Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
It was nearly noon when he strolled along the road toward Admiral Lacey’s house. He found the old man basking in the sun, which was now warm, on a south verandah overlooking his frost-blighted garden. The Admiral was not particularly pleased to see Malahide, for he never quite knew what to say to him, but any company was agreeable, as his family were entirely occupied by preparations for the departure of Violet and Vera.
After a little desultory talk Malahide said, stroking his bluish chin: —
“It is a great pleasure to me to be able to travel with your daughter and Vera. I hope I shall find the opportunity of being of service to them.”
“Well, well, I’m very glad they are to have a man with them. I don’t think much of ladies travelling alone, even in these days.”
“Vera is a charming girl,” said Malahide.
“She’s a nice child,” agreed the Admiral. “But I shan’t be sorry to see her go. She’s been a responsibility. My son spoils her. It’s not the way I brought up my daughters. The child resents being chaperoned, let me tell you. She’s determined, and very artful in getting her own way.”
Malahide turned a melancholy face on him. He said: —
“Admiral, I can’t pretend to think Vera’s engagement to young Renny anything other than lamentable.”
Admiral Lacey stared at him in astonishment. “Engagement! What d’ye mean engagement? There’s no engagement that I know of.”
“Is it without your consent, then?”
“Consent? I’ve never been asked. You are quite mistaken. There is no engagement.”
Malahide moved forward and whispered — “They
are
engaged, sir. She has his ring.”
Admiral Lacey turned a deep red. “I’ll send for her,” he said, “and see what she has to say for herself. As though I should allow an engagement! When she was sent over here to avoid one.” Then he added, more coolly — “Not that I have anything against the boy. He is a fine lad. But he’s not twenty yet. When he is a little older we may consider it.”
“A marriage between them,” said Malahide, “would be nothing short of lamentable. I repeat the word,
lamentable
. He is not fit to touch an innocent girl — let alone
marry
her!”
Admiral Lacy eyed him with distrust. “I wish you would explain yourself,” he said stiffly.
There was a conscious lubricity in Malahide’s tone as he returned — “It is easy to explain. Renny has been intimate with a woman — old enough to be his mother — a relative of the girl young Vaughan got into trouble.”
“Does Philip know of this?”
“Yes, he knows of it.”
“Then, by the Lord Harry, he did wrong to let his young wastrel come over here to visit my granddaughter. I don’t thank him for that. As for an engagement — do you say she wears his ring?”
“Doubtless — in secret. The very way he got the ring was perfidious.
He stole it from his grandmother!
”
The Admiral’s slow moving blood gathered yet more strongly in his head. He turned purple. “Let me — let me —” he began incoherently.
Malahide laid a quieting hand on his arm. “If you speak to Vera, excited as you are now, it may do more harm than good.”
“My dear man,” answered Admiral Lacey, “I do not have to wait the opportune moment for addressing my granddaughter!”
“Of course not. But if you wish to be impressive, choose the opportune moment. Choose the moment when they are in the room together. He comes here every day, doesn’t he?”
Although delay was against Admiral Lacey’s inclination, he did wait till afternoon before descending on Vera and Renny. Renny came, as Malahide said he would, but not alone. Meg was with him, wearing one of the new enormous hats perched high on her head. Admiral Lacey hung about the hall, feeling strangely like the culprit himself, till the three young people were in the drawing room. He wished Meg were not with them. To tackle them alone would have been easier, he thought.
Presently the strains of the “Merry Widow Waltz” came to him through the closed door. The three had been to see the opera only the week before. Sleeping or waking, it was difficult for them to get the melody of this waltz out of their heads. The Admiral softly opened the door and peeped in.
The long, narrow room with its slanting floor and small-paned windows, its water colours and Dresden china, its banner fire screen and crocheted antimacassars, was filled with the golden sunshine of late afternoon. At the draped square piano Meg sat, her face like a round enraptured flower under the enormous hat. She played the waltz as though she had, in that moment, composed it. She raised her hands high above the keyboard, letting the sweet seductive notes fall from them. If they were inaccurate, no one guessed it, for the two who danced were lost in a world of supple movement and youthful love.
As well as they could they were imitating the dancing of the two stars they had seen the week before. Renny, in long agile steps, glided down the room, turning, turning, with Vera in his arms. She, resting in his embrace, bent backward as far as she could endure, gazing up into his face. On the white hand against his shoulder gleamed the pearl and diamond ring.
The Admiral stood gazing open-mouthed for a space. In spite of himself he liked the looks of the waltz. And they way they performed it!
“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “You might be professionals.”
The dancers stopped short, though the piano strayed on through another dreamy bar. Vera hid the hand that wore the ring.
“Now, Renny,” said Admiral Lacey. “I should like an explanation.”
“Of what?” asked Renny boldly.
His tone had a hardening effect on the Admiral.
“Of your manner of dancing with my granddaughter. It’s not seemly.”
“It’s the newest thing,” said Vera.
“All the worse for it — and for you! Why, you looked like foreigners!”
“It is foreign,” said Meg, from the piano stool. “It’s a beautiful thing. The scene is in a country rather like Ruritania.”
“It is lovely to do,” said Vera.
“It is improper,” replied her grandfather. “And what about the ring you are wearing? Show it to me.”
Vera was frightened. She looked at Renny for help, but he gave her none.
“Show me that ring,” repeated Admiral Lacey.
Vera approached him, holding out her hand.
“Hmph! It is not the first time I have seen it. I have seen it on Mrs. Whiteoak. You must explain to me how you came by it.”
“Oh, Granddaddy, I can’t! I — oh, please, don’t insist!”
“I do insist.”
Vera began to cry.
Meg spoke from the piano stool. “I lent it to Vera. It once belonged to my grandmother.”
The Admiral raised his voice. “You dare tell me that, young woman! No — I say it is an engagement ring, and I say that your brother
stole
it from his grandmother!”
“That’s a lie!” shouted Renny. “Gran gave me the ring for my fiancée. And I gave it to Vera. We are going to be married.”
The old man and the youth faced each other. The one short, thickset, redoubtable. The other tall, wiry, passionately alive. They were like a battleship and a seaplane.
“You dare!” thundered the Admiral. “You dare tell me I lie!”
“No — I don’t say
you
lie. I don’t know who told you, but I do say it is a lie. My grandmother did give me that ring.”
“You were seen to take it!”
Renny and Meg looked at each other. She said: —
“We
did
take it. But we didn’t
steal
it.”
Admiral Lacey turned to her. “Why did you tell me, miss, that you lent the ring to Vera?”
“I was just trying to conceal their engagement. But since Renny has told you that Vera and he are to be married —”
“Married!” interrupted the Admiral. “It’s ridiculous! They are foolish children.”
“I am twenty,” said Vera.
“And I soon shall be,” said Renny.
“What have you to marry on, I’d like to know?”
“My father must help me.”
“
Must
help you!
Must
, eh? I like that! I do like that, indeed! There’s the young man of today speaking. His father
must
help him! Oh, you couldn’t have said a worse thing to me! Now, I tell you what we’ll do! We’ll go find your father and tell him that he
must
help you!”
Renny answered — “We can’t. He’s off on a hunting trip.”
“So he is! I forgot. Very well, we will go to your grandmother. She shall hear all about it.”
“Oh, no, no, don’t do that!” said Meg. She burst into tears. It was natural for Meg to weep on a man’s shoulder. So she came and laid her face on the Admiral’s.
His florid face softened. He put an arm about her. Vera, seeing this, came at once to his other shoulder and wept there. Between their two heads his face glared out at Renny like a fine old bulldog’s between two dew-drenched flowers.
“I must see Mrs. Whiteoak about this affair,” he declared. “You two must come with me, but Vera shall stay here with her aunts. She shall not go out of this house again until she sails for home.”
“If you think you can prevent our marriage,” said Renny hotly, “you are mistaken. We love each other and we are going to get married.”
“Oh, Grandfather,” said Vera, “if you only knew how we love each other!”
“If you knew all, my child,” said the Admiral, “you would not be so fond of this young man.”
“Who says anything against my brother?” cried Meg.
“I do! I say he is not a fit husband for my granddaughter.”
Renny said bitterly — “Malahide Court has been here, poisoning your mind against me.”
“Is truth poison?” said Admiral Lacey.
“Oh, yes, often,” said Meg. “But I don’t see what Malahide could have told you that would turn you against Renny, Admiral! You have always been so fond of him.”
The Admiral returned stiffly — “I cannot talk about this in front of young girls.”
“Listen, Granddaddy,” said Vera. “Renny asked me once what I should feel if I found out anything about him like Meg and Maurice, and I said if it was all past and he still loved me it would make no difference. So surely that settles it!”
“Nothing of the sort! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Now, my dear, you go straight to your grandmother. Your friends and I will go to Jalna.”
He took Vera with him to Mrs. Lacey, and ordered the old man who acted as gardener and groom to bring round the carriage. Soon he and Meg and Renny were on their way to Jalna, while Vera poured out the whole story into the not unsympathetic ears of her aunts and grandmother.
They found Adeline, Mary, and Malahide having tea together in the dining room. Adeline was pleased to see her old friend and made room for him beside her. But Malahide, after a swift glance into his face and another and more furtive glance into the faces of Renny and Meg, sank deep into his chair.
“You are just in time,” said Adeline, “to share a section of new honey and a nice bit of news about our rector. He’s engaged to be married. He brought me the news himself, this morning.” She deposited a golden square of honey on the Admiral’s plate and beamed into his face.
“That is good,” said Admiral Lacey, forcing himself to smile. “He needs a wife. Where is she from?”
“New Brunswick. A long way to go for a bride. But she suits him, he says, and he thinks she will suit of all us.” She talked on, but soon noticed that there was something wrong. She looked searchingly into his face. “Are you ailing?” she asked.
“No,” he answered gruffly, “but I must have a talk with you, in the presence of the young man here. Just we three. Will you arrange it?”
There was nothing she liked better than a talk on some important subject, preferably controversial. After her third cup of tea, she
said: —
“I want you, Admiral, and you, Renny, to come to the drawing room with me. There are things to be discussed.” She rose from the table a little stiffly, resting her hands on it. The Admiral offered her his arm.
“Mayn’t I come, Granny?” asked Meg. “I am in this affair, too. With my last drop of blood!”
“No, no,” said Admiral Lacey. “Just your grandmother and Renny and me.”
“Well,” exclaimed Meg, passionately, “I know what it’s all about, so why shouldn’t I be there?”
“And Malahide,” said Renny, “Don’t keep him out of it!”
Adeline gave a grunt and reseated herself. “Very well. We’ll discuss whatever it is — together, as a family should.”
Malahide took out a cigarette and lighted it. “After what Renny has said I think I certainly should be present.”
“Very well,” said Admiral Lacey. “Since you are agreed.”
“Will you have another cup of tea?” asked Mary.
“No, thank you.” He looked straight into Adeline’s eyes. “Mrs. Whiteoak, did you give your grandson a pearl and diamond ring as a betrothal ring for my granddaughter?”
Renny’s eyelashes flickered. He clenched his hands beneath the table. Malahide’s heavy lids were lowered and his fingers played with his diamond cravat pin. Meg fixed her full blue gaze on her grandmother’s face. It was a study, this fine old face, as strongly marked as a weathered cliff. She thrust out her muscular underlip and her eyes moved from Renny’s face to Meg’s, from Meg’s to Malahide’s — compelling from each a quiver of defence or acknowledgement. She picked up her spoon and saw her own distorted reflection in its bowl. She laid it down and said curtly: —
“I did.”
The Admiral blew. Renny gave a short laugh and his face lighted with vivacity. Meg preened herself.
“But,” exclaimed Admiral Lacey, “I was told —”
“Malahide told you,” interrupted Renny.
“I saw the theft myself,” said Malahide.
Adeline turned on him. “What theft?”
“The theft of the ring.”
“And where were
you?
” cried Meg. “Spying! Peering in at the window! Now I understand why Boney screamed — ‘To hell with Malahide!’”
Adeline sat, pursed, wary, trying to absorb all, determined not to give her grandson away.
Admiral Lacey looked in her eyes. “Did you
want
this engagement, then?”
“The girl could do worse. He’s a fine boy. A perfect Court. Not like Biddy Court’s son, there. A real Court — like myself.”