The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (610 page)

Adeline, seated at the end of the table facing Renny, looked askance at her brother. “You’ve had your tray,” she muttered. “Aren’t you satisfied?”

“I’ve been starved too long,” said Archer.

“Good man,” exclaimed Renny and put a lamb chop on the invalid’s plate. “That,” he said, “will put strength into you.”

The meal progressed, and always the talk was of horses. Even Maurice, who had never very much liked them, joined in the talk and made the most of what he knew about Irish horses. He was in agreement with everything Adeline said. His admiration, his love for her, shone from him. His eyes, whenever they met hers, sought to hold them. Soon he was to return to Ireland. If only he might return with hope in his heart!

“Never have I loved any horse,” Renny was saying, “as I loved my mare Cora. She was as intelligent as she was beautiful.”

“The first time I ever saw you,” said Chase, “you were riding her at the Horse Show. I thought I had never seen man and horse in such accord. It was a symphony for the eye.”

“I was there,” said Crowdy, “and never saw a better performance.” He went on to tell, somewhat incoherently, of some of his experiences at shows. Usually a rather silent man, he was tonight inspired to talk.

“My favourite,” said Adeline, “is Spartan. Wright and I are partners in him. We got him in exchange for an organ that had been my great-aunt’s
and
the hundred dollars Wright put in. He’s won lots of prizes.”

“I know him,” said Crowdy. “A fine bold horse.”

Clara Chase put in, “It’s this racer that excites me. He’s magnificent. I can’t get him out of my head.”

Renny beamed at her. “Keep him there. Give him your good wishes.”

“He’ll win,” said Crowdy. “He is born to win — you can see it in the set of his head. And what a chest and what legs! You’ll never be sorry you bought him.”

“I hope not,” said Renny, suddenly serious, thinking of his wife.

When they had drunk their coffee Adeline was for leaving the dishes till the morning, but Clara Chase would not hear of that. Her husband, Finch and Maurice cleared the table, carried the dishes down to the kitchen. She washed and Adeline dried them. The kitchen was left in not too great disorder. The dogs, replete, lay stretched asleep.

The rain had long ceased when the Chases and Mr. Crowdy took their leave. Renny, Finch, and Archer were still watching the television screen. Maurice followed Adeline into her bedroom, that room across the hall from the dining room that had been her great-grandmother’s.

“I’m going to bed,” she said inhospitably.

“You must be tired.” His voice was warm with sympathy.

“Between riding and housework I’ve a right to be.” She began vigorously to brush her hair, which, catching the light, swept in ruddy waves about her temples.

“I know you look on me as hopelessly lazy and quite worthless,” he said.

“Lazy certainly. Worthless — well, that’s nonsense.” He came close to her and looked in the mirror at their reflections. “If only you could love me a little, Adeline.”

She tilted her head towards his. “Don’t we make a pretty picture?” she asked.

He needed no more encouragement than that. His arms were about her. He said, “No one but you can save me. I’ll stop drinking tomorrow — if only you’ll say you care for me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then — there is nothing to stop me.”

She drew herself away and faced him. “Mooey,” she said, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself. We all love you. All the family. You own a fine place in Ireland. You have so much to be good for.”

“I know. But it’s you I want and always have wanted. You know that, Adeline. I’ve been faithful, haven’t I?”

“This is a bad time,” she said, almost fiercely, “to talk to me of love.”

“There never is a right time with you,” he said bitterly.

“If I thought —” Her eyes glowed in her earnestness.

“Yes — yes?”

“If I thought you’d go back to Ireland and drink yourself into the grave I’d be absolutely sick with you.”

“And you’d not try to help me?”

“what I say is — help yourself! Give up drinking for the rest of your visit here. Show what willpower you have.”

“Adeline” — he could not keep his voice steady, he was so eager — “if I do that — will you promise —”

“I promise nothing — except — well, I should think of you in a very different way.”

“That’s all I ask — just that you should think of me in a different way.... You never have thought of me as I really am, you know.”

“Nobody thinks of anybody as they really are, I guess.”

“I agree,” he said. “On my part I idealize you — while you think of me as worse than I really am.”

“My goodness,” she blazed in her exasperation, “I have only one fault to complain of in you and you know what that is.”

“Before ever I began to drink a bit too much you were hard on me.”

“That’s right,” she cried. “Pity yourself!”

“I am to be pitied,” he said seriously.

That somehow touched her. She smiled at him in the glass. “You old silly,” she said. “I do like you.”

“Adeline, I’ll do anything for you.”

She was moved by a sudden feeling of her power for good. “Do this for me then. Promise to give up drinking. I mean a real solemn promise.”

“I will.” He was all eagerness to show his devotion, his strength. “I promise. You’ll see that I won’t fail. I do love you so, darling.”

She did not want to hear that word. No love for her. She took up the scissors from the dressing table. “This hair of mine grows like all possessed.” She snipped off a lock from behind her ear.

“No, no,” begged Maurice. “Please.”

“It’s too long.”

“So is mine.”

“You’re picturesque, Mooey. You can’t help it. You just are.”

“Let’s exchange locks of hair — the way they used to do in the old days.” He captured her ruddy lock and placed it in a notebook in his pocket. “We’ll seal our promise, shall we?’’

He bent his head to the scissors. Adeline had just severed a dark lock when Finch appeared in the doorway.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he said, giving them a look of amused curiosity. “Playing at barbershop?”

“No,” returned Adeline with composure. “Just tidying up for tomorrow. It’s Sunday. When I’ve finished this I must go and put Archer to bed.”

Shortly afterward Finch and Maurice left.

In New York Roma had had a letter from Meg telling her of Archer’s operation. Meg had neglected to warn her that this news should be kept secret. That very evening Roma, usually most uncommunicative of beings, had dinner with Alayne and Rosamund Trent. Casting about in her mind for some subject of conversation she casually remarked that Archer had had his appendix out.

The next day Alayne took a plane for Canada.

She had a feeling that something very frightening was being kept from her. She was determined to know the worst at once, and she had a morbid desire to take Renny by surprise, in retaliation. Before leaving Jalna she had made him promise to let her know if anything went wrong. And this was how he had kept his promise!

She had come from the airport in a taxicab. Now it stopped outside the door. The driver carried her luggage into the porch. She paid him and he drove off. Those inside the house could not hear her approach because of a noise of cheering. Obviously this came from the radio. Alayne had a feeling of deep relief. Her boy could not be so ill as she had feared.

The sound of the radio came from the library. Alayne left the porch and went to the french window and looked in. She kept in the shelter of the leaves that the light from within might not fall on her face and discover her to those in the room.

She need not have feared. The library had but two occupants and their backs were turned to the window. The room was dimly lighted; still, she could make out the figures of Renny and Archer. They sat close beside each other. Renny’s arm lay affectionately across the back of Archer’s chair. The attention of both was riveted on a brightly lighted television screen. The screen was also clearly visible to Alayne. She did not know what she had expected to see there. Certainly not the two heaving masses of muscle that twisted and writhed in apparent agony. Their nearly naked bodies might have been those of prehistoric monsters in obscene conflict. As for the bloodthirsty yells of the spectators, when the bout now neared its climax, they froze Alayne’s blood. She stood petrified in loathing.

Now the wrestlers writhed locked together. One was apparently about to gouge out the eye of the other, who at the same time was twisting his ear. The referee tried to separate them. There was a hideous upheaval. Then one was hurled through the ropes while the gross victor twisted his swollen features into a grin at the wild cheering.

Alayne felt her feet sinking into the wet earth of the flower border. Again the rain was beginning to fall. She heard herself give a little moan of dismay. She was so uncomfortable. She was so dismayed. She had been prepared to find Archer weak, in bed, suffering. But to find him sitting by his father’s side — both of them obviously enthralled by that disgusting spectacle on the screen!

Two minutes later she stood in the doorway of the library facing them.

They stared at her a space in silence, scarcely believing the evidence of their eyes. Then Renny turned off the television and a stunning silence fell, broken by Archer’s exclamation of — “Mercy!” The rare colour flooded his face.

Then Renny got out, “why, Alayne, what a lovely surprise!”

“Yes — a surprise,” she repeated. “A great surprise.”

The three stood staring at each other. The rain was now beating on the windows. Wind was rocking the trees. Somewhere in the distance equinoctial gales were gathering themselves together for attack.

“I had heard,” said Alayne, “that Archer was very ill.”

The sound of her voice woke Sport, the spaniel. He bundled himself off the sofa and, giving her a deprecating grin as he passed, went into the hall.

“I
was
ill,” said Archer. “I had an operation. I’m still weak. Father persuaded me to come down and have a look at his TV.
Non sum qualis eram
.”

Alayne gave them both a cold look. She vent into the hall, from there to the porch, and began to pull her luggage about. Renny followed her. “You mustn’t be out here,” he said. “I’ll carry your bags upstairs.”

She leant, as though in despair, against one of the pillars of the porch. “I had better not have come home.” Her voice trembled.

He looked at her, ready for a quarrel.

“I’d like to know why,” he demanded.

“Neither you nor Archer needs me — not with that thing in the house.”

“It’s done him good. Taken his mind off himself.”

“what has it given him?” she cried. “A disgusting exhibition of brute strength. He looks terrible.”

“Nonsense. He’s looking better every day. Who told you he’d been ill?”

“Meg wrote to Roma. You had promised me — promised me faithfully — to let me know if anything went wrong.”

“I wanted you to enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself! while my child was undergoing a critical operation.”

“It was not critical. He was not at any time in danger.”

“You had promised! But I might have known....”

“Well, I like that! Are you implying that a promise from me means nothing?”

“I think it is subject to your convenience.”

“Well, you always have been inclined to think the worst of me.” He loaded himself with her bags and mounted the stairs with them, she following.

Archer, who had been listening just inside the door, now with great agility darted into the library. When he heard his parents moving about in the room above he slowly went up to his own. Adeline was there, turning down his bed.

“Have you seen Mummy?” he asked.

“Just for a moment. Hurry up and hop in.” She wore her dressing gown and looked tired.

“You’ve forgotten my Ovaltine,” he said. He had worn flannel trousers and jacket over his pyjamas. He now cast them on to the floor and got into bed.

“I had not forgotten it.” She produced a Thermos bottle and poured him a glass of the hot drink. She asked, “what did Mummy say about the TV set?”

“She didn’t understand. There was a wrestling match on.”

“No wonder she didn’t understand. They’re horrible.”

“Adeline.”

“Well?”

“My feet are cold. Could I have the hot water bottle?”

She hurled herself on the bed, at his feet. “I’m half dead,” she said. “I simply can’t go down to the kitchen again. Warm your feet on me.”

He sat up enjoying his Ovaltine. He snuggled his feet against her.

“I’ve been thinking about Mummy,” he said. “She’ll likely be hungry after the trip. Tell her to come up and see me.”

“Oh, Lord, I’d forgotten!” Adeline, dazed by weariness, rolled to her feet. She went down the stairs holding to the banister. Outside Alayne’s door she called:

“Mummy, I’m going to bring you something to eat. What would you like?”

Alayne opened the door. She did not look at all tired, Adeline thought — just flushed and wrought-up. Renny was not there.

In a restrained voice Alayne answered, “I should very much like a cup of coffee and a little thin bread and butter and a small salad and possibly a little cold meat, if you have any that’s nice and tender. I was too much upset to eat anything on the plane. Do you mind? I don’t want to be a trouble, dear.” As Adeline left her Alayne could not help thinking what an ungracious manner the girl had — not sullen, just preoccupied and ungracious.

As Adeline passed the door of the library she saw Dennis, who was home for the midterm weekend, sitting there, in his pyjamas, in front of the TV screen. The spaniel was once again on the sofa. She was roused from her weariness to exclaim, “Well, I’ll be darned! who said you might be up at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I’m subject to insomnia, like my father.”

“I wish I were.” She yawned, her eyes watered.

Down in the pantry she doggedly assembled the things for Alayne’s tray.... It looked quite appetizing, she thought, when it was ready. While she waited for the kettle to boil she sat down by the table and laid her head on her arm.