“Good!” said Philip. “That’s the idea!”
Eliza came to his side and they began to lift off the smaller pieces. Two young men heaved off the trunk.
While this was being accomplished Adeline had a sugar basin brought to her and, laying several lumps on her palm, held it out to the mare.
It pointed its loose lips suspiciously, blew, and then, as in a dream, took the sugar from her hand.
“Now,” said Philip, slapping his hands together. “Away with you!”
But the mare would not willingly lose sight of her benefactress. When Renny chirruped and touched her with the whip, instead of moving along the drive she placed her uncared-for hoofs on the soft turf and followed Adeline on to the lawn.
“Back, back,” shouted Philip. “Back the brute, Renny!”
But Renny seemed incapable of controlling the mare, and Adeline, not ill-pleased, marched toward her guests thus attended.
It was with difficulty that the mare’s course was diverted, and during the rest of the garden party, which everyone conceded had been delightful, Malahide Court’s luggage remained in a melancholy mound at the front of the house.
XIX
A VARIETY OF SCENES
THAT NIGHT, HEAVY with midsummer and lighted by a sultry moon, found Meg and Renny walking along a half-hidden way that led from the bridle path through the wood to a rough open space at the back of the estate. Trees had been felled here and their trunks, not yet removed, were being covered by brambles and wild grapevines. A few wild apple trees showed their imperfect yellow fruit, and dark groups of sumac thrust up their tawny red spikes. Goldenrod was coming into flower, and the first pale stars of the wild aster, while the bergamot scented the air with its pungent sweetness.
Renny put his arm about his sister’s waist and said: —
“She ought to be about here somewhere. I gave her a grand feed of oats and turned her loose.” He peered anxiously about.
“All the family think she is underground by now,” said Meg.
“And so she should be,” he returned, “but I hadn’t the heart.”
“But she’s such a terrible looking creature, Renny.”
“I know — but I hadn’t the heart. Ah, there she is!”
From behind a group of sumac a mare ambled toward them, a long wisp of grass hanging from her mouth. Her belly, depending from her sunken back, bulged with her good feed. She stood in front of them meekly, her suffering eyes looking resignedly into theirs.
Renny grasped her head and opened her mouth. “Look there, Meggie, she has her teeth! She can eat. It would be cruel to take her life.” He released her and she continued humbly to munch the wisp of grass.
“I know. But you can’t keep her hidden here for long, and when she is discovered, I don’t know what the family will say. I should think you would feel yourself in trouble enough with the colt lost and all. Where did they find the mare and her foals?”
“In a wheat field. They’d trampled it a good deal. I expect Father will have to pay for it.”
Meg made a little sound of concern, then said — “But you did look nice, in spite of your cut face, when you had got into your white flannels. Everyone said so. Everyone thought the affair of Malahide’s luggage was a huge joke. But nothing can drive him away. I’m quite hopeless. We shall have to endure him. Relatives seem to think they can stay forever at Jalna.”
“Well, he can’t! Mark my words, we’ll be rid of him before I go back to college!”
Meg looked at him admiringly, but her eyes were troubled. “I don’t know what Father will say if anything more happens. He was really angry this afternoon, for him. As for Granny, she has taken Malahide completely under her wing.”
“Don’t worry, Meggie. Everything will be all right. Scotchmere and I are setting out tomorrow to search for the colt.”
But it wasn’t necessary to search for Gallant. The next morning, just as Philip appeared with his fishing rod and basket, and Keno at his heels, a shabby buggy turned into the drive. It was driven by Elvira’s cousin Bob, and seated beside him was Lulu leading the colt by a rope halter.
As they advanced Philip surveyed them with a doubtful welcome in his eyes.
“So,” he said, “you’ve found my colt.”
“Yes,” answered Bob, getting out of the buggy. “I saw him wandering about and I asked the neighbours if they knew where he belonged, and they said here. I can tell you, mister, he’s a tough one to handle. He all but chawed the head off me when I took him in.”
The colt rolled back his eyes and yawned in unconcern.
Philip’s eyes were on Lulu. An extraordinary looking woman, he thought, to be in company with this fellow. She returned his look with interest.
Philip turned to Bob. “Did you say you found him on the road?”
“Well — he was sort of hanging around. He’d come in my lane.”
Philip laid down his rod and basket and, taking out a leather pocketbook, extracted from it a five dollar note and handed it to Bob.
He mumbled his thanks, and as the spaniel approached the colt it lifted a hoof to strike.
“Whoa, now, whoa,” said Lulu soothingly. She shortened the halter and put her hand on the colt’s head.
“You’re evidently not afraid of him,” observed Philip.
“I understand animals,” she answered, and her eyes met his. He remembered what Renny had said about Lulu’s strange eyes and he thought — “So … this is she! And she’s taken the opportunity to come and see her young man.”
At this moment Renny came out of the house to go in search of the colt. He looked tall and rather sombre. He had never known what it was to be awkward or hobbledehoy. Now his face closed on the secret he and Lulu had between them. His brown eyes turned warily toward his father. He waited for him to speak.
“I think,” said Philip, “that these two are friends of yours. I expect you’ll like to thank them for bringing back your colt. He had returned to the farm.” He looked squarely at Lulu.
The colour rushed into her face, but she gave a loud reckless laugh. She got down from the buggy and came toward him with the halter on her arm.
“No, no,” he said, “give it to my son. He’s responsible for it.” He threw Renny a shrewd glance.
Renny ran down the steps and took the halter. The colt drew a great breath and blew it out in exaggerated relief to be home again. It moved its chiselled head up and down between the woman and boy as though conjuring them to some fresh adventure.
Young Hodge, driving a dogcart in which he was to take Philip and Nicholas some distance for fishing, now swung round the curve of the drive. Nicholas came out of the house, bearing his rod and limping.
“On time, for once, eh?” said Philip, smiling.
Nicholas grunted. “I was slow in dressing. I’ve had rather a nasty pain in my knee at times lately. It caught me this morning in a devilish fashion.”
“Gout,” declared Philip, clambering into the dogcart and taking the reins from Hodge.
“Gad, I hope not! Give me a hand, Hodge.”
Hodge alighted and assisted Nicholas to the seat.
“Don’t you see that the colt is back?” asked Philip.
“That’s good.” Nicholas suddenly saw Lulu and stared at her with curiosity.
“Yes. It was kind of those people to bring him home.” Philip sat solidly on the seat with a tight rein, waiting for Lulu to be gone.
Bob said sheepishly — “Well, I guess we’d better go, Lulu.”
She stood, smiling, brazen, waiting for Philip to drive out. Hodge ran to the gate to be ready to shut it after them.
Bob said — “I guess you’d better go first, mister. Your horse is a good lot faster than mine.”
“No — you go first,” returned Philip genially.
Bob looked at Lulu, but she seemed to have lost the use of her legs. Behind the colt’s head she whispered: —
“Come again. Tomorrow — if you can.”
Her smile had stiffened as sh
e got into the buggy and was driven off.
“Odd-looking woman,” said Nicholas. “Who was she?”
“Never saw her before. She looks as hard as nails.”
Renny was tightening the colt’s girth. Now he sprang on its back and the colt danced about the dogcart as though in fear.
Nicholas said — “I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself. My mother will not soon forget how you horrified her guests. As for Cousin Malahide, he has treated the incident with the contempt it deserves.”
“I have not finished with him,” said Renny, “and you may tell him so!”
Before Nicholas could answer, Philip had flicked his horse with the whip and it was trotting briskly between the evergreens along the drive.
Adeline had not forgotten how Malahide had been treated, nor did she let anyone else forget it. At short intervals during the day she gave way to sharp outbursts of indignation.
Pleased to find herself at one with her daughter on the subject, she made frequent excursions into Augusta’s room, so hindering Augusta in her packing that never before were her belongings in such confusion. Yet Augusta was pleased to part from her mother on such happy terms and even more pleased to be going without Malahide. But she gave a sigh when she heard the sound of Adeline’s stick once more returning along the passage. Now she had brought a present to Augusta. It was a length of purple velvet she had had put away for years.
“Have a dress made of it,” she said, “or an evening cloak or peignoir, if you prefer that. I’ll not need it.” She draped it across her daughter, who craned her neck to see her reflection in the glass and could not help noticing how sallow it made her.
“I think you had better keep it, Mamma,” she said.
“No, no, it is for you. I’ve been intending all along to make you a present. And there’s Edwin, too. I’d like him to have something. I’ll go back to my room and see what I can unearth.”
“But all this going up and down stairs is very bad for you, Mamma,” said Ernest, who had just come to the door.
“Stuff and nonsense!” she returned. “You’re only jealous because I’ve nothing for you!” She gave him a playful tap on the arm.
Augusta and Ernest, left alone, shook their heads over her untimely activity. “If only,” said Augusta, “her presents weren’t so bulky! And if only they were things one could use!”
“Leave the velvet with Mary,” advised Ernest. “She will take care of it for you.”
Augusta declared proudly. “I should not want Mary to know that any present of my mother’s was not acceptable to me. Besides, I should not dare. She would be sure to find out.”
Sir Edwin entered, his keys in his hand. “I have locked my trunk and my bags. Everything is admirably stored away.”
Augusta said grimly — “You will just have to unlock again. Mamma has gone down to get you a present.”
“But I can’t — I really can’t, Augusta!”
“Not a word, Edwin — you must. It would upset her dreadfully if you were to refuse.”
“If only,” said Ernest, “she would give a chap a present of money!”
Adeline’s return, somewhat laboured after repeated ascents of the stairs, was now heard. She carried in her arms a French china clock which had stood on the mantelpiece of her room, but had not gone for years. She smiled archly at Sir Edwin.
“Something for you, Edwin,” she panted. “You must keep it in your own room and, when it strikes, you will know it is time to come back to Jalna.” Her smile wavered as she said these words, for she was not quite sure that their sentiment conveyed just what she had intended.
“Delighted!” said Sir Edwin gallantly. “Charmed, I’m sure!” He stood looking about him helplessly, the clock in his arms.
“Now, I suppose, this lad will be jealous,” said Adeline, taking Ernest’s arm. “Come along with me and I’ll find you something, never fear!”
He went, but at the bottom of the stairs, he stopped. “My luggage is strapped, Mamma, but if you really want to give me a present, I should be most grateful for even a small cheque.”
Her face fell. “I’m that unnerved,” she said, “by all the to-do yesterday that I couldn’t hold a pen to make out a cheque. Look at my hand, how it shakes.” She held up her shapely old hand, now trembling as though from ague.
Ernest regarded it glumly. “I could guide it, Mamma,” he suggested.
“’T wouldn’t be legal. They’d be saying in the bank that you forged my name. No — not now. Maybe I shall send you a cheque on your birthday.” She marched on toward her room, feeling distinctly huffy.
Her door closed behind her, she drew her brows together and pouted her lips in displeasure. Ernest had no right to be asking her for money. He’d had enough from his father, and from her more than he should have had. She said to Boney: —
“I’ll give presents when I like and to whom I like, and of the sort I like. Nobody’s business.”
Boney sidled along his perch, ruffling himself so that the scarlet feathers in his green wings and tail were displayed. A quiver passed over his pale blue crest.
“Kutni — Kutni,” he said in a jeering tone. “Shaitan ka katla — kambakht!”
If anyone needed money, she thought, it was Malahide. Yet he was pleased — touched to the heart — by any present she gave him. She had a mind to give him a present of money now, while she was in a giving mood. And if Ernest found out, well — it would serve him right!
She smiled maliciously and went to the writing bureau, on top of which stood a framed photograph of her husband, and fumbled in the top drawer for her book of blank cheques. She found it and her pen, a slender ivory handled one she had brought from India, too delicate now for her old fingers. But she gripped it and, peering and blowing at the cheque, she filled it in for a hundred dollars and signed her name — Adeline Whiteoak — with a flourish.
She examined it critically. The ink was rather thick; still, it was quite legible — a good signature, a good name. She put her second finger to her mouth and cleansed it of the ink stain.
She went to the red woollen bell cord and gave it a tug. She said, when Eliza appeared: —
“Find Mr. Court for me. Tell him I’d like to see him here.”
“Thank you, ’m,” said Eliza stiffly. She did not approve of Mr. Court.
Malahide came, a lift in his spirits at the summons. He found life at Jalna intolerably boring at times.
“Here,” said Adeline, thrusting her cheque into his hand, “a little present for you.” She regarded his sallow face affectionately.
His fingers closed on the cheque. “Ah, my dear!” he exclaimed. “You are too generous!”
“Wait till you’ve examined it before you say that,” she returned brusquely.
“As though the amount signified!” he exclaimed. “It is your spirit that is generous. What can I say? Nothing that will express what I feel! Here I am — stranded without means — depending on your hospitality — and you are not only the spirit of hospitality, but of liberality as well!”
He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. She smiled down on his head. “Look at the cheque,” she repeated shortly. “It is not for a large sum, but I thought it would come in handy.”
He straightened his back and took in the figures.
The door opened and Ernest’s long delicate nose was introduced. He fixed his eyes on Malahide and the cheque with an expression of dismay. He did not know whether to advance or retreat, but his mother saw him and commanded: —
“Come in, come in, you’re making a draught.”
Ernest entered and said, in a tone which he tried to make casual: —
“I came to tell you that the luggage is being carried down. Our time is getting short and we thought you would like to be with us. We are having tea on the lawn.”
Malahide had somewhat hastily thrust the cheque into his pocket. He smiled from Ernest’s gloomy face to Adeline’s bold one, and said: —
“Yes, ye
s, we must spend our last moments together! How sad it makes us to think you are going, doesn’t it, Cousin Adeline?”
“Oh, we’ll get along,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll look after Malahide and Malahide will look after me!” She tucked her arm into his.
Ernest said — “Don’t you think you had better come with us after all, Malahide? I am afraid I shall be very de trop with Augusta and Edwin. They are so devoted to each other.”
“Too late, too late!” said his mother, giving him a waggish look.
“I think it could be managed. Really, I am afraid you will find it very quiet here as the nights draw in.”
“I was never better entertained in my life,” returned Malahide. “No, as long as Cousin Adeline wants me to stay, I’ll remain.”
Ernest stood aside to let them pass. Then he went into the dining room, where Nicholas was mixing himself a drink of whiskey and water.
“Nick,” he said gloomily, “we’ve made a horrible mistake. Philip and Renny are quite right. Malahide is a menace. We should have seen how he was getting round Mamma. Think of the diamond cravat pin! He should be leaving today.”
“I hate these partings,” said Nicholas, sipping his whiskey, “and for my part I am glad that Malahide is staying. I find him very entertaining. So does Mamma.”
“Entertaining! I should think so. And she is paying for the entertainment. And so, indirectly, are you! Just as I went into her room now I found him pocketing a cheque.”
Nicholas looked much disturbed. “Well — h’m — that’s serious. I had no notion she would give him money. Why, it’s awful! Have you any idea what the cheque was for?”
“No. He tried to conceal it. Mama had that teasing look she assumes when she thinks she will annoy us — and me, in particular. We have been fools, Nick. I see it now!”
“Well —” Nicholas set down his glass and wiped his moustache — “it’s too late to chuck him out now, but I certainly shan’t encourage him to prolong his visit.”
They joined the others at tea, which was more lavish than usual, but less enjoyed. Ernest took the opportunity of telling the Buckleys, in a whisper, the disturbing news of the cheque. Renny was troubled by Lulu’s appearance of the morning, and Philip, conscious of his son’s mood, was troubled too. Mary and Meg felt chagrin at not having been able to get rid of their uninvited guest. And Adeline had less appetite than usual because of the unease of the preparation for departure and a twinge of remorse for her treatment of Ernest.
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 110