Renny, laughing, sent one softly bouncing toward her. She ignored it and stood with the racket foursquare to her shoulder, formidable-looking in her large ribboned cap.
“You call that a ball! D’ye think I’m so weak as that? Come now — a good one!”
Renny eyed her menacingly.
“Renny!” cautioned Ernest, “be careful.”
“Mind your own business, Ernest!” she ordered. “Am I playing this game, or are you?”
A ball shot straight at her cap.
She caught it on her racket and returned it over the net with no mean blow, but she could not risk another. She grinned triumphantly.
“Well, now, do you say I can play tennis?”
“You’re a marvel, Gran!”
He laughed across the net and came to her. She took his arm and squeezed it.
“The girls are coming. See what they’ve done?”
Meg and Vera descended the steps to the lawn with Eden between them.
“Look, Daddy!” cried Meg. “A rehearsal!” She put the hem of her dress in Eden’s hands and moved sedately across the lawn, followed by Vera.
“Splendid!” exclaimed Nicholas.
“By Jove, the child looks beautiful!” said Ernest.
Philip met his daughter and she laid her hand on his arm. “Now then, Mamma, you’ll have to be the parson. Renny, can’t you produce the groom?”
“I don’t like rehearsals of solemn things,” said his mother. “They bring bad luck. Come to Granny, darling, and show her your fine new suit.”
But Eden kept fast hold of Meg’s skirt, bearing himself with dignity.
Renny gave a shout. “Hello, there’s Maurice! Come along, Maurice! What price the laggard groom!”
Maurice Vaughan advanced through a small wicket gate set in a hedge of cedar. He had crossed the ravine which divided his father’s property from Jalna and had picked on the way a bunch of white trilliums.
“Good man!” exclaimed Philip, delighted. “He’s here — nosegay and all!”
Nicholas began to boom the “Wedding March.”
“What’s it all about?” asked Maurice.
“A rehearsal,” said Mrs. Whiteoak, “and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I’ve a superstition about it.”
Maurice came to his fiancée and put the lilies into her hands. He made a little old-fashioned bow, but there was a gravity in his face, a heaviness in his eyes, that took the light from Meggie’s. She held the flowers to her, and asked: —
“Is anything wrong?”
He shook his head. “No. Well, my father is not very well. Mother and I are worried about him.”
“I’ve known your dad all my life,” said Philip, “and I’ve never known him well. Don’t you worry about him. He’ll outlive us all.” He tossed up Eden. “Now what do you think of this for a page?”
Maurice smiled and Meg’s face cleared.
Mary now came out of the house carrying her younger child, a boy of twenty months whom they called Peep. He sat very straight on her arm, determined not to be sleepy, though he knew he was being brought out to say goodnight. He had a skin of exquisite pink and whiteness, thin fair hair, and intensely blue, rather prominent eyes.
“Oh, I call it a shame to have put that suit on Eden!” she said angrily. “He will be getting a spot on it.” But she smiled in delight at his beauty when he darted to her side.
“See me! See me!” he cried.
Renny followed him. “Give Peep to me,” he said. “Then you can look after Eden.”
Half reluctantly she surrendered the baby. He leaped, crowing, into Renny’s arms. Renny carried him to where Maurice had moved apart.
He thrust the child’s downy head against Maurice’s face. “Take him,” he laughed. “You’ll be dandling a kid of your own one day. Let me see how it becomes you.”
Maurice drew back as though struck.
“For Christ’s sake, keep it away from me!” he said, thickly. “Renny, I must see you alone! You must get rid of those girls and come with me into the ravine. I’ve something terrible to tell you.”
II
IN THE RAVINE
THE TWO BOYS passed through the wicket gate and descended the path into the ravine, just as the sun was sending its last rays there. The young grass and unfolding bracken fronds had taken on an unearthly green, while the trees, still caught in the sunlight, glistened and quivered in the light breeze. The trunks of the pines showed a distinct purple tone, while those of the silver birches diffused through their whiteness a pale inner glow.
The contrast between the movements of Maurice and Renny was indicative not only of the moods that possessed them, but of their very natures. Maurice plunged down the path, sending small stones rolling before him, scarcely seeming to see where he was going. Renny moved freely as a wild creature and nothing escaped his brilliant gaze. He stopped once or twice and appeared to be on the point of turning aside into the wood, when Maurice called back to him: “Are you coming?” and he returned to the path.
The river which flowed through the ravine, and which, in later years, became only a small stream through the building of a dam in an enterprise by which the family endeavoured to counteract the extravagances and bad investments of Nicholas and Ernest, was now in the fullness of its strength. It made a distinct murmuring sound as it moved through its thickly wooded curves, breaking into clear gurglings when it encountered the dark opposition of a boulder or urge of smooth ledges of rock.
Renny made toward a bridge which spanned the river at its narrowest point, but Maurice drew him to the shelter of some wild cherry trees.
“Come in here,” he said, “where we can’t be seen. You never know when someone may cross the bridge. Why, look now! There comes my father! When I think what I may be bringing on to his head, I could drown myself in that river.”
Renny fixed his eyes on the figure of the man crossing the bridge. He wished he could escape from Maurice. He said: —
“Your father won’t be hard on you for anything you’ve done.”
The thin, upright figure crossed the bridge and began to make the ascent with an alert step. Maurice followed his movements with misery in his eyes. Mr. Vaughan passed so near them that they could hear his heavy breathing.
Maurice groaned — “I’m in the devil of a mess! I don’t know how to tell you.”
“Perhaps you had better not tell me,” said Renny, with a gleam of hope in his eyes. “I always find it better to keep my troubles to myself.”
“But I must tell you! You’ve got to help me! You’re the only one who can.”
“Out with it, then!”
Maurice threw himself on the grass.
“Sit down! Sit down beside me!”
Renny dropped to his side and offered him a cigarette, but Maurice shook his head.
“No, no, I can’t smoke! Renny, I’m in the most terrible mess. I don’t know what I’m to do.” He rolled on to his side and clutched a handful of grass. Then, as though the words too were pulled up by the roots, he said: —
“It’s a girl I’ve got into trouble. She’s going to have a baby! If your family find out — if my mother and father find out — I’m done for! And it isn’t as though I care about the girl. I hate her now that I know what she’s going to do. I’ve never loved anyone but Meggie.”
“Who is she?” Renny asked in a cold voice.
The name came so muffled he could scarcely hear the name: “Elvira Gray.”
“Elvira!” Renny repeated it on a note of wonder, and he looked at his friend, seeing him in a new, strange, sensual light.
A flicker of bravado passed over Maurice’s face. He gave a short laugh.
“You’ve never thought of Elvira in that way, eh?”
“I’ve never thought of her in any way.” He spoke gruffly and avoided Maurice’s eyes.
“But I don’t see how you could help noticing her. She’s not like any of the other village girls.”
“Well, she’s pr
etty, I know. But I’ve never given her a thought.” His mind turned to his sister and he broke out: “It’s a damned shame! It’s horrible! Meg can never marry you after this!”
Maurice sat up and said desperately: “Meggie must never know. She never will know. You must help me!”
“How the devil can I help you?”
“Elvira will go away. She has relations who will take her in, if she has money to provide for her and the child till she can get work…. Renny, you must see Elvira for me…. I can’t see her again…. She makes terrible scenes…. It isn’t safe…. We’ll be caught…. Everything will come out.”
“Do you think —” Renny spoke passionately — “that I can bear the thought of you marrying my sister — after this?”
“What difference will it make if she never knows? I’ll be faithful to her. I swear I will! I’ll never look at another woman! Surely you have heard enough talk in your family to know that this sort of thing sometimes happens. Men forget themselves.” He spoke as an experienced man to a boy.
Renny muttered — “You should not have forgotten yourself.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that! I’ve been driven almost mad by remorse. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since she told me about the baby.”
“Did she threaten to tell your people?”
“No, but everyone in the village will talk. You know what they are for gossip. Our families will be bound to hear of it. Elvira’s aunt will be after me for help. In fact, she has been. I’ve given her money — all I could lay my hands on — to shut her up.”
“How did this affair begin?”
“Elvira used to come into our woods to pick blackberries. I used to be about with my gun. I spoke to her and once I helped her to fill her pail. There was something mysterious about her. But I never loved her for a minute, mind you. I’ve never stopped loving Meg. Meg would have a year’s engagement. She would scarcely let me kiss her. But every time I looked at Elvira I could see she wanted me to kiss her. Then one day last August I forgot myself. I took her in my arms…. I was lost then. It was just like a wild dream.”
Renny said — “Yes? What was she like?”
“She was passionate and strange. She almost frightened me. I made up my mind I’d never see her again…. But — the very next time I went into the wood — she was there.”
Renny’s face hardened. “Why didn’t you keep out of the wood?”
“I was a fool. But I wanted to be alone to think things over.”
“Are you sure you didn’t want to meet her again?”
Maurice flushed under Renny’s eyes.
“I don’t know. Perhaps I did. I was a fool. But I can tell you, I’ve paid for it!”
“I think you’re just beginning to pay for it.”
“By God! You’re hard! I thought you were my friend. I thought you’d help me.”
“I’m wondering if I want my sister to marry you now.”
“I swear I’ll be faithful to her for the rest of my life! Any man is likely to make one slip. It will disappoint your people terribly. It will break my parents’ hearts — if this comes between Meg and me. Lord, what I’ve been through! Meg buying her trousseau, and Elvira clasping me about the knees and begging me to marry her! It’s too much! I can’t bear it!”
He threw himself on the grass and groaned.
Renny was moved to compassion.
“Look here,” he said, putting his hand on Maurice’s shoulder, “buck up! We’ll do something about it. I’ll see Elvira and we’ll get her out of here at once. Have you the money for her?”
“Yes. My father has given me a cheque for my wedding expenses. I’ll have to take some out of that.”
“Does that mean you will cut down on Meggie’s pleasures on your wedding trip?” Renny regarded him suspiciously.
“Lord, no. I can always get money.”
“H’m — you’re a lucky devil.”
“Will you see Elvira tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“She must leave soon — before it’s too late.”
“When is the arrival expected?”
“I don’t quite know. In about a month, I think.”
“Well, aren’t people talking?”
“She doesn’t show her condition.”
“She may be bluffing you.”
“No. I’m sure of it.”
“Are you sure the child will be yours?”
“I think it is.”
“Well, as Gran says, this is a pretty to-do. I wonder how the old lady would take it.”
Maurice replied eagerly. “She would be on my side. You can depend on that, Renny! She is a woman of the world. My parents have lived narrow lives. They’re puritanical. Your people are different. They see things comparatively.”
Renny made a guarded, nervous movement. “They wouldn’t see this comparatively,” he said. “They’d see it as an insult to Meg. I don’t believe they’d want her to marry you.”
“I think you’re quite wrong. But no one need ever know, if you’ll help me.”
“Oh, I’ll help you, as far as that goes! When I can I see Elvira?”
“I will arrange that. God, what a load you’ve taken off my mind!”
He stretched out his hand and clasped Renny’s.
A chill rose from the river and a tenuous wreath of mist indicated its meanderings. The crinkled surface of the water took on an olive tinge, while the tops of the willows were still gilded by the sun. A kingfisher swooped and rose with a small fish in its beak.
Then, from beyond a willowed curve of the river, two swans appeared, sailing in midstream, with closely folded wings and arched necks. They were a pair that Renny’s father had brought from England. The experiment had been tried several times, but these were the first that had thriven and made the river their own. Now, in an attitude of innocent scorn, they sailed past the two youths, their snowy whiteness reflected in the darkening water, a long silver ripple springing from either side of their calm breasts.
III
ELVIRA
THAT EVENING RENNY could not get the thought of Elvira out of his head. After he had taken Vera Lacey home and had left her puzzled by his abstractedness, he followed the road to the village and turned into the poor street where the girl and her aunt lived. He knew that the aunt was a dressmaker who had appeared, from nowhere it seemed, about five years ago. Elvira had been a thin-legged little girl then, with hair that stuck out in a dark halo about her pale face. She had liked horses, he knew, for he remembered her hanging about the gates of the paddocks at Jalna, watching the activities there. He faintly remembered showing off in front of her on the back of a wayward colt because he liked the way Elvira stood, with her head thrown back and her hands clasped against her breast, as though her excitement were more than she could bear. He did not think he had had more than a glimpse of her in the past two years. It was strange, he reflected, that Maurice should have had this intercourse with her — Maurice, who had never looked at any girl but Meggie; Maurice, who had always been detached.
He looked speculatively at the one lighted window of the cottage. He could see into a kitchen where the two women were sitting by the table drinking tea. The oil lamp set between them revealed their features with dramatic intensity, hardening what was already hard, as the line of the older woman’s lips, making still brighter her coarse, yellow hair and restless eyes. At the same time it added a bloom to the smoothness of the younger’s cheeks, a more vivid redness to her lips. She sat with elbows on table, staring across the saucer of tea she was cooling at her aunt, who peered into her cup, evidently reading a fortune from the tea leaves. A dressmaker’s dummy, wearing a red blouse, stood in a corner.
Renny gazed fascinated. He had never before witnessed a scene like this: the poverty of the little room, its warm seclusion, — for a stove was glowing hotly, — the two engrossed in feminine intimacy. He had expected a look of gloom about the place, depression, apprehension in the women’s faces. He had expect
ed to see a heavy elderly woman in the aunt — not this haggard one with gypsy eyes and a small, red-lipped mouth. The two had the same sharp, delicately cut features, but Elvira’s hair was brown. She rose and went to the stove, and Renny saw the fullness of her young body. It was true what Maurice had said, she was going to have a child.
He had a sudden feeling of shame at having spied upon her. He turned away and would have left as silently as he had come, but a cock in the outhouse heard his movements and gave a loud crow; the hens were disturbed and filled the air with alarmed cacklings. The older woman was on her feet in a swift, catlike movement. Before Renny could retreat she had glided through the door and had seen his figure against the hedge. He came toward her then, stepping into the shaft of lamplight. He spoke nervously.
“I hope I haven’t frightened you.”
“Oh, no,” she answered coolly. “That is — I was a bit scared when I thought someone was after my hens — but, as soon as I saw you just standing there —” She gave a little laugh. “You’re young Mr. Whiteoak, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he agreed, trying to see her face, trying to make her out.
“I don’t suppose you know who I am,” she went on, with a peculiar, teasing note in her voice. “Folks who live in big houses with a lot of land about them never even hear the names of poor people.”
“I know the names of everyone in the village,” he returned. “How could I help? I’ve lived here all my life.”
A frank warm tone came into her voice when she next spoke. “You’re a great friend of young Mr. Vaughan’s, aren’t you?”
He answered abruptly — “He and I have been talking over this affair today. This is why I have come to see you.”
A flicker passed over her face. She looked disappointed, he thought.
He asked tentatively — “Will you tell me when I can meet Elvira to give her the money?”
She answered rather sharply: “Elvira isn’t meeting folks now. You had better bring it here to me.”
“All right.”
“Come tomorrow night. About this time? You and I could have a little talk. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and read your fortune from the leaves. I’m good at that. I was just reading Elvira’s when you came.”
Jalna: Books 1-4: The Building of Jalna / Morning at Jalna / Mary Wakefield / Young Renny Page 95