by Justine Cole
Noelle had only the vaguest idea where India was and no idea at all what it meant to "receive," but she had no intention of letting Constance discover her ignorance. Instead, she spoke sarcastically. "And we shall all live happily ever after, I suppose."
The smile disappeared from Constance's face, and all the warmth left her voice. "That, Noelle, will depend upon you."
Chapter Seven
Considering Constance's comfortable station in life, her house, built in the style of Queen Anne, was rather simple, a neat rectangle without wings or courtyards. It was constructed of creamy white stone that changed color according to the weather and the time of day. Sometimes it assumed a rosy hue; at sunset it glowed golden. There was a dark brown doorway in the center ornamented only by a simple pediment carved from the same stone as the rest of the house. Three tall windows stood on each side of the door. The second floor had seven windows, the center one somewhat larger than its mates. Magnolias had been trained to cover much of the right side of the house, their waxy emerald leaves curling around the window frames. On the left side of the house yellow climbing roses clung to the stone, a few even attaching themselves to the windowsill of Noelle's second-story bedroom.
Inside, the unhappy girl restlessly paced the room, her steps muffled by the thick carpeting. The cool blue and white of the walls and the calm elegance of the furnishings stood in decided contrast to the unrest of her young spirit.
Her encounter with Constance Peale disturbed her far more than had her frequent, often violent confrontations on the street. Noelle's method was to spot the enemy and attack face on. But this woman was from outside her experience, and she sensed that the methods of the street would not work in this new world.
Finely honed instinct nagged at her. How could the woman present such a convincing display of friendship and sincerity when it was all false? If there were only some way she could strip it all away.
A sound coming from the front of the house drew her to the window. Peering out from behind the sprigged blue silk draperies, she spotted Constance being assisted into an elegant dark green carriage. This was her chance to explore without risking another unwelcome encounter with her hostess.
She began in the drawing room, at first studying the rich composition of ivory and gold as if it were a key that would unlock the mystery of its owner. But her compelling sense of beauty, starved for so long, overpowered her reason, and she fell captive to the artistry and quiet elegance around her.
She moved from room to room, running her hands along the soft nap of velvet draperies, gingerly stroking a china figurine, scrutinizing the elaborate plasterwork of the many fireplaces. She loved the graceful sweep of the stairway as it curved down into the center hallway and could even admire the full-length portrait of Constance as a young woman that hung on the landing. The hard, aching knot inside her eased.
She was preparing to walk into the gardens that lay at the rear of the house when the great clock in the foyer struck one. As if the toll were a signal, a young maid with a pitted complexion and sulky eyes materialized from the back hallway that Noelle correctly concluded led to the basement kitchen.
"My name is Molly, Miss Pope. I'm the downstairs maid."
So, Noelle mused, as she heard herself addressed by her assumed name for the first time, at least in this, Constance has kept her word.
"The mistress will not be back in time for lunch," the maid went on, not bothering to hide her scorn for a house guest who looked so vulgar. "Will you be eating in the dining room or would you prefer a tray in your bedroom?"
Noelle did not hesitate. "In my room, please." She had already peeked in at the resplendent dining room and even her indomitable spirit flagged at the thought of eating a meal alone in such formidable surroundings.
Not bothering to respond, the maid disappeared back down the hallway.
Noelle returned to her room and discovered that a plain, dark blue muslin dress had been placed on her bed. She fingered the material; it was soft from many washings. The fact that the dress was not a new garment convinced her that she could accept it.
Shedding the uncomfortable brown merino, she slipped the dark blue dress over her head. It hung on her emaciated frame, the hem barely reaching her ankles. She used the belt to gather the loose folds closer to her body and looked at the result in the mirror.
Having no vanity about her appearance, it did not bother her that this dress was as unflattering as the garment it had replaced. She was merely grateful that it did not itch. Still, she sighed at the contrast between the ornate gilded frame of the mirror and the pitifully unattractive reflection it enclosed.
Quickly she turned her attention to her luncheon tray. She was astonished by the amount of food: generous servings of poached salmon, roast beef, potatoes, fresh bread, and a fragrant vegetable that Letty later told her was called asparagus. She ate every bite and then lay down on her bed, the unaccustomed fullness in her stomach and the weakened condition of her own body quickly putting her to sleep. She awakened feeling more rested than she could remember, and with a somewhat lighter step, headed for the gardens. On the way she noticed an imposing set of double doors leading off the back of the center hallway. Curious, she pushed on the knob and stepped inside. What she saw erased all thoughts of the garden from her mind.
Quickly she closed the door behind her and then stood as if rooted to the spot. It was the Peale library, a stately room of oak and leather with high ceilings that dwarfed her. Light streamed in from' one end falling on the heavy, highly polished furniture and highlighting a massive portrait that dominated the room. From the dress of the man, Noelle deduced that it was a likeness of Benjamin Peale. He was no longer young when the artist had captured him, but still a handsome man with thick white hair parted on the side and heavy eyebrows that almost met in the middle.
All of these books must have been his, Noelle concluded, awestruck, as she transferred her gaze from the portrait to the towering shelves that lined the walls. Her feet finally freed themselves from the floor, and she forgot everything except the wealth she had so unexpectedly discovered.
The clock struck, and, with it, the library door opened and Molly appeared.
"I've been looking for you half the afternoon," she declared, irritated at the orders she had received from Mrs. Finch to treat the cheap-looking upstart with the utmost civility. "The mistress wants you to know that dinner is at seven o'clock in the dining room. And she doesn't like people to be late."
Noelle looked up from the slim volume she had been perusing. Here was an enemy she could understand. Rising from the chair, she advanced, her height giving her several inches advantage over the wiry girl. She bit out each word precisely. "Tell me, Molly, since you're such an expert on what the mistress likes and doesn’t like, how does she feel about nasty little maids who don't know their place?"
The maid's eyes widened at the unexpected assault. "Excuse me, miss." Only taking time to bob a respectful curtsy, she fled.
At exactly seven o'clock Noelle entered the dining room. Constance stood at the end of the room, framed by the mantel and carved sides of the fireplace. She wore a black gown shot with silver threads, an enormous spray of diamond lilacs at her throat.
The dining room, which Noelle had glimpsed earlier, was in the same rich ivory and gold as the drawing room. There were two sideboards against the wall and four shield-back chairs that were mates to the eight already around the oval table. Two places had been laid, one at the head of the table and another to the immediate right. As Constance seated herself, she indicated the other place.
"I apologize for not being here to lunch with you, Dorian, but I received a message that an old friend had been taken ill." In deference to the maid standing at the sideboard, she addressed Noelle according to their agreement. "Just a trace of indigestion, as it turned out, but she is rather frail, and I could not be satisfied until I saw for myself that she was all right. I trust your lunch was satisfactory?"
"It was exce
llent, thank you," Noelle answered coolly.
Thin porcelain bowls filled with Mrs. Finch's prize bouillabaisse were set before them. Noelle watched as Constance carefully chose the largest of the spoons before her and gracefully dipped it into the bowl. Noiselessly she sipped the soup from the side of the silver spoon and then returned it to the bowl. Noelle continued to watch this procedure until Constance had consumed almost half of her soup. Her motions were so deliberate that Noelle rapidly concluded she was being subtly instructed in proper table manners. She did not see a hostess trying to make a guest comfortable; instead, the fateful conversation she had overheard that morning tormented her: ". . . the new Mrs. Copeland, not a woman of the breeding one would expect of a Copeland bride."
Angrily resting both her elbows on the polished surface of the table, Noelle took her bowl in both hands, raised it to her lips, and noisily filled her mouth with its delicious contents.
Constance's eyebrows shot up. For a moment Noelle thought she had managed to pierce her hostess's armor as she saw the green sparks glittering in her eyes, but the moment passed, and Constance gestured wordlessly to the maid to remove the bowls.
The next course was set before the silent combatants.
Throughout the rest of the meal Noelle carefully observed Constance and then did as close to the opposite as possible. If Constance chose a fork, Noelle used a spoon. When Constance carved her quail with a knife, Noelle tore hers apart with her fingers. She slurped from her water glass, carefully mashed her peas into the potatoes, and, finally, cleaned her hands by sucking each finger noisily.
Two strawberry tarts garnished with generous dollops of whipped cream were set before them. Constance began to pick up her fork and then, eyeing Noelle, deliberately replaced the instrument on the table and folded her hands in her lap. Noelle studied her hostess and then the juicy pastry. Pushing herself back from the table, she picked up the dripping tart in her fingers and walked toward the dining room doors.
"Nice meal," she tossed back over her shoulder, deeply regretting that she had never mastered the art of belching at will.
After a deep, dreamless sleep and breakfast in her room the next morning, Noelle headed for the library. She chose three volumes from the shelf and took them out into the sunny garden. The garden was enclosed by the house on one side and a wall of golden-brown brick on the other two sides. Its open end afforded a breathtaking vista of hills and valleys still enshrouded with morning mists. Clumps of alder and beech rose from ground newly green with spring grass. Noelle breathed in the fragrant Sussex air and settled herself on one of two stone benches that surrounded a small fountain topped by a spouting cupid. The chill of the stone soon seeped through her petticoats, but she did not notice. She was lost in the mystery of the books.
When it was time for lunch, Noelle prepared herself for another battle of wits with her hostess. Walking into the dining room, she saw several changes had been made.
Again, two places had been laid, but instead of locating the second place to the immediate right of the hostess as before, it had been moved to the foot of the table. Dominating the center of the table was an elaborate silver epergne. It stood perhaps six hands tall, its slender branches supporting, at various heights; silver baskets and shell-like dishes. Above the branches was a double- tiered pagoda hung with five silver filigree bells, each over two inches in diameter at its base. Designed to hold relishes and condiments, the enormous piece was curiously empty.
As Noelle sat in her new place at the foot of the table, she felt her first glimmer of respect for her hostess. The enormous silver piece entirely
Chapter Eight
Two days later, Constance snipped a miniature peach-colored rosebud from one of the bushes she cultivated with much care in her small greenhouse. She held it up to the filtered sunlight and gazed at it thoughtfully as she puzzled over the problem foremost in her mind. I can take a cutting and help it develop into a thing of beauty, she mused. A little knowledge, some care, and a bit of luck. That's all it needs. But not Noelle. Since she has been here she has shown herself unwilling to accept even the slightest kindness. She bristles when I come near and defies me every way she can. Why? For three days Constance had been asking herself this question, and she was still no closer to an answer.
Placing the tender bud on top of its sisters in a wicker basket, she smiled grimly to herself as she thought of their twice daily mealtime duels. Just today, Noelle had managed to consume an entire lobster stew without once touching fork or spoon. She infuriates me so, I'd like to strangle her, yet I can't remember when I've met a person I admire as much as that girl. She has such fierce determination, such pride. If there were only some way I could pierce her hostility.
Sighing, she picked up the rose-filled basket and walked into her house. It seemed the only thing she'd done right was to put out that ugly old blue dress so Noelle could have a change of clothing. If she could just order some pretty things for her and a few caps to cover that absurd hair, but as she had several times before, Constance abruptly dismissed the thought. Noelle was definitely not a doll to be costumed.
I'm afraid Simon is destined to be bitterly disappointed, she told herself. He'll never be able to convince her to stay here with me.
As she passed the library door she saw that it had been left ajar. Curious, she peeked in.
Noelle, looking very small in the lofty paneled room, was running her hand along one of the shelves. Finally she extracted a dark green leather-bound tome and took it to the library table, where she set it on the tooled leather top . She has spent more time in there these last few days, Constance thought, than she has anywhere else in this house. And every time I look in, she seems to have a different book in her hands.
Constance pasted a bright smile on her lips and entered the room. "Hello, Noelle, aren't these lovely?" She held out the peach roses for Noelle's scrutiny.
"Yes," Noelle responded coldly, not bothering to pick up her head to look.
Suddenly Constance felt a great resentment rising within her. She was tired of being rebuffed, tired of Noelle's perpetual rudeness.
"I said, aren't these lovely?" Although her voice was quiet, the tones were icy and commanding.
Startled, Noelle lifted her head to find Constance's green eyes, usually so warm, scrutinizing her angrily. Noelle looked at the rose Constance held extended in her hand. "It's a beautiful rose," she said flatly.
Encouraged that the girl had responded at all, Constance pressed on. "I have noticed, Noelle, that you are spending a great deal of time in the library. I would like to see what you are reading." Imperiously she held out her hand for the book that lay in Noelle's lap.
Noelle's interest was piqued by her hostess's newfound aggressiveness. "If you wish," she answered with seeming indifference.
Constance concealed the tiny stab of triumph she felt as she took the book and then barely hid her surprise when she saw what Noelle had been perusing. It was a work by Schiller, an author much admired by English readers. The book had been a gift from one of Simon's Prussian clients and was written entirely in German. "Do you often read Goethe?" Constance asked carefully.
"No, I don't," Noelle answered as she took the book back from Constance and returned it to the shelf. Deciding the encounter had lasted long enough, she turned and left the room.
Her roses temporarily forgotten, Constance stared thoughtfully at the empty doorway. Finally she picked up the wicker basket, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. This had proven to be a most informative encounter, most informative, indeed. Perhaps something could be made of all this yet.
Constance had almost finished her consommé when Noelle made her entrance for supper ten minutes late. For once Noelle was not being deliberately rude. It seemed the more of Constance's food she ate, the more her body wanted to rest. This time she had slept away the whole afternoon.
She immediately noticed that Constance had again made changes in the dining room. The silver epergne was gon
e. In its place was a simple blue glass vase that held the peach rosebuds Constance had shown her in the library that afternoon. But it was the second change that made Noelle uneasy: Her place had once again been set directly to the right of her hostess.
She darted a curious glance at Constance and then took her chair and studied the soup. She could almost hear Constance's silent command, "Use your spoon. Use your spoon."
Noelle picked up the shallow bowl in her hands and defiantly drained the savory contents.
Constance gave no visible sign that she had noticed Noelle's behavior. Instead, she spoke impersonally, her tone more formal than it had been in the past.
"I'm pleased you have been using the library. It used to be my favorite room, but now"—she shrugged her shoulders philosophically—"it reminds me too much of my late husband, as he was before his illness. He spent so much time in that room. Now I much prefer reading in my sitting room."
Constance nodded to a chastened Molly, standing silently in the corner of the room. The girl removed the bowls and set a fluffy omelette aux fines herbes in front of each of the two women. The savory aroma of dill and parsley filled the air. Silently Constance took several small bites of the omelette and then continued her monologue as if she had expected no response from Noelle.
"I find it most relaxing in the evening to read before I retire. Of course, it's not without risks. I was so enjoying myself last night that I just couldn't bear to turn out the light. Alas, it was past two o'clock before I was done, and I suffered a beastly headache all morning as a result. Faith, it was worth every minute. I can't think when this past year I've been so entertained."
