“Don’t ask questions. I can’t explain it to you — not yet.”
She did not leave his side all the morning. They came in to lunch hand in hand. There was a complete understanding between them, Alayne thought. Adeline might lie to him, might do things in direct opposition to his wishes, he might take a stick to her back as he had last night, still there would be complete understanding between them. The hot sunshine, the fresh air, had brought colour to Adeline’s cheeks but Alayne looked ill. She had spent the morning going over Adeline’s clothes, in preparation for school. She discovered shoes that should have been taken to the shoemaker for mending long ago, stockings that should have been darned, tunics that should have been mended. Roma had an entirely new school outfit — an added expense — to say nothing of the doubling of the large fees. Roma was in a blissful daze. To be going off to school with Adeline was a felicity she had not hoped for. Archer showed no sign of missing either girl. His mind seemed concentrated on the fact that he was to be the only child at Jalna, with an unquestioned field for his egotism.
The last morning came, with the bustle of luggage being carried downstairs, the continual running up and down and in and out of the children, the unheeded advice, the tips from the uncles, the hugs, the glibly given promises. Adeline, thought Alayne, was made of hardy fibre. She looked, she seemed as resilient as ever. But she did not see her as she stood alone saying goodbye to her room, her dear room, in which she had spent a night of the despair a child can know. Morning had brought a lifting of that despair; being restored to Renny’s love had made her well, for indeed she had felt ill. But the night had left its mark on her. She carried a scar on her heart which all the joy of coming years would never quite erase. In her thoughts she did not separate the events of the night. Othello — the supper in the restaurant — the journey home — Swift’s strange talk, his hot embrace — Renny’s violence — were so closely woven as to be inseparable, making a confused, a chaotic pattern in her memory.
Now she stood on the platform of the country station as the train, with hissing and roaring, came to a stop. She wore her school tunic, her long black stockings and black shoes. She carried her coat, her box of tuck given by Mrs. Wragge, and her badminton racquet. Her hair, flung back from her forehead, rippled like a pennant. Roma similarly equipped stood close beside her. Archer, clinging to his father’s sleeve, hopped up and down in his excitement.
“Got your tickets safe?” demanded Renny.
“Yes.” Roma patted her pocket. Adeline showed her ticket between her teeth.
“Right. Don’t swallow it.”
Heads of other children showed at the windows. Renny put the two aboard. Archer scrambled up the steps after them and had to be lifted down just as the train started. Adeline, peering out of the window, saw them standing hand in hand on the platform. The train swept her away.
Eager chattering schoolgirls surrounded her. They fired questions at her.
“Hello, Adeline! who is your friend?”
“Is she your sister?”
“Is she the cousin you’ve talked about?”
“what’s her name? Has she been to school before?”
“Did you have fun in the holidays? I had a super time.”
“So did I!”
“So did I!”
Adeline smiled but she groaned inwardly. “Girls — girls — and more girls — teachers — games — scripture — exams! Another term!”
XXIII
THE PROPOSAL
TWO DEPRESSED GENTLEMEN sat facing each other across the luncheon table at Vaughanlands the day after the notable performance of Othello. The face of each was so distasteful to the other that he could scarcely bear to look at it. Eugene Clapperton’s face was sallow, his eyes tired and his thin lips compressed. He felt that his troubles since coming to this place were so unreasonable, so endless. He had come intending to be a friend to everyone, a beneficent influence in the community. His reward had been hostility from the Whiteoaks, the really dreadful upset over the theft, and now this attack on his young cousin. He sympathized with Sidney, yet he was disgusted with him. Sidney should have known better than to have been drawn into an exchange of hot words with Renny Whiteoak, who was a violent and dangerous man, if ever there was one. Sidney had not made clear to Eugene Clapperton just what had happened. It was all very muddled and doubtless he had lied. One thing was certain. He had got a severe beating. It had been a shock to go to his bedroom to call him and find him lying there with one eye completely closed, the other badly swollen, his lip cut and a basin of bloodstained water on the washing stand. It had been a frightening climax to a series of depressing events. He wished Sidney had remained in bed. No one could enjoy a meal with that face opposite, with those disgusting noises Sidney made drawing in his soup from the spoon.
“I wish you’d let me send for the doctor,” he said.
“I don’t want a doctor,” mumbled Swift.
“You’re sure there are no bones broken?”
“Positive.”
“That man should be arrested for assault. There is nothing I’d like better than to see him brought into court. I let him off once. It’s a shame to allow him to get away with this.”
“He’s crazy!”
“Will you agree to a charge being laid against him?”
“I do wish you’d let me alone!” exclaimed Swift petulantly. He laid down his spoon and made no further pretence of eating.
Eugene Clapperton leaned across the table, fixed the young man with a cold grey eye, and demanded:
“Sidney, what did you do to make Colonel Whiteoak attack you?”
Swift exclaimed through his swollen lips, “I was kissing Adeline! Is there any harm in that?”
The older man coloured. He rose and walked nervously about the room. “You shouldn’t have done that. She’s not one of those common girls who will kiss any fellow. Her people aren’t that sort of people. They’re well bred. I don’t like the way this sounds, Sidney.”
Swift felt like telling him to go to hell, but he only grunted.
Eugene Clapperton said, “I hate to look at you, Sidney. You’re a terrible sight.”
Swift could have screamed, but was silent.
“I had a phone call from Piers Whiteoak this morning,” went on his cousin. “He doesn’t want you to continue with the tutoring.”
“He’s fired me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
Eugene Clapperton eyed him coldly.
“I should think you’d be very much humiliated, Sidney. I’m worried by all this upset.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can look after myself.”
“So far you have not shown much disposition to do so.”
Swift began to cry. “If you knew how miserable I feel,” he said, “you’d pity me, instead of finding fault.”
“I do pity you but you have brought all this on yourself. Now go and rest. I’ll stroll over to the fox farm and have a chat with the Griffiths. They always cheer me up.” He laid a comforting hand on Swift’s shoulder who wriggled beneath it like a spoilt boy.
“My goodness,” continued Clapperton, “you are getting a very black eye!”
He went off, leaving Swift in a ferment. For himself, he felt better. By the time he reached the fox farm he was almost cheerful. The path was springy beneath his feet. The thick golden sunshine tinted everything its own hue. It was a lazy golden world among the trees, the air vibrating with the trill of insects whose movements were unseen and whose voices only intensified the sense of remoteness. Gemmel Griffith sat in a deck chair on the little lawn which had been freshly mowed by Garda. The sweet scent of the cut grass met Eugene Clapperton as her figure came into view. The moment he saw her he was conscious of the new posture she had gained since the operation. She sat differently, with a new awareness of the power of her body, of its responsibilities. Before that she had moved, like a fish in the sea, without responsibility, drifting, careless of others. Bu
t now the lives of others pressed in on her. She was forced to think of them in a new, personal way. She had used to plan for her sisters, always leaving herself out. But now she must plan for herself. Her body had been given freedom but her spirit was now chained to the life of movement and fact.
As she saw Eugene Clapperton’s figure approaching, a shiver ran through her. It was partly pure excitement at the coming of the man who had done so much for her, partly fear at the thought that he desired to do more. He had done enough! Let him stop there — at the barrier. She wanted no more.
He waved his hand and called out gaily:
“Good afternoon! My, what a picture you make! If I was an artist I’d paint you.”
She held out her hand, turning her face upward in the old familiar movement. She greeted him shyly. He took her hand and sat down in an uncomfortable rustic chair made of cedar saplings.
“I hope I am not disturbing happy daydreams,” he said, caressing her with his small light eyes.
“You are always welcome,” she returned, with the old-fashioned dignity of her upbringing.
“That’s fine.” He drew a little closer. “There was never a time when I needed your friendship more.”
“Oh! I hope there is nothing wrong.” Never, she thought, could she speak familiarly to him.
“I’m worried. But I didn’t come here to talk about myself. How many steps have you taken today?”
“Seventeen. And without much help from Garda. The doctor says I shall be walking about like anyone else in a few months.”
“You’ll never be like anyone else. You’re unique.”
“I suppose I am — in a way.” She spoke pensively.
“In every way,” he insisted. “I’d like to show you off — let the world see you. How would you like to go to Victoria — have a look at the Rockies? Or go down to Quebec?”
“I’d love it.”
“when this war is over I’m going to do some travelling. I’ve always promised myself that. Also I must have a complete change. This is the darndest place I’ve ever known. It gets on my nerves. It’s Whiteoaks whatever way I turn. I’ve got to have something new in my life.”
“Must you wait till the war is over? Couldn’t you go away now?”
“It’s impossible. But I am worried. I’ll tell you what happened last night. Colonel Whiteoak gave Sidney a regular beating. You ought to see him — it’s disgraceful. But, mind you, I have sympathy for the man, much as I dislike him. He caught Sidney kissing his young daughter in the dark. He’d taken her to a play before that. Sidney says it was quite innocent but evidently that red-headed ruffian didn’t agree.”
“why, Adeline is only a child!” exclaimed Gemmel.
“Yes. That’s why I’m sorry this happened.”
“I’ve always envied her.” Gemmel drew the image of Adeline before her and gazed at it, rapt. “I don’t know what there is about her but I’ve envied her more than anyone I know.”
He patted her knee. “You’ve no cause to envy a living person now, Gem. You’re perfect.”
She made a restive movement. “You say Renny Whiteoak struck Sidney! Sidney would hate that. He is so abominably careful of himself.”
“Sidney is no coward.” Eugene Clapperton spoke defensively. “Whiteoak is a very intimidating man. I hate the sight of him.”
“He has been very kind to us.”
“Kind to you? How? In what way?”
“This house is his. He has never taken a penny in rent for it in all these years.”
Eugene Clapperton stared in astonishment. “No rent! Well — I never! No rent! why should he let you live rent free?”
“I guess he is just naturally generous.”
“I don’t want his generosity for you. I’d like to get you away from this house.”
Garda appeared, carrying a wineglass in which there was a raw egg with a little sherry on it.
“Time for your egg!” she exclaimed. “Good afternoon, Mr. Clapperton.”
“Eugene,” he corrected.
“Oh, yes — Eugene.” She gave him her warm smile. “Now, take the egg, Gem.”
Gemmel held the glass where the golden egg yolk floated like a little globe in the transparent white. “Please look the other way,” she said.
Obediently they looked up into the trees. She took the glass in both hands, put the rim to her lips, opened her mouth wide and the golden globe disappeared.
“It’s down,” she said.
Their eyes returned to her, expectant, as though strength had already been added to her from the egg. She returned the glass to Garda. “Don’t go,” she said.
“I must. I’m in the middle of ironing.” Her cheeks were hot, her palms red from her work.
When she had gone, Clapperton exclaimed:
“Poor child! I wish I could see a better future for her. She has no chance here in the country, pinned down to the drudgery of housework.”
“I know,” Gemmel answered despondently.
“And Althea. She would get over that terrible shyness if she went about and saw new places and met new people. She’s crippled mentally as you were physically. I want to look after you three girlies. I want you to have a good time. But you, above all, Gem. I’ve been waiting for months to ask you.” He bent close and whispered in her ear, “Will you marry me, Gem, little girl?”
He was conferring another great favour on her. She heard that in his voice, read it in the slanting glimpse she had of his face. She had only to put out her hand and accept the blessings of security for Althea and Garcia who had devoted their lives to her. She could give them their chance to be what nature had designed them for — not slaves to her but free, out of reach of the restrictions of poverty. Even though she soon would be well and would no longer need their care, what could they do? They were not fitted to take a part in the struggle of the new world that was shaping about them. She could lift the burden of their support from the shoulders of Molly. All her fear, her shrinking, melted away from her, leaving her as impersonal as the egg in the wine glass. She felt herself ready to be disposed of, swallowed in one gulp, by Eugene Clapperton. And she would make him so happy!
She was eager to get it over with. She tilted her head so that her eyes looked straight into his.
“Yes — I will,” she answered in her sweet voice with its Welsh intonation.
He had greatly feared she would refuse him, she was so oddly aloof, with the shyness of a wild creature, and now her assent filled him with an exhilaration he had not felt in many years. He had even forgotten that he could feel it. As he gathered her in his arms it swept through him like a spring wind, blowing away the worries and irritations of the past months. His joy, his gratification even included Althea and Garda. He would take the three sisters to be the young life of his home. Sidney must go. One of the girls could act as secretary. Above all, above all, here was Gem in his arms, her lovely dark head on his breast. Gem, restored to health, poised to take her first steps into real life, always under his guidance, her welfare the first object of his existence, always to do exactly as he told her which naturally would be for her good.
XXIV
AFTER DARK
THE GRIFFITHS SAT close together in their living room three evenings later. They sat close, as though some outside force had threatened to separate them. Gemmel would have been almost unseen in the last of the twilight but for her quick gestures, the familiar turning of her head on her long graceful neck. Garda was more visible because she was in white. Althea’s face and hands, because of the extreme fairness of her skin, showed most clearly.
“Everything is going to be different now,” she said. “This little home, in the middle of this little wood, can never be the same.”
“It will be empty,” said Garda. “How strange! Are you sure Eugene wants Althea and me to move to Vaughanlands?”
“He does,” Gemmel answered positively. “He says so. There’s plenty of room there.”
“It will be heavenly,” said
Garda. “Eugene is so generous. He’s a wonderful man. It will take the three of us the rest of our lives to repay him for what he has done and will do.”
“I hate being grateful to a man,” said Althea.
Garda laughed. “Then you are different from me. I find myself being grateful to men just for their existing. The world would be awful without them.”
“It would make no difference to me,” said Althea, “if they all were swept away.”
“But you do like Eugene, don’t you?” Gemmel asked anxiously. “If you don’t, I will not go on with the engagement.”
“what an idiotic thing to say! Of course I like Eugene. I think he’s the most generous being I’ve ever met. And I want you to marry him and do all the things you’ve longed to do.”
“Gem,” put in Garda, “that was a funny thing to say, for a woman who is in love. You should be ready to go on with the marriage, even if Althea and I were dead set against it.”
Gem lighted a cigarette. The flame of the match illuminated her face for an instant. “I’m not like other women! I’ve been dependent on you two for so long that I couldn’t go against you. You’ve been my physical legs till you’ve become my spiritual legs as well.”
“I hate gratitude,” said Althea. “It’s sickening from you. Why should you be grateful to Eugene? He’s getting, what they call in this country, ‘a great kick’ out of all he does for you.”
“I think Gem loves him for himself,” said Garda.
“Let her come out with it then, as though she were in earnest.”
“I am in earnest,” cried Gemmel, “I do love him.”
“It would be horrible to marry without love,” said Garda.
“It would be horrible to marry with love!” There was a fierceness in Althea’s voice. “I wouldn’t marry — even if I adored the ground the man walked on.”
“It is easy for me to love,” said Garda. “I believe I could love two men at the same time.”
“You’d better be careful,” Gemmel warned, “or you’ll come to grief.”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 425