Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“Good God!” He stared at her blankly. He rose to his feet and began to question her as to how it had happened. A feverish colour flamed into her cheeks as she tried to explain clearly. She so wanted to be tranquil and relaxed again.
He felt her weakness. The loss of the money seemed nothing. He interrupted her:
“No, no, I don’t want to hear about it! Don’t tell me. It’s nothing. All that matters is that we’re together again.”
There was a tap on the door and the doctor came in.
Half an hour later Renny came to Miss Archer where she sat in the living room with Adeline on her knee. She looked up eagerly.
“Has the doctor gone? Shouldn’t I have seen him?”
“I know what to do. He is sending some soothing medicine. All she needs is complete quiet. She must stay where she is for a fortnight, at least. This has been quite a shock, you understand.” Again he looked reproachfully at Miss Archer.
She coloured and said — “I know you think I should have told you how things were with Alayne. But I dared not. She would have been very angry. She was determined to keep everything to herself. Oh, Mr. Whiteoak, she has been in a very strange state! I have been greatly worried.”
She looked old, fragile, and appealing. He sat down on the couch beside her and took the heavy child from her lap.
“Won’t you please call me Renny?” he said.
She could not have believed it possible for her to entertain such feelings toward him as she now began to feel. She could not believe that the man sitting beside her, his child on his knee, his weather-beaten face ravaged by emotion, his red hair untidy, was the hard-looking horseman she had watched at the Show, the dangerous man who, she felt, had broken Alayne’s marriage with Eden, the husband who had broken Alayne’s heart. She had never met a man who, by his mere presence, had given her a greater sense of protection, of masculine defence on her behalf.
“I am so glad you have come,” she repeated and, after a moment’s hesitation, added his Christian name.
“I should think you would be glad,” he agreed promptly. “You have had altogether too much on your hands. You should have sent for me.”
“But I didn’t think — I was afraid that you and Alayne —” She could not go on.
He looked steadily into her eyes. “It’s all right. Alayne has —” He interrupted himself to ask — “Did she tell you what the trouble was?”
Possibly never in Miss Archer’s life had she experienced a moment of such intense embarrassment. To think that he could face her, look in her eyes and demand whether or not she knew of his shame! Shame for him flooded her face, made her feel dizzy. She bent her head in assent.
“She couldn’t understand,” he said, “that I still loved her — that, whatever I did, I still thought of her as the most desirable woman in the world…. You can understand that, can’t you? A man can love two different women — in quite different ways….”
She broke in — though in a gentle voice — “You don’t mean that you still love that other woman!”
“As a friend! Nothing more. For a little while — there was something else but — that’s over. Alayne has forgiven me. She’s done more. She’s even said she was to blame. Of course, that’s nonsense. It shows the low ebb she’s reached. You can imagine how staggered I was when I saw that she is going to have a baby.”
Adeline interrupted, bouncing on his knee — “I said she was! I said she was! Don’t you remember? I said she was gone away to get a little baby, just so big!” She measured a space with her palms.
Miss Archer was going from one shock to another. “Oh, no, dear,” she said. “Perhaps after a long while the fairies will bring you a little brother or sister.”
“Wright found his in the pigsty,” Adeline answered. “He told me so. That’s why it looks like a little pig…. I’m as hungry as a pig!”
Miss Archer’s relief was great. “Poor child! You shall have some of my cookies. Mr. Whiteoak — Renny, could you take coffee? I’m sure Alayne would. She ate no breakfast. I’ll arrange a nice little tray and perhaps you will carry it to her.”
Renny and Adeline followed her to the kitchen. She felt very much flustered by the two pairs of eyes watching her every movement. Were they going to follow her about wherever she went? How long were they going to stay? Should she suggest their fetching their luggage from the hotel? What food was in the refrigerator? Miss Archer was twice as long as usual in making coffee, heating corn cake.
Renny looked at it approvingly. “How nice!” he said. “I’ll stay and feed it to her.” As he carried it up the stairs he remembered the night that he and Rags had prepared a tray for Alayne, and how she had refused to touch a morsel.
He had better luck this time. She ate hungrily, taking the food from his fingers like a young child, holding his other hand in hers. She did not speak but lay with closed eyes, only opening them once to give him a deep look mingled of possession and surrender. As she lay with closed eyes he studied her face, which at that moment would have possibly been less attractive to ordinary observers than at any time in all the years of their intimacy, but, for him, she was so set apart by the interweaving of their lives in those years that he saw in her what others could not see — the very lineaments of her face were inviolable to change.
She took the sedative sent by the doctor and fell asleep before Renny left her. He found Adeline seated at a corner of the dining table, eating corn bread with maple syrup and drinking milk.
Miss Archer looked apologetic.
“She said she was very hungry. I do hope I have not given her the wrong thing.”
“Don’t worry. She has the digestion of a horse.”
“How is Alayne?”
“As weak as a newborn foal.”
Did he always, Miss Archer wondered, speak of people in terms of the stable? She gave him coffee and again distractedly wondered whether she should ask him how long he would stay. He settled it for her by saying:
“We have two suitcases in the porch. My plans were so unsettled that I thought I had better bring my own along as well as Adeline’s. Now, of course, I’ll stay to look after Alayne, if you’ll have me.”
Miss Archer was both frightened and relieved at the thought of having him in the house. She said:
“I am so glad that you can stay. But it is unfortunate that I have no maid. We found it necessary to do without her. I hope you will excuse somewhat haphazard household arrangements.”
“I think your arrangements are charming,” he returned, speaking rather like his uncle Ernest.
She was gratified. She said, hesitatingly:
“I suppose Alayne will be returning with you.”
“Oh yes.”
Then she said boldly — “There is no time to spare. I suppose you know that.”
“Yes.”
Miss Archer wanted to ask him whether or not Alayne had told him of the loss of their money but she could not make up her mind to do so. He had shown no surprise when she told him that they now had no maid. In Alayne’s weak state she dared not bring up the subject to her. She must just wait and let him open it himself if so he chose.
He did choose when they two sat together in the evening. Alayne and Adeline were asleep. He had waited on Alayne with a deftness that had surprised Miss Archer, till she remembered of hearing how he had cared for Wakefield during his years of delicacy. She herself had put Adeline to bed. Tired though she was, she had delighted in the splashing of her angelic-looking person in the bath, her still more angelic saying of prayers. She could not understand how Alayne had found it impossible to manage her. The child was docility itself. She beamed up at Miss Archer, waiting to hear her will, running to do as she was bid almost before she was asked. In truth, Adeline was on her best behaviour, which was a mingling of blandishment and a serene enjoyment of a new situation.
With the room cosy in softly shaded electric light, with a dish of salted almonds between them and Renny smoking a cigarette, he almost casually referred to the loss of Alayne’s money.
“The poor girl,” he said, “feels very badly because she did not do things with it that I wanted her to do. She was determined to save it for the child when it would have been infinitely better to have helped me out of a hole I was in. But, you see, she has never trusted me where money was concerned.”
He turned his bright gaze on Miss Archer, who found his frankness terribly embarrassing. She did not know what to say. He, however, went on:
“It’s no use crying over spilt milk. The money’s gone — at any rate it won’t yield anything to speak of for years — and that’s that. But I’m not worrying. I have the interest on my mortgage paid up. I’ve had a fairly good year in my stables. My brother has had a good year on the farm.”
She could not help herself. She said — “I saw you ride in New York. It was thrilling. I had never been to a Horse Show before.”
He stared astonished.
“Did you really? Where was Alayne?”
“She was there too. Nothing would do but she must see you ride. I have never seen her so excited.”
She thought she had never seen anyone so gratified as he now appeared. He beamed at her with the look of Adeline. “How perfectly amazing! And to think I didn’t know she was there! To think she wouldn’t tell me … make a sign! Really — in her quiet way — Alayne is a little devil, isn’t she, Miss Archer?”
Miss Archer hadn’t thought of Alayne in that way. She sat meditating, trying to absorb such an aspect of her. “I think,” she said, “she is indeed supersensitive.”
“I say she’s devilish,” he returned tranquilly. “But then, every woman worth her salt is that at times, don’t you think so?”
Miss Archer laughed, somehow not ill-pleased by the implication that she herself might on occasion be devilish.
The days that followed were strange to her, probably the strangest she had ever known. The rough wild weather continued. Those four were snow-bound in the house together except when, once a day, Renny took his daughter for a walk, bringing her back covered with the snow she had rolled in, her eyes starry, her lips like cherries. They managed with the work much more easily than Miss Archer could have thought possible. Alayne required little waiting on. She was content to rest on the peace of her reconciliation with Renny, to acquire strength for the journey home. Her mind was so absorbed by her own thoughts that the fact of her aunt’s impoverishment passed completely out of it. In her weakness she thought of Miss Archer living on in this house, relieved of the strain of her presence.
But, though Harriet Archer kept a cheerful front during the day, at night she lay awake shrinking in terror from the chasm that opened before her. She tossed on her bed wondering what was to become of her. She shed tears of bitterness to think that Alayne could so easily forget her trouble in her own renewed happiness. Each day she looked more wan, more fragile, than the day before. On the fourth day Renny said to her, after a long, reflective look:
“Something is worrying you, Miss Archer. I’m sure of it. I’m sure that it is something more than being merely overtired. Why, your eyes look as though you had been crying! Can’t you tell me what is the matter?”
Oh, there was his devastating frankness again! There was nothing he would not put into words! No wonder that the years at Jalna had changed Alayne…. But, in spite of her shrinking, her reserve, Miss Archer broke down completely.
They were doing the lunch dishes together by the sink. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his hands gripped a dish-mop. He had used soap enough for the washing of an elephant, Miss Archer thought. But he was a good dishwasher. When the china was rinsed it shone. She held the snowy towel to her eyes and wept into it.
“It isn’t as though,” she sobbed, “I had been extravagant. I have always been very careful.” She controlled herself by a great effort and uncovered her quivering face. “I’d rather not talk about it. I don’t wish to trouble you. You have enough worries…. You must not worry about me.”
“But I do,” he answered gravely. “How can I help when I see you looking so?”
“Have I been such a melancholy sight? I ought to be ashamed!”
“You have been very cheerful, but it’s easy to see that you are terribly anxious. I do wish you’d tell me what is on your mind. I might be able to help you. From what you said just now I guess that your trouble is financial. I know a good deal about getting out of tight corners.”
“Has Alayne told you nothing of my position?” she asked pitifully.
“Nothing.”
“Well — it is just this — I am ruined. The stocks my money is invested in have collapsed…. The income from them has disappeared…. I am practically penniless.”
All her proud reticence was gone. She poured out the story of her reverses, her apprehensions, her sleepless nights. It was a relief to unburden herself. She grew comparatively calm as she was relieved of the unhappy tale.
They finished their work methodically, then went into the living room. Adeline was having her afternoon rest, so they were alone. Renny took a turn up and down the little room then faced her, looking down at her domineeringly, as though he would intimidate any opposition.
“I’ve thought it out,” he said. “It’s settled! You must come to Jalna to live.”
“To Jalna! To live!” The earth seemed to rock beneath Miss Archer. She leant against the back of a chair to steady herself.
“Yes. My aunt’s room is waiting for you. We’ll love to have you. I’ve always missed her. You will take her place. It’s perfectly simple.”
“But — you don’t realize what you are proposing to do. You are proposing to take a stranger into your home.”
“You are not a stranger. You are Alayne’s aunt. You are one of the family. Adeline adores you. You and I get on famously. I need an aunt most terribly. You need a home. It’s perfectly plain. Please don’t waste your strength in opposing me.”
She did not. She went to him and laid her head on his shoulder and wept in relief and gratitude. He put both arms about her and held her close. “Aunt Harriet,” he comforted. “Dear little Auntie!”
It was the first time that Miss Archer had cried on a man’s shoulder since the day when she had given up her wild young lover at her father’s bidding. The young man had justified her father’s prediction that he was headed for a bad end but Miss Archer had never quite forgotten him. She gave him a thought now, as she clung to Renny. But it was only a passing thought. He had become a shadow. Renny was a staunch reality.