The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (265 page)

“But they are! I give you my word that he has not been neglecting his work. He’ll have no trouble passing next time. He didn’t make a bad showing, you know. I believe it was more nerves than anything that made him fail.”

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” said Renny, and Wright entered. He said: “The vet’s here, sir.”

“Good,” exclaimed Renny, rising. With a movement of suppressed irritation he turned to Leigh:

“What do you want me to do?”

He was faintly suspicious of Leigh. He felt that Leigh had cornered him. He supposed that Finch had got Leigh working on his behalf. He had a way of enlisting the sympathies of susceptible people—intellectual people. There had been Alayne. How she had pleaded for music lessons for him! The thought of her softened him. He added: “I don’t expect Finch to plug away and never have any fun. I don’t
object to anything so long as it’s not going to interfere with his studies.”

A clumber spaniel that had come in with Wright raised himself on his hind legs beside the desk and began to lick the buttery crumbs of toast from the plate.

A feeling of weakness stole over Leigh. His efforts seemed suddenly futile. The life of this place was too strong for him, the personalities of the Whiteoaks too vigorous. He could never penetrate the solid wall they presented to the world. Even Kenny’s words scarcely encouraged him.

He watched the spaniel licking the plate in a trance-like silence for a moment, then he said, with an effort: “If you would only let Finch feel that. If he could know that you don’t despise him for needing something—some form of expression other than the routine of the school curriculum— of school games—”

Wright’s round blue eyes were riveted on his face. The eyes of all the horses in the glossy prints and lithographs that covered the wall were riveted on him, their nostrils distended in contempt.

Renny took the spaniel by the collar and put him gently to the floor. Outside in the stable a man’s voice was raised, shouting orders. There was a clatter of hoofs.

Leigh said, hurriedly: “Mr, Whiteoak, will you promise me something? Let Finch spend the next fortnight with me. I’ll help him all I can with his work, and I honestly think I can help a good deal. Then I want you to come, if you will, to our place for dinner one night of the play and see for yourself how splendid Finch is. My mother and sister would like to meet you. You know you’re a hero to Finch, and consequently to us, too. He’s told us about what you did in the War—the D.S.O., you know.”

Renny showed embarrassment, as well as impatience. “Very well,” he said, curtly. “Let him go ahead with the play. But no slacking, mind.”

“And you’ll come one night?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks very much. I’m tremendously grateful.” But, in truth, he felt only relief and a weary haste to be off.

“That’s all right. And I hope you will like the horse.”

“I know I shall.”

They shook hands and parted.

Out in the close-pressing snowflakes, the wind urging him with gusto toward the glowing windows of the house, Leigh felt Finch farther removed from him than ever he had been since their friendship had begun. He saw him now as an integral part of the pattern of Jalna. He could not now separate him, familiar and dear as he was, from the closely woven, harsh fabric of his family. He almost wished he had never seen him among his vigorous kin. And yet, if he had not, he should never really have understood him, known whence had sprung the spark which was Finch. And, too, in spite of his feeling of chill, of fatigue, of having his energy sapped by this place, he experienced an odd sense of exhilaration as he ran up the steps to the door, grasped its great icy knob in his hand, opened it, pushed it shut against the wind and snow, was met by the rush of warmth, bright colour, loud voices. The uncles were now there, Aunt Augusta, Piers, and Pheasant. Meg and Maurice had come to tea from Vaughanlands, Meg with a fat six-months-old baby girl in her arms. Fresh tea was brought to him, toast, and plum jam and cakes. They all stared at him, but talked to each other, ignoring him. Never, never, he thought, could an outsider become one of them.

C
LOUTIE
J
OHN

T
HE OPENING NIGHT
of the play Finch was wrought up to such a pitch of excitement that he wondered if he would ever feel natural again. At one moment he wished nothing better than that the earth might open and swallow him, put him speedily from sight before the time came for him to set foot on the stage. At the next he was walking on air in joyous anticipation, his eyes bright, his lank lock of fair hair almost into them. His lips would tremble as though he were going to cry or laugh, but his conversation consisted mainly of monosyllables.

Leigh was nervous, too. He had the part of the hero, mixture of courage and cowardice, to play, and his soul yearned over Finch, who had not only to make his first appearance at the Little Theatre, but to make it before Renny. Leigh had intended that the elder brother should see the performance late in the week, but Mrs. Leigh, unadvised by him, had sent the invitation to dinner, naming Monday There was nothing to do but make the best of it, induce a complacent state of mind in the difficult guest by good wine and charming feminine companionship. For the latter, Leigh put all trust in his
mother and sister. In his haste and perturbation, he took time to speculate as to which of them would interest Renny the more, upon which his quick glance might linger. For himself, the two so claimed his life, his love, that he wondered whether he should ever care for any other woman. He hoped not. His mother, his sister, Finch—these were enough.

Finch, coming into the drawing-room, where he now felt happily at ease, found Ada Leigh already there. She said, with her peculiar, slanting look at him, across a lighted candelabrum: “I suppose you’re awfully nervous.”

He was in one of his moments of elation. “Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t believe I’m as nervous as Arthur is.”

“I think you are. You’re trembling.”

“That’s nothing. It doesn’t take anything to make me shake. Why, I can’t pass a teacup without slopping the tea over.”

“Ah, but this is different. You’re frightened.” She was smiling teasingly He felt that she wanted him to be frightened. He drew nearer to her and saw the reflection of a pointed flame in her eyes.

“I am not afraid,” he insisted. “I’m happy.”

“Yes, you are afraid.” There was a little gasping sound in her voice.

“Afraid of what, then?”

“Afraid of me.”

“Afraid of
you?
” He tried to look astonished, but he began to feel afraid, and yet oddly elated.

“Yes… and I of you.”

He laughed now and he ceased trembling. Quick pulses began to beat all over his body. He took her hand and began to caress her fingers. He examined her pink nails as though they were little shells he had found on some strange shore.

Then she was in his arms. He who had never kissed a girl! He felt suffocated… It seemed to him an unreal dream that he was kissing her. She was snuggling under his chin… Over her head he looked out into the darkness beyond the window, and saw the cluster of candle flames reflected like a cluster of bright blooms. He saw the reflection of his own head, the pale green of her dress like a shimmering pool in the darkness, over which his head was bent. How unreal it all seemed! He embraced her, excited by the beautiful reflection, by a new sense of power, of daring, but he felt that he was acting a part. They kissed in a tremulous dream.

Mrs. Leigh and Arthur were coming down the stairs together. There was plenty of time for the two in the drawing-room to draw apart, he to pick up a book and she to rearrange some flowers in a black bowl. No longer the darkness beyond the window reflected the entwined figures of the impassioned pursuers of experience.

Arthur went to Finch and threw an arm across his shoulders. “Darling Finch,” he said, in his low, musical voice, “I’m so glad you’re not nervous any more. You’ve a beam of absolute assurance in your eyes. I’m the one who is nervous.”

How comforting Arthur’s caressing arm was! Finch rejoiced in the yoke of friendship thus laid across his shoulders. He saw Ada’s eyes fixed on them, dark with jealousy.

If only Renny were not coming to dinner, he should be happy, he thought. He could not conceive of Renny’s fitting into the delicately adjusted contacts of that group. Yet, when Renny came, looking distant and elegant to Finch in his dinner jacket, he fitted in marvellously well. More strangely still, he did not adjust his conversation to the light current which usually flowed easily about the table, Mrs. Leigh
always guiding its course, but he brought with him something of the more vigorous, harsh atmosphere of Jalna. His red head, his shoulders that had the droop of much riding in the saddle, his sudden, sharp laughter, dominated the room.

Finch had never seen Mrs. Leigh so gay, so like a girl. She seemed younger than Ada, who was rather silent, seeming in soft veiled glances to study the newcomer. But, when her eyes met Finch’s, a look of swift understanding passed between them. Finch was so exhilarated by his experience of lovemaking, so proud of Renny, that his face was full of brightness. He looked charming. An observer would have found it interesting to compare him with the slouching, deprecating, often sullen youth who appeared at home.

Renny ate and talked with zest. Arthur, delighted with the success of his plans, found his dislike of the elder brother turning to appreciation of his generous and fiery temper. He felt his own manhood strengthened by contact with this sharper fibre. He felt that it would be good for him to have a man of this sort coming to the house, good for Ada, too, who was beginning to expect admiration from all males.

Arthur and Finch were leaving for the theatre before the others. Mrs. Leigh and Ada were upstairs preparing to put on their evening wraps. While Arthur was ordering a car, the two brothers were left alone in the drawing-room for a moment.

Why, thought Finch, am I cursed by this sense of the unreality of things? There is Renny, sitting in the Leighs’ drawing-room, smoking. Here am I, yet I can’t believe we are here, that we are real. Is it because nothing seems real outside of Jalna? Are we all like that, or just I? Why do these feelings come over me and spoil my pleasure? He put his thumb to his lips and nervously bit the nail.

Renny turned his head toward him. “Don’t bite your nails. It’s a beastly habit.”

Abashed, Finch stuffed his hand into his pocket.

“Renny,” he asked, after a moment, almost plaintively, “does this room seem real to you?”

Kenny’s brown gaze swept the cream and rose and silver of the room. “No,” he said, “I don’t think it does.”

Thank God, oh, thank God! Things were unreal to Renny, too!

“Well, look here,” he went on, anxiously, “do you see it in a tremendous kind of haze, as in a dream, still, yet moving, like a reflection in a bubble?”

Renny stared. “It is something like that.”

“And I! Do I seem unreal to you?”

“Decidedly.”

He could never have let himself go like this with Renny at home. But it was really wonderful.

“And do you seem unreal to yourself, Renny? Do you wonder why you do certain things? Wonder if you are anything more than a dream?”

“I dare say. I think you’re excited tonight. You’d better hang on to yourself or you’ll forget your lines.”

“Do you suppose I’ll have stage fright?”

“I think you’ve got it already.”

“What do you mean, got it already?”

“You’re afraid of life, and that’s the same thing.”

In a burst of nervous excitement, Finch whispered, hoarsely: “What do you think? I kissed Ada Leigh in this room tonight!”

“The deuce you did! No wonder you feel unreal. Did she like it?”

“I think so. We were reflected in the strangest way in the window. Our selves, only more beautiful.”

“H’m.” Renny regarded him with genial amusement. “Are you sure she didn’t ask for it?”

“Of course I am.” He reddened, but he still leaned over Kenny’s chair in a confidential attitude.

“Well, it’s an experience for you. She’s a pretty girl.” Finch breathed hard. “Don’t sprawl over me that way snuffling in my face. Have you a cold?”

“Oh no.” He straightened himself again, abashed.

Leigh’s voice called from outside.

“Coming, Arthur!” Finch hastened out to his friend…

Renny sat puffing at his cigarette, the glow of amusement still brightening his eyes. Young Finch making love! And it seemed like yesterday when he had turned Finch across his knee and warmed his seat. And now he was getting to be a man, poor devil!

He looked about him. An unreal room. Not a bit like the drawing-room at Jalna. Nothing homelike about it, with all these little pictures speckled over the walls, all the delicate furnishings, the fragile ornaments. But it suited the two pretty women. Odd, mysterious women, attractive, yet uncomfortable.

He rose as Ada Leigh, her face flowerlike above a white fur wrap, entered the room.

“Mother will be down in a moment,” she said, stroking the fur of her deep collar.

Renny observed her hand. “Yes? Will you take this chair?”

“No, thanks, it’s not worthwhile sitting down. We must be going.” She dropped her cheek against the fur with a feline caressing movement and drew a deep, quivering breath.

He stood near her, motionless, attentive. He thought: “What the devil’s the matter with the girl?”

She raised her heavy-lidded eyes to his and said: “I wish I were not going tonight.”

“I’m sorry. Are you going to tell me why ?”

“There’s no time to talk… But I’m very unhappy.”

He smiled at her in a puzzled way. He had no faith in her unhappiness. He was suspicious of her.

“You’ll think me very stupid. Talking like this to you—a stranger. But you’re Finch’s brother. And you see—oh, I can’t explain!” Her eyes were raised beseechingly to his. “I’m so frightfully inexperienced—and—and—I thought I felt something I didn’t. I thought”—her expressive face quivered—“oh, I can’t go on!”

He said gravely: “I shouldn’t worry if I were you. That sort of thing happens to all of us. We imagine that we feel things, and then we let ourselves in for things… But you’ll soon forget about it.”