CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVII
Cousin Georgiana came down the lane leading up to her little house. She
lived half a mile out of Deerwood and she wanted to go in to Amelia’s
and find out if Doss had come home yet. Cousin Georgiana was anxious to
see Doss. She had something very important to tell her. Something, she
was sure, Doss would be delighted to hear. Poor Doss! She _had_ had
rather a dull life of it. Cousin Georgiana owned to herself that _she_
would not like to live under Amelia’s thumb. But that would be all
changed now. Cousin Georgiana felt tremendously important. For the time
being, she quite forgot to wonder which of them would go next.
And here was Doss herself, coming along the road from Roaring Abel’s in
such a queer green dress and hat. Talk about luck. Cousin Georgiana
would have a chance to impart her wonderful secret right away, with
nobody else about to interrupt. It was, you might say, a Providence.
Valancy, who had been living for four days on her enchanted island, had
decided that she might as well go in to Deerwood and tell her relatives
that she was married. Otherwise, finding that she had disappeared from
Roaring Abel’s, they might get out a search warrant for her. Barney had
offered to drive her in, but she had preferred to go alone. She smiled
very radiantly at Cousin Georgiana, who, she remembered, as of some one
known a long time ago, had really been not a bad little creature.
Valancy was so happy that she could have smiled at anybody—even Uncle
James. She was not averse to Cousin Georgiana’s company. Already, since
the houses along the road were becoming numerous, she was conscious
that curious eyes were looking at her from every window.
“I suppose you’re going home, dear Doss?” said Cousin Georgiana as she
shook hands—furtively eyeing Valancy’s dress and wondering if she had
_any_ petticoat on at all.
“Sooner or later,” said Valancy cryptically.
“Then I’ll go along with you. I’ve been wanting to see you _very_
especially, Doss dear. I’ve something quite _wonderful_ to tell you.”
“Yes?” said Valancy absently. What on earth was Cousin Georgiana
looking so mysterious and important about? But did it matter? No.
Nothing mattered but Barney and the Blue Castle up back in Mistawis.
“Who do you suppose called to see me the other day?” asked Cousin
Georgiana archly.
Valancy couldn’t guess.
“Edward Beck.” Cousin Georgiana lowered her voice almost to a whisper.
“_Edward Beck._”
Why the italics? And _was_ Cousin Georgiana blushing?
“Who on earth is Edward Beck?” asked Valancy indifferently.
Cousin Georgiana stared.
“Surely you remember Edward Beck,” she said reproachfully. “He lives in
that lovely house on the Port Lawrence road and he comes to our
church—regularly. You _must_ remember him.”
“Oh, I think I do now,” said Valancy, with an effort of memory. “He’s
that old man with a wen on his forehead and dozens of children, who
always sits in the pew by the door, isn’t he?”
“Not dozens of children, dear—oh, no, not dozens. Not even _one_ dozen.
Only nine. At least only nine that count. The rest are dead. He _isn’t_
old—he’s only about forty-eight—the prime of life, Doss—and what does
it matter about a wen?”
“Nothing, of course,” agreed Valancy quite sincerely. It certainly did
not matter to her whether Edward Beck had a wen or a dozen wens or no
wen at all. But Valancy was getting vaguely suspicious. There was
certainly an air of suppressed triumph about Cousin Georgiana. Could it
be possible that Cousin Georgiana was thinking of marrying again?
Marrying Edward Beck? Absurd. Cousin Georgiana was sixty-five if she
were a day and her little anxious face was as closely covered with fine
wrinkles as if she had been a hundred. But still——
“My dear,” said Cousin Georgiana, “Edward Beck wants to marry _you_.”
Valancy stared at Cousin Georgiana for a moment. Then she wanted to go
off into a peal of laughter. But she only said:
“Me?”
“Yes, you. He fell in love with you at the funeral. And he came to
consult me about it. I was such a friend of his first wife, you know.
He is very much in earnest, Dossie. And it’s a wonderful chance for
you. He’s very well off—and you know—you—you——”
“Am not so young as I once was,” agreed Valancy. “‘To her that hath
shall be given.’ Do you really think I would make a good stepmother,
Cousin Georgiana?”
“I’m sure you would. You were always so fond of children.”
“But nine is such a family to start with,” objected Valancy gravely.
“The two oldest are grown up and the third almost. That leaves only six
that really count. And most of them are boys. So much easier to bring
up than girls. There’s an excellent book—‘Health Care of the Growing
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
have those three woollen cushions I worked last winter?”
“Take them—take everything!” said Mrs. Frederick.
“Oh, I don’t want everything—or much. I don’t want my Blue Castle
cluttered. Just the cushions. I’ll call for them some day when we motor
in.”
Valancy rose and went to the door. There she turned. She was sorrier
than ever for them all. _They_ had no Blue Castle in the purple
solitudes of Mistawis.
“The trouble with you people is that you don’t laugh enough,” she said.
“Doss, dear,” said Cousin Georgiana mournfully, “some day you will
discover that blood is thicker than water.”
“Of course it is. But who wants water to be thick?” parried Valancy.
“We want water to be thin—sparkling—crystal-clear.”
Cousin Stickles groaned.
Valancy would not ask any of them to come and see her—she was afraid
they _would_ come out of curiosity. But she said:
“Do you mind if I drop in and see you once in a while, Mother?”
“My house will always be open to you,” said Mrs. Frederick, with a
mournful dignity.
“You should never recognise her again,” said Uncle James sternly, as
the door closed behind Valancy.
“I cannot quite forget that I am a mother,” said Mrs. Frederick. “My
poor, unfortunate girl!”
“I dare say the marriage isn’t legal,” said Uncle James comfortingly.
“He has probably been married half a dozen times before. But _I_ am
through with her. I have done all I could, Amelia. I think you will
admit that. Henceforth”—Uncle James was terribly solemn about
it—“Valancy is to me as one dead.”
“Mrs. Barney Snaith,” said Cousin Georgiana, as if trying it out to see
how it would sound.
“He has a score of aliases, no doubt,” said Uncle Benjamin. “For my
part, I believe the man is half Indian. I haven’t a doubt they’re
living in a wigwam.”
“If he has married her under the name of Snaith and it isn’t his real
name wouldn’t that make the marriage null and void?” asked Cousin
Stickles hopefully.
Uncle James shook his head.
“No, it is the man who marries, not the name.”
“You know,” said Cousin Gladys, who had recovered and returned but was
still shaky, “I had a distinct premonition of this at Herbert’s silver
dinner. I remarked it at the time. When she was defending Snaith. You
remember, of course. It came over me like a revelation. I spoke to
David when I went home about it.”
“What—_what_,” demanded Aunt Wellington of the universe, “has come over
Valancy? _Valancy!_”
The universe did not answer but Uncle James did.
“Isn’t there something coming up of late about secondary personalities
cropping out? I don’t hold with many of those new-fangled notions, but
there may be something in this one. It would account for her
incomprehensible conduct.”
“Valancy is so fond of mushrooms,” sighed Cousin Georgiana. “I’m afraid
she’ll get poisoned eating toadstools by mistake living up back in the
woods.”
“There are worse things than death,” said Uncle James, believing that
it was the first time in the world that such a statement had been made.
“Nothing can ever be the same again!” sobbed Cousin Stickles.
Valancy, hurrying along the dusty road, back to cool Mistawis and her
purple island, had forgotten all about them—just as she had forgotten
that she might drop dead at any moment if she hurried.