by Dorothy Eden
“And what is your contribution, Mr. Meryon?”
“So far nothing. But I have plans. My wife calls them grandiose. A new wing was always meant to be added, according to the original plans. Up to this time no one has had enough money.”
“And you intend to be the one to do it?”
“I hope so. Then Winterwood will be one of the most beautiful houses in England. My son Simon will inherit, and after him his son. I’ll become the ancestor who built the new wing. Which, in its way, is a form of immortality. Do you think that attitude is wrong, Miss Hurst?”
Lavinia roused herself from watching his face and wondering if it ever grew soft like that for a woman.
“No, I don’t think it wrong, at all.”
“My wife thinks me a little too dedicated to a house. She thinks it a religion. I wonder if that’s such a bad thing.”
Charlotte must be jealous of his house. She wondered if she would be, too.
“I only look forward to seeing it.”
“And I look forward to showing it to you.”
Their eyes met across the dim room.
“You must wash your face, Miss Hurst.”
“Yes. Yes, it’s the dust. And the heat.”
His eyes lingered.
Then he said, “Are we working you too hard? Are you sorry you didn’t travel with that quiet elderly couple, after all?”
She would have been safe with the Monks. Now she wasn’t safe at all. There was Jonathon Peate with his veiled threats, and this man who noticed her or ignored her as he pleased.
“Then I would have missed Winterwood, which you make me think would be a pity.”
“You must guard against us, Miss Hurst,” he said suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re inclined to use people.” He must have thought his remark obscure, for he explained, “Look at you now, dusty and dirty. You’ve been working like a slave.”
Lavinia knew that this wasn’t what he had meant at all.
“Dust will wash off. I’m not afraid of work.”
“No, I see that,” he said slowly, making no more explanation. “Well, then, are you going to wash off the dust before we leave?”
It almost seemed as if he had been trying to warn her about something. But his warning had not been the blatant threat of Jonathon Peate; it had a kind of tenderness and regret that she knew she would keep on remembering. Was he telling her not to fall in love with Winterwood, because her love would inevitably have to include its master?
He kissed her hand meaninglessly; he gave her orders in a brusque way; he ignored her, or he gave her that disturbing intense regard; he used her to satisfy his spoiled daughter’s whims; he confided in her his dreams about Winterwood; he noticed her tears; he was an enigma, and she was certain that she was going to fall in love with him. Uselessly, hopelessly, and, she was dismally sure, permanently.
Just as they were leaving, Lavinia heard a movement at the top of the stairs. She turned to see a short, square figure wrapped in a voluminous bedgown.
It was the Contessa.
“You!” she said, pointing at Lavinia. “Have you packed everything? My velvet ball gown?”
“Yes, Contessa.”
“My cashmere shawls?”
“Yes, I especially noticed them.”
“Good. They cost a mint of money. Venetian shopkeepers are robbers. What about my sables?”
Lavinia had noticed some fur pieces, ancient and dilapidated.
“Yes, Contessa. They’re in your trunks.”
“You’re saying yes to everything, girl. Are you doing this to hide your laziness? I must be properly dressed at Winterwood.”
“You can come in rags, my dear lady,” said Daniel. He spoke with the indulgence he used toward Flora, and the old lady loved it. She gave a hoarse chuckle and added that although he was still a stranger he seemed trustworthy. She must have had servants who had robbed her, Lavinia thought, to make her so full of suspicion and live such an eccentric shut-away life.
“But I’m not trusting anyone with my jewelry,” she said. “I shall have it all about my person when I travel.”
Chapter 6
IT WAS UNFORTUNATE THAT Lady Tameson and Flora took an instant dislike to one another. It was a matter of ego. Each wanted undivided attention. Flora declared Lady Tameson to be an unpleasant old woman with a nasty cross face, and Lady Tameson said quite frankly that Flora was an unmitigated nuisance, and should get herself out of that chair and onto her legs as soon as possible.
They sat in the compartment that Daniel had reserved for them and glared at one another. Lady Tameson was dressed in a dramatic black velvet cloak and a bonnet trimmed lavishly with faded French roses. She had several diamond brooches pinned to the bodice of her dress, and a large flawless emerald on a golden bar in her high lace collar. She was a walking jeweler’s shop, Eliza confided to Lavinia. If she were to be let out of sight, some thief would most likely knock her down and rob her.
But she wouldn’t be let out of sight. Charlotte would see to that. She had fussed interminably, giving orders to everyone at once. Eliza was to put the footstool under the Contessa’s feet and have the smelling salts handy; Flora was to stop whining; Lavinia—“Miss Hurst, this is no time for stargazing!”—was to keep the children occupied with picture books; Edward must sit quietly, and not try to lean out of the window; and had Daniel counted every piece of luggage, for one couldn’t trust these Italian porters.
Daniel seemed impervious to the panic Charlotte was creating. Just as the train drew out of the station Lavinia, indulging in another moment of forbidden stargazing, found him at her side.
The lovely islands floating in the heat haze, the lavender sky, the tall campaniles, the serene sea, were slipping away.
“You look as if you were bidding farewell to happiness forever, Miss Hurst.”
“Do I? It’s true I was happy here.”
“And why should it be so difficult to enjoy that state somewhere else?”
She bit her lip, and smiled.
“I hope it won’t be difficult, Mr. Meryon.”
“It won’t, at Winterwood.”
Charlotte’s voice was sharp and suspicious behind them.
“What are you saying about Winterwood? I believe, Miss Hurst, that my husband never stops for one moment thinking of that place, even in his sleep.”
“I was saying, my love, that Miss Hurst would be as happy at Winterwood as she had been in Venice.”
“I thought Miss Hurst was engaged for Flora’s happiness, not her own.”
“Charlotte, Charlotte!” That was Lady Tameson in her high petulant voice. “Did you see anything of Jonathon at the railway station? I thought he was going to come and see us off.”
“No, aunt, I didn’t. If he had been there, he could scarcely have missed us. We aroused enough interest.”
“People always stare at me,” Flora said complacently.
“It’s because you’ve got stick legs,” said Edward.
“How do people know that? My legs are covered with a rug. It’s because of my tragedy that they stare at me.”
“Charlotte, you’ve ruined this child. I find her bad-mannered and vain. People staring at her, indeed. Precisely what they were staring at”—Lady Tameson patted her chest—“was my jewelry. They don’t often see someone wearing a fortune in stones.”
“That’s a little vulgar, Aunt Tameson.”
“Nonsense! I will enjoy my possessions while I can. You’d better be careful, Charlotte, or I may give orders in my will to have my jewelry buried with me.”
Charlotte laughed, pretending a tolerant amusement.
“It’s yours, aunt dear. You must do what you want with it. It’s only that Daniel and I don’t want you robbed on the journey. You must promise never to get out of our sight.”
“Are there robbers on this train?” Edward demanded with the greatest interest. “I wish they would come in here. I would run them through with m
y sword. Where’s my sword, Mamma?”
Lavinia had sat beside Flora, and felt the small cold hand creep into hers.
“I wish they would kill her,” Flora whispered ardently.
“Now, there’s no danger,” Daniel said in his easy voice. “But Charlotte’s right about your not wandering out of our sight, Contessa.”
“Much chance I have of that,” the old lady grumbled. “With so many watchdogs. Jonathon tells me you have invited him to Winterwood, Charlotte, so I shall see him then.”
Charlotte stared at her for a moment with a look of unguarded surprise. She flushed deeply, then went pale. For once she seemed at a loss for words.
Daniel was watching her, too. “Is this true, Charlotte?”
“Yes, I suppose it is. Cousin Jonathon was most helpful, and I suggested that Aunt Tameson might like to see him again when she had recovered from her journey. I made no specific date.”
“You don’t care for my nephew, Daniel?” Lady Tameson’s black eyes were very observant.
“I scarcely know him,” Daniel answered, still looking at Charlotte.
“I hate him,” Flora declared in no uncertain voice. “He laughs when there’s nothing funny. I think he laughs at us.”
“Flora!” Charlotte seemed glad of the opportunity to turn her attention on her daughter.
There was no doubt that she had been disturbed, and no doubt that Jonathon was coming to Winterwood uninvited.
Daniel’s eyes were speculative. But he said nothing more. Charlotte decided to open the hamper and have luncheon end the uneasy conversation. She might have been deliberately creating a diversion.
The long journey passed with no mishap but exhaustion on the part of everyone. Flora and Edward slept through the night, bedded down on the narrow seats. Lady Tameson was propped in her corner with so many rugs and cushions that she looked like a stout Buddha, with a winking emerald at her throat. Charlotte dozed a little, sitting upright, and Eliza, still feeble from her illness, nodded so violently that once she tumbled off her seat. Lavinia didn’t believe that Daniel closed his eyes any more than she closed hers. She couldn’t know what he was thinking, but for her pictures of her past life seemed to flit by with the passing moon-drenched landscape. There had been so much happiness until Mamma and Papa had died, and then so much gaiety and recklessness, borne on by her wild brother, and unduly influenced by him because he was all she had left. They had become known as the wild Hurstmonceaux twins.
It could be that Jonathon Peate had been at one of Robin’s gambling parties. There had always been strangers coming to them, and he looked a gambler.
Perhaps he had been at Lord Rilke’s that fatal weekend. But she thought she had met everyone there, in spite of Justin’s mad possessiveness.
For a moment it seemed as if Justin’s face was silhouetted against the window frame, that dreadful tallow-colored face. She shuddered violently and Daniel noticed.
“Tired, Miss Hurst?”
“A little.”
“Can you sleep?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I never sleep on journeys, either.”
He spoke in a whisper so as not to disturb the sleepers. The swaying lamp had been turned down to only a glimmer. His face was as blurred as it had been that night in the gondola. It still suggested great strength and self-will. He was not a man to be opposed. Lavinia doubted if she would want to oppose him, but if she did—her blood tingled. She was wide-awake, and the phantom face outside the window had gone.
“Let us pass the time by talking about ourselves,” he suggested. “How many journeys have you gone on, in the past?”
“Only one other abroad. My parents took—me to Paris.” She was rigid. She had so nearly said “Robin and me.”
“And wasn’t it pleasant?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You shivered, as if something had happened to you there.”
“Oh, no. I was only thinking—we were so happy. Mamma shopped and Papa took me to art galleries. I remember the trees were turning brown and dropping their leaves into the Seine, and Papa made me speak French all the time. It seems a long time ago.”
“Perhaps you will go again.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine so.”
“I think it very likely. I would like Flora to speak good French.”
“That would be simple enough with a French mademoiselle.”
“Yes, that’s one way.”
“I’m not qualified to teach Flora, if that’s what you’re thinking, Mr. Meryon.”
“I doubt if the person who can teach her exists. She’s a demon with governesses. But children are great imitators.”
“You wouldn’t want her to imitate me!”
“You sound horrified, Miss Hurst.” He settled himself more comfortably in his seat “Actually that’s exactly what I did mean.”
“But, Mr. Meryon, you scarcely know me.”
“I was simply talking about your poise. I hope to get to know you better, of course.”
“Mr. Meryon—you will make me think it isn’t only Flora who is a demon with governesses!”
He began to laugh.
“Did I deserve that? Perhaps I did. I must say my wife has either deliberately engaged a succession of very uninspiring females, or else that is a characteristic of the genuine governess.” He saw the sharp movement of her head. “Don’t misunderstand me. Anyone could see you’re not the genuine article.”
“Please, Mr. Meryon! I am doing you a favor by taking this position and you are doing me a favor by giving it to me. Don’t ask too many questions.”
“But I can’t help being a little inquisitive. Was it an unfortunate love affair?”
“You could call it that.”
“Because I refuse to believe that just being penniless could have blighted your life. Something must have happened to force you into traveling with that quite dreadful cousin of yours. But I promise, no more questions. Someday—”
“Someday what?”
“One recovers from a broken heart.”
“Oh, my heart—”
“Wasn’t broken?”
“Not in the way you mean, Mr. Meryon.”
There was a movement opposite, and the waft of violet perfume that followed any stirring of Lady Tameson’s clothes drifted over. Lavinia was abruptly aware of sharp black eyes watching her steadily.
She leaned across to whisper, “Are you all right, Lady Tameson?”
“I’m as stiff as a poker. I would like a sip of wine if there’s any left”
“I think so. Mr. Meryon—”
“I’ll get it,” said Daniel. The resultant flurry woke Charlotte, who stirred and said exhaustedly, “What is it? Is Aunt Tameson ill?”
“Merely thirsty, Charlotte,” the old lady answered. “Don’t fuss. I’m finding the journey quite diverting.”
“Diverting! I’m choked with soot and aching in every bone.”
“Then go back to your seat and try to rest Miss Hurst is bringing me some wine.”
Charlotte pressed her hands to her temples, a familiar gesture. “Well, if you’re sure you’ll all right, aunt—” She closed her eyes wearily. Her frail white face looked alarmingly delicate with dark stains beneath her eyes.
Lavinia bent over Lady Tameson with the glass of wine. At that moment the old lady looked much stronger than Charlotte, her eyes twinkling vigorously.
“I believe I’m going to find Winterwood diverting, too,” she murmured, between sips.
Her eyes sparkled maliciously. She had obviously heard the whole of the conversation between Lavinia and Daniel. What had she made of it? What was there to make of it?
On the Channel steamer Flora found that she was to share a double-berthed cabin with Lady Tameson. She made a great fuss.
“I will not be locked up with an old woman about to die!”
“Flora!” her mother scolded. “Please, no tantrums now that we’re nearly home.”
“I am not having
tantrums, Mamma. I’m merely stating that I want to sit up on deck with Miss Hurst and Papa.”
“Flora, you are the most exasperating child. Papa and Miss Hurst will not be sitting on the deck.”
“Do as you’re told, pet,” Daniel said. “It’s going to be cold and windy on deck and you need a rest.”
“What about Edward?” Flora asked mutinously.
“Edward will be with me,” Charlotte said. “Daniel, take her down. We can’t listen to this kind of thing.”
“She is very tired,” Lavinia said.
“So are we all.” Charlotte, indeed, looked the most tired of all. The contrast between her black hair and her white skin was now more eerie than attractive. Her great pale eyes dominated her face. She had not lost her look of intense anxiety during the whole of the journey. She must have been very nervous that Lady Tameson would die en route, involving all kinds of difficulties.
“I shall be seasick!” Flora threatened.
“And so shall I, if merely from looking at you,” Lady Tameson said suddenly. She had an uncanny way of seeming sunk in a stupor, and then rousing herself and being more alert than anybody. “I regard you as very disagreeable company, but I will do my best not to embarrass you by dying before I reach England.”
The two stared at each other with implacable hostility. It was Flora whose eyes dropped first.
“You are not to look at my legs,” she muttered.
“Naturally not. One never looks at a lady’s legs. One pretends they don’t exist, and she supports herself on air. For my part, I can’t support myself at all. Daniel, your arm. Let us proceed to this dungeon that Flora dreads so much.”
Whether from apprehension, the rough sea, or sheer determination, Flora was sick before the shores of France had receded on the horizon. Eliza, who had been instructed to stay in the cabin with the two infirm passengers, coped with this emergency and later came up to report to Charlotte, whom Daniel had tenderly wrapped in rugs on the deck, that both her charges had fallen asleep.
