The Blue Castle

alancy 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,
honest-to-goodness Canadian Magazine.’ I s’pose I’d have done it—I
always did what he wanted me to do. Wasn’t he all I had to live for? I
wanted him to be happy. And he never was happy. Can you believe it? Not
that he said so. But I’d always a feeling that he wasn’t happy.
Everything he wanted—all the money he could spend—his own bank
account—travel—seeing the world—but he wasn’t happy. Not till he fell
in love with Ethel Traverse. Then he was happy for a little while.”

The cloud had reached the sun and a great, chill, purple shadow came
swiftly over Mistawis. It touched the Blue Castle—rolled over it.
Valancy shivered.

“Yes,” she said, with painful eagerness, though every word was cutting
her to the heart. “What—was—she—like?”

“Prettiest girl in Montreal,” said Dr. Redfern. “Oh, she was a looker,
all right. Eh? Gold hair—shiny as silk—great, big, soft, black
eyes—skin like milk and roses. Don’t wonder Bernie fell for her. And
brains as well. She wasn’t a bit of fluff. B. A. from McGill. A
thoroughbred, too. One of the best families. But a bit lean in the
purse. Eh! Bernie was mad about her. Happiest young fool you ever saw.
Then—the bust-up.”

“What happened?” Valancy had taken off her hat and was absently
thrusting a pin in and out of it. Good Luck was purring beside her.
Banjo was regarding Dr. Redfern with suspicion. Nip and Tuck were
lazily cawing in the pines. Mistawis was beckoning. Everything was the
same. Nothing was the same. It was a hundred years since yesterday.
Yesterday, at this time, she and Barney had been eating a belated
dinner here with laughter. Laughter? Valancy felt that she had done
with laughter forever. And with tears, for that matter. She had no
further use for either of them.

“Blest if I know, my dear. Some fool quarrel, I suppose. Bernie just
lit out—disappeared. He wrote me from the Yukon. Said his engagement
was broken and he wasn’t coming back. And not to try to hunt him up
because he was never coming back. I didn’t. What was the use? I knew
Bernie. I went on piling up money because there wasn’t anything else
to do. But I was mighty lonely. All I lived for was them little notes
now and then from Bernie—Klondike—England—South
Africa—China—everywhere. I thought maybe he’d come back some day to his
lonesome old dad. Then six years ago even the letters stopped. I didn’t
hear a word of or from him till last Christmas.”

“Did he write?”

“No. But he drew a check for fifteen thousand dollars on his bank
account. The bank manager is a friend of mine—one of my biggest
shareholders. He’d always promised me he’d let me know if Bernie drew
any checks. Bernie had fifty thousand there. And he’d never touched a
cent of it till last Christmas. The check was made out to Aynsley’s,
Toronto——”

“Aynsley’s?” Valancy heard herself saying Aynsley’s! She had a box on
her dressing-table with the Aynsley trademark.

“Yes. The big jewellery house there. After I’d thought it over a while,
I got brisk. I wanted to locate Bernie. Had a special reason for it. It
was time he gave up his fool hoboing and come to his senses. Drawing
that fifteen told me there was something in the wind. The manager
communicated with the Aynsleys—his wife was an Aynsley—and found out
that Bernard Redfern had bought a pearl necklace there. His address was
given as Box 444, Port Lawrence, Muskoka, Ont. First I thought I’d
write. Then I thought I’d wait till the open season for cars and come
down myself. Ain’t no hand at writing. I’ve motored from Montreal. Got
to Port Lawrence yesterday. Enquired at the post-office. Told me they
knew nothing of any Bernard Snaith Redfern, but there was a Barney
Snaith had a P. O. box there. Lived on an island out here, they said.
So here I am. And where’s Barney?”

Valancy was fingering her necklace. She was wearing fifteen thousand
dollars around her neck. And she had worried lest Barney had paid
fifteen dollars for it and couldn’t afford it. Suddenly she laughed in
Dr. Redfern’s face.

“Excuse me. It’s so—amusing,” said poor Valancy.

“Isn’t it?” said Dr. Redfern, seeing a joke—but not exactly hers. “Now,
you seem like a sensible young woman, and I dare say you’ve lots of
influence over Bernie. Can’t you get him to come back to civilisation
and live like other people? I’ve a house up there. Big as a castle.
Furnished like a palace. I want company in it—Bernie’s wife—Bernie’s
children.”

“Did Ethel Traverse ever marry?” queried Valancy irrelevantly.

“Bless you, yes. Two years after Bernie levanted. But she’s a widow
now. Pretty as ever. To be frank, that was my special reason for
wanting to find Bernie. I thought they’d make it up, maybe. But, of
course, that’s all off now. Doesn’t matter. Bernie’s choice of a wife
is good enough for me. It’s my boy I want. Think he’ll soon be back?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think he’ll come before night. Quite late,
perhaps. And perhaps not till tomorrow. But I can put you up
comfortably. He’ll certainly be back tomorrow.”

Dr. Redfern shook his head.

“Too damp. I’ll take no chances with rheumatism.”

“Why suffer that ceaseless anguish? Why not try Redfern’s Liniment?”
quoted the imp in the back of Valancy’s mind.

“I must get back to Port Lawrence before rain starts. Henry goes quite
mad when he gets mud on the car. But I’ll come back tomorrow. Meanwhile
you talk Bernie into reason.”

He shook her hand and patted her kindly on the shoulder. He looked as
if he would have kissed her, with a little encouragement, but Valancy
did not give it. Not that she would have minded. He was rather dreadful
and loud—and—and—dreadful. But there was something about him she liked.
She thought dully that she might have liked being his daughter-in-law
if he had not been a millionaire. A score of times over. And Barney was
his son—and heir.

She took him over in the motor boat and watched the lordly purple car
roll away through the woods with Henry at the wheel looking things not
lawful to be uttered. Then she went back to the Blue Castle. What she
had to do must be done quickly. Barney might return at any moment.
And it was certainly going to rain. She was thankful she no longer felt
very bad. When you are bludgeoned on the head repeatedly, you naturally
and mercifully become more or less insensible and stupid.

She stood briefly like a faded flower bitten by frost, by the hearth,
looking down on the white ashes of the last fire that had blazed in the
Blue Castle.

“At any rate,” she thought wearily, “Barney isn’t poor. He will be able
to afford a divorce. Quite nicely.”