The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (600 page)

“I have wonderful news,” his wife told him. “Renny Whiteoak’s uncle has left him a lot of money.”

Finch thought this remark was in rather bad taste. Mr. Chase greeted it with pessimism. “He’ll soon find ways of getting rid of it,” he said. “There’s not much object in having money in these days — what with taxes and the cost of living. I always have wondered how he managed to keep Jalna going, with such an expensive family and so many men about the stables. Has he been doing pretty well with his show horses?”

“Fairly well,” said Finch with some reserve.

“Does he ride much now?” asked Clara.

“As much as ever — and as well.”

“I have been two years in the West,” said Chase. “I’m out of touch with everyone here. We got married in the West,” and he nodded toward his wife. “She followed me out there — to marry me”

“Liar,” exclaimed Mrs. Chase. “I’d never heard of you till I met you in Calgary.”

“Well, I’m delighted to know of this legacy,” said Chase. “And so will my friend Crowdy be. You remember Mr. Crowdy?”

“I do indeed.” Finch remembered how Alayne had disliked these two horsy friends of Renny’s. He had a feeling, too, that she did not like Mrs. Chase. Well, it did not very much matter. They were not people who would intrude. But he wondered how Humphrey Bell would be able to put up with the loud-voiced pair and their friends.

Chase now exclaimed, “Here comes the master of Jalna. Gosh, I’m glad to see him.”

Clara Chase watched his approach through narrowed eyes as though at a bright light. “He’s not at all changed,” she said. She saw him bare-headed, his hair still thick, growing to a point on the forehead, red in the sunlight. She saw him lithe, narrow of hip, his back showing the droop of the horseman. She saw him as the man she had loved above all others in life. Now he was in the room and her hand was in his. She saw in his eyes a look half mischievous, half tender.

“Clara!” he exclaimed; then, shaking hands with Chase, he added, “You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard the news.”

“Well,” said Chase, “we went about together till we’d said everything there was to say. We’d got used to each other, so we thought we might as well be married.” while making these prosaic remarks he was at the same moment giving a fond look to his wife.

“It’s wonderful luck,” said Renny, “having you two as neighbours.” He looked at them impartially.

“Thanks,” said Chase; “and, speaking of luck, our congratulations to you.”

“Me? what for?”

“Your brother tells us you’ve had money left you.”

Renny frowned. “Did he tell you the reason for it?”

“He did,” said Clara Chase, “and I was terribly sorry to hear it. One never sees the like of your uncle nowadays. How is the other uncle?”

“Dead, too.”

“How sad … but they were pretty old, weren’t they?”

“They were. It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“You are a long-lived family.”

“It’ll be my turn next.”

“In about forty years,” said Chase.

The neCentenaryomers and Renny continued to talk. Finch wandered about the room. Bell began to doubt his own right to be there. The Whiteoaks, the Chases, seemed to have taken possession. He could not understand the half of what they said and did not want to. He busied himself with the papers on his writing table, as a hint to them to depart, but with the exception of Finch they appeared not to notice. He came to Bell’s side, and, taking the picture of a woman that Bell had cut from a magazine, he asked, “who is she?”

“Nancy Mitford.”

“Never heard of her, but I like her looks. What does she do?”

“Writes books I dote on,” answered Bell.

“She’s rather beautiful and rather wicked, I should guess,” said Finch, holding the picture at arm’s length to view it.

Hearing this talk of a woman, Renny at once joined them.

“It’s Nancy Mitford,” said Finch. “She writes books that Humphrey dotes on.”

“I know about her,” said Renny, with an approving look at the pictured face. “She wrote
Cranford
. Alayne admires it too.”

“I’ve never had much time for reading,” remarked Clara Chase. “From now on I intend to read more.”

Her husband gave her an unbelieving look, but Renny exclaimed, “Good. Alayne has masses of books. I’ll lend you some. That is —” He hesitated and stopped.

“Thanks. But I have a subscription to a book society.”

“Have you really?” he said admiringly.

“I think,” said Clara Chase, “we’d utter go upstairs. I have things to do and Mr. Bell will want to get on with his writing.” She appeared to feel that the moment he was alone he could get on with it. “Just like a machine, when you press a button,” he thought bitterly, as he listened to three pairs of feet mount the uncarpeted stairs and move about overhead. Finch had already left and disappeared in the direction of his own house — Dennis, unseen, following him at a short distance.

Upstairs Renny exclaimed, “You have very nice quarters here. I had forgotten what pleasant rooms these are.”

“It’s my furniture,” said Chase. “Bell hadn’t a stick of furniture up here.” He stalked about the rooms with a proprietary air.

“what a charming young man Mr. Bell is,” said Clara Chase; and she added in a low voice, as she and Renny were left together while her husband went to mix a drink, “That room below is where Antoine died. Do you remember?”

“I never could forget, Clara,” he said, “or forget how brave you were.”

“Or what a friend you were.” She caught his hand in hers and pressed it.

Chase soon came back, carrying a tray with glasses. He was handy at doing things for himself, as a man who had lived much alone.

“An old-fashioned,” he said. “Is that OK?”

“Fine,” said Renny, raising his glass. “Well — here’s to happy days and many of them.”

“Thanks,” murmured the lately married pair. They linked arms and swayed a little, as though about to dance. Renny eyed them in mild appreciation of their union. Certain amorous recollections he had of Clara came to him with clarity as the drink was consumed.

She, now looking steadily at Chase, asked him, “Dare I tell Renny what is in our minds?”

Chase answered, “why not? He can do as he likes about it.”

“what’s the mystery?” demanded Renny.

“There is no mystery. Simply a plain fact. We have discovered a wonderful horse and he’s for sale.”

“A horse! A show horse?”

“He is a racehorse,” said Chase solemnly. “A two-year-old. He has already done quite well, but — he is capable of anything — if he is properly trained. If I had the money I should pay the price and consider that I had a bargain.”

“what is the price?”

“He can be bought for twelve thousand dollars.”

Renny laughed outright. “why are you looking at me with such meaning? I have no money to spend on racehorses.”

“You have twelve thousand.”

His wife added fervently, “If I had that much and nothing more I’d not be afraid to buy him.”

“I have no facilities for training a racehorse,” said Renny.

“You once won the Grand National.”

“I know, but — this I dare not risk.”

“why?” demanded Clara Chase.

“Well — as I have said, I have no trainer at my disposal. Also it would be a terrible risk. I might lose all that my uncle left me.”

“You couldn’t,” said Chase. “This horse could always be sold for as much as you had paid for him.”

“what if he didn’t turn out well? Didn’t win anything important?”

“But he would win!” cried Clara Chase. “Mr. Crowdy says he’s got a fine future. Even if I know nothing or Inigo here knows nothing, you’ll agree that Mr. Crowdy is one of the best judges of horseflesh in the country.”

Chase added, “Some Americans are interested in him.”

Renny took a sharp turn about the room. “I dare not risk it,” he repeated. Then — “where can this marvel be seen?”

“At the stables of a man named Turner. You wouldn’t know him. He’s an amateur — lately interested in racing. He has got into financial difficulties and needs cash.”

“Hm. Where was he bred? The horse, I mean.”

“In Alberta. There is no horse of great note among his forebears, but they were a good stock, with plenty of stamina. It won’t cost you anything to look at him.”

Clara Chase exclaimed, in sudden panic, “I think Renny is right. He shouldn’t risk it.”

That was enough to confirm him in his desire to inspect the horse. A half-hour later he was returning through the ravine to his own house, a meeting with Crowdy arranged.

The East Wind

H
E NOTICED, AS
he reached the level of the lawn, above the steepness of the path from the ravine, that a fresh cool wind had sprung up and that it was blowing majestic white clouds about the sky. He noticed, too, that a look of late summer had descended on the flower border. Strong colours now predominated — purple, gold, and scarlet. Beside the porch he stopped to examine the web of a spider which he had been noticing for a week or more. He thought it was one of the neatest jobs he ever had seen. Wheel upon wheel, spoke upon spoke, it hung between windowsill and shrub, delicate, glistening in the sun, vibrating in every zephyr. Each evening it showed some damage of the day where blundering bee or diminutive cyclone had struck it. Yet each morning found it precisely repaired, fresh from the spinner’s toil. What troubled Renny was the bad luck of the old spinner. He was sure that the spider was old — he was so grey, so patient, so unflurried. Renny himself had known bad luck and he had a feeling of sympathy for the spider, in whose web he never had seen a single fly. There he squatted patiently in the centre, as though with chin sunk on breast, arms folded, eyes observant. But only a bit of dandelion fluff had been trapped by the web. Nothing to eat — nothing to eat.

Renny examined the stones of the porch, hoping he might discover a fly. Yes—there was one, sunning itself on a leaf of the Virginia creeper. With a sweep of the hand he caught it and tossed it into the web. It was caught — it struggled — it was gone — leaving a rent in the shining web. But the old spider never moved. He sat humped, imperturbable, waiting. The fly buzzed overhead.

Roma came out of the house, looking sweet-faced and anxious.

“Uncle Renny,” she said, raising her candid gaze to his, “I’ve something to tell you.”

“Good news, I hope.”

“Oh, I don’t know…. It’s just that I’ve broken off my engagement to Norman.”

His expressive eyebrows shot up. He looked neither pleased nor displeased.

“Broken it off, eh?” he said. “Well — and how did Norman take that?”

“Rather hard. He didn’t like it.”

“I should guess not. Well, you must do as you please. What happened? A quarrel?”

“No. I was just tired of him.”

“I don’t wonder. Have you anyone else in mind?”

“N-no. Not exactly.”

“There’s no hurry for you to marry,” he said, his eyes on the spider’s web. “You’re very young.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and came close and slipped her hand on to his arm. Marks of affection came seldom from her and he was pleased. He smiled down on her.

“I never liked Norman,” he said, “and I want to like the chaps you girls marry. It’s more comfortable.”

“You do like Mait Fitzturgis, don’t you?”

“Well enough,” he answered guardedly.

She gave her suddenly sarcastic smile. “Well enough — for what?”

“Oh, I suppose, to endure.”

“I guess we all have to endure each other, eh?” she said, still smiling. Then she added, “I suppose you think he isn’t good enough for Adeline. But then, no one would be good enough for her — would he?”

“I wish you girls would get your minds off matrimony,” he said testily. He lighted a cigarette but did not offer one to Roma. She stood looking after him as he turned away. Then she noticed the spider’s web. She picked a small tendril from the Virginia creeper and poked it into the centre of the web. She moved the tendril round and round till she had gathered up the web, then she tossed it away among the shrubs.

A few moments later Fitzturgis came from the direction of the stables. He wore riding breeches, and a flush of annoyance was on his cheeks.

“Got a cigarette to spare?” she asked on a note of cold familiarity.

He produced a packet of Player’s and lighted one for her.

“Your hand is shaking,” she said, and looked at him across the tiny flame.

“Oh, I can’t do anything right,” he said.

“More trouble with father-in-law?”

Fitzturgis inhaled, then expelled the smoke in deliberate calm. He avoided looking at Roma.

She went on, “I have good news for you.”

“what?”

“He was just telling me that he thought he could endure you.”

“He said that?”

“Well, you see, he adores Adeline.”

Chagrin deepened his colour. He muttered, “So do I.”

“I’ll say you do,” she exclaimed, “or you wouldn’t be here.”

He gave her a troubled look. “You think I’m not suited to this life, Roma?” He seemed to ask for reassurances.

“About as well as I am. I’m thankful that Uncle Nicholas left me money straight away, with no strings to it.”

“what shall you do?” he asked, his intent eyes on her.

“Go to New York.” She made a wide gesture with her cigarette. “Look about me. Travel a bit — perhaps just get a job. Change, that’s what I’m after.”

They smoked in silence for a space. The spider uncurled from the panic-stricken ball into which he had made himself and slowly ascended the stalk of a hollyhock in search of his web.

Roma was the first to speak. She said, “I like being with you. I’d like to be with you all the time.”

He gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m afraid you would be disappointed in me. I’m not a comfortable person.”

“who is — when you get to know them?”

Again they smoked in silence.

Meanwhile the master of Jalna had met his daughter on the way to the stables.

“I’m looking for Maitland,” she explained.

Renny caught her by the arm. “Come into my office,” he said. “I have something to tell you.” He led her into the austere little room that smelt of liniment and Windsor soap, and shut and locked the door behind them. Adeline looked a little anxiously into his face, saw that it was ornamented by an hilarious grin, and herself smiled.