by Jane Peart
Tearing off the sketch I was working on, I started a new one. I worked swiftly and with inspiration, my pen and then my brush moving with light washes, hoping to catch the magic of the scene.
As the nurse continued to scold, I saw all the joy drain from the two rosy little faces and I felt a rush of anger at the woman's insensitivity. As soon as her back was turned, however, they dimpled mischievously and resumed their play.
Good! I thought, identifying with the small rebellion.
Sketching the two small figures, the taller one so sweetly protective as she helped her little sister into the swing and gently pushed her, I saw almost at once that the children transformed my rather ordinary landscape into a charming scene.
Just then a long shadow fell across the picture.
"That's very good."
The deep masculine voice so startled me that I knocked over my tin cup of water, making a clumsy grab and almost upsetting my sketchpad in the process.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. But those are my children you're painting—"
The sun was at my back, so I had to shield my eyes with one hand as I twisted halfway around to look up at the speaker.
As I did, a shock of recognition momentarily stunned me. This man was no stranger. His was the face I'd seen in a hundred dreams, the face that had haunted me for a long time—ever since Alair's funeral.
The face I was staring into was that of my cousin's widower—Randall Bondurant.
chapter
4
RANDALL BONDURANT! What was he doing here in Boston? And under what extraordinary set of circumstances should we meet after all this time?
As I struggled to find my voice, he continued to study me intently, drawing his straight dark brows together over piercing eyes.
He seemed thinner, his face a little sterner. New lines etched on either side of his mouth made his features appear sharper. He had removed his hat, and I noticed that his thick, dark hair was finely threaded with silver.
He was splendidly dressed in a gray, velvet-collared greatcoat, a silk scarf at his throat, gray suede gloves. I noticed the black mourning band on his sleeve.
I had remained silent, undecided as to whether I should admit knowing him when he spoke again.
"Your painting is really very nice. And since those children are my daughters, I would like to purchase it if I may."
I still hesitated.
"The picture," he repeated somewhat impatiently. "May I buy it?"
While I sat mute, something curious flickered in his eyes. "Is something wrong?" he demanded. "Do I know you?"
I got to my feet then, swallowed over my suddenly dry throat, and replied, "We've met. I'm Druscilla Montrose, Alair's cousin."
I watched his eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow appraisingly. "But there is no resemblance. None! There should at least be a family resemblance, shouldn't there?"
Because I knew he was comparing my dark hair and vivid coloring with Alair's delicate fairness, the color in my cheeks heightened perceptibly.
"Perhaps," I murmured. "I take more after the Montrose side of the family, I think."
"Druscilla." He repeated my name as if trying to remember. Then his countenance brightened. "Little Dru! The youngest bridesmaid—the one Alair had to fight to have in the wedding. But you were just a child then." His eyes sweeping my form from head to toe, he shook his head. "You're hardly a child anymore, though, are you?"
Again I felt my face grow warm under his assessing gaze. I turned to look toward the swings, where the nurse seemed to be fussing again.
"The little girls—" I began.
"Yes. My daughters, Lenora and Lalage. We call them Nora and Lally." He bit his lip as if remembering belatedly that there was no longer a "we." "Come. Let me introduce you." He led the way to the play area.
"Well, my dears," he said, "I have a surprise for you. Say hello to your cousin from Virginia—Druscilla Montrose." Then he bowed stiffly to the nurse. "Miss Ogilvie, the children's nurse."
I offered my hand, which she ignored, merely nodding with an expression that looked as if she had just tasted a lemon.
The little girls smiled steadily at me—their hair, their coloring, their demeanor so like Alair's that it nearly took my breath away.
Randall then spoke to the nurse, whose mouth was pinched into a straight line in her gray, pudding face. "It's getting quite cold. Perhaps you'd best take the children back to the hotel to have their tea. I shall be along presently."
At his dismissal she gave a little toss of her head, but in a saccharine voice said to the girls, "Come along, young ladies, let's go have a nice tea."
I felt that the sweet tone rang false, for they seemed to take leave rather reluctantly. As they turned and started away, I saw over Bondurant's shoulder how she jerked the arm of the youngest child and gave the older one an impatient push. My impulse was to call this behavior to their father's attention, but he snapped a question that demanded my answer.
"What are you doing so far from home?"
I explained my situation briefly. As the wind off the lake was becoming chill, I shivered and began gathering my things. "I must get back. I head a table at supper, and supervise an evening study hall."
He held up my painting. "Then, may I have this?"
"Oh, yes!" I was secretly flattered.
"And you're sure you won't accept payment?"
"Oh, no!" I said emphatically.
"Very well then. Thank you, Miss Montrose." He made a slight bow, tipping his hat and replacing it. Then he turned without a backward glance and moved at a brisk pace down the path.
As I hurried back to Thornycroft through the gathering winter dusk, I could not help wondering at this unexpected encounter with Randall Bondurant and his two little girls. What darlings! They deserved better than that grim, unsmiling warden of a governess . . . or whatever she was! I shook off the disagreeable feeling, but for the life of me during the next few weeks I could not altogether halt the invasion of these three into my thoughts and dreams.
I sat at the slant-top teacher's desk in the third-form classroom one afternoon, doggedly correcting English test papers, too occupied with the work at hand to think of that previous unique meeting four weeks before. Outside, an April rain fell steadily. The sky was dreary and gray and heavy with clouds promising more rain to soak the already sodden ground.
It had been cold all month. Even the trees I could see from the long narrow windows were still bare, devoid of anything but the most premature of buds to forecast a long-delayed spring. Shivering and chafing my arms to encourage the circulation, I cast a baleful eye at the small corner stove with its meager supply of coal. No prisoner behind bars could have felt more confined at that moment.
Suddenly the door opened, and a bright-eyed student, her head topped with coppery curls, popped in. "Miss Ames said for me to tell you that you have a visitor in the parlor, Miss Montrose."
A visitor? I frowned and deposited my pen in the inkwell. I never had visitors. I knew no one in the area . . . except the Merediths in Milford. I jumped to my feet, accidentally sending some of the papers sailing off into the air. Jonathan! I thought, with a surge of joy. Of course! It must be Jonathan!
I rushed out the door and flew down the three flights of steps, managing to slow my steps to a more sedate pace as I approached the corridor where the study hall door stood open. I felt the curious stares of the students as I passed.
Throwing open the parlor door, I had formed Jonathan's name on my lips when I realized that the tall man standing before me was not my cousin, after all. Quickly I remembered my manners.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bondurant."
He nodded, bowing slightly, and greeted me solemnly. "Miss Montrose."
"Won't you be seated?" I gestured to the high-back horsehair sofa, then took the straight chair opposite him.
He looked even sterner and more forbidding than at our meeting in the park weeks ago. His high cheekbones, the prominent jaw
line, and the reddish cast of his skin gave him the appearance of an Indian despite his expensively tailored suit. His cravat was as black as the mourning band encircling his arm.
"First of all," he began, "I apologize for not having contacted you sooner, or followed up on my suggestion that I arrange a time when you and your cousins could get acquainted. Unforeseen circumstances prevented . . . the most pressing being that both little girls have been ill." At my expression of concern, he hurried on, "Oh, not serious illness, mind you, just heavy colds. Still, their recovery has been slow. I fear this New England climate is too harsh for them." He paused significantly, and I waited.
"In a few days we will be leaving for Virginia," he said, slanting me a look I could not quite discern.
The stab of disappointment I felt at his words registered painfully, startling me with its intensity. After all, I didn't even know the little girls. I could hardly miss them, could I? Yet I had a distinct feeling of loss. It must have shown in my expression, for I have one of those telltale faces that cannot hide emotion.
Randall held up his hand as if to check my response. "I have come here today . . . presumed to take you from your duties . . . to make a proposal. I trust you will consider it in much less time that it has taken me to undertake the request." He smiled sardonically, and I waited tensely, wondering what kind of "proposal" he might have in mind.
"I would like you to accept the position of my children's governess . . . companion." He paused while the gravity of those words sank into my consciousness. I was too stunned to comment, and he went on, "Needless to say, it has been very difficult to find a suitable person to fill... to step into such an important place in the lives of my children. I have found Miss Ogilvie entirely—well, let us just say that I made a hasty and regrettable choice in hiring her at the suggestion of a very respected person whose judgment I trusted perhaps too readily—a Mrs. Elliott of a fine Boston family. However, that is neither here nor there—" He stepped over to the window and looked out into the drizzly day. I suspected he was not seeing anything at all, merely politely putting some distance between us in order for me to take in this strange new idea.
"I will pay a generous salary, and you will have ample time to spend as you like, perhaps with your relatives . . . who, after all, are my children's relatives, too." At that he turned to eye me warily, as if testing me for my reaction. "They should know their mother's family better. . . . And, if I'm not mistaken, I rather thought you might enjoy returning to Virginia yourself. At any rate, I would be pleased if you would give this matter your earliest consideration . . . perhaps even as early as tomorrow afternoon, which, I believe, is your day off."
I nodded. The man knew everything! I had to give him credit for his research, but words still failed to come.
"Then," he continued, taking up the gloves he had flung across the back of a chair, "the children and I would be pleased if you would join us for tea. I shall send a carriage . . . shall we say three o'clock?"
Throughout the long recital I had remained silent while my thoughts rambled. He must think me a perfect idiot! Now I rose to my feet with as much dignity as I could muster. "I really don't know what to say, Mr. Bondurant. Tea is one thing, of course, but accepting such a position—"
He waved aside my attempted protest with an impatient gesture. "Oh, I'm not asking for an immediate answer. You'll have some time to think." He strode purposefully to the door where he turned, his hand resting on the doorknob. "Until tomorrow then?"
When Bondurant had gone, I sat down, my knees suddenly quite unsteady. What a turn of events! Then I remembered I had planned to meet Jonathan on Thursday. I would have to get word to him. His reaction to all this was important to me, and I found myself eager to tell him.
The Bondurant suite into which I was shown was luxurious and ornate in the extreme but in excellent taste, for the hotel was one of the city's finest and most prestigious. Heavy dark velvet draperies swagged the long windows, and tufted velvet sofas and chairs rested on a handsome Oriental rug.
Randall rose from behind a massive mahogany desk to greet me, and I noticed at once that the children's governess, the gaunt-faced woman I'd seen with them in the park, was seated in a high-backed chair nearby.
"Ah, Miss Montrose, right on time. I admire promptness. You remember Miss Ogilvie, the children's nurse, don't you?" Randall asked smoothly.
The woman regarded me with an icy stare as I took my seat.
"I have asked you here to discuss my daughters' future education," Randall continued. "I felt it would be both helpful and informative, perhaps mutually beneficial, for you both to contribute to what I hope will be an open and friendly interchange of ideas."
I looked at Miss Ogilvie, gave her a tentative smile, and received in return a look of outright hostility. It was clear that she considered me an enemy.
It did not take Randall long to get to the point.
"Well, Miss Ogilvie, I foresee making some changes, notably some extensive travel with my children, with frequent and perhaps sudden changes of residence. You see, I am interested in finding a new permanent home for my family and business interests. This would, I fear, cause some disruption in the kind of stable routine you're accustomed to. What I'm looking for, I suppose, is a less rigid way of life for my daughters, one that will permit more flexibility."
"I have been governess in some of the finest homes in New England, with some of the best families of Boston . . . " She drew herself up to her complete height, which was considerable. To anyone less imperturbable than Mr. Bondurant she would have appeared quite formidable.
But Randall merely shrugged. "But these are little southern girls, Miss Ogilvie—Virginians. They are used to a gender life, a more affectionate manner."
"I believe in discipline, Mr. Bondurant. I believe in instilling early the rules of conduct that will stay with a young person throughout life. Children need a firm hand. They mustn't be allowed to—"
"Yes, yes, Miss Ogilvie, I know your convictions," Randall interrupted, "and I respect your right to hold them, but for my daughters, I have decided on a less strict method of rearing them. Frankly, I am not of the persuasion that 'sparing the rod spoils the child.' I hold the opposite view, in fact. I believe harsh measures embitter and destroy the spirit of a child." Randall's mouth tightened visibly and I could not help wondering if he were speaking from his own experience.
"So you see we have a grave difference of opinion in this matter, and that is why I fear . . . no, not fear, regret for your sake, Miss Ogilvie, that I have come to the conclusion that you are not the proper person to be in charge of my daughters. You will, of course, receive a month's salary in lieu of notice."
So casual and relaxed was Randall's manner that I was unprepared for Miss Ogilvie's explosive reaction. "Does this mean, sir, that you are dismissing me?"
"Relieving you would be the better term, my dear lady. Miss Montrose, the children's cousin, has consented to assume the position o f . . . more than governess . . . to my daughters." At this, I could not suppress a sharp intake of breath. "She will know how my . . . wife . . . would have wished them to be brought up. And now, if you will be so kind—"
Randall pulled the tapestry bell cord, indicating that the consultation, if that's what it was, had ended. "As you know, I had a previous engagement and so I must conclude our discussion."
Taking this as my cue also, I stood, and so did Miss Ogilvie. She cast a scathing look in my direction, then holding herself haughtily erect, swept from the room.
I put on my gloves hurriedly and moved toward the door.
"Wait," said Bondurant softly. He cocked his head, listening as the double doors clicked sharply behind Miss Ogilvie, who was making her departure with evident displeasure.
Randall turned to me with a smile that transformed his serious expression. "Now, we can breathe a sigh of relief. An unpleasant chore out of the way. A chance to relax and speak of much pleasanter things—"
"But I thought you said
you had a previous engagement."
"But I do. Don't you recall I asked you to have tea with us?"
In the drama of the last half hour that invitation had completely slipped my mind. All I could concentrate on was the bizarre encounter with Miss Ogilvie and Randall's explanation for her dismissal. Extensive travel? Frequent changes of residence? Presumably, where he and the children went, the governess was sure to go. The endless possibilities dazzled my imagination.
Randall's reminder of our prearranged "tea party" with the little girls brought me quickly back to the present.
"I hope I did not overstep the bounds of propriety by telling Miss Ogilvie you had accepted the offer, did I?" Randall looked at me inquiringly. "I assumed you had, or else you would not have come in person. You would have sent a note of refusal. Am I right?" His face was serious, but I thought I discerned a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
"Yes, of course. I—I mean, yes, I find that I do want to accept the position, after all," I stammered. I was annoyed with myself for feeling flustered under his steady gaze.
To my relief there was a knock at the door, and a maid in a black dress and starched ruffled apron and cap entered with my two little cousins.
"You asked that I bring the children at four, sir," she said to Randall, bobbing a small curtsy.
"Fine! Come in, girls!" Randall smiled and held out his arms, and they both came running to him. "Say hello to your cousin Druscilla."
From the safety of his embrace, they peeked out at me. They both had a little trouble with my name, especially Lally, who had a tiny lisp, but in no time at all we were chatting easily as we gathered around the sumptuous tea table brought up by one of the hotel staff.
Both children seemed very bright and a little shy with me that day, but I never had a moment's doubt that I would love my little cousins and that they, in turn, would love me.
Before I left that day, Randall and I made the arrangements for me to assume the position as the children's governess. He and the children would remain in Boston until he had concluded his business, then return to Virginia; I would follow the last week in May at the end of the school term at Thornycroft. In the meantime, Randall suggested that I plan to spend my days off with Lenora and Lalage so that we could get to know each other better before I took over their care officially.
