Centenary at Jalna. Mazo de la Roche
to man. “Go over to the stables and then tell me what you think of the new foal. Here’s Adeline. She’ll go with you.”
Adeline had that moment come into the room. Greeting her, Finch was struck afresh by her beauty. This he remarked to Renny when they were left alone. “She’s really stunning,” he said.
Renny agreed. Then, moving close to Finch, he said, “I have a wonderful scheme.” He fell silent, as though overcome by the splendour of his scheme.
What was it — Finch wondered — to enlarge the stables? He hoped not. He would not put any of his hard-earned cash into that all-engulfing maw. He looked with curiosity into his elder’s eyes which, through all vicissitudes, had retained their brightness.
Renny took his arm and led him into the dining room where hung the portraits of their paternal grandparents. He said:
“Take a good look at them. What do you see?”
But Finch looked at him rather than at the portraits. He thought, What is it in him that fascinates me? Is it his vitality? His zest for living? Yes — but even more it is because he is mysterious. That’s the quality in him that fascinates me. Yet he looks on himself as a simple, uncomplicated fellow!
“Tell me what you see,” repeated Renny.
With something between a sigh and a groan Finch said, “I see a handsome blond officer in the uniform of the Hussars, the uniform they wore over a hundred years ago.”
“Yes — and the other?”
“Well, of course, it’s Gran, when she was about twenty-five.”
“Who is like her — the very spit of her?”
“Young Adeline — without a doubt.”
“And who resembles him? Who’s a chip off the old block?”
“Piers, I suppose.”
“Yes — but much more than Piers.”
“Who then? Whatever are you driving at, Renny?”
Renny gave a shout of laughter, that was not all pure enjoyment, for it had an undercurrent of defiance, as though he were expecting criticism. He said: “Just this. If we were to place my young Adeline and Piers’s young Philip under these two portraits, what should we find?”
“A remarkable resemblance.”
“Right. A truly remarkable resemblance. And what is the moral? The point of it? The point is that they should marry. Another Philip and Adeline!”
Finch gave a brief ironic laugh. “It would be fine, if you could persuade them, but I make a guess that they’ve never thought of each other in that light.”
“But they soon will. I’ll see to it that they do.”
“You can’t make people fall in love, especially strong-willed, rather spoiled, young people like those two.”
“I’ve every hope.” Renny spoke with confidence. “Already they admire each other.”
“If it turned out badly you’d never forgive yourself.”
“It couldn’t turn out badly, any more than the marriage of those two turned out badly.” And he cast a confident look at the pair in the portraits who, impersonal, elegant, of a different world, gazed blandly out of their gilded frames.
“The boy,” Finch said, “is only twenty. Give him time to grow up.”
“He’ll be twenty-one next year — the centenary of Jalna — the centenary of Uncle Ernest’s birth.… What a celebration! But mind, not a word of this to the youngsters.”
“Have you spoken of it to Piers?”
“Yes. He’s all for it.”
“And Alayne?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to her yet.”
“She’ll never agree.”
“And why not, I should like to know? Why, it’s destined — ordained — there never was such a suitable match. All I wonder is that I never thought of it before.”
“You, Renny — a matchmaker?” laughed Finch.
“I’ve been making matches all my life. Successful ones!”
“My dear fellow, this isn’t the stables.”
“It’s thoroughbred stock.”
“I can’t decide,” said Finch, “whether you’re a romantic or a hard-headed materialist.”
“Neither. Just a man who loves his family.”
“And is willing to subject them to risks?” But what use was there in talking? Finch turned away, and Renny turned to a high-pitched, somewhat acrimonious telephone conversation concerning the behaviour of a horse he had recently sold.
Finch wandered through the house, so dear to him, and came upon Alayne in the drawing room. She was putting out of sight a china figure that she had always disliked but which the family cherished. Finch kissed her and said:
“Ah, there’s the dear old shepherdess I’ve always loved. I haven’t seen her in a long while.”
“Take her,” said Alayne, “I’m sure Renny would be delighted to give her to you.” She tried to put the figurine into his hands but he drew back.
“No, no,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to take her away from Jalna. She’s always been here.”
Alayne replaced the ornament on the mantelshelf, with a sigh of frustration. They talked of the concerto which Finch was composing. Alayne was the one above all others of the family with whom he could speak with freedom of his work, knowing that from her he would have sympathetic understanding.
When he left he found Dennis waiting for him in the car.
The boy gave his small sweet smile. “Isn’t it fun,” he said, “to be together again?”
III
III
The Promising Boy
Piers Whiteoak and the youngest of his three sons stood in the green freshness of morning in the cherry orchard facing each other. Piers wore an expression of embarrassment, just lightened by amusement. Young Philip looked completely dumfounded. He really could not take in what had just been said to him.
“Don’t be stupid,” Piers said, but kindly.
“But — Dad — why — she’d never do it.”
“That’s for you to find out.”
Philip’s bright blue eyes opened wide. His mouth opened and his jaw dropped. His legs, which were as strong as two young pines, suddenly felt weak under him. He stared at Piers, who said, “You’re fond of Adeline, aren’t you?”
Philip just nodded.
Now very much in earnest, Piers went on: “Renny and I have talked this over. Mind you, it was his idea in the first place, not mine, but I agree that it would be a first-rate match for both of you. You’d be compatible. It would be establishing the family all over again — in a fine sort of way. Another good-looking, healthy pair — in love with each other and with life at Jalna. As things are going now, you’d have plenty of money to get on with. Not to be rich, certainly, but enough to get on with quite comfortably.”
Philip found his voice. “But hell, Dad. I’m only twenty.”
“You’ll grow up fast enough. This marriage would make a man of you.” A smile, with a touch of malice in it, lit Piers’s ruddy face. “Your brother Maurice would envy you. Adeline has refused him, time and again. He has told your mother so.”
“She’d reject me too,”