The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (175 page)

The orchestra was playing “The Song of India.” Eden had hummed it to her. Now she recognized its savage rhythm. The signal passed from Renny to her. They moved down the room where now only a few couples were dancing. Neither spoke.

At first Amy Stroud’s one desire was not to disgrace herself. A deep sigh of relief parted her lips as she realized that, even had she been less skilful than she was, she could have fancied herself a good dancer with this man. She had thought Eden’s dancing perfect, as they moved up and down her small sitting room to the accompaniment of his whistling. Tonight she had felt the exhilaration of dancing with him to an orchestra.

But this was a new experience. She had a sense of shock in the vital grace of Renny’s dancing. She was being swept along. She had no will of her own. “The Song of India” was her very heartbeat. And near her heart was the rhythmic throbbing of his. He was like one of his own racers who, having learnt an artificial gait such as pacing or trotting, took a conscious pleasure in exercising it. They finished the dance at the far end of the room.

“That was marvellous,” she breathed, her eyes glowing. “I’m so glad you asked me to dance.”

He returned, somewhat stiffly — “I did not ask you to dance with any idea of pleasure in it, for either of us.”

She still clung to his arm. She was scarcely rebuffed by his remark. She was bewildered by the ecstasy of the dance. Eden passed with Mrs. Denovan, looking admiringly down at her. He might have been a stranger, for all the effect his passing had on Amy Stroud. She remembered how, when Renny had come to her house, those who had been there before him had been obliterated. Here was a man, she thought, she could have loved with her whole soul. Yet how often she had a feeling of hate for him! “It is my passionate nature,” she thought. “Oh, if only he would ask me to dance again!”

He said:

“I want to talk to you about Eden. When can I see you?”

Her heart beat in anticipation. Another meeting with him! Would it be better to meet him in her own house or in this hotel? Her mind wavered between the two, decorating both imagined scenes with provocative embellishments.

“When can I see you?” he repeated.

Better meet him at the hotel! In it something of tonight’s atmosphere might still be felt.

“Will you be in town tomorrow?” she asked.

“Yes. Are you staying here?”

“Yes. Could you have lunch with me here?”

“Thank you, I’m afraid I can’t. May I come some time in the morning?”

She did not want to see him in the morning. “I must be out all day. Can you come in the evening?”

He gave her a penetrating glance. She felt that he saw through her. She compromised. “I think I might arrange to see you in the afternoon.”

“Very well. I’ll come about three.”

It was like him, she thought, to have chosen that most uncomfortable hour.

“Could you make it four?”

“All right. It shall be four.”

They returned to their table. Mr. Denovan, as though feeling cheated of his guest’s company, turned decisively toward him and began to talk of horses.

“Shall we go?” Amy Stroud asked of Eden in an undertone.

“No, no, I want to dance.”

He did indeed want to dance but apparently not with her. Once again he led Mrs. Denovan on to the floor. Amy Stroud sat between the two men, almost ignored by them.

But she had no feeling of isolation. She was tingling with life.

But when Eden again invited her to dance she refused. She had heard Mr. Denovan ask Renny to go to the smoking room, where they could talk in peace, and Renny’s acquiescence. Mrs. Denovan was tired after travelling and was going up to bed. Amy Stroud rose and said goodnight. She left the dining room, followed by Eden. In the corridor he said:

“Thank God, old Redhead let me go in peace! I’ve felt pretty low in the last half-hour, expecting a row with him.”

“He’s having it with me.”

“With
you
! When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Here.”

“I wonder what he’ll say.”

“I wonder.”

Eden gave her a curious, slanting look.

“I believe you’re looking forward to it.”

“I am — in a sort of way.”

“He has that effect on most women. I thought you were different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said angrily. “I am looking forward to proving to him that I’m not an adventuress.”

They had reached the door of her room. He lounged against it, laughing.

“
You
an adventuress! Oh, Aimee! ”

Her voice was icy.

“Why not?”

“You simply couldn’t be.”

“Your family think I am.”

“No, they don’t.”

“What do they think?”

He tried to say something to soothe her.

“Well — they think you’re a dangerous
good
woman.”

“Then I must undeceive them.”

“As to which quality?”

“I’ll talk that over with your brother.”

“Aimee, you’re angry with me … and after such a lovely evening?”

Both sought to regain the happy mood of the early evening but they parted with coolness.

Whether it was the different environment or some change in herself, Mrs. Stroud could not tell. Whatever it was, she slept well that night, dreamlessly and long. She woke with rested nerves and clear eyes. She was pleased with her reflection in the glass. How lovely to lie in bed and have your breakfast carried to you! Her own house seemed far away. She felt that this life would go on forever.

She got a novel from the lending library but she read little. It was a pleasure to her to sit in the lounge, watching people come and go. She had a glimpse of the Denovans but drew back in her chair. She shrank from speaking to them. In the writing room she found picture postcards of the hotel, and sent one to each of the few acquaintances of her past whom she considered worth the trouble of impressing.

At a quarter to four she secured a quiet corner and established herself there to watch for Renny Whiteoak. He arrived promptly. After their first words of perfunctory politeness they sat in silence for a space, she waiting for him to strike the note of the conversation, he controlling his desire to speak to her as his grandmother would have counselled. Finally he said:

“Mrs. Stroud, do you mind telling me how serious this affair between you and Eden is?”

“It is a friendship that has been very dear to me.”

He answered impatiently — “I didn’t say
has been
, I said
is
.”

“It is still very dear.”

“I suppose you know that I sent him to live in the University to get him away from you.”

“Yes. It was not necessary.”

“Do you realize that he’s only eighteen?”

“He’ll be nineteen in a few months.”

“What of that?”

“Men have married at nineteen.”

His eyebrows shot up. “If you have marriage in your mind —”

“I haven’t.”

“Would you mind telling me what you have?”

She answered, almost inaudibly — “I want to do what you want me to.”

He stared at her, as though scarcely believing his ears.

She went on — “I asked Eden to have dinner with me here, because I had to find out if he still cares for me. You see, I had been terribly hurt. I found out that he cares for me as much as ever. It made him very happy to be with me again…. Then, last night, something happened. I suddenly realized how you must feel about it. I began to feel that, as you are Eden’s guardian, you have the right to forbid him going about with people you think are dangerous to him.”

“Yes,” he agreed, looking intently at her.

Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m a very lonely woman, you know. You can’t understand that, because you’re one of a large family.”

“You ought to live in town.”

“I love the country!”

“You had neighbours, Mrs. Stroud, and you turned them out. If you’re so lonely, I should think you would have hesitated to do what you did — even if common humanity hadn’t prevented you.”

At the mere thought of Dayborn, her heart began to thud quickly against her side. However, she said steadily:

“I have a temper. Jim Dayborn brought out the worst in me. I’ve often regretted what I did. Are they still at Jalna?”

“They’re in the flat now.” Some thought absorbed him, made him forget her very presence.

She must bring his thoughts back to her. She asked:

“How is Launceton getting on?”

His eyes lighted. “Oh, he’s doing wonderfully. The problem is his training when winter comes. But we’ll manage somehow. He’s a grand fellow.”

She was afraid that the interview might be wasted in talk about the horse. She felt that his difficulties with Eden paled before his absorption in Launceton. For a moment she was helpless. Yet his physical attraction for her was intensified. All that had gone before in her life seemed but a preparation for this, a passive and pale introduction. What had Eden ever given her! Nothing comparable to what she had given him. She felt a fire in herself, a passion for living that would make defeat impossible.

“I’m going to promise you,” she said, “never to see Eden again, without your permission, on one condition.”

“Yes?”

“That you will be my friend instead of my enemy.”

He thought — “I wonder what the devil you mean by that?” He said:

“That’s very kind of you. But I don’t quite know how I am to show you friendship. What do you want me to do?” He looked warily at her.

Her voice had never been more musical, more moving.

“Just not to forget my existence! To come and see me sometimes. You promised to take me to the Horse Show, you know. I don’t want you to forget that.”

He still looked wary and a little embarrassed. He said:

“All that’s very easy to promise.”

“There’s another thing. I want you to let me give Eden my canoe. It’s of no use to me now.”

“But I can’t let you do that. Surely you will be able to use it next year.”

“I’m too nervous to go out in it alone. I can’t continue to pay rent for something that will be of no further use to me.”

“I will buy it from you, then.”

She said, almost gaily — “Let’s forget about the canoe for the present. It is enough for me that things are different between us.”

Her large eyes looked deep into his. She laid her hand on his arm. His eyes turned to an approaching figure. It was the American, Mrs. Denovan, followed by her husband.

With relief at the success of his conversation with Amy Stroud, relief, too, from the embarrassment of her emotional reaching out to him, he rose and greeted the newcomers. He suggested that they should have cocktails.

They were joined by several others who had come to town for the Horse Show. Amy Stroud found herself in a new world.

N
EWS FROM
E
NGLAND

T
HIS WAS AN
afternoon in early December. White and purple clouds were moving steadily southward but all day the sun somehow had managed to evade them and to send its brightness on the brown fields, the stable, the weather-cock that flicked from south to south-east, as the cold breeze whistled against his side. Nicholas Whiteoak had just returned from a solitary ride along the lake shore. He had enjoyed it and there was a good colour in his long flat cheeks. He looked well in his riding clothes which were immaculate, in contrast to the worn coat and breeches of his nephew who strolled forward to meet him. A stableman held the horse while Nicholas dismounted. The horse lifted an eager foreleg, his mind on his evening feed.

“Hullo,” said Renny. “Had a good ride?”

“Fine. The road was quiet. I met scarcely a soul. Had a little chat with the Lacey girls who’d been at a Women’s Institute meeting.”

“Oh yes, Meg was there. Like to see the ponies? We’re just finishing with them.”

They went toward the paddock. The sun was getting low. A saffron light lay across the fields. The hoof-beats of the ponies swept like soft thunder across the turf. There were three of them, ridden by Chris, Dayborn and Piers. A row of kegs had been spaced on the paddock and the three were weaving their way in and about them at full gallop.

Nicholas leant against the palings watching them with delight; the youth and skill of the riders, the strength, abandon and grace of the ponies.

“Gad,” he exclaimed, “that girl can ride!”

Renny acquiesced by a muttered monosyllable.

“That’s a cantankerous little beast Piers is riding. He handles him well.”

Again the approving monosyllable. Then he shouted, — “Enough for today!”

The ponies came to a standstill, their sides heaving, nuzzling each other.

“Admirable!” shouted Nicholas. “Good boy, Piers!”

“That fellow’s a handful, I can tell you,” said Piers, coming to them. Dayborn had taken Piers’s pony as well as his own into the stable. Chris was bent over, examining a foreleg of her pony.

“Anything wrong?” called out Renny.

“Just a graze. I’ll put something on it.” Her voice came high and childlike on the frosty air.

“There’s Matthews,” said Piers. “He’s been to the post. I’ll see what he’s got.” He ran off eagerly, though he rarely had more than a half-dozen letters in the year.

“Well,” said Nicholas, “I think I’ll go in. How is Launceton?”

“Grand. Come and see him tomorrow. He’ll take your breath away.”

Nicholas frowned. “I think it’s a hare-brained scheme, entering him for the Grand National. I’ve seen that race run too often not to know the pitfalls of it. He’ll have no chance and you’ll have wasted a lot of money. To begin with, you paid an exorbitant price for him. If he’s in good condition I advise you to get your money out of him now — if you can.”

“Oh, do you?” said Renny, turning away.

He felt bitter at the continued opposition of his family to this dearest project. Time and again they had had evidence of Launceton’s amazing powers. Yet, because his father and his grandfather had bred show horses, not racehorses, they resented his enterprise. As to extravagance, good God, his uncles had each frittered away their fortunes. His father had never added anything to the family fortunes, and every member of the family had some share in dispersing what was left.