“Good. I’ll get my hat. But just let me give you this.” She took from her pocket a small box and out of it a pretty leather belt with a silk-lined purse attached. She fastened it about Lily’s waist.
Philip looked on approvingly. “There’s a waist you could span,” he said.
“She’d never let you try, would you, Lily?”
Lily thanked Adeline for the present, while keeping her eyes resolutely turned from Philip. She was in a state of panic at the thought of being left alone with him. She followed Adeline into the drawing-room and helped to hang the parrot’s cage on its stand. It took considerable coaxing to persuade him to enter the cage, and, when Adeline, after many endearments, left him he shouted Hindoo curses after her in his disappointment.
“I shall soon be back, my darling,” she cried, and hurried to her room to put on her hat.
Philip stood smiling at Lily, stranded alone with him.
“Like that thing my mother brought you?” he asked.
“It’s lovely,” she said, but quite inaudibly.
He fingered the purse, opened it and peeped into it.
“Nothing in it,” he said. “Not a penny.”
She managed to get out, “Nor ever will be. I never have any money.” Her cheeks flamed as she said it.
“Never mind, Lily. You will. One day some millionaire will come along —”
Adeline appeared, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat. Philip went with them to the pony trap, assisted them to climb to the seat, patted the pony, gave him a mouthful of grass. They jogged down the drive, the pony munching while green saliva dribbled from his lip. His hoofs splashed in and out of puddles, his small hard flanks glittered in the sunshine. Adeline thought how contented she would be, if only Philip behaved himself. She remarked:
“I suppose you’ve met the children’s governess.”
Away from Philip, Lily could talk. “Yes. I met her at Mrs. Lacey’s and Mother has had her to tea with the children. Twice I’ve met her on the road. Do you think she’s pretty, Mrs. Whiteoak? All the gentlemen are raving over her.”
“Your father?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Admiral Lacey?”
“Most of all.”
“Doctor Ramsey?”
“No. I haven’t heard him.”
The situation seemed worse than Adeline had imagined.
‘Make the pony move faster, Lily,” she said. “Give him a tap with the whip.”
Lily took the bent whip, though reluctantly, from its holder and administered a tap on his right flank. He looked over his shoulder at her.
“Give him another,” said Adeline.
Lily gave him one on his left flank. He stopped.
“Come, come,” Adeline urged him. “Get up with you!”
He looked over his shoulder at her.
“Here — give me the whip.”
Lily surrendered it and Adeline gave him a sharp cut.
He walked down into the ditch, all but spilling them out.
“He always does that if he’s touched with the whip,” said Lily.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Will he come up again if we pull him?”
“No. We shall just have to wait here till a man arrives.”
“I could do it myself,” said Adeline, “but I should get burrs in my skirt. Oh, you rascal!” She struck the pony’s flank again. He looked round at her out of his large, remote eyes and made as though to lie down in the ditch. Both women clambered hastily out of the trap, and at the same time Doctor Ramsey appeared on the road driving his big mare. He greeted Adeline with warmth.
When he saw their predicament he alighted from his buggy and, with a masterful air, led the pony back to the road, the pony coming eagerly, as though this was just what he wanted.
“What do you suppose was wrong with him,” asked Adeline, “that he should go into the ditch?”
“He had been going into the ditch ever since I’ve known him,” said Doctor Ramsey, “and I’ve known him twenty-five years.”
“Which way are you going, Doctor?” she asked. “If it is in the direction of The Moorings, I think I’ll go with you.”
“That is just where I am going, for I am taking a bottle of liniment for the Admiral’s back.”
“Is it bad then?”
“Just a touch of lumbago. Do come with me, Mrs. Whiteoak. I’d like a chat with you.”
Adeline said good-bye to Lily and mounted to the seat beside the doctor. He flicked the mare who set off at a good pace, the pony, on his short legs, doing his best to overtake her.
“Well,” said the doctor, looking with canny admiration into Adeline’s lively eyes, “you look none the worse for your journey.”
“I’m all the better for it. There’s nothing like a change from the worries and responsibilities of one’s own home.”
“True. Very true. And Lady Buckley, is she quite well?”
Adeline disliked her daughter’s title, for she resented being in a position socially inferior to her, but Doctor Ramsey never missed an opportunity of using it, though he had called her Augusta to the day of her marriage.
“Augusta is well enough.”
“And Sir Edwin?”
“If he’s ailing he hasn’t remarked on it.”
“And Nicholas and Ernest?”
“Fit as fiddles. Ernest is by way of becoming a rich man. He’s got a wonderful knowledge of investments.”
“Ha! He’d better be cautious. If I had money to invest, I’d put it into property … And how did ye find everything at Jalna?”
Adeline looked straight between the mare’s ears. “I found a pretty kettle of fish there.”
“You did?”
“Come,” she exclaimed, “don’t tell me that you’ve heard nothing.”
“Nothing but praise for the young woman. Excepting from Mrs. Lacey. She seems to be quite a charmer.”
“Well, my housekeeper had a tale to tell of her. She saw her en dishabille at her bedroom door talking to Philip, before she’d been in the house a week. She heard them kiss in the library.”
Doctor Ramsey drew up the mare at the gate of The Moorings and gently flicked the flies from her flanks. Lily Pink and the pony passed, he hastening home to his oats, she waving and smiling.
Now the doctor turned a sombre look on Adeline, and spoke in a deliberate tone, his Scottish accent strongly marked.
“I said I had heard nothing but now I shall tell you what I saw.”
Adeline sat planted firmly, a hand on either knee.
“At the first I had trouble finding the young person. Twice I went to Jalna but she was out. On the second occasion Eliza told me that she had been seen walking in the direction of the wood. I followed her for, as the children’s grandfather, I felt I had a responsibility. I walked a long way and then I came to that wee clearing in the midst of the wood. There is a nice smooth grass there and what do you suppose I saw?”
“Goodness knows.”
“I saw Miss Wakefield, with her shoes and stockings off, running about on the grass. She was holding her skirt up to her knees. It was a feckless sight and a wanton one. I came away.”
“You did well,” said Adeline, with a mischievous look.
“Then one day I found her in and I had a short talk with her. I must say that my suspicions were allayed, for she showed an intelligence I had not expected. During our conversation I happened to mention the poet Burns, and she expressed a keen desire to read some of his poetry. I promised to lend her a volume. About a week ago I brought it. I had made a professional call on the Vaughans, and I left the buggy there and walked to Jalna through the ravine where it was fairly cool. The day had been almost unbearably hot. I was crossing the bridge when I espied them.”
Adeline turned her head and looked into his face.
“Yes?” she breathed.
“They were reclining. Mrs. Whiteoak, in attitudes of complete abandon. She was reading aloud to him. A love poem by Lord Tennyson. I heard some of the wo
rds. I strode up to where they were. I gave her the book, with what disapproval I could put into my demeanour, and left them. I have not seen them since.”
“Well,” said Adeline, drawing a deep breath, “it’s bad enough but I’ve heard of worse things.”
“Doubtless no one has seen the worst, Mrs. Whiteoak. When I think of that girl as successor to my daughter, my spirit draws back in dismay.”
“Men don’t always marry the women they make love to,” said Adeline, testily. “Now let us go and see what Mrs. Lacey has to tell us.”
They found Mrs. Lacey and her daughters sitting in rustic chairs beneath an old apple tree. Mrs. Lacey was sewing and Ethel and Violet were shelling peas. All three jumped up to embrace Adeline and ask her questions about her journey. Violet galloped to the verandah to fetch a rocking chair for Adeline. Doctor Ramsey intercepted her and forcibly took it from her.
“What a harum-scarum that girl is!” exclaimed Mrs. Lacey.
Violet tossed her curled fringe out of her eyes, reseated herself and scooped the contents of a pea-pod into her mouth. Her mother gave an expressive look at Adeline.
“I’ll wager,” said the doctor, “that you haven’t sat in one of those all the while you were away.”
“I have not. And very soothing they are.” She seated herself and rocked as hard as she could considering that the rockers rested on grass.
“The ground is still dry,” said Doctor Ramsey. “It’s so hard from drought that the rain ran right off it.” He lingered a little and then reluctantly went indoors to see his patient.
A silence fell.
Then Mrs. Lacey asked, “Are you pleased with the new importation?”
“You mean Miss Wakefield?”
“Of course. She’s the most exciting thing that’s happened here in many a day.”
“She’s very good to look at. A little too smartly dressed, perhaps.”
Mrs. Lacey nodded with solemnity. “If that were all! But, Mrs. Whiteoak, the girl paints her lips. Mrs. Pink discovered it first. Ethel and Violet can’t deny it, even though they are on her side. Indeed they seem quite fascinated by her.”
“Oh, no, Mother,” denied Ethel, “it is simply that she is an oddity. Someone so different.”
“She’s good fun when you get her alone,” added Violet. “I mean away from Mrs. Pink and Mother.” She laughed daringly.
“Really, Violet, you are incorrigible. Now that you two have the peas shelled, you had better take them to Cook. Mrs. Whiteoak and I want a little private conversation.”
“Very well, Mother,” said Ethel, “but don’t be too hard on Miss Wakefield.”
When her daughters were gone Mrs. Lacy exclaimed, “Really, those girls are incorrigible.”
“They are sweet creatures.”
Mrs. Lacey tried to conceal her pride in them. “I’m glad you think so. But they do so easily get carried away.”
Adeline ceased rocking and stretched out her long legs in a manner which Mrs. Lacey found very unladylike.
Adeline remarked, “I am a woman of the world. I say if a girl in London wants to paint, to smoke, to be fast, let her. But I do not want her at Jalna tempting my youngest son. I don’t want any new mistress there. You know what a time I had with Philip’s first wife. We didn’t get on very well, you remember.”
Mrs. Lacey did indeed remember.
“Do you say,” she asked, “that this girl smokes?”
“Yes. Mrs Nettleship found cigarette ends on the ground beneath her window.”
“It’s unbelievable!”
“It’s true. I saw them.’
“Mrs. Nettleship had saved them to show you?”
“She had. Now, if Philip must marry, let him marry a woman of means. Someone who will be an asset. I will not endure him marrying this flibbertigibbet girl.”
“You haven’t spoken to him?”
“No, no, not yet. In truth he may have no notion of marrying her. But it’s plainly to be seen she’s setting her cap at him. Poetry! Reading Lord Tennyson’s poetry, if you please.”
Mrs. Lacey’s eyes were shining. “Talk of Lord Tennyson’s poetry! The things that young woman reads! My girls took her into our orchard and sat there under the trees. They came out different. They’ve never been quite the same since. But I believe in keeping their confidence and I encouraged them to talk. They told me that Miss Wakefield has read all of Rhoda Broughton’s books, and not only that, she’s read all of Ouida’s. Did you ever read her horrible novel, Friendship? I’m ashamed to say I have, and it’s the height of immorality. She has copies of The Yellow Book, with quite crazy illustrations by Aubrey Beardsley, and a magazine with an article by Oscar Wilde, called ‘The Decay of the Art of Lying’. I think that is significant, don’t you, Mrs. Whiteoak? She raves about the little restaurants in Soho, where she says ‘the atmosphere is colourful.’ Really, my husband almost exploded when I repeated the expression to him. Men who write for newspapers, took her. She met actors and actresses several times. She says she longs to see the life of Paris and Vienna. Well, we all know the immorality of those cities. The three girls spent the whole afternoon under the apple trees talking of things like that.”
Adeline grinned. “No wonder Ethel and Violet have never been the same since,” she said.
X
THE MEETING WITH MISS CRAIG
MARY WONDERED IF she would be required to go to church, now that the children’s grandmother and aunt were at home to superintend their behaviour. She had not seen Philip alone since the arrival of the family two days before. Now she sought him out to ask him. If she were not required to go she would spend the morning in the pine woods by herself.
She saw him standing on the lawn outside the door that led from the hall at the top of the basement stairs. He stood there with his pipe in his mouth, wearing such an expression of tranquil good will that she wondered if ever he were ruffled. She shrank from disturbing him. For some reason she had a feeling of constraint toward him.
However, as she hesitated in the doorway he saw her and took his pipe out of his mouth.
“Good morning, Miss Wakefield,” he said. “I hope you have recovered from the effects of the storm. You were frightened, weren’t you?”
“A little. Nothing to speak of. You see I’m not used to them.”
“But you will be. You’ll get used to everything.”
“Oh, I have. That is, practically everything. What I wanted to ask is if I should go with the children to church, as usual, this morning.”
“Don’t you want to go?”
She looked him straight in the eyes.
“Mr. Whiteoak, that is not the question. I must find out just what is expected of me.”
He smiled amiably. “To enjoy yourself, of course.”
“Then,” she returned firmly, “it would be quite all right, if I were to wear my oldest clothes, take the dogs, and go tramping through the woods?”
“So that’s what you’d prefer?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “That wouldn’t do at all. My mother wouldn’t like it. You’ll have to go to church, I’m afraid.”
“Thank you. That is all I want to know.”
Instantly she felt that she had spoken curtly. But how was she to speak to him? She never seemed to know.
“There’s a lovely cool breeze,” he remarked.
She had noticed the breeze but only because of the way it lifted the thick fair lock on top of his head. His spaniels rose from where they had been stretched in the sun and came to him, touching his legs with their noses.
“They know it’s Sunday,” he said ruefully.
“Yes. Sunday seems more Sunday here than anywhere I have ever been. It’s restful. I like it.”
“And you don’t too much mind going to church?”
“Of course not. I love the little church. Now I must find the children and get them ready.”
She left him, her spirit suddenly elated. “Whatever is the matter with me?
” she thought. “I’m not in the same mood for two minutes together. …” Then she remembered all she had been through just a few months before and thought it no wonder if she were a little odd.
She put Renny into his white man-o’-war suit and helped Meggie with her hair ribbon. They chattered all the while.
“Gran has twelve pairs of silk stockings.”
“Uncle Nick has a stop watch.”
“You are not to call him Uncle Nick. It’s rude.”
“I don’t care. I’ll say Uncle Ernie, too.”
“It’s rude, isn’t it, Miss Wakefield?”
“Miss Wakefield doesn’t care,” he declared.
“Aunt Augusta says our manners get worse and that it’s your fault, Miss Wakefield. It is true, isn’t it?”
“Miss Wakefield, do you get paid for teaching us?”
She answered, while brushing his hair vigorously, “I certainly do.”
Renny’s dark eyes opened wide with shock.
“Paid!” he repeated. “With real money?”
“Certainly. Did you think I came all the way across the ocean to teach you, just out of love for you?”
“Yes, I did.” He looked at her, seeing her in a new light. “And were Miss Cox and Miss Turnbull paid money, too?”
“Of course.”
He turned up his face to have his scarf adjusted, with a subdued look. It was shocking to him to discover that people were paid, actually paid, to do what should be only a pleasure.
From an old but well-polished carriage and a roomy phaeton nine people stepped decorously, descended nimbly, were assisted, or lifted down, according to their sex and age, in front of the church. They were an impressive array to have come from one house. Mary was astonished to see Philip in a Prince Albert coat and top-hat. As though in protest he wore the hat slightly to one side. Under pretext of speaking to Renny he whispered to Mary:
“Isn’t it ridiculous dressing up like this to go to church in the country? But my mother will have it.”
Mary had never before seen him looking well-groomed; now, in this splendid array, he drew her unashamed admiration. All she could say was:
“I don’t blame her.”
“Do you say that because of conventions or because I look so beautiful?”
Jalna: Books 1-4: The Building of Jalna / Morning at Jalna / Mary Wakefield / Young Renny Page 72