House Party Page 28

  The Dreerileas were nobody, Sturgis knew. The title was only three generations old and they'd bought the peerage in the first place.

  Whissssh! Boom!

  The Catherine Wheels revolved violently—sending out little asterisks of brilliant color—so close you could almost touch them. Fang whined and burrowed farther under his master's chair.

  Jigging badly, the peacock was wheeled out and lighted. Now its tail spread out, a gorgeous fan of iridescent flame. Globes of color balanced above it and soon flickered out. The breeze came up a little stronger from the Sound. Violet huddled deeper into her cape and squeezed the general's beefy arm. "Oh, Walter, darling. Don't you love this! When we're married I think we'll have fireworks every year. They make me feel like a girl again."

  "Vi'let,” the general whined, "lissen, I . . ."

  "Hush, my lover, not so loud. I don't want the others to know—that is, no one except dear Lily—until I have my engagement ring."

  Again the rockets began from the other side of the house. It was becoming quite breezy now and the fireworks, after their initial burst of glory, scattered wildly in the wind. The garden was lit up in a tender flash of rose. Bryan saw Claire sitting a few seats away, rapt. Poor kid, he thought, she hasn't had such a good weekend, either. She looked so fragile and yielding in this light. Bryan wondered what she was thinking about. It couldn't be about Paul. Then he speculated fleetingly on what the chances were of getting Claire into the hay. Five-oh, five-oh, he guessed. He wondered if . . .

  There was a regular blockbuster of a rocket and the place was lit first in red, then in white, then in blue, then, in rapid succession, in pink and lavender and silver and gold. In its multicolored light, Bryan glanced at Elly. She was sitting cuddled next to Joe Sullivan, both of her hands in his. Bryan looked away. It was awful to think about someone as young and innocent as Elly—more like his own daughter than his sister—going off with . . . No, he wouldn't think about that tonight.

  That had been the last of the rockets. Mrs. Ames looked surreptitiously at her wrist watch and was glad that it had diamond numbers. They made it so much easier to tell time in the dark.

  Violet had been too generous. More than an hour and a half had elapsed since the first rocket had risen and the pause now was only for the preparation of Niagara Falls. Once again the children darted forth with sparklers, but little Robin was growing restive and sleepy. He tripped on the cord of his dressing gown and again there were tears.

  "Violet,” Mrs. Ames said. "They're awfully tired. Don't you think Nanny should take them in?"

  Oddly enough there were no protests from Robin and Emily.

  "Oh, no, dear. Let's keep them up just a little longer. The two big things are just about to come."

  Some half-hearted roman candles were set off to volley back and forth at one another across the lawn, while the big event was being prepared. Elly sighed in comfort. She felt so complete, so happy. She had all she'd ever wanted.

  Then, with a fanfare of four-letter words from Mr. Early's assistants, the Niagara Falls got underway. It seemed to be a bit sparse in the middle and a trifle out of hand on the Canadian side, but in a matter of seconds it was going brightly. In its merciless light, Elly caught a glimpse of Bryan. How old he looked! How old and how defeated! Elly felt a little ache in her heart. Was it really possible to love somebody so much for so long and then hate him so bitterly? No, it couldn't be. I'll soon start loving him again, Elly thought. I'll love him but I'll never listen to anything he says.

  The falls died with a resounding hiss, drowning out Uncle Ned's recollections of a costume ball in Venice. There was a restless, uneasy silence. "And now," Violet cried, "now the big surprise! Mr. Early's very own creation. A golden eagle with wings that really . . ." Her skirts blew briskly in the breeze and there was an ominous roaring sound. Violet looked around. A brilliant light was coming from the other side of the house. "Oh, no, Mr. Early. I told you. The eagle is to be on this side of the house where we're all . . ."

  "I got the eagle right here, Missis Clendennin’. I ain't lit the fuse yet. I ain't even touched it! The wing meckinizum . . ."

  "The house!" Bryan yelled, jumping up so violently that he knocked his chair over. "The house! It's on fire!"

  "It is?" Mrs. Ames said. "Is it really?"

  Then there was complete pandemonium. Everyone leaped up and rushed around to the other side of the old Pruitt house. A blaze of considerable proportions had commenced on the roof; it was racing along the ornamental fretwork that trimmed the gutters, and creeping up a side of the tower.

  "Papa's house!" Violet wailed. "Dear Papa's house. Hurry, run in someone. Call the fire department."

  "You can't call the fire department," Mrs. Ames said. "You can't call anybody, Violet."

  "Oh, my God!" Bryan bellowed. "Quick! I’ll get the car. I’ll drive to the fire department in the village."

  "You can't," Mr. Early roared. "All the volunteers is at the big Republican Rally over to Timber . . ."

  "Well, I’ll drive there. Where in the hell are my keys?"

  "They're here," Elly said, reaching immodestly down the front of her dress.

  "Hurry, Bryan. Do hurry!" Violet called after him.

  "That's twenty-five miles, Aunt Violet," Kathy said. "He'll never make it!" Bryan's car shot down the driveway.

  "I hope not," Mrs. Ames breathed. "I hope not!"

  "I'm going in there," Claire said. "I've got to. My clothes. I've got Hildegarde's hat up there. I'm . . ."

  "Stay where you are, you little fool!" John said, dragging her back.

  "You can't go in there, child," Mrs. Ames said firmly. "It's burning like a tinder box. The whole house is made of wood and it's old—old and dry."

  With an ear-splitting roar, the whole tower went up in flames. "That's my suite!” Uncle Ned shrieked. "My clothes! My signed photographs! My . . ."

  "Your clothes, you daffy old quean!" Manning yelled. "What about my clothes?"

  "Sturgis! Sturgis. Come! I need you!”

  Enraptured, the children squealed delightedly. "Firework! Firework!" Robin cooed. Fang barked wildly and chased his tail around in a frenzied circle, knocking Felicia to the ground.

  "Lissen," the general barked in his best parade-ground voice. "I'm in command here. We men’ll form a bucket brigade. Here, you, Stone! Pruitt!"

  "Are you speaking to me?" Uncle Ned gasped.

  "Oh, Walter!" Violet cried rapturously, "My general!"

  "Don't you think that a bucket is more or less essential to a bucket brigade, general," Mrs. Ames said calmly. "We don't happen to have any, except in the house and I forbid you to go in there."

  "We can't just stand here, woman!" the general screamed.

  "We might all sit down—at a safe distance, of course—and wait for the firemen," Mrs. Ames said.

  With a roar, a major portion of the mansard roof crashed in. Light showed eerily through the windows.

  "Pretty!" Robin said. "Pretty firework!"

  "Here," Paul shouted. "Kathy, Elly, take the kids. Run 'em way back."

  "Oh," Violet moaned. "Our lovely, lovely home. Those happy days!"

  "That leaking roof," Mrs. Ames said. "Now, quickly," she added briskly, "we've got to get well away from here—all of us! Nanny! Stop that blubbering immediately and help Kathy with the children. Sturgis! Take the dog! Do as I tell you, all of you. Do you want to be killed?"

  Claire was tearing at her stole and gibbering ". . . Miss Golden made it for Hildegarde. It retails at eighty. I've got to go in and get it. Miss Golden can make or break . . ."

  Mrs. Ames reached out smartly and slapped Claire across the cheek. "Stop that! Stop it this instant! I'll buy you a dozen new hats. Everything's insured for twice what it's worth." Then she paused and glanced darkly at her sister. "Violet," she asked tensely, "you did mail those letters I gave you Friday, didn't you?"

  "I did, Lily, I did! I mailed them right at the post office, just before I got my hair done. I handed the
m right over the counter to the . . ."

  "Thank you, Violet," Mrs. Ames sighed. "And thank God! In that case you need only to make your claims. Everything is covered." A little more gently she said to Claire: "I'm sorry I had to strike you, my dear, but you were getting hysterical."

  The breeze rose and the fire burned with a force that made it almost impossible to hear anything else. Inside the house it had spread through the second floor and timbers of an alarming size began crashing to the lawn. Standing on a chair, Mrs. Ames raised her hand and shouted to her guests. "Listen to me, everybody. Well all go down to the bath house. This can spread. Now stop rushing about like a pack of fools and follow me!"

  "Damn it, Lily," the general bellowed. "I'll show you who's a man. I'm going in there and . . .”

  "No heroics, please!" Mrs. Ames said angrily.

  "Daddy, stop being such an ass!" Betty cried.

  The general stopped in his tracks. "Little Soldier!” he said, stunned. "No! I'm goin’ in there an' put out that fire single-handed or my name ain't Hell-for-Leather Cannon." He jogged toward the house.

  "Walter!" Violet screamed.

  Just then the porte cochere crashed in a shower of sparks onto Uncle Ned's car which was parked beneath it.

  "My car!" Uncle Ned shrieked. "Sturgis! Save the car!"

  There was a brief silence, then a low rumble, then a loud roar, then an explosion which blew the windows out of the house. The impact knocked General Cannon flat on the lawn. The radiator cap of the Hotchkiss sailed high into the air and thudded to the ground at Uncle Ned's feet.

  "My car!” Uncle Ned wailed. "Elsie Mendl always said it was . . ."

  “Walter! Walter, darling, are you hurt?” Violet screamed, running to the general. A spark caught the hem of fluttering chiffon skirt and just in time, Paul tackled his aunt and rolled her in the grass until the flame was out.

  "Now will you fools do as I say and come with me?" Mrs. Ames shouted.

  General Cannon got up, feeling for broken bones and sheepishly followed the rest of the herd which Mrs. Ames was leading down to the bath house.

  The enormous old house made a remarkable sight, and even down at the shore the intense heat could be felt.

  In a surprisingly short time, considering the distance and the Republican Rally, the Volunteer Firemen of Pruitt's Landing arrived. Within half an hour their forces were augmented by the volunteer fire departments of Setauket, Stony Brook, St. James and Smithtown. It was a gallant gesture, but little more. The fire, fanned by the breeze, had had too good a start.

  There was little water and less pressure. By the time the apparatus had been hooked up to pump salt water from the Sound, there was nothing left to save but the foundation and the twelve brick chimneys, which stood scarlet with heat against the sky. By one o'clock in the morning, the famous house was a heap of coals. Sure that no fire had spread to the forest, the other fire departments had gone clanging and screeching back to their villages, leaving the Pruitt's Landing volunteers to chaperone the piping hot remains of the old Pruitt Place.

  Down at the bath house, most of the company slept fitfully wrapped in beach towels and blankets. Elly and Kathy, each held one of Felicia's children. Mrs. Ames, sitting bolt upright in an Adirondack chair, stroked Nanny's thin old shoulders and kept saying "There, there, Nanny! There, there! You'll come with me. I'll look after you. Go to sleep now."

  Three times Claire had moaned "Miss Golden will kill me. That hat was . . ." At last John said quite gruffly: "If you mention that miserable hat once more, I'll kill you." Violet had wept dewily about dear Papa's house, had complained of Paul's rough treatment of her, and had finally settled down next to her sister. The general snored wetly.

  It was beginning to grow light when Joe came over and laid a hand gently on Mrs. Ames's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "How are you feeling—Mother?"

  "About twenty years younger, Joe," Mrs. Ames said. "I might even say thirty." She sat silently, smiling, watching the sky grow brighter above the Sound.

  29: Afterglow

  It was just six when Betty Cannon woke up. Startled, she stared around the porch of the bath house, and then she remembered where she was and why. Betty couldn't help smiling as she looked at her neighbors. What an ill-assorted lot they were! There was Mrs. Clendenning, dozing peacefully, her make-up smeared, her bangs fallen away to reveal a forehead almost as high as Daddy's. Her hair was white at the roots, and her flounced, girlish skirts were badly singed. Yet she looked sweet and silly. Bryan tossed noisily on his blanket. How haggard he appeared in this light. Not like the dashing beau of twenty-four hours ago. And poor old Mr. Pruitt seemed awfully old and sad. His elegant suit was so crumpled and disheveled that he reminded her a bit of Charlie Chaplin. He stirred slightly and something dropped with a tinkle from his cupped hand. Betty noticed that it was his bridge and turned her eyes modestly away.

  Felicia was still asleep, too. My, Betty thought, what a hard expression she has when she's asleep! There were deep lines around her mouth and her lipstick was the color of raw liver in the early morning light. Next to her Paul slept. He looked like a little boy, his face active and full of hope, yet quiet and relaxed in repose. If Betty were ever to have a son, she'd want his face to be just like that. Funny, Bryan had always seemed so handsome and Paul a dim carbon copy—and rather an elongated one—of Bryan. Yet, seeing them today, asleep, Bryan looked old and tired out; finished. Paul's face held promise.

  Betty was startled by a familiar fanfaronade of moist snores, snorts, grunts and groans. It was Daddy. The general stirred and broke wind with the sound of a thunderbolt. His own noise woke him up. "Waaaf, woff, shlump, flump," he said.

  "Hush, Daddy! Be still! Don't wake everyone up."

  "Wha th' hell? Wh'um I?"

  "Hush, Daddy."

  The general blinked his eyes and then he began to regain consciousness and memory. "Fire, ver' bad fire," he said senselessly.

  "Very bad, Daddy," Betty said with the patience of the mother of an idiot child. "Now I think you and I will drive home and make up a lot of coffee and rolls and eggs for these poor people. Come on. Get up."

  The general got noisily to his feet. With plenty of cracking of joints he stretched and yawned.

  General Cannon got complacently into the car and allowed Betty to drive him home. Gradually, with a great deal of blinking, throat-clearing, hawking and spitting, he seemed more or less awake. Betty parked the car in front of their door and went briskly into the kitchen, allowing her father to wander aimlessly through the house.

  She worked with amazing speed and efficiency, setting two huge granite coffee pots on the back burners, and beating up four dozen eggs with the expertise of an Army cook. Betty was just pouring batter into a barrage of muffin tins when her father, considerably spruced up and dressed in his riding togs, came out to the kitchen.

  "Little Soldier, haven't you ever gotten kinda sick of life around here?"

  "Thoroughly sick of it, Daddy."

  "Well, then, Little Soldier, hows about you an' me an' Timber-line packin' up an' goin' off fer a little trip somewheres? Canada, Alaska, maybe Collarada? I could shoot an' fish an you and Tim-berline could sorta 'tend camp an' . . ."

  'That sounds lovely for you and Timberline," Betty said, regulating the oven. "Why don't you go? However, I'm going to be awfully busy right here. I'll be selling out the shop and putting Paul Ames's office into it I’ll have to be in and out of town so often that it might be a good idea for you to get away for a . . ."

  "Din't you hear me say," General Cannon roared, "that I planned a little trip?"

  "Yes, I heard you. But I won't be going with you. I'll be quite busy here. I'm moving out, by the way. I'm going to live behind the shop. I'll be working for Paul Ames and most likely I'll be marrying him. At least I think so."

  "Marry Paul Ames?"

  "Probably. And if I don't . . "

  "Now see here, I'll horsewhip the man that takes my little girl and . . ."r />
  "Be still, Daddy. The chances are fairly good that Paul Ames and I will fall in love with each other and eventually marry. If we don't, that concerns only us. In the meantime, I've been lucky in finding a very brilliant young man who's interested in the same things I am. We like each other. Soon, I expect, we shall love each other. In any case, you must feel perfectly free to make your own plans without me."

  "I ferbid you to . . ."

  "Daddy, please—just hand that ham over here, I'll put it on the griddle. Please remember that I am of age and that you are no longer able to forbid or command anything."

  "Little Soldier," the general gasped. "Ya mean ta tell me that yer leavin' me?" Crocodile tears welled up in the general's eyes. This was an old trick the general worked very effectively on sluggish polo teams, slipshod cavalry troops, relaxed subalterns. His only mistake had been in telling Betty how effective his tears could be.

  "Yes, Daddy. That's right."

  The general was stunned by her callousness, her total lack of theater. He belched softly, took a deep breath, and then, in the manner of Sir Henry Irving, began one of his greater declamations. "I couldn't believe my ears when I heard it." Pause. "I sez to myself, ‘No. This ain't—isn't—true. This can't be my Little Soldier talkin' . . .”

  "Oh yes it is, Daddy."

  The general loathed interruptions, but still he went on without commenting on Betty's insubordination. "Ta think after all our years together . . ."

  "Too many years, Daddy. Bad for you and worse for me."

  The general bridled. "Ta think," he repeated, "after all our years together, you could do this to your poor old father. Father . . ." pause ". . . faugh! I been both father an' mother to you. I sacrificed my career to . . ."

  "Now that's not quite accurate, Daddy," Betty said calmly. "It is I who have been both father and mother to you—and what's more, you know it. If I weren't essential to your well-being you wouldn't be wanting me around on this trip. I'm the one who's sacrificed a career for you. You've had your career and now it's finished. Now my career is you and your career is you. Do be honest about these things—at least when you haven't an audience around."