Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
She tried to trace a resemblance to Eden in the young face opposite. But there was nothing to remind her of Eden and she was glad of that. Let his image remain untouched.
Every time their eyes met, Roma gave her a confident friendly look. “Just as though we were new acquaintances,” thought Alayne, “and liked one another and had no past behind us at Jalna.”
They chatted cheerfully as they undressed together.
* * *
Renny and Piers talked little as they drove homeward. Renny was a consistently erratic and nervous driver. He hated his car; and, to judge by its behaviour, his car hated him.
Now and again an exclamation of warning or of protest would be forced from Piers, but when they reached the quiet of their country road he relaxed and remarked in a meditative tone, “Things have taken an odd turn, haven’t they?”
“They have. Nothing is like it was at the beginning of summer.” But though he spoke even more seriously than Piers, his expression was resigned. He took out a cigarette and lighted it. “I have important things to see to,” he said. “I must engage a trainer for the colt. I’ve heard of a first-rate man who is free. He’s expensive, but if you’re going to do a thing you might as well do it properly, eh?”
Piers said nothing but gave him an amused, a very understanding look.
“The trainer is named Kelly. My friends Crowdy and Chase are bringing him to Jalna tomorrow morning. It’s pretty certain that I shall engage him.”
“Well, let’s hope this turns out well. You run the risk of losing a lot of money.” And Piers could not resist adding, “It’s a good thing Alayne is out of the way.”
“Alayne never interferes,” Renny returned stiffly.
“She knows it’s no damned use,” laughed Piers.
They were now nearing Jalna. Renny asked, “Shall I drive you home or will you come in and take potluck with Adeline and me?”
“I promised to be home. Pheasant has some special dish. We had better pick Adeline up and the two of you come to us.”
“Thanks. Another time.” After a little he exclaimed: “I hope Roma behaves herself in New York. God, I’m grateful to her! If it hadn’t been for her I might have had Fitzturgis on my hands for the rest of my days.”
“He’d never have stuck it out here.”
“But he might have taken Adeline away with him.”
“Someone else will do that, you may be sure.”
“Not if I can prevent it.”
“Do you know,” said Piers, “I should rather hate to be your son-in-law.”
“Let Adeline marry the right sort of fellow and he’ll find me easy to get on with.”
“I wish,” said Piers, “that young Philip were older and that he and Adeline might marry. What a pair! Our grandparents right over again.”
“‘The trouble is that girls seem to have such poor judgment.... I’ve seen that happen time and again in my life.”
“Well,” Piers spoke with some warmth, “I don’t see anything wrong in Pheasant’s choice.”
“It’s turned out all right,” said Renny cryptically.
There was a somewhat prickly silence till they were passing Vaughanlands. Then Renny remarked, “I can’t get used to the sight of that modern little house. The old house, while it had no distinction, was a landmark. It had meaning for us. This house has none.”
“It has plenty for Finch.”
“Meg is longing to go and look after him.”
“He doesn’t want her. No more than he wants Dennis. He prefers my tippling son. Finch is a queer fellow.”
Soon Piers was set down at his own gate and Renny turned the car in the direction of Jalna.
How strangely empty the house was! Doors and windows stood open, and the cool quietness of the evening had moved in, as though to take possession. The window curtains were gently drawing and withdrawing with a soft flapping sound. There was no sign of Adeline or of the dogs. Renny mounted the stairs and looked in at the door of Alayne’s room. That room, usually in such fastidious order, now had a strangely dishevelled appearance, the silk coverlet rumpled, the floor strewn with paper wrappings, the door of the clothes cupboard standing ajar. Always Alayne left her room tidy, but in these last days there had seemed so little time for all she had to do.
Empty rooms everywhere. Nicholas’s room closed in, silent, secluded. Renny had a sense of foreboding. Never could he remember having been alone in the house.
Suddenly from the basement came the sound of the dogs’ barking. He ran down the stairs, down the basement stairs, into the kitchen. The lights were on. Here indeed was life and animation. Adeline was there, an apron tied about her middle, a pucker of anxiety on her forehead. The dogs were there, watching her every movement, getting in her way, getting in each other’s way, acutely conscious of a meal preparing at an unusual time, of a change in the order of things.
“I thought you’d be hungry,” she said. “I thought I’d scramble eggs and make some coffee.”
“I’m devilish hungry. I hope you are too.”
“I’m starving. Funny, it’s the first time I’ve been hungry since....” She did not finish the sentence.
“Good girl,” he said.
He watched her moving about the kitchen, so light, so strong, so restored to him, as it were, from peril. She was very like, he felt sure, to that older Adeline when she had descended to inspect these basement rooms at the time of the building of the house. But — what different clothes — what a different world! Tonight this present world seemed very good to him. He whistled softly as he beat the eggs.
They sizzled in the frying pan. Adeline was making coffee. “Funny,” she remarked, “how you seem to know just how things should be done, till you try to do them yourself. I wonder how much coffee to a person.”
“Two tablespoons.”
“How long should it stew?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Good. Will you have tomatoes with your eggs?”
“Yes. And olive oil on them.”
“Would you like some sliced peaches and cream?”
“I certainly should. Come and have a look at the eggs. They’re nice and fluffy.”
Together they bent over the sizzling eggs. The coffee bubbled in the pot. The dogs were almost beside themselves with anxiety.
“Oh, Daddy,” cried Adeline, “I should have heated a covered dish for the eggs! They’ll be cold by the time I have set the table and carried them up to the dining room. Where is the large tray? where is the butter? The eggs are burning! The coffee is boiling over! where does Rags keep things?
Dogs
— get out of the way! Oh, Daddy!” Quite suddenly she was distraught. She walked in a circle, the frying pan in her hand.
Renny had seen meals prepared under greater difficulties than this. He said decisively, “No need to worry. We’ll eat down here in the kitchen.”
She opened her eyes wide. “Oh, heavenly! I’ll run up and get a tablecloth.”
“We’ll not need one. Dish up the eggs.”
“Better and better!” She laughed in relief.
A generous helping was served on the two plates. Father and daughter drew up the chairs which for so many years had seated the Wragges. They filled their mouths with scrambled eggs and hot buttered toast. The aroma of the bubbling coffee blessed the air.
“If your mother could see us!” exclaimed Renny.
“She’d not believe her own eyes.”
“It goes to show,” he said, “that conventions are only on the surface.”
“Not with Mummy.”
“Not with her — God bless her.” Then he added with great seriousness, “You have a wonderful mother, Adeline. We should — both of us — appreciate what an effort she made in taking Roma to New York. Particularly at a time like this.”
“Oh, I do appreciate it. Still, it’s nice for Mummy to get away sometimes — from everything.”
“It certainly is.” He spoke with a heartiness that suggested the possible benefit to those left behind, of being for a time left to their own devices.
Adeline now produced an eleven-quart basket of large, ripe tomatoes and a six-quart basket of richly tinted peaches. These she set on a side table. Each selected the tomato the most appealing, sliced it, smothered it in olive oil. Neither appeared to remember how carefully Mrs. Wragge had skinned, garnished with slices of cucumber, and chilled the tomatoes before sending to table, but ate them straight from the basket with relish. It was the same with the peaches. Greedily they chose the biggest and most richly coloured, sliced and smothered them in cream. Adeline produced Mrs. Wragge’s final achievement, a pan of currant buns. The coffee, though a trifle bitter, had power in it. The meal was, in truth, a picnic. Neither did it lack conversation. This was centred on the colt, the difficulties to be faced in his training, the brilliant possibilities of his future. The possibility of failure was never mentioned.
They sat long over the meal, each with an abundant pleasure in the nearness of the other. It was as though they had been long separated and come together again. When Adeline rose from the table to wait on him she would bend to touch his hair with her cheek or lay her hand for an instant against his sunburnt nape.
The dogs, in sudden good manners, awaited docilely till their turn came. The fact that they had been already well fed that day meant nothing to Adeline. Each was given some of the scrambled eggs, a little bread and butter, and a piece of cake. Surfeited, they stretched themselves on the floor to sleep.
“Now,” said Adeline, “for the dishes.”
“Let’s leave them till the morning.”
“No,” she declared sturdily, “there’s to be no shirking. I shall do the dishes now.”
With expedition the remaining food was put in the larder. So well had the dogs licked the plates that they needed little scraping. Plenty of hot water, a foaming mass of soapsuds, and Adeline’s ideal of cleanliness was fulfilled. With a pipe in his mouth, Renny dried the dishes. From outdoors came the sounds of night. The lonely cry of a screech-owl made the kitchen seem all the cosier. The insistent orchestra of locusts spun out these last fragile hours of summer. The smell of cool dew-drenched earth came in at the window, subduing the scents of the kitchen.
The passionate emotions of recent days had taken something from Adeline’s strength. She was tired. She sat herself on Renny’s knees when he relaxed in Rags’ armchair and laid her head on his shoulder.
“Listen to those insects,” he said. “Hysterical chatter-chatter. Like a women’s club.”
“Have you ever been in a women’s club, Daddy?”
“Yes, once. I forget where.”
“But you like women, don’t you?”
“I do indeed.”
“I don’t.”
“Not like women! Think of your mother and Auntie Meg and Patience and Pheasant.”
“Think of Roma.”
“Put all that behind you, darling.”
“I have put it behind me.... I thought I never could, but ... oh, Daddy, you are so sweet to me.... There’s no one in the world like you. Never, never shall I want to leave you.”
He held her close to him. “My pet ... my own precious little one.” He absorbed the beauty of her face, so close to his. The luminous freshness — the parted lips, showing the rim of white teeth — the fringe of lashes against the creamy cheek. His dark gaze rested on her face, the closed eyes, the parted lips. His heart swelled to think that she was his — restored to him — Fitzturgis gone.
The kitchen clock struck one.
Drowsily she opened her eyes. “what time is it?”
“Time you were in your bed.” He became suddenly matter-of-fact. “There’s plenty to do tomorrow. No — today. Come.” He set her on her feet. She yawned. The dogs rose, stretched, yawned, looked expectant. “Bed, you rascals.” Renny gave each in turn an encouraging pat.
All climbed the basement stairs. Chill night air was pouring into the house. Renny shut and locked the front door but had not troubled to lock the others. He said, “You’ll need an extra quilt tonight. It’s turned cool.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But I wonder if I shall sleep. Just us two alone. It’s never happened before.”
The bulldog announced his intention of sleeping on Adeline’s bed. “He’ll keep you warm,” said Renny. He and the other dogs disappeared up the stairs to his room.
Soon all were asleep.
A new order of things now set in, or rather a new gypsy-like disorder of things. Things were done or not done, when or how the fancy of these two so congenial spirits decreed.
Meg and Pheasant came with offers to help with the work, but Adeline declared that she needed no help beyond that of the woman who came two days a week from the village to scrub floors and do the washing and ironing. Sometimes Adeline liked to imagine that she and Renny were shipwrecked on an island. But this island was not a desert. It was inhabited by horses, dogs, grooms, and the tenants of Humphrey Bell’s flat.
It was a temptation to Clara Chase to join her husband and Mr. Crowdy at the stables, along with Renny and Adeline. At first she resisted this temptation, but when she heard that Alayne was in New York she could no longer resist and spent a part of each day at the stables. All five would crowd into the car and drive to the track where the colt was being trained. The new trainer, Kelly, was a small thin man, experienced, non-committal, unsociable. But the colt himself was friendly, self-confident. He had good forelegs made to race, and strong hocks.
As once Clara had put her heart into the breeding of foxes, so now she gave her mind to the activities connected with the showing and racing of horses. In truth wherever Renny Whiteoak was drew her thoughts as a magnet. Though she was contentedly married to Chase she never could forget her brief but passionate association with Renny. The thought of renewing that relationship or even recalling it to him never entered her mind; and once when in a moment of exhilaration after a promising performance by the colt he caught her hand, looked into her eyes, exclaiming, “There is no one like you, Clara,” she had withdrawn her hand and remained at home for two days.
But she could not long remain away. At home there was nothing to do. Jalna was a hive of activity. On every hand there was something to interest one who found country life congenial. Scarcely a day passed when the Whiteoaks did not congratulate themselves on the heartening fact that Jalna was miles away from the beauty-destroying building developments which afflicted much of the countryside.