Variable Winds at Jalna. Mazo de la Roche
again meeting Alayne’s eyes in an amused interchange. He saw Roma’s cool gaze on him and wondered what she was thinking.
What splendid strawberry shortcake! What thick yellow cream! What “angel food,” with eight eggs in it! Meg beamed when he praised it. After they had had coffee she said to him privately:
“Renny tells me you are anxious to find a house and that you’d like to consider this. Now would be a good time to go over it.”
“Very well,” he agreed placidly.
Meg expected more enthusiasm than this.
“Are you sure you want to?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed,” he smiled; “I’d love to.”
Meg led the way and Renny joined them. He said, “Meg and I have known this house all our lives. We used to come here to tea as children. After the first war it was made into a two-family house, but Meg restored it to its original form when she bought it.”
“Some strange people have lived here,” she recalled. “Do you remember Mrs. Stroud, Renny? And the Dayborns?”
He looked thoughtful. “Yes — I remember.”
In every room Meg had some memory of its past to relate. Adeline, who had been helping Patience, now joined them. “Oh, Mait,” she breathed, tucking her hand into his arm, “won’t it be lovely?”
At the end of the tour Meg asked, “Do you think you’d like to buy it or rent it?”
“It would suit me better to rent,” said Fitzturgis.
“Oh yes,” agreed Adeline. “It would suit us better to rent.”
Downstairs Patience was saving to Roma, “Do you think you could give me that fifty dollars you borrowed from me?”
Roma looked faintly surprised. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll pay it — when I can get hold of some money.”
“But, Roma, you said Uncle Nick was making you a present of some quite soon.”
“I thought he was.”
“Mother would be very annoyed if I told her this.”
“Then don’t tell her.”
“Roma, do you expect to pay me back?”
“Why, yes. Some day.” She was bored by the family party. She wanted to get away somewhere with Norman, whose car was waiting for her down the road a little way. But she went dutifully and kissed Nicholas goodnight, lingered a little on the lawn with the three boys, before drifting through the gate into the dusk.
“Mercy!” exclaimed Archer, looking after her.
Norman moved a book on psychoanalysis out of the way to make room for her on the seat of his car. He offered her a cigarette, lighted it for her.
“How’d the party go?” he asked.
She let the smoke drift down her nostrils, making a wide gesture with the hand that held the cigarette. “Like hell,” she said. “Uncle Nick arrived without warning just as we sat down at the table.”
“Hmph. How is he?”
“He’s all right — the old miser!”
“How’s your Aunt Meg behaving?”
“Oh, she’s been pretty bitchy for days. I suppose she’s tired. But who isn’t? I know I am? Patience has been bothering me for the fifty dollars I borrowed. Fifty dollars! You’d think it was a thousand.”
“What became of the fifty dollars, Roma?” Norman was really curious.
“I don’t know,” she said crossly. “All I know is that they’re always after me.”
“Never mind, darling.” Norman’s arm slid about her. “We’ll soon be married and you’ll be safe with me, where your family can harm you no more.”
Roma did not answer. She could see her reflection in the little looking glass and she was gazing at it rapt.
IV
Finch’s Return
FINCH HAD EXPECTED to return alone to Jalna. But in London he had been joined by Maurice, who had come over from Ireland on a sudden impulse to see him before he sailed. Maurice had been suffering a mood of depression. He had felt himself to be alone, without deep roots either in Ireland or Canada. Most of all he had felt the finality of Fitzturgis’s departure. He had never believed that the engagement between him and Adeline would end in marriage. He had expected to see Fitzturgis making spasmodic efforts to sell his property, writing less and less often to Adeline, and at last settling down to an indolent and not unpleasant life on his infertile acres. Then suddenly out of the blue (that is, out of an airmail letter from Pheasant) had come word that Fitzturgis had made a sale, and was leaving with his mother and sister for New York, that Adeline expected to be married in the early fall.
Sitting with Finch over a drink in his London hotel, Maurice had said, “I feel sure I could make Adeline happier than Fitzturgis can. I’ve always loved her — as long as I can remember. I understand her. The trouble is she takes me for granted. I’m just another cousin.”
“How old are you?” asked Finch.
“Twenty-four. And please don’t tell me I’ll grow out of this because I shan’t.”
“I was only thinking how faithful you and Fitzturgis have been to Adeline.”
“Adeline is the sort of girl men are faithful to.”
“I was thinking, too, why not come home with me and give Fitzturgis a run for his money? And what a splendid surprise for your mother. She misses you, Maurice.” Finch spoke as in solicitude for Pheasant, but his solicitude was really for Maurice. He had noticed that he was not looking well, that the hand that held the glass trembled, that it was too often refilled. Was the boy just getting over a drinking bout, he wondered, and put the question abruptly: “Do you drink a good deal, Mooey?”
Perhaps it had been the use of the family’s abbreviation of his name that had made Maurice answer, with childlike simplicity, “I’m afraid I do, Uncle Finch.” And he added, under his breath, “I get lonely and depressed at times.”
“Then do come home with me. It’s two years since you were there. It’s time we had a reunion at Jalna. Wakefield is coming a bit later.”
Maurice had not been difficult to persuade and now the two were descending from the aeroplane. They were tired after the long flight. They narrowed their eyes against the intense heat and glare of the landing-field. The tall figure of Finch was discovered by Piers, who had come in the car to meet him.
“Hullo,” he shouted, then, as soon as it was permitted, pressed forward to shake Finch by the hand. “You’re two hours late,” he added.
“I know,” Finch said apologetically.
“I’ve been waiting two and a half hours.”
“Here’s Maurice, Piers.” Finch’s tone said, “Here’s a surprise to make up for all the waiting.”
Piers stared at his eldest-born in open-mouthed astonishment for a moment, then his healthy sunburnt face warmed into fatherly welcome.
“Well, I’ll be darned,” he said. “And won’t your mother be delighted! But why didn’t you send word?”
“I thought I’d surprise her. But — perhaps I should have sent word.”
“It would have been better. Never mind. Let’s find your baggage and get out of here.”
Piers’s car, from standing in the heat of the sun, was like an oven. Finch and Maurice sank into the blistering seat subdued.
“Hot spell,” said Piers, explaining.
“I had