Jalna: Books 1-4: The Building of Jalna / Morning at Jalna / Mary Wakefield / Young Renny (81 page)

“That boy,” said Augusta, in a whisper to her husband, “will come to a bad end.”

“Most boys do,” he returned amiably.

With an offended air she swept into her seat.

Mary sat with the two children in a pew in front of that occupied by Adeline, her two sons, her daughter and her son-in-law. She felt that five pairs of eyes observed her every movement. She felt so conscious of this observation that she trembled as she found places in their prayer books for the children.

The volume added to the singing by the newcomers was tremendous. They had good voices. They knew the hymns by heart. They let themselves go. From the first Sunday in the church Mary had noticed the weakness of the choir. Now she saw it submerged, rendered helpless. Its members sang away, opening and shutting their mouths unheard. The service seemed unconscionably long.
Mary kept her face turned from where Philip sat, waiting to read the Lessons. When at last he mounted the lectern she let herself look at him. To her his head, the shape of his shoulders beneath the folds of his surplice, were more moving than the words he read.

His brothers exchanged a look. They had forgotten how badly Philip read.

Renny dropped the ten-cent piece that was his contribution and it rolled far into the aisle. Mary did not know whether she should allow him to get it. But he was uneasy till she did. Then, in a grasshopper jump he retrieved it and threw a triumphant look at his grandmother behind him. She leant toward him, the smell of her heavy crêpe veil enveloping him. “Be a good boy,” she whispered, “or it will be the worse for you.” The scent of the crêpe came to him.

He grasped the coin and stared at his Uncle Nicholas helping to take up the collection. When Nicholas held the alms-dish in front of him he planted his offering in the middle of it with a flourish.

“He is completely out of hand,” observed Augusta to Ernest who nodded agreement.

Nicholas and Chalk, the blacksmith, a fine-looking young man, stood shoulder to shoulder at the chancel steps and presented the alms-dishes to Mr. Pink, whose complexion was but inadequately described by his name. The best that could be said of his sermons was that they were brief; the worst, that they never were to the point. He always appeared about to make some profound observation but always it eluded him or possibly, as Nicholas said, was never there.

At last the congregation trooped down the aisle. Renny managed to get next to little Maurice Vaughan, two years his senior and a schoolboy on his holidays from Upper Canada College.

In the porch Adeline was surrounded by friends to welcome her home. She stood like a queen with courtiers encircling her, a pleased smile curving her full lips. Mr. Vaughan brought a newcomer to her.

“This,” he said, “is Miss Craig who lives quite a long way off and drives the ten miles to come to our church.”

“Now I call that a compliment,” said Adeline, taking her hand and looking her over approvingly. “Tell me why you come so far to our insignificant little church?”

“Your son told me about it and how you and Captain Whiteoak had built it in the wilds. I came first, because I was curious, and several times since because I like it so much.”

“You are newcomers in this part then?”

“Yes. My father built a house on the lake shore. Unfortunately he has had a stroke and goes nowhere.”

“Well, well, that’s sad.”

She turned to greet a neighbouring farmer and his wife.

“This is our wedding anniversary, Mrs. Whiteoak,” the man said. “Forty years married.”

“Six children and eighteen grandchildren,” added his wife.

“Good for you! Well, you’re lucky to have your man still with you.”

“Oh, Mrs. Whiteoak, I remember the Captain and you dancing at our wedding. What a grand-looking gentleman he was!”

“He was that. I must go now and see his grave.”

She led the way into the churchyard, her family, now joined by Philip following her. Mary also followed but at a little distance. She saw them gather about a plot marked by a massive granite plinth and enclosed by an ornamental iron fence. There were two graves in the enclosure, that of Captain Philip Whiteoak, the other of the younger Philip’s young wife, Margaret. A small marble cross bore her name.

Adeline’s tall black-robed figure halted by the grave of her husband, the summer breeze spreading her veil. Augusta bent her head. The four men removed their hats.

There came into Augusta’s mind the image of her father carrying her on his shoulder when she was a little girl in pantalettes, and she smiled tenderly at the recollection of that tiny girl. “Dear Papa,” she murmured in her deep voice.

Sir Edwin remembered how he always had felt especially insignificant when standing beside that stalwart military figure, how
Captain Whiteoak had stared at him out of his prominent blue eyes, as though in wonder at his being there at all. “Yet,” thought Sir Edwin, “he could be very agreeable, very agreeable indeed — when he chose.”

Into the mind of Nicholas there suddenly flashed the remembrance of an especially severe tanning his father had given him. He’d had a good many, but he could recall the smart of that particular one to this day, though he’d forgotten what it was for. Yet how generously the hand that had administered the tanning, had been in giving money! And that hand now … Nicholas felt a contraction of the heart as he, for an instant, pictured that hand now. How many bones were there said to be in a hand? Twenty-eight? Twenty-eight small bones — dry — perhaps disjointed — in that box, beneath the summer grass! Instead of the large handsome hand he remembered.

An officer and a gentleman, if ever there was one, thought Ernest, gazing down at the greave. And how well he could tell a story! Particularly a story of his life in India. But he had not been intellectual. Sometimes Ernest wondered from whom he himself had inherited his intellect. Not from his mother. For though she was highly intelligent it was in an intuitive feminine way.… That look on her face hurt him. He wished they might leave the grave.

Dear old governor! thought Philip, and resolutely kept from his mind any sad reflections. He turned his eyes to where Mary stood, her wide-brimmed straw hat shadowing her face.

Adeline’s heart cried out, “My darling, oh, my darling!” For one blind instant she felt that she would throw herself on the grave, pressing it to her breast, as she had pressed him when he lay dying — he who only an hour before had left the house, sound and well! But she held herself together. She put up her hand and arranged the widow’s veil on her shoulder. She led the way from the grave with an unfaltering step.

Renny was left alone with the granite plinth. For a long while he had wanted to climb it. Now suddenly he felt strong enough. He hopped over the iron railing, put his arms around the monument, placed a foot on the lowest projection, hung on like a limpet, though
the foothold was precarious. With his utmost effort he gained the highest ledge and clung there. He took off his sailor cap and placed it on the very pinnacle of the monument. He could not stop himself. He shouted, “Hurrah!”

The family turned, transfixed by the sight.

Philip strode toward his son. “I’ll warm his seat for this,” he exclaimed.

But Adeline held him back. “No, no,” she said. “Let the boy be. He means no harm. Indeed he makes a pretty picture. I like it.”

At the one o’clock dinner she was in great good humour. Whatever Mrs. Nettleship’s faults might be she was an excellent cook. To some people the meal might have seemed a little too substantial for such a warm day, not so to Adeline. She relished every mouthful. Her neighbours, the Vaughans, had joined the family and she enjoyed their company, particularly as Robert Vaughan had, as a youth, been in love with her, though she was already married, and had never quite got over it.

After dinner they repaired to the shuttered coolness of the drawing-room and there Adeline asked of Mrs. Vaughan:

“What about these people, the Craigs? The young woman is quite comely. She’s a good shape too.”

Mrs. Vaughan did not consider a young woman’s shape a proper subject for discussion in mixed company. She repeated:

“Yes, she is quite comely. She is very nice too. I feel sorry for her because she is cut off from the pleasures suitable to her age. There they are, in that big house, quite unable to entertain their friends, and only a trained nurse for company.”

“Miss Craig is quite an heiress,” added her husband. “One of your chaps should make up to her.”

Adeline’s eyes sparkled. “What a good idea! Nicholas is the man for it. That wife of his was an extravagant one to keep and to get rid of her cost quite a lot. He’s the man to marry Miss Craig.”

It had been painful for the Vaughans to hear Nicholas’ divorce mentioned. The suggestion that he should marry again was acutely embarrassing. How often in their long friendship with Adeline
Whiteoak she had embarrassed them by her remarks! Both of them flushed but Nicholas remained imperturbable. He said:

“Once bitten, twice shy. I’ll never marry again.”

“What about Philip?” asked Sir Edwin.

“Philip has enough on his hands,” said Adeline tersely.

“It’s to be Ernest then,” said Nicholas. “He has a new suit that he’s irresistible in.”

Ernest tried not to look conceited. “What nonsense you talk, Nick. As for me, if ever I marry it will be for love. I am thankful to say that money is no longer any consideration with me.”

“Yes,” agreed Adeline complacently, “my son, Ernest, is quite a financier. There is nothing he doesn’t understand about investments. You had better get his advice, Robert, and double your capital.”

Adeline herself, though possessed of a respectable fortune of a hundred thousand dollars, invested in the most conservative manner, was quite satisfied with the low interest she received. She lived at Jalna without expense to herself, save in personal matters. She never referred to the fact that she had means of her own. Indeed she would sometimes speak of herself as a poor widow, dependent on her son Philip.

Philip, his father’s favourite son, had had the house and land bequeathed to him and enough money to live on without extravagance. A considerable part of his income was derived from the fertile farm lands of Jalna. In money matters he was generous to the point of extravagance. Dealings in money confused him. He spoke of himself as a farmer and horse breeder.

His two older brothers had inherited, in addition to what their father had given them, quite substantial amounts for their father’s sister in England. Nicholas, unknown to any save Ernest, had lost a good deal of money in the previous year, in Portuguese, Greek and Mexican Bonds. Nicholas, who from his mother had inherited a love for the foreign and picturesque, was drawn to these investments. He was thankful that he had kept these losses to himself, for he could imagine what Adeline’s caustic remarks would be, had she known of them.

Ernest too had had losses. Grand Trunk Railway shares had fallen. British Rails had suffered a fall. But these losses were as nothing compared to his gains. Standing with one hand in the breast of his coat, he talked fluently of his investments and of how his capital was doubled. It was a delightful sensation to him to boast a little.

Mr. Vaughan was greatly impressed. He was of a cautious nature but his ambition for his young son who had come too him late in life, was unbounded. He wanted him to be a noble man, to exert great influence for good in the country. Surely the possession of wealth would aid him in his great future, for undoubtedly his future would be great. He was such a serious and altogether remarkable child, a contrast to that harum-scarum little Renny.

Robert Vaughan said firmly, “I shall be glad of your advice, Ernest. Certainly Sunday is no day for the discussion of money matters, but if you are free tomorrow morning I should like to come over and have a talk with you.”

“Ernest will put you on the right track,” encouraged Sir Edwin.

“He’s a perfect wizard,” said his sister admiringly.

Ernest almost simpered. It was so wonderful to feel oneself a successful man of affairs.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said.

Philip was pulling burrs from his dog’s tail and hiding them under the chair where he sat.

“The land is good enough for me,” he said. “I’d rather invest in wheat and oats and apples.”

Ernest looked down at him tolerantly. “I think you’re very wise, Philip, to stick to what you understand.”

“I get rattled when I bother about money.”

His mother craned her neck to look at him. “Whatever are you doing?” she said.

“Nothing. Just sitting here. Twiddling my thumbs.” He winked at Augusta who could not forbear a smile in return even though she saw the burrs beneath his chair.

“I
WANT A
dinner party,” said Adeline, “and dance afterward. I like my friends to know I’m home.”

“Everybody knows you’re home, old dear,” returned Philip. “And don’t you think you’d better wait till the weather cools off? People would melt, dancing in this heat.”

“I have danced in hotter weather, with tight stays on me and an enormous bustle. I don’t see what makes you so lazy, Philip. Neither your father nor I had a lazy bone in our bodies.”

Philip lighted his pipe and concealed the burnt match beneath the chair he was seated on. He said, “Neither you nor my father ever did what I call an honest day’s work that I ever saw —”

His mother interrupted him in outraged tones. “Not work! Your father and I not work! You should have seen him when this place was being built. He’d heave up a timber, with two men at the other end! He had the strength of two.”

“Yes. I’ve heard about that. But it took only a short while. Not a whole day.”

“He had to conserve his strength. A man needed to conserve what strength he had in those days.”

“As for me, I have my oats to get in before the weather changes. I pitch in and help my men, you know.”

“And a pretty beet-red colour you’ve got yourself!”

“It makes me feel nice and safe. No girl would run after a beet-red widower.”