Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

“why?”

  Patience turned laughing to Maurice. “Isn’t she priceless?”

  He stretched out a long arm and took a handful of Roma’s fine fair hair, drawing her to him. He said, “Can’t you realize that it will be better for everyone if you stay with Auntie Meg and Patience for a while?”

  “It’s Auntie Alayne who doesn’t want me,” she said, twisting her hands together.

  Patience exclaimed, “Is it any wonder? You have nearly wrecked her reason with your little tricks. Come, get the suitcase.”

  “Her hair,” said Maurice, fingering it, “isn’t hair. It’s like down. I love the feel of it.” However, he loosed it and she moved reluctantly toward the clothes cupboard. She said:

  “I will stay only a little while. I don’t have to stay, do I, Adeline?”

  “You’re at the bottom of all this,” said Adeline, “so I don’t care what you do. Besides, you’re a thief.”

  “It wasn’t real stealing. I didn’t keep the money.”

  “You did worse. You made my father search and search and search for it.” Her dark eyes were brilliant with anger. “You made him suffer.”

  “But you should have seen how glad he was when he found it.”

  “Stop arguing,” Patience said, “and give me your clothes.” She set the suitcase in the middle of the floor.

  “I won’t go,” said Roma, “till I ask Uncle Renny if I must.”

  Patience made an exasperated sound. “It was he who asked Mother to take you. You’d not stay where you are not wanted, would you?”

  “You don’t want me.”

  “Well, somebody’s got to have you.”

  Roma raised her eyes to Maurice’s. “May I go with you?”

  He answered gently, “I’m afraid we haven’t room for another child. Mummy isn’t very well.”

  “I’d be at school most of the time.”

  “I think this is just a visit, Roma. You’ll come back to Jalna after a little.”

  She succumbed and began to help with the packing. Rain streamed down the window panes arid made a muffled thunder on the roof. Up here the scenes below had a sense of unreality. The children seemed shut in behind the walls of rain. Yet at last Roma’s clothes were packed and she followed Patience resignedly out of the room.

  “Goodbye,” she said, from the doorway and made the word sound final and rather tragic.

  “Goodbye,” returned Adeline briefly.

  Maurice said, “You’ll be seeing each other when you go back to school, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” answered Adeline, and they sat in silence for a space. Then Adeline said sombrely, “I wish I might never see Roma again.”

  “I don’t blame you. But Father says she is only about six, in her mind.”

  “Six! You should hear the things she says.”

  “what sort of things?”

  “I can’t remember. They’re not things you can remember.”

  He came and sat down beside her. “You are the one I like, Adeline. Do you know, we haven’t had a word together since Othello.”

  “Neither we have. It seems ages ago. Everything has gone wrong since that night.”

  “But you did enjoy it, didn’t you?”

  A rapture of remembrance lighted her face. “It was gorgeous.”

  “Swift acted like a fool. But he was just carried away by you, as you were carried away by the play. You have no idea what you looked like, Adeline.”

  A quick colour moved into her cheeks. She asked:

  “Do you ever see him?”

  “Very seldom. He’s still at Vaughanlands. Have you heard that Gemmel Griffith is to marry Mr. Clapperton?”

  “That old man!” She was aghast.

  “He’s not so old and he has lots of money. Garda is delighted. She told me so.”

  “Then she’s a selfish pig.”

  “Oh, no. But it will be a great thing for all of them. They’re going to move into Vaughanlands. I expect Swift will leave then.”

  “I hope he does.” She took another buttered bun.

  Maurice watched her with his indolent smile. He asked, “Can you spare me a cup of tea? I was too excited downstairs to take anything. I’ll drink out of Roma’s cup.”

  Adeline sprang up, eager to do something for Maurice. She rinsed Roma’s cup in the ewer on the washing stand. She filled it from the teapot and offered him a bun. They sat smiling at each other, munching the buns, casting from them the remembrance of the past hour.

  “This is fun,” he said. “I wish you weren’t going away so soon.”

  “So do I. I never shall like school.”

  “what do the girls talk about?”

  “Boys. Imaginary love affairs. They haven’t had any real ones. Different kinds of makeup — yet they’re not allowed to use any. Movie stars — they know all about their silly marriages and about the films they are in, though we’re hardly ever taken to the cinema. It all makes me sick. I’ve lived too much with real people to enjoy living with those girls.”

  “Do they like you?”

  “I don’t know. They say I’m snooty.”

  “I dread going to University. I did all my studying with a tutor when I was in Ireland. I had only one friend and I wanted no other. I miss him.”

  “I know. He is Pat Crawshay.”

  “Sir Patrick Crawshay.” Maurice dwelt on the name with affection. “He’s been a baronet since he was three. His father was killed in a hunting accident.”

  “I remember him. He had tow hair. We rode together when I went fox hunting in Ireland.”

  “He has told me about that. When the hunt was over he asked you if you would kiss him goodbye and you warned him that you were pretty strong and you gave him a hug that nearly cracked his ribs.”

  Adeline gave a joyous chuckle. “I remember. He didn’t like it a bit.”

  “Not like it! He liked it so well that he says he is coming over here to marry you when you are eighteen.”

  “what conceit!” She looked scornful but she was secretly pleased.

  Maurice said, with a serious look in his dark-blue eyes, “I don’t think I shall allow that, Adeline, even though Patrick is my best friend.”

  “Don’t worry.” She spoke with equal seriousness. “I’m never going to marry. I’m going to live always at Jalna with Daddy. I shall never find a man I’d love as well as I do him.”

  “You say that now. Just see what happens when you fall in love with a chap your own age.”

  “You’ll wait a long time to see that.”

  “I’m willing to wait, Adeline.”

  Something in his voice confused her. She could no longer think clearly or speak with decision. The soft thunder of the rain resounded on the roof. They sat silent, not looking at each other. Then Maurice bent toward her and ruffled her hair with his lips.

  Piers’ voice sounded from below. “Mooey! Come along. We’re going.”

  “Goodbye,” Maurice said abruptly and rose.

  “Goodbye.” Her air was laconic. She listened to his footsteps going lightly down the stairs.

  After a little she heard the sound of Piers’ car on the gravel drive. She was alone, in Roma’s room. Roma was gone. Snatched up by the powerful world of the grown-ups and taken to another house. Adeline could not remember when Roma had come to Jalna. She seemed always to have been there. But never had she seemed like a sister. Perhaps it had been something in Roma herself, perhaps something in Alayne that had kept Roma an outsider. Now she was gone and Adeline had a sense of loss, of blankness. She wished Mooey might have remained. She shrank from meeting Alayne. She was afraid of what Alayne might say about Roma, even though she herself felt hot anger at what Roma had done. How could Renny have kissed her — been pleased with her? For the first time in her life Adeline felt jealous of Roma, and that at the moment of her disgrace and banishment.

  Archer came running into the room. His eyes looked very large and intensely blue under his tall pale forehead. His dry fair hair stood on end. H
e shouted, as though Adeline were deaf:

  “Roma’s gone! what do you think of that? Did you know? who said you could have tea up here? who carried it up? Roma’s gone! Now I can jump on her bed if I want to. I’ll jump on it now.”

  He leaped on to the bed and began jumping wildly up and down. “I’ll come in here whenever I like. I’ll come in the middle of the night and jump up and down on the bed. Why do you s’pose they sent her away?” He fell and lay across the bed panting.

  Adeline said, “You’ll be the next to go. See if you aren’t.”

  He all but rolled off the bed in his astonishment. “Me?” he cried. “They wouldn’t dare! who’d send me away, I’d like to know?”

  “They’d have a family conference — like today — then off you’d go.”

  “where?”

  “I don’t know. They’d decide that.”

  He was on his feet, beginning to run out of the room, his face distorted by suspicion and fear. “I’ll see about this,” he said, as he ran.

  She was after him, caught him and held him fast. “Don’t be a little silly. I was pulling your leg.”

  He wriggled until he could look into her face.

  “Honestly?” he demanded.

  “Of course. They never could send you away because there’s no one on earth who would take you in.”

  He laughed happily. “Aren’t you glad Roma’s gone? There’ll be just us two and we’ll do everything together, shan’t we, Adeline?”

  Downstairs all was quiet. The uncles were tired out. Nicholas lay sunk in his chair sleeping. A bubbling snore vibrated his grey moustache. Ernest sat close by the fire, resting his nerves with a game of patience. Winter was on the way and now they could settle down peacefully to wait for it.

  XXVIII

  THE CLEAR AIR

  THE TWO CARS had gone and he stood alone in the porch. It had been a great year for growth and the Virginia Creeper, unsatisfied by all its conquest of the past ninety years, had reached out with new vigour to spread its lusty leaves on every prominence where it could find support. Time and again it had been pruned but not this year. Now the tendrils draped the porch, the new growth clinging to the old or hanging loose, so that those who went in or out had to push it aside. Today rain dripped from it, ruddy fallen leaves carpeted the porch, still there were enough and to spare. His warm-coloured tweeds, the red of his hair, the weather-beaten tone of his skin, fitted well with the autumn tints about him.

  Never had a rain seemed so cleansing. He felt its beneficence through all his being. He stretched out his hand palm upward and when it was wet he laid it against his forehead. There was a blessing in it. He drew deep breaths of the damp air. His lungs seemed truly to expand for the first time in months. His heart beat with a new gladness in the mere fact of life. The fact of his sanity, his soundness, vibrated through him. Suddenly he laughed at the thought that he ever could have doubted it, been taken in, enmeshed by a child’s game of make-believe. But what a pity he had had to send her away! He had seen by her little face that she had not wanted to go, even though Meg and Patience were so kind. Still, it would be only temporary, he would see to that. Alayne would agree to her coming back to Jalna after a little. He must go up to Alayne, poor girl, and cheer her up. He must think of something nice to do for her. But first he must telephone the Rector. He turned swiftly and went into the library.

  Mr. Fennel’s voice answered his ring.

  “Hullo,” said Renny, “I have something to tell you.” He could not keep the joy out of his voice.

  “You have found the money?”

  “Come now, you might have let me tell you.”

  “The first syllable you spoke, told me.”

  “I found it not more than half an hour after I left you. It was hidden in the woods. I’m coming over this evening to tell you all about it. I can’t tell you over the phone.”

  “Of course not. I’ll be glad to see you.”

  There was a silence, then Renny said with some embarrassment, “I must thank you for what you did for me.”

  “Don’t thank me. Give thanks where it is due.”

  “Yes. Certainly. Well, I’ll come over this evening. You’ll see a new man in me. It’s as though a load I’d been staggering under for months, had been swept away. You’ll be surprised when you hear how.”

  “I’m prepared for anything, Renny, since we prayed for help.”

  “Well — goodbye. I’ll be over.”

  “Goodbye, and God bless you.”

  Renny hung up the receiver and sat a moment, resting his head on his hands. His most trivial act seemed to have a new importance, as though adumbrated against a clear sky. He felt marvellously self-conscious, as though everything he did were a marvel. The very room appeared more spacious, when of late its walls had drawn to press him in, to suffocate him. Now he would go up to Alayne. He mounted the stairs and went straight into her room. The windows were open and the rain was blowing on to the sills.

  He went and sat on the bed beside her. He bent over her, looking into her tear-stained face.

  “Roma’s gone,” he said. “I sent her to Meg’s.”

  She opened her eyes wide in surprise.

  “Gone,” she repeated. “For how long?”

  “To stay. Meg is going to keep her. As you feel so bitter against her, it seemed the best thing to do.”

  She half-rose, leaning on her elbow, her eyes searching his. “Don’t you feel bitter?” she asked tensely.

  “No. I’m just thankful to find that I’m — all right.”

  “what are you made of?” she exclaimed. “You have suffered hellishly. I have suffered. Yet you feel no bitterness at the one who caused it all.”

  “She didn’t understand.”

  “Not understand that she was thieving and lying? Please don’t ask me to believe that.”

  “Alayne, I don’t ask you to believe anything except that I am sound and out from under that cloud. My God, surely that is enough to make you happy!” His voice broke.

  She drew his head down to where her lips would rest between his brows. She said, “Darling, it will make me happy — later on. But just now I can’t think of anything but of how you were made to suffer.”

  “Help me to forget. That’s all I ask.”

  “I will, I will,” she said, stroking his head. “And — Renny, thank you for sending Roma to Meg. I couldn’t have forgotten with her in the house.”

  She knew that never, never could she forget or forgive what Roma had done. It was the culmination of the years of distrust she had felt toward her. She must pretend to forget, for Renny’s sake, but she would never submit to having Roma at Jalna again.

  “Do you know,” he said, “you are looking very tired. Now I’ve got an idea.”

  “Tired!” she repeated. “That’s putting it mildly. Any looks I have ever had, I’ve lost.”

  He denied this with a kiss. “Don’t you want to know what my idea is?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s for you to go to New York for a visit. You haven’t been there for years. Not since Adeline was four. Do you remember?”

  Did she remember? She was not likely to forget the time she had left him, as she thought finally and, after months in which she had more and more longed for him, he had gone there and brought her and her aunt triumphantly back.

  “Yes,” she breathed, “I remember.”

  “A change will do you good,” he went on. “Your friends will like to have you visit them. That Miss Trent, you know, is always urging you to go.”

  The thought of going to New York, the thought of mingling again in that swift, intense life, made her pulses quicken. To get away from this backwater, away from all these relations — but she said, “No, not unless you will come with me.”

  “We can’t afford that,” he said. “You know very well we can’t. Miss Trent couldn’t take me in. Hotels are abominably expensive. But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll go and spend a few days with you and brin
g you home. How would you like that?”

  She could not resist. The prospect put new life into her. To leave this house where she had spent such days and nights of apprehension, seen Renny so suffer; to breathe new air; to mingle with the cosmopolitan crowds, far from this rain-soaked countryside; to see the newest plays; to be far from the uncles with their irritating habits of the aged; to be far from the children with their irritating habits of the young; five hundred miles from the Wragges, with whom she had struggled alone for nearly four years — oh, it was bliss! Even to be — and she scarcely could bring herself to acknowledge it — away for a little while from Renny whose face, whose every act had become the focus of her anguished observation. Away from him she could rest her mind from him, the weight of his presence would be lifted from, her. Perhaps, at that distance, she would be able to achieve a saner feeling about Roma, no longer be swept by such a surge of bitter anger at the thought of her. She said, twining her arms about him:

  “I will go, if you will promise faithfully to come for me.”

  “I promise.” He kissed her, but half-absently. He could not give his mind wholly to any thought but that of his release.

  She wished she might stay in her room and not be forced to meet the family again that evening, but she knew Renny would expect her to be at the table and feel keen disappointment if she did not appear. He must not be disappointed. Also she felt a new energy in herself. The thought of change stirred her. She took pains with her dressing, putting on a light blue voile dress with bright flowers on it, and silver sandals.

  The meal passed off well. Nicholas and Ernest were tired and talked little, but they said again and again how nice she looked. Adeline too was quieter than usual, giving Alayne contemplative glances as though wondering about her. No place had been set for Roma. Finch and Wakefield talked determinedly of impersonal things. Renny seemed scarcely to know what they were saying but laughed and agreed with his brothers. Rags, for some reason, cast disapproving looks at Alayne. All were conscious of her new vitality.

  “There is nothing to equal travel,” said Ernest. “I never took a journey but it did me good.”

  “I guess,” said Nicholas, “that I have taken my last.”