“It is certainly large,” said Wilmott. “The floor space is twice that of my entire house.”
“It is a divine room!” cried Daisy. “Picture it at night with all the candles blazing, dancers gliding over the floor, flowers in vases, an orchestra sweetly playing and outside the vastness of the forest! Oh, I envy you such a room! What do you suppose it feels like to be a pauper, Captain Whiteoak?”
“Very jolly, to judge by the look of you,” returned Philip.
“Oh, how cruel! Just because I hide my misery beneath a smile, you think I don’t care! Here I am — doomed to single blessedness! What man yearns to marry a girl without a penny?”
“In a primitive country,” said Wilmott, “a female is to be judged by her brawn.”
Daisy ran across the floor, holding out her arms.
“In that respect,” she cried, “I am even worse off. Look at me! Skin and bone! Nothing more.”
“Hoop-la!” exclaimed Philip, dancing toward her. “Strike up the music, Wilmott.”
He swept Daisy into another waltz, the music for which he provided by an extraordinary sweet whistling.
“I have something I want to tell you,” said Wilmott, taking Gussie’s tiny slippered foot into his hand. “But we never have an opportunity to talk nowadays.”
“Once we are settled it will be different. Then I shall have oceans of leisure. What is it you were going to tell me?”
“I have begun to write a book.”
Her face lighted. “Splendid! Is it a novel? Am I in it?”
“It is and I’m afraid you are. Try as I would, I could not keep you out.”
“I should be furious if you had. When will you read to me what you have written?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps never. I am very uncertain about it.”
“Those two,” observed Philip to Daisy, “seem predisposed to converse forever.”
“They are so intellectual. As for me, I have only two ideas.
“Do tell me what they are.”
“To be loved — and to love!”
Wilmott rose and went to the piano. He began to play, gravely yet sensuously. Gussie slid down the sofa and followed him. She strummed on the bass notes.
XVIII
VISITORS FROM IRELAND
AS PHILIP LOOKED about him, he was struck anew by all that had been accomplished since Adeline and he had come here. He was often struck by this but this particular evening he felt something approaching awe. Not much more than a year ago he had purchased a thousand acres of land — forest, with the exception of a small clearing. Now a substantial house stood in its midst. About it was a park with as fine trees as you would see anywhere. Beyond the park there were fields, cleared of stumps and planted with oats and barley. There were even vegetables — next year there would be a flower border for Adeline. A barn was completed and in the stable beneath it there were two teams of fine farm horses, two saddle horses, and a general-purpose mare who was used for the trap or for light work. He had not been in haste to buy a carriage and carriage horses. His taste in such was exacting.
He stood between the barn and the house which he could just see through the trees, the warm red of its walls deepened by the glow from the setting sun. Smoke rose from two of its chimneys, greyish blue against the blue of the sky. Even the Jersey cows, grazing near him and looking as though such as they had grazed and bred in this spot for generations, did not move Philip as did the sight of the smoke form his own chimneys against the sky. It was as though the smoke traced the word home there. Well, he had given his heart to this land. He wanted no other.
It seemed strange to him, when he thought of it, how he had been willing to leave the Army where he could have, with confidence, looked forward to advancement, how he had thrown all that aside for so primitive a life. As a youth he had wanted to enter the Army. It was a tradition of his family. Many a time he had rejoiced in the activities of military life. What had happened to him, then? It seemed that, from the time of his marriage, a strange element of unrest had come into his life. Not that Adeline had not enjoyed the pleasures of the military station, not that she had been a simple-minded country girl whose presence had drawn him from the old life. No, it had been something much deeper. It was as though Adeline had always been searching for truth and that when their lives were joined they had set out to search for it together. They had wanted reality, freedom from rules made long before their time, the opportunity to lead their lives in their own fashion. In Canada they had found that opportunity. Not once had he regretted what he had given up, nay — he rejoiced in what he had attained! He looked down at his heavy boots, his leather leggings, his corduroy breeches and jacket, and rejoiced that he looked and felt like a countryman. He went to the youngest of the cows who had lately had her first calf which still was with her, and put his hand on the cream-coloured smoothness of her shoulder. She was friendly, not timid, and raised her eyes to his face, her mouth full of the tender grass. Her little calf was by her side, weak yet lively, making feeble jumpings. He would not have exchanged them for a regiment of cavalry. A deep serenity possessed him. From early morning to night he had congenial things to do. In truth he had so much to do that sometimes he felt overwhelmed. Still, there was plenty of time ahead of him. In time he and Adeline would make Jalna what they wanted it to be. There was no haste. He had plenty of money. He had confidence in the future. He had a comfortable belief in God — a not too personal God, with His eye always on your misdeeds, but ready to give you a hand in time of trouble and waiting at the last with magnanimous forgiveness for your sins — if they had not been heinous.
“Co-boss,” he said to the young cow, having learned the word from the farm hands, “nice little co-boss.” The calf bumped against his knees, its pink tongue protruding.
He saw Colonel Vaughan coming toward him across the field. He was carrying a basket. They exchanged greetings and the Colonel opened the basket.
“I have a little present for your wife,” he said. ”Some lettuces — ours are especially fine this year — also some cherries and a score of the marauders who planned to devour them.”
The interior of the basket was as pretty as a picture, Philip thought. The two great heads of lettuce were as green as the youngest grass. Their leaves were folded over their hearts, layer upon layer, firm and cool with scarcely a wrinkle. Only the edges were crisply curled. Against this greenness the glossy crimson of the cherries shone. A partition divided the basket and in the other half lay the bodies of twenty small, bright-coloured birds. They had throats as red as the cherries and crests on their little heads. Nothing could have been sleeker than their plumage.
“The rascals came in a cloud,” said Colonel Vaughan, “and settled on the tree. It was a pretty sight but I had no time to waste in admiring it. I got my shotgun and fired it into the tree. I recharged it for the stragglers. They fell off the branches like fruit.”
“By Jove, they’re pretty! But what is Adeline to do with them?”
“Have them stuffed. There is quite a good taxidermist in the town. A glass case filled with them, nicely arranged on small branches, is as pretty an ornament for a room as you could wish. If you want more I can give you double the number. I am having a score stuffed for myself.”
“Thanks very much. Adeline will be delighted.”
But he was a little doubtful as he entered the drawing-room where Adeline was sitting at her embroidery frame, utilizing the last brightness from the west. She looked charming, he thought, in her dress of white cashmere with a cascade of lace down the front and at the elbow sleeves. He took twin cherries from the basket and hung them on one of her ears.
“There’s an earring for you!”
She put up her hand to feel. “Cherries! Oh, do give me a handful! Are they from Vaughanlands?”
“Yes. And these too. Look.”
She peered into the basket. Her face paled.
“Oh, how cruel! Who killed them?”
“Vaughan. But they were devou
ring his cherries. They would soon have finished them.”
“It was cruel — cruel,” she repeated. “Why did he send the birds here?”
“He brought them himself — for you — they’re to be stuffed. You’ll admire them when you see them in a nice glass case.”
“Never! Take them out of my sight! Oh, the darlings! No — let me see them!” She took one from the basket and held it against her cheek. Tears ran from her eyes.
“Now Adeline, be sensible. You work yourself into a stew over nothing — or next to nothing. What of the partridges, the pheasants, the grouse that are shot?”
“That is sport. This is murder. Those birds are used as food. These —” She pressed the dead bird she held to her lips, then raised her eyes with an outraged expression to Philip’s face. “These little birds are for beauty and song! What if they do eat the cherries?”
“What if there were no cherries left?”
“Who would care?” She kissed the breast of the bird. “Who would care?”
“Adeline, you have blood on your lips!” He took out his large linen handkerchief and wiped her lips. “Now, enough of this. Give me the bird. I shall find someone else who will enjoy having them.”
She submitted, only exclaiming — “They shall not be put into a glass case! I shall bury them myself.” She peered into the basket and again her tears overflowed.
Mrs. Coveyduck came into the room. She and her husband had arrived at Jalna some weeks before. They had been engaged in Devon by Philip’s sister, as cook and gardener. No two could have been more satisfactory. Sam Coveyduck was short, thickset and florid. He thought of growing things from morning to night and it was a dying thing that would not grow for him. He had a deep, luscious voice with a strong Devon accent. His wife was short too but more slender. She had sleek brown hair, a nunlike face and a will like iron. She was a good cook. She adored order. She settled down to rule the young couple at Jalna, benignly yet firmly.
“Just look, Mrs. Coveyduck,” cried Adeline, “at the dear little birds! What do you think of a gentleman who would kill dear little birds — just for fun?”
“It wasn’t for fun,” said Philip.
“It was for fun! Else why should he have galloped over here to show his spoils?”
“He didn’t gallop,” said Philip, “he walked. He thought you’d be pleased.”
“I don’t care how he came!” screamed Adeline. “He came, bringing his little victims, and that is enough! I always felt something wicked in him. Now I remember hearing how he shot down natives in India for just a little tiny uprising.”
“Those natives had killed English civilians. One of them a woman. Anyhow, it wasn’t this Vaughan but the other Vaughan.”
“Ah, trust you to cover up your friend’s misdeeds!”
“Trust you,” returned Philip, glaring at her, “to think the worst of people.”
“I can see as far through a stone wall as anyone. I know sport when I see it and I know cruelty when I see it. And this is cruelty.”
“Eh, well,” said Mrs. Coveyduck, soothingly, “I’ll fetch ’ee a nice cup of tea to comfort ’ee. As for thicey birds, we’ll have a proper funeral for they. I’ll find a nice box and line it with leaves. Coveyduck shall dig the grave and the children shall strew flowers over top. Would you like the cherries stewed, or in a tart, ma’am?”
Neither Philip nor Adeline replied. Both would have preferred a tart but neither would, in the stress of the moment, admit it.”
“Stewed, or in a tart?” repeated Mrs. Coveyduck, fixing them with eyes as blue as the sky.
“I have no preference,” answered Philip, stiffly.
“Nor I,” said Adeline.
“Then stewed — with Devonshire cream,” said Mrs. Coveyduck, well knowing their preference. She took the basket and turned to go.
Emotion always made Adeline hungry. She turned a look of hate on Philip to think he had not said cherry tart.
He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and whistled between his teeth.
“This is no stable,” she said, “nor you a groom.”
“I want cherry tart,” he returned.
Adeline smiled broadly at Mrs. Coveyduck. “The master demands cherry tart,” she said.
It was on the very day when the little birds were buried that Adeline had a letter from her brother Conway, saying that he and Mary were in Montreal and would soon come to Jalna for a visit. They were in that town to look after the affairs of Mrs. Cameron who had died in the early spring, leaving Mary a modest but not inconsiderable fortune. Both were well and longing to see Philip, dear Adeline, and the children. Sholto had accompanied them.
Adeline was divided between delight and dismay. If only they had waited a little longer for their visit, delight would have been unalloyed. But the house was not yet in order. The walls of the drawing-room and library had been papered, the curtains hung. They were inviting but not yet complete. No pictures were on the walls, no ornaments arranged. As for the dining room, it was still in chaos, the furniture swathed, scaffolds erected for the paper-hangers. Meals were eaten in the library. There was as yet no furniture in the guest rooms.
Fortunately a private sale of household effects was advertised at no great distance. Philip went off to it, a little disgruntled because he had his hands so full at home. But it was always pleasant to spend money and he returned in great good humour having acquired two bedroom suites, one of walnut with much carving, the other of mahogany and of a good design. He also acquired complete toilet sets with enormous ewers, basins, soap dishes, slop bowls, chamber pots and toothbrush holders, tall enough for the toothbrushes of mastodons. Added to this were a large tin bath painted green, a wire stand for potted plants, a cuckoo clock, a stuffed deer’s headd, a huge volume of British Poets, and a dog kennel. Adeline had to leave her hanging of curtains to inspect these. She declared them all to be beautiful and, clasping the anthology of British Poets to her breast, flew with it to the library and placed it conspicuously on the bookshelves. She and Philip stood hand in hand admiring the effect.
Mrs. Coveyduck was without peer in the process of settling in. She never became confused or irritated. She went from attic to basement and never seemed to tire. Tranquilly and without fuss she had her own way. The young girl, Lizzie, under her guidance, was rapidly becoming an efficient housemaid. She thought Mrs. Coveyduck perfect and it was amusing to see her modeling herself in imitation.
Oh, the joy to Adeline and Philip to be in their own house! No longer was he obliged to put his head out of the window to smoke his cigar. Now, with his velvet smoking cap on his head, the gold tassel dangling jauntily over one eye, he could smoke where he chose. She would run from room to room, singing as she went. She could drop things wherever she chose, secure in the knowledge that Mrs. Coveyduck or Lizzie would pick them up. The children might cry at the top of their lungs, she had no need to worry. As for Nero, no longer was he an outcast. He so suffered from the summer’s heat that Patsy O’Flynn clipped him to his shoulders again. He was here, there, and everywhere. Already the new front door was scored by his scratchings to be admitted.
The party from Montreal arrived on a hot, bright but windy day. Everything seemed in motion, from the waving of branches to the waving of Nero’s tail.
“How heavenly to see you boys again!” cried Adeline, clasping her brothers to her in turn.
“Dear Sis,” said Conway, submitting languidly, “it is heaven to be here after the discomforts we have endured. How well you look!”
He himself had not at all changed, nor had Sholto. There they stood, slim as wands, their pale red hair worn too long, their long pale faces with the pointed chins and supercilious nostrils reminding Philip as always of the faces on playing cards — looking little older than when they had run away from the ship. But Mary had changed — from a colourless child to a fashionable young woman though, on close inspection, she looked a little overshadowed by the clothes which she had bought in Paris. Though she had
all the money, Conway had firmly impressed on her that he had done her a great favour in marrying her. Her adoring eyes followed him wherever he went and, when he was absent from her, she waited in dejection for his return. She often bored him and he preferred the more congenial company of his brother.
“What a dear little house!” he exclaimed. “And all so fresh and clean! And what a wilderness surrounding it!”
“Heavens! Look at the dog!” Sholto simulated terror. “Or is he a lion? What a creature!”
“He comes from Newfoundland and he’s more lamb than lion,” answered Adeline, patting Nero.
“What sweet babies!” Mary ran to inspect the children. “There’s nothing I want so much as a baby but I don’t seem to be able to have one.”
Conway winked at Adeline. “There is nothing on earth I want less,” he said, arranging his silk cravat.
“What perfect repair everything is in!” remarked Sholto, staring about him.
“Child,” said Adeline, “the house is barely built. It’s as fresh as a daisy.”
He looked at her blankly. He could not imagine a new house.
“How is dear Mamma?” she asked.
“Looking lovely,” answered Conway. “You remember that she lost a front tooth? Well, she had a beautiful new one put in the place. It is a miracle. A new discovery. You should see it.”
“She says she is coming over here just to show it you,” said Sholto. “Both she and Dada are coming.”
“Really!” Philip could not help looking a little aghast. “You say they are coming to Jalna?”
“Yes. Dada doesn’t believe half of what Sis writes of the place. He’s coming to see it with his own eyes.”
“How is Dada?” asked Adeline pensively.
“Beastly as ever,” returned Sholto emphatically. “He beat me till I was black and blue just two days before we sailed. I thought I should have to remain at home.”
“It served you right,” said his brother.
Mary asked — “Where are the two Irish gentlemen?”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 28