by Dorothy Eden
“Have you expressed this opinion to her father?”
“No, not yet.”
“I expect you will. You seem to be a very opinionated young woman.”
Lavinia bit her lip and said nothing.
Charlotte’s great eyes looked over her fan.
“I will warn you at once that my husband doesn’t enjoy gratuitous advice any more than I do. However, let us keep to essentials. I must know something about your background. Who were your family? What education have you had? Why are you in the position of having to support yourself?”
The story Lavinia had rehearsed came easily. She had so quickly become an accomplished liar.
“I was brought up in Somerset, Mrs. Meryon. My father had a small estate. I had a governess and was taught all the usual things, music, sketching, French and a little German, the English poets, dancing, of course, and riding. Then, just before I was to come out, my parents were killed in an accident. The dogcart they were driving in overturned. Papa liked fast horses, and—” It was still too painful to talk about, the frantic shock and disbelief, Papa dead, and Mamma dying, beautiful black Caesar with a broken foreleg, shot.
“He sounds like my husband,” Charlotte commented. “This passion Englishmen have for horses. Well, go on. Wasn’t there some other member of your family who could take over bringing you out? Were you an only child?”
“Yes.” Forgive me, Robin, she thought, but it’s safer this way. “The reason I couldn’t come out was that it was discovered after my father’s death, that he had a great many debts. There was nothing left for me. So my Cousin Marion offered to have me as her companion. I’m afraid we finally found each other quite incompatible. It was mostly my fault, I admit. I hadn’t been brought up for that sort of life.”
“Have you any reason to think you will be more successful in our employ?” Charlotte asked.
“I shall do my best, Mrs. Meryon.”
“Your position won’t include wearing fine clothes to the opera.”
“That was foolish of me,” Lavinia admitted.
“Yes, it was.” Charlotte seemed to be summing up Lavinia’s appearance, perhaps reflecting on her youth, for the daylight showed faint lines about her own eyes, and for all its perfection her face had a lack of freshness, a worn and delicate look, as if the heat or the traveling, or anxiety, had drained her. Already she seemed exhausted by this interview. She pressed her fingers to her temples.
“I am a martyr to headaches. Only someone who suffers similarly can understand how I feel.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Meryon,” Lavinia murmured, the thought coming that Daniel must show insufficient sympathy.
“I am forced to spend half my life on a sofa. I can’t describe the effort this trip has been. But it was absolutely essential to make it for my poor aunt’s sake. She wrote to me expressing her wish to die in her native country, so what could I do but regard it as a sacred trust. Have you had an experience of nursing, Miss Hurst?”
“A little,” Lavinia answered.
“Well, that’s a blessing, at least. As my husband has told you, we have been left entirely in the lurch by Eliza’s getting ill and that wretched Miss Brown’s leaving us in Switzerland. Although I must be fair to her and say that my daughter tormented her. I must have your promise, Miss Hurst, that if you undertake this journey with us you will not desert us halfway. After we reach Winterwood is another matter. Shall we regard this as a trial arrangement?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Meryon. Nothing could suit me better.”
Charlotte sighed with relief. She had saved face. She had been forced to engage Lavinia, but had done so on her own terms.
“Then I hope you are ready to begin at once. My husband and I will be at my aunt’s palazzo all day, so I shall want you to stay with the children. Please pay particular care to Edward. He is a high-spirited child and loves to do what he calls his disappearing trick.” Charlotte smiled fondly and went on, “Tomorrow I will want you to pack my aunt’s belongings. Eliza is coming today to help me sort them out. It’s all so exhausting in this heat. And I worry continually about my poor aunt. She isn’t fit to travel, but insists on doing so.”
“It would be terrible if she died on the way,” Lavinia said.
“Don’t even begin to think of such a thing,” Charlotte spoke with a peculiar intensity. “It simply mustn’t be allowed to happen.”
Lavinia very soon had sympathy with the departed Miss Brown. She knew that Flora, self-willed, pampered and highly disturbed as a result of her crippled condition, would be difficult, but Edward proved to be nothing less than a fiend. He refused to obey, was ill-mannered and noisy, and tormented Flora until she was in furious tears.
“I told you, Miss Hurst. Mamma ruins him. She thinks he can do no wrong. He’s her pet. How do you like being a pet?” she demanded viciously of Edward.
“How do you like being a crybaby?” Edward retorted. He really was a beautiful child, with his rosy cheeks and glossy black curls. He was the exact opposite of Flora with her waxen peaked face and straight brown hair. She must have been a plain child even before her accident. No doubt her mother had always been disappointed in her. Her best feature was her eyes, which could blaze into a tigerish color when she was agitated. But even they became a disappointing hazel when she was dejected or tired. The Italian sun had brought out a faint dusting of freckles on her cheekbones, which were causing her distress. She wanted to put rice powder over them, and sulked when Lavinia laughed at her vanity.
“If you’re going to behave like Miss Brown I’ll be sorry I ever persuaded Papa to employ you,” she said spitefully.
“Old Brownie,” Edward put in. “Flora was awful to her. Miss Hurst, can I go out and play?”
“Not until Flora has had her rest after luncheon. Then we will all go for a walk.”
Edward behaved as if he hadn’t heard her. This, Lavinia was to find was a characteristic of his when people didn’t say what he wanted to hear. He appeared to be quite contentedly occupied playing with his toy soldiers, and Lavinia giving her attention to Flora, couldn’t have said when he disappeared.
It was the stranger bringing him back who startled her.
He walked into the room after the most perfunctory tap at the door, dragging a pouting Edward by the hand.
“I found this young man wandering in the Piazza. I thought I had better bring him back”—he had given Lavinia a casual look, then looked again, with some intentness—“since I hardly think you had given him permission to be out, Miss—”
He waited in the boldest way for her to say her name. He had expected her to be Eliza, and was inquisitive as to her identity. She hadn’t the slightest idea who he was. He had a handsome highly colored face, though it verged on coarseness, with thick lips, and bright bold eyes. His clothes suggested the dandy. He had a look as if he were about to break into laughter. His lips were slightly parted and seemed to quiver.
What was so funny?
“No, he wasn’t supposed to be out,” Lavinia said coolly. “Thank you for bringing him back. I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”
“Oh, he’s Mr. Peate,” Flora put in. “He’s a relation of Great-aunt Tameson’s.”
“Jonathon Peate,” the man amplified. “A nephew of the Contessa. And, you neglected to say, Miss Flora, a friend of yours.” In an exaggerated gesture which made Flora wince, he lifted her hand and kissed it. “Ma’am! Your servant Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new companion?”
His gaze was raking her again, and unaccountably, Lavinia was nervous. She believed he was just one of those too familiar and breezy men whom she had occasionally encountered among Robin’s friends. Yet there was a sharpness in his look that could have suggested more than mere admiration.
“She’s Miss Hurst,” Flora said offhandedly. “Did Edward invite you to visit us, Mr. Peate?”
“How do you do, Miss Hurst?” The man bowed, then said in a loud jovial voice which no doubt he thought appealed to children
, “I have just rescued your small brother, Miss Flora. I must say you don’t seem very grateful.”
“Mamma and Papa are out.”
“Then can’t I have a short visit with you? Miss Hurst, will you be so unwelcoming as our small invalid?”
“I am not an invalid!” Flora said between her teeth.
“Oh, sorry, sorry. I quite realize that. You have very sensitive toes, princess.”
“Toes?” Flora said coldly.
“I seem to tread on them rather often. I hope Miss Hurst will be more charitable toward my clumsiness.” He was laughing softly now as if his amusement couldn’t be held back any longer. “After all, I believe I have done you a good turn, Miss Hurst, in bringing back young Edward. It would have been bad luck to have been hauled over the coals on your first day.”
“How do you know that it is my first day?”
“Deduction, my dear young lady. You were not here yesterday. I wish you well with these charming little imps of Satan.”
Lavinia made no answer. She had already decided that she disliked Mr. Jonathon Peate intensely, although she had to admit he had a certain virile attractiveness. He hardly seemed the kind of friend Charlotte and Daniel would have, yet he was behaving with great familiarity. Indeed, he was quizzing her again with that slightly disturbing intentness. She supposed he was the kind of man who would not think someone in her position worthy of the best manners.
Flora’s outspokenness matched their visitor’s.
“How long are you staying, Mr. Peate? You were not invited.”
“Pardon me, princess.” Mr. Peate bowed with a great flourish. “Then I must leave. I merely thought your papa or your mamma might be in.”
“They’re not. And don’t call me ‘princess.’”
“Flora!” Lavinia felt she had to make a halfhearted protest, even though she secretly approved of the child’s rudeness. But Mr. Peate merely seemed amused by it. He gave his merry laugh and said that he would have to call again.
“I shall look forward to improving our acquaintance, Miss Hurst.”
He was still laughing softly as he left.
“Isn’t he abominable?” said Flora intensely. “He always calls me ‘princess’ and behaves like that just because he sees it makes me angry. I can’t think why Mamma and Papa have him here.”
“Why do they?” Lavinia asked.
“He’s a cousin of Mamma’s, though she had never met him. They have both come to see Great-aunt Tameson, so of course they have to be friends. I am sure Papa doesn’t like him.”
“And your mother?”
“Oh, she says family things are important. I don’t agree at all. When I am grown-up I shall certainly refuse to speak to Edward.”
This made Edward, who, as well as his gift for detaching himself from conversations in which he wasn’t interested, had a sharp ear for ones that concerned him, spring up and come over to Flora’s chair.
“Won’t you even say good morning?” he asked with great interest. His lively little face was highly attractive when it lost its look of obstinacy and self-will.
“Never. You are too odious.”
“Well, so are you. You’d better be careful what you say to me because you can’t run away. I’m going to pull your hair until it comes out in my hand.”
“No, no! Stop him, Miss Hurst! He’s a devil! Miss Hurst!”
It was a pity that Charlotte chose that moment to return. This was the signal for Edward to burst into loud sobs and fly to his mother’s skirts, and for Flora to sink into a white sulkiness.
“There, there, my baby!” Charlotte raised indignant eyes. “What have you been doing to him, Flora? You’re the eldest, and should know better. Miss Hurst, this was one reason why I was glad to have Miss Brown leave. She seemed unable to keep order.”
“I believed I was engaged to look after Flora only,” Lavinia pointed out.
“Yes, yes. Edward will have a tutor when we get home. But while we are in these straits I do expect you to lend a hand. I have just had a most trying hour with my aunt, and my head is aching. Teddy, pray think of Mamma’s poor head, and stop making that noise. Miss Hurst, I would like you to come this evening to visit my aunt, and take her packing in hand. If you could see the things she wants to take!” Charlotte pressed her hands to her brow. “One would think she was planning to spend a lifetime in England when really, at the most—” Charlotte saw Flora’s too watchful gaze and shrugged her shoulders, indicating wordlessly her aunt’s imminent death.
“How is she today?” Lavinia asked.
“Astonishingly well. And that is making her very difficult. She wants to see everything. This must be shaken out; that must be wrapped in cotton wool; her jewelry must be carried by hand; the gown she wore to a royal reception, heaven knows how many years ago, must be packed in a trunk of its own. There are pictures, ornaments, furniture. But those simply must be got rid of. I think you, a stranger, might have more influence with her, Miss Hurst. My husband simply won’t have the patience to travel back to England with a whole caravan of luggage.”
Now that they were off the tricky subject of the children, Lavinia felt more sympathy.
“Certainly I will do what I can, Mrs. Meryon. By the way, a Mr. Peate called.”
A curious expression passed across Charlotte’s face. It was there for the merest second. It was quite unreadable.
“Oh, Jonathon! Did he say when he would call again?”
“No, not the exact time.”
“He’s like all men, expects one to be at his beck and call.” There was a note of irritation and fluster in Charlotte’s voice. “He could be of much more help to me with Aunt Tameson if only he were of some use in a domestic crisis. But I find men quite helpless in a sickroom or in organizing a house. Well, we women must bear the burden. Come with Mamma, Teddy. She might just possibly have a sweetmeat for you.”
Flora watched them go.
“You see, Miss Hurst. Edward is Mamma’s pet. He will grow up to be a milksop, Papa says. How lucky you were to be an only child. You would have all your parents’ love. Did it make you very good?”
“Do I look good?”
“Not in the least, thank goodness. Miss Hurst!”—Flora’s voice seldom lost its agonized intensity—“Don’t let Mr. Peate look at you like he did.”
“I can scarcely alter his expression. What was it you didn’t like about it?”
“I can’t explain. Anyway, I don’t like him. He laughs when there’s nothing funny. We never met him before we came to Venice. Don’t you think that odd?”
“Sickbeds have a way of gathering strangers together. Perhaps Mr. Peate is fond of your great-aunt.”
“He’s fond of her money, more likely.”
“Flora, what a very cynical thing to say. Did you hear someone else say it?”
“I heard Papa and Mamma talking. Papa said she was to send that fellow packing, but she said how could she when Great-aunt Tameson wanted him. And, anyway, one didn’t behave like that toward relations. And it would look as if we wanted all the money if Mr. Peate was got rid of.”
“Got rid of!”
“I should like to push him in a canal on a dark night,” Flora said broodingly. “I don’t like him. He looks at Mamma, too. It’s a pity Great-aunt Tameson is so rich.”
“Is she?”
“Oh, yes, dreadfully. But I’m sure she doesn’t care a bit about money now. She only wants to be under the stone angel with little Tom. I pray I am never rich in case someone like Mr. Peate stands by my bedside.”
Chapter 5
MR. PEATE WAS NOT standing at his aunt’s bedside when Lavinia was there. The old lady lay alone in the vast room. A servant had shown Charlotte and Lavinia in, and had then left. All the windows set in their medieval Gothic arches were shut and the room was stiflingly hot. Candles burning in a branched chandelier of Venetian glass added to the warmth. Their light was reflected in several mirrors so that the room seemed overilluminated, and yet curiously dark. Th
e darkness came from the dark red damask walls and the heavy curtains. The face of the old woman in the bed was almost the color of the candle flames, a pale yellow, in which gleamed a pair of berry-black eyes. There was a strong smell of violets, which, blended with the heat and the candle smoke, was a little sickening.
“How are you this evening, Aunt Tameson?” Charlotte asked. “It’s very hot in here. Don’t you think you should have a window open?”
“And be poisoned by the smell of the canals!” For all her look of frailty the old lady had a surprisingly strong voice.
“After all these years you must have grown immune to that. Did you eat your supper?”
“Such as it was. Who is that?” She pointed a forefinger at Lavinia.
“This is Miss Hurst, whom I was telling you about. She will be helping me with your packing. She agrees with me that we can’t travel laden like camels.”
“What’s it to do with her?” the old lady asked tartly.
Charlotte sighed. “I’m only pointing out that you’ll have to discard some of your belongings. Almost all your clothes must be given away. You really can’t keep ball dresses from the eighteen-thirties.”
“How would you like to throw away the dear treasures of a lifetime? Don’t be too overriding, Charlotte, or I will be sorry I sent for you.”
“I’m not being overriding, aunt. Merely practical. We have filled three trunks already. Tomorrow, with Miss Hurst’s assistance, we will finish.”
“Is this young woman trustworthy? Where does she come from? Why haven’t I seen her before?”
“I explained all that to you. She has agreed to look after Flora.”
“I have a great many valuables,” the old lady grumbled. “I shall wear what I can, but the rest—”
“The rest are locked in your jewel case, which I personally am looking after. Please don’t be difficult, Aunt Tameson. You know that Daniel and I want to move you as soon as possible. This can only be done with some assistance. So you must make up your mind to trust Miss Hurst.”
As I have had to, she might have added, from the resentful glance she gave Lavinia.
The old lady held out a hand to Lavinia. It was the sad hand of an old woman, blue-veined and knotted with age. It was also heavily be-ringed. Lavinia noticed that, although the hand was emaciated, the rings seemed strangely tight, pressing into the flesh.
