Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
He looked at her sombrely. “I had heard that it was a different sort of fever you had.”
She knew how to take this. She laughed — “Oh, that! An affair, you mean. It wasn’t very serious on my part. But my parents thought a year out here would be good for me. They think travel is broadening for a girl’s mind — just as well for a young man’s. What do you think?”
“I think it should do anyone good to see Jalna,” he answered.
“And what about the son and heir to Jalna?” she said mockingly, but moving closer to him.
He could find no answer. He took the scissors which Meg had laid in the basket. He drew a heavy golden-green cluster from its hiding place under the leaves and snipped it off. It lay shimmering like the Pleiades in the arc of his palm. Vera bent to cut a bunch from the base of the vine and he saw the close chestnut tendrils of hair on her nape. Here was his answer, he thought. He laid the grapes in the basket and snipped off a lock of hair.
“Look,” he said, “what I’ve done!”
She turned her face up to him, keeping it expressionless as a mask. She breathed — “Why did you do it?”
“Do you mind?”
“No — but I want to know why. Just to tease me?”
“No.”
“Why, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes — you do. You’ve a deliberate look in your eyes.”
“Well, because I wanted something of you that I could keep.” He took out a shabby leather notebook and laid the lock in it. Then he knelt beside her in the shadow of the grapevine and his arm slid about her. He saw the whiteness of her skin, exquisite as though the sun had never touched it, the glistening fineness of the skin about her eyes, the golden freckles on her nose like the pollen of a flower. She realized that he was going to kiss her.
Meg, coming softly across the grass, saw them holding each other close. She saw the abandon of Vera’s attitude and drew a deep breath of envy and disapproval. How
could
Vera! Never, never could
she
have kissed Maurice like that. Why, Vera was behaving like a village girl! She would let her know what she thought about it. And Renny, her
own
brother … no wonder young men were — what they were!
How angry he would be if she went close to them, stared down at them hiding there! Then she saw their faces as they drew apart, looking in each other’s eyes, and she glided away. She could not interrupt them — not with that look in their faces! They were like people in a dream. And he had said that he would not kiss a girl who painted her lips! This showed what a man’s word was worth! She despised them all.
Vera had come to spend the day with her. Meg looked with curiosity at Renny and her when they came into the dining room, but their faces showed no trace of emotion. Deceivers — clever deceivers — Renny looking innocently into his father’s eyes, Vera being sweet to Grandmother, who gave her a hearty kiss.
“Come and sit by me, my dear, and tell me what is the latest news from London.”
Adeline saw between Vera and Malahide, well pleased with herself and them. She said to the girl: —
“You must come to Vaughanlands and see Malahide on Harpie. You’ll see riding such as you’ve never seen and jumping such as you’ve never seen. You’ll get a great dindle out of it, I promise you. They’re a fine combination. Now, that grandson of mine is always being thrown. Those that have seen him stripped say that he is covered by bruises. His mount rages over the country side with a hue and cry of grooms after him. All these things come to my ear.” She smacked her lips with satisfaction and added — “More of the veal, Philip. Cook has just the right flavour in the dressing. Give Malahide more of the veal.”
She was in such spirits that she could not settle down to her afternoon nap and cast about in her mind for something they might do. A remark from Nicholas gave her the idea. He said: —
“I drove along the shore road this morning. The lake is like glass.”
“Good!” she exclaimed. “We’ll have a picnic. You girls shall go in bathing. Would you like that, Vera?”
“Oh, I’d love it!” Vera’s eyes sought Renny’s across the table.
“I like to watch young people bathing. Used to do it myself when it was considered rather improper. Why, I’ve heard that in Elizabeth’s reign the students up at Cambridge were whipped or put in the stocks if they took a bathe in the sea. Well, for my part, I have my good soapy tub once a week — winter or summer — and it’s done me no harm.”
“I don’t think I’ll go in,” observed Malahide. “I had a bathe in the river this morning and it was quite enough.” A black lock clung limply against his forehead. He was feeling the unseasonable heat.
“Now,” continued Adeline briskly, “the question is, what shall we eat?”
Before this could be answered the resources of the larder had to be ascertained. Fortunately it was well stocked, and Adeline, Mary, and Eliza conferred amicably on the packing of the hampers. Philip went to the cellar and brought up several bottles of wine and raspberry vinegar. The cook was set to work on the making of a large coconut cake. Eden collected his bucket and spade and the sailing boat he had got on his birthday. The baby was roused early from his nap and screamed lustily throughout the final preparations.
Hodge grumbled a good deal at taking out the bays in the midafternoon heat, but promptly at half-past three he had them drawn up before the door. The party divided themselves between the phaëton and the surrey driven by Philip.
Once they had left the spreading oaks of their own road, the sun beat hotly down on them. Grandmother’s face was a dark red under her heavy widow’s bonnet, but Malahide turned more pale and it was difficult for him to conceal his dissatisfaction with the outing. Many of the party would have been glad to have left him at home, but Adeline desired his presence, and that was enough for him. Nothing could appease the infant, Piers, until Philip took him on his knee and let him clutch the ends of the reins in his tiny hands. Eden’s straw hat blew off into the ditch and the horses must be stopped and Renny go back to fetch it. He did so with bad grace and, returning, jammed it so far over the little boy’s eyes that now he began to kick and cry. Vera and Meg sat in a seat together, their arms about each other, whispering and laughing. Meg could not remain disapproving. Vera fascinated her, now more than ever.
They turned into the narrow road that led to the lake, where the trees were not tall enough for shade, but standing close enough to keep out what breeze there was. The road was little more than a sandy path, and at its end the horses must be left and the hampers carried to the shore.
The walk over the soft sandy path was an effort to Adeline. She leant heavily on Nicholas’s arm, but pressed forward eagerly to the sight of the lake, which so far this summer she had seen only from her carriage.
Rugs were spread on the coarse grass that grew beneath a group of windswept willows that sent their roots deep into the sand and were tenacious in their growth in spite of drought and storm and winter gale.
What a relief to be settled in their shade! To uncover heads and fan flushed faces with straw hats! There was no one else on the beach. They had the wide sandy stretch and the glittering blue expanse of the lake to themselves.
The bottles of raspberry vinegar that stood icebound in a bucket were opened and glasses were filled. Almost solemnly, their pleasure was so great, the family looked at each other as the sharp, sweet, ice-cold liquid, with its flavour of fresh raspberries, cooled their throats. Even Peep was given a taste, but made a wry face and hiccupped it up again. Eden drank his without taking breath and begged for more. Adeline spilt a little on the deck of his sailing boat, and exclaimed — “Now, I christen this vessel for you — ‘Shamrock!’ And good luck to her!”
Nicholas and Philip smoked their pipes, lounging comfortably on the sand. Renny, with a look over his shoulder at Vera, took the children to the water’s edge. Vera followed and Meg sat disconsolate, feeling that she was not wanted by them, yet longing for their company. Mary took out her work bag and began to darn one of Eden’s socks. Malahide lay passive, sifting the fine sand through his fingers and now and again giving Adeline a smile of secret understanding. Hodge had loosed the horses and led them across the sand to the water’s edge. They bent their heads and drew in deep draughts. A pair of sandpipers walked briskly about, with sidelong glances at the party. A small steamer laden with school picnickers moved slowly past, just near enough for a faint cheer to be audible from her decks.
Adeline gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Nothing like a picnic,” she said. “I like ’em and always shall. Another drop of this raspberry vinegar. Meg, don’t look mopey, child. If you won’t marry, you won’t marry, and that’s all there is to it. Thanks.” She took the proffered glass and put her lips to the cold ruby fluid. Then she took out her heavily chased gold watch.
“There’s just time for a nice bathe before tea,” she said. “You ought to go in, Philip. It might take some of that fat off you.”
“Philip fat!” cried Mary. “He’s nothing of the sort! He’s just nicely covered. He’s a perfect figure.”
“Well, you ought to know,” returned Adeline, staring at her.
Philip answered complacently: —
“I’ve brought along my bathing suit. Have you, Nick?”
“Not I. I can’t endure bathing in fresh water.”
“What about you, Malahide?”
“I bathed in the stream this morning. I found it very depressing. I don’t think I shall go in again. Your mother and Nicholas and I shall judge your performance.”
“Come along, Molly,” said Philip. “Let’s have a dip.”
Molly, all eagerness, put away her darning and produced their bathing suits and towels. Dimples showed in her slender cheeks. She called: —
“Eden, Eden! Do you want to bathe? Bring Peep along and come to Mamma!”
Philip shouted to his eldest son and flung him a faded bathing suit. Vera and Meg scampered to the shelter of a cluster of cedars where Mary was already undressing. Adeline, her massive veil falling about her shoulders, had taken the little boys in charge. As she pulled off their few garments she remarked to Nicholas: —
“Here, on this very spot, I used to undress you and Ernest when you were just so high. You were a little rip, but Ernest was always squealing and timid. I don’t know how your father and I got him. Really, I don’t…. Stand still, Peep, and let Granny put on your vest.” For the baby, who owned no bathing suit, there was a shrunken wool vest which inadequately covered his sturdy infant body. Having them ready she administered a hearty smack on their buttocks which, knowing it was playfully done, they received with shouts of laughter. Eden, grasping Peep’s hand, led him across the sand to where the sparkling blueness invited them.
But before they reached it they were caught up by their father and carried shrieking on his shoulders into the lake. Mary and Meg appeared in blue kilted bathing suits trimmed with white braid, but Vera’s was white with a sky-blue sash and she had wound a scarf of the same colour about her curls. The shortness of her skirt brought an element of Continental daring to the scene.
The three young women and Philip were soon splashing in the water, passing the children from hand to hand. Philip swam outward with both on his back till Molly’s shrieks recalled him. Vera filled Meg with envy by swimming two dozen strokes. Her pretty scarf was soaked and her hair curled more closely than ever.
“Renny! Renny!” cried Eden. “Teach me to swim! Take me out with you!”
Renny came slowly across the sand toward the bathers. He had been watching them from the shelter where he had changed. He looked at Vera, wondering how he could manage to be alone with her. Yet, when they were alone again, what should he say? Make love to her or pretend that all was as it had been before? What would a girl like Vera expect? Let her make the first move, he thought, let her lead the way into whatever bypath of love she chose. He was ready to follow.
“Renny! Renny!” shouted Eden, clinging to Renny’s hand and lifting his own feet from the ground, as though by sheer weight he might command attention.
Ignoring him, Renny went toward Vera, his eyes saying — “Now, what do you want of me?”
“Renny! Renny!
Will
you teach me to swim?” Eden beat him with small angry fists.
“Yes,” answered his brother. “This is the way.”
He picked him up and strode into the water with him across his arms. When he was waist-high he threw Eden from him with a splash. “There, now, swim! That’s the way I learned.”
Eden struggled, sank, rose floundering and choking, all legs and arms, churning the water in his anguish. Mary came to his rescue, her eyes blazing.
“What a way to treat him! My poor little boy!” She gathered him to her, comforting him.
Adeline called from the shore — “Molly, put him back! Don’t coddle him! Upon my soul, the word ‘mollycoddle’ was invented for you!”
“See me float!” cried Meg. “I’m a marvel at floating.”
“You could not sink if you tried,” laughed Philip, and she began to splash him.
Vera dropped lazily to the water and struck out in a graceful breast stroke. Renny swam on his side, his cheek on the water. With compassion he saw how she struggled to keep up with him, not to give in.
Suddenly she cried, in fright — “Am I out of my depth?”
He laughed and stood up beside her and supported her in his arms. He saw the flash of her white legs in the greenness. She clung to him, laughing into his face.
“It’s so different,” she said, “from the sea. It feels so thin. There’s nothing there. Have you been in the sea?”
“Yes. I went once to Nova Scotia with Maurice.”
“Oh, I wish you could swim in the Mediterranean! It’s so lovely!” She spoke breathlessly.
“I wish I could.” So, she wanted to behave as though nothing had happened. And with all this wide blueness about them! Was she afraid? He added, in a low voice — “With you.”
She gave a nervous little laugh. “You could teach me. I don’t swim very well.”
“But how few girls do! I’ll give you some lessons. I’ll teach you to dive, if you like — when the Show is over. But I must go back to college — I forgot that.”