05 Whiteoak Heritage

by Mazo de La Roche

  Any day will suit me. Come at seven.

  Your

  AIMEE

  Eden was surprised to find that he was glad to get this letter. The boredom of his present life pressed all about him. The thought of meeting Mrs. Stroud again came as a return, even though somewhat tarnished, to an old and pleasing relationship. He forgot their last meeting and remembered only the times when he had the freedom of her house, when she prepared him delicious little meals. He was too shrewd not to guess that she was staying at a hotel far beyond her means, in order to tempt him there.

  After all, he thought, he had treated her rather badly. She had done nothing more to deserve it than to offend his sensibility. He could not let her go on worrying herself ill. They must have one more meeting. It would leave her less humiliated. Perhaps their friendship might continue, on a more temperate level.

  He sprang up with a feeling almost of exhilaration. The morning was lovely. He would dine with her the next night. Possibly he would take her to a play later on. He wrote her a brief note telling her the day of his coming.

  After that the hours dragged. He wondered how he could have lived through them had he not had the meeting with her to look forward to. Promptly at seven o’clock he arrived in the lounge of the hotel.

  It was a comparatively new one, with a conscious magnificence. An orchestra was playing and waiters moved quietly about bearing trays of cocktails. He would not have recognized her had she not risen to greet him. She wore a dinner dress of the fashionable short length. It was of a bright Chinese red and she wore long red earrings. The precise waves of her hair showed that she had been to a hairdresser. But her fine grey eyes were the same, and her deep caressing voice. She took his hand in both of hers. Her eyes were full of tears but she smiled. She said:

  “How prompt you are! It’s the very first time you have appeared at the hour I set.”

  “I must make up for my former delinquencies,” he said.

  She gave him an expressive look, then said, — “You have nothing to make up for. Your presence at any time was all I asked.”

  They sat down on a deeply padded settee. A waiter approached. They ordered cocktails. As they sipped them they were, at first, at a loss for words. Then Eden laughed and said:

  “How sophisticated we must look! If that waiter knew the few cocktails I’ve had he would despise me.”

  She laughed gaily. “But they’re good, aren’t they? Do you think this dress becomes me? I bought it specially for tonight. I wanted to look as though I hadn’t a care. I thought you would like me best so.”

  “Aimee — how sweet of you!” He laid his hand on her knee. He felt the glow of the spirits all through him.

  The ice was broken. Their estrangement seemed a thing of the past. They laughed and talked excitedly, as in a reunion of lovers. She looked so young that no one would have taken her for twenty years his senior. They recalled little incidents of their former meetings but neither Renny’s nor Dayborn’s name was mentioned.

  There were a number of people in the dining room but she had reserved a table for two in the corner. She was at this moment doing what she had long dreamed of doing, entertaining in a fashionable hotel with an air of what she thought savoir faire. It pleased her to order the most expensive items on the menu. She told the waiter to bring a bottle of champagne. As he drew the bottle from its icy shelter and uncorked it she felt confident and happy. By her own strength of character, her own vital charm, she would undo the harm Dayborn had done her. She would re-establish herself in the esteem of her neighbours. She felt that nothing was impossible to her.

  Eden’s spirits were so lifted by the change from the scholastic atmosphere to one of gaiety that he thought of nothing but the moment and to make up to Amy Stroud for what he now began to consider his cruel treatment of her. The orchestra was playing dance music and a few couples were on the floor.

  “Will you dance?” he asked.

  “Do you think I do it well enough?”

  “You dance beautifully.”

  He led her out. He himself had taught her all she knew of dancing. It had seemed a cruel thing to her that in her girlhood she had known nothing of this pleasure. In the past months she had profited so well by Eden’s teaching that their movements were followed with admiration by more than one.

  When they returned to their seats the waiter refilled their glasses. Mrs. Stroud had an air of possession toward Eden. Her eyes roved boldly about the room. Presently she laid her hand on Eden’s arm.

  “Look, darling, at that table over there — the third on my right. Two men and a woman. Did you ever see such a proud head as that on the man with his back to us? I wish he’d turn round.”

  Eden craned his neck to see. The man turned his head so that his profile was visible.

  “Good God!” gasped Eden, almost dropping his glass, “it’s Renny.”

  Mrs. Stroud turned pale. Her hands shook. Then she gathered herself together.

  “What if it is?” she said. “I’m sure he hasn’t seen us. Your back is to him. If he did glance round he wouldn’t recognize me in these things. I’ll hold the menu before my face.”

  But relaxation was now impossible. Try as they would they could not forget the figure three tables away. Mrs. Stroud laughed and chatted determinedly but her eyes were inevitably drawn in that direction. Eden exclaimed:

  “I do wish you wouldn’t keep looking at him! It’s getting on my nerves. I think we’d better go.”

  “We can’t, without the risk of being seen. Wait — I think they’re going!”

  But they were not going. The woman, young and sleek-haired, was going to dance with Renny. The music was “Three o’clock in the Morning,” a popular hesitation waltz. There was nothing to do but to remain seated and hope to escape notice. Fortunately the two dancers glided in an opposite direction and might have been lost to view but for Renny’s height and the colour of his hair. The husband, stout and calmly affluent, sat absently fingering the stem of his wine glass, the pouches beneath his eyes accentuated by the light from a lamp at his side.

  Whether because of the champagne or because of his inborn perversity, Eden now had a desire to be discovered. The expression on Renny’s face would, he thought, be something to cherish for the rest of his days. It would be well to prove, too, that he was not to be treated like a mere boy. Better show Renny that if he wanted to continue this precocious affair, nothing Renny could do would stop him. Mrs. Stroud exclaimed:

  “Quick — put your hand to your face!”

  She herself was holding a menu as though to shield her eyes from the light. Obediently Eden raised his hand but, between the spread fingers, his eyes looked out, bright with insolence and daring. Their attitudes were so obvious as to draw the attention of all who passed. As Renny and his partner moved directly in front of them, the music ceased. Renny’s gaze was attracted by the hidden faces; he halted. Recognition gleamed in his eyes.

  His face, however, still kept the expression of interest it had worn as he listened to the animated talk of his partner.

  Now he spoke to her and they came straight to the table where Amy Stroud and Eden sat. Renny introduced them to Mrs. Denovan. Her husband had, that day, bought one of Renny’s hunters for her. They were Americans. She said:

  “Couldn’t your brother and his friend come and sit at our table? There’s lots of room.”

  “Yes, that would be nice,” agreed Renny, staring hard at Eden.

  He and Mrs. Stroud rose, with an air almost submissive, and followed the others. The music was beginning again. When introductions were over and they were seated at the table with Mr. Denovan, he ordered coffee and liqueurs. Amy Stroud felt a strange exhilaration. Renny’s imperturbability on discovering Eden and her, the meeting with these strangers, the potency of the wines, transformed her momentarily into the woman she was always striving to be.

  “Are you a neighbour of these gentlemen?” asked Mrs. Denovan.

  “Yes,” she returned. “T
hough not for long.”

  “They’ve got a lovely old house and a wonderful old grandmother. Why, she conversed with my wife and me like a woman of seventy.”

  “She’s more interesting than any woman of seventy I’ve ever known.”

  Eden saw a shade of resentment cross Renny’s face. He thought — “Renny doesn’t even want to hear Gran praised by these people. That’s what’s the matter with him. Everything that he loves, he wants to keep from the outside world. For all my deceptions, he’s got a more secret nature than I have…. Gosh, he’s asking Amy to dance!”

  Eden had an almost hysterical feeling as he saw Renny take her hand, place his arm about her waist. Certainly she had courage. He threw her a look of approval. He hoped she would acquit herself well. Old Redhead was a good dancer. He turned to Mrs. Denovan and asked her to dance. She was light as a fairy. She was like thistledown on his arm. He gave himself up to the pleasure of the dance.

  Under circumstances less extraordinary, Amy Stroud would never have felt sufficiently sure of herself to have danced with Renny. Tonight was different. Though she was not intoxicated, she was in a state approaching it. She wanted to snatch the pleasures of the night with both hands. Her life in the past month had been so lone, so torn by agitation, that she felt, in her flame-coloured dress, like a butterfly newly emerged from the cramping darkness of its chrysalis. Yet, as she waited with her hand in Renny’s for his signal, she had to set her teeth to keep her lips steady. She was afraid he might feel the trembling of her limbs.

  The orchestra was playing “The Song of India.” Eden had hummed it to her. Now she recognized its savage rhythm. The signal passed from Renny to her. They moved down the room where now only a few couples were dancing. Neither spoke.

  At first Amy Stroud’s one desire was not to disgrace herself. A deep sigh of relief parted her lips as she realized that, even had she been less skilful than she was, she could have fancied herself a good dancer with this man. She had thought Eden’s dancing perfect, as they moved up and down her small sitting room to the accompaniment of his whistling. Tonight she had felt the exhilaration of dancing with him to an orchestra.

  But this was a new experience. She had a sense of shock in the vital grace of Renny’s dancing. She was being swept along. She had no will of her own. “The Song of India” was her very heartbeat. And near her heart was the rhythmic throbbing of his. He was like one of his own racers who, having learnt an artificial gait such as pacing or trotting, took a conscious pleasure in exercising it. They finished the dance at the far end of the room.

  “That was marvellous,” she breathed, her eyes glowing. “I’m so glad you asked me to dance.”

  He returned, somewhat stiffly — “I did not ask you to dance with any idea of pleasure in it, for either of us.”

  She still clung to his arm. She was scarcely rebuffed by his remark. She was bewildered by the ecstasy of the dance. Eden passed with Mrs. Denovan, looking admiringly down at her. He might have been a stranger, for all the effect his passing had on Amy Stroud. She remembered how, when Renny had come to her house, those who had been there before him had been obliterated. Here was a man, she thought, she could have loved with her whole soul. Yet how often she had a feeling of hate for him! “It is my passionate nature,” she thought. “Oh, if only he would ask me to dance again!”

  He said:

  “I want to talk to you about Eden. When can I see you?”

  Her heart beat in anticipation. Another meeting with him! Would it be better to meet him in her own house or in this hotel? Her mind wavered between the two, decorating both imagined scenes with provocative embellishments.

  “When can I see you?” he repeated.

  Better meet him at the hotel! In it something of tonight’s atmosphere might still be felt.

  “Will you be in town tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Yes. Are you staying here?”

  “Yes. Could you have lunch with me here?”

  “Thank you, I’m afraid I can’t. May I come some time in the morning?”

  She did not want to see him in the morning. “I must be out all day. Can you come in the evening?”

  He gave her a penetrating glance. She felt that he saw through her. She compromised. “I think I might arrange to see you in the afternoon.”

  “Very well. I’ll come about three.”

  It was like him, she thought, to have chosen that most uncomfortable hour.

  “Could you make it four?”

  “All right. It shall be four.”

  They returned to their table. Mr. Denovan, as though feeling cheated of his guest’s company, turned decisively toward him and began to talk of horses.

  “Shall we go?” Amy Stroud asked of Eden in an undertone.

  “No, no, I want to dance.”

  He did indeed want to dance but apparently not with her. Once again he led Mrs. Denovan on to the floor. Amy Stroud sat between the two men, almost ignored by them.

  But she had no feeling of isolation. She was tingling with life.

  But when Eden again invited her to dance she refused. She had heard Mr. Denovan ask Renny to go to the smoking room, where they could talk in peace, and Renny’s acquiescence. Mrs. Denovan was tired after travelling and was going up to bed. Amy Stroud rose and said goodnight. She left the dining room, followed by Eden. In the corridor he said:

  “Thank God, old Redhead let me go in peace! I’ve felt pretty low in the last half-hour, expecting a row with him.”

  “He’s having it with me.”

  “With you! When?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Here.”

  “I wonder what he’ll say.”

  “I wonder.”

  Eden gave her a curious, slanting look.

  “I believe you’re looking forward to it.”

  “I am — in a sort of way.”

  “He has that effect on most women. I thought you were different.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said angrily. “I am looking forward to proving to him that I’m not an adventuress.”

  They had reached the door of her room. He lounged against it, laughing.

  “You an adventuress! Oh, Aimee! ”

  Her voice was icy.

  “Why not?”

  “You simply couldn’t be.”

  “Your family think I am.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “What do they think?”

  He tried to say something to soothe her.

  “Well — they think you’re a dangerous good woman.”

  “Then I must undeceive them.”

  “As to which quality?”

  “I’ll talk that over with your brother.”

  “Aimee, you’re angry with me … and after such a lovely evening?”

  Both sought to regain the happy mood of the early evening but they parted with coolness.

  Whether it was the different environment or some change in herself, Mrs. Stroud could not tell. Whatever it was, she slept well that night, dreamlessly and long. She woke with rested nerves and clear eyes. She was pleased with her reflection in the glass. How lovely to lie in bed and have your breakfast carried to you! Her own house seemed far away. She felt that this life would go on forever.

  She got a novel from the lending library but she read little. It was a pleasure to her to sit in the lounge, watching people come and go. She had a glimpse of the Denovans but drew back in her chair. She shrank from speaking to them. In the writing room she found picture postcards of the hotel, and sent one to each of the few acquaintances of her past whom she considered worth the trouble of impressing.

  At a quarter to four she secured a quiet corner and established herself there to watch for Renny Whiteoak. He arrived promptly. After their first words of perfunctory politeness they sat in silence for a space, she waiting for him to strike the note of the conversation, he controlling his desire to speak to her as his grandmother would have counselled. Finally he said:

  “Mrs. Stroud, do
you mind telling me how serious this affair between you and Eden is?”

  “It is a friendship that has been very dear to me.”

  He answered impatiently — “I didn’t say has been, I said is.”

  “It is still very dear.”

  “I suppose you know that I sent him to live in the University to get him away from you.”

  “Yes. It was not necessary.”

  “Do you realize that he’s only eighteen?”

  “He’ll be nineteen in a few months.”

  “What of that?”

  “Men have married at nineteen.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “If you have marriage in your mind —”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Would you mind telling me what you have?”

  She answered, almost inaudibly — “I want to do what you want me to.”

  He stared at her, as though scarcely believing his ears.

  She went on — “I asked Eden to have dinner with me here, because I had to find out if he still cares for me. You see, I had been terribly hurt. I found out that he cares for me as much as ever. It made him very happy to be with me again…. Then, last night, something happened. I suddenly realized how you must feel about it. I began to feel that, as you are Eden’s guardian, you have the right to forbid him going about with people you think are dangerous to him.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, looking intently at her.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m a very lonely woman, you know. You can’t understand that, because you’re one of a large family.”

  “You ought to live in town.”

  “I love the country!”

  “You had neighbours, Mrs. Stroud, and you turned them out. If you’re so lonely, I should think you would have hesitated to do what you did — even if common humanity hadn’t prevented you.”