04 Young Renny

by Mazo de La Roche

  "Oh, Granddaddy, I can't! I - oh, please, don't insist!"

  "I do insist."

  Vera began to cry.

  Meg spoke from the piano stool. "I lent it to Vera. It once belonged to my grandmother."

  The Admiral raised his voice. "You dare tell me that, young woman! No - I say it is an engagement ring, and I say that your brother stole it from his grandmother!"

  "That's a lie!" shouted Renny. "Gran gave me the ring for my fiancee. And I gave it to Vera. We are going to be married."

  The old man and the youth faced each other. The one short, thickset, redoubtable. The other tall, wiry, passionately alive. They were like a battleship and a seaplane.

  "You dare!" thundered the Admiral. "You dare tell me I lie!"

  "No - I don't say you lie. I don't know who told you, but I do say it is a lie. My grandmother did give me that ring."

  "You were seen to take it!"

  Renny and Meg looked at each other. She said: -

  "We did take it. But we didn't steal it."

  Admiral Lacey turned to her. "Why did you tell me, miss, that you lent the ring to Vera?"

  "I was just trying to conceal their engagement. But since Renny has told you that Vera and he are to be married -"

  "Married!" interrupted the Admiral. "It's ridiculous! They are foolish children."

  "I am twenty," said Vera.

  "And I soon shall be," said Renny.

  "What have you to marry on, I'd like to know?"

  "My father must help me."

  "Must help you! Must, eh? I like that! I do like that, indeed! There's the young man of today speaking. His father must help him! Oh, you couldn't have said a worse thing to me! Now, I tell you what we'll do! We'll go find your father and tell him that he must help you!"

  Renny answered - "We can't. He's off on a hunting trip."

  "So he is! I forgot. Very well, we will go to your grandmother. She shall hear all about it."

  "Oh, no, no, don't do that!" said Meg. She burst into tears. It was natural for Meg to weep on a man's shoulder. So she came and laid her face on the Admiral's.

  His florid face softened. He put an arm about her. Vera, seeing this, came at once to his other shoulder and wept there. Between their two heads his face glared out at Renny like a fine old bulldog's between two dew-drenched flowers.

  "I must see Mrs. Whiteoak about this affair," he declared. "You two must come with me, but Vera shall stay here with her aunts. She shall not go out of this house again until she sails for home."

  "If you think you can prevent our marriage," said Renny hotly, "you are mistaken. We love each other and we are going to get married."

  "Oh, Grandfather,"said Vera,"if you only knew how we love each other!"

  "If you knew all, my child," said the Admiral, "you would not be so fond of this young man."

  "Who says anything against my brother?" cried Meg.

  "I do! I say he is not a fit husband for my granddaughter."

  Renny said bitterly - "Malahide Court has been here, poisoning your mind against me."

  "Is truth poison?" said Admiral Lacey.

  "Oh, yes, often," said Meg. "But I don't see what Malahide could have told you that would turn you against Renny, Admiral! You have always been so fond of him."

  The Admiral returned stiffly - "I cannot talk about this in front of young girls."

  "Listen, Granddaddy," said Vera. "Renny asked me once what I should feel if I found out anything about him like Meg and Maurice, and I said if it was all past and he still loved me it would make no difference. So surely that settles it!"

  "Nothing of the sort! You don't know what you're talking about! Now, my dear, you go straight to your grandmother. Your friends and I will go to Jalna."

  He took Vera with him to Mrs. Lacey, and ordered the old man who acted as gardener and groom to bring round the carriage. Soon he and Meg and Renny were on their way to Jalna, while Vera poured out the whole story into the not unsympathetic ears of her aunts and grandmother.

  They found Adeline, Mary, and Malahide having tea together in the dining room. Adeline was pleased to see her old friend and made room for him beside her. But Malahide, after a swift glance into his face and another and more furtive glance into the faces of Renny and Meg, sank deep into his chair.

  "You are just in time," said Adeline, "to share a section of new honey and a nice bit of news about our rector. He's engaged to be married. He brought me the news himself, this morning." She deposited a golden square of honey on the Admiral's plate and beamed into his face.

  "That is good," said Admiral Lacey, forcing himself to smile. "He needs a wife. Where is she from?"

  "New Brunswick. A long way to go for a bride. But she suits him, he says, and he thinks she will suit of all us." She talked on, but soon noticed that there was something wrong. She looked searchingly into his face. "Are you ailing?" she asked.

  "No," he answered gruffly, "but I must have a talk with you, in the presence of the young man here. Just we three. Will you arrange it?"

  There was nothing she liked better than a talk on some important subject, preferably controversial. After her third cup of tea, she said: -

  "I want you, Admiral, and you, Renny, to come to the drawing room with me. There are things to be discussed." She rose from the table a little stiffly, resting her hands on it. The Admiral offered her his arm.

  "Mayn't I come, Granny?" asked Meg. "I am in this affair, too. With my last drop of blood!"

  "No, no," said Admiral Lacey. "Just your grandmother and Renny and me."

  "Well," exclaimed Meg, passionately, "I know what it's all about, so why shouldn't I be there?"

  "And Malahide," said Renny, "Don't keep him out of it!"

  Adeline gave a grunt and reseated herself. "Very well. We'll discuss whatever it is - together, as a family should."

  Malahide took out a cigarette and lighted it. "After what Renny has said I think I certainly should be present."

  "Very well," said Admiral Lacey. "Since you are agreed."

  "Will you have another cup of tea?" asked Mary.

  "No, thank you." He looked straight into Adeline's eyes. "Mrs. Whiteoak, did you give your grandson a pearl and diamond ring as a betrothal ring for my granddaughter?"

  Renny's eyelashes flickered. He clenched his hands beneath the table. Malahide's heavy lids were lowered and his fingers played with his diamond cravat pin. Meg fixed her full blue gaze on her grandmother's face. It was a study, this fine old face, as strongly marked as a weathered cliff. She thrust out her muscular underlip and her eyes moved from Renny's face to Meg's, from Meg's to Malahide's - compelling from each a quiver of defence or acknowledgement. She picked up her spoon and saw her own distorted reflection in its bowl. She laid it down and said curtly: -

  "I did."

  The Admiral blew. Renny gave a short laugh and his face lighted with vivacity. Meg preened herself.

  "But," exclaimed Admiral Lacey, "I was told -"

  "Malahide told you," interrupted Renny.

  "I saw the theft myself," said Malahide.

  Adeline turned on him. "What theft?"

  "The theft of the ring."

  "And where were you?' cried Meg. "Spying! Peering in at the window! Now I understand why Boney screamed -'To hell with Malahide!"'

  Adeline sat, pursed, wary, trying to absorb all, determined not to give her grandson away.

  Admiral Lacey looked in her eyes. "Did you want this engagement, then?"

  "The girl could do worse. He's a fine boy. A perfect Court. Not like Biddy Court's son, there. A real Court - like myself."

  "I should not have minded - a few days ago. But - since then - I have heard something very bad about this young man."

  "Out with it!" said Adeline.

  The Admiral looked at Mary and Meg. "I can't - not in front of the young ladies."

  Mary rose. "Come, Meg. It is much better for us to go."

  "Yes," agreed Adeline, "run along. The Admiral is squeami
sh."

  When she and the three men were alone together, Admiral Lacey said - "Neither I nor my son can consent to this engagement. You can't expect it, Mrs. Whiteoak. Renny has been intimate with a loose woman. Apparently you know of it."

  Adeline fixed him with her fierce eyes. "Did you go spotless to your bride? How many men do? Tell me that!"

  The Admiral coloured. "This is different."

  "You mean it is found out!"

  Renny exclaimed - "Everything I do is found out! I have a shadow who dogs my footsteps. I wish he would come outside with me and he would not be even a shadow when I had finished with him. Come along, Malahide! Come along! Don't be a coward!"

  Malahide turned to him with a sneer. "I should be delighted - if you could fight with anything but your fists."

  "I can! I'll fight with anything you name. Pistols - swords - riding crops - axes - anything you like!"

  Adeline struck the table with the flat of her hand. "Silence! There'll be no fighting between you two. As for you, Malahide - I'm done with you. My family was right and I was wrong. You've tried to diddle all of us. You've tried to turn us against each other. It's a nice visit you've given us. And I'm the one that will not be sorry to see the last of you." Her brown eyes suddenly blazed and she struck the table again. "Be off with you - out of my sight - forever!"

  Malahide's mouth was an ugly gash. "Do you imagine," he snarled, "that I have enjoyed myself? Only the extremity of my misfortune brought me here in the first place. Only extremity made me endure the boredom. What are you Whiteoaks? Who are you? What do you know? Where have you been? Nobody - nobody - nothing - nowhere - these are the answers!"

  Adeline could scarcely breathe for the fury that was in her. She clutched her throat.

  Renny thought - "Let her have it! Let her have it! Let her know what he is!" But he trembled with the urge to spring on Malahide.

  Adeline got out the words - "You dare - you miserable - oh, let me have the strength to - and - my sons not here!"

  "I'm here, Gran!" shouted Renny. He sprang toward Malahide, dragging the table cover as he passed, and crashing the tea things to the floor.

  Admiral Lacey interposed his florid bulk between the two. "Go," he said to Malahide. "You'd better go at once."

  Malahide took three long steps to the door. There he turned and raised a dark hand.

  "It's time," he said, "that you were told what you are, Cousin Adeline. But I can't tell you. It would have taken my mother to do that."

  Before she could retort he was gone.

  Now the sound of Boney's screams came from the bedroom. He had heard Malahide's voice raised in anger and he rent the air in raucous reply.

  "Hell - hell - hell with Malahide! To hell with Cousin Malahide! Shaitan - shaitan ka batka!" His wings could be heard flapping frantically at the end of his chain.

  "Go to him Renny," said Adeline in an unexpected small voice. "Go to him and free him. Oh, the poor bird! The poor, poor bird!" She rose, leaning heavily on her stick. "To think," she said, "to think that Bridget Court is in her grave and I can't write and tell her what I think of her son!"

  WINTER COMES

  RENNY LOOKED ABOUT his room to see whether he might be leaving anything behind. The room looked dishevelled, desolate: the drawers of the dressing table gaped; the cupboard doors stood wide open, disclosing an assembly of soiled white duck trousers, faded jerseys, and assorted tweeds; while on its floor boots, tennis rackets, riding crops, and garments for the laundry lay in confusion. A fox terrier had burrowed himself into the middle of the unmade bed.

  In this confusion Renny stood, a trim soldierly figure, in the winter uniform of the Royal Military College, the long, dark blue top coat, faced with red and fastened by brass buttons, the wedge-shaped, grey lamb cap, worn at a lively angle. His expression showed unusual gravity and he looked thinner than he had a month ago. His face appeared older, with a look of somewhat taciturn self-possession.

  Miss Lacey, Vera, and Malahide were on the ocean. He had seen Vera only once again. They had said their goodbye in the presence of Ethel Lacey, who, against her father's commands, had slipped from the room and left them a few precious moments alone together. Vera, in a controlled voice, had promised to be faithful, never to forget, to wait for him - no matter for how long. How young and stern and beautiful she had looked! The fine, glossy skin beneath her eyes had been tinged with violet. Her hands had been as cold as ice, but her lips were hot and ardent with love for him. She would write by mail and he would do the same.

  Looking about the room he felt himself a different person from the boy who had come back to it last spring. Desire for experience, arrogant strength, had hardened within him. He would face the world without fear; he would go his own way.

  He bent over the terrier and patted it. Its warm tongue slid across his hand. It rose on the bed, stretched itself, and jumped to the floor, uttering a troubled whine.

  "I'm off now," said Renny. "Coming down?"

  They went down the stairs together. Meg appeared at the door of the dining room, table napkin in hand.

  "You're going!" she exclaimed, wiping her lips in preparation for kissing. "And I didn't have breakfast with you! I slept so badly I simply couldn't wake this morning. And I might as well have been with you while you finished dressing. I haven't eaten three mouthfuls." She came and stood close to him, her eyes soft with sleep, the long braids of her hair wound round her head. He saw that she wore her nightdress beneath her dressing gown.

  He removed his cap and bent to kiss her. She held him tightly, the smell of toast and warm flesh coming from her.

  "M'm," she breathed. "Nice old thing! I wish you hadn't to go. It's been fun these days, with you the only man in the house and that beast Malahide gone. But you'll soon be back. It will be no time till the Christmas holidays."

  He rocked her gently in his arms. "Where are the kids?"

  "With Mother, in the sitting room. Eden has a cold."

  He found Mary with her usual basket of darning. Peep was astride of his rocking horse, his golden head, his vivid blue suit, a flash of gay colour against the bleakness of the scene outside the window. Eden, bent over the table, was absorbed in drawing. Renny tried to see what it was, but Eden flattened himself on it.

  "No," he said, "you shan't see! It's my own private picture."

  "Let Renny see," said Mary. "He's going away."

  "No. It's not for anyone but me."

  Renny's relentless hand drew him back and a crude drawing of a swan was disclosed, standing on a still cruder drawing of a prostrate man. Renny gave a shout of laughter.

  "Good for you, youngster!" he exclaimed. "Malahide and the swan, eh?" He bent to kiss the child, but Eden turned his face away.

  "Very well, I'll say goodbye to Peep!"

  But the baby, intent on his gallop, turned an indifferent cheek.

  Renny said, rather huffily - "Perhaps you'll let me kiss you, Mother?"

  Mary drew down his head and they exchanged kisses of more warmth than usual. They had been less antagonistic in these holidays than ever before.

  "Well," he said, "you'll have a nice, peaceful time, with Malahide out of the way. Make Dad write to me about his shooting. Have a good time in New York."

  "Yes, yes. I hope things will go better this term."

  He gave a derisive grunt and went to his grandmother's door.

  "It's me, Gran. I'm off!"

  Her voice came, full and strong. "I'll see you outside. I'm coming out for a breath of air."

  "Damned cold air," he thought, as he opened the front door and a piercing gust met him. It brought with it a flutter of dead leaves that heaped themselves, trembling, on those already in the porch. The bare limbs of the trees thrust up starkly out of the ravine. The grass lay frozen and crisp. By the door his luggage waited, and he gave a grim smile, remembering how Malahide's had lain there on the day of the garden party.

  He strode across the lawn and through the little gate to the edge of the ravi
ne. The river that moved so secretly among dense growth in the summer now lay exposed in startled brightness, a skein of ice on either brink. As he looked, the swan and his mate appeared round a bend, soft and snowy on the ruffled water. Their cygnet had disappeared as the others had done, leaving no trace of its short existence. Now the parent birds moved by in proud melancholy, their arched necks like question marks of fate.

  He thought of his own life that lay ahead of him. What would it be? He and Vera moving close together like the swans. But they would rear their young, by God! He would always love her, take care of her. Now she, like a swan, was sailing across the ocean from him, but the time would pass, horribly long though it seemed in prospect. He would go to her, bring her back for always.

  The face of Lulu flashed into his mind, that strange face with its teasing eyes and sensual mouth. With a frown he turned abruptly from the river and retraced his steps to the house. He heard the sound of horses' hoofs. Grandmother would be waiting.

  As he crossed the lawn the bays were drawn up in front of the house and he saw her in the porch. She had put on one of her best caps in his honour and she wore her mink cape which had seen much service. She made a picture, he thought, standing there in the porch, with the reddened leaves of the Virginia creeper festooned above her - a fine, formidable old woman. He was proud of her. He felt a quick throb of pride in the house, too, standing foursquare to the cold wind, brave wreaths of smoke rising from its chimneys. One day it would he his. Not for many years, he hoped, but still - one day it would be his.

  She came down the steps toward him.

  "My goodness!" she exclaimed. "How cold it has turned. Cold as a stepmother's breath, hey, Renny?"

  He smiled a little sheepishly. "She's been very nice to me these holidays."

  "Nicer than I have, eh?" she eyed him jealously.

  "Oh, that's all over, Gran!" He laughed cheerfully.

  She came and tucked her hand in his arm. "We've made it up, haven't we? And I've admitted that I was all wrong about that vagabond Malahide. And I stood by you in your love affair, didn't I?"