Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“But I must say it!” insisted Eden. He placed himself in front of Malahide Court and recited in a clear treble: —
“O Malahide!
I can’t abide
They way you’ve spied,
The way you’ve lied.
You are a snide —
I wish you’d died
In Ballyside,
O Malahide!”
No one had initiative to stop him, while the subject of the poem, turning a sickly yellow, cast a look of bitter chagrin at Adeline.
She was the first to speak.
“Come here,” she said to the child.
Feeling important and pleased with himself, he marched to her side. She took his chin in her hand and started into his eyes.
“Who taught you that?” she demanded.
Well schooled, he returned — “I made it up.”
“A likely story! Made it up! I say — who taught you that verse?” She emphasized the last five words with five successive raps on the table.
Eden’s face quivered, but he persisted. “I made it up myself.”
“Please don’t mind,” said Malahide.
“I
will
mind! I’ll get to the bottom of this!”
“Plenty of time later,” said Philip, very red in the face.
“Yes, yes,” agreed Admiral Lacey, “let us go on with the game, Mrs. Whiteoak.”
“I will not have my kinsman insulted and let it pass!”
“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Lacey soothingly, “that none of us understood it, in the least.”
Adeline turned her head from one to another of the assembly. “Is there anyone here,” she demanded, “who is so
imbecile
so not to understand the meaning of that recitation?”
Both the Miss Laceys chimed in together — “I didn’t understand a word of it! Really I didn’t!”
“Childish nonsense,” said the Admiral.
“Childish devilment,” declared Adeline. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. I won’t have Malahide insulted.” An ominous colour suffused her face.
Nicholas sat tugging at his grey moustache. Ernest and Ethel Lacey dared not look into each other’s eyes. He pressed her foot under the table. Augusta boomed: —
“The child is the mouthpiece of others.”
“Quite so,” agreed Sir Edwin.
“Mouthpiece or not,” said Adeline, “I’ll have it out of him!”
Eden wriggled his chin out of her hand and fled to his mother.
“I did make it up,” he insisted proudly. “Every word of it. Shall I say it again?”
“Yes,” said his grandmother, “I want to hear it again.”
Mr. Fennel had, with admirable coolness, worked at his card trick all this while. Malahide kept his eyes on the cards as though his life depended on the working out of the trick. Meg, seated on the piano stool, was as impassive as the Dresden-china shepherdess on the mantelpiece. Not so Renny. An uncontrollable grin stretched his features. He was standing beside the parrot’s perch and, half in nervousness, half in malice, tweaked a feather from its tail.
With a torrent of curses in Hindoo it spread its wings and flew to the backgammon board, scattering the neatly placed men in all directions.
Adeline stretched out a long arm and pulled Eden from his mother’s lap.
“Now,” she commanded, “say your piece again, child!”
“Mamma —” began Augusta.
“Hold your tongue, Augusta,” said her mother.
“Steady on, Mamma,” growled Nicholas. “We can have that later.”
“Yes,” said Violet Lacey, “we’d love to hear it later on, dear Mrs. Whiteoak.”
“No need to wait. I remember the first line myself: ‘O Malahide —’ Now go on, Eden.” She had soothed the parrot and he sat preening himself on her shoulder.
Eden, with more than a hint of mischief on his face, declaimed: —
“O Malahide!
I can’t abide
They way you’ve spied,
The way you’ve lied.
You are a snide….”
Uncontrolled laughter broke from Nicholas and Ernest. Renny, with a sudden flourish of his hand toward Malahide, concluded, in a derisive tone: —
“I wish you’d died
In Ballyside,
O Malahide!”
Philip said — “Renny, take Eden away. I’ll see to him later.”
Renny shouldered the small boy and glided out of the room.
“Somebody bring Malahide a drink,” ordered Adeline. “He looks queasy.”
Ernest got up with alacrity.
“Could I have a drop of something too?” asked the Admiral.
“We’ll all have something,” said Nicholas.
Malahide was restored somewhat by the sherry. The greenish shade left his skin and it resumed its normal ivory tint. He gathered his forces and smiled wanly at Adeline. Her choleric colour had faded and she was now enjoying herself. She leant forward and started sympathetically at Malahide.
“I was never so ashamed,” she said. “As I’ve heard the peasants in Ireland say — ‘You might light a candle from the same in me eye.’ But, never fear, Malahide, our young man will smart for this. I know well that its root lay in him and I’ll not bear that he should intimidate any guest of mine.”
“Well, after all,” said Mary, in impulsive defence of her stepson, “it’s only natural that Renny should retaliate.”
Philip beamed at her.
“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Lacey inquisitively.
“It is better left unexplained,” said Augusta.
“We’ll have him flogged,” said Adeline. “You must lay your stick about him, Philip.”
“Impossible!” said Philip. “I must just ask Cousin Malahide to forgive him, if he can.”
Malahide raised his head. “I have already done that, Philip. But what I shall never forget is the superb manner with which the little boy spoke his lines — unsettling as they were to me. His poise is perfect.”
“Ay, he’s a clever young rascal,” said Adeline.
Mary was delighted by Malahide’s praise of her child.
“He is really amazing,” she said eagerly. “The things he says! You’d hardly believe.”
“He’s too precocious,” said Philip, yet pleased, in spite of himself.
The Admiral said — “Now, when I was his age, I used to stand up in front of a roomful of people and recite, ‘My Name is Norval,’ at the top of my lungs.”
The men were replaced on the backgammon board; the cards dealt. Boney uttered sounds of content and Keno scratched the hearth rug into a more agreeable disposition for his fire-baked body. Another rainstorm dashed against the pane, and the roof spread itself hospitably over all beneath it.
G
ARDEN
P
ARTY
T
HE RESULT OF THIS
disturbance was to divide the family into two parties. One was for Malahide’s remaining there, the other against it. On the one side were the Buckleys, who very much preferred leaving him at Jalna, for they feared that, if he returned with them to England, he might settle down in their house for the winter. A business affair of Ernest’s was important enough, in his eyes at any rate, to recall him to London, and he was leaving with his sister and brother-in-law. Nicholas, who was remaining, looked on Malahide as rather an amusing addition to the family party, and a unique companion for Adeline. He enjoyed hearing them talk together. Adeline herself, having cast her protective power over Malahide, would not lightly withdraw it, and the fact that she wanted him to stay made opposition to this infuriating to her. On the other side were ranged Philip, Mary, Meg, and Renny, a solid family within the family, the two younger members of which were ruthless in their determination to oust the intruder.
No coldness or indifference on their part had any effect on Malahide, neither could Philip be brought to the point of telling him directly to get out. Philip strolled about with his dogs at his heels or fished or oversaw his stables or farm, tolerant and good-humoured toward both parties, but not to be driven by either of them into a definite step.
It was decided that some sort of entertainment should be given as a send-off for the Buckleys, and also to show that the family was not subdued by the breaking of Meg’s engagement to Maurice. Meg was to appear in public self-contained, and in appearance, heart-whole.
Augusta chose a garden party as the form of entertainment most pleasing to her. Heavy rains had made the lawns and borders green and luxuriant. The house, inside and out, was looking its best, the whole an ideal setting for a large gathering.
The family was heart and soul in preparation for the fête. Mary saw to the putting in perfect order of the house. The windows were polished, the mahogany and walnut of the furniture brought to a satin shine. She and Ernest conferred over the arrangement of flowers, choosing pink and crimson roses and pink carnations for the drawing room, yellow and cream dahlias for the dining room and library, while tall delphiniums and variegated phlox ornamented the striped marquee erected on the lawn. The rest of the family were more interested in the arrangements for refreshments, both solid and liquid, and the band which was to be stationed behind the shrubbery.
The state of the weather caused some anxiety, for it showed itself capricious during all the week preceding the party and, on the very morning, sparkled and showered alternately. But at noon the sun came out hotly, the lawn was dried, and the scene looked all the gayer for the washing.
It had been difficult for Meg to choose which dress of her trousseau she would wear. Each one had been so carefully considered as a part of her wedding trip. She would have preferred to buy a new dress for this occasion, but Philip would not hear of it. He had been put to too much unnecessary expense as it was.
She stood irresolute between a pink-flowered organdie and a pale green tulle when she heard Renny passing her door. She called him in.
“Which shall I wear?” she asked, her lips trembling as she put the question, for, at the moment, she felt that she could not bear to face all those people.
He looked dubiously at the dresses spread on the bed.
She said — “Mother says the pale green will look more elegant, but Vera is for the pink. She thinks I’ll feel more confident in it.”
“Put on the pink,” he said, at once. “You’ll feel more cheerful. It’s just like Mother to choose green.”
“All right. But really Mother is being quite agreeable, considering that she isn’t getting me off her hands, as I suppose she’s been hoping to all this while.”
“H’m.” He put his arm around her. “Well, never mind, Meggie. I wasn’t wanting to get you off my hands, at any rate.”
She pressed her face against his shoulder. How comforting to have such a brother, she thought.
He said suddenly — “Look here, Meggie, we haven’t done a thing to Malahide this week!”
“Not since I put salt instead of sugar in his tea. And he drank it without a word.”
He dismissed such schoolgirl tricks with a shrug.
“I wish,” he said, “that we could think of something really devastating to do today.”
“I wish we could,” she said wistfully. “Perhaps Mother could think of something. She hates the thought of his staying on as much as we do. She’s as sick as mud about it.”
“We can manage without her. Still, if she is on our side, so much the better.”
He stood, holding his chin in his hand, buried in thought, and showing as strong a likeness to his grandmother as is possible between a stripling and an old woman. Suddenly he raised his head abruptly and exclaimed: —
“I have it! What do you think of this?”
He poured out his plan, in which she acquiesced with the abandon of one seeking distraction from melancholy.
Their plan was just completed and Meg was breathless with her tremulous laughter when the door opened softly and Eden’s golden head was intruded.
“Oh, hullo,” he said ingratiatingly, “may I come in?”
“Yes,” said Meg, “and shut the door after you.”
He came to Renny and asked — “I want the ride on Gallant. You’ve never taken me and you promised if I said the piece!”
“Well, Mother said your nerves were upset. Why have you nerves like that?”
“They were upset because I wanted to go and you wouldn’t take me.” He looked up accusingly at Renny.
“I’ll take you today. Before the garden party.” He turned to Meg. “It will be well for me to be out of the way, in case questions are asked.”
At three o’clock all was astir in the house for the final preparations. In their bedrooms Adeline, Augusta, Mary, and Meg dressed themselves with unusual care, Adeline trying on five different caps before she found one to suit her. Sir Edwin had reached the stage of knowing that he must have help from Augusta or he would never get his collar and cravat fastened properly, when an agitated rap sounded on the door. He opened it a little way and discovered Malahide, who said anxiously: —
“What do you suppose, Edwin! I can’t get into my room! I’ve got Eliza to help me and she can’t open the door either.”
“Did you lock it when you left?”
“Now can you imagine my doing such a thing? No — this is a trick! I have been purposely locked out of my room.”
Sir Edwin was worried and could not help feeling annoyed with Malahide. Augusta spoke from the corner, where she had taken refuge.
“You must get a ladder.”
“Couldn’t the lock be taken off?” asked Sir Edwin.
“The locks of Jalna,” she returned, “are not made to be taken on and off. Malahide will have to enter his room by the window.”
“Perhaps we had better see Philip about it.”
“Philip has just this moment come up to dress. Mary had to go to the stables herself to fetch him. If he is disturbed now, he will never be ready to receive his guests.” Augusta too felt an unreasonable annoyance with Malahide.
He wavered disconsolately in the passage, twice bending his eye to the keyhole of his room as though by sheer force of will he would project himself through it. From all the bedrooms about him came the sound of splashing water and eager steps.
A quarter of an hour later servants and the hired waiters from town stopped in their journeys between house and pavilion to watch Malahide Court’s long form ascending a ladder to his window while red-faced young Hodge steadied it below.
Almost immediately he descended the ladder and looked despairingly into the face of Hodge. “My clothes are not there,” he said, “Nothing that I own is there. They have taken them away.”