“And swans it shall have,” he had promised.
She had only to express a wish and he was eager to fulfill it.
Now Renny had a wish and, after a good deal of persuasion, Adeline had yielded to it. Not that she did not want to humour him or did not herself enjoy the prospect of what he urged, but she had got a bit slack. To get up at sunrise had become something of an effort, especially to put on a riding habit and mount a horse and ride to the lake shore on an empty stomach, for who could eat a substantial breakfast at that hour? But the little boy begged so hard. It was nice to think how much he wanted her. She could not refuse.
It saddened her to think how she and her Philip had once, with light hearts and little effort, risen at sunrise, and ridden over the estate and galloped over the sandy country roads. Ah, the country had been grand in the fifties and sixties and even the seventies! She wondered what it would be in another fifty years. She had heard that there were Chinese laundrymen in the cities and she herself had seen an Italian pushing a barrow of red and yellow bananas along a street. Well, Philip, her husband, wouldn’t have liked it. He wanted to keep the province British. On her own part she rather liked mixtures.
As the mellow brick of the house was gilded by the early sunlight and the windows set ablaze, Hodge led Captain Whiteoak’s old mare, saddled and bridled, to the door. Renny followed on his pony. Adeline came into the porch wearing her riding habit, with its long skirt, and a bowler hat sitting jauntily on her head. The sun touching her brought out the red that still remained in her hair. She looked a fine figure. Hodge’s eyes were full of admiration, but Renny saw only his grandmother coming to ride with him at last.
Hodge assisted her to the saddle; Laura was skittish and sent the gravel flying with her dancing.
“Laura, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” exclaimed Adeline, “at your age!” She stroked the mare’s shining neck. “But you’re no more unseemly than I am. We just don’t know how to get old, do we, pet?”
Under the evergreens, splashed with light and shade, jogged the mare and the pony, the elderly woman and the little boy. They passed through the gate on to the deserted road.
Adeline smiled down at Renny. “So you’ve routed me out early at last,” she said.
He laughed up at her. “Yes. Aren’t you glad?”
“I am that.” She snuffed the air. “Why, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. It’s glorious.”
“We’ll do it often, shan’t we? Every day?”
“Well, perhaps not every day.”
“Every other day then?”
“Take the pleasure of the moment and don’t be looking ahead.”
They cantered down the road. They did not speak again except to point out some small wild creature or comment on a new barn or admire an especially fine strawstack, till they reached the lake. Here they took the winding road by its shore. The air had changed. Now it smelt of the lake and had a coolness and a stir. Two gulls winged their way above its blueness, making haste as though to show their power. Adeline and Renny drew up to enjoy the view which, in truth, consisted of no more than the blue floor of the lake and the blue arch of the sky where no sail, no cloud, appeared. Nothing but blueness and a hazy horizon.
“It’s a fine sight,” said Adeline.
“Yes, it’s a fine sight,” he agreed.
“I’ve always admired this world,” Adeline went on. “We’re lucky to have such a splendid world to live in. When I was a girl in Ireland I used to look at the wild sea and the headlands and the grey mountains, and think how grand they were. When I married your grandfather in India, I thought how beautiful Kashmir was, with its flowers and its temples. When I go to Devon to visit your aunt and look out over the moors, with their heather and the rushing streams and the herds of moor ponies running wild, I think how splendid.”
“But this is best,” said Renny.
“Yes. It’s best. And I hope there’s a happy life ahead of you. Now your father will always tell you you’re a Whiteoak and the Whiteoaks are English, but you must remember you’re part Irish too. And the Irish blood is your best. My grandfather was a marquis.”
“I’m part Scotch too,” he said, nodding his head. “And my Scotch grandfather is a doctor and he’s going to bring me a little brother.”
“Ay, perhaps,” she returned, a little grimly. “But Scotch or no, you’re the one that takes after me and my family. You have my hair. You have my eyes. Later on you’ll have my nose and mouth.”
He laughed at the thought of it. “Shall we ride on, Granny? Let’s ride on.”
“Very well. But not too far. I have only a cup of tea inside me and I’m getting hungry.”
“I had an apple! Come on, Granny. Let’s ride fast.” She gave Renny’s shoulder a tap with her riding crop.
“Yes,” she said. “We’ll ride fast. Lead on.”
03 Mary Wakefield Page 32
