Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna

by Mazo de La Roche

  She ran her hand over the moss on which they sat, smoothing it. “It’s funny,” she said, “how all the grass has died under this tree and moss has grown instead.”

  “It’s pretty. Like green velvet. Look, here’s a yellow leaf lying on it. Summer is going. You’ll soon be back at school. I shall miss you.”

  “Will you?” She looked gratified. “I shall miss you too, Maurice. I get tired of hordes of girls. They’re boring. They talk of movie stars and having boyfriends.”

  “Well, I’m a boy, aren’t I?”

  “Not in that way. It’s silly.”

  “But we’re friends.”

  “We’re cousins. It’s different.”

  Maurice stretched out on the moss and looked up into her eyes.

  “Do you know, Adeline,” he said. “I’m eighteen and I’ve never had a sweetheart.”

  “You show your good sense,” she said. “It’s silly.”

  “You’re enough of a sweetheart for me,” he returned laughing. He rolled on to his back and stared up into the tree where little black cherries hung thick.

  She laughed too. “I’m a funny sort of sweetheart.”

  “I don’t think you’re funny. I think you’re very pretty.”

  She was embarrassed by his praise. She picked up a cherry from the moss and put it into her mouth. She said:

  “Archer is not allowed to come near this tree. He eats the cherries and they give him a pain. But he comes just the same. He’s always making himself sick on fruit.”

  “Kids are a beastly nuisance. Philip is. He won’t do anything Mother or I tell him but he’s as smooth as silk to Father. Just a little cherub. Father thinks he’s perfect. Yet I can do nothing right.”

  “You don’t want to be thought a little cherub, do you?”

  Maurice did not smile. “My father has always been down on me,” he said.

  “Has he?” she exclaimed, in astonishment. “I never knew that. Why was he down on you?”

  “I don’t know. Yes — I do, in a way. When I was a kid he despised me for being afraid of horses. Now that I’m grown up — well, I guess we’re just uncongenial.”

  “what a pity! My father and I get along marvellously well. At least we used to.”

  Maurice looked at her curiously. He asked, “Do you think he’s quite well?”

  “what do you mean, quite well?”

  “Oh, nothing. But he had that concussion — it must have been pretty bad.”

  “That’s all over. But he worries about an important letter he’s lost.”

  “Oh.” Maurice went on, “If it weren’t for Mother I should be unhappy at home.”

  “She’s awfully sweet. I love Auntie Pheasant.”

  “when I go back to Ireland I’m going to take her with me for a long visit. She’s never travelled. I wish you could come too, Adeline.”

  Her face was alight at the very thought. “Oh, don’t I wish I could! I had the best time of my life when I went to Ireland with Daddy.”

  “Then why don’t you come? I’m sure your father would let you. Let’s see. You’d be seventeen then.”

  She threw herself on the moss beside him and rolled there in blissful anticipation. “Oh, Maurice, how marvellous it would be! I’d meet Pat Crawshay again.”

  “You certainly would. He’s never forgotten you.”

  “He was sweet.”

  “He’s my best friend. My only friend.”

  “I thought Sidney Swift was your friend too.”

  “Oh, yes, he is. But he’s older. We get on well but my father is scarcely civil to him. It makes it difficult for me because Sidney is so much at the house.”

  “He has a funny way of looking at one,” Adeline said dreamily.

  “He admires you. He thinks you’re a little beauty. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  The vivid colour sprang to her cheeks. “That’s silly,” she said. “I don’t think I’m a bit pretty. Roma’s pretty.”

  “Roma’s a kid.”

  After a silence he said, “Next week Sidney and I are going to see Othello. Paul Robeson, the negro actor, is going to play the part. Sidney says he’s first-rate.”

  “How marvellous!” she said, fervently. “Don’t I wish I could !”

  “You wouldn’t like a Shakespearian play. They’re too old for you.”

  “You make me tired! They’re not too old for me! Uncle Finch has told me about seeing Hamlet and King Lear and Richard the Second in London. They’re not too old.”

  “Then, you’re too young.”

  “We take Shakespeare at school! Midsummer Night’s Dream — Romeo and Juliet — but it’s silly. Too much lovemaking. Oh, how I wish I could go with you! Do let me! Please, Maurice.”

  “Upon my word, Adeline,” he said. “I’d like to take you but I don’t think the play is suitable.”

  “why?” she demanded, sitting up and staring at him. “I know more than you think. I’m not a baby.”

  “But this is real tragedy.”

  “I suppose you think I’m afraid of seeing people killed. I’m not a bit. Have you seen the play?”

  “No. But — a husband strangles his wife because he’s jealous. It’s pretty awful.”

  “what had she done?”

  “He believed she’d given away a handkerchief that he greatly valued. To a beast named Iago.”

  “It seems a little thing to kill a woman for.”

  “He was crazed by jealousy.”

  “Did he love his wife?”

  “Madly. That’s why he killed her.”

  “Goodness!” Adeline sat lost in thought. Then she asked, “Did she love him?”

  “With all her heart. She was faithful to him.”

  “Faithful, eh?” Adeline pondered on the word. “Then what became of him?”

  “He ran a dagger into his heart.”

  She whistled, then added, “But Shakespeare nearly always killed his people off, didn’t he?”

  “In the tragedies, yes.”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  “Your mother would never let you.”

  “But she wants me to be intellectual.”

  “She’d never agree to your seeing this play.”

  A dancing sparkle lit Adeline’s eyes. “Mummy needn’t know.”

  “How the dickens would you expect to manage that?”

  “We could pretend you were taking me to the movies.”

  “No, no. I couldn’t do that.”

  She scrambled to her knees, facing him, with flushed cheeks.

  “Maurice, if you don’t take me I’ll think you’re the meanest boy that ever lived! You must take me! You must! Oh, if you knew how much I want to go, you’d never refuse me! I’m dying to see Paul Robeson act. I’ve heard records of his singing. And I do so want to see him in Othello. No one has taken me anywhere in these holidays. Mummy doesn’t like me to see those horrible war films. But she did speak of my seeing one about a dog — ‘Lassie Come Home,’ I think is the name of it. You could say you were taking me to it.”

  “I’m to do the lying, eh?”

  “It would be just a little lie, Mooey. And you told me, only the other day, that you don’t in the least mind telling a lie if it makes anyone happier. Just think how happy one tiny lie would make me!”

  Maurice pulled up a small cushion of moss, examined it and carefully replaced it. “It’s a good thing,” he said slowly, “that I haven’t mentioned at home that Swift and I are going to Othello.”

  She went to him, moving with body upright but on her knees. She flung herself on him.

  “Oh, Mooey, what an angel you are! As long as I live I’ll never forget that you did this for me. For the rest of my life I’ll do whatever you ask me to.”

  He put his arms about her. “See that you remember that promise,” he said.

  An hour later when he and his tutor were seated with their books before them, Maurice said:

  “My young cousin, Adeline, has coaxed me int
o taking her to see Othello. Do you mind if she comes with us?”

  Swift smiled amiably. “Of course I don’t mind. I’d like to see a young girl’s reaction to the situation.”

  “I shouldn’t have promised her,” said Maurice. “I’m afraid it isn’t the sort of play she should see.”

  “For God’s sake,” exclaimed Swift, “don’t be so Edwardian! Adeline is no baby. Considering what the world is, the sooner she develops the better. It will be fascinating to watch her.”

  “It’s got to be kept dark. I’m to say I’m taking her to a movie. So don’t forget and spill the beans.”

  “I shall not forget.”

  “You spoke the other day of our reading Othello before we see it. I’d like to begin it today.”

  Swift was silent a moment, then he said, “I had rather read it with you after you’ve seen it. You’ll appreciate it much more.”

  “But the other day you said just the opposite.”

  “I’m always contradicting myself,” said Swift testily. “I wish you wouldn’t remind me of it. It’s amazing that you’ve never read the play. But after all, I’d rather you would hear the wonder of the lines straight from the actors’ lips and read them afterwards.” He leaned back in his chair and, with dreamy eyes, recited:

  ’Tis true; there’s magic in the web of it:

  A sibyl that hath numbered in the world

  The sun to course two hundred compasses,

  In her prophetic fury sewed the work:

  The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk;

  And it was dyed in mummy which the skilful

  Conserved of maidens’ hearts.

  “The play is all about love, isn’t it?” said Maurice.

  “About love and nothing else,” returned Swift, smiling. “It will be good for Adeline to see what high emotion can be. For God’s sake, don’t let her awakening be in terms of moving pictures!”

  They saw Piers standing in the doorway. “Hard at work, eh?” he said, sarcastically.

  “Just getting down to it,” smiled Swift.

  In the kitchen where Pheasant was washing salad, Piers remarked, “I’m glad I’m not paying that tutor. I think he’s no good as a teacher, and I think he’s bad for Mooey. He ought to have a manly, middle-aged tutor.”

  “Mooey thinks Sidney Swift is very clever. He likes him.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Piers spoke with ironic heartiness. “He’s just the sort of fellow Mooey would admire — and imitate.” He took out his pipe and filled it. Then he added, “Well, Mooey isn’t very congenial to me now. I don’t know how it will be with us when Swift gets through with him.”

  “I’m afraid Mooey is like me.”

  “He’s not a bit like you. You are congenial to me, aren’t you?”

  “If Mooey had been a girl, it would have been different.”

  Piers lighted his pipe and threw the burnt match on the floor.

  “It would not have been in the least different,” he said. “what were you like as a girl? Were you afraid of horses? No. You’d ride anything on four legs. You rode in a horse show not many months before Mooey was born.”

  “Perhaps that’s why he hates riding.”

  Piers ignored this. He continued, “Were you always moping about with a book under your arm? No. Were you self-opinionated and la-di-da? No. If you had been any of these things I’d never have married you.”

  “You couldn’t have helped yourself,” said Pheasant. “I’d have married you.”

  A few days later Maurice remarked casually to his mother, “Swift and I are going to town to see a show of some sort on Monday night. I’m taking Adeline with me. She hasn’t been about much in her holidays and she goes back to school on Wednesday.”

  “That will be nice for her.” Pheasant was pleased by his thoughtfulness. “You must be careful to choose a nice film. Her mother is very particular about what she sees.”

  Maurice gave a little grunt.

  “I do wish,” Pheasant went on, “that I could go to Othello. It’s to be here next week, you know. But good seats are so expensive.”

  Maurice bit his knuckle, not looking at her. Then he said, “I’ll take you. We’ll go toward the end of the week.”

  “Oh, Mooey, I wasn’t hinting,” she cried.

  “I know you weren’t, Mummy. But my allowance is quite decent and there aren’t many ways of spending it out here. Do you think Father would like to go?”

  “No, no. Shakespeare bores him. But how lovely it will be for us to go together!” She flung both arms about him. “Mooey, whatever girl gets you is going to be lucky.”

  “No girl is going to get me in a hurry,” he laughed. “I guess I’ll wait for Adeline.”

  “That would be a lovely match. Everyone would be pleased. The way she’s coming on I don’t think you’d have many years to wait.”

  In these days Adeline was living in a dream. Hour by hour she ticked off the days, straining toward the great night. She had lied to Alayne. She had tried hard not to lie. It had hurt her to lie with her mother’s candid blue eyes on her. But she was cornered. She had been forced to say what film Maurice had asked her to see before Alayne would give her consent. Alayne was satisfied by the choice.

  Once the lie was told, Adeline put it out of her mind. She would make it up to her mother by perfect behaviour to the last day of the holidays. She took extra care in making her bed. She ran errands cheerfully. She even darned Archer’s socks which was a trial to her.

  She led Ernest on to talk of Othello.

  “I think the best Othello I ever saw,” he said, “was Matheson Lang. What a voice! what grandeur he added to Shakespeare’s words! Dear child, I was enraptured.”

  “They say Paul Robeson has a wonderful voice.”

  “I dare say but — I don’t want to see him in the part. No negro could be convincing to me as the Moor. An Englishman, with his face blackened, looks the part much more. You see I’ve been to Morocco.”

  “You’ve had a wonderful life, Uncle Ernest.” Her eyes were full of admiration.

  Ernest was gratified. “Yes, indeed I have, Adeline. I have had wide experience. Life on two continents. Travel. A keen interest in art, through many years. Art in all its forms. It’s a great solace in one’s old age.”

  “when I’m older will you let me read your book on Shakespeare?” “I shall be delighted to, Adeline. I hope to finish it within the next year or so.”

  “Have you come to Othello yet?”

  Ernest could not help looking pleased with himself. “One of my best chapters is on Othello. This is the point I emphasized — that no matter how great the passion two lovers have for each other, nothing can make them one. They are two separate beings to the end. And that is their tragedy. This is beyond you. But some day you’ll understand, dear child.”

  She was silent, trying to survey, with her inner eye, the mysterious future that lay before her.

  Hour by hour she pressed forward to the night of Othello. She began to feel that here was a turning point in her life. For one thing it was the first play of Shakespeare’s she had seen. For another it was the first occasion when she had gone out in the evening without her mother or one of her uncles. She was being carefully brought up. She wished it were just she and Maurice who were going. She thought she did not like Sidney Swift.

  Yet, when on the night of the play she climbed into the car, he smiled at her in such a friendly, intimate way that she changed her mind. It might be good fun having him along. Renny and Alayne stood on the steps to see them off. Adeline suddenly felt as though she were going a long way from them, as though she were leaving on a voyage. Perhaps it was because she had lied about where she was going. She did wish she hadn’t been obliged to do that.

  “Goodbye,” said Alayne, “and I do hope you’ll enjoy yourselves.”

  “I wish you were coming with us, Mrs. Whiteoak,” said Swift.

  Adeline thought, he doesn’t know Mooey and I are deceiving her.<
br />
  “Film plays don’t interest me,” answered Alayne.

  “what is the play?” Renny asked absently.

  Maurice and Adeline each waited for the other to answer. She felt her cheeks burning.

  “‘Lassie Come Home,’” returned Swift, smiling.

  He does know, thought Adeline, and he doesn’t a bit mind lying!

  “See that you don’t miss that last train, Mooey,” called out Renny as the car moved down the drive.

  It was not far to the station and they had not long to wait. Seated in the train between the two young men, Adeline abandoned herself to the rich anticipated pleasure of the night. The train was crowded, most of the passengers being soldiers. Even the aisles were full of them. When they looked at Adeline she looked back, without timidity and without boldness. Maurice and Swift talked a little to each other across her. Sometimes they gave her a smiling look. It was so obvious that, to her, this was a great occasion.

  In the city there was the ride in the tram, then they were in the brightly lighted lobby of the theatre. Maurice already had the tickets. Adeline had a feeling that he had paid for Swift’s ticket, which seemed hardly fair. Swift was older and a tutor. He should have bought his own ticket. Adeline had heard that he was a sponge.

  The theatre was filling fast. They had excellent seats. Maurice disliked any but the best. Now they were seated, with Adeline in the middle. She took off her little hat, laid it on her lap and looked happily about her. Maurice leaned toward Swift and said:

  “My father and mother came here to a play the evening after they were married. They ran away, you know.”

  “Yes?” said Swift. “I wonder what was the play they saw.”

  “It was a Russian musical show. Chauve Souris, they called it.”

  “I’ll bet she had a great thrill out of it.”

  “Not more than I’m having out of this,” put in Adeline.

  Swift looked down into her face. “It’s thrill enough for me,” he said, “just to watch you.” He could not keep his eyes off her but she was unconscious of this. She was watching the orchestra take their places. Now they were playing “God Save the King.” The audience rose. Adeline stood at attention, her eyes steady, her hands at her sides.

  Now the curtain was up. The street in Venice was discovered. Roderigo and Iago were plotting. Now the stalwart figure of the Moor appeared. His simplicity, his dignity, the grandeur of his voice went straight to Adeline’s heart. She was fiercely on his side. She could not understand how any man could be as wicked as Iago. In the first interval she asked: