“Oh, Barney!” cried Valancy, wrung with pity for him. She had forgotten all about herself and was filled with compassion for Barney and rage against Ethel Traverse. How dared she?
“Well,” — Barney got up and began pacing round the room—”that finished me. Completely. I left civilisation and those accursed dopes behind me and went to the Yukon. For five years I knocked about the world — in all sorts of outlandish places. I earned enough to live on — I wouldn’t touch a cent of Dad’s money. Then one day I woke up to the fact that I no longer cared a hang about Ethel, one way or another. She was somebody I’d known in another world — that was all. But I had no hankering to go back to the old life. None of that for me. I was free and I meant to keep so. I came to Mistawis — saw Tom MacMurray’s island. My first book had been published the year before, and made a hit — I had a bit of money from my royalties. I bought my island. But I kept away from people. I had no faith in anybody. I didn’t believe there was such a thing as real friendship or true love in the world — not for me, anyhow — the son of Purple Pills. I used to revel in all the wild yarns they told of me. In fact, I’m afraid I suggested a few of them myself. By mysterious remarks which people interpreted in the light of their own prepossessions.
“Then — you came. I had to believe you loved me — really loved me — not my father’s millions. There was no other reason why you should want to marry a penniless devil with my supposed record. And I was sorry for you. Oh, yes, I don’t deny I married you because I was sorry for you. And then — I found you the best and jolliest and dearest little pal and chum a fellow ever had. Witty — loyal — sweet. You made me believe again in the reality of friendship and love. The world seemed good again just because you were in it, honey. I’d have been willing to go on forever just as we were. I knew that, the night I came home and saw my homelight shining out from the island for the first time. And knew you were there waiting for me. After being homeless all my life it was beautiful to have a home. To come home hungry at night and know there was a good supper and a cheery fire — and you.
“But I didn’t realise what you actually meant to me till that moment at the switch. Then it came like a lightning flash. I knew I couldn’t live without you — that if I couldn’t pull you loose in time I’d have to die with you. I admit it bowled me over — knocked me silly. I couldn’t get my bearings for a while. That’s why I acted like a mule. But the thought that drove me to the tall timber was the awful one that you were going to die. I’d always hated the thought of it — but I supposed there wasn’t any chance for you, so I put it out of my mind. Now I had to face it — you were under sentence of death and I couldn’t live without you. When I came home last night I had made up my mind that I’d take you to all the specialists in the world — that something surely could be done for you. I felt sure you couldn’t be as bad as Dr. Trent thought, when those moments on the track hadn’t even hurt you. And I found your note — and went mad with happiness — and a little terror for fear you didn’t care much for me, after all, and had gone away to get rid of me. But now, it’s all right, isn’t it, darling?”
Was she, Valancy being called “darling”?
“I can’t believe you care for me,” she said helplessly. “I know you can’t. What’s the use, Barney? Of course, you’re sorry for me — of course you want to do the best you can to straighten out the mess. But it can’t be straightened out that way. You couldn’t love me — me.” She stood up and pointed tragically to the mirror over the mantel. Certainly, not even Allan Tierney could have seen beauty in the woeful, haggard little face reflected there.
Barney didn’t look at the mirror. He looked at Valancy as if he would like to snatch her — or beat her.
“Love you! Girl, you’re in the very core of my heart. I hold you there like a jewel. Didn’t I promise you I’d never tell you a lie? Love you! I love you with all there is of me to love. Heart, soul, brain. Every fibre of body and spirit thrilling to the sweetness of you. There’s nobody in the world for me but you, Valancy.”
“You’re — a good actor, Barney,” said Valancy, with a wan little smile.
Barney looked at her.
“So you don’t believe me — yet?”
“I — can’t.”
“Oh — damn!” said Barney violently.
Valancy looked up startled. She had never seen this Barney. Scowling! Eyes black with anger. Sneering lips. Dead-white face.
“You don’t want to believe it,” said Barney in the silk-smooth voice of ultimate rage. “You’re tired of me. You want to get out of it — free from me. You’re ashamed of the Pills and the Liniment, just as she was. Your Stirling pride can’t stomach them. It was all right as long as you thought you hadn’t long to live. A good lark — you could put up with me. But a lifetime with old Doc Redfern’s son is a different thing. Oh, I understand — perfectly. I’ve been very dense — but I understand, at last.”
Valancy stood up. She stared into his furious face. Then — she suddenly laughed.
“You darling!” she said. “You do mean it! You do really love me! You wouldn’t be so enraged if you didn’t.”
Barney stared at her for a moment. Then he caught her in his arms with the little low laugh of the triumphant lover.
Uncle Benjamin, who had been frozen with horror at the keyhole, suddenly thawed out and tiptoed back to Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles.
“Everything is all right,” he announced jubilantly.
Dear little Doss! He would send for his lawyer right away and alter his will again. Doss should be his sole heiress. To her that had should certainly be given.
Mrs. Frederick, returning to her comfortable belief in an overruling Providence, got out the family Bible and made an entry under “Marriages.”
CHAPTER XLIII
“But, barney,” protested Valancy after a few minutes, “your father — somehow — gave me to understand that you still loved her.”
“He would. Dad holds the championship for making blunders. If there’s a thing that’s better left unsaid you can trust him to say it. But he isn’t a bad old soul, Valancy. You’ll like him.”
“I do, now.”
“And his money isn’t tainted money. He made it honestly. His medicines are quite harmless. Even his Purple Pills do people whole heaps of good when they believe in them.”
“But — I’m not fit for your life,” sighed Valancy. “I’m not — clever — or well-educated — or—”
“My life is in Mistawis — and all the wild places of the world. I’m not going to ask you to live the life of a society woman. Of course, we must spend a bit of the time with Dad — he’s lonely and old—”
“But not in that big house of his,” pleaded Valancy. “I can’t live in a palace.”
“Can’t come down to that after your Blue Castle,” grinned Barney. “Don’t worry, sweet. I couldn’t live in that house myself. It has a white marble stairway with gilt bannisters and looks like a furniture shop with the labels off. Likewise it’s the pride of Dad’s heart. We’ll get a little house somewhere outside of Montreal — in the real country — near enough to see Dad often. I think we’ll build one for ourselves. A house you build for yourself is so much nicer than a hand-me-down. But we’ll spend our summers in Mistawis. And our autumns travelling. I want you to see the Alhambra — it’s the nearest thing to the Blue Castle of your dreams I can think of. And there’s an old-world garden in Italy where I want to show you the moon rising over Rome through the dark cypress-trees.”
“Will that be any lovelier than the moon rising over Mistawis?”
“Not lovelier. But a different kind of loveliness. There are so many kinds of loveliness. Valancy, before this year you’ve spent all your life in ugliness. You know nothing of the beauty of the world. We’ll climb mountains — hunt for treasures in the bazaars of Samarcand — search out the magic of east and west — run hand in hand to the rim of the world. I want to show you it all — see it again through your eyes. Girl,
there are a million things I want to show you — do with you — say to you. It will take a lifetime. And we must see about that picture by Tierney, after all.”
“Will you promise me one thing?” asked Valancy solemnly.
“Anything,” said Barney recklessly.
“Only one thing. You are never, under any circumstances or under any provocation, to cast it up to me that I asked you to marry me.”
CHAPTER XLIV
Extract from letter written by Miss Olive Stirling to Mr. Cecil Bruce:
“It’s really disgusting that Doss’ crazy adventures should have turned out like this. It makes one feel that there is no use in behaving properly.
“I’m sure her mind was unbalanced when she left home. What she said about a dust-pile showed that. Of course I don’t think there was ever a thing the matter with her heart. Or perhaps Snaith or Redfern or whatever his name really is fed Purple Pills to her, back in that Mistawis hut and cured her. It would make quite a testimonial for the family ads, wouldn’t it?
“He’s such an insignificant-looking creature. I mentioned this to Doss but all she said was, ‘I don’t like collar ad men.’
“Well, he’s certainly no collar ad man. Though I must say there is something rather distinguished about him, now that he has cut his hair and put on decent clothes. I really think, Cecil, you should exercise more. It doesn’t do to get too fleshy.
“He also claims, I believe, to be John Foster. We can believe that or not, as we like, I suppose.
“Old Doc Redfern has given them two millions for a wedding-present. Evidently the Purple Pills bring in the bacon. They’re going to spend the fall in Italy and the winter in Egypt and motor through Normandy in apple-blossom time. Not in that dreadful old Lizzie, though. Redfern has got a wonderful new car.
“Well, I think I’ll run away, too, and disgrace myself. It seems to pay.
“Uncle Ben is a scream. Likewise Uncle James. The fuss they all make over Doss now is absolutely sickening. To hear Aunt Amelia talking of ‘my son-in-law, Bernard Redfern’ and ‘my daughter, Mrs. Bernard Redfern.’ Mother and Father are as bad as the rest. And they can’t see that Valancy is just laughing at them all in her sleeve.”
CHAPTER XLV
Valancy and Barney turned under the mainland pines in the cool dusk of the September night for a farewell look at the Blue Castle. Mistawis was drowned in sunset lilac light, incredibly delicate and elusive. Nip and Tuck were cawing lazily in the old pines. Good Luck and Banjo were mewed and mewing in separate baskets in Barney’s new, dark-green car en route to Cousin Georgiana’s. Cousin Georgiana was going to take care of them until Barney and Valancy came back. Aunt Wellington and Cousin Sarah and Aunt Alberta had also entreated the privilege of looking after them, but to Cousin Georgiana was it given. Valancy was in tears.
“Don’t cry, Moonlight. We’ll be back next summer. And now we’re off for a real honeymoon.”
Valancy smiled through her tears. She was so happy that her happiness terrified her. But, despite the delights before her—’the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome’ — lure of the ageless Nile — glamour of the Riviera — mosque and palace and minaret — she knew perfectly well that no spot or place or home in the world could ever possess the sorcery of her Blue Castle.
THE END
MAGIC FOR MARIGOLD
Magic for Marigold first appeared as a serial in The Delineator in 1925, before publication in expanded form as a children’s novel by McClelland & Stewart in 1929, illustrated by Edna Cooke Shoemaker. Marigold Lesley, who lost her father before she was born, lives with her mother and paternal grandparents and an uncle and aunt at “Cloud of Spruce,” their country estate. The novel relates the story of a fanciful, dreamy child whose best friend Sylvia is a product of her own imagination. As Marigold grows older and encounters the troubles and confusion of adolescence, as well as tensions with her tight knit family, she must begin to give up some of her playful fantasies. Montgomery dedicated Magic for Marigold to one of her oldest and dearest friends, Nora Lefurgey Campbell, who shared her passion for photography. The Intimate Life of L.M. Montgomery, by Irene Gammel, printed the secret diary that Montgomery and Campbell kept together in 1903.
A first edition copy of Magic for Marigold
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER I
What’s in a Name?
1
Once upon a time — which, when you come to think of it, is really the only proper way to begin a story — the only way that really smacks of romance and fairyland — all the Harmony members of the Lesley clan had assembled at Cloud of Spruce to celebrate Old Grandmother’s birthday as usual. Also to name Lorraine’s baby. It was a crying shame, as Aunt Nina pathetically said, that the little darling had been in the world four whole months without a name. But what could you do, with poor dear Leander dying in that terribly sudden way just two weeks before his daughter was born and poor Lorraine being so desperately ill for weeks and weeks afterwards? Not very strong yet, for that matter. And there was tuberculosis in her family, you know.
Aunt Nina was not really an aunt at all — at least, not of any Lesley. She was just a cousin. It was the custom of the Lesley caste to call every one “Uncle” or “Aunt” as soon as he or she had become too old to be fitly called by a first name among the young fry. There will be no end of these “aunts” and “uncles” bobbing in and out of this story — as well as several genuine ones. I shall not stop to explain which kind they were. It doesn’t matter. They were all Lesleys or married to Lesleys. That was all that mattered. You were born to the purple if you were a Lesley. Even the pedigrees of their cats were known.
All the Lesleys adored Lorraine’s baby. They had all agreed in loving Leander — about the only thing they had ever been known to agree on. And it was thirty years since there had been a baby at Cloud of Spruce. Old Grandmother had more than once said gloomily that the good old stock was running out. So this small lady’s advent would have been hailed with delirious delight if it hadn’t been for Leanders death and Lorraine’s long illness. Now that Old Grandmother’s birthday had come, the Lesleys had an excuse for their long-deferred jollification. As for the name, no Lesley baby was ever named until every relative within get-at-able distance had had his or her say in the matter. The selection of a suitable name was, in their eyes, a much more important thing than the mere christening. And how much more in the case of a fatherless baby whose mother was a sweet soul enough — but — you know — a Winthrop!
Cloud of Spruce, the original Lesley homestead, where Old Grandmother and Young Grandmother and Mrs. Leander and the baby and Salome Silversides lived, was on the harbour shore, far enough out of Harmony village to be in the real country; a cream brick house — a nice chubby old house — so covered with vines that it looked more like a heap of ivy than a house; a house that had folded its hands and said, “I will rest.” Before it was the beautiful Harmony Harbour; with its purring waves, so close that in autumnal storms the spray dashed over the very doorsteps and encrusted the windows. Behind it was an orchard that climbed the slope. And about it always the soft sighing of the big spruce wood on the hill.
The birthday dinner was eaten in Old Grandmother’s room — which had been the “orchard room” until Old Grandmother, two years back, had cheerfully and calmly announced that she was tired of getting up before breakfast and working between meals.
“I’m g
oing to spend the rest of my life being waited on,” she said. “I’ve had ninety years of slaving for other people—” and bossing them, the Lesleys said in their hearts. But not out loud, for it did really seem at times as if Old Grandmother’s ears could hear for miles. Uncle Ebenezer said something once about Old Grandmother, to himself, in his cellar at midnight, when he knew he was the only human being in the house. Next Sunday afternoon Old Grandmother cast it up to him. She said Lucifer had told her. Lucifer was her cat. And Uncle Ebenezer suddenly remembered that his cat had been sitting on the edge of the potato bin when he said that.
It was safest not to say things about Old Grandmother.
Old Grandmother’s room was a long, dim-green apartment running across the south end of the house, with a glass door opening right into the orchard. Its walls were hung with photographs of Lesley brides for sixty years back, most of them with enormous bouquets and wonderful veils and trains. Clementine’s photograph was among them — Clementine, Leander’s first wife, who had died six years ago with her little unnamed daughter. Old Grandmother had it hanging on the wall at the foot of her bed so that she could see it all the time. Old Grandmother had been very fond of Clementine. At least, she always gave Lorraine that impression.
The picture was good to look at — Clementine Lesley had been very beautiful. She was not dressed as a bride — in fact the picture had been taken just before her marriage and had a clan fame as “Clementine with the lily.” She was posed standing with her beautiful arms resting on a pedestal and in one slender, perfect hand — Clementine’s hands had become a tradition of loveliness — she held a lily, at which she was gazing earnestly. Old Grandmother had told Lorraine once that a distinguished guest at Cloud of Spruce, an artist of international fame, had exclaimed on seeing that picture,
The Complete Works of L M Montgomery Page 451