The Blue Castle: a novel
dismissed Valancy from his mind, though to the day of his death he was
ashamed of putting those letters into the wrong envelopes.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Valancy walked quickly through the back streets and through Lover’s
Lane. She did not want to meet any one she knew. She didn’t want to
meet even people she didn’t know. She hated to be seen. Her mind was so
confused, so torn, so messy. She felt that her appearance must be the
same. She drew a sobbing breath of relief as she left the village
behind and found herself on the “up back” road. There was little fear
of meeting any one she knew here. The cars that fled by her with
raucous shrieks were filled with strangers. One of them was packed with
young people who whirled past her singing uproariously:
“My wife has the fever, O then,
My wife has the fever, O then,
My wife has the fever,
Oh, I hope it won’t leave her,
For I want to be single again.”
Valancy flinched as if one of them had leaned from the car and cut her
across the face with a whip.
She had made a covenant with death and death had cheated her. Now life
stood mocking her. She had trapped Barney. Trapped him into marrying
her. And divorce was so hard to get in Ontario. So expensive. And
Barney was poor.
With life, fear had come back into her heart. Sickening fear. Fear of
what Barney would think. Would say. Fear of the future that must be
lived without him. Fear of her insulted, repudiated clan.
She had had one draught from a divine cup and now it was dashed from
her lips. With no kind, friendly death to rescue her. She must go on
living and longing for it. Everything was spoiled, smirched, defaced.
Even that year in the Blue Castle. Even her unashamed love for Barney.
It had been beautiful because death waited. Now it was only sordid
because death was gone. How could any one bear an unbearable thing?
She must go back and tell him. Make him believe she had not meant to
trick him—she _must_ make him believe that. She must say good-bye to
her Blue Castle and return to the brick house on Elm Street. Back to
everything she had thought left behind forever. The old bondage—the old
fears. But that did not matter. All that mattered now was that Barney
must somehow be made to believe she had not consciously tricked him.
When Valancy reached the pines by the lake she was brought out of her
daze of pain by a startling sight. There, parked by the side of old,
battered ragged Lady Jane, was another car. A wonderful car. A purple
car. Not a dark, royal purple but a blatant, screaming purple. It shone
like a mirror and its interior plainly indicated the car caste of Vere
de Vere. On the driver’s seat sat a haughty chauffeur in livery. And in
the tonneau sat a man who opened the door and bounced out nimbly as
Valancy came down the path to the landing-place. He stood under the
pines waiting for her and Valancy took in every detail of him.
A stout, short, pudgy man, with a broad, rubicund, good-humoured face—a
clean-shaven face, though an unparalysed little imp at the back of
Valancy’s paralysed mind suggested the thought, “Such a face should
have a fringe of white whisker around it.” Old-fashioned, steel-rimmed
spectacles on prominent blue eyes. A pursey mouth; a little round,
knobby nose. Where—where—where, groped Valancy, had she seen that face
before? It seemed as familiar to her as her own.
The stranger wore a green hat and a light fawn overcoat over a suit of
a loud check pattern. His tie was a brilliant green of lighter shade;
on the plump hand he outstretched to intercept Valancy an enormous
diamond winked at her. But he had a pleasant, fatherly smile, and in
his hearty, unmodulated voice was a ring of something that attracted
her.
“Can you tell me, Miss, if that house yonder belongs to a Mr. Redfern?
And if so, how can I get to it?”
Redfern! A vision of bottles seemed to dance before Valancy’s eyes—long
bottles of bitters—round bottles of hair tonic—square bottles of
liniment—short, corpulent little bottles of purple pills—and all of
them bearing that very prosperous, beaming moon-face and steel-rimmed
spectacles on the label.
Dr. Redfern!
“No,” said Valancy faintly. “No—that house belongs to Mr. Snaith.”
Dr. Redfern nodded.
“Yes, I understand Bernie’s been calling himself Snaith. Well, it’s his
middle name—was his poor mother’s. Bernard Snaith Redfern—that’s him.
And now, Miss, you can tell me how to get over to that island? Nobody
seems to be home there. I’ve done some waving and yelling. Henry,
there, wouldn’t yell. He’s a one-job man. But old Doc Redfern can yell
with the best of them yet, and ain’t above doing it. Raised nothing but
a couple of crows. Guess Bernie’s out for the day.”
“He was away when I left this morning,” said Valancy. “I suppose he
hasn’t come home yet.”
She spoke flatly and tonelessly. This last shock had temporarily bereft
her of whatever little power of reasoning had been left her by Dr.
Trent’s revelation. In the back of her mind the aforesaid little imp
was jeeringly repeating a silly old proverb, “It never rains but it
pours.” But she was not trying to think. What was the use?
Dr. Redfern was gazing at her in perplexity.
“When you left this morning? Do you live—over there?”
He waved his diamond at the Blue Castle.
“Of course,” said Valancy stupidly. “I’m his wife.”
Dr. Redfern took out a yellow silk handkerchief, removed his hat and
mopped his brow. He was very bald, and Valancy’s imp whispered, “Why be
bald? Why lose your manly beauty? Try Redfern’s Hair Vigor. It keeps
you young.”
“Excuse me,” said Dr. Redfern. “This is a bit of a shock.”
“Shocks seem to be in the air this morning.” The imp said this out loud
before Valancy could prevent it.
“I didn’t know Bernie was—married. I didn’t think he _would_ have got
married without telling his old dad.”
Were Dr. Redfern’s eyes misty? Amid her own dull ache of misery and
fear and dread, Valancy felt a pang of pity for him.
“Don’t blame him,” she said hurriedly. “It—it wasn’t his fault. It—was
all my doing.”
“You didn’t ask him to marry you, I suppose,” twinkled Dr. Redfern. “He
might have let me know. I’d have got acquainted with my daughter-in-law
before this if he had. But I’m glad to meet you now, my dear—very glad.
You look like a sensible young woman. I used to sorter fear Barney’d
pick out some pretty bit of fluff just because she was good-looking.
They were all after him, of course. Wanted his money? Eh? Didn’t like
the pills and the bitters but liked the dollars. Eh? Wanted to dip
their pretty little fingers in old Doc’s millions. Eh?”
“Millions!” said Valancy faintly. She wished she could sit down
somewhere—she wished she could have a chance to think—she wished she
and the Blue Castle could sink to the bottom of Mistawis and vanish
from human sight forevermore.
“Millions,” said Dr. Redfern complacently. “And Bernie chucks them
for—that.” Again he shook the diamond contemptuously at the Blue
Castle. “Wouldn’t you think he’d have more sense? And all on account of
a white bit of a girl. He must have got over _that_ feeling, anyhow,
since he’s married. You must persuade him to come back to civilisation.
All nonsense wasting his life like this. Ain’t you going to take me
over to your house, my dear? I suppose you’ve some way of getting
there.”
“Of course,” said Valancy stupidly. She led the way down to the little
cove where the disappearing propeller boat was snuggled.
“Does your—your man want to come, too?”
“Who? Henry. Not he. Look at him sitting there disapproving.
Disapproves of the whole expedition. The trail up from the road nearly
gave him a conniption. Well, it _was_ a devilish road to put a car on.
Whose old bus is that up there?”
“Barney’s.”
“Good Lord! Does Bernie Redfern ride in a thing like that? It looks
like the great-great-grandmother of all the Fords.”
“It isn’t a Ford. It’s a Grey Slosson,” said Valancy spiritedly. For
some occult reason, Dr. Redfern’s good-humoured ridicule of dear old
Lady Jane stung her to life. A life that was all pain but still _life_.
Better than the horrible half-dead-and-half-aliveness of the past few
minutes—or years. She waved Dr. Redfern curtly into the boat and took
him over to the Blue Castle. The key was still in the old pine—the
house still silent and deserted. Valancy took the doctor through the
living-room to the western verandah. She must at least be out where
there was air. It was still sunny, but in the southwest a great
thundercloud, with white crests and gorges of purple shadow, was slowly
rising over Mistawis. The doctor dropped with a gasp on a rustic chair
and mopped his brow again.
“Warm, eh? Lord, what a view! Wonder if it would soften Henry if he
could see it.”
“Have you had dinner?” asked Valancy.
“Yes, my dear—had it before we left Port Lawrence. Didn’t know what
sort of wild hermit’s hollow we were coming to, you see. Hadn’t any
idea I was going to find a nice little daughter-in-law here all ready
to toss me up a meal. Cats, eh? Puss, puss! See that. Cats love me.
Bernie was always fond of cats! It’s about the only thing he took from
me. He’s his poor mother’s boy.”
Valancy had been thinking idly that Barney must resemble his mother.
She had remained standing by the steps, but Dr. Redfern waved her to
the swing seat.
“Sit down, dear. Never stand when you can sit. I want to get a good
look at Barney’s wife. Well, well, I like your face. No beauty—you
don’t mind my saying that—you’ve sense enough to know it, I reckon. Sit
down.”
Valancy sat down. To be obliged to sit still when mental agony urges us
to stride up and down is the refinement of torture. Every nerve in her
being was crying out to be alone—to be hidden. But she had to sit and
listen to Dr. Redfern, who didn’t mind talking at all.
“When do you think Bernie will be back?”
“I don’t know—not before night probably.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know that either. Likely to the woods—up back.”
“So he doesn’t tell you his comings and goings, either? Bernie was
always a secretive young devil. Never understood him. Just like his
poor mother. But I thought a lot of him. It hurt me when he disappeared
as he did. Eleven years ago. I haven’t seen my boy for eleven years.”
“Eleven years.” Valancy was surprised. “It’s only six since he came
here.”
“Oh, he was in the Klondike before that—and all over the world. He used
to drop me a line now and then—never give any clue to where he was but
just a line to say he was all right. I s’pose he’s told you all about
it.”
“No. I know nothing of his past life,” said Valancy with sudden
eagerness. She wanted to know—she must know now. It hadn’t mattered
before. Now she must know all. And she could never hear it from Barney.
She might never even see him again. If she did, it would not be to talk
of his past.
“What happened? Why did he leave his home? Tell me. Tell me.”
“Well, it ain’t much of a story. Just a young fool gone mad because of
a quarrel with his girl. Only Bernie was a stubborn fool. Always
stubborn. You never could make that boy do anything he didn’t want to
do. From the day he was born. Yet he was always a quiet, gentle little
chap, too. Good as gold. His poor mother died when he was only two
years old. I’d just begun to make money with my Hair Vigor. I’d dreamed
the formula for it, you see. Some dream that. The cash rolled in.
Bernie had everything he wanted. I sent him to the best schools—private
schools. I meant to make a gentleman of him. Never had any chance
myself. Meant he should have every chance. He went through McGill. Got
honours and all that. I wanted him to go in for law. He hankered after
journalism and stuff like that. Wanted me to buy a paper for him—or
back him in publishing what he called a ‘real, worthwhile,