by Nix, Imogene
Holding very still where she was sheltered, she spied her brother through the crack. He was tall and athletic. Good-looking, many would say, with dark hair and pale blue eyes. Today the only description that came to mind was angry as he stalked along the hall past the door. The jacket of his grey suit fluttered though there was no breeze in the early summer morning.
She waited.
Anxiety tied her stomach into knots, and her heart thumped wildly.
Hope waited a little longer, breathing as silently as possible, expecting to be caught spying on her own family, a new low she seemed to have sunk to. She castigated herself.
Silence reigned. Eventually, muscles held still started to loosen, and she breathed the first full breath since hearing her father’s angry voice. She moved towards the winged chair the Master, Xavier, had seated himself in last night, and lowered herself into the firm leather. Hope closed her eyes against the ever present sting of tears, which had rarely left her since returning home.
Was that her they discussed? What was the secret they were keeping, and why was it being kept from her? Thoughts raced around her brain, but she had nothing to hold onto. No scrap of information she could use to decode the conversation or derive clues from.
“Being back here is like being in a coffin.” The words were spoken from between clenched teeth. The house was both suffocating and strict, when she wanted to stretch her wings and live.
Tears spilt down her cheeks, burning a path where they dripped, and she dashed the moisture from aching eyes, blinking rapidly to ease the discomfort while she looked in pockets for a handkerchief. Dabbing at her face and blowing her nose gave some slight relief.
Until she knew what was going on, she needed to present herself as if nothing had changed and she had heard nothing, Hope reminded herself, while she rose and moved towards the door. Cracking it open a little wider, she peered out. No one was around. She quickly squeezed through the opening and headed down the hall back to the dining parlour. She knocked, then entered as her mother answered.
Her mother sat at the table with her father and unsurprisingly they were both beautifully attired as befitted their status in a nest. Her father’s black silk suit was immaculate and perfectly tailored as always, fitting him like a glove, teamed with a tasteful blue and white tie. Her mother wore a beautiful day gown of ecru silk and lace, her hair elegantly swept up into a chignon. Over the years, the blonde had become grey then white, but, as in all the years gone by, not a strand of hair sat out of place. A soft white hand raised her beautifully French manicured fingers, showing Hope the seat she was to occupy. Hope smiled, but it was met with a frown from her mother, and she took her place quietly, wondering what her current infraction was.
“Hope, my dear, I hope you are not planning on dressing in that manner today. We will be meeting with Mrs Atkins after breakfast to go through the weekly menus. Alexa will join us for lunch, and then the property managers and the interior decorator will be calling to discuss the new colour schemes for the redeveloped apartments. Eat something substantial, and then you need to change.” The cool words dashed any hope of appealing to her mother for help.
“But I thought I might complete my unpacking…” The words died in her throat, as her mother looked at her, the pale blue eyes her brother had inherited cold as they fell upon her, filled with disappointment.
“You have a position to uphold. It would be wrong if you were not available for the meetings and attired appropriately.” Her mother lifted an elegant teacup to her mouth and sipped before continuing. “Besides, I will send Lisi up to attend to the unpacking and the arrangement of your suite.” Her mother’s voice, carefully modulated nonetheless, held a note of censure and she found herself nodding as she always had. Hadn’t she expected this, though? The half conversation she had overheard indicated she had a place and a role to fill, whether she wanted to accept it or not. “Yes, Mother.”
The clatter of the cutlery at the end of the table drew her attention. “Good morning, Father.” Her words were spoken quietly as she glanced under long lashes at her father.
He nodded, draining the last of his morning tea from the exquisite pale pink and mauve teacup held in his hand. She knew it was an antique, carefully sourced to replace that which had been lost so many years ago. Everything they dined on, sat on or read usually was, she thought with unusual asperity. Sometimes she felt like her life was caught in a time warp. Ten she stopped, drawing herself upright. This wasn’t the time for self-pity or tantrums, she told herself firmly.
Her father rose after replacing the cup on the saucer. “Hope, I look forward to seeing you this evening. The Master has planned a dinner party for your return.” The dismissive words brought her up sharply once more. Yet another time when she was being directed with her life, instead of making her own decisions. She gripped her fingers together, the sting helping her to control her reaction.
With a sharp and incredibly formal bow, he left the room, while she accepted the unspoken rebuke, for her dress and lack of manners, she guessed.
Her stomach churned and boiled, driving away thoughts of food and hunger. Her life had become an empty shell, and that was unbearable. When she turned back to her mother, silently sitting at the table filling a teacup, the feeling of disempowerment grew.
Moments later, Lisi entered the room to ascertain what she wanted for her morning meal, and all Hope could do was mutely shake her head. This was not an auspicious way to start the rest of her life, she decided.
Chapter Two
The black trousers itched, and so did the jacket over the light camisole, as Hope idly listened to the drone of the housekeeper’s voice—the nasal tones teamed with a touch of some southern dialect—while discussions of main meals continued. Elaborate French creations were suggested and discarded, while Hope listened without any real interest, gradually allowing her mind to drift away.
It was too hot to be in a suit, but her mother had insisted she dress appropriately to her requirements, having even gone so far as to shadow her back to the suite and choose something befitting her status. So here she was, marking time, sweating away in a meeting she had no interest in. If the truth had been known, she’d rather have eaten something simple—bolognaise or even salads suited her for evening meals, and the same for lunch. As her mother had taken pains to explain while choosing her clothing, though, they had a reputation to uphold. She should be content that it reached into every aspect of her life. She also reminded Hope that this was the role she was brought up to fulfil.
Mrs Atkins had been with the family since the fire and those events that had changed Hope’s life so dramatically. Not that she remembered very much.
A flash here and there. Sounds and smells came at odd times, each capturing a frame like a camera and shining for an instant, before retreating from her memory.
Swinging her feet back and forth beneath the seat, she watched her mother’s lips move, fingers pointing to meal choices, while Hope considered the boredom that would be her life from this point on, if this meeting was any indication. Indeed, there really was no need for her to be here—the few suggestions she had made had been labelled inappropriate or unsuitable.
She could be going through her boxes upstairs in her suite, or looking for some sort of useful employment, not sitting here listening to the pros and cons of veal chasseur versus Parmesan risotto with green asparagus, Portobello mushrooms and truffle oil.
“What do you think, Hope? Should we consider the crème caramel?” Her mother watched her intently. Damn, maybe she had noticed her inattention. Pulling herself back to the matter at hand, she looked again at the sheet. Ah, they were discussing the dessert for the fundraiser to be held in the next couple of weeks, for those affected by Brethren attacks. The end of the meeting was in sight.
“Crème caramel is probably good for wide appeal.” Thinking fast had thankfully been a skill she had learned at college. She glanced at her mother, hoping it would work, but the tight white lines that
appeared around her mother’s lips told her it hadn’t been fast enough.
“No, Mrs Atkins, I think we might go with the sorbet in strawberry, green apple and lime flavours. Cooling and refreshing. Much more appropriate than raspberry or pineapple, don’t you think?” Her mother’s words were once more cool.
“As you wish, madam.”
Hope watched as the woman quickly scribbled down the options on the page.
“Mrs Atkins, thank you for your time. We will meet again later in the week, unless there is something else you need?” The unspoken dismissal in her mother’s perfectly modulated voice made her realise she had wasted most of the meeting in the mindless absence of thought. She hoped her mother would not ask too many questions concerning the abortive meeting, otherwise there could be fireworks.
“No, madam. I believe this will be fine. I will send a copy of the completed menus to yourself and Miss Hope once I finish transcribing them. I will also arrange those applications to be handed over to you as they arrive.” She moved her ample bulk, scraping the chair back on the newly polished wood floor.
The woman smoothed her rose pink and blue floral-patterned dress down, pushing against the wrinkles in an effort to iron them against their own will, while her feet were shod in comfortable and sensible low-heeled black shoes, polished to a high shine. Salt and pepper hair scraped back into an ugly bun and thick horn-rimmed glasses made her look anonymous and insignificant, next to Hope’s perfectly turned-out mother.
Her mother rose, following the woman’s retreat as Mrs Atkins backed out of the room, then she firmly closed the door against the world, and Hope stood, waiting wearily for the outburst she expected, ready for the brief flare of anger that usually came as a result of her inattention.
“Well, Hope, I know you don’t want to be here doing these things, but it is your role. Your future. At least show some respect for your position and pay attention. If not for your sake, then for that of the staff at the very least.” The viperous attack took her aback, heat burning her face at the level of rage.
“Mother?” She felt shocked, stomach churning at the realisation that the precious relationship she had enjoyed with her mother was broken. The anger on her mother’s face, the way it twisted and the cold look in her eyes left her shrinking back. Never before had her mother spoken to her this way. Though there had been a distinct coolness in her attitude since her return, this was an unwelcome revelation.
“I never wanted you to go to college. By now, you should be looking for a husband within either this or an equal nest. Someone worthy, with skills and abilities that would enhance the nest’s reputation and standing, either married or ready to marry, at least.” Hope stepped back again, farther away from the icy blast that pummelled her emotionally. “Instead you continue with this…charade! Your head is full of silly ideas about having a career. You should be honoured that you are a nestling of the biggest and most prestigious house, and you have a role.” Her mother pointed at her chest, which now ached with the pressure building within it. “You have a status that many girls would do just about anything to achieve. One that is unable to be matched by others.”
Hope sat heavily. Sure, she’d expected her mother to be upset, but nothing like this. Never had it crossed her mind that her mother would react like wanting her own life was a cardinal infraction against the nest and a personal attack. All she wanted was to make decisions for herself. Not to have to sit in on meetings that meant very little to her.
“Mother? I’m sorry.” The words pushed beyond the hurt, the slicing ache that attacked her chest. “I just… I can’t do this. I can’t be you. You love what you do. You do it so well, but I don’t want to. This isn’t what I am.”
Hope gestured around the room. A veritable museum, with French rose wallpaper gracing the walls of the perfectly proportioned space, dark polished wood floors with fine Aubusson carpeting. Heavy green drapes draped over the French doors that led to a terrace where roses stood in geometric perfection. Paintings by old masters lined the walls. The Louis XIV desk and chairs, chaise longue, and gold and marble timepiece filled the mantle above the ornate fireplace all came together, creating a look of genteel finery. The crystal chandelier that dripped with perfect shining drops beamed light into the room. It was a cage, gilded perhaps, but a cage nonetheless in Hope’s mind.
“This is you. Not me.” Her head moved slightly as she tried to make her point.
“No. This is you. This is your future. You will be taking over here in the next few months.” Her mother looked away, and a sensation of alarm surged through Hope. “Your father has spoken with the Master. I… I can’t continue doing this.” Her face crumpled and for the first time, the strong woman she remembered from childhood seemed lost, while something sad rose in her face, and the pain crushed Hope from within. “I wasn’t going to say anything yet. My doctor has told me I need to slow down. I have…an advanced and incurable illness. I need someone trained to take over the role as Chatelaine and Mistress to the Yeux Secondes.”
The words hit like blows, another pain she couldn’t contain screamed through her and her fingers curled into the palm of her hand, the blunt edges of her nails biting at the soft and tender skin. Her strong mother was ill? When had this happened? Why hadn’t she known? She opened her mouth as her mother raised a hand. “We decided it wasn’t right to tell you, but I saw you in the meeting. I don’t think you listened to one word. That has to change.” The words were frigid and delivered forcefully.
In the back of Hope’s mind an alarm rang viciously, but Hope pushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time to be second-guessing her mother.
“What about Alexa?” Her sister-in-law would probably jump at the chance to take over from her mother. That would free her up, and if her mother required care then she would be available. Surely that would be an acceptable outcome? But even as Hope thought it, she knew what her mother’s reaction would be. It would be a shake of the head without a single hair flying free.
“Alexa? No, the Master would not allow that. She doesn’t have the knowledge and experience for the demands of the role, anyway. Let alone the discipline. She wants children and is in fact already expecting, from what I understand. That would get in the way of her learning how to handle a household and nest as diverse and large as this one.” Her mother’s words weren’t meant to sound unkind, Hope knew, but somehow the tone just made her feel colder at the hint of darkness lurking in her mother’s eyes. The walls were closing around her and soon there would be no escape.
A bubble of fear rose in her chest, and she had to grip the arms of her chair tightly. How could this happen to her?
“But I don’t want to do this.” A feeling of being constricted against her will rose. “I want a job, Mother. I want to do something with my degree. I want to be something. Not just someone who runs a nest. I want to live my own life!”
The final word cracked and Hope’s gaze was met with a disdainful look and tensed shoulders. The emotional response lashed at Hope once more. “You don’t think I do something?” The cold anger in the answer ate at Hope. She’d angered her mother, overstepping the line. There could be nothing more degrading than telling her mother that she did nothing—she could almost hear her mother’s thoughts. She wanted to cry at the unfairness.
Coming home was supposed to be the beginning of her life, not a life sentence, she thought, self-pity dragging at her. She reached out towards her mother, seeking some form of connection. “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean that as it came out. I meant, I just don’t think I am cut out for your kind of life. To be what you are and to do what you do.”
Hope willed her mother to understand, but knew it was not a prayer that was going to be listened to from the set of her shoulders and the white lines around her lips. If only someone could or would understand. Instead her mother moved away, behind her desk. The physical barrier cut off any action Hope had intended, and the pain inside her grew bigger, suffocating her, until all that existed was a
seething, frustrated mass.
“You may be excused for now. We have a meeting at eleven with the managers. Be on time. You may not care what I do, but I will be professional and well-mannered to the end. Remember, if you don’t care about your reputation, I care about mine.” Then her mother picked up a file and swung her chair around to face the window. Tears leaked from Hope’s eyes at the dismissal in her gaze. She knew there was nothing else to do, so she turned slowly, then picked up her papers and walked carefully towards the door. As she reached out, she cast a glance over her shoulder, but the sight of the chair swinging away reinforced that it was time to leave. With a heavy sigh, she opened the door then left her mother.
* * * *
Dressing slowly, Hope pondered on the day that had passed, stopping in the act of pulling the black and silver gown over her underwear-clad body. It had started badly, and only got worse after the altercation in the parlour.
The meeting with the managers had made her mother angrier. They’d discussed the ongoing issues with maintenance, managers and setting the increase in rental rates. Hope had watched with trepidation, as her mother had been short and curt by the end, no doubt strung out by the varied problems that had arisen. By the time the decorators had arrived, her mother had been almost snarling in anger, and had ended the appointment with a request to meet in a couple of days, giving her time to consider swatches and layouts. None of it obviously had been what she’d intended.
Hope couldn’t see herself continuing the programme of rehabilitating the properties that had been targeted in the last few years. True, her mother had done an exceptional job, but she knew her attention to that sort of detail just didn’t exist. For now, she would have to swallow her arguments until an opportunity came along to do something more fulfilling, and to prove to them that her place in life did not include setting rental rates and choosing colour swatches. After all, now she had the added fear of the news her mother had imparted.
