The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (5 page)

Philip felt suddenly self-conscious. He did not quite know how to meet his wife’s family. All she had told him of them made them seem less, rather than more, real. He was prepared not to like them, to find them critical of him, yet the tall gentleman who now came quickly down the stairway held out his hand with a genial smile.

“How d’ye do, Captain Whiteoak,” he said, taking Philip’s finger in a thin muscular grasp. “Welcome to Ireland. I’m very glad to see you, sir. I apologize for not going to the station myself but I had a wearisome business at the Courthouse that must be attended to.… And now, my girl, let’s have a look at you!”

He took Adeline in his arms and kissed her. Philip then had a good look at him.

Adeline had spoken of her father, Renny Court, as a fine figure of a man, but to Philip’s mind his back was too thin and certainly not flat enough at the shoulders, and his legs were not quite straight. It was amusing to see how Adeline’s lovely features had been modeled on this man’s bony aquiline face. And his hair must once have been auburn too, for there was a rusty tinge across the grey of his head. Certainly his eyes were hers.

Philip became conscious that others had come into the hall, a woman somewhat beyond middle age, and three youths.

“Oh, Mother, here I am!” Adeline turned from her father and flung her arms about her mother.

Lady Honoria Court still retained beauty of a Spanish type which had been handed down in her family since the days of the Armada when a Spanish don had remained to marry an ancestress. Honoria was a daughter of the old Marquis of Killiekeggan, who, with the famous Marquis of Waterford, had raised the sport of steeplechasing from a not very respectable one to its present eminence.

One of the dogs, an Irish staghound, raised itself on its hind legs against the ayah, in order to look into Gussie’s face. Both nurse and child shrieked in terror. Renny Court ran across the hall, caught the hound by its heavily studded collar and, dragging it away, cuffed it.

“Did you ever see such a dog!” cried Lady Honoria. “He does so love children! What a sweet baby! We have a man in the town who takes the loveliest daguerreotypes. You must have one made of her while you are here, Adeline.”

Lady Honoria laughed a good deal. Unfortunately she had lost a front tooth and each time she laughed she hastily put a forefinger across her lips to hide the gap. She had beautiful hands which Adeline had inherited, and her laughter rang out with contagious mirth. Philip, before he had been two days in the house, decided that she feared her husband’s temper but that she circumvented and thwarted him many a time. She had an air of triumph when she achieved this and he a wary look, as though waiting his turn to retaliate. Often they did not speak to each other for days at a time but each had a keen sense of humour, each found the other an amusing person and their sulks were often broken in upon by sudden laughter from which they recovered themselves with chagrin. Lady Honoria had had eleven children of whom four had died in early infancy, but she was still quick and graceful in her movements and looked capable of adding to her family.

Adeline was embracing each of her three young brothers in turn. She led them to Philip, her face flushed, her eyes brilliant in her excitement at being home again. Her bonnet had fallen back and her auburn hair rose in curls above her forehead.

“Here they are,” she cried, “the three boys! Conway, Sholto, and Timothy — come and shake hands with your new brother!”

The three offered their hands to Philip, the first two sheepishly, the third with an air almost too bright. Philip decided that there was something queer about him. There was a remarkable resemblance among the three. Their hair was a pale red, their eyes were greenish, their faces long and pointed, their noses remarkably well-shaped with slender, supercilious nostrils. The eldest, Conway, tormented Philip by his resemblance to someone he had met, till he discovered that he was the image of the Knave of Diamonds, in his favourite pack of playing cards.

“Look at them!” exclaimed Renny Court, with a scornful flourish of his hand toward the two elder boys. “’Tis a shameful pair they are, I can tell you. They’ve disgraced me by being sent home from their English school for attacking one of the masters. I knocked their heads together for it but here they are on my hands and God knows what I shall do with them! Put them to work in the stables — or in the fields — ’tis all they’re fit for! I must tell you that I have two other sons, and fine fellows, too. But my wife would have done well to halt before she had these!”

Conway and Sholto grinned with a hangdog air but young Timothy threw his arms about Adeline and hugged her again.

“Oh, it’s grand to have you home again,” he said. “I’ve been saving up things to tell you but now they’ve gone right out of my head and I can only be glad.”

“You have nothing to tell but mischief,” said his father, “and devilment and slyness from morning to night. You have one child, Captain Whiteoak. Stop there and have no more! For it’s children that are bringing my red hairs in sorrow to the grave.”

Lady Honoria interrupted him with solicitude for the travellers. She herself led them to the rooms which had been prepared for
them. They bathed and changed their travel-worn garments and descended to the drawing-room.

A married son who lived at some distance arrived in time for dinner. He was a dark, handsome young man and rode a horse he had purchased that very day and intended entering for the Dublin Races. They all crowded out to see the new horse and were delighted by his appearance. This son was evidently Renny Court’s favourite of the moment. He could not make enough of him and praised his skill as a rider and his perspicacity as a buyer.

There was a certain grandeur in the dining room and dinner was served by two footmen in livery. The food and the wine were good and, as the meal progressed, Philip felt more at ease with his new relatives. They talked and laughed a great deal. Even the two youths forgot their position of disgrace and raised their voices excitedly. But when their father would cast a piercing look on them they would instantly subside and for a few moments be silent. An old gentleman named Mr. O’Regan appeared at table, spoke little but drank a good deal. Adeline told Philip afterward that he was an old friend of the family who had once lent a large sum of money to them and, as it was impossible to collect the debt, had come to live with them. Mr. O’Regan wore a glum, yet rather calculating expression, as though he watched with morbid interest the decrease year by year of Renny Court’s debt to him. Renny Court, on his part, treated his guest with a kind of grim jocularity, pressed him to eat and drink more and inquired solicitously after his health. Mr. O’Regan seemed to resent this and would give no more definite answer than — “Oh, I’m well enough. I think I’ll last —” Though till what, he did not explain.

Renny Court was no absentee landlord, living in England on the rents from a neglected tenantry. He employed no callous bailiff, but himself attended to the business of his estate and knew every man, woman, and child on it.

The Whiteoaks’ visit there passed amiably with the exception of a few fiery encounters between Adeline and her father. In truth they could not be together for long without their wills opposing.
She was the only one of his children who did not fear him. Yet she loved him less than did the others. It was to her mother she clung and from whom she dreaded to part. Lady Honoria could not talk of her departure for Canada without weeping. As for Renny Court, he poured out his full contempt for the project.

“What a life for a gentleman!” he would exclaim. “What will you find out there? Nothing but privation and discomfort! What a place for a fine girl like Adeline!”

“I’m willing to go,” she interrupted. “I think it will be glorious.”

“What do you know about it?”

“More than you do, I’ll be bound,” she retorted. “Philip has had letters from his uncle describing the life in Quebec and he knows a Colonel Vaughan who lives in Ontario and loves it!”

“Lives in Ontario and loves it!” repeated her father, fixing her with his intense gaze. “And has Colonel Vaughan of Ontario told Philip what the roads are like there? Has he told him of the snakes and mosquitoes and the wild animals thirsting for your blood? Why, I know a man who stopped in one of the best hotels there and there was a mud puddle in it, and a frog croaking all the night through by a corner of the bed. And this man’s wife was so frightened that the next child she had had a face like a frog on it! Now what do you think of that, Adeline?” He grinned triumphantly at her.

“I think if it’s Mr. McCready you’re quoting,” she retorted, “his wife has no need to go all the way to Ontario to have a frog-faced child. Sure, Mr. McCready himself —”

“Was as fine a figure of a man as there was in all County Meath!”

“Father, I say he had the face of a frog!”

Philip put in — “Adeline and I are bound for the New World, sir, and no argument will talk us out of it. As you know, my uncle left me a very nice property in Quebec. I must go out there and look after it and, if what he said was true, there is a very respectable society in the town. And, in the country about, the finest shooting and fishing you can imagine.”

“You will be back within the year,” declared Renny Court.

“We shall see,” answered Philip stubbornly. His blue eyes became more prominent as he flashed a somewhat truculent look at his father-in-law.

The two boys, Conway and Sholto, were fired by a desire to accompany the Whiteoaks to Canada. The thought of a wild life in a new country, far from parental authority, elated them. They could talk of little else. They would cling to Adeline on her either side and beg her to let them throw in their lot with hers. On her part she liked the idea. Canada would not seem so remote if she had two of her brothers with her. Their mother surprisingly did not oppose the idea. She had borne so much dissension because of these two that the thought of parting with them did not distress her greatly. They promised to return home within the year. Renny Court was willing enough to be rid of the nuisance of them. Philip did not relish the idea of such a responsibility but to please Adeline he agreed. He felt himself capable of controlling Conway and Sholto much more efficiently than their parents could. He thought, with a certain grim pleasure, of the discipline that would make men of them.

Even little Timothy talked of immigrating to the New World but this could not be considered. Timothy spoke with a strong Irish accent, from being so much with his old nurse who had brought him up from delicate babyhood. He had a beautiful yet strange face and was demonstratively affectionate to an extent that embarrassed Philip. A stern word from his father would apparently terrify him, yet the very next moment he would be laughing. His hair was sandy — he was freckled and had beautiful hands which Philip discovered were decidedly light-fingered. He missed his gold studs, he missed his best silk cravats, his pistols inlaid with mother-of-pearl, his gold penknife. Each of these articles was in turn retrieved from Timothy’s bedroom by Adeline. She made light of it. She declared that Tim could not help it but it made Philip angry and uncomfortable.

In truth the longer he stayed with Adeline’s family the less congenial they were to him, with the one exception of Lady
Honoria. He felt that Renny Court, for all his devotion to his land and his tenantry, mismanaged them both. Far too much money and time were spent on steeplechasing. As for politics, they hardly dared broach the subject, so violently were their views opposed. But Renny Court would encourage Mr. O’Regan to hold forth on the theme of British injustice to Ireland. Philip was unable to defend his country because the old gentleman was too arrogant and also too deaf to listen to any views but his own. He would sit close to the blazing fire, his florid face rising above his high black stock like an angry sun above a thundercloud, while words poured forth in a torrent.

What with one thing and another the atmosphere became too tense to be borne. Philip and Adeline accepted an invitation to pay a short visit to Corrigan Court, a cousin who lived ten miles away. They rode over there one spring morning, leaving Augusta, her ayah, and Bonaparte, in the care of Lady Honoria. Renny Court accompanied them on a skittish grey mare who danced her way over the muddy roads and did her best to induce misbehaviour in the other horses.

A long drive flanked by a double row of linden trees led to the cousin’s house, rather an imposing place with an ivy-covered turret at either end. Its many windows glittered in the spring sunshine. Corrigan Court and his wife were waiting on the terrace to greet them. The pair were cousins but bore no resemblance to each other, he being dark with arched brows and a languid supercilious air; she ruddy, fair, and full of energy. They had been married some years but were still childless. They hoped for a son. Bridget Court embraced Adeline warmly when she alighted from her horse.

“Bless you, dear Adeline, how glad I am to see you!” she exclaimed. “And your husband! What a perfectly matched pair you are! Welcome — many times welcome.”

“Ah, Biddy Court, ’tis good to see you.” Adeline warmly returned the embrace but Philip had a feeling that no love was lost between them.

A thousand questions were asked about their voyage and their plans for Canada. Renny Court took the opportunity to disparage the enterprise.

At dinner that night another guest appeared — old Lord Killiekeggan, Adeline’s grandfather. He was a handsome old man and it amused Philip to see Adeline standing between him and her father, bearing a likeness to each, but she had chosen all their best points. How lovely she was, Philip thought, in her yellow satin dinner gown. No other woman could compare to her.

The conversation hinged on steeplechasing, on which subject the old Marquis and his son-in-law were in perfect accord. Neither of them took any interest in the Army, nor did Corrigan Court, who held himself somewhat aloof, as though he existed on a more intellectual plane. The gentlemen remained in the dining room and drank a good deal, for the port was excellent. On the way to the drawing-room with her hostess, Adeline stopped in amazement before a picture that hung against the dark paneling of the hall. The other paintings were of men in hunting clothes, velvet court dress, or in armor. But this portrait was of a little girl of eight, her flower-like face set off by a wreath of auburn hair. Adeline exclaimed, in a loud voice: —