The Selfless Sister

by Shirley Kennedy

  Douglas slung himself into a chair. “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  “It seems I’ve castigated you for something I just did myself.”

  Alex had to think a moment before an enlightened expression covered his face. “You’ve been consorting with Lucinda Linley.”

  “Consorting is hardly the word. I merely happened to meet the girl in the woods this morning. We talked.”

  “Talked? That’s all? There’s more, isn’t there?” For once, Alex’s nimble sense of humor deserted him. He made a grim mouth and declared, “So Edgerton can now direct his malice at not one of us but two. What you’ve done or haven’t done, I don’t care, but as for myself, considering present circumstances, I cannot wait much longer.”

  “You’re still thinking of eloping?”

  “I don’t know what to think. This is driving me mad! I haven’t seen her or talked to her. We were supposed to meet, but she failed to appear.”

  “That could be good news or bad, it’s hard to say.”

  Alex’s eyebrows raised inquiringly. “If we should be off to Gretna Green, perhaps you’d care to join me?”

  “Not likely! Miss Linley and I are merely acquaintances, but you...” Douglas had to stop a moment to arrange his thoughts. “Be honest with me, Alex. Did it go so far you’re fearful she might be with child? Because if she is, God help us all.”

  “You think I haven’t thought of the consequences?” Alex cried despairingly.

  Douglas’s spirits, low enough to begin with, plunged lower. Alex had just told him the one thing he had not wanted to hear. “Why, Alex?” he asked, hard-put to keep his voice level. “I can understand how those youthful juices must be flowing, but why, on God’s green earth, did you have to fall in love with the daughter of Edgerton Linley?”

  * * *

  Fearfully holding her breath lest she encounter one of the servants, Lucinda stealthily climbed the servants’ staircase to the fourth floor,. Gripping a napkin full of food, she crept down the hallway, her heart pounding faster at each step as she pictured Edgerton suddenly appearing, spearing her with his hard, passionless gaze and asking in that acerbic voice of his, “We are not going to see Charles, are we, Lucinda?”

  She reached the small room at the end of the hall, turned the key, and stepped inside. A small amount of light came through one small window. Through the dimness she could see the room was sparsely furnished with only a small bed, chest and commode. The boy was sitting in a corner on the floor, head down, arms wrapped about his raised knees.

  “Charles, are you all right?” Lucinda called in a loud whisper.

  The boy raised his head. “You shouldn’t be here, Lucinda. Papa will be mad.”

  She sat next to him on the floor. “You let me worry about that. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

  “Fine.” Charles winced as he moved slightly.

  She asked, “Do you hurt someplace?”

  “Just where I got my whipping.”

  She wished she could come up with something comforting, but nothing she could say would ease the pain. “I brought you something to eat.”

  Judging from the way Charles grabbed at the napkin, Lucinda could easily see how hungry the boy was. “There’s chicken, and bread and cheese, an apple, some cake...oh, you should eat the cake last!” She watched as the boy crammed the cake into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for days. And he just about hasn’t, she thought grimly. She would say no more. What did it matter in what order he devoured his food, as long as he got something in his stomach? Anger almost choked her when she thought of Edgerton whipping, near starving the boy, and all in the name of “making him a little man.” How could he do such horrible things to his only son?

  After Charles finished the meal and they’d talked for a while, she rose to go. “I must be on my way, but I shall be back.”

  The child looked up at her, misery in his eyes. “You shouldn’t come. You’ll get in trouble.”

  “But I want to come. You know we all care about you and are thinking of you. You’re a fine little boy, Charles. You’re not...” Lucinda had to pause and think. She must be careful what she said. Terrible though Edgerton was, he was the boy’s father, and as such, his authority must not be questioned. “Will you be all right?”

  “Fine. It’s just...” Charles fought manfully, but without success, to keep tears from his eyes. “Oh, Lucinda, I’m so afraid at night! I can’t sleep because it’s so dark up here and I’m afraid there’s a monster that might get me. Then, when I do fall asleep, I dream the monster really is here, and he really is going to get me.”

  As Lucinda put her arms around Charles and drew him close, he gave way to sobs. She held him tight and let him cry until he lay exhausted in her arms. Tears formed in her own eyes as inwardly she railed against Edgerton’s cruelty and her inability to help the child, other than to provide food and a bit of comfort. She put on a bright face and said, “Just five more days. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “You be careful,” he called as she quietly opened the door.

  His concern for her cut her like a knife. Such a nice little boy. God only knew what would happen to him if Edgerton’s cruelties continued.

  * * *

  Now what? Lucinda asked herself at the bottom of the stairs. She should go to Aunt Pernelia’s room and read to her, or perhaps, they could just chat while working on their petit-point. Lucinda was so upset about Charles, though, she couldn’t bear the thought of acting normal when things were not. If only she could think of something she could do to help Charles. Would it be of any use to talk to the others? Surely his mother must be horribly upset. It wouldn’t hurt to find out.

  Cousin Jane was sitting in the music room toying with the piano when Lucinda entered. “I am so concerned about Charles,” she began, not bothering with preliminary chit-chat.

  Jane, dressed in a morning gown of somber gray, with a white lace cap perched atop her small head, looked up from the keyboard surprised. “You haven’t been...oh, my dear, you haven’t been to the fourth floor, have you? Edgerton gave strict orders.”

  “Whether I have or have not is not important.” Lucinda wasn’t going to lie, but the truth was beside the point. “I’m concerned because Cousin Edgerton’s punishment seems so extraordinarily harsh for such a little boy. Charles isn’t getting enough to eat. He’s frightened. He’s having nightmares.”

  Jane sighed. ”I know, but Edgerton is far from being the only father in the world who metes out harsh punishments.”

  “I’m afraid I must agree with you,” Lucinda said sadly. “Harsh punishments appear to be the rule in our society. That doesn’t make it right, though.”

  Jane nodded almost imperceptibly. “Edgerton does get a bit carried away at times.”

  “Then why don’t we do something? Perhaps if we spoke to Edgerton—all of us—you, I, Aunt Pernelia, Cousin Sarah—”

  “Are you daft?” Jane stared at Lucinda with round, incredulous eyes. “Talk to Edgerton? Nobody simply talks to Edgerton. He issues orders and we obey.”

  “But under the circumstances...can’t you see how cruel he’s being?”

  Jane compressed her lips into a thin, disapproving line. “Whether or not I think my husband is too harsh with Charles is of absolutely no import. Edgerton is a stern disciplinarian. As head of this household he has the right to do whatever he pleases.”

  What kind of mother was this? “But at the risk of permanently harming your only son?”

  In bewilderment, Jane flopped out her hands. “But what would you have me do?”

  “Stand up to your husband. Tell him how you feel.”

  Jane drew in a shocked breath. “But I’m only a woman. God put us on this earth simply to endure.”

  “Women have opinions, too.”

  “But that’s not true.” Jane appeared to be on the edge of tears. “I may not always agree with my husband, but I would never dream of contradicting him.”

  This was h
ard to believe. Lucinda thought of her own mother, who always stood up for herself and never hesitated to inform Papa if she thought he was wrong. “But why can’t you contradict him, Cousin Jane?”

  “What if I did contradict him?” Jane asked in an accusing tone. “I would be banished. Don’t forget, I’m only a woman.” Her eyebrows raised over her glasses. “As are you, don’t forget. Without Edgerton’s guidance, I don’t know what I would do.”

  Lucinda saw clearly her entreaty was hopeless. “I shan’t bother you further.” Keenly disappointed, she stood to leave.

  “You do understand, don’t you?” Jane’s forehead furrowed in dismay. She appeared to be in an agony of regret, fearful she might have caused displeasure, thus creating what was to be avoided at all costs—a scene.

  Lucinda replied gently, “I do understand. You’re entitled to your opinion just as much as I.”

  “Then it’s all right?” Jane asked with pleading eyes.

  “Of course it’s all right.” Lucinda felt sad to see the look of relief that flooded Cousin Jane’s face. Poor woman, apparently she’d never stood up for herself her whole life. It would be fruitless to think she would start now.

  No help there, Lucinda thought as she left the music room, but she could still try. Next, she would attempt to solicit Cousin Sarah. She hated the thought of speaking even one word to that strange, antipathetic woman who so obviously disliked her. But Sarah was, after all, Edgerton’s sister. She might have some influence. For Charles’s sake, it was worth a try.

  * * *

  “Come in,” Sarah called coldly when Lucinda knocked on the door of her bed chamber. Feeling most unwelcome, Lucinda stepped inside. Having never been in Sarah’s room before, she was immediately struck by the illusion of a colorful floral fantasy as her gaze swept about. Samples of Sarah’s embroidery were everywhere. It was as if the woman had taken her needle to everything in sight: wall hangings, framed pictures, boxes of all shapes and sizes, fans, card cases, blotters, chair seats and backs. Gaily colored florals seemed to be Sarah’s patterns of choice, but there were also fruits, such as strawberries and grapes, the popular tree-of-life pattern with its twisted tree trunk, and even various wild animals.

  “What exquisite needlework,” Lucinda said sincerely, although she privately thought the effect was much overdone.

  Sarah returned a one-shouldered shrug. “Needlework is what I do with my life.”

  “Well, you do it very well.” How sad, Lucinda thought privately. She, herself, enjoyed a bit of petit-point now and then, but she could not imagine devoting one’s whole life to needle and thread.

  Sarah gave her a hostile glare. “So why are you here?”

  Might as well get immediately to the point. “It seems your brother, Edgerton”—looking into Sarah’s unfriendly eyes, Lucinda had to force herself not to waver—“is much too hard on Charles.”

  “In what way?” Sarah snapped.

  “In just about every way.” With a sinking heart, with growing awareness she could never break through this strange woman’s hostility, Lucinda went on to describe how she felt about the whipping Charles had received, his long incarceration in the dark room on the servants’ floor, how he was not getting enough to eat. She ended with, “Do you suppose you could help? Perhaps if you talked to Edgerton?”

  Sarah glared at her, the cords in her scrawny neck bulging. “What do you expect me to do? What’s the purpose of this? Just why are you asking?”

  “I want only to help Charles,” Lucinda answered in a reasonable manner, knowing full well she wasn’t getting anywhere, and most probably would not, but she would keep trying. “You know as well as I, he’s being treated much too harshly. Would it be too much to ask that we join together—go to Edgerton—stand up to him? I have a feeling if we did, we could—”

  “Stand up to Edgerton?” Sarah started laughing, not a happy kind of laugh, but harsh and grating. She stopped abruptly and bitterly continued, “If ever I wanted to—how did you put it?—stand up to my brother, I would have done so long ago, back when there was hope in this miserable household, back before...”

  “Back before what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Back before the tragedy?”

  “Edgerton is what he is. There’s nothing anyone can do. You’re a fool if you try.”

  From out of the blue, a question popped into Lucinda’s head. Doubtless, it would be a waste of time to ask. She thought of Charles and decided to ask anyway. “Sarah, you were there on the day of the tragedy.”

  “I was only five.”

  “Yes, I know, but still you might remember. Was Edgerton being entirely truthful? By that I mean, did he tell the entire story? Is there something about that day that we don’t know?” She braced herself, half sorry she had asked, knowing her question would bring the full force of Sarah’s wrath upon her head. Instead, she was surprised to see a tiny glint of acknowledgment flit through her cousin’s eyes.

  “My brother is not a liar,” Sarah stoutly replied, although Lucinda caught a barely perceptible irresoluteness in her voice. “You’ve heard the truth of what happened that day.” Her gaze shifted to the left and down. Subdued, she muttered, “I have nothing to add.”

  It was plain as noon-day that Sarah was lying. “Are you sure you have nothing to add? I have the feeling the events of that day did not happen exactly as described.”

  Sarah’s hesitant demeanor swiftly changed. She drew herself up indignantly. “How dare you even imply such a thing.” Her finger shaking, she pointed toward the door. “Get out. Don’t come back. Everything was fine until you came along, Miss Fine Airs.”

  Lucinda remained calm. She felt nothing but pity for this bitter spinster who had nothing to do with her life but embroider everything in sight. She rose to go. “I’m sorry you feel that way. Perhaps some day when you’re feeling better we can talk more, and become friends.”

  “Never.”

  Sarah had said “never” with such enmity in her voice that Lucinda knew further conversation was futile. “Then you won’t help Charles,” she said, resigned.

  Sarah drew herself up. “Edgerton is the master of this household. If you plan to stay here, you had best remember that, and not attempt to undermine his authority.”

  Lucinda politely said goodbye and left her cousin’s bed chamber without another word. Back in Aunt Pernelia’s room, she tried to conceal her despair as she sank to a chair beside her aunt’s bed, but Pernelia caught her mood instantly.

  “What is wrong? You appear distressed.”

  Once again, Lucinda explained her feelings about Charles, although this time bearing in mind she was talking to Edgerton’s mother and thus could not fully disclose her indignation.

  “I just don’t know why Edgerton acts the way he does,” said Pernelia with a vague wave of her hand.

  Lucinda answered, “At first, I was thinking we could all get together and talk to him, but I know now that wouldn’t work. But perhaps...Aunt Pernelia, could you talk to him yourself?”

  Pernelia look alarmed. “But what would you have me say? You know how proud and stubborn he is.”

  “You’re his mother. He would listen to you.”

  “Oh, dear me, no.” Pernelia leaned closer, to deliver a confidence. “Even if Edgerton is my son, I tremble in my boots when he gets angry.”

  “But—” Lucinda hesitated, knowing she was about to get into a personal area that was none of her concern. Still, if it would help Charles then it was her concern. “You do hold the purse strings, Aunt Pernelia.”

  Pernelia did not look the least annoyed. If anything, she looked pleased she’d been reminded. “Did you know Edgerton is practically penniless?” she asked in a chatty voice. “It’s his own fault, too, what with all his extravagances. If it weren’t for me he would long since have gone bankrupt. Of course, he claims I’m getting incompetent.” She smiled mischievously, almost like a little girl. “He wants me to sign all my money over to him, but I won’t
.”

  “I’m glad you won’t,” Lucinda answered fervidly. “Money is power, Aunt Pernelia. Have you ever thought to use your fortune as a control over Edgerton’s misdoings?”

  “Mercy me no! Oh, dear, I would not begin to know how to stand up to Edgerton. Even now, when he hounds me to sign over my money, it’s all I can do to say no. I’m afraid soon I shall find his constant supplications so worrisome I shall give in, just to end his constant harassment.”

  Lucinda’s heart sank. It was clear her quest was hopeless. Any further attempts on her part to persuade Pernelia, or, for that matter, anyone in this household, to stand against Edgerton were doomed to failure. How galling she could not help Charles. She considered going to Edgerton by herself, but would she have the courage? Or would she wither under his hostile gaze and run, thus proving she was no better than any of the other fainthearted women in this miserable house?

  Not only that, if he looked at her that way again, she didn’t think she could stand it.

  She could not do it, she concluded, disgusted with herself. She was as much a coward as Jane, Sarah, and Aunt Pernelia. She wished there were someone she could talk to. Then it dawned on her there was. If Aunt Pernelia did not need her, this afternoon she would take the curricle into York and visit Lady Perry. The more she thought, the more she liked the idea. It wasn’t only Edgerton’s treatment of Charles that troubled her, there was something more—something she could not put her finger on. Lucinda remembered all those sharp-witted, insightful conversations she used to have with certain of her sisters, wherein memories were jogged, perspectives widened, and ideas born. Well, she most certainly would find none of that at Southfield. But perhaps Felicia would provide just what she needed to help solve the problems that weighed heavily upon her.

  * * *

  After the distressing morning she’d had, Lucinda thought what a comfort it was to sit in Lady Perry’s exquisitely furnished salon, sipping her delicious Ceylon tea, having a conversation with a woman of compassion, courage, and intelligence. She had just unburdened herself, confiding in Felicia her deep concern over Charles, followed by her total frustration with the weak-willed women of Southfield. “Sarah dwells in a world of bitterness. Jane possesses the courage of a gnat. Pernelia...well, what can I say? I suspect her mind is still in the woods each day, searching for her little girl.”