The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (579 page)

“Ha, ha,” laughed Nicholas. “So — we’re all in the same boat. Alayne, Maitland, and I!”

“O tempora! O mores!”
observed Archer.

“what of Wakefield’s play?” asked Nicholas. “Did it come on?”

“It ran for three weeks,” said Renny. “I suppose it was a failure, but I thought it was pretty good when he read it to us, didn’t you, Alayne?” Wakefield was his youngest brother, to whom he had been a father.

Nicholas turned courteously to Fitzturgis. “I regret,” he said, “if I have brought up a subject embarrassing to you. I am a very old man. My memory fails me. I say things I shouldn’t. But I’m not as bad at that sort of thing as my mother was, am I, Renny?”

“It’s all in the family,” said Renny. “Maitland will soon be one of us.”

Fitzturgis looked slightly rueful, but a smile flickered on his lips. “It’s all right,” he said.

Alayne’s eyes met his. “A neCentenaryomer to Jalna,” she said, “has certain things to get used to.”

“I suppose you too were very much a neCentenaryomer once,” he said, in a tone which set them apart.

“Twenty-five years ago I was a neCentenaryomer.”

Archer said, “I suppose I might be called a neCentenaryomer since I’ve been here only fifteen years.”

“Very new indeed,” said Alayne repressively.

“Yet I got used to things in little or no time. Now nothing surprises me.”

Adeline said, “I pity your wife, if ever any girl is crazy enough to marry you.”

“No girl will ever get the chance,” he said. “I intend to look at life as an observer. I shall leave it to you to propagate our kind.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Piers and his family, who always came early. After the introduction to Fitzturgis they crowded about the table, drawing up chairs as though for a meal. They were given a glass of port, Piers raising his toward Adeline and her fiancé with a little bow and a — “to your future happiness.” The two young boys, Philip and Archer, were alike only in their youth — both at the dawn of life — but Philip was as a radiant rosy dawn, while Archer was a pale and frosty one with a penetrating air.

Philip, with a loving look at Renny, said, “Uncle Renny is going to leave Jalna to me, aren’t you, Uncle Renny?”

“I might do worse,” said the master of Jalna, with a teasing look at his wife and son.

Young Philip raised his eyes to the portrait of his ancestor. “Another Philip Whiteoak in possession, that would be.”

“And the very spit and image of the first one,” said Renny.

“No more than I am,” said Piers.

Archer said imperturbably, “It wouldn’t worry me, as I shouldn’t know what to do with Jalna if I had it.”

Renny looked at him aghast. “You mean to say you wouldn’t mind?” he exclaimed.

“Of course he’d mind,” said Alayne, in defence of the interests of her son.

“Well, I am attached to the place,” said Archer, “if that’s what you mean, but I am attached to it only because I’m used to it.”

“Then I suppose,” said Renny, “that you’re attached to your mother and me for no more than the same reason.”

“I guess that’s natural,” said Archer. “I guess you’re attached to me for the same reason. You’d scarcely have chosen me for a son if you’d been given a choice, would you?”

“Philip,” Renny slapped him on the shoulder, “Jalna will be yours.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” said Piers.

Alayne smiled kindly at Philip. “Of course you realize that your uncle was joking,” she said.

“No joking about it,” insisted Piers. “We’ll hold him to it. I call you to witness, Fitzturgis.”

“It’s too early for me to commit myself,” he said. “On either side.”

“I call you to witness,” repeated Piers, and Philip went round behind Renny’s chair and laid an arm about his shoulders.

Pheasant’s eyes were on Adeline and Fitzturgis. Romantically she was considering their suitability to each other. “His is the face of experience,” she thought. “Adeline’s is the face of character. Her face is the warmer, the fierier. His the more sensitive. She will be able to forget herself. He will forget himself — never. Except where his senses are concerned.”

“Well, Pheasant,” said Renny. “Will he do?” He smiled at Fitzturgis. “She’s sizing you up. She’s of an analytical turn of mind.”

“And usually wrong,” said Piers. “when she declares someone is trustworthy I hide my wallet.”

Nicholas asked, “where are Meg and the girls?” Then, imitating his ancient mother, added, “I like the young people about me.”

“We used,” Renny said to Fitzturgis, “to have a tableful in the old days. As well as those you now see we had my three younger brothers — Eden, Finch, and Wakefield. Eden died, poor chap; Finch is a pianist, now off on tour; Wakefield is an actor in London.”

“Was I here?” asked Archer.

“Your type had not yet been invented,” answered his father.

Adeline spoke up: “Auntie Meg and Patience are at the door.”

The two alighted from a ten-year-old Ford car and came straight into the dining room. Meg exclaimed with delight on seeing Nicholas at table. Patience was wearing a sleeveless white dress which showed to advantage her shapely brown arms.

“where is the other one?” demanded Nicholas. “Eden’s little girl?”

“Oh, she’s off somewhere with her young man,” Meg answered, trying to sound bright.

“who is he? I don’t remember him.”

“His name is Norman.”

“Hm — don’t remember him.” Nicholas blew through his moustache. “Getting terribly forgetful. Can’t remember who the little girl’s mother was.” He looked to Alayne for help.

She rose. “I think we will go to the drawing-room for coffee,” she said.

“Drawing-room for coffee!” muttered Nicholas, as he was being heaved to his feet. “All these newfangled ideas.”

“We have been doing it for the past twenty-five years,” she returned crisply.

He stretched out a trembling hand to pat her shoulder. “You’ve been wonderful, Alayne.”

As Fitzturgis and she passed through the door she said, “You mustn’t mind anything Uncle Nicholas says. He is really a dear and quite excited at being downstairs again. Your coming has done him good.”

He gave her an admiring look. “I am very happy to be here,” he said. “In fact Jalna is just what I expected it to be.”

In the porch, two hours later, Adeline isolated Nooky. “Tell me,” she demanded, “what you think of him. Do you like him?”

“I hated him on sight.”

“Oh, Nooky — I am disappointed.”

“That’s nothing. I mean my hating him. I naturally hate the fellows you girls pick out. I hate Norman.”

“
Norman
,” she repeated, in an excess of scorn. “But Mait is utterly different.”

“Yes — he seems well enough.”

“Oh, Nooky, you
are
horrid.”

“
Christian
to you.”

“when did you go formal with me?”

“when you got engaged to Mr. Fitzturgis.”

“But you must acknowledge he’s a thousand times more attractive than Norman.”

“Patience and Roma probably wouldn’t agree to that.”

“I’m becoming very disappointed in you, Christian.”

“And I am disappointed in you. I wanted you to marry Maurice.’

“There never was anything between Maurice and me.”

“Excepting that he loves you.”

“He’s over all that.”

“I hope so. Are Maitland and he friendly?”

“Mait admires Maurice.”

Patience now joined them in the porch. She laid an arm about the shoulders of each. She said:

“I’ve been talking to your Irishman, Adeline, and I do like him. He seems awfully intelligent. He’s a bit older than I expected.”

“I’m not interested in youths.”

“Should you call me a youth?” asked Christian.

“Well, I think you are rather old for your years.”

“I wonder what Maitland will think of Roma,” Patience said, as though she could not keep her mind off Roma.

“I expect she’ll bore him,” said Adeline, in happy assurance.

Christian yawned. “As she would bore anyone with brains.”

“She and Norman,” said Patience, “consider themselves intellectuals.”

“You’re making me ill,” said Christian.

“Perhaps, but I couldn’t possibly understand the books they read.”

“Do
they
understand them, d’you think? Or do they just carry them about as the badge of the Lodge they belong to?”

Patience knit her brow in puzzlement. “Well, they know the names of the authors and the tables of contents.”

Christian shouted with laughter. “I’ll bet they do. And Roma is damned proud of being the daughter of a poet. She knows the titles of all Uncle Eden’s poems, but has she ever read one of them? I doubt it.”

Renny now joined them. He said, “It’s time your Uncle Nicholas went to bed, but he’s so enjoying himself I hate to suggest it.”

“when he does go up,” said Adeline, “I’ll take Maitland out of the way. Uncle Nick doesn’t like to be seen being helped.”

“Bless his heart,” said Patience.

A car was glimpsed coming slowly up the drive.

“Our little friend Roma arrives,” said Christian.

The car stopped but remained hidden behind the hemlocks. Roma came, trudging crossly along the gravel sweep, her eyes fixed on the group in the porch.

“She has just two expressions,” said Christian. “She either smiles or doesn’t smile.”

“She has just two tones of voice,” said Adeline. “She speaks soft and sweet or matter-of-fact and down to earth.”

“Hello,” called out Roma. “Hello, Uncle Renny.” She was the only one of the young Whiteoaks not fond of Renny. Too often he had read her a lesson.

Now he called back, “You are very late.”

“Better late than never,” she returned.

Christian said low, “She doesn’t smile.”

To Roma Adeline said, “Come on in and meet Maitland.”

All returned to the drawing-room. Fitzturgis was devoting himself to Nicholas, who drew Roma to the arm of his chair. “This little girl,” he said, “is my nephew Eden’s daughter. Eden was a poet — the first of the Whiteoaks to turn to things artistic, though my brother Ernest had quite a bent toward writing and always intended to do a book about Shakespeare but never found the time. Of course you’ve heard that young Nooky — what is it he calls himself now?”

“Christian,” said Roma.

“Ah, yes — Christian, he’s turned to painting. And Finch is a concert pianist, and Wakefield is an actor. And there’s a young man nearby who writes. What’s his name, Roma?”

“Humphrey Bell.”

“That’s it. And what does he write?”

She answered, as though in a lesson, “Short stories in the American and Canadian magazines. He’s done some radio scripts and a little work in television.”

“Well, well,” said Nicholas. “Before we know it we shall have an artists’ colony here in place of the settlement of retired British officers we set out with. Do you think that will be a change for the better, Roma?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” she returned.

Nicholas’s head sank on his breast. He looked unutterably weary. Adeline came to them. “Say goodnight to Uncle Nicholas, Mait. He’s off to bed.” She stroked the old man’s belligerent crest of hair, then drew Fitzturgis to join the other young people outdoors. They strolled down into the ravine. Roma hesitated, as though not quite knowing what to do, then followed them. At the path that led to the stream they stood in a group talking for a little. Fitzturgis held Adeline’s fingers in his.

Indoors Nicholas was being half carried to his room by Renny and Piers. They looked at him with anxiety. They had never seen him look so old.

“How do you feel?” asked Piers, when they had set him in his own big chair. “Pretty tired?”

“No, no, not too tired,” he growled, “but ready for my bed. Get me one of my pills, Renny. And you, Piers, my pyjamas.” He looked longingly at his bed.

They busied themselves waiting on him, in that room where as little boys they had felt it a privilege just to be admitted; to which he had returned, a traveller, from the mysterious outside world. Now, instead of awe, he moved them to pity and protection. Yet when he was safe in bed, propped up by his pillows, he looked imposing. He was pleased with himself, too, and inclined to take a favourable view of Fitzturgis.

“I like the man,” he said. “He appears to be a very agreeable fellow, but I can’t somehow picture him at Jalna. Can you, Piers?”

“Not for the life of me,” said Piers. And, as though Renny were not present, he went on, “I can’t imagine what Renny’s going to do with him. He’ll be of no use to anyone.”

Renny retorted, “You’re always complaining that you have too much to do.”

“what I need,” said Piers, “is another good farm hand, not a gentleman farmer to share the profits.”

“I understand from Adeline that he’ll do anything.”

“You may understand it from her, but has he said so?”

“My God!” exclaimed Renny. “The man has barely arrived.”

“He tells me,” said Nicholas, “that his brother-in-law has offered him a position in New York.”

“what sort of position?”

“He didn’t say. Ah, yes, it had something to do with advertising.”

Renny frowned. “Adeline would never go to New York. There’s plenty for him to do at Jalna.”

“Is there plenty of money for the support of another family?” asked Piers.

Renny, looking him full in the eyes, answered, “Yes.”

Piers was shaking with internal laughter. He patted his uncle’s shoulder. “Goodnight, Uncle Nick. It’s been splendid seeing you downstairs again.”

When he had gone Nicholas asked, “when is the marriage to take place? I hope it will be fairly soon. I should like to be there.”

“It wouldn’t go off properly without you, Uncle Nicholas…. Shall I put out the light?”

“Yes. I’m pretty tired but glad to have been downstairs. From now on I shall be down every evening.”

As the first light was extinguished the face on the pillow was dimmed. With the putting out of the second light the face was gone.

“Are you all right?” asked Renny.

“Fine, thanks.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight…. What are you waiting for?”

“I’m going now.” But he lingered till he heard a rhythmic snore.