Lucy Montgomery - The Blue Castle

"She can never have those hours in the Blue Castle. They are MINE," thought Valancy savagely. Ethel would never make strawberry jam or dance to old Abel's fiddle or fry bacon for Barney over a camp-fire. She would never come to the little Mistawis shack at all.

What was Barney doing - thinking - feeling now? Had he come home and found her letter? Was he still angry with her? Or a little pitiful. Was he lying on their bed looking out on stormy Mistawis and listening to the rain streaming down on the roof? Or was he still wandering in the wilderness, raging at the predicament in which he found himself? Hating her? Pain took her and wrung her like some great pitiless giant. She got up and walked the floor. Would morning never come to end this hideous night? And yet what could morning bring her? The old life without the old stagnation that was at least bearable. The old life with the new memories, the new longings, the new anguish.

"Oh, why can't I die?" moaned Valancy.

It was not until early afternoon the next day that a dreadful old car clanked up Elm Street and stopped in front of the brick house. A hatless man sprang from it and rushed up the steps. The bell was rung as it had never been rung before - vehemently, intensely. The ringer was demanding entrance, not asking it. Uncle Benjamin chuckled as he hurried to the door. Uncle Benjamin had "just dropped in" to enquire how dear Doss - Valancy was. Dear Doss - Valancy, he had been informed, was the same. She had come down for breakfast - which she didn't eat - gone back to her room, come down for dinner - which she didn't eat - gone back to her room. That was all. She had not talked. And she had been let, kindly, considerately, alone.

"Very good. Redfern will be here today," said Uncle Benjamin. And now Uncle Benjamin's reputation as a prophet was made. Redfern was here - unmistakably so.

"Is my wife here?" he demanded of Uncle Benjamin without preface.

Uncle Benjamin smiled expressively.

"Mr. Redfern, I believe? Very glad to meet you, sir. Yes, that naughty little girl of yours is here. We have been - "

"I must see her," Barney cut Uncle Benjamin ruthlessly short.

"Certainly, Mr. Redfern. Just step in here. Valancy will be down in a minute."

He ushered Barney into the parlour and betook himself to the sitting-room and Mrs. Frederick.

"Go up and tell Valancy to come down. Her husband is here."

But so dubious was Uncle Benjamin as to whether Valancy could really come down in a minute - or at all - that he followed Mrs. Frederick on tiptoe up the stairs and listened in the hall.

"Valancy dear," said Mrs. Frederick tenderly, "your husband is in the parlour, asking for you."

"Oh Mother." Valancy got up from the window and wrung her hands. "I cannot see him - I cannot! Tell him to go away - ASK him to go away. I can't see him!"

"Tell her," hissed Uncle Benjamin through the keyhole, "that Redfern says he won't go away until he HAS seen her."

Redfern had not said anything of the kind, but Uncle Benjamin thought he was that sort of a fellow. Valancy knew he was. She understood that she might as well go down first as last.

She did not even look at Uncle Benjamin as she passed him on the landing. Uncle Benjamin did not mind. Rubbing his hands and chuckling, he retreated to the kitchen, where he genially demanded of Cousin Stickles:

"Why are good husbands like bread?"

Cousin Stickles asked why. "Because women need them," beamed Uncle Benjamin.

Valancy was looking anything but beautiful when she entered the parlour. Her white night had played fearful havoc with her face. She wore an ugly old brown-and-blue gingham, having left all her pretty dresses in the Blue Castle. But Barney dashed across the room and caught her in his arms.

"Valancy, darling - oh, you darling little idiot! Whatever possessed you to run away like that? When I came home last night and found your letter I went quite mad. It was twelve o'clock - I knew it was too late to come here then. I walked the floor all night. Then this morning Dad came - I couldn't get away till now. Valancy, whatever got into you? Divorce, forsooth! Don't you know - "

"I know you only married me out of pity," said Valancy, brushing him away feebly. "I know you don't love me - I know - "

"You've been lying awake at three o'clock too long," said Barney, shaking her. "That's all that's the matter with you. Love you! Oh, don't I love you! My girl, when I saw that train coming down on you I knew whether I loved you or not!"

"Oh, I was afraid you would try to make me think you cared," cried Valancy passionately. "Don't - don't! I know all about Ethel Traverse - your father told me everything. Oh, Barney, don't torture me! I can never go back to you!"

Barney released her and looked at her for a moment. Something in her pallid, resolute face spoke more convincingly than words of her determination.

"Valancy," he said quietly, "Father couldn't have told you everything because he didn't know it. Will you let ME tell you - everything?"

"Yes," said Valancy wearily. Oh, how dear he was! How she longed to throw herself into his arms! As he put her gently down in a chair, she could have kissed the slender, brown hands that touched her arms. She could not look up as he stood before her. She dared not meet his eyes. For his sake, she must be brave. She knew him - kind, unselfish. Of course he would pretend he did not want his freedom - she might have known he would pretend that, once the first shock of realisation was over. He was so sorry for her - he understood her terrible position. When had he ever failed to understand? But she would never accept his sacrifice. Never!

"You've seen Dad and you know I'm Bernard Redfern. And I suppose you've guessed that I'm John Foster - since you went into Bluebeard's Chamber."

"Yes. But I didn't go in out of curiosity. I forgot you had told me not to go in - I forgot - "

"Never mind. I'm not going to kill you and hang you up on the wall, so there's no need to call for Sister Anne. I'm only going to tell you my story from the beginning. I came back last night intending to do it. Yes, I'm 'old Doc. Redfern's son' - of Purple Pills and Bitters fame. Oh, don't I know it? Wasn't it rubbed into me for years?"

Barney laughed bitterly and strode up and down the room a few times. Uncle Benjamin, tiptoeing through the hall, heard the laugh and frowned. Surely Doss wasn't going to be a stubborn little fool. Barney threw himself into a chair before Valancy.

"Yes. As long as I can remember I've been a millionaire's son. But when I was born Dad wasn't a millionaire. He wasn't even a doctor - isn't yet. He was a veterinary and a failure at it. He and Mother lived in a little village up in Quebec and were abominably poor. I don't remember Mother. Haven't even a picture of her. She died when I was two years old. She was fifteen years younger than Father - a little school teacher. When she died Dad moved into Montreal and formed a company to sell his hair tonic. He'd dreamed the prescription one night, it seems. Well, it caught on. Money began to flow in. Dad invented - or dreamed - the other things, too - Pills, Bitters, Liniment and so on. He was a millionaire by the time I was ten, with a house so big a small chap like myself always felt lost in it. I had every toy a boy could wish for - and I was the loneliest little devil in the world. I remember only one happy day in my childhood, Valancy. Only one. Even you were better off than that. Dad had gone out to see an old friend in the country and took me along. I was turned loose in the barnyard and I spent the whole day hammering nails in a block of wood. I had a glorious day. When I had to go back to my roomful of playthings in the big house in Montreal I cried. But I didn't tell Dad why. I never told him anything. It's always been a hard thing for me to tell things, Valancy - anything that went deep. And most things went deep with me. I was a sensitive child and I was even more sensitive as a boy. No one ever knew what I suffered. Dad never dreamed of it.