Philip had had some practice in Quebec and chaffed Wilmott because he had not taken advantage of his opportunities there. He bought skates for Adeline and for Daisy also, who was in a state of bliss because she not only could skate but could do the figure eight and the grapevine. She promised Philip to teach him to waltz on the ice.
Christmas Day passed in pleasant serenity. A tree was brought from the woods for the children and decorated with tinsel and candles. Large packages of presents came from Philip’s sister in Devonshire and at least a dozen, very badly wrapped and in which many of the contents were broken, from Adeline’s relatives in Ireland. She had bought Philip a dark green velvet smoking jacket and cap, and embroidered a design in gay silks on the cuffs and collar of the jacket and around the cap, from the top of which depended a gold tassel. He looked so perfectly beautiful when adorned in these that Adeline could have wept to see him. He was a little rueful to think he could not wear them at once, but must lay them away till he was under his own roof. He wore the rueful expression when displaying the gifts to Mrs. Vaughan, which somewhat embarrassed her but not to the extent of telling him to light a cigar that very moment.
On Christmas Day, Gussie wore her finest pantalettes and in them appeared a little girl, no longer just a baby. They were of dainty whiteness beneath the blue silk frock with short sleeves and low-cut neck, and Adeline had herself made the lace which edged them. Gussie looked so adorable in these that Adeline could have wept to see her, also. She snatched her up and covered her face with kisses, then held her out for Philip’s inspection, her little blue shoes dangling beneath the pantalettes.
“Did you ever see anything so enchanting and ridiculous?” she exclaimed.
Gussie looked faintly offended. She thought they were laughing at her. Nicholas, who was accustomed to being the centre of attraction, could not bear to see his sister so enthroned. He crept to Adeline’s skirt and attempted to climb up it, ruffle by ruffle. Philip picked him up and set him on his broad shoulder.
“They are a pretty pair,” he declared. “The little Balestriers cannot hold a candle to ’em.”
“Neither can the little Pinks.”
“Nor any other children I know.”
“I wonder who our new baby will be like.”
“I hope for another boy. But I wish the little beggar weren’t coming.”
“I hope he will be fair and the image of you.”
“Yes. It is about time there was one like me. But he will probably be the image of your father, red hair and all.”
“Heaven forbid!”
“I think I should like to call him Charles, after my father. He was a fine man and Charles goes well with Whiteoak.”
“If you name him for your father he must be named for mine too.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Do you want to push my poor father out of everything?” she flared.
“You said a moment ago that you hoped the child wouldn’t look like him.”
“That’s different.”
“Do you mean to say you would call your son Renny?”
“My father has more than one name. His name is Dennis Patrick Crawshay St. John Renny.”
“Hmph. I can’t say I like any of them.”
“Not Dennis?”
“Dennis is not bad.”
“My dear father,” she said, in a mild tone, “was called Dennis all his life till he was twenty-three. Then the uncle he was named for offered him a thousand pounds if he would use one of his other names. So my father, who was willing to come for any name whatever when money was in question, cast aside Dennis and became Renny. But indeed there are members of the family who still call him Dennis, because they so hate him that they will not call him by their grandfather’s name. Not that their grandfather was a man to boast of. He was —”
Philip was looking at his watch. “It is time to dress,” he interrupted, “and if you want me to hook up your stays we had better begin.”
The weather on the day of Wilmott’s skating party was crystal-bright and cold. But there was no wind and the cold was exhilarating. A glittering snow powder was now and again sifted through the clear air which was devoid of all scent, but struck the nostrils impersonal and penetrating. Footprints of the wild creatures lay like little etchings on the glittering snow. It was as though the day had been especially ordered.
Wilmott and Tite worked hard all the morning clearing the ice of snow, sweeping it with brooms, not only on the pond but for some distance up the river. They had built benches for the ladies to rest on and over them they had laid red and grey blankets. A neighboring farmer’s wife had come in to help with the refreshments. To grace the occasion, Wilmott had put on a red scarf, the long fringed ends of which dangled over his waistcoat.
The Pinks were the first to arrive and Wilmott was glad of this. They lent an air of comfort to a party. The Rector chaffed Wilmott about introducing new and frivolous ways to the community. Mrs. Pink laughed a little when her husband made a joke, smiled when Wilmott made one. She was thankful to say that her little boys were quite recovered from whooping cough.
The next to arrive were the Laceys. They brought with them their son, an only child like Robert Vaughan, but in this case the only child raised out of three, so he was trebly precious. The Laceys were the Pinks’ most intimate friends. They quickly merged into a group so congenial that Wilmott felt a little out of it. He looked anxiously toward the road, for he could hear the jingle of sleigh bells. A large sleigh drawn by two rawboned, only half-broken-in horses precariously entered the gate. A lusty young fellow was driving them and with some trouble brought them to a halt. Another lusty young fellow jumped out of the sleigh and ran to their heads. Three buxom girls scrambled out. Young Lacey flew to their assistance but was in time only to assist their enormously stout mother.
The father of the family came last. He was Elihu Busby who had been the original owner of much of the land hereabout. He was in his early sixties but might well have passed for less than fifty. He was so straight as almost to lean backward. He had fought in the War of 1812 under General Sir Isaac Brock and had lost an arm in the battle of Queenston Heights. He was of mixed English, Irish, and Scottish extraction but had a faint contempt for each of these peoples which, in the case of the Scotch, amounted to dislike. But his strongest prejudice was against the Americans. He was descended from United Empire Loyalists who had left affluence behind them in New England and escaped to Canada in the early days of the Revolution. The persecutions they had suffered before they left rankled with amazing freshness in his mind, for he had drunk them in as a boy from his grandparents’ relating. He was proud and egotistical but he had taken a fancy to Wilmott and enjoyed nothing more than to inform a newcomer on all affairs of the Province. His eldest daughter, Kate, also had taken a fancy to Wilmott but a much warmer one, and could scarcely wait for the moment when they would skate together. Busby himself was businesslike about the skating and, immediately after greeting his host, sat down at the edge of the river and commanded his eldest son, Isaac, to put his skates on him, which he could not do for himself because of his lost arm.
The Whiteoaks and Robert and Daisy Vaughan now joined the party. A little later it was completed by the appearance of Dr. Ramsey who tied his mare to a tree, blanketed it and stalked up to Wilmott, as though he were a patient who would probably never pay his bill.
“I can’t stay long,” he announced. “I have to go to Stead. I have a man there with his arm broken in three places.”
“Amputate it,” advised Busby, over his shoulder, “the way they did mine. Give him a gill of whiskey and amputate it.”
Dr. Ramsey ignored this remark. He folded his arms and looked disapprovingly at Adeline.
“She has no business to be here,” he said. “Just recovering from whooping cough and due to have a child in April! And look at the way she is laced!”
Wilmott thought this remark in bad taste. Dr. Ramsey’s presence froze him. He said vaguely:
—
“Oh, I expect all will be well.”
Dr. Ramsey turned a pair of cold bright eyes on him.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It seldom is, I may tell you.”
Elihu Busby was the first on the ice. He glided smoothly across the river and would have been graceful but for an angularity in his posture due to his lack of one arm. Nero, who had arrived with the Whiteoaks, had never before seen a person on skates. The sight filled him with a kind of savage hilarity. He rushed, sliding and slipping as he went, after Mr. Busby. Adeline shrieked Nero’s name and Philip shouted it, but he sped on, woolly and inexorable. He leaped on Mr. Busby’s shoulders and in an instant they were prone together.
“I expect he has broken his only arm,” observed Dr. Ramsey grimly. He skated rapidly to Mr. Busby’s aid.
When Nero saw a newcomer on skates he sprang to attention, with feet planted wide apart, ready to deal with him as he dealt with Mr. Busby.
“Keep off, you brute!” shouted Dr. Ramsey.
But with a joyous bark Nero was on his chest. For an instant the doctor struck an extraordinary and grotesque figure which might have gained him fame as a fancy skater if he could have held it. But that was the last thing he desired to do. He was now in a kneeling posture, for he dared not rise to his feet. However his manner was far from supplicating and he swore and struck at Nero who circled about him in an abandon of barking.
Mr. Busby had not been at all hurt and, sitting on the ice, gave way to shouts of laughter.
Philip had on one skate but in his excitement could not fasten the clasp of the other. He kept on roaring “Nero!” which served only to stimulate Nero’s pleasure in having two men down.
“Capture that dog!” Wilmott ordered Tite.
“Boss, I dare not,” answered Tite.”
“I say, capture him!”
With stealthy grace the boy crept across the ice toward the Newfoundland. It was like a play to those on the shore. Now that the Busbys were sure that their husband and father was not injured, they could enjoy the scene to the full. Nero did not notice Tite till he had caught him by the collar. Then he bounded with the boy’s light figure clinging to him, he gamboled, dragging Tite after him while Mr. Busby continued to shake with laughter and Dr. Ramsey to curse.
Suddenly Patsy O’Flynn appeared, almost as broad as tall he was so bundled up against the cold, and stalked toward Nero. He took him by the collar and led him, with an air of swagger, from the river. There was a round of applause. Patsy exclaimed: —
“Sure, he’s like meself — a lamb, if yez know how to handle him!”
Now all were brave to hurry to the two roughly used gentlemen. Now everyone was laughing, even the doctor. Wilmott had engaged the old Scotsman, Jock, to make music for the skating. He tuned up his fiddle and to a lively reel the ring of blades on the smooth ice was heard. Kate Busby had her wish and soon was sailing about with Wilmott. Truth to tell, she was his support rather than he hers, so good a skater was she. His arm linked within that of the good-natured girl, Wilmott wondered what life with such a companion would be. What sort of man would he be today, he wondered, if he had had such a companion. Daisy and Robert Vaughan were the most graceful couple on the ice. He wore a belted jacket with fur collar, very tight trousers, and a fur cap of a rather long yellowish fur, beneath which his fair hair looked out as from a strange, prehistoric headdress. Daisy, in black skirt and scarlet jacket trimmed with gold braid, made the Busby girls feel shy and countrified, Mrs. Pink disapproving. She considered Daisy’s movements entirely too free of restraint. But Daisy was really longing to skate with Dr. Ramsey. He had been watching young Lacey steer Adeline about with a good deal of anxiety. Now he himself approached her. He said: —
“If you must endanger yourself in skating, Mrs. Whiteoak, I must ask you to skate with me. I am the strongest skater and most sure-footed here.”
Adeline laughed, though she surrendered herself to skate with him. “I’m glad you have told me,” she said. “At any rate, I hope I shall be easier to manage than Nero was.”
“You need not rub that in,” he returned.
As they left the pond and moved slowly up the river, he began to lecture her on the care she should take of herself. She drew sharply away from him. She exclaimed: —
“Very well. If you are going to be disagreeable to me I shall skate by myself.” She took a long stroke for which she had not the skill, and would have fallen had not Wilmott, now skating with Mrs. Pink, glided forward and caught her. She clung to him, laughing into his face.
“For heaven’s sake, take me away,” she implored, “Dr. Ramsey is a tyrant! Mrs. Pink, would you mind changing partners? Dr. Ramsey and I have had a falling-out.”
“I shall be quite glad to,” said Mrs. Pink. “Mr. Wilmott is too fast for me.”
“It’s the speed of the imbecile,” said the doctor, under his breath.
The poplar trees by the river’s edge now began to cast long, blue shadows across the ice. The snow, piled high at its verge, lay like ruins of some marble tower that had fallen in its first white splendor. The reddening sun lowered toward the pines. Tite and the farmer’s wife were carrying about hot broth and scones, baked on the bricks. On a table, covered by a cloth of red-and-white check, were a huge jug of coffee, cups and saucers, plates mounded with cinnamon drops and plum cake. Inside the house was a bowl of punch, to be served later.
Adeline hovered near the refreshments, anxious for Wilmott’s sake that all should go well. Indeed all had gone well. The innovation had been a success. The company wore an air of unaffected jollity. Most of them were gathered about the table where the cake and coffee were, but a few of the younger ones were still on the ice. One of these was young Guy Lacey who was taking lessons in figure skating from Daisy Vaughan and, with a sailor’s abandon, eating a slice of plum cake at the same time. Daisy could give him her wholehearted attention, for Dr. Ramsey had taken his leave. Not long before this the children’s nurse had appeared, having pushed the white sleigh brought from Quebec all the long way from Vaughanlands with Augusta and Nicholas in it. They had been greeted with delight and instantly supplied with cinnamon drops. Now the younger Busby boy was propelling them, with somewhat reckless speed, over the ice. Nero, escaped from Patsy O’Flynn, bounded joyfully at the side of the sleigh, now and again uttering a deep-throated bark.
As the punch was being drunk and pronounced excellent, Wilmott said to Adeline: —
“I think everything has gone off fairly well, don’t you?”
“Everything has been perfect,” she declared, looking at the snow through the redness in her glass. “I don’t know when I have had a better time. And look at Philip, as blithe as a schoolboy.”
He will catch his death of cold. He should not have taken off his cap in this temperature.”
Philip held his mink cap in his hand and his light brown hair stood up in moist waves. His expression was one of staunch assurance that the system under which he lived was perfect, and a serene belief that the future would hold nothing which Adeline and he could not cope with.
“Put on your cap,” she called out.
He pretended not to hear.
“Your cap!” she repeated. “You’ll take cold.”
“Tommyrot. I never take cold.”
Lydia Busby firmly possessed herself of his cap and standing on tiptoe placed it on his head, herself blushing furiously at her own temerity.
“Too far back!” cried Adeline. “It looks like a baby’s bonnet.”
Philip instantly assumed an expression of infantile innocence. Lydia, blushing still more, drew the cap forward on his brow.
“Horrible,” declared Wilmott. “He now resembles a dancing dervish with a mop of hair in his eyes.”
Philip quickly changed his expression to one of barbarous ferocity.
“Oh, Captain Whiteoak, how you frighten me!” exclaimed Lydia. She snatched the cap from his head.
/> “Lydia,” called out her mother. “That’s enough.”
“Try again, Miss Lydia, try again!” urged Philip.
This time she placed it jauntily to one side.
“Will that do?” she asked.
Philip winked at her.
“Perfect!” cried Mrs. Pink. “Perfect.”
“Lydia,” called out Mrs. Busby. “That is enough.”
But now Adeline was looking toward the gate. Two men had alighted there from a hired cutter and were paying the driver. Her eyes widened. She stared, scarcely believing the evidence. Then, as the men approached, she turned to Wilmott.
“It’s Thomas D’Arcy,” she said, “and Michael Brent! Whatever are they doing here?”
Wilmott gave them a look of apprehension, almost panic. “I won’t see them!” he exclaimed. “Not after what has happened. Oh, Adeline, why did you tell them about me?”
She could not answer, for the Irishmen were upon them. She hastened forward. “Don’t say a word about James Wilmott’s wife,” she warned them, giving each a hand. “How well you both look! And what wonderful new hats. You bought them in New York, I’ll be bound.”
“We did indeed,” said D’Arcy. “You yourself are looking superb, if I may make bold to say so.”
“What luck,” said Brent, “that we should arrive in time for a skating party! We can skate too. Have you some skates to spare?”
“We have just come from Niagara Falls,” interrupted D’Arcy. “Superb in wintertime. Really superb. We heard the jolly noises when we arrived here and we said at once — ‘This is Jalna!’ You see, we remember the name. So we told the driver to put us down on the spot.”
They shook hands with Wilmott.
“You here too!” said Brent, with a roguish look. “What good fortune!”
“This is my own home,” Wilmott returned, rather stiffly. “You are very welcome.”
“Then it’s not Jalna! But our luggage has been put off at your gate! Never mind, we shall carry it to Jalna.”
D’Arcy said, out of the side of his mouth, to Wilmott — “We got rid of her for you. She’s off to Mexico. What a tartar! I don’t blame you. I’d have done the same myself.”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 23
