The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (409 page)

“You’re muddled up in your mind, that’s certain,” said Piers. “You’re no more to blame than she was. You’ve done nothing that she wouldn’t have done. But you’re ready to take all the blame while she is self-righteous. She has always put herself on a pedestal, by God!”

Renny gave a wry smile. “Let that be your last drink,” he said. “I’m going to find Wake.”

He hesitated outside the drawing-room door unseen by Alayne but seen by Pheasant. He and she exchanged a curious, intimate glance. It was an intimate look of understanding. He passed on into the porch, watching for a moment the children at their play. The sudden sight of him always filled Adeline with rapture. She dropped her toys and scrambled to her feet. As he bent over her she clasped his wrist in her hands and depended her weight from it. He uttered a shout of pain in response to the fiery stab in his shoulder. He pushed her from him and stood leaning against a pillar of the porch nursing his arm. Pheasant and Alayne appeared in the doorway.

“Whatever has happened?” demanded Pheasant, her small face showing the anxious lines that were only too ready to shadow its youthful smoothness.

Alayne looked frowningly from husband to child, a fresh wave of nausea dimming their figures. She did not speak.

Renny gave an apologetic grin, his eyes fixed beyond them in the empty hall. He muttered:

“This young woman had a sudden fancy for swinging from my arm.”

“Oh, how awful!” cried Pheasant. “No wonder you howled! It gave me a fright, didn’t it you, Alayne?”

Alayne gave a wintry smile and turned back to the drawing room. Renny strolled across the gravel sweep. Adeline ran after the women demanding — “Why did Daddy cry? Why did he push me? I don’t like to be pushed. I’ll push him back next time!”

Mooey was troubled by what had happened. There was something strange, something unnatural about all the grown-ups today. Even in the sweet warm breeze that blew in at the door there was a sense of sadness. A little round bunch of hepaticas, the first spring flowers, stood on a table in the hall. He and Nook had gathered them in the wood that morning and brought them to Alayne. He stood by them now admiring them and he held the small ivory elephant warm in his hand, yet his heart felt heavy. He thought he would go into the dining room and peep into a recess of the sideboard where sometimes candied fruit was kept.

He was surprised to find his father there and would have retreated but Piers, with a jerk of the head, indicated Renny’s chair and said:

“Sit down and keep me company. I’m in a bad mood.”

He had never spoken to Mooey in this intimate way before, as though he were another grown-up, and the little boy, sliding on to the chair, felt proud and rather anxious. He did not know what was expected of him.

Piers studied his son’s face with a contemplative, not altogether approving gaze. He wanted Mooey to grow up to be a pal of his and doubted very much if he should. And certainly not little Nook. But there was young Philip — a chip of the old block. He looked up at the uniformed portrait of his grandfather relishing, as often before, his own resemblance to it and now, added to that, the resemblance of his third son. And he himself was a third son! And his own father, through whom he had got his looks, had been a third son! He had never thought of that till this minute. It was a most remarkable thing. Something special in third sons, no doubt about that! And, in the fairy tales of his childhood, it had always been the third son who had come out on top. Very remarkable. He pondered over this with a solemnity that Mooey found almost overpowering. He stared at him fascinated across the table.

Piers asked suddenly — “What was the matter out there?”

In one of the strange reticences of childhood, Mooey could not find words for a reply. He just looked at Piers with an odd veiled smile.

“Why the devil don’t you answer me?” demanded Piers.

Mooey still smiled but did not speak. Piers leant forward and stared into his face, a sudden surging fear shaking him to his depths. That smile — that detached veiled smile — why — why, there was no doubt about it — he caught Mooey’s chin in his hand, his staring eyes making the colour retreat from the little boy’s face. But still the smile remained! It was Eden’s smile — and Pheasant had — oh, God — it couldn’t be! It was too horrible!

Then relief swept over him like a cooling wind. Eden was in Europe when Mooey was conceived! He was a fool — he was half drunk — or such an idea would never have entered his head. He threw himself back in his chair with a laugh of deep relief. He said:

“You’re going to make a fine man, aren’t you? Horses and farming and outdoor life — all that sort of thing, eh?”

“Yes,” breathed Mooey, out of strained lips. He twisted his fingers together under the table.

Another thought assailed Piers. He remembered how mares and bitches sometimes reproduced characteristics of former sires in their offspring. Was it possible then that this smile of Eden’s which had almost a look of pain in it had come to Mooey because of Pheasant’s past intimacy with Eden? Piers felt a leaping antagonism toward both Pheasant and Mooey and the old bitter hate of Eden pained in his breast. Then again came relief. Eden had been like their mother. And she, of course, was Mooey’s grandmother. Easy for a boy to look like his grandmother. There was Renny — the spit of old Gran! Piers put out his hand and rumpled Mooey’s hair. He said:

“I want you to do well with the ponies this summer. If you do I’ll give you something nice on your birthday, see?”

Mooey put back his shoulders and forced courage into his eyes. He said:

“Yes, Daddy, I will”

Now Piers’s mind moved away from his son to Alayne. As always with him when he had drunk too much he could not remain seated. He rose and stood on his strong legs, his glass in his hand and a lowering shadow on his flushed forehead.

“I want you to go to the drawing room,” he said, “and tell Auntie Alayne that I must see her alone. Not your mother, mind. Just Auntie Alayne.”

By the time Alayne was inside the dining room the shadow had become an ugly blackness. His eyes were hot with resentment. She looked at him first enquiringly, then defensively, but she could not imagine what he had to say to her.

“Yes?” she asked tentatively.

“I’ve always hated the thought of Eden,” he said. “The very thought of him makes me feel as black as hell.”

He had been drinking too much, she thought, and said “Why think of him, then?”

He looked into his empty glass. “Because I’m forced to think of him. And the queer thing is that I begin to sympathize with him where you were concerned. What’s a man to do but turn to another woman when he sees his own wife throwing herself at another man’s head? The fact that that other woman happened to be my wife has obscured every feeling but rage in me.” He felt that he was becoming eloquent. He repeated — “Yes, it has obscured every feeling but rage. But he’s dead and I see now you have driven your second husband …”

Alayne put up her hand to her throat. Her face was stony but her voice broke harshly as she exclaimed:

“He has talked me over with you!”

Piers raised his own resonant voice.

“And why not? He knows he’ll get sympathy from me. And sympathy is something he’s lacked all his married days. You poured that out on him before you were married, when he didn’t need it. He needed no man’s sympathy till he was hitched up to you, and no
woman’s
either!”

Alayne backed from him toward the door. She said — “You are utterly contemptible. Will you please go! As for the pair of you — you and he — I can only repeat — you will please never speak to me again!”

“The thing for you to do is to think over what I’ve said and try to see yourself as the family see you.”

“The family! It might have been different with him and me if there hadn’t been always the family!”

She went out and shut the door behind her. She did not go back to Pheasant but upstairs to her own room and threw herself across the bed. She clutched handfuls of the soft pillows and pressed her face into the darkness between them. There was a bluish shining spot before one of her closed eyes. She rubbed the eye, opened it and shut it sharply, but when she closed it the bright spot was still there. Even tears did not wash it away.

She had thought that the bitterness of her anger toward Renny could strike no deeper, but the discovery that he had confided in Piers gave an unexpected blow to her pride and Piers’s words had filled her with a rankling shame. She had always felt that neither Eden nor the family had been conscious of her infatuation for Renny. All their faces rose before her, strongly marked, individualistic, big-nosed and fierce-eyed. She saw them as vultures rejoicing over the pale corpse of her pride.

In that moment she wished that she had never met one of them, that she had never planted her foot within the domineering gates of Jalna, that she had never spent a night under that roof, in the arms of one brother or the other — Eden who had come in his bright youth and swept her, in the music of his poems, from the drabness of her office life in New York — Renny who had roused to its height the passion only half woken by Eden. She remembered the professor, the friend of her father, who had asked her to marry him and whom she had refused. There would have been her proper place! With him she could have lived the life for which nature had calculated her. She could have had a child who would have been the fruit of her bosom as well as her womb. Not one who would have stared at her laughing out of alien eyes, tormenting her when she dared. Above all, she would have never had to face the desolation of this hour.

She dreaded the return of Renny. She dreaded the uneasy darkness of his eyes, the inward purposefulness of him that was a mystery to her.

She thought with complete detachment of the child left to work her will in the rooms below. Piers and his family had gone some time ago. There was silence for a time she heard Adeline’s laughter coming from the distant basement where the Wragges had taken her in charge. Unconsciously she was relieved by the laughter and, face downward as she lay, fell into a deep sleep.

He did not return to the house till the hour of their evening meal. They were to eat it for the first time that spring by daylight. Rags had got a few sprays of wild cherry blossom and had placed them in a vase that did not suit them, on the supper table. Alayne noticed the clash before she drank in the beauty of the blossoms. She kept her eyes fixed on them, praising them to Rags who could not proceed with the serving of the meal till this was accorded.

Renny asked — “Is Adeline asleep?”

“Yes. Mrs. Wragge gave her her bath and put her to bed for me.”

Rags oozed devotion as he offered Alayne the salad. Renny stood by the sideboard, fork in hand. “That was kind of her. Some cold beef, Alayne?”

“No, thank you. Just salad.”

He dropped a scrap to the spaniels who sat on either side of him, then returned to the table and spread mustard on his beef. He was afraid that Rags was going to leave them, yet perhaps it would be better if he did. Silence or even a scene might be easier than the effort to make conversation.

“Those flowers are pretty,” he said, staring fixedly at them. “What are they?”

Rags had left the room and Alayne answered:

“You know the names of fruit blossoms better than I do.”

He felt baffled. He tried talking to his dogs but they lay, muzzles on paws, with an air of resignation.

He made a more determined effort. “Well, I had a long talk with Wakefield in my office. We came through it very well. Both kept our tempers. And I’m going to see his priest tomorrow.”

“That is good,” she returned.

“Wake is having supper with him tonight and, of course, preparing him for my visit. But I do believe that no pressure has been put on him. He’s always had a religious bent and turning Catholic has been rather too much for him. But I have hopes that I hadn’t this morning.”

“That is comforting,” she observed, biting into a radish.

He raised his eyes to her face. “Comforting —” he repeated, “comfort — that’s what we need, isn’t it, Alayne? Comfort to make us forget the things that go wrong…. Oh, my darling, if you knew how I hate to see you look like you do now. Why, you’re ill!” He got up and went to her side.

She said vehemently — “It is no wonder if I am ill! If you have hopes that you hadn’t this morning I have despair that I hadn’t this morning.”

“What is it now?” he asked.

“You have talked me over with Piers.”

A storm of reproach could scarcely have exceeded the bitterness of the few words. A tremor passed through her limbs and her heart beat heavily.

He exclaimed — “I did not talk you over with Piers! I told him what I had done and that you took it very hard. That is the truth. I don’t even know what you mean.”

She gave an exclamation of contempt. “Please don’t expect me to believe that! Like your grandmother you are clever when you are cornered. But you should choose someone less terribly candid than Piers for your confidences. He told me just how I had driven Eden to Pheasant’s arms and you to Clara Lebraux’s. He told me how I had thrown myself at your head. Oh, it must be splendid to have a brother like Piers to share your little troubles with!”

They heard Wragge’s step on the basement stairs. Renny dropped quickly into his chair. Alayne took another bite of the radish and sat rigid, its tiny green stalk in her fingers.

Renny exclaimed — “I have just heard of a most promising two-year-old I can buy for a surprisingly low figure, considering that her sire is a champion. She’s going to be a grand one. What would you say if I were to win a big event with her? There’s still money to be made in show horses, you know, if you only have the luck.”

“Yes, I should imagine so.”

She could see his hands across the table and she was fascinated by the amount of mustard he put on his beef.

Wragge asked — “Shall I close the window, ma’am? This evening h’air strikes coald.”

Alayne assented. From above came the sound of screams from Adeline.

“One of her bad dreams,” observed Alayne, rising.