The Jalna Saga – Deluxe Edition: All Sixteen Books of the Enduring Classic Series & The Biography of Mazo de la Roche (460 page)

“Do tell me what is wrong,” she urged, in a low voice.

“Nothing. I’m tired. That’s all.”

“I’m so sorry.” She pressed his fingers. “Your hands are cold,” she said.

He wondered how she could touch him and know nothing of his emotions. Perhaps she was cold, self-centred. But no — she just didn’t feel any love for him.

“Good night,” he said huskily.

“Good night, Wake, and thank you for a lovely evening.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said bitterly, “thank my brother.”

“Why, it would have been nothing without you!”

He wheeled on her. “That’s not the truth,” he said harshly, “and you know it!”

She drew back from him. “I don’t know what you want me to do or say tonight. Perhaps what I said was not perfectly true, but your being there made all the difference. Why, all the good times I have come from you!”

In the light of the street lamp he could see tears glistening in her eyes. He stood hesitating, bewildered by his own confused thoughts and emotions. The arms of his spirit reached out to her in compassion but he heard himself saying — “I’m unreasonable, I suppose. Good night, Molly. See you tomorrow.”

He walked to Gayfere Street. Sarah had gone to bed. Finch was reading alone in the sitting room. Wakefield went in and sat down without speaking. Finch looked up from his book as though just conscious of his presence.

“I didn’t hear you come in. Have a good time?”

“Very. We saw
A Month in the Country
.”

“Was it good?”

“Molly said it was beautifully acted. I didn’t notice.”

Finch laid down his book. “Didn’t notice?”

Wakefield broke out, “I didn’t notice anything except the way Renny looked at Molly Griffith and how interested she was in him. You know, Finch, I love Molly. You don’t think — you don’t think —” He could not go on.

Finch’s eyes were filled with pity. This poor young beggar was very unhappy! “You mean do I think Renny would he so heartless as to play with your girl’s affections? If that’s what you mean — no, I don’t.”

Wakefield walked up and down the room. “I tell you, Finch, she had no eyes for me when he was there. And he looked at her as though she was the one girl on earth. As though he wanted to find out all about her. As though he were playing a game of skill and was the hell of a champion at it.”

Finch’s voice, which in moments of emotion he could not control, broke out loud and trembling: —

“He can’t do that to you, Wake! You mustn’t let him.”

“How can I prevent it?”

Finch spoke more quietly. “Why, Renny wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. He’s too fond of you. All you need to do is to let him see that you love the girl —”

Wakefield interrupted — “He knows I’m terribly keen about her. No — he’s off on a holiday. He’s going to have a little fun and he doesn’t care who suffers for it.”

“Wake, I won’t believe that Renny would consciously make you miserable. Shall I speak to him?”

“No,” Wakefield answered bitterly. “If I am such a weakling that I can’t hang on to my own girl —”

“Rot!”

“It isn’t rot…. If my girl thinks so little of me —”

“Wake, you’ve been engaged. You know something about women —”

“I was engaged to Pauline Lebraux. She wouldn’t have looked at another man as Molly looked at him tonight.”

“But you’re not engaged to Molly.”

“No. And probably never shall be!” He sat down and buried his face in his hands.

Renny’s presence was in the room with them, heady and strong; easy and ruthless, they felt, where women were concerned.

“And I looked forward to his coming!” exclaimed Wakefield. “I wanted him to meet Molly!”

Finch spoke comfortingly. “Now look here, Wake, you’re overwrought and perhaps you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. God knows, I do the same thing myself. After all, they need never meet again if you don’t want them to.”

“I’ve seen them meet tonight. Things can’t be the same again.”

“In a fortnight he’ll be on the ocean.”

“He’s done something that will remain.”

“Why don’t you have it out with Molly? A talk with her would clear the air.”

“Perhaps I shall. Anyhow I’m going to bed now … I wish I knew what is in his mind.”

“Probably he’s fast asleep and dreaming of Johnny the Bird.”

In spite of himself, Wakefield laughed.

PLAY AND RECITAL

M
OLLY WAS SO
natural when Wakefield met her at the rehearsal next day that he felt a momentary ease of mind but it did not last. A note from Renny was handed to him. It read: —

D
EAR
W
AKE
,
I’ve got to take young Adeline about a bit. A friend who owns a launch has asked us to Marlow this afternoon for tea on the river. She’d like to have you, and Miss Griffith too, if you’ll come. The boy will wait for an answer.

R.

Wakefield knit his brow into furrows that gave him an odd resemblance to Nicholas. He did not know what to do. He could, as Finch had said, keep Renny and Molly from meeting. On the other hand, if he watched them together, he might find that his jealousy had no substance in fact. But if he threw them together, he might bitterly regret it. Still, Renny was a married man. Even if he did admire Molly, what could come of it? This way and that, Wake’s mind was torn by indecision.

The bell rang for the rehearsal to continue. He went to where Molly stood alone and asked abruptly. “Would you like to go up the river this afternoon? My brother has asked us.”

She answered at once, “I’d love to, if we can get away in time.”

“We can. It’s Wednesday. There’s a matinee. All right, I’ll accept.”

He scribbled — “Thanks. We’d like to come,” on the back of Renny’s note, and gave it to the boy.

The bell rang again.

They were rehearsing in the bar of the theatre. The little tables were pushed against the wall. Ninian Fox was producing. He sat on the edge of a table, gently swinging his leg and smiling at Miss Rhys, Fielding, and the leading man, who had begun one of their comedy scenes. Miss Rhys was indeed inimitable. She played with such zest that Wakefield was no longer conscious of the rattle of dishes in the adjoining kitchen and stared at her, as her son Frederick, in mingled tenderness and rage. His cue came and he threw himself impetuously into the scene. Things went well. He was better than usual. Ninian Fox was so pleased that he allowed Molly to say most of her lines in peace. They had not before had such a satisfactory rehearsal.

They had tea and sandwiches from the bar. Shafts of thin sunlight came in at the windows. Molly had a lovely colour in her cheeks. Wakefield thought — “She looks radiant, all because she’s going up the river. Or is it because she’ll be near Renny? Whichever it is, I have no part in it.” He said coldly: — “It’s been a good rehearsal, hasn’t it?”

She gave him a swift glance.

“Yes. Splendid. I’m so happy about it I wish we could go on all the afternoon.”

“What about the river?”

“Oh, I’d forgotten that.”

He saw that she spoke the truth. He could not doubt her. Happiness flowed back into him.

“I’d like to go on too,” he said. His eyes caressed her. But he did not see her. He was half blinded by the love that struggled to engulf him.

The principals were loudly talking, oblivious of the looks given them by the waitresses who were rearranging the tables. The theatre was beginning to fill. One of the actresses of the current play looked into the room.

“Is Mr. Fox here?” she asked.

He went to her, keyed up for trouble of some sort. She kissed him and they hurried off together. Miss Rhys was arguing with Fielding, but amiably. The leading man offered his cigarette case to Wake and Molly.

“The last act is going to be a flop,” he said, cheerfully.

“Oh, I think it’s lovely,” said Molly.

Wakefield looked judicial.

“I think it’s impossible to say till we all know our lines better.”

“You mean me?” laughed the leading man. “Oh, I’ll know them, when the night comes. But I can tell you the end’s all wrong.”

The waitresses almost pushed them from the room. They glimpsed a scattered audience in the house.

“
Isn’t
it a lovely life!” cried Molly, as they ran into the street. “I wouldn’t be anyone but an actress, in the whole world!”

They stopped to look at the poster advertising their play. They riveted their eyes on the space where their two names appeared.

“Some day yours will be in large letters,” said Wakefield.

“Yours too.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I’m too intelligent, if you know what I mean. I’m always thinking of different ways to do my part. I can’t settle down to any one way. While you settle down and go right ahead.”

Renny was waiting for them round the corner in his friend’s car. Adeline was there too. Though it was barely the first of April the air had summer’s warmth and in the parks the flowers showed an exquisite forwardness. London sprawled in the sunshine, peaceful and friendly, like an overgrown village.

Molly and Adeline immediately made friends. Renny was sitting in the front seat with his friend Mrs. Blake. She wore mannish clothes but had added to them long green earrings. Though she was of masculine tastes and thought of little else but fox-hunting and racing, the feminine strain in her was very up and doing. After an appraising glance and a brief welcome to Wake and Molly she devoted herself wholly to what, from the back seat, appeared to be a flirtatious attack on Renny.

Adeline sat upright between Wakefield and Molly. She was eager to miss nothing of what she saw. “I must remember to tell Archie about that,” she would say, or — “How I wish Mooey were here!” When they reached Richmond she was the first to enter the launch. She established herself close to the man at the helm, then, remembering her manners, she turned and asked Mrs. Blake’s permission to do so.

“Delighted,” said Mrs. Blake absently. She was choosing the best chairs for herself and Renny. The two young people sat together in the stern.

Molly was in a state of dreamlike happiness. She was one of those people who are never content in towns yet by their ambition are driven to live in them. This was her first outing on the river. Wakefield was at her side. The background of care, of her family life, was dissolved like a troubling mist. She wore a new, bright-coloured scarf. New spring clothes were impossible to her. This gauzy scarf kept fluttering against Wakefield’s ear. It made delicate fluttering noises, like words tittered in confidence. It flicked his cheek. It wound itself about his neck, binding him and Molly together, yet she knew nothing of its vagaries. She sat gazing blissfully at the riverbanks, her hands relaxed in her lap. They were ringless, thin, capable-looking.

One riverbank lay in sunlight, the other in olive-green shadow. They passed barges and small river craft, but after Windsor, with its Castle ethereal against the sky, they had the river almost to themselves.

Adeline had captivated the man at the helm. She had it in her mind to steer the launch herself but was just biding her time. She had taken off her hat, and her hair, in waving russet vitality, curled itself on the breeze. Her black-lashed brown eyes were raised in sweet blandishment to the helmsman’s face.

“What hair!” exclaimed Molly. “And what eyes! It’s easy, of course, to see where she gets them.”

Wakefield gave her a searching look.

“What do you think of my brother?” he asked.

“You asked me that before.”

“Did I? And what was your answer?”

“I said I liked him very much.”

“What an answer! It’s worse than none.”

“If you want the truth, I find him hard to talk to. I can’t explain why. It’s as though he and I had known each other before but could not reach a state of friendship again.”

Wakefield considered this, frowning. He said — “I think that is probably a girl’s way of expressing a great attraction toward him.”

“Goodness, he’s a married man! I’m not that sort of girl.”

Wakefield said, with a disapproving glance at Mrs. Blake, “Marriage doesn’t seem to be an obstacle to that lady. I don’t know what the world’s coming to!”

“You talk like a grandfather rather than a young actor. Just the same, I think it’s adorable in you.” Then she added, after a moment’s thought — “Anyhow. I don’t think your brother’s wife need worry. He strikes me as pretty reliable.”

“
Does
he? Tell the truth, Molly. Does he strike you as reliable where women are concerned?”

She laughed but would not answer. She trailed her hand in the cool green water, caught at a water weed and drew it along.

Wakefield felt a helpless rage toward her. She had no right to be teasing when he was so deeply in earnest. Her scarf fluttered against his cheek. He took it and caught it in the front of her jacket. She saw that he was angry.

“Do you expect me to be serious on a day like this?” she asked.

“I don’t expect you to lie just for the fun of it.”

“I didn’t lie. When I spoke I believed what I said. Then quite suddenly I seemed to see him in a different light. I can’t explain why.”

“And it made you just laugh and laugh!”

“Well, I suppose I might have cried and cried.”

“I can tell you that, at this moment, I wish he were back in Canada.”

“Then we shouldn’t be here — on the river.”

“And I shouldn’t have this beastly sensation inside me.”

She gave him a suddenly tender look, as though he were a precocious child. The object of their argument looked back at them over his shoulder and asked — “Having a good time?”

Mrs. Blake also looked back but rather as though she resented their being there.

“Perfect!” answered Molly.

“Yes” agreed Wakefield, “I’ve never seen the river lovelier.”

Adeline was giving exclamations of delight. They were entering a lock. The great gates swung to. The lock keeper came to greet them. Mrs. Blake showed her license and tipped him. Up and up the launch rose against the cool dank walls. At last they were at the top. The gates opened and the launch slid out on the river.