“Daddy!” she cried, in spite of her teeth that she clenched against calling. “Daddy!”
He did not hear but in a moment she heard his voice. He was saying to the porter: —
“You may get my berth ready now.”
“Yes, sah. Ah hope your li’l gal is comfortable, sah.”
“I’ll find out.”
Cautiously he put his head between the curtains.
“Sleeping, pet?”
“Yes, Daddy. Like a top.”
She put up her arms and drew his head close.
“I’ll be just across the way,” he said.
“Good.”
Soon she was asleep.
She went on being no trouble, except for the responsibility of her, right through the brief stay in New York and on to the ship. When she found herself actually on the deck, with the glistening skyscrapers of New York retreating and the harbor a tumble of foam-flecked waves, she drew a deep breath, her nostrils dilated to smell the salt air. Her being was too small at that moment to support the spirit in her. She clenched her fist and struck it on the rail. “We’re off!” she exclaimed.
They stopped at Halifax to take on a cargo of apples. A dock hand loading them fell into the icy water. Adeline sent a shriek for help.
“Save him!” she screamed. “You’re letting him drown!”
But he was pulled out of the water and stood shaking with cold on the dock. He put up his hand and saluted her.
She was beside herself from excitement. Then she noticed that some of the barrels were from the orchard at Jalna. “R. C. Whiteoak” was painted on them. She flew to his side and clutched his arm.
“Look!” she cried. “Our own apples! On the ship with us!”
He was almost as pleased as she. They stood grinning down at the barrels. Adeline called out authoritatively to the men: —
“Don’t you drop those! They’re ours!”
She was so hot from excitement that she pulled off her hat and the icy wind played with her hair.
But toward the social life of the ship she was restrained and her behaviour at table was decorous. Ernest had lectured her well before she left. She ate the food Renny ordered for her and, before eating it, bent her head with gravity and said grace. They two had a table to themselves.
She was standoffish toward the other children on board and reserved when questioned by grownups. Only once did she get into trouble with Renny. That was when he found her throwing the dice for the horse races. When she had finished he beckoned her from the door and, seeing the look in his eye, she went abashed.
Outside he said, “Don’t ever again let me catch you making yourself cheap in a crowd. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I’ve a mind to take a stick to your back. Throwing dice, with a lot of strange men about you! Don’t do it again, do you hear?”
“Yes, Daddy.” She was nine and it was hard to understand. In a small voice she asked: — “May I go and look on?”
“Of course.”
“And bet?”
“If you like. But I’ll take you after this.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand. The blood that had rushed into her face retreated. She made up her mind she would be more careful as to what she did. When next day he asked her if she would like to go to the horse races with him, she said — “Not unless you want me to.”
“I do,” he said, smiling.
They sat close together and between them lost five shillings.
It was a rough voyage. Once, looking about the dining room at lunch, Adeline remarked: —
“I am the only woman who has survived. What a good thing Mummie didn’t come!” She talked a good deal of those they had left behind, dwelling on their perfections. She exclaimed: —
“I guess there isn’t a single person on this ship who has so many nice people at home as we have.”
They landed at Cóbh, in a soft rain and a choppy sea. The tiny boat that took them ashore bounced on the frothy green waves. There was a monk aboard with a brown cassock and a rope about his middle. There were women wearing shawls and selling Irish lace. Out of her own money Adeline bought handkerchiefs with donkey carts embroidered in one corner and shamrocks in another to send to the children at home.
She stepped sturdily on to the soil which old Adeline had left as a young girl to go to India.
IX
DERMOT’S LONELINESS
DERMOT COURT AND Renny Whiteoak sat on that first evening, over their wine and cigars, strengthening the friendship that had budded when Renny had come to Ireland after the Great War. Dermot’s two sons were long dead and his only grandson had been killed in a hunting accident ten years ago. He had no near relatives left. The only one of those he had who was accessible was Malahide Court, and he thought little of him. He wished very much that Renny lived near, for he was a man after his own heart.
“No man,” he said, “has a right to do what my grandfather did. He had nine sons and planted them over the countryside. Now they crop up in all sorts of unexpected places. The first and second generations of them have passed on but the other day I came across a Court who had a bicycle repair shop. I would have thought he had no right to use the name — till I saw the Court nose on him! It was one of the finest specimens I’ve seen. I had to have some excuse for going into his shop, so I bought a bicycle bell and sounded it all the way home in my distress.”
“I hear from my boys,” said Renny, “that Paris Court is a nice young fellow.”
“He is indeed, or seems so. I can’t trust any son of Malahide’s. I wish you were my son, Renny. You know, when I last saw you I was very hard-up indeed, and for many years after. But now, in my decline, at the last hurdle, my affairs have looked up. A brewery I own shares in has begun to make some new soft drink and, such is the degeneracy of the day, it’s selling like wildfire. I’ve had the old house put in order, as you’ve seen. Now what I lack is an heir.”
Renny fixed his bright eyes eagerly on his kinsman and moved his chair a shade closer. Dermot Court went on: —
“I want to fool all these relatives of mine. Especially I want to fool Malahide, who, if he can get me to himself often enough, will somehow worm my money out of me. I feel a weakness coming over me when I’m with him.”
“Good God,” said Renny, “you must keep away from him!”
Dermot dolefully shook his head. “Easier said than done. In a weak moment I told him about the brewery and since then he’s dogged my footsteps like a bailiff. Now what I want is a child in the house — a boy. I’ve a good ten years more of life in me. I’d like a boy with new blood — from the New World. Now your brother Piers has three boys. Do you think he’d let me have one of them?”
For a moment Renny was too surprised to speak or even think. Then the faces of Piers’s three boys flashed before his mental vision. What a chance for one of them! Particularly Mooey, with whom Piers did not get on any too well. He said, gravely: — “I think it’s doubtful if Piers and his wife would consider parting with one of them. In any case, none of them are Courts, though the eldest sometimes has a look of the family. But he’s a thoughtful boy and not very keen about horses.”
“I like a thoughtful boy. I was too harum-scarum myself. How old is he?”
“Thirteen.”
“Just the right age. I’d last till he was twenty-one, — I’m sure of it, — barring accidents. They wouldn’t be giving him up entirely. He could visit them every year or so.”
There was something pathetic in Dermot’s desire for a boy. Renny looked at him consideringly, thinking how extremely nice it would be if he himself might be selected as heir. But to have anyone of the family chosen would be great good fortune.
Adeline came in to say goodnight. She was in pale blue pyjamas with a little padded silk jacket. Dermot Court put an arm about her and scanned her face.
“It’s a sin,” he said, “that you shouldn’t grow up in Ireland.”
“I’m only one-eighth Irish,” she said, rather defiant
ly.
“You are all your great-grandmother,” he replied.
When the men were alone again, Dermot exclaimed: “What a woman she’ll make!”
“Yes,” agreed Renny. He spoke absently. Once again he had taken up Johnny the Bird’s record and was studying it.
“He hasn’t done much,” said Dermot, “but that doesn’t signify. I tell you, he has it in him to win the Grand National. Unknown horses that were picked up for a song have done that. He’s got stamina and that’s what counts in that race. Just think of the course! Thirty jumps and each one as high as your chin! It tears the heart out of me every time I see them rushing in at the start. I’d buy this horse myself, Renny, but I’m too old.”
“I’ll buy him,” said Renny.
“No — you mustn’t say that. Not till you’ve seen him. We’ll ride over first thing in the morning.”
“It’s a pity,” said Renny, “that you daren’t take the risk. I could wait. How many times have you entered for it?”
“Seven times — and never won it! But that’s nothing. I have a friend who has tried twenty-five times and had only one win. But any one of my horses might have done it. You mustn’t be discouraged.”
Renny was not discouraged. He was tingling with his desire to have a fling at the great race.
“The first horse I entered,” went on Dermot, “was a poor-looking fellow. But I knew he had stamina. He’d have won if the blasted jockey hadn’t been sick after eating too much lunch and so held him up.”
“Bad luck,” groaned Renny.
“Well, I sold the horse and he won the race the following year.”
“My God!” said Renny.
“Another time I’d have won if the jockey hadn’t ridden over someone’s lunch paper and frightened the poor horse to death. Anything may happen but I insist that you have a good chance with this nag.”
Renny could see that the old man was getting tired. They were to rise early the next morning. They said goodnight and Renny was left alone with his pipe and a glass of whiskey and soda. An Irish staghound came and lay at his feet. For a while he thought of nothing but the race. The magic name of Aintree shone before his eyes. He felt that he could not sleep that night. He wondered if Adeline slept. He began to think of his family, particularly his brothers. One after another their faces passed before him. But he dwelt longest on Eden’s. It was good that he was to see Finch and Wake so soon. He had had Wake’s letter, telling that Sarah and Finch were together again, on the eve of his sailing. It had been a shock. He had felt deeply angry at Finch. But that had passed and something fatalistic in him had resigned him to this second trial of marriage for them. For his part the thought of Sarah, as a wife, was impossible. But Finch must know what he was about and if he found himself happier with her than away from her, let him take her on again! Marriage was like the Grand National. Anything might happen. He thanked God that he had such a good wife, that they’d somehow got over their hurdles and were now running pretty easily on the flat — and had lovely children, too! Adeline upstairs — how proud he was of her! And young Archie — there was a character! Renny gave a small, malicious grin as he remembered how, in Archer’s babyhood, Alayne was continually remarking on his resemblance to her sainted father. She didn’t remark that so often now. Somehow — he didn’t know how he’d managed it — but somehow he’d got a little of the Whiteoak devil into his son. You couldn’t thank God for a thing like that. Still, he was glad of it. It would make Archie a better companion when he was older.
He liked this old house. It reminded him a little of Jalna only, of course, bigger. He saw the room peopled by the dim shapes of his ancestors. Courts with long bodies and long legs and big noses — and a look in their eyes of being all alive. He wouldn’t have given his father for the whole bunch of them. That father with his broad shoulders and flat back, his bold blue eyes and fresh colouring. Still, he liked to think of the Courts. And while he was thinking of them his chin sank on his chest and he fell fast asleep.
X
A PURCHASE AND A HUNT
AN INTERESTING QUARTETTE rode to Madigan’s the next morning. Side by side rode Renny and Dermot Court. Behind them Adeline and a young groom. All were well mounted, for Dermot would have none but good horses in his stables. In his heyday he had ridden to hounds with three grooms on three good hunters behind him, in case he needed an extra mount or to lead the way over gates. He was as happy this morning as an old man well can be. He had had a good night’s rest. He had no more than a twinge of rheumatism. He had with him two of his own kin whom he liked and admired and he was going to look at a horse which might well bring honor to the family. He was an inveterate talker and he gave a running commentary on people and places they passed. Once he drew up and pointed with his whip to a splendid wall about a large park.
“D ’ye see that wall?” he demanded. “That represents five thousand pounds that by right belonged to me! My godmother, Lady Moynihan, promised to leave it me but somehow this fellow, Richards, got round her and she left it to him. And he put it all into a wall! It’s an insult to me every time I pass.”
Adeline did not look at the wall but over it at the bright array of crocuses that blazed on a sunny slope. Only a little while ago she had left a land frozen and grim, leafless, with icy slush as the only promise of spring. And here were a misty blue sky, swelling buds, and a road soft beneath her horse’s feet. Dermot Court had long ago forgotten such happiness existed as was hers this morning. If, for one blazing moment, it could have returned to him, he might well have dropped dead from its excitement. But the young groom had not forgotten. His freckled face wore a grin of admiration and fellowship.
Mr. Madigan met them with his same look of spurious intensity. He gripped Renny’s fingers as though he would prove his own honesty by hurting him. They went straight to the stable, the owner leading the way with his rolling gait. Adeline had not smelled the inside of a stable for nearly a fortnight and she drew a deep breath.
Johnny the Bird stood waiting for them, his hazel eyes cool and speculative in his grey face. He had a habit of sitting on the edge of his manger and now, against its sharp edge, he rested, a straw dangling from the corner of his mouth. There was a devil-may-care look about him.
“Does he often sit like that?” Renny asked of Mr. Madigan.
“He does, and almost never lies down. I had a leather pad put on the edge of the manger to ease him but he ripped it off and threw it on the floor. He prefers it as it is, don’t you, Johnny?”
Renny grinned delightedly. He put out his hand and touched the horse’s shoulder. A tremor ran over his hide like a rippling wave over a granite shore.
Mr. Madigan began to extol his good points but Renny scarcely listened. He needed no man to tell him about a horse. This one certainly was not beautiful but muscles stood out all over him. Renny said: —
“I’d like to see him jump.”
Mr. Madigan mounted him himself. The paddock was in such a state of slush that he rode him on to the grass beside the house. He trotted him about, then put him into a gallop. Renny wondered what he was going to jump him over. It turned out to be a garden seat standing near. Johnny the Bird took it in a tremendous jump, half as high again as was necessary. Then he took him over a table, then a tall iron fence. Renny and Adeline watched this with fixed smiles on their faces. Her hand was held close in his.
In Mr. Madigan’s parlor, over a glass of whiskey and water, the bargain was clinched. Renny wrote a check. Just as he signed it, Cousin Malahide was shown into the room. A beaming smile illumined his sallow face. In his soft voice, that the Whiteoaks had called oily, he greeted Renny like a loved brother. Obviously he was to get a commission on the sale of the horse.
The two had not met since Renny was twenty years old. Then there had been a feud between them. Renny could not have believed Malahide would look so familiar. The greatest change was the white hair, which gave him a look of benevolence contradicted by his cynical lips.
&nbs
p; “Dear boy,” said Malahide, “how glad I am to see you! What recollections you bring of my happy time at Jalna! Then your grandmother was alive. She was my idea of what a woman of noble breeding should be — the truth is, I loved her! Though she was eighty and I half that age!”
He exclaimed at Adeline’s resemblance to her great-grandmother and bent and kissed her. A quiver ran through Adeline. She had heard too much against Cousin Malahide not to hate him at first sight. She rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand.
Malahide drew Dermot and Renny aside when there came an opportunity and smiled into their faces. Renny thought, “One would think we were conspirators, and in some dirty business too — instead of buying a horse in an ordinary and decent way.”
Malahide lisped — “I think this is one of the best days’ work we’ve ever done. I’m sure you have a winner there, Renny. You’ll make a lot of money out of that horse. All I ask for my trouble is your success. I do hope you and your daughter can come to lunch with us. And of course Cousin Dermot.” He laid his arm about the old man’s shoulders and drew him close. “A good talk with him is one of the few pleasures I have left.”
A hangdog look came into Dermot’s eyes. He raised them appealingly to Renny’s. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Do you want to have lunch with Malahide, Renny?”
Renny didn’t, but he hated to go back to Jalna and say he hadn’t. The uncles would want to know all about Malahide’s home life. He agreed to go. Dermot gave him a look of whimsical despair when he heard this but, when Malahide pressed him to come too, he accepted the invitation. Mr. Madigan and the groom helped him onto his horse.
Renny watched Johnny the Bird being led away with pride in the thought that he now owned him.
“Look,” he said to Adeline, “how his hind legs stride past his forefeet as he walks. That’s a sure sign of stamina.”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 371