The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche

by de la Roche, Mazo

  “What about the river?”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten that.”

  He saw that she spoke the truth. He could not doubt her. Happiness flowed back into him.

  “I’d like to go on too,” he said. His eyes caressed her. But he did not see her. He was half blinded by the love that struggled to engulf him.

  The principals were loudly talking, oblivious of the looks given them by the waitresses who were rearranging the tables. The theatre was beginning to fill. One of the actresses of the current play looked into the room.

  “Is Mr. Fox here?” she asked.

  He went to her, keyed up for trouble of some sort. She kissed him and they hurried off together. Miss Rhys was arguing with Fielding, but amiably. The leading man offered his cigarette case to Wake and Molly.

  “The last act is going to be a flop,” he said, cheerfully.

  “Oh, I think it’s lovely,” said Molly.

  Wakefield looked judicial.

  “I think it’s impossible to say till we all know our lines better.”

  “You mean me?” laughed the leading man. “Oh, I’ll know them, when the night comes. But I can tell you the end’s all wrong.”

  The waitresses almost pushed them from the room. They glimpsed a scattered audience in the house.

  “Isn’t it a lovely life!” cried Molly, as they ran into the street. “I wouldn’t be anyone but an actress, in the whole world!”

  They stopped to look at the poster advertising their play. They riveted their eyes on the space where their two names appeared.

  “Some day yours will be in large letters,” said Wakefield.

  “Yours too.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. I’m too intelligent, if you know what I mean. I’m always thinking of different ways to do my part. I can’t settle down to any one way. While you settle down and go right ahead.”

  Renny was waiting for them round the corner in his friend’s car. Adeline was there too. Though it was barely the first of April the air had summer’s warmth and in the parks the flowers showed an exquisite forwardness. London sprawled in the sunshine, peaceful and friendly, like an overgrown village.

  Molly and Adeline immediately made friends. Renny was sitting in the front seat with his friend Mrs. Blake. She wore mannish clothes but had added to them long green earrings. Though she was of masculine tastes and thought of little else but fox-hunting and racing, the feminine strain in her was very up and doing. After an appraising glance and a brief welcome to Wake and Molly she devoted herself wholly to what, from the back seat, appeared to be a flirtatious attack on Renny.

  Adeline sat upright between Wakefield and Molly. She was eager to miss nothing of what she saw. “I must remember to tell Archie about that,” she would say, or — “How I wish Mooey were here!” When they reached Richmond she was the first to enter the launch. She established herself close to the man at the helm, then, remembering her manners, she turned and asked Mrs. Blake’s permission to do so.

  “Delighted,” said Mrs. Blake absently. She was choosing the best chairs for herself and Renny. The two young people sat together in the stern.

  Molly was in a state of dreamlike happiness. She was one of those people who are never content in towns yet by their ambition are driven to live in them. This was her first outing on the river. Wakefield was at her side. The background of care, of her family life, was dissolved like a troubling mist. She wore a new, bright-coloured scarf. New spring clothes were impossible to her. This gauzy scarf kept fluttering against Wakefield’s ear. It made delicate fluttering noises, like words tittered in confidence. It flicked his cheek. It wound itself about his neck, binding him and Molly together, yet she knew nothing of its vagaries. She sat gazing blissfully at the riverbanks, her hands relaxed in her lap. They were ringless, thin, capable-looking.

  One riverbank lay in sunlight, the other in olive-green shadow. They passed barges and small river craft, but after Windsor, with its Castle ethereal against the sky, they had the river almost to themselves.

  Adeline had captivated the man at the helm. She had it in her mind to steer the launch herself but was just biding her time. She had taken off her hat, and her hair, in waving russet vitality, curled itself on the breeze. Her black-lashed brown eyes were raised in sweet blandishment to the helmsman’s face.

  “What hair!” exclaimed Molly. “And what eyes! It’s easy, of course, to see where she gets them.”

  Wakefield gave her a searching look.

  “What do you think of my brother?” he asked.

  “You asked me that before.”

  “Did I? And what was your answer?”

  “I said I liked him very much.”

  “What an answer! It’s worse than none.”

  “If you want the truth, I find him hard to talk to. I can’t explain why. It’s as though he and I had known each other before but could not reach a state of friendship again.”

  Wakefield considered this, frowning. He said — “I think that is probably a girl’s way of expressing a great attraction toward him.”

  “Goodness, he’s a married man! I’m not that sort of girl.”

  Wakefield said, with a disapproving glance at Mrs. Blake, “Marriage doesn’t seem to be an obstacle to that lady. I don’t know what the world’s coming to!”

  “You talk like a grandfather rather than a young actor. Just the same, I think it’s adorable in you.” Then she added, after a moment’s thought — “Anyhow. I don’t think your brother’s wife need worry. He strikes me as pretty reliable.”

  “Does he? Tell the truth, Molly. Does he strike you as reliable where women are concerned?”

  She laughed but would not answer. She trailed her hand in the cool green water, caught at a water weed and drew it along.

  Wakefield felt a helpless rage toward her. She had no right to be teasing when he was so deeply in earnest. Her scarf fluttered against his cheek. He took it and caught it in the front of her jacket. She saw that he was angry.

  “Do you expect me to be serious on a day like this?” she asked.

  “I don’t expect you to lie just for the fun of it.”

  “I didn’t lie. When I spoke I believed what I said. Then quite suddenly I seemed to see him in a different light. I can’t explain why.”

  “And it made you just laugh and laugh!”

  “Well, I suppose I might have cried and cried.”

  “I can tell you that, at this moment, I wish he were back in Canada.”

  “Then we shouldn’t be here — on the river.”

  “And I shouldn’t have this beastly sensation inside me.”

  She gave him a suddenly tender look, as though he were a precocious child. The object of their argument looked back at them over his shoulder and asked — “Having a good time?”

  Mrs. Blake also looked back but rather as though she resented their being there.

  “Perfect!” answered Molly.

  “Yes” agreed Wakefield, “I’ve never seen the river lovelier.”

  Adeline was giving exclamations of delight. They were entering a lock. The great gates swung to. The lock keeper came to greet them. Mrs. Blake showed her license and tipped him. Up and up the launch rose against the cool dank walls. At last they were at the top. The gates opened and the launch slid out on the river.

  “Oh, how I wish Mooey and Nook were here!” cried Adeline. There was a spirit of generosity in her that could not wholly enjoy without sharing with those she loved. “And, of course, Archie and Roma and Mummie and the uncles!”

  Wakefield cursed himself for his unease of spirit. “I have no cause for it,” he thought. “She’s just as free and gay as the scarf she wears. But, because Renny’s in the boat, I can’t be happy. What has come over me?”

  In a wooded reach of the river they drew in to shore and a tea basket was produced. Renny and Mrs. Blake set out the tea things. With a solicitous air, Adeline waited on the helmsman, her inner eye always on the guiding of the launch downstream
. She sat munching a sandwich, watchful lest he should lack anything.

  Mrs. Blake talked to Renny, of things the others knew nothing about. But now and again she gave them a flashing smile and an invitation to partake of more cake.

  When tea was over a group of swans came alongside, arching their necks and pouting their snowy bosoms on the river. Renny moved from his place by Mrs. Blake and began to feed the swans with scraps.

  “We used to have swans,” he said, “on our stream at home. But they flew away and didn’t come back.”

  Molly wanted to feed them too. She held a piece of bread in her hand and looked at Wakefield.

  “Go on,” he said testily, “for heaven’s sake go and feed them!”

  She cast him a reproachful look. “Is thy servant a dog?” she asked.

  He caught her hand and squeezed it. “What a beast I am, Molly! I don’t know what’s the matter with me today.”

  She went to Renny’s side and they leaned together over the gunwale. She glanced back at Wakefield. He was smiling at her. “Why should he smile and at the same moment be so jealous?” she wondered. She had no jealousy in her nature. She could not understand. She saw Renny hold the bread within reach of the male swan, then, just as he was about to snatch it, jerk it away. The female swans were each possessed of a scrap and in elegant greed were devouring it. The male, greatly agitated, wheeled, bowed, and returned to the side of the launch with open beak. Renny offered him the bread. Gracefully his head shot out to snatch it but it was gone. Again he described a circle in the water, his great wings trembling.

  “There’s something cruel in them,” thought Molly, “something teasing and cruel.” She said — “Please give it to him! He’s getting so upset.”

  “It’s good for him to worry a little,” he returned. “Life’s been too easy. See how plump and sleek he is.” Again he held out the bread.

  The swan fairly lifted himself out of the water. He trod it as though it were a marble floor and reared his white wings in fury. Renny was laughing.

  “Come on! Come on!” he urged. “Why, you’re the weakling of the flock — come on!”

  Molly snatched the bread from his hand and threw it to the bird who sailed majestically away, leaving a silken wake in the green water.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I had to do it. I couldn’t bear to see the swan so furious.”

  He stared at her surprised. “Couldn’t you? But they’re really bad-tempered things. One of ours attacked a cousin of mine and might have killed him if I hadn’t arrived in time.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “It’s all right.” Then abruptly he asked: — “How old are you?”

  “Going on nineteen.”

  “I wonder at your father — allowing you to live alone in London.”

  “I’m quite able to look after myself.”

  His brows went up incredulously.

  “If you were my daughter I’d not let you. The stage too — that’s a precarious life for a girl, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Can you ride?”

  “No.”

  “Never been on a horse?”

  “Never.”

  “What a pity! Come to Jalna and I’ll teach you.”

  “I’d love to. Perhaps, if our play is a success, we’ll go to America.”

  Wakefield strained his ears to hear what they were saying, while he made an attempt at conversation with Mrs. Blake. The launch was moving down the river now. The sun was lower and the shallows golden.

  Adeline had got her wish and was steering the launch. Her hands grasping the helm, her hair blowing back from her face, that face bold and confident as an infant figurehead for a Norse ship, she kept the boat in midstream through all its windings.

  Wakefield went back with Renny to his hotel. He had a desire to be with him, not to let him out of his sight, as though continued watchfulness might clear the situation. He stared so hard at Renny during dinner that the latter exclaimed: — “What the dickens are you staring at?”

  Wakefield coloured. “Was I staring? Well, you’re leaving soon and I guess I wanted to impress your image on my mind.”

  That would have been unconvincing to anyone but Renny. He beamed at his junior.

  “God, I wish you were coming home with me,” he said.

  Wakefield’s heart melted. This was his old Renny, his protector, his wall against the world. Renny could not have it in his heart to hurt him. If he did hurt him, it was unknowingly. It was his instinct. Perhaps not even that but just something in him that drew women to him. Wakefield knew every inch of the face smiling at him, the sharp curve of the nostrils, the arch of the brows, the lines of arrogance and anxiety. But what a mystery he truly was! For a moment he had it in his mind to tell Renny of his jealousy, then the fear of being laughed at, the fear that his jealousy had a just cause, kept him silent. But it was hard luck, he thought, that Renny’s visit should be marked by such feelings, for the first time in their lives. “They’re all on my side,” he thought. “Renny is as natural as Johnny the Bird.”

  But he made a good dinner. He had a feeling of chagrin when Renny exclaimed: —

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with you! You’ve an appetite like a horse.”

  “I had no lunch,” answered Wakefield glumly.

  “You used to be such a finicking little chap about food. Do you remember when Meggie had to take all the fat from your plate to hers? Finch was the boy with the appetite. I wish he were here with us. But there’s always Sarah. If only I’d got here in time I’d have put the lid on that reunion!”

  “I shall be glad when his recital is over. I’m sick to death of the sound of the piano. He’ll be off on his tour then and I’ll have the house to myself. Henriette and I.”

  “Will Sarah go with him?”

  “Will she ever let him out of her sight? She follows him up and down the stairs, in and out of the rooms. He can’t have a bath in peace! The one good thing is that she lies in bed all morning — reading magazine stories and eating sweets. She eats tons of crême-de-menthe jellies.”

  A boy came with a cablegram for Renny. He looked startled, then concerned. He stared with suspicion at it. “I wonder if anything has happened at Jalna,” he said.

  Half-a-dozen dire possibilities shot through Wakefield’s mind. Renny opened the cablegram with a frown. Then his brow cleared. He read aloud: —

  MUCH PERTURBED BY EUROPEAN SITUATION FEAR WAR

  IMMINENT FEEL YOU SHOULD RETURN AT ONCE ALAYNE.

  “I wonder why she’s got the wind up,” said Renny. “People here aren’t worrying about war.”

  “Sometimes I think we don’t worry enough,” said Wakefield. “If it comes, I shall join the Air Force.”

  Renny regarded him proudly. “Good man! And I shall rejoin my regiment here.”

  Wake’s emotional life paled into the background. He talked easily and naturally to Renny now. He felt strangely exhilarated. He wished they could part at this moment so he might keep this evening’s impression of his brother.

  Renny cabled to Alayne that he and Adeline would sail in ten days. He was far from ready to go home. He would have enjoyed another month in London. He thought of Finch and Wakefield as his boys and he wanted to be with them as much as possible. Then too he was deluged with invitations from army and racing friends. Another month! He would have relished a six-month. Still, Alayne must not be worried. She might even be right about war coming. It was remarkable how often she was right about international affairs. He was proud of her powers of penetration and he loved her so dearly that the thought of returning to her sent a heart-warming glow through him. He set out to enjoy his last ten days to the full. He kept late hours and rose early in the morning. Yet he never felt tired.

  With the Victorian simplicity in which he had been reared, he did not consider the addition of Adeline to the house in Gayfere Street as something to be reckoned with every hour of the day. He temporarily washed hi
s hands of her. He was giving Henriette a tidy sum each week for helping with her and he thought that, with Henriette’s help, Sarah and the boys ought to be able to look after her. She’d been little or no trouble to him.

  As he contributed, more generously than he could afford, to the upkeep of the house, his brothers felt that they were bound to take a bit of trouble for his child. Finch’s share was to take her on long walks and they both looked back on these as one of the pleasantest parts of the visit. Finch was proud to take her to the parks. In a city of beautiful children, people turned to look at Adeline. Perhaps her hair first attracted them but something in her face held them. And when she had passed, her eager prideful walk drew many a glance. Once Finch hired horses and they rode in the Row. Adeline could have shouted with joy to feel a horse under her again. She gave an exhibition of riding that was almost too good. A crowd gathered. When this was told to Renny he forbade her riding again.

  She was so disappointed that Finch was sorry for her. To ease the blow he told her that, in any case, he could not have afforded a second such treat. Adeline had been good for him. He looked forward to his recital with less apprehension than usual. That was, until the last two days. Then the accustomed tremor in his stomach began and he could eat nothing. He envied Wake his temerity over the first night of his play. Sarah was deeply concerned for him and showed it at every turn. The way she looked at him made him feel like a sick man. When he dressed to go to the concert hall she looked at him in horror. He had had a fresh haircut and looked gaunt and flattened.

  “You look horrible!” she cried. “Oh, how could you!” She ran at him to rumple what hair he bad left.

  He backed away. “Sarah,” he said loudly, “if you do anything to my hair I’ll do the same to yours, so look out!”

  Wakefield had a rehearsal that night. Renny took Sarah to the Concert hall. There was a good audience. Seated side by side, marooned on an island as it were by the sea of unknown faces about them, linked by their memories of mutual hate and distrust, made one by their desire for Finch’s success, their fears for his failure, they sat shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed on the door where he would enter.