The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (516 page)

“Darling, think back carefully. Have you ever had any sense of confusion in your mind since coming home?”

He made a gesture of irritation. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I’ve had a lot to think of. I’ve been worried about money.”

“There was that cheque you forgot this morning. You’ve been very forgetful about household accounts but that’s nothing new, goodness knows.”

He sat in the silence of chagrin for a space, then he exclaimed, “Alayne, after I had dressed this morning, I found myself in the dining room. I had no recollection of coming down the stairs.”

“That is nothing!” she exclaimed, though her heart began to thud painfully.

“It might be nothing if this hadn’t happened. But now — it’s very significant.” He tapped his head where the concussion had been. “I’m damaged here. By God, I’d as soon be a thief, as bound for an institution for the —”

She would not let him say the word. She flung her arms about his neck and kissed him. He pressed her to him almost fiercely but his voice was tender. “Sweet girl,” he said. “You won’t let me go nutty, will you?”

She laughed, while her tears wet his face.

“No one is more sane than you,” she said. “I won’t hear you say such things.”

He put her from him and stood up. “I must tell the uncles,” he said.

She was aghast. “Oh, no, I don’t think they should be told.”

“They’d be sure to find out. This affair will be common property or I don’t know Clapperton. I’ll tell you what. I’ll phone Meg and Piers and ask them to lunch. We’ll talk it over together.”

Again she protested but he was not to be dissuaded. She heard him go downstairs with energy. She heard his voice raised over the telephone, as he summoned the family to conclave. He was excited. He could scarcely bear to wait for their coming. He walked nervously from room to room, listening for the first sound of a car.

CONCLAVE

F
OR THE SAKE
of Ernest’s digestion, Alayne had persuaded Renny not to disclose his reason for summoning the family till after lunch. But the tone in which he had invited Meg and Piers was enough to make them feel considerable concern. Piers had communicated this to Pheasant and her little face was anxious as she cast inquiring looks at the head of the table. Nicholas and Ernest were conscious of a disturbance in the atmosphere but their minds were chiefly occupied by the fact that the food was not nearly so good as usual. The soup was thin and flavourless, the cold lamb was tough. The salad cream was curdled. The blueberry tart was burnt. Certainly it was one of Mrs. Wragge’s “off days,” when it seemed as though a desire to spite the family possessed her. Finch was wrapped in thought concerning a concert tour which was being arranged for him and from which he shrank. He would have to work very hard in preparation for it, and he did not feel in himself the energy or power for hard work. The children had, at Alayne’s suggestion, carried a picnic lunch to the woods. Both she and Renny ate little. Piers came to the conclusion that they had had a quarrel yet, when they spoke to each other, there was tenderness in their voices. No, it could not be a quarrel. Perhaps there was bad news of Wakefield.

After lunch they moved into the library and Renny himself carried in a tray on which were a decanter of Scotch, a siphon of soda, and a bottle of homemade grape wine.

“You’ll need something,” he said, “to buck you up — when you hear what I have to tell you.”

“what’s wrong?” exclaimed Nicholas, trying to start up from the chair into which he had heavily dropped, and failing. “Is it Wake?”

“Don’t tell me the boy is killed!” Ernest pressed his hand to his heart, the colour fleeing from his face, his eyes suddenly large and very blue.

“No. Wakefield’s all right. It’s I who had better have been killed.”

“Renny, what
are
you saying?” cried Meg.

Alayne stood with her back against the folding doors that had been closed so that Rags, clearing the table, could not overhear. Renny was being cruel, she thought, deliberately dramatizing a situation that, God knew, needed no dramatizing. But they could stand it. It was their way not to spare each other. Such blows on the spirit as this last remark, only seemed to quicken every instinct of family preservation. Alayne felt deeply distressed but, at the same time, strangely interested in observing how this scene progressed in a foregone pattern.

“I am saying,” he went on, putting his hand to his head, “that I’m damaged here. My memory is playing me tricks.”

“what tricks?” demanded Piers, staring at him.

“I’ll tell you. I called at Vaughanlands this morning to talk to Clapperton about his building scheme. We had words and he left the room. Then I left. When he came back into the room he discovered that a thousand dollars, in new twenty-dollar bills, was missing from his desk. He rang me up and accused me of taking it.”

“what’s that?” said Nicholas. “Tell it again. I don’t understand.”

Renny repeated what had happened.

“I always said,” declared Nicholas, “that he is a horrid fellow.”

“You must bring an action for libel against him,” said Ernest.

Meg cried, “And he’s been so nice! whatever has come over him?”

“Wait till you hear the rest,” said Renny. “I went straight back to Vaughanlands. This time Clapperton’s secretary was with him. We exchanged some heated remarks. I took my handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my forehead. I was blazing hot.
A twenty-dollar bill
came with the handkerchief and fell onto the floor. Incriminating evidence, eh?”

“Renny,” put in Finch hoarsely, “you’re not going to tell us that you’d taken the money without knowing what you did!”

“Just that.”

“But you
couldn’t
!” cried Meg. “Not you!”

“why not I?”

“You’ve always had such a clear head.”

“I suffered a bad concussion in France.”

“But you’ve quite recovered.”

“Physically, yes. But I had a couple of short lapses of memory when I was in hospital.”

“How bad were they?” asked Piers sharply.

“They were supposed to be very slight. Nothing to worry about. But, by Judas, I’ve plenty to worry about now!”

“Renny, Renny,” complained Nicholas. “Come and sit beside me and tell me this over again. You all talk so fast I can’t follow you.”

Renny went and sat close beside him. He said, “It appears, Uncle Nick, that I took the thousand dollars from Eugene Clapperton without knowing I was doing it — in a state of amnesia, you know. I can’t remember what I did with it but evidently I left twenty dollars in my pocket with my handkerchief.”

Nicholas’ deep-set eyes were sombre. “This is a bad affair,” he said. “Your memory gone — well, well!”

Ernest said, “I find my own memory quite unreliable. I remember things that happened fifty years ago better than things that happened last year.”

“I’ve shown signs lately of something wrong,” said Renny. “This morning I couldn’t remember coming downstairs. I was dressing. Then I found myself at the breakfast table — a blank in between.”

“That’s nothing,” cried Finch. “I’ve often done that sort of thing.”

“Later I forgot to give Alayne a cheque I’d promised her, didn’t I, Alayne?”

“That’s nothing new,” she said.

“I forgot to pay the Wragges their wages. I forgot to send the vet a cheque for his account.”

“That doesn’t impress me,” said Piers. “You always have forgotten to pay the vet. And not only that, how often have I had to prod you into remembering to pay me?”

Renny repeated angrily, “
Prod
me, eh?”

“Well — remind you — if you prefer that. However, you never did like paying accounts, you know.”

Renny turned his head to look at him squarely. “I expect you’ll go on to say that I’d have stolen from you if I’d had the chance.”

“I’ve never had anything to steal.”

Meg cried, “Piers, how dare you insinuate that our eldest brother would have taken money from you! He who has been generosity itself! He who has overpaid you — if anything! He who has given your wife and family shelter!”

“Look what
you’ve
done to him — by bringing this swine Clapperton into our midst.”

Finch gave an hysterical laugh.

“I’ve always said,” growled Nicholas, “that it was a mistake selling Vaughanlands to that fellow.”

Now Ernest spoke. “I think,” he said, “that the thing to do is for you to see a doctor.”

“And end my days in an institution, eh?”

“No, no, dear boy. If you had to be —” he hesitated, searching his mind for a word.

“Locked up?” suggested Renny.

“No, no! — we’ll say
restrained
— we’d do it at Jalna.”

Renny grinned. “Padded room, straitjacket — all that sort of thing, eh?”

“I don’t believe,” said Piers, “that there is anything wrong with you.”

“Then how did the money get in my pocket?”

“Perhaps it was a kind of magnetism,” said Meg. “Perhaps he unconsciously
drew
the money to him.”

“Then where is all the rest of it?” asked Piers.

“God only knows,” said Renny.

Piers was sitting beside a writing table where stood a papier-mâché letter holder, in which Renny kept receipts for household accounts. Piers always had liked the Chinese scene depicted on the letter holder and now he picked it up to examine it, as he had done a hundred times. He lifted it and the receipts fell out, lay scattered on the table. With an exclamation of annoyance he began to pick them up.

“I always say,” reproved Ernest, “that it’s better not to play with things.”

Piers had stopped gathering up the receipts. He sat rigid, as though frozen into immobility.

“what’s the matter?” demanded Renny sharply.

Piers hastily swept the receipts together.

Renny sprang to his side. Piers covered the papers with his hand.

“Let’s see what’s under your hand!”

“what are you getting up in the air about?”

“I know what is under your hand ! There’s no use in your trying to hide it.” He caught Piers’ wrist and lifted his hand, loosening the papers.

“Now what’s the matter?” growled Nicholas.

“Look!” Renny dramatically pointed to where, among the receipts, lay a crisp twenty-dollar bill.

Every eye was directed toward it, as though a viper had uncurled itself on the table.

Renny sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. There was a frozen silence. Then he raised sombre eyes.

“I wish,” he said slowly, “that I’d had a bullet through my head, rather than have come to this.”

Meg came and stroked his head. “Don’t say that, dear. It doesn’t matter what you do — we’re thankful to have you back.”

“It matters to me. I’m ruined. My reputation —”

“Now, listen,” said Piers, “you’ll get over this. It is a beastly thing to face, I grant you, but we’ll face it together. I’ll take this money to Clapperton myself and have a talk with him.”

“He doesn’t believe in a memory lapse,” said Renny. “It was Swift who suggested that.”

Meg was still stroking his head. “Lie down on the sofa a little,” she said, “and I’ll cover you with the afghan.”

“Let him alone,” said Piers. “Let him think. Renny, try with all your might to go back over the morning and see if you can reconstruct everything that you did, from the moment you got up.”

“I remember,” put in Ernest, “a case of loss of memory in London, in the nineties. It was in all the papers. A man forgot he was married and —”

“Please don’t interrupt, Uncle Ernest,” said Piers. “I’m trying to help Renny to reconstruct his movements. It’s just possible that he may be able to recall some act that will bring everything back.”

“Quite so,” replied Ernest. “It was with that idea in mind that I was about to tell —”

Nicholas interrupted, “Let me see that bank note.”

Piers put it in his hand. Nicholas exclaimed:

“And that horrid old fellow had fifty of these lying on his desk!”

“Yes,” answered Renny.

“And you are pretty sure you took them?”

“I must have.”

“Then where are the others?”

“I don’t know.”

Meg said, “It seems foolish to return this one little bill to him.”

“Here, Renny,” said Nicholas, “take it, hold it in your hand. It may help you to remember.”

Obediently, like a sick man, Renny took the bill, closed his eyes and sat motionless while his family looked compellingly, sympathetically, into those weather-beaten features which, in all their knowledge of him, had never before worn the expression of mute bewilderment which they now wore. Alayne could not endure it. The scene was too painful. She slipped quietly from the room, her going almost unnoticed.

He drew a deep sigh and opened his eyes. “I can’t remember anything more than I have told you,” he said. He laid the bill on the table.

“Perhaps later on you will be able to,” Piers said cheerfully. “In the meantime I think we ought to have a search for the rest of the money. Will you turn out your pockets, Renny?”

Obediently he emptied his pockets, not now like a sick man but like a criminal resigning himself to a search. He brought out his intimate belongings — his cigarette case, his lighter, his pencil, a shabby notebook held together by an elastic band, his wallet which, when opened, disclosed a few bills of small denomination, some silver and copper coins, the penknife that had been his father’s. This his hand closed on, as though he would not be parted from it.

Ernest kept nervously pulling at the lobe of his ear. Nicholas blew out his breath under his shaggy moustache. Pheasant wore the look of a child, present at a scene that it had no right to witness. Finch, unutterably miserable, kept his eyes fixed on the carpet.

“Nothing there,” said Piers. “I think we ought to search your bedroom, Renny. You may have hidden the money in one of your drawers or in your cupboard.”

“All right,” said Renny, returning the articles one by one to his pockets.

“If we find the money,” continued Piers, “I shall take it to Clapperton. If we find no more than this bill I shall take it to him and ask him what he’s going to do. Is that all right, Renny?”

“Yes.”