The Blue Castle: a novel
Child’—Gladys has a copy, I think. It would be such a help to you. And
there are books about morals. You’d manage nicely. Of course I told Mr.
Beck that I thought you would—would——”
“Jump at him,” supplied Valancy.
“Oh, no, no, dear. I wouldn’t use such an indelicate expression. I told
him I thought you would consider his proposal favourably. And you will,
won’t you, dearie?”
“There’s only one obstacle,” said Valancy dreamily. “You see, I’m
married already.”
“Married!” Cousin Georgiana stopped stock-still and stared at Valancy.
“Married!”
“Yes. I was married to Barney Snaith last Tuesday evening in Port
Lawrence.”
There was a convenient gate-post hard by. Cousin Georgiana took firm
hold of it.
“Doss, dear—I’m an old woman—are you trying to make fun of me?”
“Not at all. I’m only telling you the truth. For heaven’s sake, Cousin
Georgiana,”—Valancy was alarmed by certain symptoms—“don’t go crying
here on the public road!”
Cousin Georgiana choked back the tears and gave a little moan of
despair instead.
“Oh, Doss, _what_ have you done? What _have_ you done?”
“I’ve just been telling you. I’ve got married,” said Valancy, calmly
and patiently.
“To that—that—aw—that—_Barney Snaith_. Why, they say he’s had a dozen
wives already.”
“I’m the only one round at present,” said Valancy.
“What will your poor mother say?” moaned Cousin Georgiana.
“Come along with me and hear, if you want to know,” said Valancy. “I’m
on my way to tell her now.”
Cousin Georgiana let go the gate-post cautiously and found that she
could stand alone. She meekly trotted on beside Valancy—who suddenly
seemed quite a different person in her eyes. Cousin Georgiana had a
tremendous respect for a married woman. But it was terrible to think of
what the poor girl had done. So rash. So reckless. Of course Valancy
must be stark mad. But she seemed so happy in her madness that Cousin
Georgiana had a momentary conviction that it would be a pity if the
clan tried to scold her back to sanity. She had never seen that look in
Valancy’s eyes before. But what _would_ Amelia say? And Ben?
“To marry a man you know nothing about,” thought Cousin Georgiana
aloud.
“I know more about him than I know of Edward Beck,” said Valancy.
“Edward Beck _goes to church_,” said Cousin Georgiana. “Does Bar—does
your husband?”
“He has promised that he will go with me on fine Sundays,” said
Valancy.
When they turned in at the Stirling gate Valancy gave an exclamation of
surprise.
“Look at my rosebush! Why, it’s blooming!”
It was. Covered with blossoms. Great, crimson, velvety blossoms.
Fragrant. Glowing. Wonderful.
“My cutting it to pieces must have done it good,” said Valancy,
laughing. She gathered a handful of the blossoms—they would look well
on the supper-table of the verandah at Mistawis—and went, still
laughing, up the walk, conscious that Olive was standing on the steps,
Olive, goddess-like in loveliness, looking down with a slight frown on
her forehead. Olive, beautiful, insolent. Her full form voluptuous in
its swathings of rose silk and lace. Her golden-brown hair curling
richly under her big, white-frilled hat. Her colour ripe and melting.
“Beautiful,” thought Valancy coolly, “but”—as if she suddenly saw her
cousin through new eyes—“without the slightest touch of distinction.”
So Valancy had come home, thank goodness, thought Olive. But Valancy
was not looking like a repentant, returned prodigal. This was the cause
of Olive’s frown. She was looking triumphant—graceless! That outlandish
dress—that queer hat—those hands full of blood-red roses. Yet there was
something about both dress and hat, as Olive instantly felt, that was
entirely lacking in her own attire. This deepened the frown. She put
out a condescending hand.
“So you’re back, Doss? Very warm day, isn’t it? Did you walk in?”
“Yes. Coming in?”
“Oh, no. I’ve just been in. I’ve come often to comfort poor Aunty.
She’s been so lonesome. I’m going to Mrs. Bartlett’s tea. I have to
help pour. She’s giving it for her cousin from Toronto. Such a charming
girl. You’d have loved meeting her, Doss. I think Mrs. Bartlett did
send you a card. Perhaps you’ll drop in later on.”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Valancy indifferently. “I’ll have to be
home to get Barney’s supper. We’re going for a moonlit canoe ride
around Mistawis tonight.”
“Barney? Supper?” gasped Olive. “What _do_ you mean, Valancy Stirling?”
“Valancy Snaith, by the grace of God.”
Valancy flaunted her wedding-ring in Olive’s stricken face. Then she
nimbly stepped past her and into the house. Cousin Georgiana followed.
She would not miss a moment of the great scene, even though Olive did
look as if she were going to faint.
Olive did not faint. She went stupidly down the street to Mrs.
Bartlett’s. _What_ did Doss mean? She couldn’t have—that ring—oh, what
fresh scandal was that wretched girl bringing on her defenceless family
now? She should have been—shut up—long ago.
Valancy opened the sitting-room door and stepped unexpectedly right
into a grim assemblage of Stirlings. They had not come together of
malice prepense. Aunt Wellington and Cousin Gladys and Aunt Mildred and
Cousin Sarah had just called in on their way home from a meeting of the
missionary society. Uncle James had dropped in to give Amelia some
information regarding a doubtful investment. Uncle Benjamin had called,
apparently, to tell them it was a hot day and ask them what was the
difference between a bee and a donkey. Cousin Stickles had been
tactless enough to know the answer—“one gets all the honey, the other
all the whacks”—and Uncle Benjamin was in a bad humour. In all of their
minds, unexpressed, was the idea of finding out if Valancy had yet come
home, and, if not, what steps must be taken in the matter.
Well, here was Valancy at last, a poised, confident thing, not humble
and deprecating as she should have been. And so oddly, improperly
young-looking. She stood in the doorway and looked at them, Cousin
Georgiana timorous, expectant, behind her. Valancy was so happy she
didn’t hate her people any more. She could even see a number of good
qualities in them that she had never seen before. And she was sorry for
them. Her pity made her quite gentle.
“Well, Mother,” she said pleasantly.
“So you’ve come home at last!” said Mrs. Frederick, getting out a
handkerchief. She dared not be outraged, but she did not mean to be
cheated of her tears.
“Well, not exactly,” said Valancy. She threw her bomb. “I thought I
ought to drop in and tell you I was married. Last Tuesday night. To
Barney Snaith.”
Uncle Benjamin bounced up and sat down again.
“God bless my soul!” he said dully. The rest seemed turned to stone.
Except Cousin Gladys, who turned faint. Aunt Mildred and Uncle
Wellington had to help her out to the kitchen.
“She would have to keep up the Victorian traditions,” said Valancy,
with a grin. She sat down, uninvited, on a chair. Cousin Stickles had
begun to sob.
“Is there _one_ day in your life that you haven’t cried?” asked Valancy
curiously.
“Valancy,” said Uncle James, being the first to recover the power of
utterance, “did you mean what you said just now?”
“I did.”
“Do you mean to say that you have actually gone and
married—_married_—that notorious Barney
Snaith—that—that—criminal—that——”
“I have.”
“Then,” said Uncle James violently, “you are a shameless creature, lost
to all sense of propriety and virtue, and I wash my hands entirely of
you. I do not want ever to see your face again.”
“What have you left to say when I commit murder?” asked Valancy.
Uncle Benjamin again appealed to God to bless his soul.
“That drunken outlaw—that——”
A dangerous spark appeared in Valancy’s eyes. They might say what they
liked to and of her but they should not abuse Barney.
“Say ‘damn’ and you’ll feel better,” she suggested.
“I can express my feelings without blasphemy. And I tell you you have
covered yourself with eternal disgrace and infamy by marrying that
drunkard——”
“_You_ would be more endurable if you got drunk occasionally. Barney is
_not_ a drunkard.”
“He was seen drunk in Port Lawrence—pickled to the gills,” said Uncle
Benjamin.
“If that is true—and I don’t believe it—he had a good reason for it.
Now I suggest that you all stop looking tragic and accept the
situation. I’m married—you can’t undo that. And I’m perfectly happy.”
“I suppose we ought to be thankful he has really married her,” said
Cousin Sarah, by way of trying to look on the bright side.
“If he really has,” said Uncle James, who had just washed his hands of
Valancy. “Who married you?”
“Mr. Towers, of Port Lawrence.”
“By a Free Methodist!” groaned Mrs. Frederick—as if to have been
married by an imprisoned Methodist would have been a shade less
disgraceful. It was the first thing she had said. Mrs. Frederick didn’t
know _what_ to say. The whole thing was too horrible—too nightmarish.
She was sure she must wake up soon. After all their bright hopes at the
funeral!
“It makes me think of those what-d’ye-call-’ems,” said Uncle Benjamin
helplessly. “Those yarns—you know—of fairies taking babies out of their
cradles.”
“Valancy could hardly be a changeling at twenty-nine,” said Aunt
Wellington satirically.
“She was the oddest-looking baby I ever saw, anyway,” averred Uncle
Benjamin. “I said so at the time—you remember, Amelia? I said I had
never seen such eyes in a human head.”
“I’m glad _I_ never had any children,” said Cousin Sarah. “If they
don’t break your heart in one way they do it in another.”
“Isn’t it better to have your heart broken than to have it wither up?”
queried Valancy. “Before it could be broken it must have felt something
splendid. _That_ would be worth the pain.”
“Dippy—clean dippy,” muttered Uncle Benjamin, with a vague,
unsatisfactory feeling that somebody had said something like that
before.
“Valancy,” said Mrs. Frederick solemnly, “do you ever pray to be
forgiven for disobeying your mother?”
“I _should_ pray to be forgiven for obeying you so long,” said Valancy
stubbornly. “But I don’t pray about that at all. I just thank God every
day for my happiness.”
“I would rather,” said Mrs. Frederick, beginning to cry rather
belatedly, “see you dead before me than listen to what you have told me
today.”
Valancy looked at her mother and aunts, and wondered if they could ever
have known anything of the real meaning of love. She felt sorrier for
them than ever. They were so very pitiable. And they never suspected
it.
“Barney Snaith is a scoundrel to have deluded you into marrying him,”
said Uncle James violently.
“Oh, _I_ did the deluding. I asked _him_ to marry me,” said Valancy,
with a wicked smile.
“Have you _no_ pride?” demanded Aunt Wellington.
“Lots of it. I am proud that I have achieved a husband by my own
unaided efforts. Cousin Georgiana here wanted to help me to Edward
Beck.”
“Edward Beck is worth twenty thousand dollars and has the finest house
between here and Port Lawrence,” said Uncle Benjamin.
“That sounds very fine,” said Valancy scornfully, “but it isn’t worth
_that_”—she snapped her fingers—“compared to feeling Barney’s arms
around me and his cheek against mine.”
“_Oh_, Doss!” said Cousin Stickles. Cousin Sarah said, “Oh, _Doss_!”
Aunt Wellington said, “Valancy, you need not be indecent.”
“Why, it surely isn’t indecent to like to have your husband put his arm
around you? I should think it would be indecent if you didn’t.”
“Why expect decency from her?” inquired Uncle James sarcastically. “She
has cut herself off from decency forevermore. She has made her bed. Let
her lie on it.”
“Thanks,” said Valancy very gratefully. “How you would have enjoyed
being Torquemada! Now, I must really be getting back. Mother, may I