SALE AT THE FOX FARM
THE ATMOSPHERE of an auction sale was not a novelty at Jalna. Once a year Renny and Piers held a sale of surplus stock. The bustle in preparation for it, the actual event, the rearrangement of stables afterward, and the gratification or disappointment in the result, were a solid part of each year.
But the sale at the fox farm was different. It was still called the fox farm though the foxes had disappeared. Their wire-netted runs stood forsaken or sagged to the ground. But the little house was charming inside. Clara and Pauline had delighted in keeping it so. Now it would stand bereft, its associations torn from it like a clinging creeper. To Renny it was a black day. He would be glad when it was over and the door locked on that chamber of his life. He had done all he could to arrange for a successful sale. Now he had only to stand by and watch the familiar objects disappear one by one.
There was nothing of much value in the house. The furniture and rugs had been bought at haphazard, with regard to cheapness rather than any scheme, but Clara had, with effective walls and curtains, some pieces of family china and the pictures Lebraux had bought, when he could not afford them, given the house that air of well-being which she contrived in her material surroundings.
She and Renny stood together at one end of a table of ornaments she had arranged, while at the other Finch fingered a little china box with the figure of a shepherdess on the lid. Clara looked reflectively at his face, at his hands.
“The boy looks tired,” she said.
“He is. He has worked too hard. He’s not strong.”
Clara gave a little grunt. “I wish he had cared for Pauline, instead of Wake. He’s more stable.”
“I wish he had. Things might have been different.” Then Renny remembered Sarah. “But still — he’s got a wife who is absolutely devoted to him. Lots of money too.”
“Hm, yes. It was God’s mercy to you.”
“She’s a strange girl. I’m glad I’m not married to her. She makes me uncomfortable.”
Clara’s eyes turned from Finch to him. Her short strong features softened to tenderness. Her eyes embraced him.
Finch asked — “Was this Pauline’s?”
“Yes. Her French grandma gave it to her.”
People began to trickle into the room. The air was hot, sticky. There seemed nothing to breathe. The auctioneer’s voice could be heard from a bedroom. A woman wearing black cotton gloves with a hole in the thumb picked up the china box and peered into it. The auctioneer’s clerk came and took Clara away.
Finch muttered to himself — “If she drops that box….”
The woman said to a friend — “Cute, isn’t it? I believe I’ll buy it for Betty’s birthday.”
The room was filling up. It was insufferably close. Finch moved to Renny’s side.
“Do you think,” he asked, “that Pauline is here? Do you think she will be in — nun’s things?”
“Lord no! She’s in brown. There she is. Just by the door. She’s looking for Clara.”
Pauline stood in the doorway, childishly indecisive. She was bare-headed and her thick, dark hair, more closely cut than Finch had before seen it, hung unevenly about her ears. She looked mildly at the collection of people. Her lips parted as though she strove for a deep breath.
She saw Renny and Finch and came to them and spoke in a low, even voice.
“I’m glad you have come. Mummie and I have felt awfully confused by it all. It’s ages since I’ve seen you, Finch.” She held out her hand.
Finch took it. He said — “I saw Wakefield last week.” Then he coloured deeply, wishing he could withdraw the words. She did not seem to mind. She looked just the same only there was something a little cold, a little detached about her that was new to him. Her lips had less colour. She kept looking at Finch as though he was a shield between her and Renny.
“Has the sale begun?” asked Renny.
“Yes. In Mother’s bedroom. It’s packed with people.”
“Two-thirty — two-thirty — going at two-thirty!” came the auctioneer’s voice from above.
The people in the dining room were not interested. They settled themselves to remain where they were till the things they wanted were put up.
“Let’s get out into the air,” said Renny.
The three went out and stood by the empty fox run. Pauline said:
“Do you remember my pet fox?”
“Yes” answered Finch. “What became of him?”
“He died. I was terribly sorry. I cried and I cried didn’t I, Renny?”
He took her arm in his hand. “It’s all over, Pauline,” he said.
Finch moved away from the others and made as though to look for gooseberries on some neglected bushes.
Pauline raised her eyes to Renny’s face. “How I have loved you,” she said.
He looked back at her without speaking, cut to the heart. She went on breathlessly — “That is the last time a word of love shall ever pass my lips. But I had to say it. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand.”
They followed Finch who held out a few prickly berries. They each took one as though it were some sort of rite. The fruit was sour on their lips and the prickles stung them.
After a little they returned to the house and Pauline and Clara shut themselves up in a small, empty room, sitting on two boxes to wait the end of the sale.
When the auctioneer reached the dining room the bidding slackened. The bedroom furniture had gone well, but the furniture of the dining room was almost given away. Finch bought the china box and Renny the brass coffee table across which Clara and he had so often discussed their plans.
He became more and more depressed. The things were going for nothing. He towered above the group straggling about the dining room. He had a picture in his mind of himself and Clara, Wakefield and Pauline, dancing through these rooms. The gramophone to which they had danced was almost given away. Now a walnut cabinet was being offered.
He nudged Finch in the ribs. “Buy it,” he urged, “buy it for yourself! You’ll be needing some furniture.”
Finch flew into a panic.
“B-b-but what should I do with it?”
“I’ll keep it for you. As long as you like. Hurry up! Don’t let it get away from you!”
Finch, scarlet, nodded to the auctioneer. New life was put into the bidding. He got the cabinet, two chairs, and a chesterfield.
“You’ll be needing just such things one day,” urged Renny. “You’ll never have another chance like this.”
“But Sarah will hate these things.”
“No she won’t. She can’t. They’d look well if they were re-upholstered. You’ll never have another chance like this.”
Renny bought a large watercolour of the rocky shore of the Saguenay, a bookcase full of books, and a little cabinet with a fragile tea set in it. By the time this was done he was in a state of exhilarated good humour and Finch in one of resigned depression.
What had he done? What would he do with these things he had acquired? The close atmosphere of the house made him sick. The hands of the village women pawing the curtains and clutching feather pillows made him sick. He had a mad desire to run after Pauline, to hammer on the door of the room and shout to her that she must come away with him and find peace somewhere. Renny stood beside him, leading that charmed secure life of his. Finch thought — “He is as tough as steel. If only I had a face like his I could look into other faces without flinching. It’s strange to think how all these people packed in here have no pain in the head.”
Renny said — “Let’s go and speak to Clara before we go.”
Finch followed him to the door of the unfurnished room and Clara answered their knock. She had a piece of bread and butter in her hand and there was a smudge on her cheek. Pauline sat on an upturned box, her back to the door.
“It’s nearly over,” said Renny. “It’s gone very well. This young man bought quite a lot.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” answered Clara.
Finch could see Pauline’s hands clasped on her lap.