Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
She became drowsy and would have dozed but for a fly that tormented her. He flew finally to the back of the pew in front and, folding her fan, she ended his activities with a sharp blow that made everyone look in her direction. She gave a pleased smile and settled her veil about her shoulders.
It was Communion Sunday, as Meg realized with dismay. She could not — nothing on earth could persuade her — face the possibility of kneeling at the altar in terrible proximity to Maurice. Yet if she left the church before the celebration, it was all too probable that he would leave too and they would walk down the aisle together — not united, but sundered forever!
As she hesitated Philip leaned toward her and said — “You and Renny go and take Eden along.” He gave her a warm protective glance.
She woke the little boy, who stumbled between his elders along a side aisle and through a small door opposite the Lacey’s pew. Vera joined them outside.
“I couldn’t stay,” she exclaimed, “when I saw you two leaving, so I whispered to Grandpa that I had a frightful headache, and the old dear nodded, but the aunts looked very disapproving!”
Meg put her arm through her friend’s and felt a sudden lifting of the spirit, finding herself out under the sky with other young people. There was no sign of Maurice, for he had gone out by the front door and concealed himself among the gravestones till they were out of sight.
Renny, by the light of his late experience, saw Vera with new eyes. He perceived her delicate charm. But he presented a new air of taciturnity toward her, walking at the side of the road with his hand on Eden’s neck and ignoring both the girls.
Vera said, in an audible whisper to Meg — “What is the matter with the son and heir? He looks very aloof this morning.”
“I expect he is brooding on Cousin Malahide,” returned Meg. “We both hate him, you know.”
“I don’t wonder! I think he’s an
impossible
person.”
“We hope and pray that he will go back to England with Aunt Augusta and Uncle Edwin.”
“But surely he’d never let them go
without
him!”
“That’s exactly what he would do! Poor Daddy suspects it, I know. I think the truth is that Cousin Malahide hasn’t two coins to rub together at the moment, and his only hope is visiting round among his relatives.”
“And
what
a visitor!” Vera began a ridiculous imitation of Malahide Court. Her aim was to divert Meg and she succeeded. The two girls walked along the dusty country road giving little shrieks of laughter.
Renny threw an antagonistic glance at them. At this moment he was disliking the presence of all womankind. The thought of the unwanted Malahide remaining in the house infuriated him.
“If he stays,” he said, savagely kicking a stone out of his way, “I will make Jalna too hot to hold him!”
“What shall you do?” questioned both girls.
“I’ll have to think about it,” he answered glumly.
They left Vera at her grandfather’s gate and returned across the fields to Jalna. Eden was very much awake now and darted about them, finding something at every turn. A snail shell or the nest of a bird filled him with delight.
In the hall Renny put his arm about his sister’s waist. “I like having you about again, Meggie. You’re coming down to dinner, aren’t you?”
“I suppose.” She stroked the polished grapes of the walnut newel post.
Cousin Malahide was coming down the stairs.
“What a charming picture!” he drawled.
“Are you being disagreeable?” asked Renny abruptly.
Malahide turned up the corners of his mouth beneath his long nose.
“Good heavens, no! I love you both too well for that!”
They were shamed at the thought of being loved by him, chagrined by his refusal to quarrel.
Eden held out his snail shell. “Look what I found!”
Malahide took it and laid it out on his palm. He said, with a wry smile: —
“How I envy the snail — carrying his house on his back!”
Meg, remembering Vera’s imitation of him, began to shake with secret mirth. She was at the stage of recovery that lies between tears and laughter.
Renny turned and went out of doors again, followed by Eden. Malahide’s arm slid round Meg’s shoulders. “Won’t you let me comfort you?” he asked.
Meggie still shook with laughter. They were standing so when the first carriage arrived at the door. Meg disengaged herself and ran quickly up the stairs. Malahide advanced to meet his old kinswoman.
“So you are back, my dear Adeline,” he said, “refreshed in soul and ready for the good meal I can scent in preparation! How marvellously well you all look! As for me, I have dozed a little, after a stark night of anxiety over my affairs. I had a most unkind letter from my mother yesterday. I can only compare her to those fabled monsters who devour their young. Could anyone accuse me, Edwin, of not being an affectionate son to her? You have seen us together. And you, too, Augusta!” He took an arm of each of the Buckleys and escorted them into the drawing room.
Adeline threw back her veil.
“I am as hot as a toad in sand,” she affirmed. “Somebody fetch me a drink.”
“What would you like, Mamma?” asked Philip. “Water? Cider? Sherry?”
“Our own cider,” returned his mother. “There is nothing better at this time o’ day.”
It was a good choice, for the cider at Jalna, made from Admiral Lacey’s recipe, was excellent. They sat and stood about drinking it, while the four sleek carriage horses in the stable were being rubbed down and given their own refreshment.
“Peace within thy walls and prosperity within thy palaces,” said Ernest. “A very good sermon, I thought. I like the young rector very much indeed.”
“If only he had not that beard,” said Mary. “It looks very unbecoming with a surplice, in my opinion.”
“In mine,” said Augusta, “the beard is very reassuring. It counteracts the popish tendencies which he undoubtedly has. I close my eyes at times rather than observe what he does in front of the altar.”
“You show your poor judgment then, Lady B.,” said her mother. “Ritual is the best part of any service.”
Augusta looked down her nose. “I inherit my Papa’s distaste for High Church practices.
Adeline’s eyebrows shot up.
“It’s a pity you have inherited nothing from him but a fault.”
Sir Edwin put in mildly — “In Augusta faults are transformed into virtues.” He wiped his side whiskers with a mauve silk handkerchief.
The dinner passed in peace, and it was not till the family was assembled for tea that Adeline made her disclosure.
In a pause she remarked, as though to her teacup: —
“Spoil a boy and what thanks does he give you? None. He does his best to disgrace you.”
Her sons looked at each other. Had she one of them in her mind?
Malahide wrapped his long legs about each other and said: —
“I certainly was never spoilt. Whenever my parents could think of nothing else to do they beat me.”
Nicholas, Ernest, and Philip again exchanged a look, this time of sympathy with Malahide’s parents.
Sir Edwin said — “I was brought up firmly but kindly. My father would reason with me for hours and now I am thankful to him for it, since it developed me from a young barbarian to what I am today.”
“Of course,” Adeline agreed heartily, “any son would thank any father who made him toe the scratch. It’s the spoilt boy that brings shame to his father’s house.”
Meg rose from her ottoman. “If you are going to talk about
that
, Granny, I cannot stay here.”
Her grandmother looked at her kindly. “You have finished your tea. Very well, my dear, you had better go. I want to say just what I feel — for once.”
Meg went quietly from the room and there was a perceptible moment of drawing closer to Adeline, who, with underlip thrust out, sat staring straight in front of her. Renny sat looking at his clasped hands with an air of wary attention.
His grandmother now turned to him abruptly. She asked — “Where did you spend the night of the day when you set out to deliver the colt?”
He raised his eyes to her face, but did not answer.
She turned to Philip. “Do you know where your son spent that night?”
“Yes,” he returned, “I know. No need to talk about it, Mamma.”
“You know —” she repeated violently, “you know nothing of the sort! You know just what the young rake has chosen to tell you.”
“I know that he spent the night at a farm about ten miles from Mr. Ferrier’s.”
“Yes — and whom did he sleep with?”
“He slept with a woman — the older one of the two who got young Maurice into trouble.”
His mother’s fiery glance turned to Renny, who faced her with his lips drawn back from his teeth.
At Philip’s words Sir Edwin uttered an exclamation of distaste and pulled nervously at his whiskers. Lady Buckley drew back her chin and with an air of speechless affront. Nicholas made a sound between a chuckle and a groan. Ernest turned red and exclaimed — “My God!” Mary drew in a quick breath and caught her underlip between her white teeth, and Malahide Court would his legs together where he sat on a sofa by himself and fingered his diamond tie pin.
“How rural!” he murmured.
Adeline’s face quivered with humiliation. She had prepared a fine scene between herself and Philip. She had prepared a flamboyant part for herself to enact before her family. She felt, for the moment, defeated, cheated, deprived of her prestige. The sight of the boy grinning at her revived her. She leant towards him, supporting her hands on her stick.
“So,” she said in a rasping voice, “you saved your face, you young whelp, by confessing to your easygoing, spineless father!”
He did not answer.
“Haven’t you a tongue in your head?” she demanded violently. “Can you do nothing but sit there grinning at your Grandmother? Oh, I warrant you had plenty to say to that trollop! Lots of sweet words to lavish on her! Where did you have her, I’d like to know! Come now, out with it! Take that grin off your face and tell me where you had the troll!”
“In the mow,” he answered in a level voice. “In the new hay.”
“In the hay!” groaned Augusta. “A Whiteoak in the hay, like any common yokel!”
“He ought to be horsewhipped!” growled Nicholas.
“It is to be hoped it won’t get out,” said Ernest. “What a piece of gossip for the countryside!”
Philip said to his mother — “How did you find this out?”
“Oh, I have ways of finding out!” she retorted. “I haven’t lived for eighty years on this earth for nothing!”
“I think you ought to tell me,” he persisted.
Renny turned to him fiercely. “I’ll tell you! No — let him tell you himself — ask Cousin Malahide!”
“You honour me,” answered Malahide, “with a perspicacity I do not possess.”
“If you want to know,” said Adeline, “I will tell you. Malahide
did
find out. But only because I begged him to. He had no personal interest in it whatever, had you, Mally?”
To have his part in the disclosure made public was the last thing Malahide desired. He pulled at his lower lip and said deprecatingly: —
“Please leave me out of it, dear cousin. You have much more important things to discuss.”
Augusta interrupted with — “These women should be forced to leave the Province. To think they would cause two young boys to lose their virtue!”
Philip said gravely — “I feel that Renny’s excuse in this affair is the disturbance to his mind by all that has taken place. It’s most unfortunate. But he has made a clean breast of it. No more should be said on the subject.” He took out his pipe and began to fill it.
Nicholas said — “You’re too much inclined to let things slide, Philip. When the boy was suspended last term, what did you do about it? Absolutely nothing.”
“And the result is,” said Ernest, “that things have slid, as Nicholas puts it, into this!”
“My sons,” declared Adeline, “would have been flogged if they had been sent home from school. But your son is pampered and petted —”
“My son is as manly as yours,” interrupted Philip angrily.
“But has he the self-control?” asked Augusta.
“Good Lord!” said Philip. “Has our family been famous for self-control? Had the Courts self-control? What are these stories of life in Ireland that Mamma and Malahide are so fond of raking up?”
Adeline proceeded — “My grandson went unscathed after his suspension. It made him feel master of himself! He’ll do what he pleases and no deference to you or to anyone! Now I say something must be done about the affair of this woman. And you are the one to do it. You’ve shilly-shallied long enough!”
A murmur of assent came from the others. Their eyes looked accusingly at Philip. He began to wonder if perhaps he were to blame for Renny’s behaviour. He puffed at his pipe in silence for a space, then turned to his son. “I wish,” he said ruefully, “that we could have kept this matter between ourselves. As it is — I think you must not see Maurice again before you go back to college. I expect he’s been a bad influence for you.”
“Not see him!” Renny repeated. “What do you mean, not see him?”
“I mean keep away from him. Have nothing to do with him.”
“That’s right,” agreed Nicholas.
“A pity you did not say that long ago, Philip,” said Ernest.
“Maurice’s influence has been bad from the first,” declared Augusta.
Renny exclaimed hotly — “It’s ridiculous! Maurice and I can’t be kept apart. We’re neighbours — we’re friends — how can we keep apart?”
Adeline struck her stick on the floor. “By doing what you’re told, for once in your life, you independent young vagabond! The first thing we know, we’ll be having a brat left on the doorstep of Jalna!”
“Mamma!” cried Augusta. “How can you say such a thing!”
“I say it and mean it! A woman’s a woman whether it’s mattress or hay!”
Renny sprang to his feet. “I’m going!” He said bitterly. He turned to his father.
“Are you in earnest?”
“Yes. I want you to keep away from Maurice — absolutely.”
“May I see him long enough to tell him?”
“Certainly — but no longer.”
Renny turned to Malahide.
“I wish,” he said savagely, “that you would come outside with me!”