“He has lost three young ones,” said Renny “You can’t blame him for being fussy.”
“Was I to blame if he hadn’t the sense to rear his young? Was I to blame if I rode better than you at the Show? Or because you were justly expelled from your school? Or because young Maurice begot a hedgerow child? Or Robert Vaughan had a stroke? Or that you went to bed with a gypsy? No! Yet all these calamities — if they were such — have been heaped up and cast on my innocent shoulders. I have been the scapegoat for both your houses. I have been insulted in yours, and the Vaughans will scarcely speak to me.”
Keno had been investigating every corner of the tent. He had discovered a jar of pâté de foie gras and now began to devour it in plebeian gulps. A little bird, perched on the ridgepole of the tent, chanted its farewell to this cold country and its plans for flight to the South. Eden’s clear voice could be heard chattering in the distance.
Holding tightly to his father’s hand, he appeared in the doorway. Philip demanded: —
“What’s this I hear about the swan attacking Malahide?” He looked with concern on Malahide, who had sunk into a posture of apathy and made no reply.
“It’s lucky I was about,” said Renny. “He got a bit of a mauling.”
Malahide raised his head. “Your son has saved my life,” he answered. “The first act of kindness I have had from one of you. And that only common humanity. Yet I have done everything to make myself agreeable. Even to accompanying your mother sixteen times to the dentist, which you were all cowardly or too lazy to do.”
“You got a diamond pin out of it,” observed Renny.
“I’m sorry,” said Philip, “that you think so badly of us.” He looked uneasily at a yellow envelope in his hand, and then added — “I have a cablegram here for you, Malahide. It had just arrived when Eden came. Do you feel up to reading it?”
Malahide held out his hand and took the paper. One of his eyes was closed by a swelling. With the other he read: —
YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY PEACEFULLY THIS MORNING AFTER SHORT ILLNESS AWAIT YOUR INSTRUCTIONS
BATES — SOLICITOR
After taking in the meaning of this message, during which moments the only sound was the rasping of Keno’s tongue in the pâté de foie gras jar, Malahide read it aloud in a grandiloquent tone.
Philip, although he had never heard any good of Malahide’s mother and only bad of the relations between them, was filled with concern. He said sympathetically: —
“It’s sad news for you, Malahide. I’m very sorry, for your sake. It will comfort you to know that she passed away peacefully.”
“It is the first peaceful thing she ever did,” said Malahide. “My life has been given over to keeping the peace. You can judge, from my stay in your house, what an adept I am at it. But I shall miss her.”
“I am sure you will,” said Philip. “What was she like? Would you care to talk about her?”
Malahide sighed. “It would be impossible to describe her. She lived like a queen in a house of which the roof is falling in, the stables are empty, and the garden overgrown by weeds. But she had money in the bank. It will be necessary for me to go home at once.”
“In the meantime,” said Philip, “you must let bygones be bygones and return to Jalna. As a matter of fact Nicholas and I shall require the tent for our hunting trip. We leave in a day or two.”
“You are welcome to it. I shall return, at your invitation, to Jalna.”
“You had better come with us now, if you feel able to walk.”
“I think I shall stay here today.”
Eden came to him and laid his hand on his knee. “The swan may come back,” he said.
“True,” said Malahide, putting his arm about him. “This is the flower of your flock, Philip, and I hope you will live to appreciate him. Give him to me and I will take him back to Ireland and make a civilized gentleman out of him.”
Philip laughed. “What about it, Eden? Would you go to Ireland?”
“Would Renny come too?”
Malahide answered — “There are limits to my civilizing influence.”
“What does he say?” asked Eden.
“He says,” answered Renny, his hand on the little boy’s neck, “that you are safer here, with your big brother.”
“Whatever you do,” said Malahide, “you’ll not make him into a Whiteoak. Mark my words.”
“We’ll do our best,” returned Philip. “Take your hand off his neck, Renny. How often must you be told that?”
XXX
THE ENGAGEMENT RING
THE NEWS OF MALAHIDE'S altered circumstances, of his imminent departure, created a pleasurable stir at Jalna. There was a general desire, after the long-continued rift in the family’s solidarity, to draw together again. As the evenings now closed in early, Adeline liked her family gathered about her in warm, if sometimes bickering, converse, the dark red curtains drawn, a bright fire blazing, and herself as the centre of their life’s pattern.
She acknowledged openly that she felt no regret at Malahide’s going. The passing of his mother, Bridget Court, could be regarded only as a blessing, since it rid the world of a tyrannical, two-faced old woman and left her son in a position to govern his own life. Adeline was ready to discuss these subjects by the hour, and, after Malahide was put to bed in his old room, liniment applied to his bruises and a hot-water bottle to his feet, she settled down to the most tranquil hours she had contemplated for a long while.
With a glass of barley water, flavoured with lemon juice, at her side, she sat herself at the writing bureau in the library to compose a voluminous letter to Ernest. She wished very much that he was here, because no one was more satisfactory than he in a prolonged dissection of family affairs.
Seeing her so established, Keno plumped down from the pyramid of cushions Meg had arranged for him and came to her feet. Across her long black kid slippers he laid his long liver-and-white muzzle and gave himself up to somnolent intercourse with her.
On and on her pen, held parallel with her breast, moved across the mauve-tinted pages bearing her initials, from a box given her on her birthday by Sir Edwin. Sometimes her mobile lips were thrust forward or her shaggy rust-coloured brows were raised as she wrote. Occasionally she scratched her head with her pen handle and pushed her cap to a rakish angle. But, in all her movements, satisfaction with her situation was evident, and this being subtly conveyed to the spaniel by gentle movements of her foot, he roused himself sufficiently to thud his plumed rail on the rug.
When she had finished the letter she pressed it to the blotter, the edge of which was decorated with the heads of horses drawn by Philip during his reluctant letter writing. She finished her glass of barley water and called to Mary, who was potting geraniums outside the window, to come and hear the letter.
“Find Philip and Nicholas too,” she said. “And Renny and Meg. They’d like to hear what I’ve writ.”
Mary looked at her hands. “I shall have to wash them first.”
“Wipe them on the grass. It’s clean dirt.”
“No — really, I must wash them.”
“You’re always washing. You’ll wash yourself away.”
“I’ll only be a moment. Then I’ll find the others.”
The time of waiting seemed long to Adeline. She arranged herself in front of the bureau and fixed her eyes on the door. Meg appeared first, then the two men, who had been already overhauling the tent which had been carried on to the lawn. Last Mary came with Philip’s heavy hunting socks to darn.
He brought his gun and settled down to clean it while he listened. His mother regarded this proceeding doubtfully.
“D’ye think you can give proper heed to me, if you do that?” she asked.
“Of course I can, Mamma. I’m all ears.” He laid his cleaning cloths beside him and peered along the shining barrel of the gun. Keno sprang up with a glad bark and circled about Philip in delighted agitation.
“Where is Renny?”
“At the
Laceys’,” answered Mary. “I think it’s a case, there.”
“The sooner he goes back to college the better,” said Nicholas.
Philip turned to Meg. “Do you think he is very fond of Vera?”
Meg looked inscrutable. “I think he admires her.”
“Since the Show he spends most of his time with her,” said Mary. “If she isn’t here, he is there.”
Adeline interrupted — “Are we here to discuss the whelp’s conduct or to listen to my letter?”
“Fire away, Mamma,” said Philip.
“Will you stop that dog’s barking?”
“Down, Keno, down!”
“Now, then, are you all listening?”
“All on the qui vive, old lady,” said Nicholas.
Impressively, with strong emphasis on her underlined adjectives, Adeline delivered herself of the letter. Once, at what he considered a false statement of the jumping event, Nicholas would have interrupted, but Philip gave him a kick on the ankle and it was allowed to pass. At the finish Mary exclaimed: —
“What a perfectly wonderful letter!”
Adeline looked at her over her spectacles. “It’s nothing of the sort. It’s a good plain account of our doings. Nothing exaggerated. Nothing, as Saint Paul says, set down in malice.”
“Shakespeare, Mamma,” corrected Nicholas.
“Shakespeare, then. Clever men, both of them, but not to be taken too seriously. So you think the letter will do?”
“Ernest will be delighted,” said Philip. “He’ll read it to everyone of his acquaintance.”
She removed her spectacles, gave a benign look at those about, then noisily drew in the last drops of the barley water. “Ha,” she said, “that’s good! D’ye think it is binding, Philip?”
“It might be — a little. Now — the gun is in good shape, I can tell you. What about it, Keno? Shall we a-hunting go, old boy?”
It was four o’clock before Renny returned. Meg met him in the hall and took him by the lapels of his coat.
“Do you know what they are wondering?” she whispered. “They are wondering if you are in love with Vera. Mother came right out and declared you are.”
“Why are you always moping about the house?” he said. “You have no more colour than chalk.”
She laughed and shook him gently. “Are you in love with Vera?”
“You used to have three funny little freckles on your nose,” he said. “But they’ve disappeared. The sun never touches you.”
“If you think you can get out of it with an answer like that, you’re mistaken. I want an answer.”
“Why don’t you cut off that pompadour?” he said. “And make your hair into little curls like Vera’s. Then I might like you.”
“You are in love with her! You are! But they’ll never let you be engaged! Never! She has told me that the Laceys don’t like your being there so much. And, of course, she’s going home.”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” he said, “and you can help me.”
She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. Then she said: —
“But first you must come and see Peep at his birthday tea! I promised you would.” She led him to the dining room, where the baby sat in state at one end of the large table, on which was an array of small cakes, jellies, and buttered bread. Before him was an iced cake on which two candles burned, their flames reflected in the clear blue of his eyes. From the golden Thames tunnel on the top of his head to the blue silk bows on his shoulders and his blue slippered feet which thudded against the rungs of his high chair, his small being exhaled prideful possession.
“My cake,” he said to Renny and Meg. “My cake. My ’obby-’orse!” He pointed with his spoon to the rocking horse which his grandmother had given him.
She sat on his right, and the sight of her, so massive, so grand, at the table with him, made him forget to eat. Mary and Eden sat on his left. Eden, with the slightly subdued air of the child whose birthday is a long way off and who feels his unimportance of the moment.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Renny. “What a fine horse! You must let me see you ride it, Peep.”
“Now! Now!” cried Peep, struggling to get down.
“Oh, why did you say that, Renny?” said Mary. “We have had a time to get him off it for his tea.”
Renny came and glared at the cake. “Me want cake! Me want cake, now!” he declared.
The baby looked at him severely. “My cake,” he said, but his attention returned to his food.
Eden said to Renny — “That’s a funny way to talk. You don’t talk that way to me.”
“You’re a big boy.”
Mary cut the cake and, as Meg and Renny stood devouring theirs, Adeline asked of him: —
“Where have you been all day?”
“In the stables,” he returned, and smiled at her disarmingly.
As soon as brother and sister could they escaped to her room. There, walking up and down, he poured out the story of his love for Vera and his desire to be married to her before she left for England. If Meg had had doubts on the subject they were swept away by his eagerness, his boyish animation. She planned with him how the secret arrangements could be carried out. She and Vera would go to town together, he would meet them there, and in some remote church, or even in a registry office, the ceremony would be performed.
“What a darling you are, Meggie!” he said. “Vera and I will never forget how you have helped us in this, you may be sure. I wish to goodness that I had an engagement ring for her. It is beastly hard luck that I haven’t enough money for that! If only I had won the prize — I could have bought her a beauty!”
“How tragic!” she said, mimicking Malahide’s mincing tone.
“You know, Gran showed me a ring one day that she told me I was to have for my fiancée. The pearl set in diamonds. It would look lovely on Vera’s hand.”
“If I hadn’t given Maurice back his,” said Meg, “you might have had that.”
He did not take to this idea. “It would be unlucky,” he said.
Meg heaved a deep sigh. Her lip trembled, then, after a moment’s thought, she brightened and said: —
“Why don’t you try to get possession of the ring Gran promised you? She said it was to be yours when you became engaged. You are engaged, so it is yours to all intents and purposes.”
He looked startled at the suggestion. Such a proceeding would have never entered his head, but it seemed reasonable and just. He said: —
“If only I could lay hands on it!”
“That is the easiest thing in the world,” said Meg. “It’s only her money she locks up. Never her jewels. After supper, when she is settled in the drawing room, we’ll go to her room and, if I don’t find that ring, I’ll eat my hat!”
“That new Merry Widow one?” he demanded, his eyes shining with excitement.
“Yes. We must take a banana with us so that, if we’re discovered, we’ll pretend to be feeding Boney — teaching him something naughty. That will take Gran’s mind off any suspicion.”
Renny regarded her admiringly. There she stood, solid and complete, a world in herself, moving in her own orbit, knowing just what to do. Yet qualms assailed him.
“I wonder if I had better take the ring,” he said. “It seems a queer thing to do.”
She turned on him scornfully.
“Are you engaged to Vera?”
“Certainly.”
“Did Granny tell you that this ring was for your fiancée?”
“She did.”
“Then why do you think it strange to take it?”
“It seems like stealing.”
“Is it stealing to take your own? Besides, just as soon as you are married you will confess all.”
“What if Gran made me return the ring?”
“She couldn’t. Vera would have it and that would be final.”
“What if she should miss the ring at once?”
“Never! It’s in a box she seldom opens.”
/> He was convinced. He put his scruples behind him.
It seemed a long while till the lights were on in the drawing room and Meg, reconnoitring, declared the way open. She stood at the foot of the stairs, her round, pretty face alight with mischief, a banana in her hand. As he came softly down the steps to join her he had the hilarious feeling of their days of childish plotting. She took his hand and led him to the door of their grandmother’s room.
There he hesitated, and said — “Look here, why need I go in? You know just where the ring is. I had better wait here and keep watch.”
“Coward!” hissed Meg. “And idiot, too! You may be seen hanging about here. Inside we are safe.” Softly she opened the door and led him in.
“Light a match,” she commanded.
He struck one and she turned up the wick of the low brass lamp. Now its warm light brought the room to life. The painted fruit and flowers of the bedstead showed their rich colours. The ornate wallpaper, the vivid Chinese rug, the mulberry window curtains and polished mahogany, all revealed the sumptuous taste of the occupant. On the mantel stood a delicate statue of the goddess Kuan Yen, her fine porcelain hands like the petals of flowers. The parrot was asleep on his perch.
Meg put the banana into Renny’s hand. “Now,” she said, and she was in her element, “let us waste no time. If you hear anyone coming, give Boney a prod and begin to feed him. Let me see, where does Gran keep this box? Yes, in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe.” She drew out the drawer and disclosed the orderly arrangement of Adeline’s treasures, expensive materials hoarded for many years, ivory fans, a cashmere shawl, lace fichus, and a number of small boxes. The faint scent of bygone gayety rose from them.
Meg pounced on a wine-coloured velvet box.
“Here,” she exclaimed and opened it eagerly. Her soft fingers explored its contents, which, characteristic of Adeline, were a mixture of the valuable and worthless. In triumph Meg held up the ring, a pure pearl surrounded by diamonds.
“Aren’t I a good sister?”
“You’re a duck, Meggie! Let me see it.” He took it in his hand, a look of proud determination hardening his features. “It will look well on Vera. Have you noticed her hands?”
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 119
