“I have a sore knee. Will you drive me to meet George’s car?”
“Is that the knee you hurt yesterday?”
“Yes. It’s not very bad. Just stiff. Will you take me to meet George?”
“Sure I will.” He brought out the car. She threw her books into it and climbed stiffly on to the seat.
Wright regarded her with concern. “You don’t look much like riding Jester at the Show,” he said.
“Don’t you worry. I’ll ride him.”
“what about your mother?”
“She’ll never know.”
“She’ll know, if you win a prize.”
“I’ll bear the consequences.”
As they sat in the car waiting for George Fennel they made their plans.
Three days later Adeline went to school as usual but, after the school lunch she went to the mistress of her form and, pleading that she was not well, asked to be allowed to go home. Indeed the mistress thought the child did not look well. She looked flushed and tired.
But Adeline’s spirits were high as she got into Mr. Crowdy’s car, in which he sat waiting for her outside the school. She gave a little grunt of satisfaction when they left the city streets and sped along a country road.
“How’s the knee?” he asked solicitously.
“Pretty fair,” she answered non-committaly. “Might be better and might be worse.”
“when you’re at the Show you’ll forget all about it. That’s the way when I’ve anything wrong with me. Now I’ll tell you a little story to cheer you up. There was once a man who hadn’t much money but he had a hunter he loved better than anything on earth. One day he went into the stable and found that the horse had got a terrible bad chill. It was shaking from head to foot. He put its blanket on it but it didn’t stop shivering. Then he went to the house and found his wife in bed with a cold. He went straight to the bed and pulled the blankets off her and carried them out and heaped them on the horse.”
“Good for him!” said Adeline. “Did the horse get better?”
“Sure.”
“And did the wife?”
“Sure. When he went back to the house she was up and laying the supper table.”
As there were no longer any large shows, the small ones drew large crowds. When Adeline and Mr. Crowdy arrived there was already a dense throng about the ring. Wright met them with Adeline’s riding clothes in a suitcase. She changed into them in the club house. There were a number of people about who knew her so she did not lack companionship but she was not in a sociable mood. To await the events in which she was taking part, in stoical endurance of the throbbing pain in her knee, then to take her part with credit to herself and to her mount, was her one concern. No one would have guessed, to see the gallant little figure taking the jumps, that each jolt of landing caused her acute pain. A small set smile was on her lips and remained there when the judges awarded her a first and a second, and when photographers took her picture, mounted on Jester. In the applause of the crowd she forgot the pain for a space. She had upheld the honour of the Jalna stables. Wright too had done well. He beamed at her as he helped her to alight.
“I guess you’re feeling pretty good now, eh?” he said.
“No, Wright, I’m not,” she answered, in a trembling voice. “I want to go home.” Tears rained down her cheeks.
Back at Jalna, when the horses had been taken out of the van and after he and the farmhand had made them comfortable, Wright turned anxiously to the child. She had been sitting on a low wooden stool watching them.
“Come into the office,” he said, “and let’s see that knee.”
He led her into the little room that Renny used as an office and lifted her to the desk. She sat there relaxed, her legs dangling. “It doesn’t pain quite so badly now,” she said, in a small voice. But she gave a sharp cry when Wright pulled off her boot. When the knee was bared he drew back horrified.
“Cripes!” he exclaimed. “This is an awful leg. Why, miss, you oughtn’t to have ridden at that show today. You ought to have told me how bad it was.”
“It does look pretty bad, doesn’t it?” she agreed, with a certain pride.
“Bad!” he repeated desperately. “It’s a hell of a knee.”
At that moment he saw Rags passing the window carrying a basket of broccoli. Wright tapped sharply on the pane and beckoned to Rags who, scenting trouble of some sort, hurried in. When the knee was exhibited to him, he scratched his grizzled head and threw Wright an eloquent look.
“Could your wife make some sort of a poultice for it?” asked Wright.
“Naow. The only thing to do for that there knee is to send for the doctor.”
Wright and Adeline looked at each other aghast.
“We can’t,” she declared. “Mummy mustn’t know.”
“Now, look ’ere,” said Rags, “would you rather lose your leg or ’ave your mother knaow?”
Adeline grinned. “Lose my leg,” she said.
Rags said to Wright, “If I was you I’d ’ate to take the responsibility of keeping this from the missus.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I’ll take the blame,” said Adeline, “if we’ve got to tell. Come on, let’s have it over with.”
Wright gave her a reproachful look. “You shouldn’t have let me in for this, miss,” he said. “If ever you’d showed me that knee! By gum, I’ll catch it for this! Come, get on my back and I’ll carry you to the house.” He bent himself in front of her. She bestrode his back, clasping his neck. So they went to the house; Rags, with a desperate air, carrying her boot.
Alayne was leading Archer upstairs to oversee his preparations for the evening meal. Tomorrow she had to take him to the hospital to have his tonsils out. She was filled with shrinking from the operation. As she looked down at the little boy she had a painful yearning to protect him. She was halfway up the stairs when Rags appeared in the hall below. He said, mysteriously:
“Please, madam, would you mind stepping down’ere. Wright ’as something he feels ’e ought to show you.”
“whatever is wrong now?” demanded Alayne, irritably.
“I think you ought to come down and see, madam. It’s Miss Adeline— she’s ’urt ’erself.”
Alayne flew down the stairs, Archer close behind.
“She’s ’ere at the back of the ’all.” Rags led the way to where Adeline was standing. Wright skulked in a dim corner behind her.
“Adeline!” cried Alayne. “where are you hurt?”
The child, standing on one leg, held up her knee.
Alayne, bending over it, gave a cry of distress.
“It’s dreadful!” she exclaimed. “It’s not a fresh injury. When did you do it? Was it the other evening when I smelled iodine in your room? why — you have on your riding things! Adeline, were you riding at the Show?”
Adeline hung her head. “Yes, Mummy.”
Alayne now saw Wright. “This is your doing!” she exclaimed, in a voice tense with anger.
“No, Mummy, it isn’t! Truly, it isn’t!”
Wright said, “I never saw the knee till a quarter of an hour ago.”
“That has nothing to do with it. I told you expressly that Miss Adeline was not to ride at any more shows this fall.”
“I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“when I change my mind you can be certain I’ll let you know. Adeline, go to your room and get into bed. I must telephone for the doctor. You will please wait here, Wright.”
“Shall I carry the young lady upstairs, ma’am?” he asked.
“I don’t need any help,” said Adeline. She began to mount the stairs, helping herself up by the banister. Archer followed close behind her.
Alayne, rigid with anger, went into the library and telephoned to the doctor. Rags ostentatiously took the sheepdog by the scruff and pushed him down into the basement.
Alayne, returning from the telephone, laid her hand on the carved newel post. From there she spoke to Wright.
“I have had quite enough,” she said, “of your interference and your opposition to everything I wish to do. I will not endure it any longer. You can take a month’s notice from tonight.”
The man went white. He had expected a severe reprimand — not this. He knew that it would be easy for him to get another situation, one with higher wages, but he had been at Jalna for more than twenty years, he had reached a time of life when he did not like change. He had trained many horses for Renny Whiteoak. He had ridden at innumerable shows on Renny’s horses, at Renny’s side. He had looked forward to keeping the stables in good order against his return. He had a real sense of loyalty toward Renny’s daughter. He said:
“That’s pretty hard, ma’am, considering the way I’ve worked here. You won’t get another man to do it.”
“I don’t wish to discuss the matter with you,” Alayne said coldly. “You will consider yourself discharged. If my daughter has a serious illness, you will be entirely to blame.” She turned and left him. Her legs felt heavy, her whole body dragged down, as she climbed the stairs.
Wright, seething with anger, descended the stairs into the basement. Rags was mounding a tray with dishes to carry up to the dining room. His wife, crimson-faced, was drawing a pan of baked fish from the oven. Both turned expectant faces on Wright.
“Well,” he said, “I’m fired.”
“Naow!” exclaimed Rags, unbelievingly.
“what’ll she be up to next!” cried Mrs. Wragge.
“Firing us, I’ll bet,” said Rags. “Thinks she can run the ’ole blooming plice alone.”
“She’s got a superiority complex, if ever anyone had,” added his wife. “Now she come down here yesterday and tried to tell me —”
Wright interrupted, “If she thinks she can fire me she’s mistaken. I won’t go.”
“Waon’t gao!” echoed Rags. “Ow can you ’elp yourself?”
“The boss engaged me and he can fire me — if he wants to — when he comes home. She ain’t got the authority.” Colour was returning to his ruddy face. “why, this here place would be sunk if I was to leave.”
He remained in the kitchen expatiating on this subject till the ringing of the front doorbell announced the arrival of the doctor.
Stout, white-haired Dr. Drummond took a serious view of Adeline’s knee. If the hospital were not so over-crowded, he said, he would recommend that she should be taken there. Alayne declared herself capable of doing everything necessary. She would telephone Pheasant to come to her aid.
Hot compresses were to be applied all night to the knee.
When she and Adeline were alone together the child said ruefully, “Oh, Mummy, it’s a shame that you should have to stay up all the night with me, when you have to take Archer to the hospital tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about me.” With an effort Alayne kept her voice calm. “But let this be a lesson to you. In future try to remember that sometimes I know what is best for you.”
“I will.” Adeline gave a little moan and turned her face to the wall.
It would have been logical for Alayne to ask Meg to come to her aid but they never had got on well together. She disliked the thought of asking a favour of Meg so she telephoned to Pheasant who gladly undertook to share the nursing. Adeline became more and more restless. By midnight she was delirious. Alayne again sent for the doctor. The little girl was in acute pain and only a strong sedative relieved her.
It was a haggard Alayne who set off the next morning with Archer, dressed in his Sunday suit, a look of mingled self-importance and apprehension in his eyes. Wright was there with the car to drive them to the hospital. He avoided Alayne’s eyes as he held open the door of the car. It was a wet morning with the first chill of autumn in the air. If only, thought Alayne, Renny were there to take some of the load of responsibility from her shoulders. It was too much for her. She felt weighed down by it.
At the entrance to the hospital Wright asked, half- sullenly: “How is the young lady this morning, ma’am?”
“Very ill indeed,” returned Alayne icily. “I had to send for the doctor again, in the night. He is very anxious about her.”
Wright made no reply. “The brute!” thought Alayne. “To think that he had nothing to say. I’m glad I discharged him. I’m glad.”
She had been able to get a private room for Archer. He was pleased by this and stood docile while the nurse prepared him for bed. Alayne could see that the nurse admired him.
“He’s an old-fashioned little boy,” said the nurse.
“He is being very good,” said Alayne.
“I promised I would, didn’t I? I always keep my promises. I’m not like some people.”
“Listen to him!” exclaimed the nurse.
How tiny he looked, standing there in his pyjamas! How helpless when the orderlies came with a cot on wheels and the nurse, with a jolly air, lifted him on to it. Alayne went to the door with him, holding his hand. When he was gone she came back to a chintz-covered chair and flung herself into it, almost too tired to think.
She felt numb. A long while passed. Then she sprang up as the door opened and the sickening smell of the anaesthetic reached her. The cot appeared and Archer was put into the bed. “It is over,” thought Alayne. “Thank God, it is over.”
“Is he all right?” she breathed.
“He’s fine.”
But a miserable time followed when he came out of the anaesthetic and painfully vomited up large gobbets of blood. His first remark was to make sure that the tonsils had been saved for him in a bottle.
Alayne had intended to return to Jalna in the afternoon but Archer so clung to her that it was evening before she could bring herself to leave him. She alighted from the car and went into the house without a glance at Wright.
Finch met her in the hall.
“How is Adeline?” she asked.
“Quieter. I’ve helped Pheasant with her. At this minute they both are asleep. Meg’s been here and wonders why she wasn’t sent for. She’s coming back to spend the night. So you can have a good rest. Rags has coffee waiting for you.” He tucked his arm under hers and led her comfortingly into the hall. All three dogs were there, the sheepdog’s coat wet, every disreputable hair of him beaded with mud. At sight of Alayne he rose and descended majestically into the basement.
VI
CHASTISEMENT AND A TEA PARTY
MAURIRICE HAD SETTLED down quite comfortably into the life of home, with his mother and his two small brothers. Now he seldom had the lost feeling that had made heavy the first days of his return. But, when it did come upon him, he was submerged by it, drawn down by a painful longing for the ordered life of Glengorman, the love of old Dermot Court, the intellectual companionship of his middle-aged tutor, the congenial friendship of Patrick Crawshay. He liked his great-uncles but either they talked of their past in the social life of London, discussed the complications at Jalna, or worried about their nephews who were taking part in the War. After the first few visits to them, Maurice found them rather boring. His cousin Patience was a nice girl but she was interested only in outdoor things and in preparations for the removal from Vaughanlands to the small house. She and her mother were always busy. Intellectually Patience was years younger than he, yet she was rather superior in her attitude toward him and had a way of making fun of him that was very amusing to her and her mother but was disconcerting to Maurice.
The problem of his education loomed large in his thoughts. A perusal of the University curriculum and the examinations necessary, made it clear that in the classics, in the study of English and French and in ancient history, he was far in advance of what was required but, in mathematics and science, far behind. It would be necessary for him to be crammed but the thought of entering a cramming school was repugnant to him. He would have to find a capable tutor but where to find him he did not know. They seemed either to be at the war or already engaged in teaching. However, Maurice was willing to drift for a time. The fact that he would have ind
ependent means contributed to his natural indolence. He had a generous allowance and so was able to do pleasant things for his mother, for which Pheasant was touchingly grateful. He would bribe his brothers to be obedient and otherwise behave themselves.
On this Saturday morning when she was at Jalna helping to nurse Adeline, Maurice was examining a large packet of books for which he had sent to the town. He had promised each of the small boys twenty-five cents for washing the dishes and making the beds. But they seemed to be possessed by the idea of doing everything with as much confusion and noise as possible. Maurice shut himself in the living room with his books but nothing could shut out their noise, their giggling and scuffling. He went out to them.
“Do you boys,” he demanded, “want me to give you those quarters or don’t you?”
“We do,” they yelled in unison.
“Then stop this row and get on with your work.” He returned to the living room.
There was a short interval of quiet, then noise and laughter broke out again. Maurice laid down his book and marched back to the kitchen. Nooky was washing the cutlery, Philip drying it and as he dried each knife, fork, or spoon, he flung it across the room onto a table. Nooky was in a state of helpless laughter, spilling more water on the floor than he expended on the cutlery.
“Stop it!” shouted Maurice. He caught Philip by the collar and gave him a shake. Philip flung the silver tablespoon he was drying at Nooky and hit him on the head, sending him into hysterical squeals of mirth.
“Here comes the Irishman!” shouted Philip. “He’s a holy terror, bedad and he is!”
Nooky leant against the edge of the dishpan, overturning the water on his own legs and the floor. Philip tore himself from Maurice’s grip and ran through the open door into the yard. Here were scattered half the contents of a tool chest which Pheasant had forbidden him to touch. He ran over these and into the tool house and tried to slam the door behind him. But Maurice had caught him. As he held his young brother in his grasp, Maurice felt only cold anger but when he got a sharp kick on the shin it changed to primitive rage.
“Bend over!” he ordered.
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 403