Renny’s already high colour deepened but he controlled himself and sat silent while his sister repeated, at greater length, what he had said. When she had finished, Adeline remarked:
“A pretty kettle of fish. The woman ought to be ducked in the horse pond!”
The fact that the horse pond she had in mind was far away in Ireland signified nothing to her.
“And don’t you think,” finished Meg, “that it is a good idea for Aunt Augusta to see this Mrs. Gardiner and tell her what we think of Mrs. Cummings?”
“Mrs. Dayborn,” corrected Ernest.
“Better still, for the young man himself to see her,” said Adeline.
“But Aunt Augusta is so convincing.”
“Mrs. What’s-her-name doesn’t love your aunt. Apparently she is very fond of young Dayborn. He is the one to see her. Write to your aunt. If she can arrange a meeting between them he must go over.”
“I suppose you’ll pay for his passage,” Renny said sarcastically.
“No!” she retorted. “You will.”
They glared at each other.
“I’ve been thinking,” she went on, “about this scheme of entering Launceton for the Grand National. I knew a great deal about horse racing before you or your father were thought of. I tell you that you can’t train him properly in this climate. If you’re determined to try for it, why don’t you send him over now? Wait — don’t interrupt. What was I saying? Bless me, it’s gone right out of my head!”
“You were saying,” returned Renny, “how simple it would be for me to send the horse and Dayborn to England for the winter.”
“I didn’t say England! I said Ireland. My cousin Dermot is eighty. His house is falling to pieces but I guess his stables are still standing. You’ve heard about them.”
“Why, Gran, I visited him when I was on leave. He’s a grand old boy. By Judas, what an idea! Cousin Dermot will be delighted to keep Launceton. I’ll follow in February. It’s the very thing.” He sprang up and heaved her bodily out of her chair. “What a wonder you are! If I win the Grand National, I’ll buy you whatever you choose. Come, Gran, come, let’s do a dance together!”
With his arm tightly round her waist, he waltzed her down the room.
“Steady on, Mamma,” said Nicholas.
“She likes it, don’t you, Gran?”
She clutched his shoulder. She was gasping, laughing, but her legs were suddenly agile, her shapely feet supple. Twice the length of the room she showed him something of the dancer she had been.
XXIII
LAUNCETON
IN THE MIDDLE of December there was a heavy snowfall. Even Adeline could not remember such a heavy one at that time of year. It came almost without warning. The white clouds that for a week had been moving majestically across the sky, ceased to move. They gathered together and shut out the sun, stilling the land in a chill purple hush. Through small crevices in the now complete cloud, the pale sun might be traced in his descent. As the men locked the stables and went to their evening meal, a few large flakes were falling. Next morning they discovered a changed world. Without wind, without bluster, the snow had fallen deep and silent. It had obliterated the paths and made the roads impassable. Trees looked like decorations for a Christmas cake: houses, like houses on a Christmas card. But there was no bright Christmas sky. The purple clouds drooped with the weight of still more snow. It was the hush, the sustained pause, that Amy Stroud most minded. She had been lonely enough before the snow came. No neighbour had set foot in her house since the day she had turned the Dayborns out. Even the boy who brought her groceries was different. No one had a smile for her. She did not get a letter, though with painful eagerness she had watched for one from Renny. She had written, asking him to come to see her. It was on a matter of great importance she had said. The matter was that the desire to be with him was tormenting her beyond bearing. She told herself that he was all she had left. She magnified their few meetings into passionate episodes. The pleasure she had had from the visits of Eden and Ernest paled to nothing compared with that night at the hotel when she had danced with Renny; that afternoon at the Horse Show when she had applauded his riding so fervently, with so possessive a smile, that the people near her turned to her and smiled in sympathy. Then there was the day they had met on the road. He had walked with her and talked confidentially of his hopes for Launceton. There was that other day when she had wandered into his own grounds, had met him and asked if he would show her his horses. He had shown them all, drawing her attention to their best points, while she, with an effort, looked at them instead of at him. Now she had written him, the second time imploringly, begging him to come to her. He had not answered. She would write again telling him she was in great trouble. She would have to invent something — investments gone wrong or something of the sort. But why had he not answered her letters?
Suddenly, with a shock, came the memory of her letter to Mrs. Gardiner. She had actually forgotten it! What was coming over her that she could do a thing like that and then forget it? She recalled how her husband had said that her head was screwed on right. What would he say if he knew how she was carrying on now? She didn’t care. She would see Renny! Nothing must come between her and him. It could not be because of her letter to Mrs. Gardiner that he was treating her so. If Dayborn had had trouble from that quarter she would have heard from him. The thought of the scene he would make suddenly frightened her. She had never felt in the least afraid of Dayborn, but now a chill ran through her and a prickling sensation across her face. She would deny to Renny that she had ever written the letter. But what if her name were mentioned? She must see him today. She went again to the window and looked out at the snow. It was late afternoon. What a day she had had!
She put on her hat and coat and, without having glanced at herself in the mirror, left the house. Fortunately for her a snowplough had passed along the road. But even so, the going was heavy. It was heavier still when she reached Jalna but she never faltered, plodding doggedly along the path broken by men’s footsteps, to the stables.
She turned the heavy iron handle of the door and entered. The first person she saw was Scotchmere. On his shoulder he had a sack of something that bent him almost double.
“Well, ma’am,” he said glumly, “are you wanting something?”
“I want to see Mr. Whiteoak.”
Scotchmere was about to say that he was in town but at that moment the door of the office opened and two horsy, almost disreputable-looking men, appeared on the threshold.
“So long, Captain,” one of them called out, “see you later.”
“You can depend on us,” added the other. “Goodbye.”
Renny’s voice came, — “Goodbye and good luck!”
Mrs. Stroud pressed past the two men and entered the office.
Renny’s expression changed from good humour to hostile surprise.
“You —” he said, “I did not expect to see you here, Mrs. Stroud.”
She closed the door behind her.
“I had to come,” she said.
“Well,” he said tersely, “tell me why you came and have done with it.”
“You know, without my telling you!” She spoke in a strained, gasping voice.
He turned away.
“Tell me,” she went on, “why you did not answer my letters?”
“You don’t need to ask that.”
“But I don’t know.”
He wheeled and faced her.
“What about the letter you wrote to Mrs. Gardiner?”
Her face flamed to a telltale red. She said:
“It was horrible, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help it.”
“You were quite mistaken about its being Dayborn who told me of Eden’s going to your house. It was my man Wragge who told me.”
She threw back her head with a desperate gesture. “It doesn’t matter. It would have been the same. It was jealousy that drove me to it.”
“Jealousy?”
“Yes.” She tried to steady herself, to think clearly. If she could make him believe that love for him had driven her to desperation he might forgive her. “I wanted to get that girl away from here. I love you so.”
“That’s a lie,” he said fiercely.
“It is the truth! I’ve worshipped you — ever since that night we danced together.”
“Another lie! The letter was already written.”
She stared at him blankly a moment, then began to cry.
“So it was,” she sobbed. “Have the truth then! Force me to tell it! I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you.”
He made a gesture of exasperation. “You’re altogether too emotional, Mrs. Stroud. By tomorrow you’ll be saying you hate me.”
“Never — never,” she sobbed. “If you were to take that whip and beat me — I’d love you all the more.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I’ve no intention of doing anything of the sort. What I’m going to do is to put you out of here.”
He grasped her by the shoulders, faced her about and propelled her toward the door.
Writhing in his hands, she managed to turn her head so that her face was close to his. Her streaming eyes were distended. Her mouth was thickened and pouting.
“Kiss me,” she gasped.
“I wouldn’t kiss you,” he returned, “if you were the last woman on earth. You tried to seduce my young brother. Now you’re trying it on me. It’s no go. You must find a fresh field for your activities.”
Detaching a hand from her shoulder he opened the door and pushed her through. He shut and locked the door.
She stood bewildered for a space, then Scotchmere’s voice came, close by. “This is the way out, ma’am.” He was grinning at her. She threw him a vindictive look.
She stumbled out into the snow. It was almost dark. She plodded hurriedly along the path that was strewn with lumps of blue-white snow. A dog ran out from the stable and followed her, barking. He grew more and more angry as he followed her. She felt a tug at her skirt. She screamed loudly. It was a relief to scream.
Scotchmere whistled for the dog and it ran back to him, joyously wagging its tail. Her brain seethed, now one thought boiling to the surface, now another. That grinning groom would tell Dayborn of her humiliation and they would laugh together. She could never again face any of these people. How she hated them! They all had been against her from the first. And she so alone — so lonely! Eden was a deceitful boy. He was a wastrel. He would come to no good. His poetry — bah! Ernest — the old dandy, — the opinionated old bore. How he had tired her — tired! The grandmother — decked out like an idol — that horrid little boy Finch who had run away from her. That grinning groom who had had his ear to the keyhole…. That brute of a dog! Renny’s hands were like iron…. No resisting them…. If only he had kissed her! She heard his words — saw his outraged expression. If only she had some different sort of memory to cherish! She would never see him again. Her head felt as though it would burst. In spite of the cold, she was on fire.
Again she felt something tugging at her skirt. It was that dog! She turned to face him but no, he was not there. She discovered that she had wandered from the path and was in the middle of a field. She had ploughed through snow almost to her knees. The tug at her skirt had been the weighing down of the snow. She could see her own tracks deep and icy-blue in the fine whiteness. They went round in a circle, like the steps of a lost person. She thought — “If I walked round and round here till I fell down and died, no one would care.”
But she was not lost. On her left spread the fields and woods. On her right, the orchard. Behind her, the stables. All she had to do was to find the path and go straight home. But she shrank from what would happen at home when she really let herself go — in the loneliness — with that empty house next door. She wondered how long she had been wandering about the field. She turned and looked back at the stable. It had been lighted when she had been there. Now it lay in darkness, except for one small bright window.
He was there alone. Going over in his mind, as she had been doing, all that had happened. He was alone. If she went back to him now, no one would know. She would control herself — talk to him calmly and coolly — by degrees make him forget the mad things she had said to him. She would tell him the story of her life — from its very beginning. If he knew everything he would pity, not blame her. Her husband had said her head was screwed on right. She would finally prove that it was. She would undo all the harm she had done. She would offer to take the Dayborns back into her house. She wanted them back. Oh, she wanted them back! Better them, a thousand times, than the cavern of that empty house.
She would not surrender. She would not be defeated. She would knock calmly on his door and, when he opened it, she would be standing there in complete control of herself.
She began to make her way back toward the stable. She placed her feet in the depths of her former footmarks. She trembled for fear the dog would run out at her again, but all was silence. She went round the corner and looked in at the office window. He was not there but his hat was lying on the desk. He must be somewhere in the stable.
Gently she lifted the latch and the door swung back. She closed it behind her. A dim light was burning at the far end. By it she could see the rows of stalls and loose boxes and, here and there, the stark outline of a head or the hairy swish of a tail. The air was full of soft noises made by big bodies. A deep sigh, a comfortable crunching, the movement of a hoof on the floor. Then she heard voices. They came from the loose box where Launceton was kept. She walked softly along the passage and listened outside. The voices belonged to Renny and Chris. They were talking about the horse. It was not easy to make out what they said. Their voices were low and muffled.
There was a crack by the door. She put her eye to it and could see them plainly. Renny’s back was to her. He held a lantern in his hand and its beam illumined Chris’s slim figure as she stood leaning against Launceton. Her face looked thinner and whiter than Amy Stroud remembered it, but her eyes were beautiful and her delicate lips smiling happily. She was saying:
“It seems too wonderful to be true. Especially after all we’ve been through.”
“Everything will turn out right,” he said. “You’ll see! Launceton’s going to make our fortunes, aren’t you, old man?” He ran his hand along the horse’s neck.
“And to think that Jim and Tod and I are going with him to Ireland to stay with your relations! And that you’re following in February! Darling, it will be glorious!”
Renny gave a little laugh. He caressed the girl’s bright head as he had, with the same hand, caressed the horse.
“I wish I had a picture of you, standing beside Launceton. I do love you, Kit!”
Anything else that was said was beaten down by the drumming in Amy Stroud’s ears. She leant against the wall, her knees trembling. She heard them leaving the loose box. Barely in time, she stepped into a stall beside it. The horse standing there pricked his ears and looked at her askance. She pressed herself against the side of the stall. The beam of the lantern travelled down the passage. She heard Renny ask Chris if she were tired. Ask her in a gentle protective tone.
Hate and jealousy surged up in her. Now she knew she was defeated but her spirit, she told herself, was not broken. Somehow or other she would prove that.
Her head was screwed on right. Anyone who hurt her would meet his match…. The stable door clanged. The horse beside her ignored her, munching his hay. She could hear Launceton moving about in his loose box. What was she going to do next?
Like a moving picture reel, projected again and again for her torture, she saw the scene she had just witnessed. Every inflection of the voice was stressed. Every gesture was suspended just long enough for her avid mind to drink in its import. Jealousy, hatred, devoured her.
The horse beside her moved closer. Its flank pressed her against the side of the stall. With a cry of fear she darted out into the passage. The horse turned his head to loo
k after her, a wisp of hay dangling from his mouth. She heard movement all through the stable. From the poultry house came the feeble crow of a cockerel.
If only she could do something to Launceton that would prevent his running in the Grand National! If only she had some paralyzing poison she could inject into him! That would be revenge in earnest. She had heard of horses having been hamstrung. The word was savage but — what did it mean? Whatever it was she knew she could not do it, even if she knew how. She dare not go into the loose box beside that great creature. Again came the picture of the girl leaning against him with Renny’s eyes fixed in love on them both. She paced up and down the passage between the stalls.
Then the thought came that she would turn Launceton out into the snow. He was as carefully guarded as a child. She knew that. Perhaps he would get a chill that would lay him up for weeks, even prevent his running in the race. In any case it would give them a terrible shock to find their darling, their hope, wandering about in the bitter cold. For it was getting terribly cold. She was shivering all through her.
She went down the passage and opened the big double doors and fastened them back. Her head was screwed on right. Not many women would have remembered to fasten back the doors! Then she went back to the loose box where Launceton was. When she opened the door he made no attempt to come out. She stood waiting; then clapped her hands and said “Shoo!” to him, as to a fowl. He stood looking out at her, a gleam of what seemed to be amusement in his great liquid eyes. She repeated the word and clapped her hands with all her might but he would not move.
In a fury, she took a long-handled brush that was leaning against the wall and struck his flank, then darted out of the way. He only gave her a reproachful look and walked slowly out into the passage.
“Get along, you brute!” she cried. “Shoo! Shoo!” She drove him down the passage and out of the door.
He stepped delicately through it and stood silhouetted against the snow. She threw down the brush and stood in the doorway, regarding him. He looked at her. Then he trotted in a leisurely gait into the open. He gave a whinny of delight. He had not been out of the stable all day.
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 149