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

by Mazo de La Roche

  Finch gave a short laugh. “You wouldn’t have thought so if — but she’ll get over it.”

  Bell turned away. “I won’t,” he muttered to himself.

  He turned and almost flung himself along the path, in the direction of the Fox Farm. His small slight figure, his pale colourless hair were visible for only a few moments, then disappeared in the dark.

  As Finch neared Jalna he heard a clear penetrating whistle and saw his eldest brother standing in the beam of light from a window. The notes of “A Hundred Pipers and a’” sounded with a certain melancholy, as though the whistler, in pensive mood, were unconscious that he whistled. Finch strode toward him, coming on him from behind and laying his hand on his shoulder.

  “I’ve been making a deal,” he said.

  Renny wheeled to face him. He said, — “I didn’t hear you coming … what is the deal?” Nothing very interesting, he was sure.

  “I’ve just come from Mrs. Clapperton’s. I’ve bought Vaughanlands — lock, stock, and barrel.”

  If ever the master of Jalna could have been said to make a squeaking noise he did now. He squeaked in surprise.

  “what?” he demanded. “Say that again!”

  “I have bought Vaughanlands.”

  “How could you?”

  “How could I?”

  “Yes. Well … what are you paying for it?”

  “It’s to be thirty-five thousand dollars — cash.”

  Again the master of Jalna squeaked. “Cash! where the devil would you get that much cash?”

  Now it was Finch’s turn to make incoherent sounds. He got out, — “what do you suppose I’ve been working for all these years?”

  Renny’s brow wrinkled in amazement. “But from music! From playing the piano!” he exclaimed. “It beats me how you’ve done it.”

  “Well — I have — and I’ve bought Vaughanlands.”

  “You!” Renny looked Finch over in mingled astonishment and delight. “By Judas, you couldn’t have done a better thing with your money! How much have you left?”

  Guardedly, Finch said he wasn’t sure.

  Renny threw an arm about him and hugged him. “I can’t tell you how glad I am,” he said. “But you should never have made any such deal without consulting me. Why, you might have been horribly done. As it stands you’ve got a good bargain. Vaughanlands is worth considerably more than that. Was a lawyer present?”

  “No. Just Tom Raikes.”

  “why was he there?”

  “You’ve heard the gossip.”

  “That scallawag! He’ll make ducks and drakes of her fortune. Now tomorrow I’ll have my lawyer out and we’ll make things watertight.”

  “Gem Clapperton wants to keep the bungalow she lives in.”

  Renny knit his brows. “Well … we may let her do that.”

  Finch thought, — “Upon my word, he’s taking the affair out of my hands already.”

  Again Renny regarded him in happy astonishment. “All that money,” he exclaimed, “tucked away — ready to put your hand on when you wanted it! And you couldn’t possibly do a better thing with it. Come — let’s go in and tell the uncles.” He put his hand to his head. “I mean tell Uncle Nick. He’ll be almost as pleased as I.”

  Renny took Finch’s arm and guided him, as though he were one to be cherished but one whose footsteps might falter, into the house. In the drawing-room they found the old man sitting by a bright fire and Alayne reading aloud to him. The two made a picture that caused the brothers to hesitate a moment in the doorway. Alayne’s clear voice came to them

  “‘She was silent and he got up and walked out of the house. From where she sat she saw him go, twirling his blond moustache with one hand, and viciously flipping at the flowers as he passed with the stick he carried in the other; a fine soldier-like man in appearance certainly, and not wanting in intelligence since he could comprehend her so exactly; but oh, how oppressive whet in an admiring mood! This was her first feeling when she got rid of him, but …’”

  Nicholas had seen the reflection of his nephews in the mirror. “Come in,” he exclaimed. “Alayne is reading an old book of my mother’s. Rather silly in spots but better than the new stuff she’s been trying on me.”

  “This fellow,” said Renny, putting Finch before him, as though he were an exhibit, “has done an amazingly good thing. He’s bought Vaughanlands.”

  Alayne threw Finch a look almost accusing, as though to say, — “Here you go again — throwing your money away!”

  Intercepting the glance Renny exclaimed, — “But he got it at a terrific bargain. He couldn’t make a better investment.”

  “what is all this about?” Nicholas demanded. “I don’t understand.”

  Renny pushed Finch forward. “Tell him yourself,” he said, “in your own words.”

  Embarrassed, Finch mumbled what he had done.

  “Selling more land,” Nicholas said, in a tone of outrage. “Selling more land, eh? More developing! More bungalows! Ha — a good thing your Uncle Ernest didn’t live to see this day.” He turned his angry eyes on Renny. “If you are selling land, why don’t you tell me yourself instead of asking Finch to do it?”

  Renny laughed in triumph. “Not selling, Uncle Nick! Buying. This millionaire, Finch, is buying Vaughanlands.”

  As this was being explained to Nicholas, as his strongly marked features were taking on a look of deep satisfaction, Meg, Piers, and Pheasant entered the drawing-room. They had just come down from Ernest’s bedroom where they had been tentatively selecting their choice from his belongings. Ernest had, with great impartiality, bequeathed his money and his personal property to be divided equally among his nephews and niece. The money thus divided among five did not amount to a great deal but was a pleasant windfall, particularly to Piers and Renny.

  The three had entered the room with traces of friction on their faces, but this was erased, as by a magic sponge, when they heard the news.

  “Oh, I am happy about this,” cried Pheasant. “You couldn’t have done a better thing for all of us.”

  “And a mighty good investment,” said Piers. “Gosh, I’m glad!”

  “And I hope,” put in Nicholas, “that we’ve seen the last of those horrid Clappertons.”

  Meg asked, — “what are you going to do with the house, Finch?”

  “I’m going to use the good material to rebuild.”

  “Not to sell, I hope.”

  “No. To live in myself.”

  “Oh, Finch, how lovely!” She threw both arms about his neck. Her eyes filled with happy tears. “And it solves a terrible problem for me. I have been worried to death to know what to do about my house. It is no longer a comfortable place to live in, so near the road and traffic getting worse every day. How different from the quiet country road it was before the war! Dear heart, I am pleased. Now I can sell my house, and Patience and Roma and I will come and live with you and I shall keep house for you. How happy we shall be — all at Vaughanlands together!”

  Finch, enfolded in that warm embrace, thought what a dear Meg was … and yet … it was not what he had planned. He would struggle against it. He would. He would.

  Piers broke in, — “That’s right, Meggie, arrange everything for him. Don’t give him a chance.” He exchanged an amused glance with Alayne.

  Renny added, — “It seems a good plan to me.”

  “Poor devil,” said Piers, with commiseration, “in the house with three women.”

  “We shall spoil him terribly.” Meg patted Finch on the back. “But we’ll love doing it. If there’s one thing I enjoy above another, it is spoiling a man.”

  “Time enough to talk all this over later,” said Renny. “In the meantime I’m going to get drinks, to drink the health of the new owner of Vaughanlands.”

  “Make mine double,” said Piers.

  Meg whispered to Finch, — “Up in Uncle Ernest’s room we were thinking that you might like to have the manuscript of his book on Shakespeare for your very o
wn. He always so much appreciated your interest in it. Not that I wasn’t interested in it, for I used to sit and listen to him read from it by the hour, though I did realize what a waste of time it was.”

  “On your part, or on his?” asked Piers. Again he exchanged a look with Alayne.

  Meg scorned to answer such a question, but continued, — “Piers would like to have Uncle Ernest’s pearl studs and cufflinks, though I do think that’s being rather greedy, and Renny could have the watercolours that Uncle Ernest painted, with the exception of the one done in Rome, which I myself would like. But above all I want the pair of Dresden china candelabra. I’ve loved them ever since I was a child. Patience would like the travelling clock and the silver things from his dressing-table and I thought Wakefield should have the books. However, you and he can settle that between you.”

  Renny now returned, carrying a tray on which there were a decanter of sherry, a bottle of Scotch and glasses. His walk, the light in his eyes, showed the exhilaration of his spirits.

  “Good!” said Nicholas. “Good! Just what I wanted.” Glasses were filled.

  “Here’s to Finch,” said Renny, “and may he spend many happy years at Vaughanlands.”

  “Alone,” put in Piers.

  When the health had been drunk, Renny added, — “Not that there’s any reason for him to keep up a house of his own. He’s always welcome at Jalna.”

  “I’ve thought for some time,” said Finch, “that I’d like a house of my own. I think it would be fun building it and furnishing it.”

  “I know what,” cried Pheasant. “He’s going to be married.”

  “Althea Griffith!” laughed Piers. “I’ve always expected that.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong,” said Finch. “I want to write music.”

  Meg’s face had fallen at the suggestion of marriage. Now it brightened again and a sweet smile curved her lips. “Finch has no need of a wife,” she said. “I will look after him.”

  Piers uttered one of his peculiarly irritating hoots of laughter. Then he said to Finch, — “Three females and your own kid, to begin with! why, you’ve gathered a family like a snowball.”

  Nicholas said loudly, — “I want to hear of this whole affair from the very beginning. My, how glad I am that we’ve got the best of old Clapperton at last.”

  Renny interjected, “Don’t say anything against him, Uncle Nick. He died a hero.”

  “And lived the life of a horrid old fellow,” retorted Nicholas. “Another drop of Scotch, please.”

  Meg said, while sipping her sherry, — “Gem Clapperton has been having a private sale of some of her belongings. I went in the other day and you’ll never guess what I bought.” Without waiting for an answer she went on happily, — “I bought that wonderful oil painting of the shipwreck which was saved from the fire. It wasn’t in the least damaged. She practically gave it away and I simply couldn’t resist. Isn’t it rather nice to think that it will hang on a wall of the new house at Vaughanlands — just as it used to on the old?”

  “No,” shouted Finch. “No!” He set down his glass and left the room. He heard Piers laughing. He ran up the two flights of stairs two steps at a time. In his room he sat down on the bed and gripped the bedpost in both hands. What was the matter with him, he wondered. He was always making himself ridiculous in front of the family. Even today. He cursed the nerves that betrayed him. He pressed his thumb and middle finger against his temples and closed his eyes. Three women, a child, and that picture!

  When he opened them, Dennis was standing in the doorway, his odd greenish eyes questioning.

  “Are you really going to build a house?” asked the little boy.

  “Yes.”

  “Am I to live with you?”

  Finch tried to speak like an affectionate father — “Yes, of course.”

  “Then I’ll have a house, the same as Archer has.” He came and put his arm, with a possessive air, about Finch’s neck.

  “Would you mind going?” Finch said. “I’d like to be alone.”

  “To think?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to be alone too. I’ll go to my own room and we’ll both sit thinking about the house we’re going to build.”

  Downstairs, by the fire, Nicholas and Alayne were alone together. He was tired from all the talk and confusion but he had something he wanted to say.

  “Alayne.”

  “Yes, Uncle Nicholas.”

  “I’m afraid that sometimes I may not have shown you how much I think of you and how grateful I am for your kindness to Ernest and me. But I do think a very great deal of you and — I’m very grateful. That’s all.”

  She rose and came to him and kissed him on the forehead. “You both have been very dear to me,” she said.

  Looking back over her life at Jalna, she thought how, in spite of the times when the continued presence of the two old men had seemed a burden and an irritation, it was true that they were very dear to her. In truth there had been times when life in that house would have been less bearable without them, for they had supplied in their talk and their reminiscences, something of the Old World which her spirit craved. They had been conscious of the cultivation of her mind. They had appreciated her. Now one of them was gone and for this one left she felt an added tenderness. For a while she sat talking with Nicholas, then left him to doze, sunk in his chair.

  She went out on the porch to let the air cool her face. The sky was darkening. A streak of gold showed in the west without brightening it. The light from the hall and the drawing-room showed the crimson of the Virginia creeper with which the house was clothed. Soon the leaves would fall, but now they had a richness, a seeming permanence, as though frost could not harm them. A few indeed lay scattered in the porch and she picked up one and felt its smoothness and admired its vivid colour. Even when the leaves fell the stout branches of the creeper would enfold the house. It would cling against the walls waiting for the ever-coming spring to renew it.

  XXIX

  DENNIS ALONE

  The leaves were coming down, faster and faster. The elms had shed nearly all of theirs. The maples had a bright-coloured carpet beneath them, and at every gust they cast down another shower, some yellow, some red, some rusty green. The trunk of the old silver birch on the front lawn gleamed white against the evergreens.

  Dennis was trotting purposefully in the direction of Vaughanlands and, though it was evening and an owl was hooting in the ravine, he was not nervous. He came up on to the lawn and looked at the ruin of the house, its roofless walls rising darker than the twilight.

  A feeling of pride welled up from his quickly-beating heart. The lawyers had done their work, he knew, and this house and all the land that went with it now belonged to his father. Consequently it belonged to him too. “It is mine,” he said out loud, and he walked up close to the house and looked it over. “Archer can’t come here unless I say. I’ll invite people here when I want them, and when I don’t want them they daren’t come.”

  The black skeleton walls looked grand to Dennis. He pictured them changing into a fine house in no time. He would have a bedroom next to his father’s and they would have long talks together. They would drive in and out in their own car. They would be like two men, driving and walking and talking together. He would be as important as Archer, more important because there was Adeline at Jalna to order Archer about.

  The front steps were still standing and the door with the knocker on it. He went up the steps and reached up to the knocker. He knocked vigorously.

  He was not prepared for the hollow reverberations of the knocking. It sounded terribly loud on that door that led nowhere. The twilight deepened. What if the door opened and something strange and horrible appeared? He wished he had not knocked. Somehow it had made everything different. Behind that door rose the menace of a phantom house. What dreadful beings might not lie in wait for the summons of that knock. He pictured them stirring — rising out of the grey rubble — drifting forward t
o answer the door — towering high above him.

  He wanted to run, faster than he ever ran before, but he dared not turn his back on the door for fear that it might open and skeleton hands seize him from behind. He stood with his eyes staring at those threatening panels, his heart ready to leap from his breast. The sound of the knocking still echoed in his ears. Now was added the sound of raindrops — not pattering on a roof, but falling into that roofless cavern — on to What?

  Tom Raikes, who was living with the Barkers, had, in complicity with Barker, bought several bottles of rye whisky and hidden them in the cellar of the ruin where he and Barker could retreat when they chose, unknown to Mrs. Barker. On this evening the wife was out and the two men looked forward to some carefree hours together. Raikes had come to fetch a bottle of rye. He was startled by the sudden resounding knock. Down in the cavern where he crouched it sounded so eerie that, for a moment, he was shaken. Who or what was after him now?

  His long legs bent, he emerged cautiously into the rubble-strewn passage, crept up the charred stairs and peered round the skeleton wall to the porch. The relief on his face when he saw the little boy was almost comic. His jaw dropped and a smile replaced his look of consternation. Only a little prying youngster at the door! And already he was frightened. Well, he’d give him a real fright. He’d larn him!

  He crept along a beam till he reached the door. He laid his hand on the brass doorknob. Raikes was too subtle to fling wide the door and appear with a threat on the sill. All he did was gently to turn the knob without opening the door. He agitated the knob a little, as though the hand that held it shook in ghostly fury.

  Dennis had heard the creeping steps. Now his terrified eyes were riveted on the turning knob. What horror would appear when the door opened? He tried to run but his legs were rigid. Only his heart leaped and bounded.

  Again and again the doorknob turned. At last, with infinite caution, the narrowest possible crack of door opened, barely wide enough for an abominable eye to peer through. The tension of the child’s nerves snapped.