The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (367 page)

“Give her a stronger mixture,” suggested Piers.

Wakefield stepped on to the running board.

“You’re not coming,” said Finch roughly, but Wakefield held his ground.

Renny came out of the house and he and Piers pushed the car from behind. It started suddenly and, with a violent jerk, sped down the drive.

“Why is the kid on the running board?” asked Renny of Piers.

“Just for the ride, I suppose.”

“There’s something more in it than that. He was hurt at not being invited. But he should not have gone. Meggie will be upset.”

Meg was upset when her younger brother appeared in the hall with untidy hair and a jersey with a tear on the shoulder through which the white skin gleamed.

“I tried to prevent it,” Finch whispered to her, while Maurice shook hands with Sarah. “I don’t know what is the matter with him. Except, of course, that he’s utterly spoilt.”

Wakefield had lighted a cigarette and withdrawn to a corner where he stood gazing in feigned absorption at the painting of a Dutch farm scene.

“He cannot come to the table! It’s impossible,” said Meg. “As though I hadn’t enough to worry me! It’s really too bad of him!”

“Shall I go and tell him so?”

“No. You go with Sarah into the drawing-room. Eden and Pauline are already there. I’ll attend to Wake.” She hurried away and Finch, with chagrin, noticed the shortness of her skirt.

“Darling boy,” cooed Meg, propelling Wakefield toward the kitchen, for she did not want him to be harrowed by a sight of the dinner table, glittering in damask and silver.

“Darling boy, don’t you understand that we had to have an
even
number? And that you would be an
odd
one? The very next dinner party I have—”

“Meggie,” interrupted Wakefield, opening his eyes wide, “this is the very first dinner party you have had since I am grown up. And you didn’t ask me.”

“Listen, pet! I didn’t ask Renny or Piers, and they are not complaining.”

“They are married men! It’s different. And you deceived me. You all hid from me the fact that Pauline was to be here.”

“Oh, Wake, you are so silly!” cried Meg in despair. “What if Pauline is here? You’re not in love with her, are you?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied coldly.

So he made his romantic confession in the heat of the steaming kitchen, with the smell of gravy in his nostrils, with his eyes fixed on a table littered with cooking utensils and the maidservant quarrelling in the pantry with Rags, who had come over to wait at table.

If he had expected to create a sensation by his words he was disappointed. Meg only looked a little more flustered.

The door from the back passage opened and Eden came into the kitchen, closing it noiselessly behind him.

“Can’t you come back?” he asked his sister. “We’ve all had cocktails and Sarah hasn’t been taken upstairs yet to leave her cloak. What are you going to do about it?” He leaned against the door, looking at Wakefield with an amused smile.

“What
am
I to do?” exclaimed his sister. “Here is this child looking like a tramp and come over here on purpose to annoy me!”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Wakefield scornfully. “I’m going! If my family cut themselves off from me they will very quickly find that I cut myself off from them!”

“I think,” said Eden, “that Wake looks charming in those rags. Why don’t you give him a bite on the kitchen table and have him in the drawing-room afterwards? He’ll create a diversion.”

“My life has been too full of those sort of diversions,” said Meg tragically.

Wakefield was divided between an impulse to fling out of the house forever, and the desire to spend the evening there. At that moment Katie, the maid, took the roasting-pan from the oven, set it on the table and lifted the cover, disclosing the two round-breasted chickens under their strips of bacon. He discovered that he was very hungry. He raised his accusing eyes to Meg’s face.

“Very well,” she said. “If you’ll have something to eat here, Wake, I’ll be glad to have you join us afterward. Dear me, what will those girls think?” She hurried back to the drawing-room followed by Eden.

Sarah Leigh’s dress was in the extreme of fashion. She looked like an early Victorian print. As she glided to the dining room Finch thought he had never seen her look so nearly beautiful. Her immobility of expression added, rather than took from, her power of attraction. For to the subtle observer it spoke of passion repressed, not lacking or spent.

Where had Pauline got the dress, Finch wondered. He had never before seen her in anything but the simplest clothes. Often they were shabby. But this was a lovely golden shade touching the ground and cut low from her thin young shoulders. He leant toward her and whispered his admiration of it.

She looked delighted. “Shall I tell you a secret?” she asked. “No, I won’t tell you unless you promise to keep it.
Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you in any case.” She flushed a little and looked as though she would recall her words.

“I’ll not tell a soul.”

“Well, I’ll tell you then. It was a birthday present from Renny! I couldn’t have come otherwise.”

“I’m glad he gave it to you, then,” he said, looking searchingly into her eyes, wondering about Renny and the mother and daughter.

He caught Wakefield’s name on Meggie’s lips.

“The poor boy,” she was saying, “was dreadfully disappointed at not being here tonight. But I told him to drop in later on and I do hope he will.”

Pauline too caught the words. She looked at Finch and found his eyes on her. Strange eyes, she thought, they were, with their large pupils. Eyes that seemed to look into the depths of hers, searching for something there. She remembered her meeting with Wakefield that morning and how she had not said a word to him of coming here tonight. She had known that he was not to be here and she had felt shy of speaking of the dinner. How foolish that had been, because this very evening she would have to face him, he thinking her a deceitful girl. She felt that Finch was conscious of her distress. Her face burned and she turned back to her dinner but could not enjoy it. Her cheeks grew hot for another reason. She had done wrong in telling Finch that Renny had given her the frock she wore. She had become so used to taking things from him that she found nothing strange in it. But what would Finch think? He might think her a very queer sort of girl.

Finch was thinking of the gift but not of her acceptance of it. Where, he wondered, had Renny’s windfall come from? He had paid Uncle Ernest’s doctor’s bill. He had paid the vet,
and now there was this golden foam about the young form of Pauline… Why was she looking unhappy? And just when he had told her that she looked beautiful? Was she angry at him for that? Now, at this moment, she did not look at all beautiful. Only pensive and pathetically young. Her slender hands looked very brown and as though they were used to work; a contrast to the marble whiteness of Sarah’s hands, with their delicately rounded fingers… He did not look higher than Sarah’s hands. He did not want to look into that pale, closed-in face. Eden was talking to her in a low voice, laughing as he talked, so that nothing of what he said was distinguishable. Maurice had begun to talk to Pauline. Finch turned to Meg.

“Where did he go?” he asked in an undertone.

“He is in the kitchen. I think he is having dinner.”

“He must not come in looking as he does.”

“How am I to stop him? And Eden suggested it.”

“If I had done such a thing at his age I’d have got a wallop on the head.”

“Of course you would, dear, but you were so different.”

“Hm-hm,” he sighed, “I know I was.”

Finch could now hear Eden saying—“I know we males are vain, but, after all, we have something to be vain about.”

Pauline looked across the table at him with an intense expression.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I think men are wonderful!”

Everyone laughed at her and the talk became general. Eden had the power of drawing Sarah out. She said, as Wragge was bringing in the dessert:

“I have been suggesting to Eden that he should give some readings from modern poetry for a women’s club my sister-in-law belongs to. I believe I could arrange it.”

“Oh, how good of you!” exclaimed Meg, in a tone too heartfelt. “We should all be so grateful.”

“He’d need a lot of courage for that,” said Maurice. “I can’t think of anything worse than doing things in front of a roomful of women.”

“I don’t think Eden would find it hard,” said Sarah. “They’ll simply hang on his words. One of the readings should be from his own poems, and each one of them should buy the book.”

They talked eagerly of the project until they left the table. Meg felt that her dinner was a success.

In the meantime a cloth had been laid on the end of the kitchen table for Wakefield, and Rags had, with a flourish, offered him one dish after another as it was brought from the dining room.

“Do they seem to be enjoying themselves in there?” Wakefield asked of him.

“Well, they’re not what you’d call hilarious but they’re eating up their victuals. Mr. Eden’s the life of the party but little Miss Lebraux looks a bit out of sorts, as if things weren’t quite to her taste.” He looked meaningly at Wakefield.

“All right, Rags. Don’t waste any more time on me.” Wake spoke haughtily but he was comforted, as Rags had meant him to be.

When he had finished he went up to the bathroom and looked at himself in the glass. He decided not to brush his hair. If he were to be treated like a tramp he would look the part. When the others came into the drawing-room they found him there, sunk in the corner of a couch under the rose-shaded light of a floor lamp. All Meg’s lights were rose-shaded. She was the first to see him and exclaimed gaily:

“Oh, here’s little brother! I’m so glad you were able to come, dear! But you look rather—still, it is the fashion to look like an Apache, I hear.”

She was quite a good actress and now had the feeling that only she herself was aware that Wakefield had dined in the kitchen. He glanced at her sombrely as he got to his feet.

“Good evening, Pauline,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Good evening.” She felt his accusing eyes on hers and murmured—“I didn’t mention it because I was so sorry you were not coming.”

At the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand Wakefield’s heart melted. He drew her to the sofa and sat down beside her.

Finch followed Sarah to a seat at a distance and the three who lived in the house found themselves together. Eden thought—“Too much family about this party.” His feelings had been hurt by something said that morning by Maurice. He went to the open window and stood looking out into the darkness that was pierced by one star.

He felt lonely. Marked out for loneliness. Set apart. His place was by the black window looking into the night. But no star lighted his way… What was there before him? He was thirty-one and there seemed no open path. Those boys in the room behind had their lives before them. Perhaps they would make something of them. Wakefield at seventeen was in love with Pauline. Eden had been at the door when the boy had coldly and fiercely acknowledged his love. Well, she was a sweet girl to be in love with. That business of first love, how bewildering and beautiful and ridiculous it was… In some ways he felt nearer to Wakefield than to any of the others. And Finch… He liked poor old Finch, who was on his way to becoming a famous pianist or composer, or both… if
he did not do some idiotic thing that would spoil his chances. Eden looked over his shoulder at Finch and Sarah … He wondered why he hated to see them close together, looking into each other’s eyes. Was he jealous? Had he his subconscious eye on her for himself? She was a woman such as one met perhaps once in a lifetime. She was rarer even than that. How had poor Leigh got on with her? He never could have understood her—she would never have helped him understand. She looked damned smooth now, for a girl who had lately gone through what she had. But she had never loved Leigh. Eden was sure of that. Probably glad to be rid of him. Looked as though she might have given him a timely push from the boat, just to facilitate his exit… He smiled as he pictured this, and Meg, patting the seat beside her, said:

“Do come and tell me the joke! But first draw the curtains. The sky looks so black.”

Eden drew them and came to her side.

“Aren’t they a fascinating pair?” she asked, with a flicker of her lashes toward the two he had just been thinking of.

He nodded. “Finch certainly looks absorbed.” He decided then that it was this absorption in Sarah that he envied him—not the nearness of the girl herself.

“They’re made for each other,” she continued.

“Why?”

“Well—they’re both artistic and rather odd and don’t quite seem to fit in anywhere.”

“What a future hell you suggest for them!”

“Not at all. There’s nothing like similar tastes for a perfect married life. Maurice and I would often have nothing to talk about only that we’re both so fond of pigs. Sometimes when we’re quite alone and bored to death or worried he’ll begin to grunt like a pig, and I’ll simply have to laugh.”

“Are you going to ask Finch to play?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to, but I hate to break in on their conversation.”

“I shouldn’t mind that.”

When Finch went to the piano Eden took his place beside Sarah. She seemed neither to regret nor to take pleasure in the change.

Finch played with a rapt expression, seeming not to see the keyboard but as though his fingers were directed by an inner vision. Maurice slumped in his chair, smoking and gazing ceilingward, lost in a tranquil reverie induced by the music. For a while Wakefield and Pauline listened dreamily, then he began whispering to her things he would not have dared to say in the sunlit silence of their meeting place.

“I like your nose. It’s a perfectly adorable little nose because it starts off as though it were going to be prim, and then it has an amusing tilt at the tip that exactly corresponds to the tilt of your upper lip. You know, there are tribes that rub noses instead of kissing, and yours is the very first nose I’ve seen that I’d like to rub with mine! Of course, there’s nothing new about kissing but it seems to me there’d be something frightfully new about kissing you.”