CHAPTERI
Ifithadnot
plu
rainedonacertainMaymorningValancyStirling’swholelifewouldhavebeenentirelydifferent.Shewouldhavegone,withtherestofherclan,to
Tante
AuntWellington’sengagementpicnicandDr.TrentwouldhavegonetoMontreal.Butitdid
plu
rainandyoushallhearwhathappenedtoherbecauseofit.Valancywakenedearly,inthelifeless,hopelesshourjustprecedingdawn.
Shehadnotsleptverywell.
Onedoesnotsleepwell,sometimes,whenoneistwenty-nineonthemorrow,andunmarried,inacommunityandconnectionwheretheunmarriedaresimplythosewhohavefailedtogetaman.
DeerwoodandtheStirlingshadlongsincerelegatedValancytohopelessoldmaidenhood.
ButValancyherselfhadneverquiterelinquishedacertainpitiful,shamed,littlehopethatRomancewouldcomeherwayyet—never,untilthiswet,horriblemorning,whenshewakenedtothefactthatshewastwenty-nineandunsoughtbyanyman.
Ay,therelaythesting.
Valancydidnotmindsomuchbeinganoldmaid.
Afterall,shethought,beinganoldmaidcouldn’tpossiblybeasdreadfulasbeingmarriedtoanUncleWellingtonoranUncleBenjamin,orevenanUncleHerbert.
Whathurtherwasthatshehadneverhadachancetobeanythingbutanoldmaid.
Nomanhadeverdesiredher.
Thetearscameintohereyesasshelaytherealoneinthefaintlygreyingdarkness.
Shedarednotletherself
pleurer
cryashardasshewantedto,fortworeasons.Shewasafraidthatcryingmightbringonanother
attaque
attackofthatpainaroundtheheart.Shehadhadaspellofitaftershehadgotintobed—rather
pire
worsethananyshehadhadyet.Andshewasafraidhermotherwould
remarque
noticeherredeyesatpetit déjeuner
breakfastandkeepatherwithminute,persistent,mosquito-likequestionsregardingthecausethereof.“Suppose,”thoughtValancywithaghastlygrin,“Iansweredwiththeplaintruth,‘Iam
pleure
cryingbecauseIcannotgetmarried.’HowhorrifiedMotherwouldbe—thoughsheisashamedeverydayofherlifeofheroldmaiddaughter.”Butofcourseappearancesshouldbekeptup.
“Itisnot,”Valancycouldhearhermother’sprim,dictatorial
voix
voiceasserting,“itisnotmaidenlytothinkaboutmen.”Thethoughtofhermother’sexpressionmadeValancylaugh—forshehada
sens
senseofhumournobodyinherclansuspected.Forthatmatter,therewereagoodmanythingsaboutValancythatnobodysuspected.
Butherlaughterwasverysuperficialandpresentlyshelaythere,ahuddled,futilelittle
figure
figure,listeningtotherainpouringdownoutsideandwatching,withasickdistaste,thechill,mercilesslightcreepingintoherugly,sordidroom.Sheknewtheuglinessofthatroombyheart—knewitandhatedit.
Theyellow-painted
sol
floor,withonehideous,“hooked”rugbythebed,withagrotesque,“hooked”dogonit,alwaysgrinningatherwhensheawoke;thefaded,dark-red
papier
paper;theceilingdiscolouredbyoldleaksand
traversé
crossedbycracks;thenarrow,pinchedlittlewashstand;
thebrown-paperlambrequinwithpurplerosesonit;
thespottedoldlooking-glasswiththecrackacrossit,proppedupontheinadequatedressing-table;
thejarofancientpotpourrimadebyhermotherinhermythicalhoneymoon;
theshell-coveredbox,withoneburstcorner,whichCousinStickleshadmadeinherequallymythicalgirlhood;
thebeadedpincushionwithhalfitsbeadfringegone;
theonestiff,yellowchair;
thefadedoldmotto,“Gonebutnotforgotten,”workedincolouredyarnsaboutGreat-grand-motherStirling’sgrimoldface;
theoldphotographsofancientrelativeslongbanishedfromtheroomsbelow.
Therewereonlytwopicturesthatwerenotofrelatives.
One,anoldchromoofapuppysittingonarainydoorstep.
That
photo
picturealwaysmadeValancyunhappy.Thatforlornlittledogcrouchedonthedoorstepinthedriving
pluie
rain!Whydidn’tsomeoneopenthedoorandlethimin?
Theotherpicturewasafaded,passe-partoutedengravingof
Reine
QueenLouisecomingdownastairway,whichTante
AuntWellingtonhadlavishlygivenheronhertenthanniversaire
birthday.Fornineteenyearsshehadlookedatitandhatedit,beautiful,smug,self-satisfied
Reine
QueenLouise.Butshenever
osé
dareddestroyitorremoveit.Motherand
Cousin
CousinStickleswouldhavebeenaghast,or,asValancyirreverentlyexpresseditinherthoughts,wouldhavehadafit.Everyroominthehousewasugly,ofcourse.
Butdownstairsappearanceswerekeptupsomewhat.
Therewasnomoneyforroomsnobodyeversaw.
Valancysometimesfeltthatshecouldhavedonesomethingforherroomherself,evenwithoutmoney,ifshewerepermitted.
ButhermotherhadnegativedeverytimidsuggestionandValancydidnotpersist.
Valancyneverpersisted.
Shewasafraidto.
Hermothercouldnotbrookopposition.
Mrs.Stirlingwouldsulkfordaysifoffended,withtheairsofaninsultedduchess.
TheonlythingValancylikedaboutherroomwasthatshecouldbealonethereatnightto
pleurer
cryifshewantedto.But,afterall,whatdiditmatterifaroom,whichyouusedfornothingexceptsleepingand
habiller
dressingin,wereugly?Valancywasneverpermittedtostayaloneinherroomforanyotherpurpose.
Peoplewhowantedtobealone,soMrs.FrederickStirlingand
Cousin
CousinSticklesbelieved,couldonlywanttobealoneforsomesinisterpurpose.Butherroominthe
Bleu
BlueCastlewaseverythingaroomshouldbe.Valancy,socowedandsubduedandoverriddenandsnubbedinreallife,waswonttoletherselfgo
plutôt
rathersplendidlyinherday-dreams.NobodyintheStirlingclan,oritsramifications,suspectedthis,leastofallhermotherand
Cousin
CousinStickles.TheyneverknewthatValancyhadtwohomes—theuglyredbrickboxofahome,onElmStreet,andthe
Bleu
BlueCastleinSpain.Valancyhadlivedspirituallyinthe
Bleu
BlueCastleeversinceshecouldremember.Shehadbeenaverytinychildwhenshefoundherselfpossessedofit.
Always,whensheshuthereyes,shecouldseeitplainly,withitsturretsandbannersonthepine-cladmountainheight,wrappedinitsfaint,blueloveliness,againstthesunsetskiesofafairandunknown
terre
land.Everythingwonderfulandbeautifulwasinthatcastle.
Jewelsthatqueensmighthave
porter
worn;robesofmoonlightandfire;
couchesofrosesandgold;
longflightsofshallowmarblesteps,withgreat,whiteurns,andwithslender,mist-cladmaidensgoingupanddownthem;
courts,marble-pillared,whereshimmeringfountainsfellandnightingalessangamongthemyrtles;
hallsofmirrorsthatreflectedonlyhandsomeknightsand
belle
lovelywomen—herselftheloveliestofall,forwhoseglancemendied.Allthat
soutenait
supportedherthroughtheboredomofherdayswasthehopeofgoingonadreamspreeatnight.Most,ifnotall,oftheStirlingswouldhavediedofhorroriftheyhadknownhalfthethingsValancydidinher
Bleu
BlueCastle.Foronethingshehadquiteafewloversinit.
Oh,onlyoneatatime.
Onewhowooedherwithalltheromanticardouroftheageofchivalryandwonherafterlongdevotionandmanydeedsofderring-do,andwasweddedtoherwithpompandcircumstanceinthegreat,banner-hungchapelofthe
Bleu
BlueCastle.Attwelve,thisloverwasafairladwithgoldencurlsandheavenlyblueeyes.
Atfifteen,hewastalland
noir
darkandpale,butstillnecessarilyhandsome.Attwenty,hewasascetic,dreamy,spiritual.
Attwenty-five,hehadaclean-cutjaw,slightlygrim,andaface
fort
strongandruggedratherthanhandsome.Valancynevergrewolderthantwenty-fiveinher
Bleu
BlueCastle,butrecently—veryrecently—herhéros
herohadhadreddish,tawnyhair,atwistedsourire
smileandamysteriouspast.Idon’tsayValancydeliberatelymurderedtheseloversassheoutgrewthem.
Onesimplyfadedawayasanothercame.
Thingsareveryconvenientinthis
égard
respectinBlueCastles.But,onthismorningofherdayoffate,Valancycouldnotfindthe
clé
keyofherBlueCastle.Realitypressedonhertoohardly,barkingatherheelslikeamaddeninglittledog.
Shewastwenty-nine,lonely,undesired,ill-favoured—theonlyhomelygirlinahandsomeclan,withnopastandno
avenir
future.Asfarasshecouldlookback,lifewasdrabandcolourless,withnotonesinglecrimsonorpurple
tache
spotanywhere.Asfarasshecouldlookforwardit
semblait
seemedcertaintobejustthesameuntilshewasnothingbutasolitary,littlewitheredleafclingingtoawintrybough.Themomentwhenawomanrealisesthatshehasnothingtolivefor—neitherlove,
devoir
duty,purposenorhope—holdsforherthebitternessofdeath.“AndIjusthavetogoonlivingbecauseIcan’tstop.
Imayhavetoliveeightyyears,”thoughtValancy,inakindofpanic.
“We’reallhorriblylong-lived.
Itsickensmetothinkofit.”
Shewasgladitwasraining—or
plutôt
rather,shewasdrearilysatisfiedthatitwaspleuvrait
raining.Therewouldbenopicnicthatday.
Thisannualpicnic,whereby
Tante
AuntandUncleWellington—onealwaysthoughtoftheminthatsuccession—inevitablycelebratedtheirengagementatapicnicthirtyyearsbefore,hadbeen,oflateyears,averitablenightmaretoValancy.Byanimpishcoincidenceitwasthesamedayasher
anniversaire
birthdayand,aftershehadpassé
passedtwenty-five,nobodyletherforgetit.Muchasshehatedgoingtothepicnic,itwouldneverhaveoccurredtohertorebelagainstit.
There
semblait
seemedtobenothingoftherevolutionaryinhernature
nature.Andsheknewexactlywhateveryonewouldsaytoheratthepicnic.
UncleWellington,whomshedislikedanddespisedeventhoughhehadfulfilledthehighestStirlingaspiration,“marryingmoney,”wouldsaytoherinapig’swhisper,“Notthinkingofgettingmarriedyet,mydear?”
andthengooffintothebellowoflaughterwithwhichheinvariablyconcludedhisdullremarks.
Tante
AuntWellington,ofwhomValancystoodinabjectawe,wouldtellheraboutOlive’snewchiffonrobe
dressandCecil’slastdevotedlettre
letter.Valancywouldhavetolookaspleasedandinterestedasifthe
robe
dressandletterhadbeenhersorelseTante
AuntWellingtonwouldbeoffended.AndValancyhadlongago
décidé
decidedthatshewouldratheroffendGodthanTante
AuntWellington,becauseGodmightpardonner
forgiveherbutAuntWellingtonneverwould.Tante
AuntAlberta,enormouslyfat,withanamiablehabitofalwaysreferringtoherhusbandas“he,”asifheweretheonlymalecreatureintheworld,whocouldneverforgetthatshehadbeenagreatbeauté
beautyinheryouth,wouldcondolewithValancyonhersallowpeau
skin—.“Idon’tknowwhyallthegirlsoftodayaresosunburned.
WhenIwasagirlmy
peau
skinwasrosesandcream.IwascountedtheprettiestgirlinCanada,mydear.”
PerhapsUncleHerbertwouldn’tsayanything—orperhapshewouldremarkjocularly,“Howfatyou’regetting,Doss!”
Andtheneverybodywouldlaughovertheexcessivelyhumorousideaofpoor,scrawnylittleDossgettingfat.
Handsome,solemnUncleJames,whomValancydislikedbut
respectait
respectedbecausehewasreputedtobeverycleverandwasthereforetheclanoracle—brainsbeingnonetooplentifulintheStirlingconnection—wouldprobablyremarkwiththeowl-likesarcasmthathadwonhimhisreputation,“Isuppose
supposeyou’rebusywithyourhope-chestthesedays?”AndUncleBenjaminwouldasksomeofhisabominableconundrums,betweenwheezychuckles,andanswerthemhimself.
“Whatisthe
différence
differencebetweenDossandamouse?“ThemousewishestoharmthecheeseandDosswishestocharmthehe’s.”
Valancyhadheardhimaskthatriddlefiftytimesandeverytimeshewantedto
jeter
throwsomethingathim.Butsheneverdid.
Inthefirstplace,theStirlingssimplydidnot
jeté
throwthings;inthesecondplace,UncleBenjaminwasawealthyandchildlessoldwidowerandValancyhadbeenbroughtupinthe
peur
fearandadmonitionofhismoney.Ifsheoffendedhimhewouldcutheroutofhiswill—supposingshewereinit.
ValancydidnotwanttobecutoutofUncleBenjamin’swill.
Shehadbeenpoorallherlifeandknewthegallingbitternessofit.
Sosheenduredhisriddlesandevensmiledtorturedlittlesmilesoverthem.
Tante
AuntIsabel,downrightanddisagreeableasaneastvent
wind,wouldcriticiseherinsomeway—Valancycouldnotpredictjusthow,forTante
AuntIsabelneverrepeatedacriticism—shefoundsomethingnewwithwhichtojabyoueverytime.Tante
AuntIsabelpridedherselfonsayingwhatshethought,butdidn’tlikeitsowellwhenotherpeoplesaidwhattheythoughttoher.Valancyneversaidwhatshethought.
CousinGeorgiana—namedafterhergreat-great-grand-mother,whohadbeennamedafterGeorgetheFourth—wouldrecountdolorouslythenamesofallrelativesandfriendswhohaddiedsincethelastpicnicand
demandait
wonder“whichofuswillbethefirsttogonext.”Oppressivelycompetent,
Tante
AuntMildredwouldtalkendlesslyofherhusbandandherodiousprodigiesofbabiestoValancy,becauseValancywouldbetheonlyoneshecouldfindtoputupwithit.Forthesamereason,CousinGladys—reallyFirstCousinGladysonceremoved,
selon
accordingtothestrictwayinwhichtheStirlingstabulatedrelationship—atall,thinladywhoadmittedshehadasensitivedisposition,woulddescribeminutelythetorturesofherneuritis.AndOlive,thewondergirlofthewholeStirlingclan,whohadeverythingValancyhadnot—beauty,popularity,love,—wouldshowoffher
beauté
beautyandpresumeonherpopularityandflauntherdiamondinsigniaofloveinValancy’sdazzled,enviouseyes.Therewouldbe
rien
noneofallthistoday.Andtherewouldbenopackingupofteaspoons.
ThepackingupwasalwaysleftforValancyand
Cousin
CousinStickles.Andonce,sixyearsago,asilverteaspoonfrom
Tante
AuntWellington’sweddingsethadbeenlost.Valancyneverheardthelastofthatsilverteaspoon.
Its
fantôme
ghostappearedBanquo-likeateverysubsequentfamilyfeast.Oh,yes,Valancyknewexactlywhatthepicnicwouldbelikeandsheblessedthe
pluie
rainthathadsavedherfromit.Therewouldbenopicnicthisyear.
If
Tante
AuntWellingtoncouldnotcelebrateonthesacreddayitselfshewouldhavenocelebrationatall.Thankwhatevergodstherewereforthat.
Sincetherewouldbenopicnic,Valancymadeuphermindthat,ifthe
pluie
rainheldupintheafternoon,shewouldgouptothelibraryandgetanotherofJohnFoster’sbooks.Valancywasnever
autorisé
allowedtoreadnovels,butJohnFoster’sbookswerenotnovels.Theywere“naturebooks”—sothelibrariantoldMrs.FrederickStirling—“allaboutthewoodsandbirdsandbugsandthingslikethat,youknow.”
SoValancywas
autorisé
allowedtoreadthem—underprotest,foritwasonlytooevidentthatsheappréciait
enjoyedthemtoomuch.Itwaspermissible,evenlaudable,toreadtoimproveyourmindandyourreligion,butabookthatwasenjoyablewas
dangereux
dangerous.Valancydidnotknow
si
whetherhermindwasbeingimprovedornot;butshefeltvaguelythatifshehadcomeacrossJohnFoster’sbooksyearsagolifemighthavebeenadifferentthingforher.
They
semblaient
seemedtohertoyieldglimpsesofaworldintowhichshemightoncehaveentered,thoughthedoorwasforeverbarredtohernow.ItwasonlywithinthelastyearthatJohnFoster’sbookshadbeenintheDeerwoodlibrary,thoughthelibrariantoldValancythathehadbeenawell-knownwriterforseveralyears.
“Wheredoeshelive?”
Valancyhadasked.
“Nobodyknows.
FromhisbookshemustbeaCanadian,butnomoreinformationcanbehad.
Hispublisherswon’tsayaword.
QuitelikelyJohnFosterisanomdeplume.
Hisbooksaresopopularwecan’tkeeptheminatall,thoughIreallycan’tseewhatpeoplefindinthemtoraveover.”
“Ithinkthey’rewonderful,”saidValancy,timidly.
“Oh—well—”
MissClarksonsmiledinapatronisingfashionthatrelegatedValancy’sopinionstolimbo,“Ican’tsayIcaremuchforbugsmyself.
But
certainement
certainlyFosterseemstoknowallthereistoknowaboutthem.”Valancydidn’tknow
si
whethershecaredmuchforbugseither.ItwasnotJohnFoster’suncannyknowledgeofwildcreaturesandinsectlifethatenthralledher.
Shecouldhardlysaywhatitwas—sometantalisinglureofamysteryneverrevealed—somehintofagreat
secret
secretjustalittlefurtheron—somefaint,elusiveechooflovely,forgottenthings—JohnFoster’smagie
magicwasindefinable.Yes,shewouldgetanewFosterbook.
Itwasa
mois
monthsinceshehadThistleHarvest,sosurelyMothercouldnotobject.Valancyhadreaditfourtimes—sheknewwholepassagesoffbyheart.
And—shealmostthoughtshewouldgoandseeDr.Trentaboutthatqueer
douleur
painaroundtheheart.Ithadcome
plutôt
ratheroftenlately,andthepalpitationswerebecomingannoying,nottospeakofanoccasionaldizzymomentandaqueershortnessofbreath.Butcouldshegotoseehimwithouttellinganyone?
Itwasamostdaringthought.
Aucun
NoneoftheStirlingseverconsultedadoctorwithoutholdingafamilycouncilandgettingUncleJames’approval.Then,theywenttoDr.AmbroseMarshofPortLawrence,whohadmarriedSecondCousinAdelaideStirling.
ButValancydislikedDr.AmbroseMarsh.
And,besides,shecouldnotgettoPortLawrence,fifteenmilesaway,withoutbeingtakenthere.
Shedidnotwantanyonetoknowaboutherheart.
Therewouldbesuchafussmadeandeverymemberofthefamilywouldcomedownandtalkitoverandadviseherandcautionherandwarnherandtellherhorribletalesofgreat-auntsandcousinsfortytimesremovedwhohadbeen“justlikethat”and“droppeddeadwithoutamoment’swarning,mydear.”
Tante
AuntIsabelwouldrememberthatshehadalwayssaidDosslookedlikeagirlwhowouldhavehearttrouble—“sopinchedandpeakedalways”;andUncleWellingtonwouldtakeitasapersonalinsult,when“noStirlingeverhadheartdiseasebefore”;
andGeorgianawouldforebodeinperfectlyaudibleasidesthat“poor,dearlittleDossisn’tlongforthisworld,I’mafraid”;
andCousinGladyswouldsay,“Why,myhearthasbeenlikethatforyears,”inatonethatimpliednooneelsehadanybusinesseventohaveaheart;
andOlive—Olivewouldmerelylookbeautifulandsuperioranddisgustinglyhealthy,asiftosay,“WhyallthisfussoverafadedsuperfluitylikeDosswhenyouhaveme?”
Valancyfeltthatshecouldn’ttellanybodyunlessshehadto.
Shefeltquitesuretherewasnothingatall
sérieusement
seriouslywrongwithherheartandnoneedofallthepotherthatwouldensueifshementionné
mentionedit.ShewouldjustslipupquietlyandseeDr.Trentthatveryday.
Asforhis
facture
bill,shehadthetwocents
hundreddollarsthatherfatherhadputinthebanque
bankforherthedayshewasnaissance
born.Shewasneverallowedtouseeventheinterestofthis,butshewouldsecretlytakeoutenoughtopayDr.Trent.
Dr.
Trentwasagruff,outspoken,absent-mindedoldfellow,buthewasarecognisedauthorityonheartdisease,evenifhewereonlyageneralpractitionerinout-of-the-worldDeerwood.
Dr.Trentwasoverseventyandtherehadbeenrumoursthathemeanttoretiresoon.
Aucun
NoneoftheStirlingclanhadevergonetohimsincehehadtoldCousinGladys,tenyearsbefore,thatherneuritiswasallimaginaryandthatsheprofitait
enjoyedit.Youcouldn’tpatroniseadoctorwhoinsultedyourfirst-cousin-once-removedlikethat—notto
mentionner
mentionthathewasaPresbyterianwhenalltheStirlingswenttotheAnglicanchurch.CHAPTERII
When
Cousin
CousinSticklesknockedatherdoor,Valancyknewitwashalf-pastsept
sevenandshemustgetup.Aslongasshecouldremember,
Cousin
CousinStickleshadknockedatherdoorathalf-pastsept
seven.CousinSticklesandMrs.FrederickStirlinghadbeenupsince
sept
seven,butValancywasallowedtolieabedhalfanhourlongerbecauseofafamilytraditionthatshewasdelicate.Valancygotup,thoughshehatedgettingupmorethismorningthanevershehadbefore.