Olan explained the purpose of the ditch and waved over toward a bed that some black men were digging. “There’s going to be a new bed of flowers there. Your grandmother loves flowers.”
“My grandmother?”
“Why, I understood you were her granddaughter. You are Mr. Ives’s daughter.”
Leonie looked confused. “Well, no one has confirmed that yet.”
“Why, all they have to do is look at you. You’re the spittin’ image of Mr. Ives.”
“You knew my father?”
“Of course I knew him. I knew your mother, too—Miss Lila. Of course I didn’t meet her but a couple of times. You’ve got her look about you too. Her hair was the same dark color as yours, and her face was shaped like yours.”
“I’d like to hear all about both of them!” Leonie exclaimed.
“You drop by for a cup of tea after I get off of work; I’ll be glad to tell you, Miss.”
“I will. Thank you so much, Olan.”
Continuing her walk, Leonie marveled at how she was in the presence of people who had actually known her parents. She herself was totally convinced that she was Ives Augustine’s daughter. That would make me Leonie Augustine, she thought as she continued to walk along the garden. The flowers were mostly gone now, but she knew that they must have been beautiful in the spring—banks of color everywhere. She turned a corner and encountered Zara Augustine, who was hurrying out of the house.
“I’ve been looking for you, Leonie,” she said.
“Yes, Miss.”
Zara said, “I want you to help me clean my room. It’s a mess.”
This had not been one of the duties that her grandmother had mentioned, but Leonie was happy to oblige. She hurried to the room, and for the next hour she worked assiduously. Zara was a beautiful young woman but a terrible housekeeper. Her clothes were everywhere, and she had many of them. Zara made no attempt to help except to tell her where things were located.
Finally Leonie was done, and Zara said, “That will do for now. You’d better come by every afternoon and straighten things out.”
“Of course. I’ll be glad to.”
“And about that cat—I’m afraid you’ll have to get rid of him.”
Dismay swept through Leonie. “Why, no, I can’t do that.”
“You’ll do as you’re told!” Zara snapped. “You’re only a guest here. Remember that. I don’t think for one moment you’re a relation.”
“I can’t get rid of my cat.”
“You do what I tell you!” Zara said. “Now leave!”
Leonie left the room with a sense of gloom. For over an hour she wandered the grounds, wondering what would happen if she refused to give up Louis. Finally she started toward the house, determined to speak with her grandmother, but she encountered Hugh Langley, who had been sitting on a bench in the garden. “Hello, my dear,” he said. “Come and sit beside me. Let’s get acquainted.”
Leonie hesitated, but she liked the look of the man. She sat down, remembering how Lady Augustine had turned to him for advice. “I have a great problem, Monsieur.”
“At your age, you couldn’t have much of a problem,” Hugh said, smiling. “What is it? Tell me all about it.”
“It’s Miss Zara. She tells me I have to get rid of my cat, and I can’t do that, sir. I just can’t. I’ve had him since he was a kitten.”
“Why, I heard my sister say you could keep your cat.”
“But Miss Zara says—”
“Rain on Miss Zara! My sister decides things like that. She told you the cat was all right. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure of one thing. Zara will do whatever my sister tells her. We’re all dependent on her, you see.”
“Sir, did you know my father?”
“Yes indeed! We were great friends. I was only seven years older than he. We hunted and fished together.” He smiled. “He was a fine man, Leonie. So was your mother.” He shook his head. “She was beautiful and good and fine. I expect you want to know all about them.”
“Oh yes, sir, I do.”
“Well, I don’t know much about your mother, but I can tell you a great deal about your father.”
“Olan said that he knew him well too.”
“Yes. They were good friends. Ives liked people.”
Leonie was entranced by the stories the man told about her father. The picture she had of him in her mind was becoming even more lifelike. She knew very little about her mother and probably never would know more, she thought sadly. To Hugh she said, “It’s so kind of you to share these memories with me.”
“Not kind at all. I was very fond of Ives.”
“I understand you are an artist.”
Suddenly lines formed over Hugh’s forehead. “I used to be considered so.”
“Don’t you paint anymore?”
“I don’t do much anymore except grieve.”
“Grieve over what, Mr. Langley?”
“Why don’t you just call me Hugh when nobody’s around? Mr. Langley’s so formal.”
“If you wish.”
“I grieve about my wife, Autumn. She was the brightest thing in my life, Leonie. She encouraged me, and I worked like a madman. Everything was fun when she was around. When she died,” he said, and his voice quivered, “I lost everything. I just gave up.”
“I don’t think she would like that, sir.”
Hugh Langley looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Your wife. She loved you, didn’t she?”
“So she said, and I believed it.”
“She wouldn’t want you to just give up. Didn’t she encourage you while she was living?”
“More than anyone.”
“Then I’m sure she would love to see you go on now.”
“It’s too late,” he said. “I lost whatever fire it is that artists are supposed to have.”
Leonie reached out and put her hand on the man’s arm. There was such a kindness in him, and he was so sad. “I’m sure your wife would want you to continue. It would make her proud. Who knows,” she said, “maybe she’s looking down from heaven right now.”
“I’ve often wondered about that,” Hugh said softly.
“I wish you would think on it.”
“I will.” He patted her hand, then rose and said, “It’s time for dinner.” He reaffirmed, “Don’t worry about the cat. Don’t worry about anything Zara or Lowell says. They’re afraid they’ll lose their inheritance. Come along, my dear.”
They walked into the dining room, and the others came in shortly afterward. Lady Augustine came in, sat down with a terse greeting, and asked the blessing. The mood during dinner was strained, and Leonie said almost nothing except when spoken to.
After the dinner, Leonie was at a loss as to what to do. She wandered into the library and was looking at the books when she heard some footsteps. She turned to see Lowell Augustine come in. “I followed you here,” he said cheerfully. “You didn’t say much at dinner. Are you sad at leaving your old place?”
“I feel out of place,” she admitted. “I knew my place at the convent and then later with Madam Honore. But everything is strange here.”
Lowell walked over to stand opposite her. He had good looks— a firm chin and quizzical gray eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We have to be nice to you. If we don’t, you’ll throw us all out when you become the mistress here.” He saw the shocked look in her face, then laughed and said, “I like to throw people off guard, but after all, that’s the way it is.”
“No, it isn’t. I would never do such a thing.”
“I don’t believe you would,” Lowell said. “You spent most of your life in a convent. Haven’t seen much of the world.”
“That’s true.”
“Well, now you can afford to see some of it. I’ll tell you what: why don’t I take you to the theater?”
“I’ve never been to the theater.”
“It will be interesting.”
>
“I’m not sure that Lady Augustine would permit it.”
“Oh, she won’t mind. I’ll ask her myself.”
“I’m not sure that it would be proper.”
“Well, I’m not a very proper young man, but you’re a proper young woman,” he said with a grin. “I expect you have enough properness in you for both of us.”
“I feel very—awkward, Mr. Augustine. Please don’t make it worse.”
Instantly Augustine apologized. “Why, I’m sorry. I’m too flippant, I know. But I heard what you said the first time at our meeting— that even if you are accepted and become the heiress and the mistress of this place, you would be generous.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Look. I’m only twenty-five, Leonie. You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ Lowell is fine. And I’m just a cousin, not really a threat. Why can’t we be friends?”
“I’d like that very much.”
“Friends then?” He put out his hand, and she, with some hesitancy, took it. He said, “Fine. Watch out for my sister, Zara, though. She’s not as nice as I am.”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“Oh, she hates you,” Lowell said cheerfully. “She’s got her mind set on having the Augustine fortune and becoming Lady Augustine one day. That would have happened if you hadn’t come along. You can’t expect her to be too happy about that.”
Leonie shook her head. “She doesn’t have to be upset. I hope I can convince her I mean her no harm.”
“You can try.”
At that moment Lady Augustine entered the room. “Hello, Aunt Maria,” Lowell said. “I’ve just been asking Leonie if she wouldn’t like to go to the theater. I offered to take her.”
“Perhaps you can take us both.”
“Why, that would be fine!?”
“Yes. We need to get out a bit more. Now run along.”
“Of course. I’ll see about the tickets.”
As soon as the young man left, Lady Maria said, “I heard that Zara told you you had to get rid of your cat.”
“Yes. She did say that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I said you could keep the cat.”
“Thank you.”
Lady Maria was studying the young woman so closely that finally Leonie said, “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you see anything in me that looks like my father—or my mother?”
Maria did not answer for a moment, but then she nodded. “I see something, but I’m not sure if it’s just the physical resemblance. I’m a lonely old woman, Leonie, and only time will tell. I will say this: nothing would please me more than to have a grandchild with Ives’s blood in her. But I am not ready to say that yet.”
“Of course, Lady Augustine.”
“We shall see. I am praying that God will give me guidance.”
“I will pray with you, if I may.”
“You are a Christian then?”
“Oh yes, naturally. I grew up in a convent.”
“That’s right. You did. Well, you will learn our ways here, and we will learn something about you. Come now. I will show you the portraits of my son.”
Chapter eleven
Lowering the newspaper, Lowell Augustine looked at his sister as she walked in and sat down heavily across from him at the breakfast table. He studied her carefully, then grinned. “You look terrible,” he commented. “You stay up all night?”
Zara glared at Lowell and snapped indignantly, “That’s none of your business!”
“Everything you do is my business, sister. Where would you be if it weren’t for me?”
Zara ignored Lowell and turned to Nora, the maid. “Hurry up with my breakfast, Nora,” she said, irritability flavoring her tone.
“My, you are in a foul mood,” Lowell remarked.
“I’m not feeling well. That’s all.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re healthy as a horse.” He picked up his coffee cup, drained it, then put it down with a wrinkle in his brow. “Our aunt isn’t feeling well.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s got a slight fever. I’ve tried to get her to call for the doctor, but you know how she is—stubborn as a mule. Want some free advice?”
“From you? No.”
“Come on, sister of mine. Let me straighten you out here. When Auntie grew ill yesterday morning, Leonie began taking care of her. She sat up with her half the night while you were out doing depraved things with Julian.”
“We weren’t doing depraved things. We simply went to the Creole Ball.”
“That’s what I said. You know how those things are.”
“Lowell, I wish you would hush.”
“Those balls are nothing but a marketplace for men to find beautiful Creole mistresses.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“People usually don’t want to talk about depraved things, but anyway, don’t change the subject. Leonie has been caring for Maria, and you should be doing it.”
“I’m not a nurse.”
Lowell leaned back in his chair. He was very rarely serious. For him, life, as long as he had plenty of fine food, feminine companionship, and expensive clothing, was happy. Now, however, he grew concerned, and he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I don’t think you appreciate what’s going on here, Zara.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we could be out on our ear, and you don’t seem to be aware of it.”
Zara glared upward as if she could see through to the second floor. “You mean that girl?”
“I mean that young woman who is probably Maria’s granddaughter.”
“I won’t believe it—not ever!”
“Unfortunately that’s not the test. The question is, will Maria believe it? If she does, we’re sunk. I’d have to go to work,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “and you’d have to marry somebody with money.”
“Lowell, you can’t be serious,” Zara said. “Our aunt’s got more sense than that. She’ll never make that impostor the heiress.”
“She might, Zara. You’ve got to remember. She loved Ives better than anyone, and once she makes up her mind for sure that Leonie is her flesh and blood, the daughter of her precious Ives, she’ll deed this place and all that goes with it over to her quicker than you can blink.”
Zara put her hand suddenly on her breast, and a look of fright came into her eyes. “We’ve got to do something, Lowell.”
Lowell nodded. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. Be sweeter to Tante Maria.”
“You mean wait on her? She has servants for that.”
“The servants aren’t trying to get into her will, Zara. You’d better think about this, and by the way, if I were you, I’d be a little more pleasant to Leonie. If she inherits, we’ll be totally dependent on her. Watch me. I intend to be as appealing and as charming to her as I possibly can, and I suggest that you do the same.”
“Couldn’t you eat just a little bit more, Lady Maria? I made it the way you like it.”
“I can’t eat anything else, Leonie. Take it away.” Outside, October winds blew, whipping around the house.
Leonie had made a bowl of oatmeal spiced with cinnamon. She had found out from Opal, the cook, that Maria Augustine loved this. Now, however, she sighed and shook her head. “You really should eat something.”
“I can’t keep it down,” Maria said. Her face was pale, and new lines crossed her forehead. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”
“You need to see the doctor.”
“Oh, I’ll be all right. Don’t fuss over me, Leonie.” She threw the cover back and said, “I’m burning up.”
“You have fever. Let me get some cool water.”
“Oh, don’t bother. I don’t like to be fussed over.”
“It will be good for you,” Leonie said. She went to the nightstand and poured water from the pitcher into the basin. She saturated the
cloth, wrung it out, and then went and sat down on the edge of Maria’s bed. “Let me just bathe your face.”
Maria lay still and finally sighed, “That does feel good.”
“If your fever gets any higher, we’ll have to do something.”
Maria Augustine lay still while the girl tried to relieve her fever pains. She studied the young woman’s features and not for the first time tried to decide if the resemblance to her dead son was accidental or a matter of genes. She looks so much like Ives, she thought. She asked, “Are you happy here, Leonie?”
“Why, yes, Lady Augustine.”
“Call me Lady Maria.”
“If you wish. Yes, I’m fine here.”
“Are you as happy here as you were at the convent?”
“That’s hard to say. They were very kind to me there.”
“And we haven’t been kind here.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. Everybody has been very nice.”
“That’s the first wrong thing I’ve heard you say,” Maria said. “Zara hasn’t been very hospitable.”
Leonie could not answer that, for indeed, Zara had been snappy and even cruel to her. “She just doesn’t like strangers, I suppose,” she commented.
Maria began to cough and toss, and Leonie said, “You must see a doctor!”
“There is only one doctor that I have any confidence in, and that’s Dr. Duvall.”
“Then I’ll go get him at once.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Maria said faintly. “He doesn’t make calls any longer. He’s too old.”
“Let me go to him, please.”
Maria hesitated, but she felt terrible. “All right. Have Julius take you. He knows where the doctor’s office is. It’s all foolishness.”
“No, it’s not. I’ll go down right away.”
“Ask Zara if she will come in.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
Leaving the room, Leonie went downstairs and found Zara and Lowell still at the breakfast table. “Lady Maria would like to see you, Miss Zara,” she said.
“Is she all right?” Lowell asked with something like alarm.
“I don’t think she is. I’m going to get Dr. Duvall.”
“Dr. Duvall? He’s older than dirt,” Lowell said. “He won’t make a house call.”
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