The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (396 page)

Renny gazed at the small Augusta, trying to associate her in his mind with the elderly woman who had, a few months ago, waved her last goodbye to him from the deck of the steamer at Quebec. He looked long and sadly, for, in losing his grandmother and his aunt, he lost the two women who represented to him all he had known of love approaching the maternal. He could not remember his own mother and, between him and his stepmother, no love had existed.

He sat long at the bedside table, the photograph in his hand, and, at last, as the slow greyness of dawn came through the curtains and settled on the objects in the room, he stretched out his arm and laid his head on it and slept.

There Rags discovered him and brought him a cup of tea, and, when he had drunk it, he took up his grandmother’s yellow ivory-backed brush with the worn bristles and flattened his hair as well as he could. He gave a deep sigh and mounted the stairs to Wakefield’s room.

With Wake following him, half dressed, frightened, he led the way to the attic and roused Finch.

When the breakfast gong had sounded he found Alayne in the dining room ahead of him. He looked apprehensively at the chairs of Nicholas and Ernest.

“Have you seen them this morning?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. But I heard Uncle Ernest sighing, as usual.”

Renny groaned. “Poor old boy! This will kill him.”

“When are you going to tell them?”

“Directly they have something on their stomachs. Piers will be here by that time with Meggie and the doctor.”

“Have you told the boys?”

“Yes. Wake was very brave but Finch lost control of himself of course. I told him not to come down to breakfast… Good Lord, here they come!”

Heavy shuffling feet were indeed descending the stairs. Wakefield’s voice could be heard, on a deep sympathetic note. He was giving Nicholas the support of his shoulder when they came into the room. Ernest followed after, tooting his nose into a large silk handkerchief. He had taken cold and went straight to the window and shut it. His eyes looked watery and the end of his long delicate nose was pink.

Renny sprang forward and drew out their chairs for them. He exclaimed:

“What a fine morning! There’s a wind like the wind from the moors. Like Devon, eh?”

Alayne looked at him blankly. What was in his mind? Was he trying to prepare them by drawing their minds toward Augusta? She sat down behind the large silver teapot and her own small green earthenware pot of coffee.

“I wish to heaven I were there,” growled Nicholas, sinking into his chair and, as he did so, dragging the tablecloth askew.

Ernest also seated himself. “It blows like rain,” he said. “There’s a chill autumnal feeling in the air. Summer is over.” He poured milk over his porridge. The milk dribbled from the lip of the jug and made a wet spot on the cloth.

“I hope you slept well?” asked Renny, addressing them both. “It was a good night for sleeping.”

“Slept badly,” returned Nicholas promptly.

“Well, you were executing a fine solo on the trombone when I passed your door.”

Nicholas made no answer save to sup his porridge noisily.

“I,” said Ernest, “lay awake most of the night. I heard every sound. I had to breathe through my mouth because of the cold in my head. My ears were making a buzzing noise and my left leg was numb. I could not help wondering if they were not forewarnings of a stroke.”

Renny looked at him horrified.

“Oh no, no, no,” he stammered. “You must not think of such things!”

“Well, one is forced to think,” answered Ernest.

“If you had my gout,” said Nicholas, “you might lie awake. Every time I turned over it gave me a terrible twinge. You might have heard me groan.”

Alayne tried to turn the conversation to impersonal things without success. She could not eat. Neither could Wakefield. Renny forced down his food with false gusto. With funereal solemnity Wragge set a platter of fish before him.

“What is that?” asked Ernest distrustfully.

“Salmon trout. It looks very nice, too.”

Ernest shook his head.

“I couldn’t think of it,” he said. “Not after the night I had. I’m sorry there wasn’t a bit of bacon for me this morning. I could have relished that.”

“We’ll have some cooked. Rags, get some bacon. Uncle Nick, you’ll have salmon, won’t you?”

Nicholas had hidden himself behind the London
Times,
just arrived and twelve days old. From this shelter he growled:

“Bad for my gout. I’ll take bacon too.”

Renny was chagrined, for he had ordered the fish specially to tempt them on this morning. Silence fell while they
waited for the bacon. Ernest looked disapprovingly at his nephew’s unshaven chin. He observed:

“You’d have a really ugly red beard if you were to let it grow.”

Renny passed a lean hand over his face. “Yes. I know. I’d look like the devil.”

“How often do you shave?”

“Every day.”

“Hmph.”

“It’s a fact. I didn’t this morning. I—” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I’m off colour myself this morning.”

Nicholas looked at him round the edge of his paper, then returned to it with relief.

An advancing tide of gloom crept into the room. Speech was impossible. Renny gave a noticeable start as the front door opened and closed. Low voices were heard in the hall.

“Oh,” said Alayne to herself, “why cannot they do things simply, like other modern people! Why must they create this overpowering atmosphere!”

She heard Renny say—“I must telephone Piers. I’ve a message from Crowdy for him.” She saw him go into the library and close the door behind him. She knew he could endure the strain no longer. Her eyes met Wakefield’s, and a tense look passed between them, intercepted by a sympathetic gleam from Rags’s eager eye.

Renny sat down beside the telephone and buried his face in his hands. How was he going to break the news? Lead up to it carefully or simply blurt it out? His uncles seemed even more depressed than usual this morning.

Without taking down the receiver he loudly gave the telephone number and then said—“Is that you, Pheasant? I have a message for Piers from Crowdy…” Then, in a mumbling
tone he continued an imaginary conversation. The door leading into the hall opened and Piers came into the library. He said:

“We’re here. Meg and the doctor have gone into the drawing-room. Is breakfast over?”

“Almost. I’m pretending to talk to Pheasant. I had to get away. Said I had a message for you from Crowdy. I’ll tell them you’ve just happened in. God, I hear them getting up from the table now! They’re coming in here! Don’t go, Piers! I wonder if perhaps you had better tell them. Or Meggie! It might come easier from a woman. Has the doctor brought a restorative, do you think?”

Nicholas and Ernest, followed by Wakefield and Alayne, now entered from the dining room. Nicholas was already filling his after-breakfast pipe. Renny said excitedly:

“Piers has just come in. I was telephoning him when he walked in at the door. Sit down here, Uncle Ernie. I’ve something to tell you. I think perhaps Piers had better tell it.”

“No,” muttered Piers.

“What’s the matter?” asked Ernest, looking from one face to another. Meg, drawn by curiosity, appeared in the doorway.

Nicholas went on stolidly cramming his pipe.

Renny turned to Meg. “Wh-what was it you were going to say, Meggie?”

She stared back at him, speechless.

“What is all this mystery?” demanded Ernest with dignity.

“Do you feel a draught?” asked Renny. “Shall I close the windows?”

“Thank you… But why are you all here? Do I see Dr. Fairchild’s car?”

“Yes, yes. He came in to see Adeline’s rash. It’s nothing to worry about, he says. Isn’t that what he says, Alayne?”

Alayne returned his look of appeal, stiff-lipped, frozen. Save in his passion she could not respond to him.

From upstairs, from the very attic, came the sound of loud crying.

“What’s that?” cried Ernest, shocked.

“It’s Finch,” answered Renny.

“What have you been doing to him?”

“He’s crying about Auntie.”

Nicholas hit the table beside him with the flat of his hand.

“Explain!”

Ernest cried—“About
whom? Auntie! Augusta!
Has anything happened my sister?”

“Oh, Uncle Ernie!” wailed Meg, and ran in and threw herself on his breast.

Nicholas heaved himself out of his chair and stood tall and commanding.

“Tell me,” he said, in a hollow voice, “is Augusta dead?”

“A stroke,” answered Piers.

“And did not survive it?”

“I’d a cable,” said Renny, “last night. From the Vicar. She’s gone.”

Ernest began to weep, clinging to Meg, who patted his back as though he were a child.

Nicholas ejaculated incoherently—“My sister dead! Gussie dead! Poor—poor Gussie! Why—I can’t believe it!” He looked about him bewildered. “Why, she was here such a little time ago! A cablegram, you say, Renny? May I see it, please?”

Renny took it from his pocket and handed it to him. Nicholas, with a shaking hand, adjusted his glasses on his nose and read.

“Let me see it too!” quavered Ernest.

Nicholas handed it to him. Ernest peered at it through his fast-flowing tears. He could not make out the words and handed it back to his brother mournfully shaking his head. He said:

“To think of it! And I was going to write to her today! Poor, dear Augusta! Thank God, she did not suffer long!”

“I suppose,” said Nicholas, “that you have all known of this since last night.”

“All but Finch and Wakefield,” answered Renny. “I told them before breakfast.”

“And Finch broke down! Poor lad. Go upstairs, Wake, and bring him down! He must not be left up there alone.”

“Yes, yes,” echoed Ernest, “bring Finch down! He was very fond of his aunt and he will miss her sorely. Poor dear Augusta! I should not feel so badly if I had got my letter off to her.”

“She’d not have been there to read it,” objected his brother.

“I know, I know, but I’d have felt happier in my mind, just the same.” He wiped his eyes on his large silk handkerchief.

“That’s very foolish of you, Ernest. You were a very good brother to Augusta, and this is no time for futile regrets.” Nicholas took out his own handkerchief and blew his nose.

Wakefield had gone upstairs to Finch. The doctor advanced cautiously across the hall to the door of the library Renny met him with mingled relief and bewilderment.

“Do you need my help?” asked the doctor.

“Not yet! And I don’t believe we shall! They’re splendid. They’re wonderful. They’re thinking of others more than themselves. They’re wanting Finch brought down. He has rotten nerves, that boy!”

Ernest and Nicholas came forward to greet the old doctor. He shook hands with them and murmured his sympathy.

“I had a great admiration for Lady Buckley,” and he recalled an incident of her kindness to him.

Her brothers were pleased and joined in extolling her virtues.

Piers said to Alayne—“This is just what I expected. But Renny is always looking for scenes.”

“Well, I suppose he has good reason to.”

“I knew they would feel it terribly. But they’ve lots of character. They’re not weaklings—like Finch.”

“You’re not fair to Finch! You never have been!”

“Perhaps. I don’t understand him. But I think I do understand my uncles, and I expected them to show a certain amount of self-control. Thank God, they’re showing it!”

Nicholas and Ernest were indeed controlled though their faces were white and drawn. They escorted the doctor to the door and, when they returned to the library, Piers had brought a small glass of brandy for each of them. They took it gratefully. After a few sips, Ernest remarked:

“She seemed so bright before she left Jalna! I can’t think what can have brought this on. In her last letter she spoke of walking to the village and back.”

Renny asked hesitatingly—“Was her last letter—written after—she had heard about the mortgage?”

“No—she had not heard about it then. But she must have had Nick’s letter telling of it in a day or two.”

“And you haven’t heard from her since?”

“No, not since. It would be a blow to her.” He exchanged a look with Nicholas.

“I wonder—” Renny began but could not go on.

Nicholas said—“If you’re worrying, Renny, because you think that news brought a stroke on Augusta, you’re quite wrong. No—she was too well-balanced for that. As a matter of fact, she complained to me, in an earlier letter, of sensations. I was more than a little anxious about her.”

“Yes,” agreed Ernest, “it would be wrong to blame yourself for that. Augusta’s time had come and it is not for us to harrow ourselves with speculations.” He laid a kind hand on Renny’s shoulder.

Alayne looked at them wonderingly. One never knew what storm would sweep them apart or drive them together!

Wakefield returned to the room.

“Finch would not come down,” he said. “He’s quiet now. He’s sitting by his window.”

Nicholas refilled his glass. Colour returned to his lips. He said:

“There will be a lot of things to attend to. Someone will have to go to England at once.”

“Oh, I wish I could go,” cried Wakefield eagerly. “I’ve never been anywhere in all my life, and this would be a wonderful opportunity for me.”

“Your turn will come later,” said Nicholas.

“I could go,” offered Piers.

“I don’t think,” said Ernest, “that you would know enough of my sister’s affairs to be of any use whatever.”

“The idea!” chimed in Meg. “As though you knew the very first thing about closing an estate! I am the only niece. Maurice and I will go.”

“I like that,” said Piers. “What the devil do you or Maurice know of such a thing?”

“Come, children,” interrupted Ernest reprovingly, “this is no time for quarrelling. As for your Uncle Nicholas and
myself, we should not consider shirking our responsibility for a moment.”

“Do you mean to say,” cried Meg, “that you will go.”

“Certainly we shall,” said Nicholas.

“But who will go to look after you? You are ill and Uncle Nick’s leg is so bad.”