The Jade God by Alan Sullivan (snow like ashes series txt) 📕

Dawkins jumped up, while Mr. Jarrad assumed an air of professional dignity.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “My colleague and I have just finished our work, and you will be glad to know that all is in excellent order. You may be assured that your interests have been well looked after.”

Derrick, a tall young man with restless eyes, nodded casually. He did not seem much impressed, being busy with a swift scrutiny of the study. The mellow paneling, big fireplace, wide oak-planked floor, the large, companionable desk, and the French window opening to the smooth lawn all gave it an atmosphere at once restful and intimate. He felt as though he could turn out good stuff here. Then he nodded contentedly.

“Thanks very much, but I think you’d better see Miss Derrick about these things.”

Mr. Jarrad and Dawkins made two stiff little bows which were absurdly alike and gathered up their papers. Derrick, left alone, moved automatically to the fireplace and stood staring at the oil portrait. He was in this attitude when his sister entered, short, alert, and businesslike. He glanced at her with a slow, provocative smile.

“Well, here we are. Am I forgiven for a snap decision?”

“Really I don’t know yet. I’ve hardly seen the place, but it seems very comfortable, and I know what took your eye. Isn’t getting settled an awful feeling? When will the Thursbys be here?”

He consulted his watch. “They should be here now; early in the afternoon, Thursby said. Did you inquire about servants?”

“Yes, and I wanted to speak to you about that maid. Did you notice her?”

“Rather; who wouldn’t? She mesmerized me when I came here the first time.” He laughed. “Do you want her?”

“My dear Jack, the question is the other way. If you insist on renting a house two miles from anywhere, the first thing to decide is whether your prospective servants want you. As to this one I don’t exactly know. She rather gives me the creeps.”

“What’s the matter, old thing?”

She sent him an odd smile in which there was no comfort. “I can’t say; probably nothing at all but the move, and this house, and all the rest of it. Jack, why were you so keen on it?”

He looked about, almost as though he saw something more than pictures and furniture. There was something more; he had been sure of that the first time he put foot in the room, but it was not the sort of thing one could explain or even justify.

“I really don’t know,” he said slowly, “but I was, and without any question. The rest of this house is what one might expect to find, but this room, well, I took a special fancy to it, and here we are. That’s about as much as you can expect from the ordinary man. I can do good work here from the feel of the place.”

She examined the study with curious interest. Comfortable? Yes. Workmanlike? Yes. A man’s room with nothing in it that was not completely livable. A few books in corner cases; a few good prints framed in harmony with the walls; the big, flat desk, leather-covered as to the center, with its dark mahogany edge showing long and careful usage; the leather chairs, men’s chairs, large and inviting; the great fireplace in its dull, oaken setting; all this dominated by the oil portrait, from which a pair of quiet brown eyes looked out with a gaze at once striking and contemplative.

“But did you find anything unusual about this room?”

“I’m not so sure now; but, yes, I did. You know my weakness for jumping to conclusions.”

Her brows wrinkled. “I’m glad you admit that at the very start. You were tired with a flat in town, passed this place, and saw the sign. You walked through it and fell a victim, as you often have before. The immediate result is that we’ve made an extra effort to gratify your whim, though I’m afraid it’s really more than we should have attempted. You’ll be much happier, Jack, if you admit this at once.”

“I do,” grinned Derrick, “but I’d never have fallen had I not a very competent sister who I knew would save the situation. You’re quite right, Edith; I really can’t afford it, but the place was dirt cheap.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s going to be something of the same sort with that maid, who will want more than you can really afford to pay; just another luxury we’ll have to live up to. In a lonely spot like this a servant asks top wages; and we’ll need two.”

Derrick hardly heard this. There was an odd little singing in his ears, as though a myriad of tiny voices, long held silent, had suddenly found a myriad of minute tongues. Well, he could wait for the rest. He went back to his discovery of Beech Lodge, the inspection under the guidance of its silent caretaker, the interview with the agent, and the growing conviction that he must take this house at once.

“How much does the maid ask?” he hazarded.

“I don’t know. I’m almost afraid to inquire.”

“She is a bit formidable,” he admitted; then, slowly, “I wonder whether we’ve taken the house, or the house has taken us.”

His sister glanced at him, puzzled. “I don’t quite follow; but isn’t the result the same in either case?”

He shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Edith Derrick was prone to confess that she had never quite understood her brother, but had so far maintained that she was better able to look after him than any other woman. He was the only man in her life, and she was not ready to surrender him; but of late the going had become more difficult. She did, however, understand well enough not to attempt to fathom his moods and with a certain placid good nature put them down to the vagaries of the creative mind.

For the past few months he had been caught up in the ambition to write the one great book of his career.