Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
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!”
“You’re very much the schoolboy still, aren’t you?” said Malahide, with a sneer.
Renny flung from the room. Eliza, who had been keeping the tea wagon outside till calm should reign within, wheeled it with dignity through the door. Sighs of pleasurable anticipation greeted it.
In the hall Renny stopped. He stretched up his arms and closed his hands. He stretched his body taut and blew out a great breath of resentment and hate for Malahide. From the drawing room came the sound of his grandmother’s voice, harsh and dictatorial, laying down the law about him, he supposed. He raised his eyes to the carved fox’s head on the top of the hatstand and made a grimace at it.
M
AURICE AND
R
ENNY
“A
ND SO," CONCLUDED
Renny, bitterly, “we’re to be cut off from each other just when we might manage to get a little pleasure out of this beastly disappointing summer.”
“We should have been parted in any case,” returned Maurice. “Dad and I have decided that it is best for me to go away for a while. I have cousins in Nova Scotia, you know. I am going to visit them till this affair blows over.”
“If you wait for that,” said Renny pessimistically, “you’ll be grey-headed when you come back. Nothing is ever forgotten here.”
“Still, in a few months it won’t be so difficult for us. In our own house, I mean. Now when we meet each other we feel embarrassed. We spend our mealtime in making polite conversation, trying to pretend that everything is all right. It’s ghastly!”
“Why do you pretend?”
“Well, one has to. Mother can’t tell me at breakfast that she spent a sleepless night because of my behaviour. Dad can’t say why it is he has no appetite. And — if I told them what was in my mind … It just can’t be done! We’ve got to keep up a pretense of ordinary life, but it’s a terrible strain.”
“Yes,” agreed Renny, “it must be.”
“I’m tired out with it. I must go away.”
Renny sighed. “I suppose it is better for you. But I’m sorry you’re going.”
They were walking down the narrow sandy road to the lake. Maurice caught his friend’s arm in his hand and held it close. “You’ve been a brick to me through all of this,” he said. “I’ve spoilt everything for you just as I have for Meg and myself. It’s too awful! Let’s go to my boathouse and take out the canoe. Your father can’t object to our having a paddle together when we’ll be separated for so long.”
“Good,” agreed Renny, “I’d like that. As for Father, he’d never have said such a thing if he hadn’t been driven to it by Gran.”
“But,” exclaimed Maurice, “why are they making all this fuss now? I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand because you don’t know everything. You don’t know that I went to see Elvira and Lulu. That was what got the wind up.”
Maurice stopped in the road and faced him. His grey eyes were sombre in his dark pale face.
“You too,” he said heavily. “You went there! Good Lord! What made you do it?”
Renny flashed him a challenging look.
“I wanted to see Lulu again.”
“Lulu!” Maurice echoed the name in mingled relief and consternation. “Lulu!” Why — why on earth — well, I can’t believe that you were attracted by her.”
“Why not?”
“Well, she’s years and years older than you are, for one thing. And she’s rather an ugly looking woman.”
Renny began to walk quickly along the road. He muttered — “To my mind she’s a beautiful woman.”
Maurice overtook him and gave a high, embarrassed laugh. “Well — if you think so — but I don’t see what you could have found to say to her. She made me uncomfortable.”