“‘Do you know, I was in this room just a few hours before you were born. It was a very different-looking room then. Old-fashioned — almost Victorian. But the piano was the same. I sat down at it, feeling rather strange. I almost asked you just now if you remembered. Fancy! I began to play. I remember the very piece. A little waltz by Mozart that I’ve always loved. Listen.’”
As she pressed the pedal the electric bulb over Finch’s piano lighted. She dropped her hands to the keys and began to play but no sound came. Her back was to the audience so there was no need for her to conceal the consternation in her face.
Sarah gripped Renny’s fingers.
“He’s not playing! Oh ...” she said, in an agonized whisper.
“What’s the matter?” asked Adeline.
They had a glimpse of the author, three seats ahead, tense and despairing. A ripple of laughter ran through the audience.
Finch began to play.
The little waltz stole exquisitely, hesitatingly, apparently from under Miss Rhys’s fingers. She turned her face with a tender smile to her daughter. Never had the young man with the injured wrist played like this. Indeed his playing had been a source of irritation to Miss Rhys. When the curtain fell she went to Finch and once more threw her arms about him.
He gave her a shamefaced look.
“I wonder,” he said, “that you don’t hit me. But the truth is, I was so interested in the play that I forgot all about my part.”
“It didn’t matter! Will you — dare I hope you’ll help me again?”
“I’d love to. And I promise I’ll not make such an ass of myself another time.”
The play gained impetus, the actors confidence in it and themselves. The last act, over which there had been such heartburnings, turned out to be the best of all. The first had shown the skillful interplay of the company. The second had been a triumph for Phyllis Rhys. The third brought rounds of applause for Wakefield and Molly Griffith. Ninian Fox might have misgivings about her emotional power. The audience had not. Her beauty and her unconsciousness of it, her evident absorption in her part, had roused their interest in her at the start. Now, in the final scene, she had her first taste of a storm of handclapping.
At the fall of the curtain, the entire company had two calls. Then, holding hands, Miss Rhys and her leading man bowed their thanks. Then Miss Rhys with Wake and Molly in either hand. Then Wake and Molly together, radiant with happiness. Last, Miss Rhys alone and a few contralto words from her.
“Author! Author!”
Mr. Trimble rose reluctantly from his seat and bowed.
“Speech! Speech!”
With still more reluctance he made his way down the aisle and onto the stage. An expectant silence fell. Mr. Trimble, in rather crumpled evening clothes, made a really brilliant speech but he spoke so low that only the members of the orchestra heard it. He was once more applauded and the orchestra began to play the National Anthem.
Adeline could scarcely contain herself for pride. There she was, wearing her best dress, the only child in a theatre full of people. She was travelled, an experienced person, a woman almost. She had crossed the ocean. She had visited Ireland, been in an Irish Hunt, seen the Grand National run. Soon she would be at a grown-up party, treated as an equal by grown-up people. Her eyes on a level with the shoulder blades of those in front, she could see almost nothing. Nevertheless her eyes flashed, her lips curved, and she drew a deep breath of pride. Music and crowds — she was in the thick of things!
Somehow the little house in Gayfere Street was almost able to contain the people who poured into it. The night was warm and there was an overflow onto the pavement. Somehow Henriette and the waiters assisting her were able to provide each of the guests with refreshment. In fact a great deal was drunk. The actors, the producer, the author, felt that the play was going to be a great success. Only Ninian Fox and some of the critics were doubtful.
XIII
END OF A VISIT
ADELINE AND HENRIETTE were out early the next morning to buy the newspapers. Hastening along the damply sunlit street they were a great contrast to each other: Henriette with her large unwieldy body, her large flat feet and bulky skirts; Adeline, small, light-footed and barelegged. But the look in their eyes was equally expectant. In Marsham Street they bought the papers and hurried home. Adeline insisted on carrying them all.
Wakefield, sitting up in bed, with Finch and Sarah, Adeline and Henriette, crowded into the room, read aloud the notices. When they were good, which all but two were, and only one of them really bad, he read in an impressive, almost clerical manner. The two unfavorable ones he read in a staccato voice, with pauses for scathing comments on the critics. But nothing he could say equaled what was said by Sarah, Henriette, and Adeline. They scarcely had words for the expression of their contempt.
“It’s the very limit of idiocy,” exclaimed Sarah.
“’E’s jealous, that’s what ’e is,” said Henriette. “Jealous and miserable in ’is mind. I can say this truthfully that there’s never been a better play nor better acted since the time of Shakespeare and that’s a long time.”
Adeline kept repeating — “What things to say! They deserve to have a stick to their backs!”
When the notices had been read, Wakefield chose the best comments on his own and Molly’s acting and read them aloud again, to everyone’s great satisfaction. Then he had breakfast. Then he spent half an hour at the telephone. Then he dressed and went out to meet Molly.
There was so much to do. Quite suddenly he was deluged by invitations. Renny gave him a check and he bought himself a spring suit in Bond Street. Photographs of the company were taken at the theatre. Their pictures were in the papers. Finch’s recital was almost forgotten. But he was soon to start on a tour. Rumours of war persisted but people had become so used to these that they were less disturbed by them. At a dinner party, Renny had an opportunity to ask the opinion of a member of the Cabinet, but before he could speak the gentleman turned to him and said: —
“Do you think there’ll be war, Mr. Whiteoak?”
“Yes,” he answered. “My wife, who is a very clever woman, has cabled me to that effect.”
The last days of the visit sped so swiftly that the morning of departure was on them unbelievably soon. Renny took Adeline shopping and they bought presents for the family at home. Their trunks were packed. Only the goodbyes were to be said. Paris Court was returning with them and his delight at the prospect made the goodbyes cheerful.
Henriette came down the narrow stairs bent under the weight of Adeline’s trunk.
“Good heavens, woman,” cried Renny, springing up the stairs to meet her, “you shouldn’t do that alone!”
Still retaining one end of the trunk, Henriette answered, “I’m used to being overworked. I’ve been overworked since I was ten. But it’s bound to tell on me some day. ’Uman flesh can stand so much and no more. I don’t suppose you’d he needing any extra ’elp at Jalna?”
Renny looked at her doubtfully. “I’m afraid not, Henriette.” He put a ten-shilling note into her hand. “Thanks for looking after Adeline so well.”
She pushed the money from her. “You’ve paid me too well as it is. Money isn’t everything. Many a rich person ’as a broken ’eart. You and your family ’ave given me kindness.”
Henriette was tearful when she said goodbye to Adeline, who was as eager to be off as she had been to arrive.
Paris shook hands with Wake. “When next we meet, I shall be a millionaire,” he said.
“Probably they’ll not let you into the country,” said Wakefield, slapping him on the back.
Paris turned to Sarah. “If you get tired of Finch come out to me, darling.”
Renny kissed his brothers in turn.
“This isn’t goodbye for me,” said Wakefield. “I’m going to the station with you.” His suspicions of Renny had vanished. He felt that he could not do enough to make up to his brother for having harbored them.
Renny
saluted Sarah on the cheek. “Goodbye, my dear,” he said, “and don’t take your love too seriously.”
“It is like you,” she said, “to leave behind some remark which rankles.”
“That’s as sound a piece of advice as ever I gave,” he retorted.
One taxicab heavily laden had started on its way. Paris called out that they would miss the train. He and Adeline were already in the other cab. Renny and Wakefield clambered in after them, laden with packages. Finch and Sarah were left on the doorstep.
XIV
RETURN TO JALNA
EVERYTHING WAS READY for their reception and Alayne had gone to the porch and looked down the drive half-a-dozen times. It seemed a very long while since Renny and Adeline had left home. Yet in some ways the time had flown. Her days had been uneventful. She had had time for reading and making notes on what she had read. The roads were better and Alma Patch, the nursemaid, had taken the children for long walks. Without his sister’s stimulating presence, Archer had been more amenable. No child could be less trouble than Roma. Alayne felt rested and young. She wore a new French wool dress, blue, the shade that best suited her.
The children had brought in some catkins which she had put in a green vase. She had grown daffodils in pots. Rags had washed and groomed the dogs and they sat shivering in anticipation in the hall. Nicholas wore his velvet smoking jacket. He was restless and could not be still for a moment.
“How many times,” he exclaimed. “I have waited in this room for some of the family returning from England!”
“Yes, I suppose so,” answered Alayne absently.
“How well I remember, when I was just Archer’s age, my parents coming home! It was shortly before Christmas and suddenly the snow came pouring down. Papa’s shoulders were white with it and he was laden with packages. Mamma wore a new sealskin dolman and enormous hoops. I can’t imagine how she got in and out of the railway carriage. I hope Renny has remembered to bring me a new pipe from Dunhill’s. It was a great misfortune my breaking my favourite old one. Why, Alayne, I’d had that pipe since — let me see — What was that? Was that the car?”
“No, it’s only Archer on his tricycle. Dearest, I wish you wouldn’t ride it in the house.”
Archer looked in from the hall.
“I’m lonely out on the drive.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“I want you always to see me.” He stared at her from under his pure high forehead and her heart melted. She could deny him nothing.
“Well — don’t run into things.”
He pedaled into the sitting room, humping himself over the handlebars. He showed no interest in the preparations for his father and sister. His own activities engrossed him.
“Look,” he said, “I’m a monkey.”
“I don’t want to see,” answered Alayne, firmly.
“Look! Look, Uncle Nick!” He twisted his infant features into a wry monkey face and made his hands into claws.
“Gr-r-r,” he growled.
“Stop it, this instant,” said Alayne.
“I can’t. It’s me.”
She went to him and lifted him from the tricycle. She carried it from the room and put it in the far end of the hall. When she returned he was lying on his face on the floor.
“Get up, Archer, at once,” she said sternly.
“I can’t,” he whined. “I’m a baby! Lift me. I can’t walk.”
“Smack him behind,” said Nicholas. “It’s a good chance.”
Alayne stood her son on his feet. He collapsed again. He had no sooner done so than he rose with agility, for he heard the car on the drive.
“Somebody’s coming!” he exclaimed. “Who is it?”
“Why, Archer, it’s Daddy,” Alayne reminded him reproachfully. “Daddy and Adeline.”
“I thought they were in Ireland.”
The dogs had heard the car. Blind old Merlin rose stiffly and uttered a stentorian bark. The others joined in. Nicholas was stuck in his chair.
“Alayne,” he called, as she reached the hall, “come back and help me! I’m stuck here!”
She flew back and somehow he was got to his feet. But Rags had forestalled her at the door.
“Welcome ’ome, sir. Welcome ’ome, miss. My word, ’ow you’ve grown! ’Ere are the dogs waiting. Wot a time I’ve ’ad, getting them ready!”
Through the barking dogs Alayne pushed her way to Renny’s side. He clasped her to him. Their lips met. For an instant she felt faint in the bliss of his return. Then Adeline embraced her. There was a confusion of hugs among the children. Nicholas gripped Renny by the hand.
“It’s good to have you back,” he said. “I hadn’t realized how I missed you.”
Renny had put off writing of Paris’s coming till too late. In one of his fits of economy he considered the sending of a cablegram a waste of money. In any case it was a pleasant surprise for the family. He introduced him first to Alayne.
“This is our cousin, Parry Court,” he said. “You’ve heard of him. He’s come to pay us a little visit.”
The word little was reassuring. Alayne gave the attractive young man a welcoming smile.
“Who is he?” asked Nicholas, in what he believed was an aside.
“Paris Court, Malahide’s son.”
“Whose son? I didn’t hear!” He took Renny by his coat lapel and drew him closer.
“Malahide’s son.”
“That snake Malahide’s son!”
“Be careful. Yes. He’s come for a little visit. He’s a fine young fellow, Uncle Nick. Quite different from his father.”
“He’d better be,” growled Nicholas. He gave a sardonic smile and held out his hand to Paris.
“I never thought,” he said, “to meet your father’s son.”
“I’ve heard so much of you from my father,” returned Paris easily. “He’s often talked of his visit to Jalna.”
Piers had met the trio at the station. He whispered to Alayne: —
“Prepare for a long visit. Once one of that breed gets into the house it’s impossible to move them.”
Merlin could scarcely bear his joy. He whimpered. He nibbled Renny’s legs and hands. He sought to climb up into his arms.
“Dear old boy,” said Renny, stroking him. “You’re looking pretty fit, too.”
“His rheumatism is bad,” said Piers.
Archer had retired to the end of the hall. He now appeared riding his tricycle.
“Hullo!” said Renny. “That’s something new.”
“The uncles gave it to him,” said Alayne. “So far it’s been rather a trial.”
“I’m a monkey,” said Archer, “so watch out.” Humping himself worse than before, pulling an even worse face, he pedaled toward his father, clawing the air with his hands.
Flushed by anger, Alayne went toward him.
“Gr-r-r!” he growled and made a pass at her.
Adeline did what he wanted her to — shrieked with laughter. Renny snatched him from the tricycle and kissed his distorted face.
“Well,” he laughed, “you are a little monkey!”
Archer sat beaming on his father’s arm.
“I’m glad you’re back. I’m tired of everybody else.”
“Oh, Archer, how can you say that!” said Alayne, reproachfully. She thought of the hours she had spent amusing him.
“Well, naturally,” said Renny, “he’s glad to see his daddy.”
“I’m a baby,” whined Archer, “don’t put me down.” He drew his lips over his teeth. “Me hasn’t any teeth. Me tan’t talk.”
“I’m in despair with him,” said Alayne. “He’s never his real self for more than five minutes at a time.”
“Did you bring me the pipe I sent for?” asked Nicholas.
“When can we open the trunks?” cried Adeline. “You’ve never seen such lovely presents.”
The dogs set up a barking. The front door opened and Ernest and Harriet came in. She ran with short light steps to embrace Renny. Ernest
bent to kiss Adeline. Paris was presented to them and made such a favorable impression that Ernest wiped out all evil recollections of his father. In spite of himself Piers also took to his young Irish cousin. He could scarcely wait to carry him and Renny off to the stables.
Ernest said — “We were delighted that Finch’s recital was such a success. What good notices he had! I’m afraid he’ll never come back to us.”
“How we envied you being there to see it,” added Harriet.
“And Wake too,” added Nicholas. “That must have been a great night.”
“Yes, it was,” said Renny. He was on his knees before a trunk. He had got the lid only a few inches open when small hands were thrust into the aperture.
“Wait, children! Don’t!” cried Alayne. But they could not be restrained. Nicholas bent forward, breathing heavily.
“Is that my pipe?” he asked.
Archer began to climb into the trunk. His father lifted him out and he rode away on his tricycle.
“Here’s your pipe, Uncle Nick! Aunt Harriet, this is for you. Roma, hold out your arms. Now then, Piers, don’t say I’ve never given you a nice present. Alayne, shut your eyes and put out the third finger of your right hand.”
Alayne thought — “He might have kept my present till we were alone!” She tried to tell him so with a look but he saw nothing but the circle about him and fancied her look spoke of eagerness. He stood up smiling. “Now this is important,” he said.
Obediently she held out her finger and shut her eyes. She felt the cool caress of the ring. She felt his hand encircling hers. Her mind flew back to their wedding day.
Maurice, Meg, and Patience had entered unseen. Meg came close behind Renny and put her arms about his waist.
“Guess who’s here,” she asked.
Alayne opened her eyes. She saw the sapphire on her finger and gave an exclamation of mingled reproach and pleasure.
“Oh,” she said, “you should not have done that!”
Books 9-12: Finch's Fortune / The Master of Jalna / Whiteoak Harvest / Wakefield's Course Page 129