The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (170 page)

Finch sat on the stool, swallowed up in misery. He stared dumbly at the keyboard. As he stared he forgot the others in the room. He laid his small hands, brown from the summer sun, with nails cut too short for comfort, as Meg cut them, on the keys. He began to play. He played the waltz through. He played it delicately yet boldly, with a kind of innocent fervour. When he had finished he remained seated at the piano, his head hanging.

Mrs. Stroud clapped her hands delightedly. She gave Renny an expressive look. She formed the word
wonderful
with her lips.

“It is pretty good, isn’t it?” Renny said with pride. “Considering that he doesn’t know one note from another?”

Mrs. Stroud opened a drawer and took out a box of chocolates. She offered them first to Finch.

“Perhaps you’ll be a great pianist some day,” she said.

“God forbid!” said Renny “But it’s nice to be able to play the piano. My uncles have had a good deal of pleasure from it.”

“Are you fond of music?”

“I’m not what you’d call musical,” he returned with diffidence, “but it’s nice to hear when you come into a house after a day in the stables. The only time I don’t like it is when the band blares out at a Show and I’m riding a novice.”

The squall had ceased. Pale sunshine threw the shadow of a branch on the wall. The spaniel was noisily licking her paws.

“It’s beginning to roast now,” said Pheasant, regarding the fowl’s foot.

Renny got to his feet.

“We must be off. Come, kids.”

“Oh, don’t go yet!”

“We must. We’re on our way to the church to inspect a leaking roof. I keep the roof in repair.”

At the door he thanked her again for what she had agreed to concerning Dayborn. She stood in the doorway watching him disappear down the road, a child by either hand, the spaniel at his heels.

When she returned to the room she stood thinking with crossed arms, her chin in her hand. She felt sure that she had attracted him. She felt in herself the power to draw him closer — to hold him. Here was a man! She had met no other like him! She was passionate. She had experience. What if she could win him — become his wife — the mistress of Jalna! The room turned slowly round with her. She put out her hand gropingly on the back of a chair and steadied herself.

D
ISCOVERY

F
ROM THE CHURCH
, Renny turned homeward with Finch. Pheasant had run along the road toward Vaughanlands, waving her hand as she climbed over the gate that led into one of Morris’s fields. At home Renny found that his grandmother was still in bed. She disliked this sort of day and had a slight cold. She was not, however, feeling ill or depressed. She was propped up with pillows and had bed table across her knees on which she had laid out the cards for her favourite form of Patience. Her parrot, Boney was in his cage for it was one of his irritable days and he had, soon after breakfast, bitten Ernest. Now he was systematically throwing the seeds out of his seed-cup with a sidewise jerk of his beak, in search for a particular variety which he sometimes had as a treat. Each time he threw out a portion, he cast a piercing glance over the bottom of the cage and muttered an imprecation in Hindustani.

Adeline ignored Renny’s presence, except by a nod, continuing to turn up the cards in threes, glancing across the board each time she did so with an expression ludicrously like her parrot’s. Renny, observing this, gave a chuckle of delight and seated himself on the side of the bed.

“Glad you think it’s funny,” she said.

“What, Gran?”

“Me not being able to work the thing out.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you, but at Boney.”

She peered at the parrot. “He’s disgruntled. He gets that way. He bit your Uncle Ernest this morning, so his tonic must be ordered from the chemist.”

“That’s not the way I treat horses that bite.”

“What do you do to them? “ “Sell them, if I can.”

“Ah, I couldn’t part with Boney. Could I, love?”

He gave her a glassy stare, then went on throwing out his seeds. She put down her cards and clasped her handsome old hands on her stomach. She turned her large nose toward Renny.

“You smell of the outdoors,” she said. “Lean over and let me sniff you.”

He bent over her and she drew a deep breath. She fingered the lapel of his coat and looked into his eyes. “Tell me,” she said, “have you ever been in love?”

“Often.”

“Of course — passing fancies. I mean the real thing.”

“Yes. Twice.”

“When? ”

“Well, once in France.”

“Oh, the Countess! You told me about her. When was the other time?”

“That’s a secret.”

“No, it isn’t! Not from me. You’re in love now.”

He patted her knee. “Go on with your game, old lady.”

“I suppose it’s that Mrs. Stroud. Ernest confesses that he had an attachment for her.”

“It’s not Mrs. Stroud and never could be.”

“Is it that Cummings girl?”

He shook his head.

Adeline gave a triumphant chuckle, then looked serious.

“You mustn’t think of marrying her. When you marry, it must be to a woman of position and means.”

“The combination seems rare hereabout. Anyhow, I prefer good looks and similar tastes.”

“Now you’ve proved it. It is that girl. Don’t you dare think of marrying her.”

“I’m not.”

“For one thing, she has a child.”

“No harm in that.”

“I wonder!” She repeated the words under her breath several times, then began to shuffle the cards. As she laid three out, she remarked:

“Something’s got to be done about Eden.”

“I don’t think he often goes to Mrs. Stroud’s now.”

“Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?”

“Who says he does?”

“Never mind. I have my ways of knowing what my grandsons are up to.”

Rags tapped on the door, then entered, carrying a glass of hot cinnamon water on a tray. Adeline stretched out her hands to it. She sipped it cautiously.

“Ha, it’s hot!”

“It will do your cold good, ma’am.”

Rags stood watching the old lady with an expression of deep commiseration. Looking across the tumbler she examined his features and demanded:

“Why do you look like that? D’ye think I’m shaping for influenza?”

“Ow, naow, ma’am. You’ll soon be fit again. I was just thinking wot a pity ’twould be to give you anything to worry about.”

Her eyes gleamed. “I’m used to worry. I’ve worried for over ninety years. What mischief have you to tell, my man?”

Rags scratched his chin and looked enquiringly at Renny.

“Go ahead,” said Renny. “It’s a dull day.”

Rags bowed gravely.

“There’s no young gentleman,” he said, “I admires more than Mr. Eden.”

“Yes,” said Adeline. “What’s he been up to?”

“I admires ’is book learning. There’s nothing I like better than to polish the silver cups ’e’s won for running and jumping.”

“Out with it, Rags,” said Renny.

“I’ve nothing to tell of against Mr. Eden. It’s ’is friend, sir.”

“The lady friend?”

“Nao. The gentleman. Mr. Powell ’is nime is.”

Renny frowned. “What about him?”

“Just that ’e daon’t exist, sir.”

“Stop beating about the bush, Rags, and explain.”

“Well, sir, it was like this. I ’ad to go on a message to the Rectory the other day. It was one of them lovely days when its ’ard for a ’igh-spirited young man like Mr. Eden to stay indoors. I saw ’im walking a’ead of me towards the back road where ’e was to meet Mr. Powell. But Mr. Powell wasn’t there. Nor did Mr. Eden look abaht for ’im. ’E just marched straight on to Mrs. Stroud’s.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Adeline. “The young whelp!”

“Go on,” said Renny.

Rags warmed to the disclosure. “’E went in. As I’d been sent out on a message I didn’t dare waste my time watching outside the ’ouse, but the next day, when ’e set out to meet Mr. Powell, I set out after ’im, ’aving explained to my missus that I was off on a mission relating to the family welfare. Mr. Eden went straight to Mrs. Stroud’s, like ’e ’ad before. I ’adn’t long to wait. They came out together, she very smart in a white costume, and made down the road, me following. They never stopped till they reached that boat ’ouse at the end of the road. There they got into a canoe and paddled out of sight. The next time I couldn’t get away but yesterday I did. It was such a weary wait that I came ’ome again. But towards evening I took another stroll in that direction and ’ad the un’appiness of seeing them set out again. There’s no young man I admires more than Mr. Eden, and I don’t like to see ’im trapped in a spider’s web and never put out a ’and to save ’im.”

“You did right to tell me,” said Adeline. “You can go. We must talk this thing over.”

Rags out of the room, she turned her eyes enquiringly to Renny.

“What shall you do?” she asked.

Certainly, he thought, not what he felt like doing! He must be careful not to anger Mrs. Stroud or she would probably send Dayborn and Chris packing. He could not do without Chris for two reasons. First, he loved her. Second, Launceton loved her and worked for her as for no one else. If he ran in the Grand National, Dayborn was to ride him. He must be cautious, and he hated caution. Where was Eden today? Had he gone with the boys? Or was he spooning with that damned interloper? His voice was hard as he said:

“I’ll attend to this, Gran. Don’t say anything of it to the uncles or Meg.”

“Bring the boy to me! I’ll lay my stick about him!”

“There’s nothing I’d like better. Oh, damn that woman! But I must go carefully. There’s Chris to consider….”

Adeline sat staring at him, her jaw dropped, her aged mind trying to take in the circumlocutions of his. Which woman was he damning? But she would not acknowledge her bewilderment. She pulled her cap over her eyes so that he might not see how baffled they were, and muttered:

“Yes, yes, we must be careful! Go slow but certain. We’ll put the boy in his place and still win the race. Poetry, eh? It’s lucky to make a rhyme. Why didn’t Ernest manage things better?”

He bent and kissed her, then left the room.

He was furious with anger against both Eden and Mrs. Stroud. Eden was a deceitful puppy. She was ... he made a grimace.

In the hall he met Meg and asked her if Eden had taken the train that day. He had, she said, and looked glum about it, poor boy. He did so hate cycling in the rain. She added reproachfully — “I kept Finch at home because he had an earache last night and then you took him out with you.”

“I didn’t take him, he ran after me. He never spoke of his ear.”

“What is the matter, Renny?”

“Nothing.” He smiled at her, then took his hat from the rack. It was hard to keep back the story of Eden’s deception.

For the next three days Eden went to town each morning with his brothers. Gales and rain scarcely ceased during those days. Renny’s anger intensified. At breakfast he would ask Eden, solicitously, if he were going by train or with Mr. Powell. His tongue lingered almost affectionately on the name. On the fourth morning, stormier still than the others, Eden returned casually:

“I’m going with Powell.”

Renny stood in the hall smoking a cigarette and caressing the dogs while Eden put on his raincoat.

“Filthy morning,” he remarked.

Eden gave a resigned shrug. “Yes, I envy you at home.”

As soon as he was gone Renny shut the dogs in the sitting room, put on his own hat and coat, and strode swiftly in the direction Eden had taken. He saw him ahead walking leisurely along the path toward the road.

Renny was stopped by one of the stablemen and stood talking to him for a moment, in case Eden looked back. But he moved steadily on, his head bent to the rain. He took his time, as though the day were fine. Renny stopped behind a tree as Mrs. Stroud’s house came into view. Eden passed it, however, on the other side of the road, without a glance. Renny inwardly cursed Rags and expected to see Eden picked up by a car at any moment. Added to his anger against the youth he had a sudden resentment at his responsibility for him. Then he wondered how his father would have tackled the situation. For an instant the scene was blotted out and he saw only his father’s face, with its expression of indolent good humour. But what a temper he had when he was roused!

Eden at last turned into a tiny shop, kept by a Mrs. Brawn, in the front of her cottage. Probably he was going to buy cigarettes. How long did the young fool think he could loaf about the countryside like this, without arousing suspicion? Renny could see him leaning across the counter talking to Mrs. Brawn.

At last he came out and retraced his steps in the direction of Mrs. Stroud’s. Renny had a mind to stop him before he reached the house, so that he might be obliged to put less restraint on himself, run less danger of antagonizing her. But Eden was now walking so fast that he would have been forced almost to run to overtake him. And he was turning into a meadow, evidently intending to approach the house from the back.

Now he had disappeared. Renny stood motionless, watching the house, grimly giving them time to get their greetings over. Then he went to the door and knocked. He noticed for the first time that the knocker was the head of a woman with snakes coiled about it. What a choice! Certainly it had not been there in Miss Pink’s time. No, she had had a nice little brass bell that you twirled round. He knocked again.

There was silence inside the house.

He knocked more loudly. No answer. This was something he had not been prepared for. The rain was coming down harder than ever. It was pouring off the brim of his hat across his eyes. He tried the door handle. It was locked. What did it mean? How serious was this? He went round to the back door and knocked on it with his knuckles.

The door opened and Amy Stroud stood there, her lips pale but curved in the semblance of a smile.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He stared at her steadily through the rain dropping from his hat. She drew herself up. Her lips quivered but she returned his stare without flinching.

He said, in a restrained voice — “I saw Eden come in here less than ten minutes ago.”