“Hoity-toity.” Again he snuggled into the pillow, breathing deeply as though consciously content.
Did he feel as innocent as he sounded? No — a thousand times no! She longed to turn and face him, grasp him by the shoulders and pour out on him all that rankled in her mind. Ah, it was lucky for him that he had put Daisy away from him! Lucky for him that he had a wife of character!
It was not Philip but Daisy who filled her heart with rage. Daisy was not only designing. She was unscrupulous. She was bad. There was nothing she would not do to take your man away from you, if she wanted him. The desire in Daisy’s face as she drew Philip’s down toward hers had filled Adeline with a horrid fear of the temptress. How could a man be held responsible for what he did, with such a woman about? After all, he was but flesh and blood.
Yet, as Adeline lay awake hour after hour, she was not so much apprehending what Daisy might do, as considering the punishment for what she had done. The grandfather clock in the hall struck one, two, and three. Still she had not slept. She resigned herself to a sleepless night. She relaxed and drew the sweet night smells into her nostrils. She was glad that Dr. Ramsey considered the night air of summer harmless. Yet she doubted if he would have approved of quite so much as now swept into the room.
The house seemed singularly alive tonight. It stood, in the hushed indrawn beauty of the night, hunched against the darkness, as though feeling in every stone the sting of the first unhappiness it had sheltered. They had been so happy here! Their very embraces had had in them an earthy pride that had risen out of the virgin land. The cycle of the days was not long enough for the expression of their content. “Think of the time when we shall see our own grain cut!” they had said. “What a Christmas we shall have! The house will be hung with pine and spruce boughs.… What will it be like to watch the spring coming to Jalna?”
She felt as though a catastrophe had fallen on the house. She saw the house as old, crumbling, weighed down by the sorrows that had been enacted there, sunk beneath the great creeper that would cover it.
She opened her eyes to reassure herself and saw a paleness where the window was. Morning was on the way. She must remember to water the little Virginia creeper Mrs. Vaughan had given her. It had been planted beside the porch and thriven well till the dry, hot days came. Suddenly she put out her hand toward Philip. It touched his back between the shoulders. He was breathing deeply. Drowsiness stole over her.
When she woke it was past nine o’clock. Mrs. Coveyduck was standing beside the bed with her morning tea on a tray. Already she had taken a comfortable motherly attitude toward Adeline.
“Bless my soul,” she said, “what a way to treat your beautiful hair, ma’am! It looks as though you had dragged it through a hedge. You must let me give it a good brushing for ’ee. Come, drink this warm tea and tell me what I shall give ’ee for breakfast.”
“Bacon and eggs,” answered Adeline promptly. “Is it a fine morning? I want to ride.”
“Aye, ’tis as luvely day as you could see in a whole zummertime. But surely you will want to rest after such a late party on the beach.”
“No, no, I am not tired.”
She sat up, while Mrs. Coveyduck arranged the tray, with its pot of tea and two slices of thin bread and butter, in front of her.
“Coveyduck told me, ma’am, that you were down in the kitchen heating milk when you came home. You should have called me to get for ’ee. He had no right to let me sleep like a gert log while you waited on yourself. But he has no sense except to make things grow.”
“I told him not to wake you.”
“Aye, but there’s times to obey an order and times not to obey ’em. Now drink your tea and I’ll give the bird his seeds.”
She filled Boney’s seed cup from the canister of parrot seed that stood on the mantelpiece. Boney looked on with interest and when she had finished he flew to the top of his cage, scrambled over it in great haste and went in at the door. He thrust his dark beak into the seed cup.
All the while Mrs. Coveyduck brushed Adeline’s hair he talked in a cooing voice to her.
“Dilkoosha — dilkoohsa — mera lal,” he said, wriggling his body on the perch.
“What does he say, ma’am?” asked Mrs. Coveyduck.
“He calls me Pearl of the Harem.”
“Does he now? Well, well, ’tis a clever bird and no mistake.”
“Mrs. Coveyduck, I want you to tell Patsy O’Flynn to go to Vaughanlands and give my compliments to Miss Vaughan and ask her if she will do Captain and Mrs. Whiteoak the honour of riding with them this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll send him off at once.”
Adeline wore her riding habit and hat to breakfast. She was alone, for Philip was always early about the estate and the others still slept. She could hear Gussie and Nicholas prattling at play under the young silver-birch tree. She heard Ernest crying with the intonation of hunger. Thank goodness, she was not still nursing this baby! Once again the milk from Maggie, the little goat, was succoring an infant Whiteoak. She heard the nurse going to the basement for Ernest’s bottle. Adeline ate heartily.
Almost as soon as Patsy returned with the news that Miss Vaughan would be delighted to ride with Captain and Mrs. Whiteoak, Daisy herself appeared.
Really, thought Adeline, she was shameless! Adeline regarded her appraisingly as she sat before the door on Robert’s own saddle horse, a charming young mare named Pixie. Daisy was dressed with great care. Her hair, caught at the nape, hung in three long curls that reached the saddle. And, oh, those little curls in front of the ears! Adeline could gladly have pulled them off. And her tasseled boots and her gauntleted gloves! And the false smile on her face! Adeline could gladly have killed her.
But she gave her a cheerful good-morning and, Patsy assisting her, mounted her own horse. He was a pale chestnut, graceful and of perfect motion, Philip’s present to her on her birthday.
“How well you are looking, dear Mrs. Whiteoak!” cried Daisy. “I have never seen you look better. And what a sweet horse! Oh, I envy you the way you ride! You make me quite ashamed. And there are the pet children!” She threw kisses to them. “Good morning, Nicholas! Good morning, Gussie! What eyes they have! And where is Captain Whiteoak?”
“He is where they are building the church. He may join us there. But I hope you won’t be too disappointed if we take our ride without him.”
“Not at all. There is nothing I enjoy more than a tête-â-tête with you.”
Somewhere there had been a storm. It had cleared the air and there was a pleasant freshness abroad. Axemen were still at work uprooting stumps, leveling the ground, while carpenters were doing the last jobs to house and barns. Still, there was now a finish about the place. It was surprising how much Coveyduck had already accomplished in the way of a lawn and flower border. Every day he sang the praises of the power of the virgin soil.
Side by side the two horses trotted, past the new herd of Jersey cattle, past the pigs and ducks in the farmyard. They followed the cart track through the estate to the road where the church was being built. Philip had given this road for public use and already many a vehicle had passed along it but still it was rough and the forest pressed close to it.
Now they saw the walls of the church rising solid on a tree-crowned knoll. Loud hammering filled the air. The forest birds liked the noise of the hammers and sang their loudest to its accompaniment. The river circled below the graveyard where there was, as yet, no grave. They could see Mr. Pink in shirt sleeves working among the men. But there was no sign of Philip. Daisy could not quite conceal her disappointment when he was not to be found. She looked suspiciously at Adeline.
“Are you sure,” she asked, “that he said he would ride with us?”
“Well, I think he did,” returned Adeline with a little laugh. “But we are happy enough without him, aren’t we? Let’s gallop!”
The horses broke into a gallop, their hoofs thudding on the sandy soil. Trees arched overhead with boughs almo
st touching. The morning sunshine sifted golden through the greenness. When they drew rein, the sound of hammering was far behind. Daisy’s colour was high.
“Please let us not gallop again,” she said. “The ground is too rough. It makes me nervous.”
“Very well,” answered Adeline affably, “we’ll not gallop. We’ll go at a nice walk. Let us follow this path that branches off. I’ve never been here before.”
They turned into the path which was too narrow for them to ride abreast. Adeline led the way, her anger seething within her. At last in a grassy opening she drew rein, wheeled and faced Daisy.
“Now,” she said, “you are to answer for the way you tried to seduce my husband last night.”
For a moment Daisy was stunned. She could not take in the words. Then they sank into her, and the look on Adeline’s face. She turned her horse sharply and made as though to gallop back.
“Stop!” exclaimed Adeline, and brought the weight of her riding crop across Daisy’s back.
Daisy turned her mare and faced Adeline.
“You devil!” she said.
“If I am a devil,” said Adeline, “it is you who have roused it in me! The men of my family would take their riding crop to a man who would play loose with their women. What did you do? You fairly wound yourself around my Philip’s body! You threw yourself across his knees last night by the lake! What do you think I am? Blind? Or a creature of no spirit? Let me tell you — I have been watching you. Ah, my eye has been on you. Take that!” she shouted, brandishing her riding crop.
If Adeline had expected Daisy to fly in terror, she was mistaken. Daisy was indeed terrified but she was furious also. There was a snakelike quality in her sinuous body, crouched on the saddle, in her short, slant-eyed face with the lips drawn back from the teeth. She raised her own riding crop in menace as she avoided Adeline’s blow.
“Don’t you dare to strike me again!” she cried.
“I’ll flog you as you deserve,” exclaimed Adeline. But her horse was nervous. He struggled against the bit and danced here and there. She could not reach Daisy.
“What do you know of love?” Daisy cried out. “You’re wrapped up in yourself. You’re too proud to love Philip as he deserves. I’m not proud. I’ve always wanted him!I’m going to have him. He loves me. What you saw last night, that wasn’t the half. We’re lovers, I tell you!”
“Lies! Lies! There’s no word of truth in you! But now you shall have your lesson.”
Now she rode close to Daisy and again and again she struck her with the crop. At each blow Daisy gave a cry of rage, for she was scarcely conscious of pain. She struck Adeline but the blow descended on the horse. In a convulsion of surprise he reared himself on his hind legs. Daisy’s mare, as though in emulation, reared also. And there for a short space they faced each other immobile, like two riders cut from bronze, the green forest standing in its denseness about them, the lustrous blue sky arching above. It was a pity that there was no spectator of this scene or that none of the four participants was conscious of its beauty.
Then suddenly Adeline’s horse began to plunge. He wheeled and galloped violently in the direction whence they had come and, as though in a concerted plan, the mare flew along the path into the forest. There was soon a wide space between them.
Adeline let him gallop but she spoke soothingly to him and bent forward to pat him.
“It was not I who hit you, Prince. It wasn’t I, old man. It was that villain, Daisy. We’ve always known in our hearts she was bad. But I flogged her! Lord, how I laid it on!”
Her cheeks blazing, her eyes ashine, she galloped home.
It was now high noon and very warm. She went to her room and changed into a cool flowing dress. She went to the dining room and busied herself in arranging rows of delicate glass goblets in a French cabinet. The room was now papered; rugs were laid on the floor; the long curtains, of a golden yellow with heavy cords and tassels, hung from the ornate cornices. The portraits of herself and Philip were side by side, above the silver-laden sideboard. It was a handsome room, she thought. She would not be ashamed to entertain here.
She busied herself, humming a little tune. But one part of her mind she kept locked.
The Laceys came to dinner and it was not till they were leaving and the shadow of the young birch lay at length on the grass that Robert Vaughan drove up to the door. His face was pale.
“What has happened?” he demanded, as though all were aware of something unusual.
“Happened?” answered Philip. “What do you mean?”
“Is Mrs. Wakefield safe?”
“She is.”
“Well, my cousin isn’t! Pixie has come home without her!”
Philip turned in astonishment to Adeline.
“You were riding with Daisy, weren’t you?”
“Yes … We had words … a quarrel … and we separated. I came home alone.”
“Oh,” cried Mrs. Lacey. “I’m afraid the poor girl has had an accident! Oh, dear — oh, dear!”
“We must organize a search party at once,” said Captain Lacey. He turned almost accusingly to Adeline. “Where was Miss Vaughan when you parted from her, Mrs. Whiteoak?”
Adeline knit her brow. “I don’t know. It was quite a long way off. On the cart track leading from the church. Then along a narrow path to a clearing. We separated there.”
“You must come and show us,” said Philip.
Mary asked — “Do you think there are wolves about?”
“Not a wolf,” answered Captain Lacey, but he spoke uneasily.
“I’ll bring Nero,” cried Sholto. “We shall need something in the way of a bloodhound.”
“What I am afraid of is that she has been thrown and injured. How was her horse behaving when you parted from her, Mrs. Whiteoak?”
“She was a little restive.”
Robert found the opportunity of saying to Adeline: —
“I have quarreled with Daisy too. I thought her behaviour last night was detestable. But now I feel frightened.”
“Nothing has happened to her.”
“But how can you know?”
“Something tells me.”
While Adeline and Philip were changing into their riding clothes, he exclaimed — “This is a pretty kettle of fish! If anything has happened to that girl, you will be blamed. You need not have said that you quarreled.”
“I am of a frank nature,” she returned.
“There is no need to disclose everything.” “I did not disclose the nature of our quarrel.”
There was complete silence for a space. Then Philip said — “I don’t want to be told what it was about.”
“No. Because you already know.”
He stared, his blue eyes prominent. “I know?”
“Of course, you know. We quarreled about you.”
“Well, all I can say is, you were damn silly women.”
“We were. But that is our nature, and our misfortune. She was lucky that I did no more than take my riding crop to her back.”
Philip stood transfixed. “God God!” he exclaimed.
Adeline laughed. “Oh, she struck back at me! She was not at all crushed. She rode off in a rage. She is probably playing a game of being lost in the forest, just to frighten me.”
“A risky game. Adeline, you may be sorry for this.”
She flung out — “Sorry for punishing a base female who has tried to seduce my husband! No — a thousand wolves, bears or wildcats, tear her to bits, I shall not be sorry! In any case I did not lose her. She lost herself. And she will be found. I’m certain of that.”
They joined the others who were mounted for the search. All the laborers from the estate, the farm hands from the neighborhood, the men and boys from the village, armed with guns or lanterns, riding or on foot, were gathered by nightfall to help in the recovery of Daisy.
Adeline led them to the spot where the two horses had risen on their hind legs to face each other like symbolic beasts on a coat-of-arms. A g
ood deal of speculation was caused by the scattered and uneven hoofprints. What had the two ladies been doing? She herself was surprised by the hoofprints. What had passed now seemed like a dream.
It was easy to follow Pixie’s hoofprints to where she had turned homeward. They ran on smoothly for about three miles, following the path, then abruptly wheeled. The ground was trodden a little as though she had stood for a space. But there was no trace of Daisy. Adeline returned to Jalna with her brothers for escort. All night, in moonlight and after the moon sank, the search went on. Guns were fired; the men shouted; the beams of lanterns penetrated dark thickets where the foot of man had not yet trodden. A thousand birds were startled from their sleep. A thousand wild creatures trembled in their burrows. But there was no trace of Daisy.
When the searchers returned the next morning, worn-out, a fresh party was formed. It was headed by Colonel Vaughan and, though Philip had been out all night, he returned to the search. Men came from a distance. The whole countryside was aroused. Daisy’s tragic case laid a shadow across every hearth.
At the end of the fourth day, Philip came in to the library where Adeline was embroidering an altar cloth for the new church. He looked tired out. He threw himself into a chair opposite here and remarked: —
“You look nice and cool.”
“I am,” she returned, putting her needle into the heart of a lily. But her hand trembled.
“It is well,” he observed severely, “to be able to detach yourself so completely from what is going on about you.”
“If you mean that I should be rending my garments in anguish over Daisy, I don’t see any sense in it. She will be found.”
“I wish you’d go out and find her, if you’re so damned sure. Egad, I’m tired enough!”
“She’ll come back,” Adeline spoke doggedly.
“How can you know?”
“I feel it.” Never must she let go that feeling!
“You have never before pretended to any occult power.”
“It isn’t occult. It’s just a feeling.”
“Well, I wish the rest of us felt that way. We are getting discouraged. The farmers are neglecting their crops. David Vaughan has offered a hundred pounds’ reward for her discovery.”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 32