“Nevertheless,” said Louisa, coolly, “she has some sort of underhanded influence with Mama.”
The two young women regarded their sister without amiability. Louisa’s regard became more intent. “I believe you are ill,” she said, slowly, as if Adelaide had been guilty of some enormity. “How strange you look, Adelaide. Wild and feverish. Are you certain you are not sickening? I’ve thought you appeared to be going into a decline for some time.” She shrank back from the girl to escape any infection.
“I am not ill,” said Adelaide, hoarsely. She paused. “I’ve seen the doctor. He assures me I am perfectly well, though somewhat tired.”
“Tired!” shrilled Lavinia, with a snorting laugh. “Why should you be tired? You are such a lazy minx, really you are. You do nothing at all. Now, if you were a married woman, in a certain condition, one would not wonder.”
Lilybelle was weeping in Adelaide’s arms. The girl forced herself to concentrate upon her mother, for the strangest things were happening to her. Voices, scenes, faces, all had a most disconcerting habit of retreating and advancing, of blurring and sharpening. She suppressed a cough.
“What have you been doing to Mama?” she asked, and now her burning eyes gleamed with anger. “Hush, Mama, dear, for just a minute.” She stared at her sisters with a hard look.
When she wore such an aspect, even the bold Lavinia was quelled momentarily. She shrugged. “I suppose it is foolish to speak to you of it, Addy, but I can see no other way of bringing Mama to her senses, Papa is ill. Surely even you can see that? He needs a rest. His health is very bad. We’ve seen it for sometime. Now we’ve decided he and Mama must go away for awhile, at once. He must forget everything. Otherwise, there is no telling what will happen.”
“I don’t want to go away!” wailed Lilybelle. Her two elder daughters exchanged pent looks. “Mr. T. will refuse, I know he will. There’s no use. He won’t listen to, me, even if I ask him.”
“I’ve told you, we’ll ask him, in fact, urge him, make demands,” said Lavinia. “You have only to say nothing, Mama. Do be reasonable. You make things so very hard.”
Lilybelle struck her big heaving breast dramatically. “I have my feelin’s, Linny. I’ve told you: I’m afraid to ask your Papa to go away. Something’ll happen, mark my words.”
“What nonsense,” sighed Louisa. Her blue eyes sparkled with a narrow light. “You’ll have to stand with us, Mama. Otherwise, there is no doubt you’ll be a widow before long.”
Adelaide listened to all this, looking intently from one face to another. Again, everything was preternaturally sharp and clear, as if magnified. Of course, it is my illness, she thought. But, she, too, had the strangest and darkest foreboding. Her heart had begun to beat heavily, like an ominous drum. Her ears were filled with its mounting and menacing sound. She caught a look passing between Lavinia and Louisa, a secret and cunning look, and in her condition it had something malefic about it.
A sick terror seized her. She saw her father as clearly as if he had stood before her, and it seemed to her that some terrible danger, some ruin and catastrophe, had thrown a black aura about him. Her fever rose to extreme heights, and, in its intoxication she appeared endowed with a second sight, lucid and frightful.
“You say Papa is ill,” she said, and her voice seemed to echo throughout all the aching bones of her skull. “Who will take his place? Who will manage things for him? That must be considered, of course.”
Lavinia started to speak, then, colouring heavily, was silent. But Louisa, the imperturbable and logical, looked steadily at her sister and said in a calm tone: “That can surely be arranged. Rufus and Patrick are quite competent to manage, I assure you.”
Louisa had great control, but she could not prevent her blue eyes from glinting with amused evil as she regarded Adelaide, nor could she restrain the secret tightening of her pretty features.
Ah, thought Adelaide. The drum was pounding all about her. She saw in more than the three dimensions. Everything appeared to her sharpened as under lighted water.
“Have they said they could?” she asked, very quietly.
Louisa’s delicate nostrils dilated, but it was Lavinia who answered with loud and hasty impatience. “Certainly, they’ve said they could! They understand everything. It was their idea, in the very beginning.”
Louisa bestowed a look of real hatred and contempt upon Lavinia for this indiscretion, for, unlike Lavinia, she did not consider Adelaide a fool. That odious Lavinia, with her loose and dangerous tongue, her frank stupidity! She, herself, would have said hesitatingly: “Now, that is something we don’t know. But it is our intention to urge them to consider the possibilities, when we assure them that Papa is ill.” But that idiot of a Lavinia usually ruined everything.
In an effort to retrieve the situation, she said coldly: “Does it matter, really? What if things are not run so expertly while Papa is away? It is his health we must consider, Adelaide. You would realize that if you weren’t so selfish, and so completely wrapped up in yourself. As a matter of fact, Rufus and Patrick are very doubtful, for Papa usually keeps things in his own hands. But we intend to persuade them to undertake the responsibilities in order to help Papa regain his health.”
But the mischief had been done. Adelaide’s face had become as still and pale as granite. Fever was running in fiery liquid through her veins. She spoke, and her voice was hard and clear.
“Since when have you and Linny ever considered Papa, except as a source of revenue? Since when have you cared what became of him? If he died, you and your husbands would be in an excellent situation. You must have considered that fully. You would, with the minds you possess. Why, then, all this solicitude, this eagerness to protect and preserve Papa?”
The young women exchanged swift looks. Lavinia was momentarily embarrassed, and, in consequence, was infuriated. She even appeared slightly ashamed. But Louisa, poised and restrained as always, mistress of herself as always, was not too disconcerted. The eyes she fixed on Adelaide were wicked and smooth and blue as stone.
“I may ask that of you, Adelaide: ‘Why all this passionate running to Papa’s defense?’ You’ve never been—congenial, to speak as charitably as possible. You’ve never endeared yourself to Papa. Nor has Papa shown you any overpowering affection. We must look at things as honestly as possible. Our own feelings for Papa are surely more tender than yours, all things considered. As for your crude denunciations, I pass over them in silence. I do not care to discuss anything so absurd with you.
“You speak of our minds. I assure you they are cleaner than yours, and kinder. All your life, you have displayed an obstinacy and selfishness that are truly contemptible. You’ve never tried to ingratiate yourself with Papa, or to please him. You have done nothing but antagonize him with your stupid silences and your determination to have your own way. You have no graces whatsoever, either of person or of character. You are secretive and sly, and one never knows where he is with you. You annoy Papa at every turn, until he can’t endure the sight of you.” She paused. “We were foolish to discuss this matter with you in the first place.”
Never before, in all her cool, sweet and gracious life had she used such calm and deadly words to any one. Lavinia, hearing them, cringed internally, then, very slowly, she felt a heat in her cheeks, a sick rage in her heart against her lovely sister. Lilybelle listened, and her vital organs felt squeezed to the suffocation point. But Louisa gazed tranquilly at Adelaide after these words, with such a bland and indifferent expression that it only enhanced the lethal quality of what she had said.
But Adelaide had always known. Her eyes did not drop away from Louisa’s steadfast regard. Their brownness took on a molten golden quality, as if incandescent. The words had struck her like repeated dagger blows, and she felt a great aching anguish in her heart. But she did not look away from her sister.
“Now,” she said, “we are out in the open, aren’t we, Louisa? I’ve always known what you were. I’ve always known you were malevole
nt and without heart or goodness or charity. I’ve known you for a monster. You’ve smiled and simpered your way through life, deceiving honest people; but you’ve never deceived me. I’ve known all about you.”
She drew a deep breath into lungs that felt aflame. Her voice grew stronger, even ringing.
“You’ve got to reckon with me, Louisa. I don’t know all the plot, but I’ve guessed enough to realize it is a little terrible. Perhaps I can’t do much. But I’ll do what I can. Papa shall not go away and leave everything in your husbands’ hands. Not if I can help it!”
“What plot!” cried Lavinia, pulling herself upright.
But neither Louisa nor Adelaide heard or noticed her. Their eyes were locked together in a hideous fixity. Then, very slowly, Louisa smiled. She lay back in her chair. Her lips curved in lovely meditation, without looking, away from Adelaide.
“What can you do?” she asked, with honey sweetness, even tenderness. “Papa hates you, deservedly. What can you do, my darling sister? You are a liar, a sneak, a secretive and ugly thing. Do you think he would believe your ravings?
“Yes, I’ve suspected you weren’t a fool. I think that is why I’ve hated you, my dear pet. But, I’ve the upper hand over you. You’ll stand by. You can do nothing else.”
Lilybelle, ashen with terror, gaped from one girl to the other. She blinked her eyes. She saw Adelaide beside her, straight and slight, with such a white fixed face and glowing eyes; she saw Louisa, serene and smiling, as lovely and tender as an angel. She began to whimper, deep in her fat throat.
But Lavinia also looked from one to the other. The heavy flush was darker than ever on her cheeks. Her thoughts were clamouring. She was sick with their import. She turned to Louisa.
“You are a filthy beast, Louisa,” she said. “A foul and filthy wretch. I hate you.”
Her voice was muffled, thick and confused. She struck her clenched fists repeatedly on the arms of her chair. Louisa turned to her, her pink and white face alight with malicious mirth.
“Dear Lavinia; are you championing Adelaide? How very surprising. Please don’t be so absurd. You know how things are without any elaborating on my part. Do control yourself. I’ve told the truth to Adelaide for the first time in her life. I assure you it will do her good. She was becoming entirely too arrogant, and it is about time that she realized her position in this house.”
“Her position is the same as ours!” bellowed Lavinia.
Louisa reached over and indulgently patted her sister’s hands, with the most luminous affection. “My dear dear,” she murmured. “Haven’t we discussed all this? I really can’t understand you, Linny. Only an hour ago you agreed with me. And here you are, all confused and dangerously excited, championing Adelaide against me, for something I can’t understand. What have I done, except protect ourselves? You know very well how things would be, under certain other circumstances—”
Lavinia, swollen and scarlet, was silent. But her glittering black eyes were held by Louisa’s in a kind of horrid and frightened hypnotism. Louisa smiled internally. How weak every one was, except herself! How stupid, confused, vacillating and contemptible! Only Rufus was equal to her. But Rufus, the fool, had preferred this imbecile of a Lavinia to herself, despite her efforts. What she and Rufus might not have accomplished together! She resolved to have a quiet talk with him that evening. They understood each other perfectly.
She saw the world as a herd of fat sheep, needing only a shepherd and a slaughterer. So few there were who were wise, clear-sighted and detached. These were the natural leaders, the natural manipulators, the inheritors of the earth. She saw herself as one of these supreme ones. She looked fleetly from her mother to Lavinia, and from Lavinia to Adelaide, so fragile, so straight, so silent, and with such burning eyes. All stupid, all idiots. The internal smile widened to deep laughter.
If she were clever enough, in the future, she would have everything, and these fools would have nothing. To the wise belonged the spoils. Where money was concerned, no quarter should be granted.
She disliked the necessity for open combat, for vulgar struggle. She had long anticipated that some day she must face Adelaide, whom she hated with malignance, but without violence. Her only fear had been that perhaps some day John might recognize his youngest daughter for what she was. Now that fear had vanished.
Now Adelaide was speaking again, and her voice hardly moved her parched lips. “Yes, we are out in the open now. I’m not done. You’circumstanceve not finished with me. You intend to ruin Papa. After all the love he’s given you, and the things he’s heaped upon you. But I’m standing between him and you. You won’t get past me, Louisa.”
Louisa laughed, merrily, with a sound of ringing crystal.
“Such dramatics. We have been discussing Papa’s health, and here you are, my sweet Adelaide, tilting ferociously at windmills, until you’ve forced me to defend myself and show you up for what you really are. Do go along, my darling, or I’ll expire of laughter, and I’m in no condition.”
She waved her white and dainty fingers at Adelaide with graceful and pretty dismissal, as one might wave at an annoying dog. She picked up her needlework, and shook her head to herself, smiling brightly.
But Lavinia looked at her with sick and heavy suspicion, her heart labouring. She had always evaded questions of conscience, of self-examination, as her father had done before her. Now she knew that she was soft, a weakling. She had no steel. Only violence. She wished, vehemently, that this scene had never taken place. It had compelled her to think. She was suddenly exhausted, in spite of her great vitality.
Adelaide’s words, her own uneasy thoughts and conjectures, filled her with panic. She saw the shapes of things she had denied. She felt a poisoned wound in her breast, and shame, and fear. Now she knew that despite all her lifetime of fury and noise and tempestuousness she had always evaded issues, had refused to think of them. She had seen injustice and cruelty done, and dirtiness, and malice, and had reacted to them only with boisterous noise and belligerence, because she dared not face and fight them. She dared not do this now. She had no real strength.
She thought: I have only to say to Louisa: I’ll have no part in this. I am looking at things squarely. I am nauseated; I am sick of myself, and of you, and of every one. I’ll not evade; I’ll examine. And then, you’ll have me as well as Addy to reckon with.
But even as she thought these things she knew she dared not say them. Why? She did not know. Confusion came over her again.
She turned to Adelaide, and said in a changed voice: “Addy, you do look ill. Don’t mind Louisa, who has the nastiest tongue. Go and lie down. Never mind the sewing. We’ll discuss all this later.”
Adelaide looked at her long and intently, and now there was scorn in her blazing eyes, and pity and understanding. Before that look, Lavinia averted her head.
Adelaide bent over her mother, and kissed her cheek.
“Don’t worry, Mama. We’ll have the doctor look at Papa, and if he must rest, he can do so at home. With you to care for him, dearest, he will soon be well.”
She straightened and gazed steadfastly at the smiling and sedate Louisa.
“But, he shall not go away!”
CHAPTER 47
Adelaide walked up and down her dark and narrow room in a frenzy and confusion.
She had always had a logical and analytical mind, but now she saw that in the dark forest of human machinations, human passions, logic was useless, a feeble little candle that the smallest black wind could extinguish in one gust.
Where was there reason for the frantic terror that engulfed her, for the fear and suspicion that roared in her feverish mind? Her sisters had said her father was ill; she knew this. Why, then, did wild repudiation choke her throat, torment her, make her wish to cry out meaningless and incoherent warnings? She only knew that she was afraid; that her fear was a fire in her spirit. She wondered, confusedly, if there were not warnings delivered to the soul that could not be diagrammed or explained in co
ol and reasonable words. Were there forces that could not be phrased, passions and ominously felt threats that overwhelmed analysis?
She felt there were. Like all reasonable people, she foundered when confronted by the inexplicable, which, despite its inexplicability, was stronger than rationality. The neat borders of philosophy were destroyed in the upheaval of instinct. A well-defined syllogism became the veriest insanity when an unfathomable truth confronted it. One started with a clear premise, controlled and orderly, but the argument ended in madness, even if that madness was valid.
She saw at last that instinct and passion were the basic premises upon which all students of humanity must construct their syllogisms, if the conclusion were to be true as well as valid. There was no neatness in the human soul.
She put her ice cold hands against her burning forehead. If I could only think clearly, she thought, in despair, conscious, meanwhile, of the intangible mists that floated about her. Then, she gave herself up to instinct, to feeling, to sensation, and the disorder became order, even if a terrible one. Her father was mortally threatened. She must protect him. But out of the chaos she must find intelligible words with which to warn him.
To warn him! How could she force him to listen to her, he who hardly spoke to her except to reprimand or sneer? He had ignored her for nearly seventeen years. Why had he hated her? His dislike, it is true, had set up a counter defense against him in her, of silence, of apparent sulkiness and obdurateness and injured vanity. And of assaulted love. But she had always loved him.
Mama and I are the only ones who have ever loved him, she thought, pain and compassion tearing at her heart. And Mama has loved him as a dog loves, without understanding.
She had wanted to protect him, to soothe him, to defend him. But, from what? Even that was hidden from her. However, it only enhanced the yearning and compassionate love she had for him.
He had seen her searching and penetrating eyes upon him, and he had reacted to them as all turbulent and emotional people reacted: with anger and uneasiness.
The Turnbulls Page 54
