The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (524 page)

After a little Garda whispered, “It is Finch. He always drums with his fingers on the door while he waits.”

“Do let him in,” exclaimed Gemmel. “I want to tell him about my engagement.”

Althea resigned herself. “Very well. Let him in.”

Garda ran to the door. In a moment Finch’s tall figure appeared, following her.

“Sitting in the dark!” he exclaimed. “You do look mysterious.” He dropped into a chair beside Gem.

Garda turned on the light. She said, “We were discussing a wonderful piece of news. May I tell him, Gem?”

“Yes.”

“Gem is engaged.”

Finch stared for a moment in surprise. Then he said, “To Mr. Clapperton, I suppose.”

She nodded, smiling up at him. The darkness had sunk back into the corners of the room. The window curtains stirred in the light breeze. Finch took her slender, supple hand in his. “I hope you’ll be very happy,” he said.

Garda answered for her. “We are delighted. Eugene is so kind. Don’t you think it is a good match?”

“Yes. But, you know, none of us likes him very well. There’s no use in pretending that we do.”

“It must make no difference in our friendship,” said Gemmel eagerly. “Everything must be just as it was with us.”

He was silent.

“We all are to move to Vaughanlands,” said Garda.

Finch turned to Althea. “You too?”

“Yes. He has promised me a room in the attic where I can shut myself up when I choose.”

“It sounds like a beautiful arrangement.”

“The house will have three mistresses in place of none,” said Garda.

“It will have the same old master,” added Althea.

“Althea is in a detestable mood,” said Gemmel, lighting another cigarette. “But I don’t mind. She’s just envious.” The sisters laughed and Finch had a moment’s pity for Eugene Clapperton. Still, he was a hard old bird. He could look after himself. But these three girls — always in league with each other … he asked:

“what about Swift?”

“He is going,” answered Garda. “Isn’t it a pity?”

“Not as far as I am concerned.”

“But your brother was cruel to him. Then your other brother dismissed him. And now Eugene thinks he can get on without him. Poor fellow! He came to see us this morning and he has a patch over one eye.”

“I think it improves him,” said Althea. “It gives his face the character it lacked.”

“what is he going to do?” asked Finch.

Garda shrugged, pretending it did not matter to her. “Dear knows! But he’s so clever. He’ll find something.”

“I thought of him,” said Finch, “as always attached to Clapperton. He seems almost like his son.”

“Eugene is still fond of him,” said Gemmel, “but he doesn’t want him in the house any longer.”

Finch asked, “whom do you suppose arrived at Jalna this morning?”

“I can guess.” Garda’s face was alight at the mere thought of an arrival from the outer world. “Your brother Wakefield! How glad you all must be!”

“You’re right. We heard yesterday that he was to come and he arrived before lunch.”

“Has he left the Air Force?”

“Yes. He’s finished with that. He’s been at it too long. Four years of flying, with scarcely a break. He shows it. He’s very tired. He had a heart attack after the last raid he took part in. When he was a small boy he had a lot of trouble with his heart but he outgrew it. Now he must have a long rest.”

All four were silent as they remembered Wakefield’s engagement to Molly Griffith, now an actress in New York. That engagement had come to an unhappy end. The movement of the lives of those two stirred against the lives of the four in the room.

“Life takes a lot of courage,” Gemmel said, after the silence.

“You certainly have had courage.” said Finch.

“No, no, I’ve never really lived. I’ve existed in a little silk cocoon, woven by my sisters.”

Garda’s admiring eyes feasted on her. “Now you’re going to spread your wings,” she said.

“And flutter as far as Vaughanlands! But it takes courage just the same.”

Althea turned to Finch. “Gem doesn’t really want to get married.”

“Indeed I do! You mustn’t think that others feel about it as you do.”

“My marriage was a failure,” said Finch.

There was a sense of fatality about him that fascinated the girls. He sat with his long hands clasped loosely between his knees. His light brown hair was fine and thick, there was something fine in the droop of his head.

“But it was an experience,” said Garda.

“One I wish I hadn’t had.”

Gemmel said, “Perhaps you play the better for it. It’s always being said that suffering is good for art.”

“There wasn’t any suffering I couldn’t have imagined. Why should I experience it? Besides — it was suffocation rather than suffering.”

He had never spoken to them of his marriage before. The sisters felt an exhilaration in his coming out of his own aloof atmosphere to talk openly to them of his private life. They tried to draw him on to say more — all but Althea. But he withdrew as suddenly as he had advanced. He was suddenly shy and before long he left. He had an unaccountable desire to kiss the sisters goodnight, as though it were goodbye. First he bent over and kissed Gemmel. She did not mind. She seemed to like it. Her skin was silken and delicate, never having been exposed to extremes of weather. She was in complete possession of herself, Finch thought. No one could take anything away from her. Yet she was passionate, he was sure. To kiss Garda was like kissing fresh fruit — a peach, an apple, with its firm, round cheek. He took her hand as he kissed her and, for an instant, closed his eyes. She turned her head till her lips touched his cheek. “Goodnight,” she murmured. He turned then toward Althea but she had disappeared.

Garda laughed. “You’d never expect her to stay for that, would you?”

“Gardie,” said Gemmel, “you have a horrible way of putting things.”

“I hope I haven’t offended her,” said Finch.

“Not at all. She likes you better than you guess.”

All the way through the stillness of the ravine, Finch felt the atmosphere of the sisters reaching after him. It was like shadowy hands stretched out after him. All sounds were stilled for the night, the birds silent, the frogs as quiet as the cool damp stones in the stream. Even its murmur was inaudible till he reached the bridge, for the season had been dry. He stood there a space listening. All his life he had tried to put a meaning into the murmuring of the stream. Ever since he was a small boy he had been sure it uttered a message meant for him alone. Now he thought, — “I shall never know what it says till the time comes for me to die. Then I shall understand.” He pictured himself near his end, clinging weakly to the railing over the bridge, leaning low above the water to hear. He felt unspeakably lonely.

He left the bridge and mounted the path at the other side of the ravine. Now he was free of the Griffiths and the atmosphere of Jalna reached out to receive him. There were lights in the rooms and the windows shone among the vines. The vines were the sleeping place of a score of young birds and their mothers. Earlier in the evening, when he had come out, he had disturbed them and they had rushed forth with sleepy flutterings, not knowing where to go or what to do. But the mothers had not been really afraid. They had collected the young ones on a telephone wire and in the hawthorn tree, quieting them with wise cheepings. Even after that there had been frantic flutterings in the creeper and the last sleepy-heads had tumbled into the open. There were but a few of them but they made a greater noise of fright than all the rest. The mothers sat on the wire and in the tree ignoring them, as if they had quite enough young without them and these last did not matter. But finally they all were safe on some perch and by the time Finch had crossed the lawn they were winging back into the sheltering vine.

Finch found Wakefield alone, sitting on the seat in the stone porch. It was wonderful to come back and find him sitting there. In the dark, when the strained look in Wake’s eyes could not be seen, it was almost as though he had never been away. Finch dropped to the bench beside him and they exchanged a few casual remarks. Finch wanted to feel as they had felt when as boys they had lounged here together. Then he remembered how uncompanionable they had been, how Wake had irritated him by his artless assumption of superiority. It was later, when Finch had had a nervous breakdown, that they had been friends. Finch did not want to remember that time. Now it was Wake who was struggling against the effects of strain and exhaustion. But spiritually and physically Wake had been through hell in the past five years, thought Finch, and he put out his hand in the dark and touched him.

“Does it feel good to be home?” he asked.

“It’s bliss! I should like to sit here — feeling everything — seeing nothing — for six months — then sleep for the next six months and wake up having forgotten all I’d ever experienced.”

“You’ll rest.”

“I suppose I shall.”

“It’s put new life in the uncles, having you back.”

“Uncle Nick looks pretty old.”

“He looks far better than he did last spring, and when his face lights up — he looks fine.”

“Yes … what’s the matter with Renny?”

“You’ve noticed something?”

“God — how could I help? Is it trouble between him and Alayne? She looks depressed.”

“We all are — depressed. But I hate to tell you, on your first night at home. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Tell me.” Wakefield spoke impatiently.

Finch moved closer to him on the seat and in a low voice poured out the story of the theft.

“It’s impossible,” exclaimed Wakefield. “He couldn’t have done it. He couldn’t have taken the money, hidden it from himself, and then keep on doling it out to himself in that insane way. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Does an injured mind make sense? Does the war make sense? I have reached the point when nothing seems too crazy to be true. Do you remember how the spirit, Lorenzo, in Keat’s
Isabella
, said:

I know what was, I feel full well what is,

And I could rage, if spirits could go mad.

“Don’t,” exclaimed Wakefield, moving uneasily in shadow.

“I don’t know what will happen to Renny, if this goes on. He’s always searching — always trying to remember. It’s very hard on Alayne.”

“Has he consulted a doctor?”

“No. Nothing can persuade him to. He told me yesterday that he has lost eighteen pounds since this happened. He watches himself in a grim, detached sort of way. He thinks he’s headed for —”

“For what?” Wakefield asked sharply, as Finch hesitated.

“I don’t exactly know. But something disastrous. He’s just watching and waiting. Something must happen. He can’t go on like this.”

“I should think that, when the money is all recovered, he’ll stop worrying.”

“Perhaps. I hope so.”

“How many of the bills have been found?”

“About fifteen. That leaves thirty-five.”

“It’s ghastly. It can’t go on. Why doesn’t Alayne do something?”

“what can she do? Nothing but wait, like the rest of us.”

The door opened and Renny came into the porch, the light of the hall behind him. He stood clearly defined in his isolation. He was acquiescent in the doom he saw foretold for him. Yet he was master of himself as of the house. He was even cheerful and smiling.

“Hullo,” he said. “I was wondering where you had taken yourself to. Having a confidential talk?”

“It’s good to be home,” said Wake, “and just relax.”

“It’s good to have you. We will not let you go away again in a hurry.”

It was the same cry of the grandmother. “Don’t let them go away. Keep them together. Don’t let anything separate us.” Wakefield chafed in his spirit, even while he passionately longed to submerge himself in the family.

“I should like,” said Finch, “to be at Jalna for the rest of my life.”

Renny came and sat beside him and laid his hand on his knee. “Good man,” he exclaimed, “and so you shall.”

“what about this concert tour Uncle Ernest was telling me of?” asked Wakefield.

“Well, of course, I must do that. But I’ll come back when it’s over.”

“He’s practising hard,” said Renny. “I like to hear him. I like those modern pieces. They sound even more muddle-headed than I am. Has Finch told you about me, Wake?”

“Yes.” The word came out painfully. He hated to acknowledge that he knew.

“what do you think of it?”

“I think it will all come right.”

“That’s good. So do I — sometimes.”

“I think you’re as sound as a nut, Renny.”

“Tell me that — when a week has passed — if you can.”

“I’ll have a search for that money, myself.”

“I wish you would. And I wish you’d watch me. I’ve begged them all to watch me. Alayne, Finch, all of them, but they won’t. They leave me to myself and the next thing I know I’ve been to the hiding place, brought out another note and hidden it again in some ridiculous spot. One would think they didn’t want to help me. But you will, won’t you?”

“Of course, I will.” Wakefield’s heartiness of consent concealed the distress he felt. Renny, to be asking for help in such a pass! It was unbelievable.

As a drowning man desperately reaching out for aid, Renny said, “Begin tomorrow, Wake. You may well be the one to run me down. I can tell you, I’m a wily one. But you always have seen everything that went on. By Heaven, I’m glad you’ve come home.”

THE FINDING

W
AKEFIFIELD ACCEPTED
R
ENNY’S
theory that a dual personality had been engendered in him by the concussion, as, when a small boy, he had accepted every longbow Renny had drawn. It even seemed to him plausible that Renny ’s personality should be split into two, the one a thief, the other an unwilling object of the thief ’s charity who continually sought to bring the thief to justice. Wakefield could believe anything, for a time at least. To Finch this theory was fantastic, yet he could offer nothing in its stead. So much and so helplessly did he brood on the mystery of it all, that he found it hard to settle down to the practising for his concert tour. Sometimes he felt that he should go away for this preparation, where he might have peace of mind. But where could he go? Here was the piano he loved, as he would never love another. Here, bent above him at night, was the roof beneath which alone his being was complete. All other places left him but half a man. In his boyhood he often had longed to get away from the bonds of Jalna. Now, when he was away, he gladly felt these bonds drawing him back. Was it the land? The house? The spirit of his grandmother that gave him strength? Was it Renny? If Renny died — or if the dreadful thing that threatened him came to pass, would the bonds still hold? As he sat practising hour after hour in the shuttered coolness of the drawing-room, these thoughts came in on him.