The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (576 page)

Renny said, “I’ll go up with you to your room first.”

“Thanks. I should like to wash my hands.”

The two men, with a purposeful air, left the room.

“May I have my tea now?” asked Archer.

His mother, in desperation, poured it.

“Well,” Adeline demanded eagerly, “what do you think of him?”

“He’s most attractive,” said Meg. “Such a sweet smile. And something a little sad in him too.”

“I’m sure I shall like him,” Alayne agreed.

Adeline drew a deep sigh of happiness and relief. “I can scarcely believe it’s all over,” she said. “The waiting, I mean.”

“There are worse things than waiting,” said Archer, putting a third lump of sugar in his tea.

“Really, you are a pest, Archer,” Adeline said hotly. “what can you know about waiting?”

“I know about cold tea,” he returned.

Adeline asked of her aunt, “why didn’t Patience come?”

Patience was Meg’s daughter, an only child, four years older than Adeline. But with her lived also the daughter of her dead brother Eden. To this younger girl, Roma, Meg was as a mother. She now answered for both girls:

“Patience thought it would be confusing for the young man to meet so many of us at once. Roma went off somewhere with her boyfriend.” A shadow crossed Meg’s face as she spoke, though she tried to look cheerful.

Adeline said, “It would not have been confusing to have Patience here. I do want her and Mait to meet.”

“He’d likely prefer Roma,” observed Archer.

“Archer, how can you say such things?” exclaimed Meg, hurt.

“Under a frivolous exterior I conceal a great deal of sagacity,” he returned.

“One thing you can’t hide is your conceit,” said Adeline.

He helped himself to a cress sandwich. “I don’t try,” he answered. “I have so much to be conceited about.”

Upstairs Maitland Fitzturgis had washed his hands and run a comb through his curly mouse-coloured hair. As he and Renny were passing the closed door of a bedroom Renny said, “In there is my Uncle Nicholas. You’ll meet him later. Goes to bed early. He’s very old.”

“He’s still living, is he?” Fitzturgis said as though surprised.

Renny stopped stock still to exclaim, “Do you mean to say that Adeline doesn’t mention him in her letters?”

“Now I come to think of it, she has.”

“I hope he takes to you,” Renny said doubtfully. “We set a good deal of store by his opinion here.”

“I shall look forward to meeting him.”

Hungry though she was, Adeline was too much excited to enjoy her tea. What for two years she had been straining toward had actually come to pass. There was her lover at Jalna, sitting among her own people — her mother pouring a second cup of tea for him — her father offering him a cigarette — her Auntie Meg giving him that sweet maternal smile. It seemed almost too good for belief. She was glad that there were not many of the clan present at this first meeting, and yet she was impatient for him to meet them all, to be approved by all and to voice his admiration of them to her. When Meg had gone and they stood alone together in the porch there came her first opportunity to ask:

“Do you like them — him — my father I mean mostly?”

“Very much,” Fitzturgis answered warmly. “I like them all.”

“Don’t you —” She found it difficult to find the words she wanted. “Don’t you think he’s — rather remarkable-looking?”

“Quite. But it’s your mother’s looks I admire. She must have been a lovely girl.”

“She was. She had beautiful fair hair. She’s an American — or was, before she was married to Daddy’s brother Eden and divorced — before she and Daddy married.”

He answered, almost absent-mindedly, “I know. Maurice, I think, told me when we first met…. A nice house, this. I like your trees. How old is the house?”

“It will be a hundred years old before long.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s not very old, I know, in your country. But here it is quite an age. We’re giving a party for the house on its centenary. Isn’t it wonderful to think that you and I will be here for it — together!”

His answer was to put an arm about her and touch her hair with his lips. “I can’t believe in it,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Soon you will,” she said happily. “At this moment nothing seems too good to be true. Everything seems possible…. Oh, Maitland, I don’t know how I lived through these two years.” She looked into his face, on a level with her own, trying to see him as others not emotionally bound to him would see him. She could not, but saw him only through the enamoured eyes of her first love.

His mind returned to what had been told him of her mother’s marriage to Eden Whiteoak. “Have you ever seen him?” he asked. “Your mother’s first husband?”

“I don’t remember him. He died when I was very small. He had a daughter, you know — by another marriage. That’s Roma. She lives with Auntie Meg.”

“You’ve something against her, haven’t you?” he asked abruptly.

“Goodness, no.” Then she added, just as abruptly, “Yes, I have. And you may as well know it. Now, at the beginning, before you meet them all.” She took his hand and led him down the steps of the porch, across the lawn and along the path toward the stables. “I’ll tell you as we go to see the horses,” she said, “and then — no more about it.”

He sniffed the sweet-smelling air. “what a lovely spot!” he exclaimed.

Gratified, even more than if he had praised her, Adeline said, “
Isn’t
it! We’re thankful that Jalna isn’t near the development schemes. And with five hundred acres we’re pretty safe.”

“what about Roma?” he asked, as though the subject fascinated him.

“Well, you’ve just heard about her, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been hearing about her for two years.”

She opened her eyes at him. “Really? Not from me, surely.”

“Yes. You often mentioned her in your letters. You probably have no idea how often.”

“I’m surprised because I didn’t know I was a bit interested in Roma. And I wasn’t — not till she did this thing to Patience.”

“Patience?”

Adeline spoke with some heat now. “Don’t pretend, Mait, that you don’t know who Patience is.”

“Ah, yes — she’s your Aunt Meg’s daughter. I remember. There are a good many of you, you know.”

They were almost at the stables. Adeline said hurriedly: “Patience is a darling. We all love her. She’s not pretty. She’s rather too big and a little clumsy-looking but perfectly lovely with animals. She has a regular job on the farm, helping Uncle Piers. He says she’s better with an ailing young one than any man.”

“She sounds a good sort,” said Fitzturgis tranquilly.

“Oh, she is! She’s wonderful.” Adeline halted and looked him in the eyes, her own shadowed by puzzlement at what she disclosed. “Then Roma did this thing to her.”

“what?” He was almost smiling at her, she looked so young, so beautiful, so almost distraught.

“Roma took the boy Patience was in love with.”

Fitzturgis’s raised brows, the curve of his full lips, seemed to say, “Is that all?”

Adeline exclaimed, “Well, it was enough, wasn’t it?”

“Were Patience and the man engaged?”

“Not quite but almost. She adored him. Anyone could see that. And then Roma just reached out and took him. His name is Green.”

“Hm … what sort of fellow is he?”

Adeline’s lip curled in scorn. “You can imagine, can’t you? One who’d let himself be taken in by Roma. Weak as water — but Patience loved him. She was ready to devote her whole life to him.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Anyone could see it. Not that she went about ogling him or casting sheep’s eyes at him. She just gave one the feeling that she loved him with all her might…. Now I’ve told you let’s not talk about it any more.”

“Good,” he returned tranquilly. His eyes swept over the fine buildings of the stables. “Your horses are well housed,” he said.

Adeline’s eyes shone in pride. “They have everything,” she declared. “We may go without. Not they.” Half shyly, yet with an impulse not to be resisted, she caught his hand in hers. “Do you think you will like living here, Mait?” she asked.

“It would be a strange person who wouldn’t,” he returned, his fingers tightening on hers. “why, it’s hard to believe that there’s a town within a hundred miles. It’s hard to believe that yesterday I was in New York.”

“And I’ve never asked you how your family are — your mother and sister!”

“Mother is well. Sylvia is much better.”

“And they’re going to live in New York?”

“Yes.”

One of the doors of the stables opened and a man of about forty-five came out. He hesitated on seeing them, then strode on to meet them, walking with firmness and confidence considering that he had lost a leg in the war. Indeed his whole aspect was one of firmness and confidence, owing something possibly to the fullness of his clear blue eyes, the healthy pink and white of his smooth cheeks and the stubborn curve of his lips. “Oh,” Adeline cried eagerly, “here comes Uncle Piers. You will like him.” Fitzturgis inspected him with interest as he approached, trying to discover some resemblance to this man’s son who lived not far from Fitzturgis in Ireland, but he could discover none. Maurice Whiteoak was as different from his father as he well could be.

“Uncle Piers” — Adeline’s voice trembled a little from excitement — “this is Maitland. There’s no need, is there, for me to tell you his surname?”

“How do you do, Mr. Fitzturgis” Piers said a little stiffly, shaking hands with him.

After a few moments of talk Piers turned back into the stables with them. In here it was cooler than out in the sun-warmed air. Two stable-men were bedding down the horses for the night. There was the scent of clean straw and the pleasant smell of well-groomed horseflesh. A benign and contented atmosphere permeated the stables. For the farm horses the day’s work was over. For those darlings, the saddle horses, had come the pleasant reward of exercise or the agreeable return to loosebox after freedom in the paddock. Adeline was eager to show Fitzturgis her own mare, Bridget, with her first colt, Bridie’s Boy. They were in a loose-box together; the son, inheritor of his mother’s beauty, stood proudly beside her. Both bent their heads to nuzzle Adeline when she entered the box. The sight of her, with the mare and her colt, made Piers smile at Fitzturgis. “A pretty trio,” he said.

“A very promising trio,” Fitzturgis admiringly agreed.

“Come in,” cried Adeline. “She’s as kind as can be and so proud of her son.”

When Piers Whiteoak stopped his car on his own driveway some time later he saw his wife planting seedlings in the flower border. She sat back on her heels and raised her dark eyes expectantly to his face. “Well,” she asked, “did you meet him?”

“Yes, but only for a short while in the stables. Adeline had brought him to see the horses.”

“why, Piers,” she exclaimed, disappointed, “I thought you would have gone to the house for tea and had a good look at him.”

“Good Lord, how long do you think it takes me to size a man up?”

“Did you like him?”

“He seems a nice fellow.”

“Good-looking?”

“Quite. Likes horses but doesn’t know much about them.”

Pheasant thrust her trowel into the earth, folded her arms and demanded, “Does he strike you as good enough for Adeline?”

“I’ll tell you that when I’m acquainted with him.”

“Of course. I suppose it was a silly question…. Piers, did he mention Maurice?”

“Yes, though I gather they don’t see much of each other.”

“I thought Maurice might have come over with him. He promised, you know.”

“He’ll come later.”

A silence fell between them, as so often happened when they spoke of their eldest son. Piers and this son had never got on well together. Not that there had been open conflict between them. Rather it had been that when they were in the house together there was unease in the atmosphere. In her secret mind Pheasant had accused Piers of being unfair to Maurice. She had never quite forgiven Piers for sending the boy to Ireland at the whim of an old cousin, Dermot Court, even though that visit had made Maurice Dermot’s heir. Maurice’s future had been settled for him. He was a well-off, idle young man. Piers envied him his affluence and deplored his idleness. Almost two years had passed since they had seen their eldest-born.

Pheasant patted the earth about the last of the annual stocks. “I’m late getting them planted,” she said. “But then I’m always late getting things done.”

“You undertake too much,” he said, almost roughly, and, putting his hands beneath her arms, lifted her to her feet. He bent his face to hers and kissed her. He said, “If Adeline and her Irishman get along as well as we do there’s no need to worry.” He kissed her again, this time with an amorousness produced by congenial work in the outdoors and the springing, effulgent warmth of the summer. She relaxed against his shoulder, forgetting everything but her love for him.

But their loverlike attitudes were an embarrassment to their youngest son Philip, who, returning from a day’s fishing, cleared his throat loudly to announce his arrival.

“Hullo, Mum and Dad,” he called out. “Are you too busy to see what I’ve caught?”

His parents separated and strolled toward him. He displayed a catch of gleaming brook trout.

“Oh, lovely,” exclaimed Pheasant, then added, “Poor pretty things.”

“Listen to her,” laughed Philip, “pitying fish!”

“why not? Think how happy they were swimming about in their cool stream.”

“Not half so happy as I was to catch them.”

Philip was seventeen and had become in the past year, as Alayne said, quite outrageously beautiful. He always had been a handsome boy, but of late the clear fairness of his skin, the sheen of his hair, his heavy-lidded azure eyes, the perfection of his features, all had been intensified. As he had grown in stature, so he had grown in beauty. Piers, looking at him now, thought he was, as Pheasant declared, the image of what he had been as a boy, but the truth was that young Philip much more resembled his great-grandfather, Captain Philip Whiteoak. The young Whiteoak males, sons of Renny, Piers, and Finch, appeared to assert, almost arrogantly or at least proudly, the Northern origin of their race: the long narrow-hipped body, the long flat cheek, the fair skin.