The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (592 page)

It was a lovely evening, with that touch of tenderness in the air of a summer soon to leave. The French windows of the drawing-room stood open. The scent of the folded day-lilies stole into the room. The moon had not yet risen. The lawn and trees beyond it were only discovered by the lights from the house. The women, in pale flimsy dresses, with long full skirts and necklines low enough for the display of beauty, were drinking coffee. The men had remained a little longer in the dining room, with the exception of Archer, who wandered in and out through the French windows, finding himself unwanted by either party. Dennis, after dinner, had been sent to bed. Young Philip, at seventeen, remained with the men and none thought to question his doing so.

Fitzturgis remarked, as he had already done, the boy’s resemblance to the portrait of his great-grandfather.

“Let’s not speak of that,” said Philip, rising glass in hand and standing beneath the portrait.

“And why not?” asked Fitzturgis.

“Because it’s a sore point between Uncle Renny and me. Either his son should have been the spit of the portrait or I should have been his son — I’m not sure which.”

“One thing is certain,” said Nicholas, “my father lives again in Philip.”

“Time will change all that,” said Fitzturgis. “Your father, sir, could not live on in Philip, in the world of today. Where could you match that look of complete well-being and composure in any modern face?”

“Have I got it?” asked Philip.

Fitzturgis scrutinized his face and answered, “Yes.”

“Then I’ll keep it,” said Philip. “See if I don’t.”

Nicholas, his eyes on the portrait, remarked, “My father had many a fine run to hounds before he went to India. I remember his telling how he rode fifty miles in one day on the same horse. But the queerest thing he told me about fox-hunting was something he’d seen when a boy. He saw a huntsman and three hounds coming into a village street and a fox dead beat a few yards ahead. The huntsman was calling out, ‘Hoick!’ The fox lay down in the main street and the hounds, as exhausted as he was, quite powerless to tackle him, just lay down beside him.”

“Would you say those were the days, Uncle Nicholas?” asked Christian.

“All days are the days when you’re young,” answered Nicholas.

Nevertheless, as Renny took his arm to assist him when they rose to leave the room, it was remarkable how these two men, one very old, the other past middle age, overshadowed, in their essence, in the vitality of their very natures, the young ones, especially the very modern Norman.

When they reached the drawing-room Fitzturgis went straight to where Alayne sat and dropped to the sofa beside her. She had the coffee table in front of her and he sat in an attitude of readiness to carry the cups about. However, she said, “The boys will do that.” She handed a large cup of coffee to her son, explaining, “That is for Uncle Nicholas. He finds the little one quite uncontrollable.”

Fitzturgis sank back tranquilly beside her. He kept his eyes on his coffee as he stirred it. Alayne gave a swift glance to Renny and another to Adeline, to see if they had noticed. His coming to her seemed to her so pointed that she felt if she had been in the place of those two she would have been jealously conscious of it. Renny was indeed looking at them with a puzzled expression, but Adeline, being chaffed by Christian, apparently was not watchful of her lover. “And that is well,” thought Alayne. “Particularly as jealousy in this instance would be nothing short of ridiculous. Her own mother.… The child has too much sense.”

When she had finished with her duties of coffee-pouring she turned to Fitzturgis and said, “Now that you see all the clan together I hope you are not too much intimidated.”

“I have seldom felt more so,” he answered in his rather abrupt manner. “That’s why I come to you for protection.”

Alayne gave a gay little laugh. “You could not do worse,” she said, “for I have never been able to protect myself.” She felt exhilarated, there was no denying it.

“If you are not one of the clan after all these years,” he said, “can I ever hope to be?”

“I am sure you can.”

“And may I always come to you for understanding?”

“If you feel you need it.”

“I have never had it from any woman,” he answered.

“Nor I,” she said, with an almost provocative look, “from any man.”

His hand rested for an instant on hers, as it lay on a fold of her dress. “I shall make it my business,” he said, “to understand you.”

Renny’s voice, raised hilariously, as he recounted some ridiculous incident of the day’s doings, now dominated the rest of the room. The two on the sofa gave him a look more critical than sympathetic. Roma now appeared beside them, coffee cup in hand.

“May I have some more, Auntie Alayne?” she asked in a small voice.

Fitzturgis had risen, and now, as she made no move to return to her seat beside her fiancé, moved aside to offer his place on the sofa. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ll just sit down here, if I may.” She dropped, with youthful ease, to the rug at their feet and added, “I’d like to hear some sensible conversation. They’re being absolutely crazy over there.”

Alayne looked down at her in surprise. She was usually the last person whose company was sought by Roma. Fitzturgis said, “Surely at your age you are not craving sensible conversation.”

She raised large eyes from the level of his knee. “why not?” she asked.

“Well, it’s your right to be wild — crazy, as you call it — before you settle down to life in earnest.”

“I must be prepared,” she said.

“Isn’t she absurd!” Fitzturgis said to Alayne, with an almost tender smile for the girl’s simplicity.

Alayne did not answer. She no longer felt at ease. Roma’s coming had shattered a moment of something more than charm, a moment of such sympathetic intercourse as she seldom enjoyed except with Finch, and his company lacked the almost dangerous appeal of the Irishman’s.

Meg now swam across their vision, dressed in voluminous white, like a vessel in full sail. She came to anchor beside the occasional table. She laid her plump hand on it. “This little table,” she said, “this little table that I’ve always adored — how, in the name of goodness, did it get here?”

With an effort Finch said, “Well, to tell the truth, Meggie, I brought it.”

“Then you don’t like it,” she cried, “not after my giving it to you for your new house!”

“But I do like it,” he protested, “very much indeed.”

She ignored this and went on, “You scorned all my furniture openly but this. You advised me to sell my furniture. I have been arranging to sell it — to come to you with only this little occasional table; and now — I find it here.”

“why,” put in Renny, “I didn’t notice that it had been returned.”

“Returned!” she cried. “I don’t know what you mean by returned. It’s been mine for years and years.”

“I don’t know how you make that out,” said Piers. “I’ve always understood that it was one of the pieces brought out from England by Grandfather.”

“You’re right,” said Nicholas. “It was.”

“Naturally,” said Meg, “I can’t pretend that I brought it out from England a hundred years ago, but I do know that Renny gave it —”

“Lent it,” he interrupted.

“That is perfectly ridiculous,” she said, her colour rising. “You gave it to me because I badly needed an occasional table and this one had been relegated to the attic or somewhere —”

Alayne now spoke in a consciously polite tone, “It was never out of this room,” she said.

“I beg your pardon,” Meg returned. “Humbly I beg your pardon. But if this occasional table could speak it would rise up on its hind legs and deny that.”

All eyes were on the table, as though none would be surprised if it rose (on whichever legs were its hindmost) and declared where it was on such and such a night.

“Meg is right,” said Nicholas, and he gave the table top a slap. “It was I, myself, who somehow managed to knock the table over. Two of the dogs had got into a fight and I was separating them. One leg of the table was cracked and it was carried to the attic to await repairs.”

“And there it waited five years,” said Meg. “Do you deny that, Alayne?”

“No,” returned Alayne bitterly.

“Then, when I needed a little occasional table, Renny said, ‘There’s that old one in the attic that needs repairing. I’ll give —’”

“Lend,”
he interrupted.

“That’s better,” said Nicholas. “I don’t like my mother’s belongings scattered over the countryside.”

Now Meg was truly hurt. “Uncle Nicholas,” she cried, “surely you would not call my little drawing-room, where every article is cared for, polished, and loved for its past associations, the countryside!”

“I don’t know what you’re driving at,” growled Nicholas.

“She is saying,” said Piers, “that she intends to have the table, by fair means or foul.”

“How perfectly ridiculous,” she cried. “I have put forward no claim that is not just. Renny gave me the table. I took it to Finch’s house —”

“why?” asked Nicholas.

“Because, Uncle Nick, dear, I am going to live there.”

“why?” repeated Nicholas.

Meg looked about her in despair. “Will you please tell him, Finch,” she said in a desperate tone.

Finch mumbled, “I guess I need a woman to look after me, Uncle Nicholas.”

Nicholas looked doggish. “Get a wife,” he said. “where’s that pretty young widow who was visiting here?”

Sylvia was sitting just behind him. Renny, Piers, and Pheasant, their sons, all broke into laughter. But Piers almost instantly became serious again. “One thing is certain,” he said. “I never have had any of Gran’s things either given or lent me.”

Meg’s eyes opened wide in wonder to think he could be so forgetful of favours. “what about that beautiful old dressing table and washstand with marble tops? I presume you haven’t sold them.”

“Lord, no,” laughed Piers. “One could scarcely give them away today.”

“They were bought right here, in Ontario,” added Pheasant.

“Jacques and Hayes, that was the name of the maker,” Nicholas said brightly.

“Fancy his remembering that,” exclaimed Meg in appreciation.

“I’m not in my dotage yet,” he returned crossly.

Meg went and sat on the arm of his chair and stroked his thick grey hair. “Not one of us has a better brain than you, Uncle Nicholas. And I think it is for you to decide who is to have the occasional table.” She drew his head to the beguiling softness of her bosom.

He said, as everybody knew he would, “I think you should have the table, Meggie. It will be my present to the new house.” He smiled round him benignly. Archer, under his breath, said, “Mercy!”

Later Nicholas expressed a wish for a game of backgammon. It was long since he had played, but when the board was set in front of him he was competent as ever. Meg was his opponent and in such good spirits that she was delighted to be beaten. Renny, Piers, Pheasant, and Alayne settled down to bridge. The others drifted outdoors…. Enveloped in the rich darkness, the full moon glimmering low among the trees but as yet casting no shadow, the air enticing with the scent of nicotiana, the grass moist from the first evening dew, the wan orchestra of locusts losing not one beat in their melancholy recitative which, while vibrant with life, spoke only of death, those who drifted outdoors wondered that any could bear to remain in.

Maurice took Adeline’s hand, openly as though she belonged to him, and led her into the dim tunnel of the driveway. “Surely,” he said, “you can’t deny me a word alone with you — now that everything is so finally settled between you and Fitzturgis. In a little while I shall have no right to ask for even that.”

“I want us always to be able to talk together as good friends,” she said gently. She still left her hand in his. The voices of the others came to them muffled by the heavy foliage of the hemlocks and spruces of the drive.

“what is it you want to say to me?” she asked.

“As soon as I’m alone with you I forget what I intended to say. It doesn’t matter.”

“Think hard and it will come back to you.”

“I can’t think…. It’s only when I am alone that I can properly think. I don’t suppose you will believe me, Adeline, but when I am alone I have quite beautiful thoughts. Solitude brings out the best in me. What I mean is, I understand things better then.”

“I wish,” she said, “that you wouldn’t try to understand. Just take things calmly as they come.”

“what I want you to tell me” — his voice shook a little — “is why you cannot care for me. What is wrong with me? There must be something wrong.”

“I care for you a great deal, as a cousin —”

He flung her hand from him.

“You are my favourite cousin,” she said, “except perhaps Christian.”

“Christian! Good Lord — you surprise me.”

“I admire Christian.”

“You love Fitzturgis. You admire Christian. And you neither love nor admire me.”

“Sometimes I do both. Not always.”

“I suppose I should be thankful for the crumbs you throw me.” He tried to see her face in the shaft of moonlight that now entered the drive as they neared the gate. He knew that face so well. The curve of the nostril, the line of chin and lip were so clear, yet never could he feel secure in the knowledge of her features. Changefully they eluded him, took on one expression after another, like a face seen through a moving veil.

They reached the gate and stood talking in desultory snatches before they retraced their steps. He had a faint feeling of satisfaction in the thought that Fitzturgis must be wondering why they had gone off together. Fitzturgis did wonder but with a certain grim amusement at Maurice’s expense. Obviously Maurice was snatching at anything he could get. Well, let him make himself as objectionable as he liked. It did not matter. Yet mingled with his amusement Fitzturgis felt a moment’s hot anger.

The anger passed as he found himself at Roma’s side, strolling across the open lawn toward the ravine. She looked so cool, so innocently self-possessed, in that low-cut dinner dress, with those smooth fair locks.

“Did you ever hear such a lot of nonsense,” she said, “about an old table?”