Jinny wrapped in grey furs, her face flushed palest pink, her eyes
shining, snuggled up to me and took my hand.
“What a nice lunch party, Mummy.”
“Did you enjoy it, darling?”
“Yes. I talked to the American with red hair. He has a face like a sky
terrier--he was very amusing.” Then with a little sigh, “Darling Mummy,
I do love you so.”
When Sam came to tea--he had seen Jinny twice in the meantime--he
wasted no time.
“I do seriously and truly want to marry your daughter, Madame de
Joigny.”
“But you can’t, she’s a Roman Catholic.”
“That’s easy. I’ll become one.”
I laughed again. I was beginning to adore him. “I will take care of
her,” he said, “as you would want me to take care of her. She would
be safe with me. She would be worshipped. I would kneel to her, and I
would make her happy. She would be happy, I vow to you, she would be
happy.”
“I am afraid it is impossible.”
“Why--?”
“Her father has other ideas.”
“Let me go to him.”
“You may of course, but he will send you packing.”
He flushed painfully and I saw in his eyes a deep shy hurt look, the
look of modesty and innocence--and faith.
“But if she loved me, surely he wouldn’t refuse then--”
“Perhaps not. I don’t know. He might all the same. It would depend on
how much she cared.”
“I will make her care.”
“But,” I broke off, I hesitated. Why should I have been so scrupulous?
What obligation had I to warn Philibert that his daughter might fall in
love with this eligible American? Still I did have a scruple.
“It is not considered fitting, you know, in our French world, for
a young man to pay court to a _jeune fille_ without her parents’
approval.”
“Then what am I to do?”
“I don’t know.”
We sat in silence a moment.
Suddenly he got up. He stood there before me, tall, clean, honest.
“You’re not against me, Madame de Joigny?”
“No, I’m not against you.”
“Well then, I guess I know what to do. I guess I can wait. You can
trust me, you know. I won’t bother your daughter. All the same, we are
all in Paris together, and I can’t help seeing her sometimes, can I?”
His eyes smiled, but he was very serious. I realized how serious he was
when Philibert remarked a few days later that he had met quite a nice
young American lunching at the Jockey Club, quite a man of the world,
a national polo player, a Monsieur Chilbrook. Did I know him? Yes, I
said I knew him, and had known his family always. Philibert thought
I might ask him to dinner with Colonel and Mrs. House, the following
week. I did so, but Sam made me no sign. He was perfectly correct. The
only thing that was noticeable was his successful effort to interest
Philibert. I myself was surprised. Poor Sam--little good it did him.
Jinny seemed happy. She enjoyed being grown up and going to parties. In
June we gave her a coming out ball, for in spite of all my premonitions
we had again taken possession of our house. After that I took her to
a number of dances. She was surrounded by young men of course. Sam
was only one of a dozen; she treated them all with the same radiant
aloofness. She made me no confidences. Her intimacy with her father
was greater than ever. Together they had supervised the unpacking and
rearrangement of the household treasures. Philibert was educating her.
I observed that she had his flair for bibelots. She had already all the
patter of the amateur collector. They went shopping together a good
deal. More often than not, coming in from some luncheon I would find
that they had gone out together for the afternoon.
On one such day, when I was sitting alone, Sam Chilbrook was announced.
He was troubled. His eyes were dark, his young face tired.
“Jinny loves me, I know she does, Madame de Joigny, but she is unhappy.
It is time I went to her father. You see I’m afraid,” he stammered,
“afraid that she won’t have the courage--if I don’t--”
“But have you spoken to her--I thought you promised.”
“I’ve not spoken--I’ve kept my promise, but I wish you hadn’t exacted
it. I know your daughter now. I know her character, and I love her. She
spoke yesterday in a way that frightened me--”
“What did she say?”
“She said that she loved her father better than any one in the world.”
“That was all?”
“Yes, no--not quite.”
“What else did she say?”
“She said that if it came to a struggle between them, or between you
and him about her--she was sure she would do what he wanted.”
“Well, then go to him!” He left me at five; it was that same afternoon
only a few minutes after he had gone, that you, Blaise, were announced.
I understand now what it cost you to do what you did. _Tout simplement_
it cost you the affection of your family. You ranged yourself on my
side, against them. That was what it amounted to. That anyway was the
way they took it.
I remember your face when you told me that I had best go round to your
mother’s flat at once, that Philibert and Jinny were there and some
other persons whom I ought to see. I didn’t at first grasp what you
meant. What other persons? The little Prince Damas de Barbagne of the
family des Deux Ponts and his uncle.
“In your mother’s drawing-room?”
“Yes.”
“With Jinny?”
“Yes.”
“But I refused to present him to her only a few months ago.”
“I know.”
“What then--?” Suddenly it dawned on me.
“Philibert!” I almost shouted, “Philibert has done this without
consulting me. That miserable little creature.”
You nodded.
I knew the Damas boy. Philibert and I had stayed with his uncle in
their dreadful old prison of a place.
The young man had made on me a very disagreeable impression. His
reputation was of the worst, and his appearance did not belie it. He
was small and weak legged and had no chin. His skin was bad and his
eyes yellow. He professed in those days a great admiration for the
Crown Prince of Germany, and I fancy had taken the latter as his model.
One of the things that amused him was, I found out, the torturing of
animals. Fan had told me a tale about him that I had never forgotten.
One day he was terribly bored. Not knowing what to do with himself
he brought all his dogs into the house. He had twelve, all kinds,
greyhounds, setters, great danes. He told his man to keep them in
one of the salons, while he went into the next one, and loaded his
revolver. Disgusted with life, he had become disgusted with his dogs.
He called them one by one. Then as they came through the door, shot
them dead. He didn’t miss one. He got each one between the eyes.
“Pour parlers” of marriage were going on you told me, between Philibert
and the august uncle of this heir to a bankrupt principality. I saw
it all. The house of the Deux Ponts was royal. It was a branch of the
Nettleburgs but had maintained a strict neutrality during the war. With
nearly every throne in Europe crumbling into dust, Philibert still
wanted a crown for his daughter’s head. In the midst of the savage
passion of anger that had seized me, I could have yelled with laughter.
Philibert still believed in his ridiculous baubles. He wanted to put
his little girl on a throne. Well, I would stop him.
She was mine. She was mine.
I had borne her out of my body. She belonged to me. I remembered
the months before she was born, I remembered the child in my womb,
stirring--the obscure passionate tenderness welling up in me--the
mysterious sense of union. I remembered Philibert’s disgust with my
deformity, his constant absence. He had left me to myself during those
months. He had left me, of course, to go to other women. I had brought
Jinny into the world alone. The pain had been mine, and mine the
ecstasy. What had Philibert to do with my child?
Now they proposed to dispose of her without my consent. They proposed
to hand her over to a degenerate. Well, they wouldn’t, I wouldn’t stop
them.
My entrance created something of a sensation in your mother’s
drawing-room. They were all there. I had time to take them all in,
while they stared at me. The august uncle who looked like the Emperor
Francis Joseph was standing in the window with Philibert. Your mother
had Jinny on one side of her, at the tea table, the Princeling on the
other. Her face blanched when she saw me. There was terror in her eyes,
physical terror, what did she think I was going to do?
Philibert was of course the first to recover himself. He came forward
in his most perfect manner.
“_Chère amie_, I am so glad that after all you were able to come. I had
explained to his Royal Highness about your terrible migraine--”
I took his cue. The pompous uncle and the pimple-faced Damas kissed
my hand, first one then the other. I asked your mother for a cup of
tea, and drank it slowly, conscious of Jinny’s eyes on my face. What
did they mean, those great brown starry eyes? What was going on in her
mind? I hadn’t any idea.
“I have interrupted you,” I said putting down my teacup. “Pray continue
your talk.”
No one spoke.
“You were perhaps gathered together for a purpose that concerns my
daughter? No?”
Philibert went crimson; the uncle coughed; I waited; your mother
rattled the tea things; she looked at Philibert, he looked at her.
“_Mon enfant_,” she quavered, at last, “His Royal Highness has honoured
you with a demand for your daughter’s hand in marriage, and as you
no doubt are aware, your husband,” her voice almost failed her, but
she controlled it, “your husband, my son, is disposed to think that
possibly these two young people would be very happy together.”
“Is it to ask their opinion that they have been brought here?” I asked
quickly.
The uncle coughed again. The little shrimp at the table stammered--“Not
at all, not at all. My opinion is very well known to Monsieur de
Joigny. I should be honoured.”
I rose to my feet. I knew now just how far matters had gone. They had
gone very far indeed! I had no choice. It was necessary to be quite
definite. I faced the older man.
“There has been a mistake, your Highness, I do not approve of this
marriage.”
Philibert made a jump towards me--an exclamation. I waved him off.
“I have other ideas for my daughter. You must excuse me from explaining
what they are. And now I must beg you to let me take this child home.
Come Geneviève.” For a moment she hesitated, her poor little face
crimson, her eyes filled with tears. I took her hand and drew her with
me out of the door.
That night Philibert and I had a terrible scene. I need not go into it
in detail. I cannot bear to recall it. It seems incredible now that
we should have behaved as we did. Things were said that will rankle
for ever, things that would have made it impossible, even if it hadn’t
been for the last ghastly episode of Bianca, for us to go on living
side by side. I look back with shame to that hour, I must have been
beside myself. What was goading me on more than anything else, was
the realization that Jinny was against me. She had been shocked by my
behaviour. That was how it had struck her. She had been horrified and
humiliated. That was all. I saw it in her eyes. She didn’t care to know
why I had done what I did. She only hated my having done it. She looked
at me with fear and almost, I thought, with a shiver of repulsion.
I refused to give Jinny a penny if he married her off without my
approval. He informed me that I could not, by French law, disinherit
her and that he would find a way of bringing me to my senses. As for
Sam Chilbrook--Philibert dealt with him the next morning, I don’t know
what he said to him, but the boy never came back. I never saw him
again. It must have been something pretty horrible.
X
There is little more to tell you. You know about Jinny’s subsequent
marriage and how after all Philibert, if he did not secure Prince
Damas, his heart’s desire, is still well enough satisfied with the
young Duke, his son-in-law. Philibert wanted the Duke, so I let him
have him. Jinny wanted the house in Paris so I gave it to her. The
three live there together, quite harmoniously I am told. And I? I do
not pretend that Jinny’s husband is a cad. He is no doubt, as nice as
most young men about town. I merely regret that he does not love her
nor she him. Doubtless they will get on very well once that fact is
established between them.
You see Jinny’s marriage was my supreme failure. I have lost her, I can
never do anything more for her. She will never turn to me in joy--or in
trouble.
She hates me. It was because she came to hate me that I gave way. She
believed that I killed Bianca. I didn’t, but then I might have, I have
no way of knowing whether or not I would have killed her.
I am trying to explain to you why I have come back to St. Mary’s
Plains. You remember Patience Forbes’ will. It read--“To my beloved
niece Jane Carpenter, now called the Marquise de Joigny, I leave the
Grey House and all that is in it, because some day, she may want some
place to go.” Well, she was right--I came back because I had no other
place to go to. I came back but I came too late. The people who lived
here and who loved me are all dead and I cannot, somehow, communicate
with them as I had hoped to. I do not know what Patience Forbes would
say of my life, and I shall never know. Her ghost does not comfort me
because I failed her too. I let her die, here alone.
They found her, you know on the floor by her bed, in her dressing gown,
the candle on the table burned down to its socket; she must have been
saying her prayers. Her Bible was open on the patchwork quilt; her
spectacles were beside it and three of my letters, some weeks old,
also, strangely enough, a facsimile (reduced) of the Declaration of
Independence, with a pencil note “To send to Jane.” You know how it
reads: “When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for
one people to dissolve the political bonds which have connected them
with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate
and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God
entitle them.... We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men
are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain
unalienable rights that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit
of Happiness--”
The last lines I have quoted were underlined. What did she mean by
them? What did she want them to mean for me, lying there, dying, going
out on the great journey alone from the empty Grey House--dead, alone
in the house through that long night with the Bible and the Declaration
of Independence beside her?