“Get off those letters, Roger, you brute,” said Ernest, pushing the sheepdog from the neatly arranged piles on the floor near his chair.
“Now here is a letter,” said Nicholas, “written to me by my mother, after she had first met Mary Wakefield and found that Philip wanted to marry her. Not the sort of letter that Piers or Finch or Wake should read.”
“Let me have it,” said Renny, holding out his hand, “I’d like to read a letter from her.”
“You’ll destroy it afterward?”
“Yes.”
Nicholas handed it over. “what a racy vocabulary my mother had!”
“Now here is a letter …” said Ernest.
“Adeline and I would like to interrupt you, just for a moment,” put in Renny. “We have a proposition to make.”
The two old men looked at him enquiringly, Ernest still clutching a handful of Roger’s topknot, for the sheepdog wanted to sit nowhere but on the pile of letters.
“what sort of proposition?” asked Nicholas pulling one of Adeline’s curls. “I hope it’s a proposition to make less noise over my head in the early morning.”
“That’s just it,” she cried eagerly. “There will be much less noise — if only you’ll let me do it.”
“Do what?”
“Tell him, Daddy.”
Renny grinned at his uncle. “She wants to sleep in Gran’s room. Have it for her own. That’s what she wants.”
“Not really?”
“Yes. And for my part I think it a good idea.”
Ernest held his chin in his hand pondering. He gripped his own chin and Roger’s topknot and thought deeply. “My mother’s room,” he said, and repeated, “My mother’s room.”
“She’d sleep there,” exclaimed Nicholas, “in that old, painted leather bed, with that old furniture —”
“She’d ruin it,” interrupted Ernest, “in no time!”
“No, I’d not, Uncle Ernest,” cried Adeline. “I’d take the very best care of it. I’d polish it and it wouldn’t be shut away and dusty, the way it is now. Only once a fortnight does Mrs. Wragge go in and draw a dust cloth across the tables. And I’m Great-grandmother’s namesake and I’m the image of her. I believe she’d be pleased, don’t you?”
“The room is getting a musty smell,” said Renny.
“My mother’s room smelling of must!” said Ernest.
“How old are you, Adeline?” asked Nicholas.
“Fourteen. And tall for my age.”
“I’ll not have Archer in there, racketing about.”
“I pity him if he does,” she exclaimed.
“It seems a nice idea to me,” said Renny. “I believe the old lady would be tickled to death by it.”
Nicholas and Ernest looked at each other. To them the room was a shrine, though in truth the old goddess had been a sardonic one. It was almost twenty years since their mother had died. In that room there was no air to breathe. Since old Adeline’s vital presence had been taken from it, loneliness was its fate. It mourned, outside the life of the family. But, with this loved child continuity would be established, the river of life would flow on. The stretching of her young body on that painted bed would be the laying of a red rose on a neglected shrine. Neglected? Yes, neglected, because, what with increasing years, the distance away of their own rooms, the length of the winter, the worry over their nephews at the war, they had not entered their mother’s room as often as they felt they should. There was something very melancholy in the atmosphere of the room. The faded hangings, the stuffed figure of her parrot on his perch, his staring glass eye seemingly fixed on his reflection in the dim looking-glass, all were melancholy.
But if young Adeline were to occupy the room, how different all would be! She would fly in and out like the summer breeze. Her clear high voice would shatter the deathly stillness. Surely, as Renny said, their mother would have wished it. Surely eighteen years was long enough for a room to go unused. As the brothers looked into each other’s eyes they saw the same thought reflected there. Ernest waited for Nicholas to speak first.
“Well,” he growled, pulling at his grey moustache, “well, it’s hard to know what to say.”
“But, Uncle Nick, I’d take such care of the room! And I’m getting older all the time.”
“So am I — worse luck,” said Nicholas.
“And I am away at school the greater part of the year. In the summer holidays I am outdoors all the time. I couldn’t do much damage, could I?”
“You are a good pleader,” said Nicholas. “I’ve a mind —”
“Then you will!” she cried, throwing her arms about him. “I knew you would.”
“what do you say, Ernest?”
“I agree. I think it is even suitable. The child is Mama’s namesake. She is the very image of her. Mama lives again in her, you may say. I am quite willing that Adeline should have the room.”
Adeline kissed him fervently.
“See that you are worthy of the room,” Ernest continued, as though his mother had been a saint and not a rather deplorable old woman, with a racy tongue and a violent temper.
“I will. I will!” she promised.
Renny looked out of the window. “It’s pouring with rain,” he said. “Alayne and Archer are in town at the dentist’s. The stage seems set for moving into your new quarters. Let’s get at it, Adeline.”
It seemed too good to be true. With passionate eagerness she tore the bedclothes from her own bed and carried them down to her grandmother’s room. Renny threw wide the window and let in the fresh damp air, till Nicholas hobbled in and ordered him to shut it. Nicholas and Ernest established themselves in two chairs and directed proceedings. They were exhilarated by the changing about. Certainly this was better than going over old letters. They had forgotten the dogs and now, upstairs, Roger was stretched among the letters, Bill, the bulldog, was supplying some deficiency in his diet with one of them, while the little Cairn had overturned the wastepaper basket in search of a bit of cake Nicholas had dropped in it the day before.
“The child must not have that embroidered bedspread,” said Ernest. “Fold it up, Renny, and lay it in the drawer of the wardrobe.”
Renny did as he was told, then asked, “what about the things in the dressing table?”
“They also can be laid in the wardrobe. Her toilet articles — those old ivory brushes are quite lovely, and some day Adeline shall have them but it would not be suitable now. I shall keep them in my room if Nicholas approves.”
“All right,” said his brother. “Open the drawers, Renny, let’s see what is in the drawers.”
“I know without looking,” said Ernest.
Out came her scarves, her gloves, her ornate beribboned caps, her lace collars, the velvet bag in which she used to keep her handkerchief and a few Scotch mints. These inanimate objects so brought back her vigorous presence, that it seemed her voice must be heard. Ernest put his fingers into the bag, and there was a peppermint! “Good God!” he exclaimed, and held it up.
“After all these years!” exclaimed Nicholas.
“It’s very moist and clammy.” Ernest held it up waveringly. “what shall I do with it?”
He had a feeling that perhaps he ought to eat it rather than throw it away. But he could not bear to eat it. The decision was not left for him to make. The spongy morsel that once had been the peppermint, slipped from his fingers to the floor. The little Cairn terrier, trotting in, snatched it up and swallowed it as though it were just nothing to him. Nicholas burst out laughing. Ernest could not help feeling relieved.
Some instinct warned Adeline not to display too great a curiosity toward her predecessor’s possessions. She fixed her energies on the arranging of her own bed linen on the bed wherein old Adeline had conceived four children, given birth to them, had watched her loved Philip die. No memories disturbed the child’s joy in establishing herself there. When she had asked permission to do so she had had small hope of its being granted. Now here she was, smoothing
her sheets on that coveted couch, plumping the pillows to rest her empty young head where that head, so full of memories, bitter and dear, so full of the passions and emotions of a long life, had lain.
All was put in order for her. The uncles returned to their rooms. Her father and the dogs went out and now, the rain having ceased, she opened the window, brought the carpet sweeper, passed it violently a number of times across the rug, then used quite half a bottle of polish in rubbing up the furniture. All the while she sang, in a fairly good voice though noticeably off key, the colour deepening in her cheeks, even her hair seeming to take some part in the activity. She felt that a new era in her life was beginning. She felt full of good promise. The day was all too short for what she had to do. She saw, stretching before her, a life teeming with pleasant things to do, once she could finish with school. Always would she sleep in that room, always have horses to ride, dogs to love, puppies to nurse. Always, always would there be her father. The rest of the family would be there too, for she loved them all dearly and never would part with one of them, but her father rose above them all, like the figurehead of a ship.
She still was in the room putting the finishing touches on it when Alayne and Archer returned. Archer had been a trying companion, with his endless questions and restless body. Alayne was tired. From the draught in the hall she at once perceived that door and window of the grandmother’s room were open. When she saw what was going on she was astounded.
“Adeline, whatever are you doing?” she cried, looking as though she were witnessing some calamity.
Adeline thought “why need she look like that?” She said, “I’ve moved in. Daddy and the uncles have given me this room for my own.”
Archer advanced toward her with his mouth wide open. “Look,” he said, “my tooth!” With his mouth stretched so, he enunciated horribly.
“I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous,” said Alayne. “This is no sort of room for a young girl. Who said you could have it?”
“Daddy and the uncles. I’ve wanted it — ever since Daddy came home. Now it’s to be my own always.”
“Look!” cried Archer. “My tooth! It’s been filled.”
“I should have been consulted,” said Alayne. “I cannot understand how your father could consent to such an arrangement. But, if he did consent, he should have had the room emptied out and thoroughly cleaned.”
“It has been cleaned. I’ve done it.”
“You! You don’t know the first thing about such a job. You have just stirred up the dust and smeared everything with furniture polish. It’s disgusting. Where are all the clothes that were in the drawers?”
“Stored in the wardrobe.”
“And you are to sleep in the room with them?”
“I don’t mind. I like them. I’ve carried down all my clothes and laid them in the drawers, neatly too. Look.” She opened a drawer.
“And were the drawers washed out first?”
“No, Mummie.”
Alayne uttered an exclamation of disgust.
Archer placed himself directly in front of Adeline, his mouth still open, his jaws aching. “Look,” he got out, “my tooth!”
“Well,” said Alayne, “I’ll say nothing more. I was not consulted. You took good care to wait till my back was turned. Come, Archer.”
He gave a scream. He could not shut his mouth. He had held it wide open so long he had got a crick in his jaw. He made terrifying sounds when Alayne touched him. In terror she ran into the hall, calling for Renny. He was just entering the side door.
“Archer’s jaw is dislocated!” she cried.
Renny sat down and took his son between his knees. He took hold of his jaw and pressed it back into place. “There,” he said.
“Is it all right?” asked Alayne in a quavering voice. “Hadn’t we better send for the doctor?”
“How does it feel, Archer?” asked Renny.
He stretched his mouth wide. “Look at my tooth,” he said, forgetting all about his jaw.
“Oh, what a day!” Alayne rose to go upstairs. Renny put his arm about her and half-carried her. She felt tired out.
“Poor little girl,” he comforted. “The trouble with you is that you take things too seriously.”
“I know. I’ve taken this family too seriously — right from the first.”
He looked down into her pale face. “what do you mean?” he asked.
“It would take me twenty years to explain.”
He laughed. “Don’t try, my darling. Just relax and be happy.”
She did make up her mind to trouble herself no more over the grandmother’s room. Let them do as they liked with it. Let Adeline live amidst the moth-eaten garments of a centenarian, if it pleased her. Alayne had a hot bath, put on one of her prettiest dresses for dinner and listened, with what equanimity she could, to the old uncles’ praises of Adeline, to Adeline’s ecstasies over her new quarters and Renny’s frequently voiced satisfaction in the entire situation. As often happened, Finch was the only one who agreed with Alayne, but he did so by no more than an amused smile when their eyes met. Still, it was a support.
Roma had been having a piano lesson from Miss Pink and had remained to eat high tea with her. When she returned and found that Adeline had removed from their room she was delighted, for she wanted the room to herself. Not that she did not enjoy Adeline’s companionship but she liked the privacy of a room she could call her own, of which she could lock the door, in which she could arrange for her own pleasure and hers alone, those treasures she cherished.
In the twilight the two young girls went to Adeline’s new room and continued the work of settling in. With laughing and temerity they handled things which formerly they had not dared touch. An observer who had loved old Adeline would have been driven to remember her sardonic humour in order to bear with this peremptory and youthful fingering of her intimate belongings. Roma lounged on the bed, fanning herself with a feathered fan with carved ivory sticks. Adeline dressed herself in a purple velvet tea-gown and placed an ornate lace cap on her head. She lifted the stuffed figure of the parrot from his perch and set it on the arm of the old lady’s wing chair. She seated herself and, assuming a cracked voice, peered at the bird, exclaiming, “Pretty Boney, pretty Boney! Have a cracker, Boney!”
Roma fell back on the bed in an ecstasy of delight.
So they amused themselves till, hearing voices in the hall, they pushed the things back into the wardrobe in a panic. Piers knocked on the door. Adeline, with dignity, opened it.
“Hullo,” he said, “I hear you’ve been allowed to have this room. It’s an honour, I can tell you.”
“I know, Uncle Piers. I know it’s an honour,” she answered rather breathlessly.
“Now understand,” he said, his chin firm, “you are never, on any account, to meddle with my grandmother’s belongings. Later on they must be packed in boxes and carried to the attic. In the meantime none of you children are to touch them.”
With their eyes held by his, they promised.
“That’s right,” he said. “And if ever I find you’ve meddled with them — why, you’ll be sorry.”
“Yes, Uncle Piers,” they agreed in unison.
XVII
THE THEFT
RENNY HAD GIVEN much thought to Mr. Clapperton and to the closely looming village of Clappertown. In fact, he thought of little else. In these early days of his return, when he had expected to be completely happy, Mr. Clapperton’s presence at Vaughanlands hung over him like a well-groomed cloud. He and Piers talked of him by the hour but Piers could offer no counsel save resignation. The resignation of all the family to the catastrophe was a mystery to Renny. He felt that something might be done about it, if only he could discover that something. But no amount of pondering brought revelation.
In the meantime a new little house was brightly springing into view. In spite of the obstacles to wartime building, Eugene Clapperton seemed able to get both materials and builders. Renny would perch on the boun
dary fence and watch the tiny settlement with malevolent interest. The little trees in the little street were growing fast. The baby in the nearest house was screaming louder. The radio in the next little house never stopped grinding out raucous music. He pictured how, as the city grew, more and more people would be inclined to come here till at last there would be no privacy and no peace. He loved the old village of Weddles. It was enough.
He had other things to worry about besides his neighbour’s activities. All his expenses had risen, yet his income was considerably less than it had been. Piers must have his share from the farmlands or he could not live. What a blessing that Mooey was to inherit Cousin Dermot’s fortune and what a pity he had not possession of it now. With help so scarce, the farm brought in less than before the war. With the big horse shows no longer held, the stables were only a loss. The Wragges had demanded higher wages and they were incorrigibly extravagant. It cost an excessive amount to run the table. Then there were Adeline’s school fees. It was an expensive school and there always were extras. Now he had promised Roma that she should go to school with Adeline. It was no more than fair, he thought. Alayne deplored this added outlay but in her heart she was deeply glad that Roma would be out of the house for the greater part of the year. Though Roma was so quiet, Alayne always was conscious of her presence. She seemed always to be coming upon Roma unexpectedly. Both would start. Then the child would fade away but soon Alayne would come upon her again, looking at a book in the library — not reading but just handling it. Or she might find her peeping into a cabinet in the drawing-room or stealing a little biscuit or a lump of sugar from the sideboard. She was not an outdoor child like Adeline.
Between brooding on Mr. Clapperton’s village and worrying over money matters, Renny was absentminded in these hot August days. On this particular morning he had promised to write a cheque for the grocer whose account had been rendered several times. However, he went off without doing it. Alayne sent Archer running after him.
The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche Page 417
