yet helpless. To order him to leave would be overdramatic yet perhaps I should. To pull the bell rope and ask for help would be even more so. But here was a man whom I had known for only a few hours coming into my bedroom . . . ! He was looking at me sardonically, reading my thoughts, and they seemed to amuse him.

  I hated him for putting me into this position. I wondered what Aunt Martha would say if she looked in now. Order him to leave the house, I was sure; and that would be a good thing.

  He folded his hands together and regarded the tips of his fingers with an air which I could only call pious and which seemed full of mockery.

  Just as I was about to order him to leave he said: "I know how

  concerned you are about your father. That is why I wanted to talk to you. He is a very sick man."

  My anger dropped from me. There was only fear for my father.

  'You are. . . sure of that?" I stammered.

  ''I have talked to our doctor. It was he who suggested that he should come home for observation and treatment. I could not allow him to travel alone."

  Now he was putting himself in a different light, but although I knew he spoke the truth about my father I did not trust him.

  "That was good of you," I said grudgingly.

  "I intended to come sometime on my own aflfairs. It was only a matter of putting ever}'thing forward."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "Lungs mostly. I thought you should know."

  "Thank you for telli
ng me. My aunts will have to know too."

  "I'm not so sure. You see, your father doesn't know exactly what's wrong with him, and somehow I felt I could talk to you more easily. That is why I sought you here in this somewhat unconventional manner. He has told me a great deal about you . . . shown me your letters. He was very proud of them. I'm glad you have come together ... in time."

  "What can we do?"

  "Make him as happy as you can before he dies."

  "You think I. . ."

  "You more than anyone."

  "I shall do my best."

  "That's what I wanted to tell you."

  "Thank you." I stood up, indicating that he should leave, but he did not rise. He merely sat there looking at me as though assessing me, smiling in a way I found disconcerting, even a httle alarming.

  "Good night," I said.

  He stood up then and came towards me. I was by no means short in stature, being above medium height, but he seemed as though he wanted me to realize how he towered above me.

  I stood to one side as though for him to pass. He ignored the hint and said: "When I go with your father from here to the spe-

  cialist I want you to come with us. Will you do that? I think it would be helpful."

  "Of course I'll do anything to help my father.'*

  He put out a hand and laid it on my shoulder. *Thank you," he said.

  I moved a step backward so that his hand fell. I saw the smile touch his lips.

  "Good night, Mr. Shaw," I said again. "And thank you for helping my father."

  "I'm helping myself too," he replied. "My business here is very important to me. We have to see the agents in London every few years ... or we should do. That's all part of the business. I have another even more important reason for being here."

  He looked at me expectantly as though waiting for me to ask what that was. I did not give him the satisfaction.

  He took a step towards me. "I am looking for a wife," he said.

  I felt the telltale color rising again. I managed to say lightly: "Really?"

  "Oh yes, there comes a time when a man needs a wife, someone to look after him and keep him steady. That's very important in a life like mine and living where I do there is little selection. It's a recognized custom to come home to find a wife."

  "I'm sure it must be," I said and turned away. As he did not go I went on: "I wish you luck in your search."

  "I don't anticipate any difficulty," he answered.

  "Let us hope that the object of your search will share your high opinion of yourself," I said.

  He was smiling at me as I went to the door and held it open.

  I shut the door on him. Then I turned the key in the lock.

  I sat down at my mirror. I had not been so upset since my mother had died. My father very ill . . . perhaps returned home to die, and here was this man whom I could not get out of my mind. He seemed to be threatening me in some way.

  I could not understand what happened to me during the next few weeks. I was certainly not in love with Clinton Shaw. At least not in the way I had always thought of love—tender admiration such as Everard had given my mother, doting service, which Toby

  offered, those men at the stage door bringing flowers and sometimes jewelry. No, it was not a bit Hke that. It was just that he wormed his way into my thoughts. He had taken possession of my mind as he impHed clearly he was determined to of my body . . , in time. I had never known anyone like him. When he entered a room the atmosphere changed; it became dominated by him. Attention focused on him; he seemed to be forgiven for what would be unacceptable rudeness in others. It was some power of the personality—an essential male quality—different from that power which my mother had had to attract and which had so tragically deserted her. This was a virile quality, something which people accepted, while resenting it because they had to. Even the aunts were aware of it. Aunt Martha nodded her head and her lips quivered with suppressed amusement at his outrageous manners, and Aunt Mabel took to wearing frilly collars. Mrs. Lamb discovered he liked curry and made efforts to serve it to his taste for it was a dish we had not indulged in before. The servants vied with each other to do his bidding. Ellen giggled about him and said: "That's a man and a half, that one." A man and a half! That suited him. He had something extra and it was in his sheer egoism, his determination to get what he wanted. I was the only one, it seemed, who made any attempt to hold out against this overpowering virility. Perhaps that was the reason why he made a set at me. But no, there was more to it than that.

  I was alarmed to see how my father relied on him. It was Clinton Shaw who made all the decisions and my father meekly complied. That he was very ill was obvious the first morning after their arrival. The sharp light of day betrayed his unhealthy pallor tinged with yellow; the sunken eyes; the fragility of him.

  During that first morning Clinton said my father should rest in his room in order to be ready for his ordeal with the doctors the next day. I was with my father all the morning and he lay in bed talking to me.

  He told me now that we were alone how much he had wanted to come and see me and how my mother had been against it.

  "She hated life in Ceylon," he said. "It is something you either love or hate. She loved the world of the theater, glamour, footlights and admiration. Our marriage was doomed from the start.

  I was unfortunate in my marriages, Sarah. I hope you will marry happily."

  "I have never thought of it," I told him. "I meet so few people here."

  "You must come to Ceylon."

  "I want to."

  Then he talked again of the p''antation as he had at dinner, with a kind of intensity, as though he were trying to impress it on his memor}' and make it important to me. He told me that many people were employed there. It was their livelihood. If anything happened to the industry, as it had in the case of coffee, that would be disastrous to many. I urged him to tell me more of my family, of my sister.

  *'Clytie is an exquisite creature, Sarah. Her beauty is breath-taking, I think. She is not tall like you. She is small and slight, a fairy child. Seth Blandford came out to work on the plantation and they fell in love. Now they have this enchanting boy ... my namesake. I wish I had a picture to show you. But you will go out there one day. You will come back with me if. . ."

  I said firmly: "I must go back with you."

  "I don't know how long Clinton will be staying here, and I don't know what I should have done without him, Sarah. You do like him, don't you?" He spoke anxiously and gripped my hand.

  I hesitated. "I don't know him. He seems a very forceful character."

  "Forceful indeed. Just the t''pe to manage the plantation. The natives are afraid of him. They think he has some supernatural power, I believe. Oh, he has a way with him. He'll own the whole of Ceylon before he's finished. He's going to be a very rich man, Sarah. He's been so good to me and I was hoping you would like him."

  "I find him somewhat arrogant and his manners could be improved."

  "He's just being natural. So many people look to him as their governor, and of course in Ceylon one can't always maintain the rigid codes of behavior which are possible in an English country house."

  "Even so ..." I began.

  He just patted my hand.

  I loved talking to him, to hear about his first wife, whom he had clearly loved dearly; she had given him the exquisite Clytie and then departed. Then to England where he was fascinated by the glamorous actress who strangely enough had agreed to marry him. None had been more surprised than himself. It was a marriage doomed to failure and from the ashes of that passion I had arisen.

  We took lunch at midday in the winter parlor—soup and the venison we had had hot last evening now served cold with potatoes in their jackets. My father ate sparingly, Clinton Shaw voraciously.

  After the meal he announced that my father should rest for the remainder of the day as he was taking him to London on the next. His eyes were on me, reminding me of my promise to accompany them. "I should
enjoy taking a ride through the forest," he said, continuing to look at me.

  Aunt Martha said at once: "Sarah will go with you. She will enjoy showing you the forest. She has quite a feeling for it, haven't you, Sarah? She likes walking and riding in it."

  "I like the solitude of it," I replied pointedly.

  "We'll share that solitude," answered Clinton Shaw.

  I could hardly refuse to go without making an issue of it. After all, he was a guest.

  I went with my father to his room, took off his boots and divested him of his jacket. When he was lying on the bed I said: "You are very tired."

  He nodded. "It's good to be with you, Sarah," he said. "I knew it would be. I never want to be parted from you again."

  I bent and kissed his forehead. "You never shall be," I said fervently and impulsively.

  Then I went to my room and changed into my riding habit. I looked rather well in it. It suited my slim—perhaps too slim-figure. I tied my hair back and set the dark-gray bowler on my head. Without my hair I could have passed for a boy and, I thought with gratification, quite a handsome one.

  I had to admit to myself that I was excited by the prospect before me. Life had been dull so far, I realized. I had been on the

  scene, yet in the background. Others had taken the principal parts while I had been in the chorus, one of the crowd. Somehow with the coming of Clinton Shaw that had changed. I was becoming a principal and I found that exhilarating.

  So at least my emotions were mixed. I was wary, yet I felt reckless. I felt a great desire to do battle with him. Perhaps this was how a general felt when he was going to war and was not quite sure of the enemy's forces but knew only that they were formidable.

  He was waiting in the stables and his smile, when he saw me, illuminated his dark face.

  "How gracious of you to come. I had a notion that you might default."

  "If I had decided not to come I should have said so," I retorted.