“Well, perhaps it’s not so important as all that but if your mother wanted her stay here kept secret, I think we should do it, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I wonder what Christopher would say.”
“Was he called Tod, as a baby?”
“Yes. Mother always called him Tod.”
“To think of it!” he ejaculated.
She saw how his hand trembled as again he moved the papers about. She laid her own two hands on the desk as though for support. His eyes rested first on her hands, then on his own. He saw the well-articulated lines of his repeated in her girl’s hands. He saw the thumb, with the clear half-moon on its nail, the curve of the little finger, the very shape of the bones. He raised his eyes to her face and searched it in vain for any resemblance to himself. Then he noticed how her fair hair grew in a point on the forehead, as did his, her ears that were pointed and lay close to the head. The icy finger that had just touched his heart now stretched out to cling about it.
He rose and went to the window and looked out into the dazzling day…. It couldn’t be! He was mistaken. This dreadful thing couldn’t have happened to him … couldn’t be waiting to ruin Wake’s happiness! He must get rid of the girl. He must be alone to think. He almost hated her, sitting there, as though some trick of fate had brought her and Wake together!
He pulled himself up. She was speaking.
“It’s all so confusing.”
He turned to her. “Yes. I expect the best thing we can do is to put it out of our minds.”
“And not tell Wake?”
“I shouldn’t tell him, if I were you.”
“I find it hard to keep things from him. He’s so sympathetic.”
“Yes, he is. You’re nineteen, you say. When is your birthday?”
She told him. He stood motionless with knit brows. The icy hand of foreboding was pressed on his heart. He had never felt like this before.
“Your mother’s first husband, James Dayborn,” he said, “when did he die?”
“My own father? He died of lung trouble when I was three.”
“Lung trouble! Tuberculosis! God, that’s an awful thing! I had a brother die of it. You’re strong, are you?”
“Oh, yes. I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Good. You’re thin, though.”
“It’s natural to me. My mother was thin. Do you remember?”
“Yes. And strong as steel. I’ve never known a woman to ride as she could. Well — we must have another talk later. Remember, don’t mention this to Wake.” He spoke peremptorily.
“No.” She answered in the tone of an obedient child.
He went to the outer door with her and stood watching her as she went toward the house. The walk — the fair hair showing beneath the little hat — she might he Chris! He bit his lip to keep back a groan. The dazzling, fairy scene was dark for him. Talk of feeling confused — he scarcely knew what he was doing!
A groom came to him and asked if he had seen a certain bottle of liniment. He stared uncomprehending.
“Liniment?”
“Yes sir. The bottle the vet left this morning.”
Renny wheeled and walked blindly into the office. He picked up the bottle and handed it to the man, who went off, thinking, “It’s not like him to have had too much to drink at this hour in the day. Gosh, he looked queer!”
It was hot in the little room. He threw up the window and the bright snow came sifting in. He sat down at his desk, resting his head on his hand.
He thought — “She’s mine. She’s my child. Mine and Chris’s…. There’s no doubt about it…. Her hands. The way her hair grows. The time of her birth. She’s mine … mine and Chris’s…. Oh, Chris, how could we do this to young Wake!” He twisted his fingers in his strong red hair. He could have torn it, in the bitterness of his anger at himself.
“Talk of pigeons coming home to roost! If ever any man paid for his sins, I have. God, I’ve always been found out — from that first time — the gypsy woman when I was nineteen! Perhaps she did something to me — put a curse on me! She was clever enough. But Chris — that sweet girl! I loved her. I’d have married her if I’d had the chance. She wasn’t a wife to Dayborn. He was a cantankerous devil. She never loved him but how she slaved for him and his child!” He remembered how she used to come in the early morning, along the path through the orchard, Dayborn carrying the baby Tod on his shoulder. She was better than Dayborn at schooling the horses. She was afraid of nothing. What hands she had for a horse! And for a man … he could feel them on his hair, on his face. And she was dead! In childbed…. Too much hard work … too many falls … poor little Chris! He had thought she was buried in his past but now pity for her pierced his breast. Had he been to blame? He supposed he had. Nature had made him into one of those men who are always to blame. But if only their love had not produced this dreadful crisis — this girl whom Wake loved!
For a space his mind ceased to work. It was a confusion of images — of instincts — of a blind struggle to protect Wakefield. The icy air rushed in on him. The papers swirled on the desk, fell to the floor. He rose and shut the window.
A knock came on the door.
“Go away,” he shouted. “I’m busy.”
He locked the door. He walked up and down the narrow space of the room, trying to think. He lighted a cigarette and sat down on the edge of the desk, forcing himself to be calm. One thing was certain. He must be hard — ruthless — he must put an end to this connection between Wake and Molly. Well — they were young. They would get over it. But how could he tell Wake the truth? Yet there was no other way out.
The stable clock struck one. Lunch would be already on the table. He couldn’t go in. He couldn’t face Wake. When had he better tell him? This afternoon? No — no, he couldn’t tell him today! He’d give him another day — a few days more — to be happy in! What if Wake were killed in the war? There would always be that thought— the knowledge that he had spoiled Wake’s last months. If only some miracle might happen! If the two would quarrel — break off their engagement of their own free will! But they’d never do that. You only need see them together to know how deeply they were in love. He went into the stable and sent a boy to the house to ask for lunch to be brought to the office.
“Tell Mrs. Whiteoak that I’m very busy.”
Mrs. Whiteoak! Alayne! She must never know of this. It would be dreadful to her. He’d got to practise a lot of self-control in the coming days!
The lunch was brought and he burned the food in the stove. He drank a little whiskey and water. He thought he would like to get roaring drunk — drown his troubles in the flowing bowl — that was the way poets put it!
The fire went out. He sat a long while in the cold office. Then he went to his horses, talked to his men. He had a few hot words with Piers over an item in the vet’s bill. That somehow calmed him, gave him courage. Piers looked at him curiously and he turned away.
He joined the others at tea. He drank a good deal of tea and managed to eat something. He talked and joked with Paris, who was easy to talk to, but kept his back turned to Wakefield. After tea he played with the children. He made them quite unmanageable, so that Alayne had to be very stern to get them to bed. She was annoyed at him and he had a hangdog feeling. In the evening they played bridge. He played so badly that Nicholas lost three dollars and was disgruntled with him.
When he went to his room that night he shook some aspirin tablets from the bottle without counting them, crunched them in his strong teeth, and washed them down with a glass of water. He slept. He was awake for some minutes next morning before he remembered what was wrong. He rolled over with a groan and pressed his face into the pillow. He would tell Wake that morning — get it over with!
Perhaps the boy would never be the same again. Perhaps the last affectionate words had passed between them. But it had to be. He had to tell Wake who Molly was. Better anything than this weight of apprehension in his chest. Still he could not bring himself to get up.
Suddenly he sprang up and began to dress. He and Ernest were at the breakfast table together but Ernest was absorbed in the morning paper and did not notice that Renny ate nothing. He asked Rags for coffee and drank three cups.
He could hear Wake and Molly coming down the stairs. He escaped from the room into the back of the hall and out through the side door. It was not so cold as it had been. Already the icicles on the eave were dripping. One fell and splintered on the flags.
When he decided that Wake and Molly were in the dining room he went back into the hall and got his hat and leather jacket. He heard Alayne coming down the stairs and again fled.
He spent an hour in the stables, then, looking through a window, he saw Wakefield going toward the garage. He went out and waylaid him.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“I’m going to the Rectory.”
“Oh.” He stood staring speculatively at Wake.
“Anything I can do for you?” asked Wake.
“No thanks.”
“It’s not so cold, is it?”
“No. We’ll be having the January thaw.” Wake opened the door of the garage.
“Wait a minute.”
“Yes?”
“There’s something I want to say to you.”
“Yes?”
“We’ll walk along the path for a bit.”
“Molly’s waiting.”
“It won’t take long.”
“Very well.”
They walked along the snowy path.
Renny threw Wake a quick glance. He saw the warm colour in his cheeks and remembered what a large-eyed sallow little boy he had been. Wake was looking interested, expecting something pleasant.
“I suppose you’re full of plans for the future,” said Renny.
“Yes, rather.”
“Life’s an uncertain business. You can’t tell what will happen.”
“I’m not looking any further ahead than my marriage.”
“That’s what I’m going to speak about. I’m afraid it can’t take place.”
Wake halted and looked inquiringly at Renny. He thought he had not heard him rightly, or that Renny was joking.
“It will be a terrible disappointment to you, I know.”
“A disappointment?”
“Yes. You can’t marry Molly.”
Wakefield shouted — “What do you mean?”
“Hang on to yourself, Wake, and I’ll tell you. Let’s walk on.”
They strode on.
“Is this a joke?” asked Wakefield.
“I wish to God it were.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“Molly is too closely related to you for marriage.”
“She related to me? Are you out of your mind?”
“She’s my daughter, Wake. You can’t marry your brother’s daughter.”
“What the hell are you driving at?” Wake’s colour was gone. His lips were white.
“I have found out that her mother was a young woman who schooled horses for me after the last war. Both she and her husband worked for me. They were estranged, but she loved me…. I wish she hadn’t.”
“Are you telling me that Molly is that woman’s daughter and that you’re her father?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t care!” shouted Wake. “I don’t care whose daughter she is! I’ll marry her!”
“But you can’t. She’s your niece!”
“You’re my half-brother. She’s my half-niece. She was born and brought up three thousand miles away. There’s no resemblance between us. What can it matter?”
“Would you marry Patience?”
“That’s different.”
“There’s no difference.”
“No one need know about this. Not even Molly.”
“It’s against the law.”
“No one will ever know.”
“It’s against the laws of nature.”
“Half that happens in the world today is against the laws of nature! I tell you, Renny, nothing can stop me.” His lips were white and set. His voice harsh. He asked: —
“How did you find this out?”
“She kept reminding me of someone —”
“Is that why you looked at her — the way you did — in London?”
“Looked at her? I don’t know. I suppose it was.”
“God!” broke out Wakefield. “I suffered then — from jealousy. I little knew what was coming!”
“Wake — I’m horribly sorry.”
Wakefield’s face was set. His eyes granite.
“I’d give my right hand,” said Renny, “to have spared you this.”
“It’s not going to stop our marriage.”
“It must. You can’t go on with it.”
“Who’s going to stop us! Not you, I hope. You’ve done about enough.”
“I can’t let it go on.”
“Do you mean you’ll tell Molly?”
“You must do that.”
“I’ll never do it! Does she suspect anything? Have you said anything to her?”
“She only knows that her mother was once at Jalna. She feels something mysterious in it. She found a picture of me among her mother’s things.”
Wakefield looked at him with hate. He said — “You’ve caused a lot of trouble in your life, haven’t you?”
Renny’s colour rose. “I suppose I have,” he answered. “But Chris loved me, as I loved her. We met on an equal footing. I’d have been glad to marry her. Gran suspected this and she stepped in and paid their way back to England. I never saw Chris again. I didn’t know her husband had died and she’d remarried.”
“Why didn’t she come back here and marry you?”
“I don’t know. I suppose she loved this Griffith.”
“I don’t believe it. I think she knew you didn’t really want to marry her.”
“That’s all in the past. It’s the present we’ve got to think of. I want you to get through all this with —”
“I’m going to marry Molly!” said Wake, hoarsely.
“You must tell her who she is.”
“I will tell her.” He wheeled to go back to the house. “She shall be judge.”
Renny caught him by the arm. “It’s not a matter for Molly’s judgment. You must tell her who she is and that you can’t marry her. Either that or tell her that you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to marry anyone yet.” He gave Wakefield an almost beseeching look. “Perhaps that would he best. You need not even do it at once. It could be broken off by degrees and she would suffer less.”
Wakefield’s face was contorted. “What about me? What about my suffering? I suppose it doesn’t matter. I can tear my heart out — because you once had an hour’s pleasure!”
“Wake, I shall tell Molly myself — if you want me to.”
He spoke quietly. They were in the pinewood. The pine trees towered in their silvered majesty above them. There was a sudden harsh outcry and a dozen pheasants rose to the treetops. Once there, their bright plumage caught the sun.
Renny spoke still more quietly. “Whatever your feelings are, Wake, whatever Molly’s are or mine, we can do nothing to change this situation. If you don’t believe me go to your priest and ask him.”
“I will go to him. I’ll go now.”
“Good. I’ll take you in the car.”
Wakefield looked dazed. His colour had come back and lay in blotches of red on his ravaged young face. They strode back the way they had come. They got into the car and in almost complete silence drove to the priest’s house.
Renny sat ou
tside in the car waiting for his brother. He nursed his chin in his hand. His sombre eyes saw nothing of what passed.
Noah Binns came trudging down the road. He stopped when he saw Renny and came to the side of the car. He looked in with his toothless grin.
“Marnin’,” he said. “Chimney’s smokin’.”
“What chimney?”
“Church chimney. Flues need cleanin’.”
“Why don’t you clean them, then?”
“They need expert cleanin’. I ain’t expert, am I?”
“Tell Jimpson to clean them.”
Noah trudged on, his footsteps screeching on the snowy road.
Renny still kept his face averted when Wakefield returned to the car but, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the priest had come to the door with him. He was a small thin man with an ascetic face.
They drove back toward Jalna in silence for a space. Then Renny saw that Wakefield was crying. He took his hand from the wheel and laid it on the boy’s.
“You’ll have to tell her,” said Wakefield. “I can’t.”
XXV
RENNY AND MOLLY
THEY CROSSED THE little bridge that spanned the silent stream and went up the steep on the other side of the ravine. The children ran behind them drawing their sleighs. Archer’s was a Christmas one, painted scarlet and gold, and he had tied on it a sleighbell from an old cutter. The bell filled the air with its clear sharp jingle.
“How lovely it is!” said Molly. “I wish Wake were with us.”
“Yes. But the fact is I wanted to talk to you alone for a bit and I thought this would be a good place.”
“Oh.” She looked thoughtful, wondering what the talk was to be about.
They passed through the oakwood and across a field. Then the house where Ernest and Harriet had lived stood before them. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the chimney.
“We keep a fire here in the coldest weather,” said Renny, “because of the furniture. Later on we shall try to let the house furnished.”
“It looks very cozy.”
“It is. Aunt Harriet had very good taste. She brought quite a lot of her own furniture from the States. One of us comes over twice a day to the furnace. Will you wait here while I go down to the cellar?”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 387