When he had led the children away to their nurse Adeline lay still, savouring her happiness. She lay on her embroidered pillows, relaxed but not drowsy, her difficult undertaking of giving birth accomplished, a thousand pleasant things waiting to be done as soon as she had the strength to do them. Her mind travelled back over her past life and she felt that she really must have lived quite a long time to have experienced so much. There were the young, untrammeled, headstrong days in Ireland, full of the sound of boys’ voices, the music of the hunting horn, the drift of fine rain against green leaves. There was her married life in India, the bold bright colour of it, the passion of her love for Philip, her friendship with native princes. It began to seem strangely unreal. She thought of the voyage from India and remembered rising early one hot morning, having a glimpse of Philip stripped on the deck while two sailors dashed buckets of cold water over him. She remembered the pleased look on the faces of the sailors. None had seen her looking on.
She thought she would have a lilac tree planted outside the window of this room. Lilac had such a lovely scent in springtime. Mrs. Pink had promised her a root of it, as well as other garden plants. She would have flowers all about the place and an orchard with fruit of all sorts. She would plant a peach tree and a grapevine and ask Captain Lacey to show her how to make peach brandy and grape wine.
Oh, how she wised she were able to unpack the chest of ivory and jade ornaments! And she was able — if only Dr. Ramsey would let her! Suddenly she grew restless. She tossed herself on the pillows. Was she to lie here forever, doing nothing? The infant was sunk in deep, almost prenatal slumber.
Half an hour later she was in her clothes, with the exception of her stays. But she had put on her linen chemise, her long, lace-edged drawers, her hand-knit silk stockings with clocks on the sides, her white flannel petticoat, her voluminous finely tucked cambric petticoat, her dark red skirt with flounces edged with ruby-coloured velvet ribbon, her little sacque with lawn and lace undersleeves, her gaily embroidered Indian slippers. She felt oddly weak when she had finished dressing and did not attempt to arrange her hair. It hung to her waist in a rich russet mane. She opened the door and looked into the hall. Then she cast a backward glance at Ernest. At this moment there was no tenderness in it. He had been with her too much. She wanted to get away from him.
Though she felt a little giddy there was an exhilarating lightness in her body as she moved along the hall. In the dining room she saw the heavy cornices above the windows waiting for curtains to be hung. She saw the massive sideboard and dining table, the chairs from the house in the Rue. St. Louis not arranged but standing just where they had been uncrated. She would have yellow velours curtains for this room, with heavy cords and tassels. Already richly embossed wallpaper from France had been ordered in Quebec. She stood for a moment, caressing the satin smoothness of the newel post, while her eyes roved speculatively from the library on her left to the drawing-room on her right. She smiled to think that Philip insisted on having a library, because there had been one in his home in England. They had brought few books with them but she was fond of reading. They would acquire a good collection in time. The light from the coloured glass windows on either side of the front door cast bright patches of green, purple, and red over her. What lovely windows, she thought, and they had been her very own idea! By their brightness she saw that the sky had cleared. The sun was shining. She opened the door and stepped into the porch. She found herself face to face with Dr. Ramsey.
He reddened with anger. “Mrs. Whiteoak, how dare you!” he exclaimed, taking off his hat and throwing it on the floor of the porch.
She had known he had a temper but such an exhibition of it filled her with amusement. She clung to the door handle, laughing at him.
“How dare you!” he repeated. “I have given my permission for you to be up in your own room in two days and here you are in the porch! And alone! Let me tell you, you may bring on trouble that will keep you in bed for weeks.”
“I’m as right as rain,” she said, using the new slang of the period.
He looked down at his hat as though he had a mind to kick it. Then he said, still looking at it: —
“If you feel so capable of looking after yourself, you may do so at your next confinement.”
“There is not going to be another,” she answered, loftily.
He gave an ironic smile. “You tell me that — a passionate woman like you!” Now his eyes were on her.
“I have a husband who considers my health,” she returned, still more loftily.
“Does he give you permission to ignore my orders?”
“I do what I like!”
“Well, you shall go back to bed now.”
“I will not.”
“You shall!”
“I defy you!”
He caught her by the arms and turned her round. His grip was like iron. For a moment she felt helpless, then she threw her weight against his shoulder and stretching up her hand took a handful of his rather long, wiry hair.
“Will you loose me!” she panted.
He gave a little excited laugh. With a sharp intake of breath, he bent his head and kissed her lips.
Both stood motionless a space. They heard a light step on the newly spread gravel of the drive. Dr. Ramsey picked up his hat and, still more flushed, turned to face Daisy Vaughan. She was astonished by the sight of Adeline.
“Why, Mrs. Whiteoak — you up!” she cried. “How lovely!”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
“And how well you look! You have an enchanting colour. Hasn’t she, Dr. Ramsey?” She gave him an intent look.
“Quite,” he returned stiffly.
There was a somewhat embarrassing silence but it was soon broken by Daisy’s exclaiming: —
“What do you suppose has happened? Kate Busby has eloped with Mr. Brent! Her father is in a towering rage and says he will never forgive her. Do you think he ever will. Dr. Ramsey?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“I think an elopement is so romantic. Nothing would hinder me from marrying the man I loved. I would fly with him to the ends of the earth. Everyone seems to think Mr. Brent is a quite good match, even though his means are uncertain. What do you think of such infatuation, Dr. Ramsey? I’ll wager you disapprove of it.”
“I’m in no position to judge anyone’s conduct,” he returned.
Adeline’s eyes were laughing at him. She leant against the stone wall of the porch, folding her arms. “Both parties are lucky,” she said. “They’ll make a nice pair.”
“I’m so glad you think so,” said Daisy. ”But I wish there had been a wedding. Even though I shall never be a bride I should love to be a bridesmaid.”
“You’ll be a bride without doubt,” said Adeline.
A faint cry came from her bedroom. She turned her eyes in that direction with something of the expression of a fine Persian cat, aloof yet attentive to the cry of its young.
“Oh, the darling baby!” cried Daisy, darting down the hall and throwing herself on her knees by the side of the bed. “Oh you darling, angelic little Ernest!” She clasped him to her breast. But she had nothing he wanted. He continued to cry.
He thrived in the weeks that followed and continued to be an object of great interest to all about, for he had set the seal of birth on the new house. Nicholas found himself of less consequence.
Frequently Gussie was set to minding Nicholas, amusing him while the baby slept. Though so young, she had a capable way with her and often he would do her bidding. But, when he set his will against hers, she had no power to control him. He would shout and scream in her face. He would pull her curls. He now weighed more than she and would push her aside to grasp a toy or reach his mother’s knee. Gussie loved little Ernest. He was sweeter than her best doll. But she did not love Nicholas. There were times when she liked him very much but there were other times when she would have liked to get rid of him.
On a warm bright morning in May the nu
rse had set Nicholas in his perambulator on the grass. It was near the ravine where passing workmen might amuse him, or the flight of returning birds. They came in great numbers, in clouds, filling the air with their song. Always there was some living thing to watch at Jalna.
A farm hand led past a fine team of Percheron horses, just bought by Philip. They trotted by in gentleness and strength, moving obediently to the slight drawing of the rein. Nicholas ceased to play with his woolly lamb and leant forward to watch them as though appraisingly; his brilliant dark eyeslooked out from under the frill of his pale blue silk bonnet. The great glossy flanks of the Percherons jogged up and down, the bright metal trimmings of the harness jingled. Nicholas saw how their cream-coloured tails were caught in a knot with red ribbons. He turned over his lamb to see if its tail was the same, and finding it had nothing more than a little scut of wool, he pushed out his underlip in disapproval. Gussie, sitting on a little stool by his side, thought he was about to cry. She joggled the perambulator up and down with an experienced hand.
He turned his gaze somewhat resentfully on her. He did not want to be joggled. He wanted to get out and walk He tried to unfasten the strap which held him.
“No, no,” said Gussie. “Naughty.”
She rose and held his two hands in hers. This infuriated him. He glared at her and struggled. She thought she would push the pram about to quiet him. The ground was level and smooth here so she managed very well. It was a great pleasure to her to push the pram, though their nurse had strictly forbidden it.
But Nicholas was thoroughly disgruntled. He could not forget how she had held his hands. He hurled his lamb overboard He lay down on his back and kicked. With a great deal of effort she moved the pram to where the resurrected piano stood in its case at the edge of the ravine.
“Nice piano,” she said. “Gussie will play on it.” Then she added — “But not Nicholas.”
He could not understand that there was a piano in the big box but he did understand that he was going to be denied something she was to have. He turned over and struggled to his knees, still encircled by the restraining strap. She did not see what he had done, for her head was bent in Herculean efforts. The ground had become rougher.
Nicholas leant over the back of the pram and gripped Gussie’s hat by the crown. He dragged it forward over her eyes, badly pulling her hair that was caught in the elastic. She gave a cry of pain and rage but continued to push the pram with all her might.
Only the day before the piano had, with much shouting and cracking of the whip, been dragged up from the brink of the river. Every carpenter, plasterer, woodsman and farm hand had gathered to see the four horses strain and stamp, in their efforts to raise the piano. Once the ropes had slipped and it had all but plunged back again but, at last, it stood safe on the top. Today it was to be carried into the drawing-room.
All that she had borne from Nicholas now crowded upon Gussie. Whatever she had, he wanted. Whatever she did, he interfered. He was the centre of everything. Mamma, Papa, Nurse, Lizzie — everyone liked him best. Even Patsy O’Flynn had put her down from his shoulder one morning to elevate Nicholas to that eminence. Little Ernest was nice. She could do with him but Nicholas she could not abide. The long sharp slope, up which the piano had been dragged, lay before her. It had been scraped to comparative smoothness by the weight of the piano. Gussie put all her strength into a last push to the pram. She let go.
Down the slop it hurtled. Nicholas still clinging to the back of the seat. His expression changed from surprise to joyful devil-may-careness. A wheel striking a stone caused a bump that threw him into the air. He landed in the pram again but in a different position. Gussie could no longer see his face.
Now the perambulator reached the river’s edge. It overturned, with Nicholas beneath it. He did not move. The front wheels were above the water. Suddenly Gussie was frightened. She felt alone in an immense world. She looked down the steep. The piano had been at the bottom. Now it was at the top. The pram had been at the top, now it was at the bottom. Nicholas had been noisy, now he was silent. Things changed too much. Gussie was afraid.
She trotted in the direction from whence came the sound of an axe and voices of the two French Canadians singing. Their singing reminded her of something long past, something that was pleasant and soothing. She stood concealed, watching the swing of the axes and the way the muscles rose in lumps on their brown arms.
Gussie gave a little skip of pleasure. For an instant the forest was blotted out and she saw the kitchen of the house in the Rue St. Louis and felt Marie’s arms about her, rocking her, heard Marie’s voice singing.
“‘Alouette, gentille Alouette,
Alouette, Je te plumerai …’”
She discovered tiny pink flowers starring the young grass at her feet and bent her face down to theirs. She heard the nurse’s voice calling.
“Augusta! Augusta!” There was a frantic note in the voice.
Then Nurse saw her and ran to her.
“Where is Baby?” she panted.
“Down there,” said Gussie pointing to the bottom of the ravine.
“Merciful heaven!” She ran to the verge and peered over. Gussie followed her, watched her run frantically down the steep. Finger in mouth, she saw Nurse lift the pram, take Nicholas into her arms and examine him, then toil up again, her face crimson.
Nicholas had been no more hurt than the piano had been, Gussie decided, staring up into his face. He looked quiet and puzzled. His bonnet was down over one eye. Nurse set him on the ground, then again descended into the ravine and brought up the pram. She was completely winded. She took out the pillow and coverings and shook the earth from them. She plumped the pillow and rearranged all. Every now and again she cast a fearful glance toward the house. When Nicholas had been embraced and tenderly kissed, Nurse bent over Gussie.
“How did it happen?” she demanded fiercely. “What did you do, you wicked girl?”
“I pushed the pram,” answered Gussie, “and it went over. I was giving him a ride.”
“It’s a marvel you did not kill him.” She took Gussie by the shoulders and shook her violently, then slapped her hands, then her cheeks. “Take that!” she said. “And don’t you dare tell Mamma or Papa about this. Now stop crying. You haven’t got the half of what you deserve.”
That afternoon the piano case was removed. The piano stood exposed to the sunlight, apparently none the worse for all it had been through. It remained to see what its tone would be. A platform on rollers had been constructed, on which it was drawn to the house, and a half-dozen men carried it with what were, to Gussie, rather frightening shoutings and strugglings. When at last it was safe in the drawing-room, the men stood about it admiring its rosewood case, the carvings of its legs, its silver candleholders, with almost as much pride as if it had been their own.
When the men were gone, Adeline and Philip, Daisy and Wilmott, were left.
“Now,” exclaimed Daisy, “things really begin to look settled and homelike! I always say that the piano is the soul of the house. I do hope it is not too dreadfully out of tune.”
“Please sit down and play something,” said Philip. “Let’s find out the worst at once.”
Daisy arranged herself on the stool, after a number of twirlings of it up and down till it was of the desired height. Then she broke into a Strauss waltz.”
“It’s not bad,” she declared, above the music. “Not bad at all. The tone is sweet.”
Philip was delighted. He put an arm about Adeline’s waist and, without considering whether or not she was in condition to waltz, whirled her away. “Hoop-la!” he cried. “Why, it’s ages since we’ve danced together.”
Supple and strong, Adeline skimmed the floor with him. Wilmott stood looking on a little gloomily, wishing he too had a partner. Then, seeing Gussie peeping round the door, he went to her, bowed deeply in the Frenchified manner he had picked up in Quebec, and said: —
“Will you do me the honour, Miss Whiteoak?”
She bowed gravely and, holding her by her hands, he led her round and round.
“We shall often have parties here,” said Adeline across Philip’s shoulder. “Surely we are the happiest people in the world!” She sank down on a sofa, happily flushed but a little tired after the waltz. Daisy turned round on the stool.
“I should so love to dance,” she said. “If anyone would dance with me.”
“Play us a tune, Wilmott!” said Philip, and raised Daisy to her feet.
Daisy’s playing had been gay, facile, if somewhat incorrect. Wilmott’s was slow, with a kind of precise sensuousness. Daisy’s sinuous body expressed, almost brazenly, her pleasure in the rhythmic movement. The two had frequently danced together this past winter.
“I do so love dancing with you, Captain Whiteoak,” she breathed. “I’m lost to all else in the world.”
He gave a gay laugh, held her a little more firmly and whirled farther down the room. Augusta stood by Wilmott’s side, thumping her small fists on the bass notes. He shook his head at her but she persisted.
“Gussie is spoiling everything,” cried Daisy. “Do stop her, Mrs. Whiteoak!”
Adeline swooped down on Gussie, picked her up and set her on the sofa. Gussie’s little pantaletted legs dangled helplessly.
“Is there no hope of our dancing together?” Wilmott asked of Adeline.
“When I have rested a little.”
Wilmott played a polka which the dancers executed with spirit.
Then he came and sat by Adeline’s side. He said: —
“I don’t think I want to dance with you to that girl’s playing. She plays horribly.”
Adeline stretched out her hand and took his. “You seem to be in an evil mood, James,” she said. “I think Daisy performs beautifully on the piano. And how she dances!”
“I had rather die than dance with her,” he said.
Philip came to them. “When you see the wallpaper on this room,” he said, “and the really handsome curtains on the windows and the carpet on the floor, you will see a room of some elegance.”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 27