The Building of Jalna
by Mazo de la Roche
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Title: The Building of Jalna
Author: de la Roche, Mazo (1879–1961)
Date of first publication: 1944
Edition used as base for this ebook: London: The Book Club, 1949
Date first posted: 9 October 2016
Date last updated: 9 October 2016
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1361
This ebook was produced by Marcia Brooks, Cindy Beyer, Mark Akrigg & the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
Publisher’s Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital format, we have made certain minor adjustments in its layout. All of the author’s original text has been included.
The Building of Jalna
To
St. John and Leonora Ervine
And
Rache Lovat Dickson
IN FRIENDSHIP
AND REMEMBERING THEIR INSCRIPTION IN MY COPY OF "SOPHIA"
I. In England
Adeline thought that never, never in her life had she seen anything so beautiful as The Bohemian Girl. The romance of it transfigured her mind, as moonlight a stained-glass window. And the music! Words and tune possessed her, making her feel like one in a dream. As she hung on Philip’s arm on the way out of Drury Lane the ground seemed unsubstantial beneath her feet, the crowd about her to be floating like herself.
She looked into his face to discover what was its expression. She had glimpsed her own in one of the great gilt-framed mirrors, and had been well pleased by its rapt expression. She half expected to see Philip wearing the same look. But in truth he looked just as he had when they had entered the opera-house, pleased to be there, well satisfied with himself and with her, glad to be back in London once more. She pressed his arm and his lips parted in a smile. Surely no man in all that throng had so fine, so manly a profile as Philip! Surely there was no other man with such well-set shoulders, such a flat back! He turned his head and looked at her. As he looked, his bright blue eyes widened a little in pride. He glanced about to see if others were noticing her beauty. They were, no doubt about that. Two gentlemen on her other side were noticing it more than was compatible with good taste. They were openly staring at her. She was aware of this, as was shown by her heightened colour and the daring half-glance she bestowed on them, but she continued to smile at Philip. They were now near the outer door and it took all his skill to pilot her successfully through it, billowing as she was in a flounced taffeta crinoline. Small wonder those fellows stared, thought Philip. It was not often one saw a face so arresting as Adeline’s. Was there another anywhere to equal it, he wondered. Her colouring alone made people turn their heads to look after her; the hair thick and waving, of the deepest auburn that could, in sunlight, flame to red; the skin of marble and roses, the changeful brown eyes with black lashes. But, if her colouring had been undistinguished, her proud and daring features, her arched brows, aquiline nose and mobile, laughing mouth, would have warranted his fine favour.
There was a clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles. Private carriages were drawn up in a glittering row. Adeline looked longingly at these but she and Philip must wait for a cab. They pressed forward to the kerb, his mind still occupied in guarding her crinoline. A street musician rose, as out of the gutter. He was gaunt and in rags but he could play. He humped his shoulder against the fiddle and his arm that wielded the bow moved violently, as though in desperation. No one but Adeline noticed him. Yet he was playing in desperation.
"Look, Philip!" she said eagerly. "The poor man!"
He looked and, frowning a little at the waste of time, resumed his scanning of the vehicles. She stiffened herself.
"Give him something!" she demanded.
Philip had found a four-wheeler. Now he determinedly pushed Adeline toward it. The driver scrambled down from his perch and threw open the door. Between the pushing of the crowd and the urging of Philip’s hand she found herself forced inside. But the beggar had seen her look of compassion and now his gaunt figure appeared at the door. His eyes were imploring. Philip put his hand in his pocket and produced a shilling.
"God bless you, sir! God bless you, my lady!" The man kept reiterating his thanks. His face was ghastly in the light of the gas-lamps.
The horse’s hooves clattered on the wet cobbles. Philip and Adeline turned to look triumphantly at each other. Each thought they had had their own way.
The crowded streets, the bright lights, were intoxicating to them after their years in India. She indeed had never known London, for County Meath had been her home and Dublin the great city of her girlhood. She had danced her way through several seasons there but, in spite of her grace and beauty, she had not made the match her parents had hoped for. Her admirers had been well-born and all too attractive, but without sufficient means to set up an establishment. She had wasted good time in flirtations with them. Then her sister Judith, married to an officer stationed at Jalna, a garrison town in India, had invited Adeline to visit her and Adeline had gladly gone. She felt cramped in Ireland and she had quarrelled with her father who was even more high-tempered and domineering than herself. The cause of their quarrel was a legacy left her by a great-aunt. Her father had always been a favourite of this aunt and he had confidently looked forward to inheriting her fortune. It was not large but, in his present circumstances, seemed munificent. Now he bitterly regretted that he had named a daughter after this aunt. That had been the mischief. That, and Adeline’s blandishments!
In Judith’s house she met Philip Whiteoak, an officer in the Hussars. He came of a family long established in Warwickshire. Indeed, the Whiteoaks had lived on their estate for several centuries. They had looked up to no man, being of the opinion that they were as good as any and of more ancient lineage than most of the peers of the county. At one time they had possessed considerable fortune which had been handed down intact from father to son. They had been a family of few children but those of fine physique. Their affairs had prospered till the time of Philip’s grandfather, who had become addicted to the vice of gambling, so prevalent in his day. He had heavily mortgaged the family estate and had at last been obliged to sell it. It was due to the sound sense of Philip’s father, his sober life as an unpretentious country gentleman, that Philip had been able to enter the Army and to have sufficient means for maintaining his position as an officer.
Philip and Adeline were fascinated by each other. After a few meetings they were passionately in love. Yet, beyond the fire and passion of their love, there was true metal. In the not infrequent dissensions of their married life they always knew they were made for each other, that no one else could possibly fill the other’s place-or even approach that place. To Philip, other women seemed simple, even shallow, as compared with Adeline. For him there was significance in her every gesture. The intimacy of their companionship never failed to exhilarate him. There was excitement in the thought that he could eventually control her, no matter what her defiance.