It was well that the family had had a glass of champagne before this announcement. As it was, they were thrown into a state of excitement. Renny was frankly delighted. He put his arm about Harriet Archer and kissed her enthusiastically. Nicholas came and kissed her too though the announcement was no surprise to him. The men shook Ernest by the hand. Pheasant hugged him.
Piers exclaimed — “Good for you, Uncle Ernie! Well run! With the odds forty to one against you!”
Meg and Alayne exchanged one of their rare looks of sympathy. This was almost too much. Meg’s uncle. Alayne’s aunt. He over eighty. Harriet racing toward seventy. But they too achieved smiles of congratulation, though Alayne’s was touched with incredulity. In truth she scarcely recognized in this exuberant little woman her retiring New England aunt who had lived up the Hudson.
“We thought,” Ernest was saying to Renny, “that we should like to rent the fox farm, if you don’t object. It’s a nice little house and so convenient to Jalna. I think Harriet can make it look charming. Later on, of course, we’ll go to England for a time.”
Everyone talked at once. Rags, after ceremoniously offering his good wishes, brought more champagne. Piers and Maurice became a little hilarious. Meg found it necessary to press Maurice’s foot under the table as his remarks concerning the approaching alliance showed an inclination toward raciness.
Wakefield alone seemed abstracted. Harriet Archer wondered whether the young monk disapproved. He sat rather in the shadow. Soon Renny noticed this and turned to him.
“Well,” he said, “have you nothing to say for yourself?”
“Yes,” returned Wakefield gravely, “I have something to say. But perhaps after all this excitement it will scarcely be noticed.”
His lips pouted. He was afraid that Uncle Ernest had stolen his thunder.
Renny leant toward him. “What is it?”
“Only this,” said Wakefield. He rose from his chair and stood motionless, black in his novice’s robe.
All eyes turned to him. The smiles faded from their faces. Renny looked almost apprehensive.
Wakefield fixed his eyes on Renny’s and began slowly to unbutton his robe. There was a complete silence as he divested himself of it and laid it carefully across the back of his chair. He now stood before them in a dinner jacket.
A gasp of amazement — even shock — put him at his ease again, gave him the sense of drama that was so strong a part of his life.
He turned to Piers.
“You were right, Piers,” he said simply. “You said I’d come back, and I have. But you gave me just six months and it’s taken a year. And I haven’t left the monastery because I couldn’t stick it, but because I knew I had to have the things Renny said a Whiteoak must have. The priests and the brothers have been perfectly splendid about it and — I hope you won’t mind having me home again, Renny?” He flashed a smile, in which there was a touch of his boy’s impudence, at Renny.
Renny sat silent, motionless as a statue. But though he was so still his eyes devoured Wakefield, noting the shape of his shoulders in the well-fitting jacket, the warm colour in his cheeks. From his eyes blazed his gratification, his relief, his pride.
Piers gave his young brother a thump on the back. “What a young fool you were to waste a year of your life!”
Meg exclaimed — “Pheasant, do come and take my place! I must be beside Wake!” She ran to Wakefield and clasped him to her. “Oh, how happy you’ve made me! It just seems too good to be true!” She began to cry, looking out of her streaming eyes into her youngest brother’s face. “I brought you up, you know, Wake darling…. You must never, never forget that! But for me, you would never have pulled through — I can truthfully say that.”
“He’s been a mixed blessing,” said Piers.
“Tell me, Wakefield, are you still a Catholic?” asked Ernest.
“I was never a better one. Piers says I’ve wasted a year but I think I’m always going to look back on that year as the best in my life.”
Meg was sitting beside him now, clasping his hand. He sat proudly erect. The newly engaged couple were forgotten.
Nicholas growled — “The boy ought to go on the stage — with his looks and his talent.”
“Regular movie-star eyelashes, hasn’t he,” said Pheasant.
“Shut up!” laughed Wakefield. Then he turned to Renny. “Haven’t you anything to say to me, Renny?”
Renny answered — “Do you remember that dachshund pup I brought from New York? The chap I got him from said I should be able to sell him for seventy-five dollars when he was grown. Well, I have sold him for one hundred dollars today. What do you think of that?”
“Splendid!” said Wake. If old Renny wanted to talk dog, then dog it should be.
The others fell in with this. The conversation turned to the normal and agreeable channel of stables and kennel. But there was a dreamy undertone to it. Wakefield’s return to the fold, Finch’s recovery, the advent of Harriet Archer and her engagement to Ernest, Alayne’s reconciliation to Renny, the birth of her son; all these changes and readjustments made themselves felt in subtle inflections of the voice, in swift interchange of glances. The dark cords of kinship which bound them inexorably together, vibrated with renewed strength. The continuity was absolute. With purged simplicity they found satisfaction in every detail of each other’s expressions and words.
When the others went to the drawing room Renny remained for a little behind. Merlin had lain close to his feet during the dinner. Now he rose, stretched himself and raised his muzzle questioningly to his master. Renny went to the portrait of his grandmother and looked at it reflectively. Then he stepped on the rung of a chair so that his face was on a level with hers. He pressed his lips to the picture and said:
“It’s all right, old lady. Everything’s going fine.”
THE END
Wakefield's
Course
MAZO DE LA ROCHE
DUNDURN PRESS
TORONTO
To Caroline
I
AT JALNA
RENNY WHITEOAK HAD done well to provide himself against the weather for, though it was now March, the wind was as icy as in winter and it needed his rubber boots to keep out the icy slush of the road. He had thrust his bare hands into his pockets, pulled a battered felt hat over his eyes, and drawn his chin into the shelter of his coat collar, so that the only parts of him exposed to the elements were his ears, which were somewhat pointed, and his bony, aquiline nose. The wind and the sleet did their worst to these so that his ears were whipped to a bright red. His nose, however, showed an invincible defiance and looked only a little more weather-beaten than usual.
He walked with bent head, in a state of almost ecstatic concentration, so that the time it took him to walk from his own stable to his brother Piers’s house might be estimated as a few moments or half a lifetime. His mind was concentrated on one problem — should he respond to Wakefield’s cablegram, and to another which he had received from his cousin Dermot Court, or should he not? Common sense and a keen sense of duty told him no. But what were they compared to the wild clamour that shook his soul when the idea of acquiring a grand new horse possessed it? If an observer watching his progress along the country road could have looked at the same time into his mind he would have seen there a strange conglomeration of shapes, a strange and antagonistic medley of shapes — the shape of a bankbook, the outline of a wife’s accusing face, a steamship ploughing across the sea, innumerable hurdles and hedges over which flew, in hypnotic leapings, the shape of the unknown horse.
He was so intent that he had overtaken two small boys before he saw them. They belonged to his brother Piers and were on their way home after their day at a school in the town. It was a long walk from the railway station and the younger, Nook, looked tired. He was barely nine. Renny took his hand and remarked: —
“Drifts too high for the car, eh? That’s why I’m walking, too.”
Nook nodded. “Mummie says
she’s never known such a March and she’s lived a long time.”
“Not nearly so long as I, and I’ve never seen such a one. But it’s still early in the month. Any day you will wake to find a warm sun and the snow going off in a hurry. Is your father at home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t. That was a damned silly question, but then I’m in a damned silly mood.” He grinned down at them. “What’s the matter, Mooey? Haven’t you anything to say for yourself?”
“Not specially, except that I have a blister on my heel and I think one of my toes is frozen and I’m hungry.” Being tired and somewhat disgruntled, he added — “I’ll bet there’s something for dinner I don’t like.”
“I’ll bet,” said Nook, “that Philip has taken my train apart. I just had it on my birthday but it doesn’t matter!”
“He smashes all my things,” said Mooey. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“What a pair of grousers! Here we are! We’ll go in and find what damage is done.”
The house was of wood, painted white with green shutters, pointed gables, and long sloping roof. Though it was nearly a hundred years old it had a spruce, youthful appearance. In summer it was surrounded by a charming old-fashioned garden, but at this time of year it looked rather bare. The two boys darted ahead and threw open the door. Renny could hear them heralding his approach at the top of their voices.
His sister-in-law, Pheasant, slender, brown-haired and brown-eyed came eagerly down the stairs to meet him.
“How nice of you to come! It’s been such a dull day. Wind and rain and sleet. I’ve lived a good many years and I’ve never known such a March.”
“So your boys were telling me,” He touched her cheek with his cold one and asked — “Where’s Piers? They told me at the stables he’d come home and of course the phone’s out of order.”
“He hasn’t come. But probably he soon will.”
Her youngest son, Philip, came prancing in from the kitchen. He wore a toy leather harness with bells and was eating a rosy apple. He was six years old, fair-haired, pink-cheeked, with bright blue eyes. His eyes still had the wonder of the cradle in them but he carried himself with an air of purpose and even pugnacity. He demanded at once: —
“Have you brought the lollipops you promised me, Uncle Renny?”
Renny pulled a wry face. “I’ve forgotten them! But I’ll buy them tomorrow and send them by your dad. I promise you.”
“Has Philip played with my train?” Nook asked of his mother.
“Yes,” answered Philip for himself. “I did play with your train and the funnel came off.”
Nook waited to hear no more. He fled from the room and up the stairs to investigate the damage for himself.
“What I go through with these boys” exclaimed Pheasant. “Nook values his things so, yet he leaves them about where Philip can get them.”
“You can’t hide away a locomotive like you can a thimble,” said Mooey, sternly.
Philip was astride of Renny’s knee, taking small quick bites of the red apple. “I busted it but it wasn’t my fault,” he said. He gave a shout of joy. “Here comes Daddy!”
Piers came in, shining in oilskins and his own fresh complexion. At sight of him Renny’s face assumed a look of great gravity. He fixed his brilliant brown gaze on his Brother’s face.
“I have had a most important cable,” he said.
Piers stared. “Who from? The boys? Is anything wrong?”
“Yes. From Wakefield. Nothing wrong. It’s about a horse.”
“My God!” said Piers. He went out into the hall and removed his wet outer garments.
Pheasant looked uncomfortable. Renny joggled the child on his knee and whistled softly between his teeth. In a moment he said: —
“That was silly of Piers, Surely he doesn’t imagine that I will do anything without due consideration.”
“He thinks you are impulsive where horses are concerned.”
of defence, but he knew he was not proof against Renny’s urge to buy a horse. He said: —
“May I read the cablegram?”
Renny handed it to him.
“Certainly,” said Piers, “Wake has gone to a lot of trouble to make this animal sound enticing. But Malahide! Surely you wouldn’t trust him!”
“I’ve had another cable. It’s from Cousin Dermot. Read it.” He fished it from a pocket and gave it to Piers, who passed both on to Pheasant.
“How thrilling!” she exclaimed, “Of course you’ll buy him!”
Renny beamed at her. “You think I ought?”
“Well — it seems a marvelous opportunity.”
Piers struck his fist on the table. “Never — never without seeing him first! You’ll have to go over. No — you can’t possibly — it will make the horse too damned expensive. Upon my word, I think it’s a harebrained scheme. Neither Finch nor Wake is capable of judging a horse. And how do you know what Malahide or that old Dermot Court has up his sleeve? It may be a put-up job to fleece you.”
“On Malahide’s part it might. On Cousin Dermot’s, never. He’s a grand old boy. I absolutely trust him. Both as a judge of horses and as a kinsman.”
“I do love to hear you use that old-fashioned word!” cried Pheasant. “It might be your grandmother speaking.”
“If Gran were here,” said Piers, “she’d counsel you not to take such a risk. Just think! Either you buy this horse without seeing him or you take an expensive journey to see him —”
“I shall cross tourist —”
“I can picture you doing that!”
“You’re not denying that I can be economical, are you?”
“In some ways you can be as close as bark to a tree.”
“What?”
Renny’s colour rose. He stared hard at Piers.
“I only mean —”
“Well — go on.”
“You know yourself that you won’t buy the new farm implements we need.”
“I know that the old ones are adequate.”
“You are the only one who thinks so.”
Pheasant’s pacifying voice broke in. “Surely if Renny trusts Cousin Dermot’s judgment and thinks well of Wake’s —”
“I do indeed.”
“Then surely it’s worth considering. If the horse should win the Grand National, Renny could sell him for a stupendous sum. It may be a gamble, but what a glorious one!”
“Piers would prefer,” said Renny, “that I should take any extra money I have for farm implements, in order that he can make a few dollars extra on the crops — which I don’t believe he could,”
“I could do with less hired help.”
“If I win the Grand National,” said Renny, “I’ll buy you anything you want.”
“Thanks.” Piers gave an unbelieving laugh.
“Then you are dead against the project?”
“No. I’m not. I’m keen about it. But — I think the risks are too great. You would have to depend on other people to superintend the training. Then you’d make a second trip across the ocean to see the race. You’d want to see your horse win, wouldn’t you?”
His elder brother had listened to him with the colour deepening in his already high-coloured face. Now he tilted Philip from his knee and rose in anger to his feet. He strode up and down the room.
“Am I,” he asked passionately, “to spend the rest of my days at Jalna and never go anywhere? Am I to rusticate here like a vegetable? I tell you I’ve got to have a change!”
“I never get a change,” said Piers, doggedly.
“You never want one.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re welcome to go anywhere at any time you want. Why, you were in Montreal just before Christmas, about that consignment of apples!”
“You were all over the place during the polo season.”
“Yes,” returned Renny bitterly, “and generally came back with a pulled tendon or a broken collarbone!”
�
��You did that just once! Also, you rode in the New York Horse Show.”
Renny’s tone was almost plaintive. “Yes, and got a flu germ that laid me up for a fortnight! I can tell you that I made up my mind months ago to go to Ireland this spring to see my Cousin Dermot. I visited his father, old Dermot, in 1919. I’ve always promised myself I’d go back. Now the son is an old man and if I delay it may be too late. He must be nearly eighty.”
“Oh,” cried Pheasant, “I do think you ought to go!”
The passion in his eyes melted to an enfolding warmth as he looked at her.
“Do you really?” he asked.
“Yes. I do.”
Philip shouted — “Go to Ireland and buy the horse!”
His uncle picked him up, hugged him, and gave him a kiss. He said: —
“If I do go I’ll buy you a present. Choose whatever you like.” Renny then turned to Piers. “Well, what do you say?” he asked.
Piers’s bright blue eyes smiled up at him.
“Well,” he said, “if you’re going over in any case, you might as well drop in and have a look at the nag.”
“You know,” said Renny to Pheasant, “I think it’s damned disagreeable of Piers to be sarcastic about this.”
Piers lighted a cigarette and laughed. “I’m just being philosophical. I only hope that Alayne will be equally so.”
“I don’t think Alayne will oppose me in this. She knows that financially things are much better with me than they were a few years ago. Some of her own investments are recovering. I think myself that things are looking up with us from every side. As for that new reaper you want, go ahead and buy it. I dare say we need it.” He gave a sigh and picked up his hat from the top of the coal box where he had laid it. A rivulet of water ran from its brim.
“Don’t go,” said Pheasant. “Stay and have supper with us.”
Books 9-12: Finch's Fortune / The Master of Jalna / Whiteoak Harvest / Wakefield's Course Page 111
