Books 5-8: Whiteoak Heritage / Whiteoak Brothers / Jalna / Whiteoaks of Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

  “You did right to tell me,” said Adeline. “You can go. We must talk this thing over.”

  Rags out of the room, she turned her eyes enquiringly to Renny.

  “What shall you do?” she asked.

  Certainly, he thought, not what he felt like doing! He must be careful not to anger Mrs. Stroud or she would probably send Dayborn and Chris packing. He could not do without Chris for two reasons. First, he loved her. Second, Launceton loved her and worked for her as for no one else. If he ran in the Grand National, Dayborn was to ride him. He must be cautious, and he hated caution. Where was Eden today? Had he gone with the boys? Or was he spooning with that damned interloper? His voice was hard as he said:

  “I’ll attend to this, Gran. Don’t say anything of it to the uncles or Meg.”

  “Bring the boy to me! I’ll lay my stick about him!”

  “There’s nothing I’d like better. Oh, damn that woman! But I must go carefully. There’s Chris to consider….”

  Adeline sat staring at him, her jaw dropped, her aged mind trying to take in the circumlocutions of his. Which woman was he damning? But she would not acknowledge her bewilderment. She pulled her cap over her eyes so that he might not see how baffled they were, and muttered:

  “Yes, yes, we must be careful! Go slow but certain. We’ll put the boy in his place and still win the race. Poetry, eh? It’s lucky to make a rhyme. Why didn’t Ernest manage things better?”

  He bent and kissed her, then left the room.

  He was furious with anger against both Eden and Mrs. Stroud. Eden was a deceitful puppy. She was ... he made a grimace.

  In the hall he met Meg and asked her if Eden had taken the train that day. He had, she said, and looked glum about it, poor boy. He did so hate cycling in the rain. She added reproachfully — “I kept Finch at home because he had an earache last night and then you took him out with you.”

  “I didn’t take him, he ran after me. He never spoke of his ear.”

  “What is the matter, Renny?”

  “Nothing.” He smiled at her, then took his hat from the rack. It was hard to keep back the story of Eden’s deception.

  For the next three days Eden went to town each morning with his brothers. Gales and rain scarcely ceased during those days. Renny’s anger intensified. At breakfast he would ask Eden, solicitously, if he were going by train or with Mr. Powell. His tongue lingered almost affectionately on the name. On the fourth morning, stormier still than the others, Eden returned casually:

  “I’m going with Powell.”

  Renny stood in the hall smoking a cigarette and caressing the dogs while Eden put on his raincoat.

  “Filthy morning,” he remarked.

  Eden gave a resigned shrug. “Yes, I envy you at home.”

  As soon as he was gone Renny shut the dogs in the sitting room, put on his own hat and coat, and strode swiftly in the direction Eden had taken. He saw him ahead walking leisurely along the path toward the road.

  Renny was stopped by one of the stablemen and stood talking to him for a moment, in case Eden looked back. But he moved steadily on, his head bent to the rain. He took his time, as though the day were fine. Renny stopped behind a tree as Mrs. Stroud’s house came into view. Eden passed it, however, on the other side of the road, without a glance. Renny inwardly cursed Rags and expected to see Eden picked up by a car at any moment. Added to his anger against the youth he had a sudden resentment at his responsibility for him. Then he wondered how his father would have tackled the situation. For an instant the scene was blotted out and he saw only his father’s face, with its expression of indolent good humour. But what a temper he had when he was roused!

  Eden at last turned into a tiny shop, kept by a Mrs. Brawn, in the front of her cottage. Probably he was going to buy cigarettes. How long did the young fool think he could loaf about the countryside like this, without arousing suspicion? Renny could see him leaning across the counter talking to Mrs. Brawn.

  At last he came out and retraced his steps in the direction of Mrs. Stroud’s. Renny had a mind to stop him before he reached the house, so that he might be obliged to put less restraint on himself, run less danger of antagonizing her. But Eden was now walking so fast that he would have been forced almost to run to overtake him. And he was turning into a meadow, evidently intending to approach the house from the back.

  Now he had disappeared. Renny stood motionless, watching the house, grimly giving them time to get their greetings over. Then he went to the door and knocked. He noticed for the first time that the knocker was the head of a woman with snakes coiled about it. What a choice! Certainly it had not been there in Miss Pink’s time. No, she had had a nice little brass bell that you twirled round. He knocked again.

  There was silence inside the house.

  He knocked more loudly. No answer. This was something he had not been prepared for. The rain was coming down harder than ever. It was pouring off the brim of his hat across his eyes. He tried the door handle. It was locked. What did it mean? How serious was this? He went round to the back door and knocked on it with his knuckles.

  The door opened and Amy Stroud stood there, her lips pale but curved in the semblance of a smile.

  “Are you alone?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He stared at her steadily through the rain dropping from his hat. She drew herself up. Her lips quivered but she returned his stare without flinching.

  He said, in a restrained voice — “I saw Eden come in here less than ten minutes ago.”

  She gave a quick exhalation, then a little laugh. She said:

  “Then you’ve found him out, poor boy! Mr. Powell did not come along this morning and Eden was left stranded. He came in here for shelter. When he saw you at the door he begged me not to answer it. He thought you’d be angry. But now we’re discovered, you’d better come in, hadn’t you?” She had regained some composure. She opened the door wide.

  “What a morning!” she said, looking at the sky.

  He stepped inside the little porch and shook the rain from his hat. He stared inside the hat as though he might discover there what to do next. The necessity of continually propitiating her, because of Dayborn and Chris, intensified his anger.

  “Do come in,” she said, leading the way through the dining room to the living room.

  Eden was standing in the middle of the room, his face flushed, his hands trembling.

  “Powell didn’t turn up this morning —” he began.

  Renny cut him short with a flourish of his hand.

  “Don’t lie to me!” he said. “Powell doesn’t exist.”

  Eden drew back as though he feared a blow but he smiled and said:

  “Oh, he doesn’t, eh?”

  Mrs. Stroud put in — “I’m afraid I’ve been terribly to blame.”

  Renny ignored her. He said to Eden — “Put on your hat and coat. I want to have a talk with you.”

  She interrupted — “But I must take my share of the blame. I should not have let him come here as I have. But I was so sorry for him.”

  Renny turned to her.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because it’s hard to see a poetic nature harnessed to routine.” She felt proud of herself for that. She was regaining confidence. She felt that she might yet control the situation. She even felt a certain exaltation in the scene.

  Renny looked at her. He considered her words. “Good God!” he exclaimed.

  “It’s true!” she said passionately.

  “It may be, in your opinion, Mrs. Stroud. In mine, Eden has been acting like a young fool, wasting his time and my money. I don’t know how much pleasure you have in his company but I must ask you to forgo it until the holidays. By that I mean that I forbid Eden to come to this house again during term.”

  “What are you accusing me of?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.

  “Nothing, except being too attractive,” he returned coolly. With a glance at Eden, he wheeled and went out of the house. />
  Eden and Amy Stroud were left facing each other.

  “What are you going to do?” she breathed.

  “Go, I guess. There’s nothing else to do.” He went to where his coat was hanging and began to put it on.

  “Isn’t it awful?” she whispered. “When shall I see you again?”

  “He didn’t say we couldn’t meet outside the house. We’ll have to meet at weekends. What damned bad luck!”

  She put both her arms about him and pressed his cheek to her lips. “Poor boy! Was what I said all right?”

  “You were splendid!”

  “I’m shaking like a leaf. Feel me.” She put out her hand. He touched it absently. His mind was on himself.

  “I have a nice row to face,” he said.

  There was a sharp knock on the door. They started apart, then, with a wave of his hand to her, Eden followed Renny. In the road he asked:

  “Was it you who knocked on the door just now?”

  Renny returned grimly — “Yes, and I’d rather it had been on your head.”

  They walked in silence along the muddy road. The wind was now so high that it tore the words from the mouth of a speaker so that it was impossible to talk. Eden was thankful for this. Now and again he stole a glance at Renny’s profile. “Blast his red head!” he thought. “I wonder what he is going to do to me!”

  When they reached the point where the path branched to house and stables, Renny turned toward the latter. He raised his voice above the wind.

  “We can talk in my office.”

  The door opened and banged behind them. They were in a different world. Here the storm was almost inaudible and the streaming small-paned windows gave a sense of isolation. The floors were moist and clean. A stableboy was sweeping some straw into a little heap, with meticulous scratchings of his broom. A row of well-groomed rumps and glossy tails were visible along the passage between the stalls. They belonged to polo ponies. The one nearest raised his head and looked over the partition. He whickered and arched his neck at sight of Renny. Having no notice taken of him, he began to gnaw the top of the partition. Renny stopped to cuff him, then followed Eden into the office.

  Renny took off his coat and hat and threw them on a chair. To Eden the room felt damp and chill. Like a prison, he thought. The lithographs of horses seemed staring at him in hate. He felt utterly wretched. It’s Dayborn who has got me into this, he thought.

  Renny seated himself on the corner of the desk and looked sternly into Eden’s face.

  “Are you such a fool,” he said, “as to imagine you could I get away with this sort of thing?”

  “I’ve only done it a couple of times.”

  “I want you to tell me what sort of woman that is. I don’t think you’ve slept with her.”

  “Lord, no!”

  “She’s a good woman, eh?”

  “Yes. She’s my best friend.”

  “Your best friend! Yet she’ll let you waste day after day in her company. She was the cause of your almost failing in your exam. She connives with you to deceive me. She is making a liar and a fool of you. Yet you call her friend!”

  “She loves me.”

  “I’ll bet she does! She loves anything in trousers whom she can try her charms on. She’d love me, if I’d let her!”

  Eden flushed. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

  “I wish I were as sure that you’d run straight.”

  “When we spend a day together we do a lot of reading.”

  “Yes. With your head on her knee and she toying with your locks! Now I tell you this — you are not to enter her house till the Christmas holidays. Perhaps by that time she’ll have cooled off or found some other youth to pet.”

  “You don’t understand her — or me. I don’t expect you to.”

  “I understand you better than you understand yourselves. She’s a woman without experience who’s struggling desperately to get some. You’re a young ass who thinks the first experience he has is important.”

  The telephone, newly installed, rang. Renny turned to it with a look of relief. As he listened to the voice at the other end, his face cleared. A genial smile overspread it. He replied:

  “Yes, do come along and see her…. Oh yes, she’s in faultless condition … fifteen hands high … lovely shoulders…. Right. I’ll meet the train at three. You can’t make a mistake in buying her. Goodbye.”

  He turned again toward Eden, the smile lingering on his face. There was a blank moment then he said coldly:

  “Well, now you know what you’ve got to do. The first thing is to catch the eleven-ten into town. You’ll be in time for your afternoon lectures.”

  “Good heavens, must I go in today?”

  His outraged expression implied that the punishment far outweighed the crime. An instant later he found himself in a steel grip. He was being shaken, then given a push against the door.

  “Yes, you must,” Renny said composedly.

  Eden gathered himself together, threw a look of fury at his brother, then flung out of the office. Scarcely seeing where he was going, he strode from the stable and toward the house. Imprecations Renny had brought home from the War, Eden now fitted to his tongue, sneering them between clenched teeth. He got his bicycle and rode in the direction of the railway station but, when he reached a certain path, turned aside and went swiftly to Mrs. Stroud’s. He knocked at the door. She opened it.

  “Eden! What’s the matter?”

  He glared at her. “I should think you’d know.”

  “But what has he done?”

  “Given me a shaking and thrown me against the wall.”

  “My dearest — are you hurt?”

  “A little — not much. It’s the whole thing. A fellow can’t get over it in a moment. God only knows what he’d do if he knew I’d come here. I’m supposed to be on the train.”

  She drew him in and tenderly helped him to take off his raincoat. He had thrown his hat on the floor. She treated him like an injured man, bringing him a glass of sherry, making him lean back in the chair. He poured out the details of his encounter with Renny.

  When he had finished she sat down on the floor at his feet and laid her head against his knees, in the attitude which was usually his prerogative. She began to cry softly.

  “Oh, Aimee,” he said, pronouncing the name in the way she loved. “Don’t! I can’t bear it.”

  “Everything is over for me. I’ll be so lonely.”

  “But you mustn’t cry.” He leant over her, trying to soothe her.

  “I can’t help it. What am I to do, in the long wet days? Then there’s the canoe and all we’d planned for Indian summer!”

  “But I won’t stay away! He can’t make me!”

  “He’ll have Dayborn spying on us. Dayborn is at the bottom of this!”

  “Put Dayborn out.”

  She raised her head. “I will. He’ll go tomorrow. I’ll bear nothing more!”

  She sprang up and walked resolutely to the door.

  “Wait!” said Eden. “Don’t go yet.”

  She wheeled. “Why not?”

  For an instant Renny’s face came between her and Eden. Eden wavered between the desire to see Dayborn punished, to get even with Renny, and a primitive fear of the consequences to himself. To gain time, he said:

  “Dayborn won’t be at home.”

  “He came back an hour ago. I saw him.”

  She was at the door, her face set.

  Eden began to walk up and down the room. He said excitedly:

  “What had we better do? Let’s think! Don’t be in too great a hurry. Listen — if we turn Dayborn out, it means —” He stopped, winced, and pressed his hand to his shoulder. She came to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my shoulder. I wonder if it’s dislocated.”

  “Oh, Eden, let me feel!” She pressed her fingers cautiously across his shoulder.

  He gave an exclamation of pain. “There! It hurts there!”

  “Take off your jacket.�
��

  He took it off, undid his collar and drew his shirt from the shoulder. The golden-brown smoothness of his flesh, its elastic firmness under her hand, went through her like an electric shock. “How beautiful you are,” she breathed.

  He was embarrassed. “I’m damned uncomfortable.” Gingerly he felt his shoulder. “There’s nothing broken. It’s only muscular.”

  “But look! Those marks!”

  “That’s where he gripped me, the red-headed devil!”

  “Oh, I’ll get even with him!”

  She pressed her lips to the marks. She closed her eyes and seemed scarcely to breathe, but rage and sensuality seethed within her. She longed to give herself to Eden. Yet, looking into his eyes, her own suffused by passion, she saw no answering desire but only his boy’s mouth pouted in self-pity.

  With all her emotions concentrated into hate of Daybom she covered Eden’s shoulder and almost ran from the room. He saw her hurrying through the rain, opening her gate, opening the neighbouring gate, heard her knocking loudly on Dayborn’s door. He listened, bending his head by the partition.

  He heard the words — “This is the end…. You leave this house tomorrow…. Contemptible spy!” Then such a confusion of voices that all sense was blurred.

  She was in the room again, her back against the door, panting, her wet hair plastered on her forehead.

  “That didn’t take long,” she gasped. “I wish you could have seen their faces. They looked as though the end of the world had come and I was the avenging angel. They tried to justify themselves, or plead their case or whatever you like to call it, but I had my say and left them gaping. To think that tomorrow that house will be empty! Aren’t you thankful, darling?”

  “I wonder where they will go,” he answered thoughtfully.