by Dorothy Eden
He bowed and swaggered away, his head in the air.
Flora turned on Lavinia in panic.
“Miss Hurst, how could Mamma have asked him to stay? It can’t be true! And what does he mean by my being mad like Mamma. Mamma isn’t mad. Is she, Miss Hurst?”
Lavinia didn’t know how to keep the fury out of her voice.
“That Mr. Peate! You mustn’t believe a word he says. He is some kind of monster. He calls you a cripple and your mother mad. I would like to kill him!”
Flora began to giggle unsteadily. “If you look like that, Miss Hurst, I believe you could!”
“Your mamma isn’t mad; she simply has a very high-strung nervous system. And so have you. You must always try to keep calm.”
Flora was growing calmer now.
“So I would, if people were not so exasperating. Mr. Peate, Edward, Great-aunt Tameson. But she is dead. What did Mr. Peate mean about me being rich? Is that another of his horrid jokes?”
The quiet charm of the late autumn afternoon had vanished. Jonathon Peate had a way of turning any peace into discord. He was a menace—and now Lavinia saw that his menace extended to more than her. His pointed remarks about Flora’s wealth had some disturbing significance. Surely it couldn’t be true that he would be at Winterwood for Christmas. Why did Daniel tolerate it?
Lavinia remembered the conversation Eliza had related between Charlotte and Lady Tameson. “You’ll have to send him away,” Charlotte had said, and Lady Tameson had answered, “Try.”
Lady Tameson was no longer here to explain what it was she knew about her peculiarly stubborn and thick-skinned nephew.
“I expect it’s all a mistake,” was all Lavinia could say to Flora. “I am sure your mamma hasn’t really invited Mr. Peate for Christmas. And as for your being rich, your Papa had decided not to tell you just yet, but Lady Tameson left you some money in her will. You are to get it when you are of age. So you see, you have no need to worry about the future. You can have your own establishment as you planned.”
“And horses?”
“As many as you want, I expect.”
The sudden eager light in Flora’s eyes died almost at once.
“But what will be the use if I can’t ride? Mr. Peate said I was a cripple.”
“Mr. Peate has a way of underestimating people. He doesn’t know your determination. You must show him that he is wrong.”
She appeared to have hit upon the exactly right thing to say, for Flora’s eyes narrowed to fierce slits.
“I will, Miss Hurst! I will!”
Lavinia was certain that Charlotte was afraid of Jonathon; yet it turned out to be true that she had invited him to stay over Christmas. Sir Timothy was astonished.
“I don’t know what Charlotte sees in the fellow. He’s only some sort of a cousin. She owes no courtesy to him. He’s not incapacitated, or penniless, either, by the look of him. I think he’s a complete blackguard. Why does Daniel allow Charlotte to have him about?”
The servants all knew the reason Daniel allowed it. It was rather alarming how much the servants did know. Rumors became exaggerated, of course, but Eliza said it was perfectly true that Mr. Peate had visited the mistress. He had just walked in, Bertha had said. The mistress had cried out in shock to see him standing there. But then she had sent Bertha out of the room.
It was quite half an hour before she had rung her bell and asked Bertha to show Mr. Peate out, and he had bent over her and kissed her hand, and said that he adored her. “My exquisite Charlotte,” had been his exact words, and supposing the master had heard them!
“So he got round her,” Lavinia said.
“Oh, more than that, miss. She was all of a twitter. Said wouldn’t it be gay to have Mr. Peate as a Christmas guest. The house needed some gaiety after all this melancholy. Mr. Peate was always so cheerful, never low in spirits. Anyway, she wasn’t one of those gloomy people who thought mourning should go on and on. It was so bad for the children. Then she asked for the master to come and see her, and if you realize, miss, it’s the first time she’s wanted him since she was took so poorly.”
Lavinia wanted to reproach Eliza for gossiping, but couldn’t. She was hanging on her words.
“And what happened?”
“Well, miss, it was a bit of an upset. He hadn’t been with her more than five minutes before she began crying and laughing both at once, the way she does when she has those turns. Bertha could hear her from away down the passage. Then the master came out, calling for Bertha to know where the soothing draught was that the doctor had left. He kept saying, ‘Very well, you may have your way this time, but not again. Don’t do it again.’ You see, he had to give way, or she’d have been worse.”
“She finds her attacks convenient,” Lavinia said cynically.
Eliza looked shocked and serious. “Oh, no, miss. Bertha could tell you some tales. Oh no, miss, her attacks are real, and to be avoided at all costs. The master knows, poor man. Haven’t you seen him looking as if he carries all the cares of the world on his shoulders? That’s when he’s worried about her. And it’s often enough. Too often.”
“It’s hard to see someone you love suffering.”
“That it is, miss. And her so beautiful. You haven’t really seen her dressed for a party and all laughing and excited, have you, miss?”
“No,” said Lavinia shortly.
“Well, you will, miss, and then you’ll see why the master can’t resist her.”
Flora had left her book and her cashmere shawl in the blue garden. In their agitation after Jonathon Peate’s intrusion they had come away without gathering up their things.
Lavinia went down to get them and Jonathon followed her. It was quite obvious that he must have been lurking about waiting for an opportunity to find her alone, just as he had that day when they had encountered one another in the Temple of Virtue.
It was dusk, and she didn’t realize he was there until she heard a twig snap behind her. She turned sharply, and found herself in his arms.
She struggled fiercely, pushing away his hateful smiling face with her clenched fists.
“Ah, come now, Miss Hurstmonceaux. A little kiss won’t kill you. Or would you kill me?”
“Yes, I would!” she said. “Let me go at once, you monster!”
He released her so suddenly that she almost fell. He was still laughing, but his eyes had that gray, chilling look.
“They say it’s easy to kill,” he drawled.
Lavinia had picked up Flora’s belongings and made to go. He firmly blocked her path.
“By Jove, you’re lovely with that color in your cheeks. My cousin Charlotte’s celebrated beauty simply fades in comparison.”
“Mr. Peate, will you kindly let me pass.”
“I’ll forgive you for your little tantrum. I expect you’re finding the responsibility of looking after an heiress rather trying.”
“Mr. Peate—”
He caught her wrist.
“I will let you go when you have promised to marry me.”
Lavinia stopped struggling. She stared in complete amazement.
“You’d dare!”
“Why shouldn’t I? Are you so unapproachable? So pure? Do I have to refresh your memory, Miss Hurstmonceaux?”
“Will you kindly stop calling me by another name.”
“But it’s your real name, isn’t it? How do I know? Shall I tell you? Have you forgotten the house in Albemarle Street? I know you didn’t stay in it long. Just for the season, I believe. Then your brother wanted—or found it necessary—to move on. But during that time there were quite a lot of callers. You must have known about the gambling sessions that went on while you were getting your beauty sleep. I only saw you once then. You were coming downstairs to go shopping. I can tell you exactly what you were wearing. A green velvet cloak and a charming hat with a little green ostrich feather curling round its brim. I had been sleeping off the effects of your brother’s excellent port in his study—to the left of the stair
s, do you remember? Oh, you didn’t see me. But I saw you.”
His face came closer.
“And I saw you again exactly a year later in the witness box. You were more quietly dressed. You were paler and thinner. But just as beautiful.”
“You came to stare!” Lavinia whispered.
“To admire. You were so loyal to your brother. I didn’t expect to see you again after that. I thought you would disappear quietly to live your life in obscurity, and what a catastrophe that would have been. But fate took a hand. You must admit the ways of fate are very strange.”
“Deplorably strange,” Lavinia said curtly.
“And destined. We were meant to meet again and fall in love.”
“Mr. Peate, your fancies are even stranger than fate.”
He laughed softly. “Dear Lavinia! You never disappoint me. Your wit, your spirit. What a pair we will make!”
“You can’t be assuming—” She stopped, unable to say the incredible words, and he finished them for her.
“But don’t you see, you will be compelled to marry me if your secret is to be kept. Naturally I would never betray my wife.”
“Mr. Peate, you must be mad! You are mad!”
He shook his head smilingly. “Far from it. Exceptionally sane. And very clever at getting my own way. Marry me, Lavinia, and we’ll go on in the world. We’ll sail for New York. No one there knows, or cares about, anybody’s past. We’ll set up a fine establishment. Come now, you must admit that will be better than this half-life you’re living. Who else in England is going to offer you marriage? Tell me!”
“There are worse things than being unmarried.” Lavinia’s eyes raked him with scorn. “Aren’t you aware of that?”
She believed she had pricked his assurance a little, for his tone changed. He said softly, “You make a big mistake. What is that dear sweet crippled child, the little bitch, to say when she knows about her adored Miss Hurst’s past? Her brother tried for murder; the whole affair very unsavory. What is my high-minded cousin-in-law, Daniel, to think about the admirable young woman he’s been defending so strenuously, and secretly wanting to go to bed with?”
Lavinia thought she would like to attack him with her bare hands. She had only felt like this once before—the tallow-yellow face swam before her, its open eyes staring… The garden seemed to have become dark. She could scarcely see the last withering flowers, the fallen leaves.
Jonathon Peate had spoiled this charming garden. He had laid his filthy finger on it, and it had been smirched.
“Don’t swoon, Miss Hurst. I wouldn’t have thought you were the swooning kind.”
“Just—let me go.”
“I’m not keeping you. You may go when you please. But think about what I have said. I won’t hurry you. I’ll be quite fair and give you until Christmas to decide. Since it suits me to stay here until then. But I’ll expect an answer by the new year. So think carefully, my dear. And remember that I don’t make idle threats.”
“Miss Hurst, you look awfully sad,” Flora said.
“I’m not sad. I was just thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“A hat I had once, with a green ostrich feather. It was very pretty.”
“Then don’t look so sad. I’ll buy you another just like it. I can, now I have all this money. I mean to buy gifts for everybody, even Edward. Papa says we are to go to London to shop for Christmas, and Mr. Mallinson, my Trustee, will allow me some money to spend.”
Flora’s cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. It had been wise for her to know about her fortune after all. She looked so recovered in spirits that Lavinia had to brush aside her own intense depression.
“That is very kind of you. But you have already given me the silk for a new gown.”
“And you have never worn it yet! But you can wear it in London. Papa will like to see you in it. And we are to go and see more doctors, but I won’t be afraid this time if you are with me.”
On the pretext of asking about the visit to London, Lavinia sought out Daniel in his study that evening.
“May I have a word with you, Mr. Meryon?”
“Certainly, as long as it is no more nonsense about leaving Winterwood.”
“No. I will stay until you ask me to go,” Lavinia replied. And that may be sooner than he expected it to be, she reflected soberly.
He asked her to sit down, and offered her a glass of Madeira. He had been riding, and was still in riding clothes. He looked a little fatigued, the lines deepened in his cheeks, his jaw hard. But otherwise he did not bear the look of someone with the cares of the world on his shoulders, as Eliza had described him.
“Then what is it you wish to discuss with me?”
It was difficult to remain calm.
“You have probably heard that Mr. Peate has told Flora about her fortune.”
“Yes, I did hear. But fortunately she has taken it the right way, and thinks only of money to spend for Christmas. So perhaps I was wrong and he right.”
“He is never right about anything!” Lavinia said passionately.
Daniel looked at her with raised brows.
“You say that very feelingly, Miss Hurst. Is there any particular reason?”
“Only that he is a most unlikable person, sly, untrustworthy, dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
She nodded vehemently.
“I believe so. Don’t let him stay here, Mr. Meryon. Persuade your wife he is here only to do harm.”
Daniel’s eyes had hardened.
“Explain yourself, Miss Hurst.”
“Why, he came into the blue garden, Flora’s precious blue garden, quite uninvited, and told Flora she would always be a cripple. He called her a little—” But she could not say the word. She must not go too far or Daniel would recognize her intense personal hatred for Jonathon. “I believe he is one of those people who want to do harm. How can he remain a welcome guest after that?”
Daniel had turned away so that she couldn’t see his face.
“You must address your appeal to my wife, Miss Hurst. It is she who wants the fellow here.”
“But does she, Mr. Meryon? Or is he intimidating her in some way?”
“Intimidating?” He turned sharply. “Oh, come, Miss Hurst, that’s a little unlikely. I believe he is playing heavily on their being kin, if only by marriage, and merely wants free lodgings for a time. So he flatters my wife outrageously, and she listens.”
“Flatters?”
The inquisitive brow went up again.
“That is a more likely explanation than yours, Miss Hurst. Anyway, I have heard him at it. And Charlotte appears to find him an amusing and entertaining guest. Which is a rather important consideration at this particular time. To tell the truth, Miss Hurst, I abominate having Peate in the house, and so does my uncle, but if it helps Charlotte we can put up with him until after Christmas.”
“How can it help her? That man?”
Now she believed what Eliza had said. For his face had grown careworn, with a deep look of sadness and perplexity.
“My wife, as perhaps you have realized, Miss Hurst, has these breakdowns, when she must not be crossed in the smallest way. Her aunt’s will has precipitated one of the worst she has had. Now she is recovering, but her well-being, for some curious reason, seems to depend on having Peate about. She says that the house would be too melancholy without guests, her aunt would have wished this, and anyway he amuses her.”
“I believe he frightens rather than amuses her.”
Daniel looked at her closely.
“Do you say that because he frightens you?”
“Yes, he does, because of his small cruelties,” Lavinia said intensely. “Reminding Flora that she was a cripple, and laughing. Nothing you can say in his favor will impress me.”
“I don’t intend saying anything in his favor. But we can surely come to little harm with a few more weeks of his company. I believe he came here for pickings in his aunt’s will, bu
t now those haven’t materialized, he intends to get as much free hospitality as he can for compensation. I’ll send him packing in January, I promise you, Miss Hurst.” He was laughing. “You do look as if you are afraid of him. Why, the fellow hasn’t a subtle brain in his head. And he’s vulgar as well, as my uncle would say. Can’t you just quietly despise him?”
“I do that already.”
“Then—” A new thought struck Daniel. “Is he worrying you with attentions? Miss Hurst! I want the truth.”
“No, Mr. Meryon. He isn’t worrying me. If it is so important to humor Mrs. Meryon, then of course we must do so. I only think that we should all be on our guard.”
“Did you think I was not?” came the quiet answer.
She gave a little sigh of relief.
“You should stop me, Mr. Meryon, when I start pursuing dragons.”
“But I like to watch you. You pursue them with such intensity. Now perhaps you will consent to sit down and have that glass of Madeira.”
Chapter 15
LATER THAT DAY CHARLOTTE gave orders for her horse to be saddled and brought to the door. Dressed in her pale gray riding suit, she ran down the stairs saying she must get some fresh air, the house was suffocating. Sylvie was at her heels. They looked like wraiths disappearing out of the front door, the slender woman and the slip of a dog.
Bertha had followed Charlotte down the stairs and said uneasily that when the mistress was in one of those moods nothing would stop her. Ride she must, as fast as her horse would take her. Goodness knows what she was riding from, but she would come back calm, that was the important thing.
She came back an hour later, when it was completely dark. She had lost her bowler hat, and her hair had come down. It streamed in a dark fall over one shoulder. Although she looked like a witch, she was, as Bertha had predicted, quite calm. She would change quickly and then say good night to the children. It was the first time she had gone to them in their bedrooms since the disastrous day of the funeral and the will reading.
It was remarkable how the atmosphere in the house changed now that the mistress’ strange malaise seemed to have passed.
Phoebe was singing at her work and little Mary, with more energy than strength, was filling the porcelain tub in front of the fire for Flora’s bath, and twittering like a sparrow about the events of the day.
