Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“What a back!” he exclaimed. “Certainly you can’t fall out of that hollow!”
“She answers my purpose very well,” answered Wilmott stiffly.
“I’m sure she does. I’ve known her for years. She’s perfectly reliable. You did well to acquire her.”
But Wilmott was offended. He climbed into the saddle. His feelings were hurt for his mare. He had pictured himself as cutting rather a fine figure on her.
“Good night!” he called out to the others and, without waiting for their company, rode away.
Tite trotted along the soft, sandy soil of the road beside him.
“You need not have brought the mare, Tite,” said Wilmott. “I could very well have returned with the party to Jalna and from there walked home.”
“I wanted to come, Boss,” said Tite. “I wanted to see what a bathing party was like.”
“And what did you think of it, Tite?”
“Well, Boss, I only wash to be clean and, when I see folks wash themselves again and again, I am surprised. I am surprised to see white folks do a war dance round the fire like Indian folks did in the old time. It made me want to do a war whoop.”
“It is well for you that you restrained yourself, Tite.”
“Boss,” went on Tite, “it surprised me to see the ladies undressing among trees.”
“Gad,” exclaimed Wilmott, “you came early to the party!”
“It made me laugh,” went on Tite happily, “to see that one which my grandmother calls the harlot lay herself across Captain
Whiteoak’s knees and draw him down to her. I was sorry you were not there to see, Boss.”
“If you do not come to a bad end, Tite,” said Wilmott grimly, “it will be a wonder. Remember, you are not to talk of this to anyone — not even your grandmother!”
“Very well, Boss. But it is a pity I cannot tell my grandmother, for she does enjoy a good laugh.”
M
ARY LOOKED WAN
and blue about the lips when she reached Jalna. Adeline made her go to bed while she herself descended to the kitchen to prepare a hot drink for her. Her brothers followed her. They were as curious as monkeys and ran here and there carrying lighted candles in their hands and peering into every cupboard and corner. They went down the brick passage, past the rooms where the Coveyducks and Lizzie slept, to where they knew was the wine cellar. Philip had had it well stocked. He prided himself on his knowledge of wines and their qualities. When he entertained his friends he was able to give them the best.
Adeline heard the boys whispering outside the door of the wine cellar. A low fire was smouldering on the hearth and she put on a saucepan of milk to heat. She went on tiptoe to the arched doorway of the passage and listened. Sholto was saying: —
“I saw tools in the scullery. If I had a screwdriver I could easily take off the padlock. It would be fun to find what Philip has in there.”
“Wait till they’re in bed. We’ll come down again and explore.”
“No, you won’t, you young ruffians!” said Adeline. “Come along out of there and, if I have to complain of you to Philip, you’ll be sorry.”
They came unrepentant, candle in hand. They looked strange and beautiful in the dim passage, with the flickering light in their faces. As they passed the Coveyducks’ door, Conway gave it a thump with his candlestick. A groan came from within.
“Up with you!” he called out. “The house is on fire.”
“How dare you!” said Adeline. “What a mischief you are! ’Tis nothing, Coveyduck! Go to sleep again. I have but come down for a drink of milk.”
“The milk is boiling over,” observed Sholto.
“Snatch it off, you ninny!” said his sister.
Coveyduck sank to slumber again.
Adeline put a pinch of cinnamon in the milk and carried it up the two flights of stairs, the boys following her. Mary drank it gratefully. Sometimes she missed her mother’s petting. She now put her thin arms about Adeline and kissed her.
“Good night,” said Adeline, kissing her in return. “Sleep tight.”
“It was a lovely bathing party.”
“It was indeed.”
“When may we have another?”
“When I can get the taste of this one out of my mouth.” She turned abruptly and hastened from the room and down the stairs.
She set her candlestick on the dressing table and looked toward the bed. Philip was not there. He had driven the wagonette to the stable and probably was lingering to talk to the groom. She could not trust her self-control in the exchange of a word with Philip that night. She undressed in haste and put on her long, heavily embroidered nightdress. Her thick hair was still moist and when she lay down she spread it over the pillow away from her. She left the candle burning for Philip. It lighted the room but dimly yet, in an odd way, brought out the colouring of the bedstead and hangings more richly than a brighter light might have done. Boney, perched on his stand, glowed like a green and vermillion flower. Adeline composed her features, facing the candlelight. Her heart beat heavily in a primitive, wild anger at Daisy Vaughan.
The candle was burning low when Philip came. Between her lashes she saw him cast a look at it as though wondering if it would hold out for his undressing. He had left the front door wide open for the sake of coolness. The cool night air filled the hall and overflowed into their bedroom, meeting the air from the window. He too undressed quickly and lay down beside her. Before he had blown out the candle he had given her a long look, being suspicious of her sleeping. Now he laid his hand on her side and snuggled his head into the pillow.
As though galvanized, she sprang away from him.
“Don’t put a hand on me!” she exclaimed.
“Now, what’s up?” he asked.
She threw herself on her other side, her long damp hair streaming behind her.
“Very well,” he said, “if you’re going to be like that.” He rolled over, turning his back on her.”
“Like what?” she asked between her teeth.
“Hoity-toity.” Again he snuggled into the pillow, breathing deeply as though consciously content.
Did he feel as innocent as he sounded? No — a thousand times no! She longed to turn and face him, grasp him by the shoulders and pour out on him all that rankled in her mind. Ah, it was lucky for him that he had put Daisy away from him! Lucky for him that he had a wife of character!
It was not Philip but Daisy who filled her heart with rage. Daisy was not only designing. She was unscrupulous. She was
bad
. There was nothing she would not do to take your man away from you, if she wanted him. The desire in Daisy’s face as she drew Philip’s down toward hers had filled Adeline with a horrid fear of the temptress. How could a man be held responsible for what he did, with such a woman about? After all, he was but flesh and blood.
Yet, as Adeline lay awake hour after hour, she was not so much apprehending what Daisy might do, as considering the punishment for what she had done. The grandfather clock in the hall struck one, two, and three. Still she had not slept. She resigned herself to
a sleepless night. She relaxed and drew the sweet night smells into her nostrils. She was glad that Dr. Ramsey considered the night air of summer harmless. Yet she doubted if he would have approved of quite so much as now swept into the room.
The house seemed singularly alive tonight. It stood, in the hushed indrawn beauty of the night, hunched against the darkness, as though feeling in every stone the sting of the first unhappiness it had sheltered. They had been so happy here! Their very embraces had had in them an earthy pride that had risen out of the virgin land. The cycle of the days was not long enough for the expression of their content. “Think of the time when we shall see our own grain cut!” they had said. “What a Christmas we shall have! The house will be hung with pine and spruce boughs.… What will it be like to watch the spring coming to Jalna?”
She felt as though a catastrophe had fallen on the house. She saw the house as old, crumbling, weighed down by the sorrows that had been enacted there, sunk beneath the great creeper that would cover it.
She opened her eyes to reassure herself and saw a paleness where the window was. Morning was on the way. She must remember to water the little Virginia creeper Mrs. Vaughan had given her. It had been planted beside the porch and thriven well till the dry, hot days came. Suddenly she put out her hand toward Philip. It touched his back between the shoulders. He was breathing deeply. Drowsiness stole over her.
When she woke it was past nine o’clock. Mrs. Coveyduck was standing beside the bed with her morning tea on a tray. Already she had taken a comfortable motherly attitude toward Adeline.
“Bless my soul,” she said, “what a way to treat your beautiful hair, ma’am! It looks as though you had dragged it through a hedge. You must let me give it a good brushing for ’ee. Come, drink this warm tea and tell me what I shall give ’ee for breakfast.”
“Bacon and eggs,” answered Adeline promptly. “Is it a fine morning? I want to ride.”
“Aye, ’tis as luvely day as you could see in a whole zummertime. But surely you will want to rest after such a late party on the beach.”
“No, no, I am not tired.”
She sat up, while Mrs. Coveyduck arranged the tray, with its pot of tea and two slices of thin bread and butter, in front of her.
“Coveyduck told me, ma’am, that you were down in the kitchen heating milk when you came home. You should have called me to get for ’ee. He had no right to let me sleep like a gert log while you waited on yourself. But he has no sense except to make things grow.”
“I told him not to wake you.”
“Aye, but there’s times to obey an order and times not to obey ’em. Now drink your tea and I’ll give the bird his seeds.”
She filled Boney’s seed cup from the canister of parrot seed that stood on the mantelpiece. Boney looked on with interest and when she had finished he flew to the top of his cage, scrambled over it in great haste and went in at the door. He thrust his dark beak into the seed cup.
All the while Mrs. Coveyduck brushed Adeline’s hair he talked in a cooing voice to her.
“Dilkoosha — dilkoohsa — mera lal,” he said, wriggling his body on the perch.
“What does he say, ma’am?” asked Mrs. Coveyduck.
“He calls me Pearl of the Harem.”
“Does he now? Well, well, ’tis a clever bird and no mistake.”
“Mrs. Coveyduck, I want you to tell Patsy O’Flynn to go to Vaughanlands and give my compliments to Miss Vaughan and ask her if she will do Captain and Mrs. Whiteoak the honour of riding with them this morning.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll send him off at once.”
Adeline wore her riding habit and hat to breakfast. She was alone, for Philip was always early about the estate and the others still slept. She could hear Gussie and Nicholas prattling at play under the young silver-birch tree. She heard Ernest crying with the intonation of hunger. Thank goodness, she was not still nursing
this baby! Once again the milk from Maggie, the little goat, was succoring an infant Whiteoak. She heard the nurse going to the basement for Ernest’s bottle. Adeline ate heartily.
Almost as soon as Patsy returned with the news that Miss Vaughan would be delighted to ride with Captain and Mrs. Whiteoak, Daisy herself appeared.
Really, thought Adeline, she was shameless! Adeline regarded her appraisingly as she sat before the door on Robert’s own saddle horse, a charming young mare named Pixie. Daisy was dressed with great care. Her hair, caught at the nape, hung in three long curls that reached the saddle. And, oh, those little curls in front of the ears! Adeline could gladly have pulled them off. And her tasseled boots and her gauntleted gloves! And the false smile on her face! Adeline could gladly have killed her.
But she gave her a cheerful good-morning and, Patsy assisting her, mounted her own horse. He was a pale chestnut, graceful and of perfect motion, Philip’s present to her on her birthday.
“How well you are looking, dear Mrs. Whiteoak!” cried Daisy. “I have never seen you look better. And what a sweet horse! Oh, I envy you the way you ride! You make me quite ashamed. And there are the pet children!” She threw kisses to them. “Good morning, Nicholas! Good morning, Gussie! What eyes they have! And where is Captain Whiteoak?”
“He is where they are building the church. He may join us there. But I hope you won’t be too disappointed if we take our ride without him.”
“Not at all. There is nothing I enjoy more than a tête-â-tête with you.”
Somewhere there had been a storm. It had cleared the air and there was a pleasant freshness abroad. Axemen were still at work uprooting stumps, leveling the ground, while carpenters were doing the last jobs to house and barns. Still, there was now a finish about the place. It was surprising how much Coveyduck had already accomplished in the way of a lawn and flower border. Every day he sang the praises of the power of the virgin soil.
Side by side the two horses trotted, past the new herd of Jersey cattle, past the pigs and ducks in the farmyard. They followed the cart track through the estate to the road where the church was being built. Philip had given this road for public use and already many a vehicle had passed along it but still it was rough and the forest pressed close to it.
Now they saw the walls of the church rising solid on a tree-crowned knoll. Loud hammering filled the air. The forest birds liked the noise of the hammers and sang their loudest to its accompaniment. The river circled below the graveyard where there was, as yet, no grave. They could see Mr. Pink in shirt sleeves working among the men. But there was no sign of Philip. Daisy could not quite conceal her disappointment when he was not to be found. She looked suspiciously at Adeline.
“Are you sure,” she asked, “that he said he would ride with us?”
“Well, I think he did,” returned Adeline with a little laugh. “But we are happy enough without him, aren’t we? Let’s gallop!”
The horses broke into a gallop, their hoofs thudding on the sandy soil. Trees arched overhead with boughs almost touching. The morning sunshine sifted golden through the greenness. When they drew rein, the sound of hammering was far behind. Daisy’s colour was high.