01 The Building of Jalna (35 page)

“Co-boss,” he said to the young cow, having learned the word from the farm hands, “nice little co-boss.” The calf bumped against his knees, its pink tongue protruding.

He saw Colonel Vaughan coming toward him across the field. He was carrying a basket. They exchanged greetings and the Colonel opened the basket.

“I have a little present for your wife,” he said. ”Some lettuces — ours are especially fine this year — also some cherries and a score of the marauders who planned to devour them.”

The interior of the basket was as pretty as a picture, Philip thought. The two great heads of lettuce were as green as the youngest grass. Their leaves were folded over their hearts, layer upon layer, firm and cool with scarcely a wrinkle. Only the edges were crisply curled. Against this greenness the glossy crimson of the cherries shone. A partition divided the basket and in the other half lay the bodies of twenty small, bright-coloured birds. They had throats as red as the cherries and crests on their little heads. Nothing could have been sleeker than their plumage.

“The rascals came in a cloud,” said Colonel Vaughan, “and settled on the tree. It was a pretty sight but I had no time to waste in admiring it. I got my shotgun and fired it into the tree. I recharged it for the stragglers. They fell off the branches like fruit.”

“By Jove, they’re pretty! But what is Adeline to do with them?”

“Have them stuffed. There is quite a good taxidermist in the town. A glass case filled with them, nicely arranged on small branches, is as pretty an ornament for a room as you could wish. If you want more I can give you double the number. I am having a score stuffed for myself.”

“Thanks very much. Adeline will be delighted.”

But he was a little doubtful as he entered the drawing-room where Adeline was sitting at her embroidery frame, utilizing the last brightness from the west. She looked charming, he thought, in
her dress of white cashmere with a cascade of lace down the front and at the elbow sleeves. He took twin cherries from the basket and hung them on one of her ears.

“There’s an earring for you!”

She put up her hand to feel. “Cherries! Oh, do give me a handful! Are they from Vaughanlands?”

“Yes. And these too. Look.”

She peered into the basket. Her face paled.

“Oh, how cruel! Who killed them?”

“Vaughan. But they were devouring his cherries. They would soon have finished them.”

“It was cruel — cruel,” she repeated. “Why did he send the birds here?”

“He brought them himself — for you — they’re to be stuffed. You’ll admire them when you see them in a nice glass case.”

“Never! Take them out of my sight! Oh, the darlings! No — let me see them!” She took one from the basket and held it against her cheek. Tears ran from her eyes.

“Now Adeline, be sensible. You work yourself into a stew over nothing — or next to nothing. What of the partridges, the pheasants, the grouse that are shot?”

“That is sport. This is murder. Those birds are used as food. These —” She pressed the dead bird she held to her lips, then raised her eyes with an outraged expression to Philip’s face. “These little birds are for beauty and song! What if they do eat the cherries?”

“What if there were no cherries left?”

“Who would care?” She kissed the breast of the bird. “Who would care?”

“Adeline, you have blood on your lips!” He took out his large linen handkerchief and wiped her lips. “Now, enough of this. Give me the bird. I shall find someone else who will enjoy having them.”

She submitted, only exclaiming — “They shall not be put into a glass case! I shall bury them myself.” She peered into the basket and again her tears overflowed.

Mrs. Coveyduck came into the room. She and her husband had arrived at Jalna some weeks before. They had been engaged in Devon by Philip’s sister, as cook and gardener. No two could have been more satisfactory. Sam Coveyduck was short, thickset and florid. He thought of growing things from morning to night and it was a dying thing that would not grow for him. He had a deep, luscious voice with a strong Devon accent. His wife was short too but more slender. She had sleek brown hair, a nunlike face and a will like iron. She was a good cook. She adored order. She settled down to rule the young couple at Jalna, benignly yet firmly.

“Just look, Mrs. Coveyduck,” cried Adeline, “at the dear little birds! What do you think of a gentleman who would kill dear little birds — just for fun?”

“It wasn’t for fun,” said Philip.

“It was for fun! Else why should he have galloped over here to show his spoils?”

“He didn’t gallop,” said Philip, “he walked. He thought you’d be pleased.”

“I don’t care
how
he came!” screamed Adeline. “He came, bringing his little victims, and that is enough! I always felt something wicked in him. Now I remember hearing how he shot down natives in India for just a little tiny uprising.”

“Those natives had killed English civilians. One of them a woman. Anyhow, it wasn’t this Vaughan but the other Vaughan.”

“Ah, trust you to cover up your friend’s misdeeds!”

“Trust you,” returned Philip, glaring at her, “to think the worst of people.”

“I can see as far through a stone wall as anyone. I know sport when I see it and I know cruelty when I see it. And this is cruelty.”

“Eh, well,” said Mrs. Coveyduck, soothingly, “I’ll fetch ’ee a nice cup of tea to comfort ’ee. As for thicey birds, we’ll have a proper funeral for they. I’ll find a nice box and line it with leaves. Coveyduck shall dig the grave and the children shall strew flowers over top. Would you like the cherries stewed, or in a tart, ma’am?”

Neither Philip nor Adeline replied. Both would have preferred a tart but neither would, in the stress of the moment, admit it.”

“Stewed, or in a tart?” repeated Mrs. Coveyduck, fixing them with eyes as blue as the sky.

“I have no preference,” answered Philip, stiffly.

“Nor I,” said Adeline.

“Then stewed — with Devonshire cream,” said Mrs. Coveyduck, well knowing their preference. She took the basket and turned to go.

Emotion always made Adeline hungry. She turned a look of hate on Philip to think he had not said cherry tart.

He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and whistled between his teeth.

“This is no stable,” she said, “nor you a groom.”

“I want cherry tart,” he returned.

Adeline smiled broadly at Mrs. Coveyduck. “The master demands cherry tart,” she said.

It was on the very day when the little birds were buried that Adeline had a letter from her brother Conway, saying that he and Mary were in Montreal and would soon come to Jalna for a visit. They were in that town to look after the affairs of Mrs. Cameron who had died in the early spring, leaving Mary a modest but not inconsiderable fortune. Both were well and longing to see Philip, dear Adeline, and the children. Sholto had accompanied them.

Adeline was divided between delight and dismay. If only they had waited a little longer for their visit, delight would have been unalloyed. But the house was not yet in order. The walls of the drawing-room and library had been papered, the curtains hung. They were inviting but not yet complete. No pictures were on the walls, no ornaments arranged. As for the dining room, it was still in chaos, the furniture swathed, scaffolds erected for the paper-hangers. Meals were eaten in the library. There was as yet no furniture in the guest rooms.

Fortunately a private sale of household effects was advertised at no great distance. Philip went off to it, a little disgruntled because
he had his hands so full at home. But it was always pleasant to spend money and he returned in great good humour having acquired two bedroom suites, one of walnut with much carving, the other of mahogany and of a good design. He also acquired complete toilet sets with enormous ewers, basins, soap dishes, slop bowls, chamber pots and toothbrush holders, tall enough for the toothbrushes of mastodons. Added to this were a large tin bath painted green, a wire stand for potted plants, a cuckoo clock, a stuffed deer’s headd, a huge volume of
British Poets
, and a dog kennel. Adeline had to leave her hanging of curtains to inspect these. She declared them all to be beautiful and, clasping the anthology of
British Poets
to her breast, flew with it to the library and placed it conspicuously on the bookshelves. She and Philip stood hand in hand admiring the effect.

Mrs. Coveyduck was without peer in the process of settling in. She never became confused or irritated. She went from attic to basement and never seemed to tire. Tranquilly and without fuss she had her own way. The young girl, Lizzie, under her guidance, was rapidly becoming an efficient housemaid. She thought Mrs. Coveyduck perfect and it was amusing to see her modeling herself in imitation.

Oh, the joy to Adeline and Philip to be in their own house! No longer was he obliged to put his head out of the window to smoke his cigar. Now, with his velvet smoking cap on his head, the gold tassel dangling jauntily over one eye, he could smoke where he chose. She would run from room to room, singing as she went. She could drop things wherever she chose, secure in the knowledge that Mrs. Coveyduck or Lizzie would pick them up. The children might cry at the top of their lungs, she had no need to worry. As for Nero, no longer was he an outcast. He so suffered from the summer’s heat that Patsy O’Flynn clipped him to his shoulders again. He was here, there, and everywhere. Already the new front door was scored by his scratchings to be admitted.

The party from Montreal arrived on a hot, bright but windy day. Everything seemed in motion, from the waving of branches to the waving of Nero’s tail.

“How heavenly to see you boys again!” cried Adeline, clasping her brothers to her in turn.

“Dear Sis,” said Conway, submitting languidly, “it is heaven to be here after the discomforts we have endured. How well you look!”

He himself had not at all changed, nor had Sholto. There they stood, slim as wands, their pale red hair worn too long, their long pale faces with the pointed chins and supercilious nostrils reminding Philip as always of the faces on playing cards — looking little older than when they had run away from the ship. But Mary had changed — from a colourless child to a fashionable young woman though, on close inspection, she looked a little overshadowed by the clothes which she had bought in Paris. Though she had all the money, Conway had firmly impressed on her that he had done her a great favour in marrying her. Her adoring eyes followed him wherever he went and, when he was absent from her, she waited in dejection for his return. She often bored him and he preferred the more congenial company of his brother.

“What a dear little house!” he exclaimed. “And all so fresh and clean! And what a wilderness surrounding it!”

“Heavens! Look at the dog!” Sholto simulated terror. “Or is he a lion? What a creature!”

“He comes from Newfoundland and he’s more lamb than lion,” answered Adeline, patting Nero.

“What sweet babies!” Mary ran to inspect the children. “There’s nothing I want so much as a baby but I don’t seem to be able to have one.”

Conway winked at Adeline. “There is nothing on earth I want less,” he said, arranging his silk cravat.

“What perfect repair everything is in!” remarked Sholto, staring about him.

“Child,” said Adeline, “the house is barely built. It’s as fresh as a daisy.”

He looked at her blankly. He could not imagine a new house.

“How is dear Mamma?” she asked.

“Looking lovely,” answered Conway. “You remember that she
lost a front tooth? Well, she had a beautiful new one put in the place. It is a miracle. A new discovery. You should see it.”

“She says she is coming over here just to show it you,” said Sholto. “Both she and Dada are coming.”

“Really!” Philip could not help looking a little aghast. “You say they are coming to Jalna?”

“Yes. Dada doesn’t believe half of what Sis writes of the place. He’s coming to see it with his own eyes.”

“How is Dada?” asked Adeline pensively.

“Beastly as ever,” returned Sholto emphatically. “He beat me till I was black and blue just two days before we sailed. I thought I should have to remain at home.”

“It served you right,” said his brother.

Mary asked — “Where are the two Irish gentlemen?”

“Mr. D’Arcy returned to Ireland some months ago. Mr. Brent eloped with a Canadian girl. They have lately returned and been forgiven by her father.”

“Had she money?” asked Mary.

“Her father is quite well off — as riches go in this country.”

“How well is he off as riches go in Ireland?” asked Conway.

“Rolling in wealth. Now come and see your rooms. Then we shall have dinner.”

She led them upstairs. They ran from room to room, examining them with the curiosity of children. Adeline herself felt like a child again. It was delightful having them with her.

They made quite a sensation in the neighborhood, with their odd looks, their clothes in the extreme of European fashion, their free-and-easy manners. The Laceys gave a lawn party for them but, as it turned out, they were not the centre of interest at it for Michael Brent and his bride, newly returned and forgiven by her father, were surrounded by a welcoming circle.

Brent disengaged himself as soon as he could and drew Adeline aside. He said: —

“I have good news for your gloomy friend.”

“I have no gloomy friend,” she returned. “I demand good spirits
in any friend of mine. If, by chance, it is James Wilmott you refer to, you are mistaken. He would be the happiest man here, if — ”

“There need be no if, from now on,” interrupted Brent. “Do please capture him and let me relieve his mind.”

Adeline found Wilmott in the midst of a group engaged in the sport of archery. He had just raised his bow to his shoulder and was looking intently at the target. She waited till the arrow pierced the bull’s-eye and, amid applause, he gave way to another player before she spoke.

“Oh, James,” she said, “can you leave this game and come with me? Michael Brent has just told me that he had good news for you. He is waiting near the summerhouse. Do excuse yourself and come.”