“And it did.”
“The old man did as she told him. His eyes wide, he saw the white flower bend and stretch in its pot. When he took hold of it, Noorina became herself again. She told him her sad tale—just as I’ve told it to you—and he said, ‘Your rajah marries the queen tomorrow. But no one goes near him until after the wedding, not even his friends.’ “
“Then Noorina cried. She does that a lot.”
“But she stopped in time, before she turned again into a pale flower. She made a plan to win back Chani. She went early on the morning of the wedding to the palace and said to the chief cook, ‘I am the finest baker in the world. I have come to bake a wedding cake for the rajah and his bride.’
“At first, the cook laughed, but when Noorina made a cake so light and sweet that it floated in the air, he agreed at once. The chef himself carried the cake in before Chani, who at once cut it open. To the guests’ amazement, two white birds flew out, and one said to the other, ‘Do not fly on so fast, my beloved, lest you forget me as Chani forgot Noorina.’ ” Lillian stopped to see if Addy had fallen asleep.
“What happened then?” Addy demanded, sitting up in bed.
“Why, Chani cried out, leapt to his feet, and ran to where his lovely maid awaited him. But the evil queen was there first, reaching out with sharp nails to rend the girl in pieces. Out came Chani’s sword, and he cut the queen in two with one flick of the blade.”
“Hoorah!”
“Embracing Noorina, he saw the evil queen shrivel and change into a hideous harpy. He loved Noorina all the more for her wisdom in saving him from the evil creature’s clutches.”
Addy clapped her hands, and then a frown came into her smooth forehead. “What happened to the old man? And did the other rajah mean to make Chani forget about Noorina? And what about those maids?”
Unfortunately, the story ended as Lillian had told it when an aged ayah of her friends, the McGiverns, had repeated it to a group of enraptured children. When Lillian had told it herself on the ship returning from India, none of the children had asked any such questions, and Addy herself had been too sleepy last time to do more than smile at the happy ending. Lillian was tempted to merely answer that she didn’t know, but looking into Addy’s solemn face, she decided to make up another ending, one which wrapped up all loose ends. Addy had seen enough doubtful conclusions for one night.
“Oh, yes. Well, after promising friendship to the rulers of the marvelous city, who were as surprised as anyone to find the queen was really a monster, and after showering the kind old man with enough gold to make his life pleasant ever after, Chani and Noorina took up their followers and traveled safely to their home where . .. where they and their many children lived in peace and harmony for the rest of their days.” Lillian drew a long breath. ‘That’s the end.”
Addy nodded. “Much better. Don’t you think that’s a good ending, Great?”
When Thorpe had listened to her tell this tale, Lillian had known by some other sense than the five usually counted that he was there. The presence of Lady Genevieve came as a shock, though she’d half expected her. Lillian turned her head quickly.
Lady Genevieve stood in the doorway, her emeralds gleaming once again about her throat. Lillian, however, hardly looked at the recovered gems. Around and around her forefinger Lady Genevieve swung the sapphires, blurring the distinct light of each stone into an insubstantial disk of blue. She did not need to speak; her raised eyebrows said enough.
Lillian turned back to Addy. “Lie down now,” she said, smoothing the coverlet once again. “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”
“You could kiss me, if you wanted to,” Addy said.
“Thank you.” Lillian bent down and briefly touched her lips to Addy’s smooth forehead. Rising up, she smiled at the child, though tears stung her eyes. She felt certain that by morning, her valise would sit on the pavement outside the castle next to Mr. and Mrs. Grenshaw’s belongings. Lady Genevieve, who had never liked her, would be perfectly within her rights to cast her out, after learning of the tissue of lies woven to make Lillian into a governess.
Without speaking, the two women went into Lillian’s room. “Sit down, Miss Cole,” Lady Genevieve said, pointing to a small chair drawn up to a white-draped table. A fire burned cracklingly in the fireplace. Though it was a warm night, Lillian turned in her seat to warm, not her hands, but her heart.
Lady Genevieve remained standing a moment to remove the covers from the dishes and pour out two cups of tea. “Excellent, it is still hot.” She seated herself opposite Lillian. “I noticed that you had not had your supper. I eat little and often, now that I am old, and am not adverse to a simple meal before bedtime.”
Lillian sipped from the thin, handleless cup. “You are being very good to me. Lady Genevieve.”
“And you wonder why?”
“Well. ..”
“Of course you do. You are not a fool, Miss Cole. That is a thing I rarely say to anyone. Yet, you must realize that I am not stupid, either. These sapphires—” She dropped the necklace onto the table. ‘They are quite real, and extravagantly expensive. If the household from which you’d come to us had contained a male, I should ask no questions, though you should not then continue as my great-granddaughter’s governess. Perhaps you can explain how you came by them.”
“I doubt I shall continue as governess here, anyway. The story of the sapphires is not very interesting. My father gave them to me on my eighteenth birthday. He purchased the stones while we were in India.”
“Ah, I wondered about India and you. The sheltered daughter of a vicar could hardly have acquired the exotic stories you have told Addy. What were you doing there? I doubt your father is a soldier, such jewels are not for them ... not by purchase at any rate. Is he a merchant? John’s Company, for instance?”
“My father is Jacob Canfield.”
Lady Genevieve drew in a whistling breath. “So ... money is not lacking. But you are not eating. Miss Cole ... that is, Miss Canfield. Is your Christian name still—”
“Lillian. This fish is delightful.”
“I shall give you the receipt, before you go.”
Lillian’s fork hesitated in midair. “Go?”
“Come now, you cannot remain Addy’s governess forever. You have your place in society, your own home, your father to consider. I am not entirely incommunicado, you know. I have friends who still chase the ton despite their age. They keep me well informed. Many are surprised that the daughter of—forgive me, but your father is what he is—the daughter of a Cit has fared so well on the ‘high shore of this world.’ Now that I meet you, of course, there is no amazement.”
Lillian thanked her, still suspicious. Why, she wondered, is she being so friendly? Nora was no longer a possible bride for Thorpe, and Lillian knew that ended her usefulness in Lady Genevieve’s eyes. She supposed that the older woman saw no point in harshness. Her house and her grandson would be free of eligible women, and she could go on protecting them both.
“Tell me,” Lady Genevieve said, pouring more tea. “How did you come to visit us?”
With nothing now to lose, Lillian described the roots of all her adventures. The ending of her engagement to the Earl of Reyne, the rift with her father, her visit to Paulina and the ill-concealed extortion that sent her on her way, everything was briefly mentioned with all the emotion left out. She ended by saying, “It’s been rather amusing, actually.”
Lady Genevieve paid no attention to the unconvincing laugh that followed this statement. “Paulina Pritchard,” she mused. “I do believe I met her husband several, dear me, it must be several decades ago now. I recall hearing that he’d married some flighty creature a good thirty years his junior. Sired a boy, you say? Well, miracles do exist. Tell me, what does she look like? I seem to remember that he always had a fancy for tall and slender blondes. He would have liked Nora very much.”
“Paulina has red hair, very curly and bright.”
“Proud of it, is she? And she
dresses well, I imagine.”
“Very well. But as I explainedd, Thor—Mr. Everard has met her. During the early spring they visited a duke’s house together ... or rather at the same time.”
“Ah, that will be Barnabas, the Duke of Grantor. That explains a great deal.” Lady Genevieve half closed her eyes as though she were thinking deeply. Lillian finished her late supper, considerate of her hostess’s introspection. After a few minutes, the clock on the mantel chimed a single stroke.
Lady Genevieve’s eyes snapped open. “So late as that? You must be exhausted, my dear Miss Canfield. I shall send someone up to clear all this away.”
“I appreciate your thinking of me, my lady.” “I think of you frequently. Miss Canfield.” Lady Genevieve swept toward the door.
Lillian thrust out a restraining hand. “Are you ... ?”
“Am I what? Oh, you want to know if I’m going to tell Thorpe all you’ve told me. No, I don’t believe I shall.” Lillian sighed gratefully as Lady Genevieve continued, “Provided, of course, that you prepare to leave the castle as soon as we can find another governess. I know a young woman, the impoverished daughter of a very silly friend of mine, who has taught school. She’ll do as well as anyone, I would suppose.” Delicately, Lady Genevieve patted a yawn to extinction. “My, how late it is.”
“But you don’t like the idea of a governess.”
“I have grown accustomed to the notion of having someone besides myself to attend Addy. I am not a young woman, after all.” But there was sparkle enough in her blue eyes for twenty debutantes, each full to the brim with schemes, plans, and stratagems that were guaranteed to send mothers and guardians stark mad.
Though pleased Lady Genevieve was not planning to run downstairs and instantly inform Thorpe as to his governess’s true identity, Lillian could not help lying awake wondering what her ladyship had in mind. She could only hope she would be safely out of the house before the hellish consequences exploded. If it were not for Thorpe and Addy, that was. Lillian was afraid they’d think she did not love them when she left. But to think of them was to banish sleep for good.
Chapter Thirteen
“Well, I still don’t understand why you agreed to it, Claude. It seems very strange to me. Surely we don’t want to go to America? I’ve heard it’s very hot there and swampy and quite dull so far as society goes even if it is their capital.”
Lillian paused on the doorstep, waiting to enter until Mrs. Grenshaw had finished her breakfast and her complaint. When she met the lady’s eye, Mrs. Grenshaw wriggled in her seat until her shoulder was very pointedly turned in Lillian’s direction. Meekly, Lillian selected a plateful of food and sat at the end of the table farthest from the Grenshaws. Her head ached rather, and Mrs. Grenshaw’s whining, breathless voice seemed designed to make it ache more.
“I mean, it’s very good of Thorpe to give us passage money, and I’m sure I’m grateful. But why America? Surely, there are more congenial places. Bath, for instance.” Mr. Grenshaw mumbled something, and Lillian braced herself for an outburst, but he apparently only wanted the salt cellar. “Or, if you prefer a complete change, though I can’t see why, why not one of the islands? I’ve heard the Bermudas are very pleasant, and my dear old friend Elvira Wilmer moved there, or was it Adelaide Navely? Anyway, at least we’d know someone instead of living among a lot of absolute strangers.”
When Lillian left the breakfast table, Mrs. Grenshaw’s tongue still trod its well-worn path. Mr. Grenshaw continued to devour all the food in sight as though he had no expectation of being fed in America.
As Lillian ascended the stairs, she wondered if Thorpe had finally put his foot down and ordered the Grenshaws to leave England or face prosecution for theft. That he was paying their passage, however, indicated that he’d perhaps not been utterly inflexible, or perhaps that he felt any price was worth ridding himself of those two hangers-on.
What value, she wondered, had her own presence in his eyes? Though cleared in the matter of the theft, Lillian still recalled with painful sharpness the look of mistrust in Thorpe’s eyes when her character had appeared so very black. No doubt she’d made it easier for him to believe the worst after her free behavior when he’d kissed her. She should have roundly refused his embraces and run away, as a proper maid should when confronted with a male taking liberties. How much easier it would be to leave the castle and forget the Everards if she’d never reposed in Thorpe’s arms. Now, she feared she was cursed to long for him forever.
It was just at this moment, when she felt an overwhelming sadness rise up seemingly from her very shoes, that she met Thorpe at the head of the stairs. It was as if she’d not seen him for years. His great good looks struck her anew. “Oh,” she said in surprise, stepping involuntarily backward.
He saved her by an arm thrown swiftly about her waist. Her hands went up to his lapel as she wavered, knowing behind her was a long, bone-breaking drop. Taking two steps back, Thorpe continued to hold her, even though she stood quite steadily now. She pointed this out to him herself, if rather breathlessly, recalling too late that she still held on to him.
Lillian snatched her hands away as he said, “One can never be too careful, Miss Cole. The last thing we Everards require is another ghost. Although you do look charming in white.”
Lillian set herself free. “Thank you,” she said, resolving to keep her distance. Perhaps practice would make separation from him more bearable. “Excuse me, Mr. Everard. I must see to Addy.”
“Confidentially,” he said, touching her very lightly on the elbow. “My daughter sneaked down the back stair not twenty minutes ago. A small voice tells me she is not anxious for the sort of good-byes my late wife’s mother indulges in. But then, you were there when she arrived. Believe me, her farewells are far more sticky and melodramatic. Much clasping to bosoms and crying. This bodes to be one of her better performances.”
“Especially as it seems she is about to make a tour of America. This may well be her final appearance on any English stage.”
“Ah, you know about that,” he said, smiling at her humor. “Yes, Mr. Grenshaw and I came to the decision last night that this island empire does not offer sufficient scope for his talents. America, however, being a new nation, and exceedingly large, might be the very niche he has long sought. Do you approve?”
“My approval hardly enters into the case, sir.”
“Your expression tells me you think I have acted badly.” He cut short her flustered denial. “Come, tell me roundly what is wrong with my plan?”
“It does seem a trifle hard on the Americans.” As he laughed, she said hurriedly, “I’m sorry. I should not have said such a thing about one of your relations.”
“By marriage only. We Everards are not above reproach; many of our name have committed deeds to make the devil blush. But we at least do not bungle, except in an occasional love affair.” Lillian restrained her tongue and managed not to say that she could not imagine him bungling in such a matter. He said, “So, as your charge has vanished once more, what will you do now?”
“I thought I should see to Addy’s mending. I’m afraid the maids neglect it.”
“No, you shall do a truly Christian deed. Nora Ellis is newly engaged and thus longing for someone to talk to. Take your mending if you wish, but by all means listen to the child’s transports on her Lieutenant Rogerson. I haven’t the patience to hear the same rhapsody more than once.”
“And you will be doing what?”
“I shall take the pleasant fellow along to see the horses, and perhaps I shall find my daughter. You are right. If she is not to see the Grenshaws again, she should be there when they leave. It is only fair.”
“And you are always fair,” she said, but not until after he’d left her at Nora’s door. Lillian sighed. Then, knocking, she entered.
From being as beautiful and still as a statue, Nora Ellis now resembled some bird of brilliant plumage constantly in flight. She fluttered from window to mirror, from bed to war
drobe, from armchair to windowsill. Her voice, too, trilled and sang. Lillian soon discovered that she required not so much a fellow conversationalist but a listener. This she set out to be by not merely murmuring appropriate responses like a sleepy altar boy but by paying the closest attention to all Nora’s rapturous utterances.
“It’s so amusing, but you know, I used to really believe that no one would ever love me. I could just see myself in twenty years, still living in our village, marching back and forth to the butcher’s and the baker’s and the draper’s with my shopping basket over my arm. That used to frighten me so—yes, frighten—that I’d lie awake all night thinking about it until I was almost ready to scream. But you don’t know about that, I think, Miss Cole.”
“Please call me Lillian. I have felt that way myself.”
“Have you? Mother would just tell me I was being silly.” She laughed. “Of course, mothers are always right, aren’t they? All the time I was scaring myself into wrinkles, Gilbert was coming nearer and nearer every day.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Just like in the Bible. I was drawing water from the well— our pump had broken down—and he stopped and asked for a drink. The best part was he came himself instead of sending Eliezer.” Nora smiled softly, then seemed to shake herself back into the present. “I’m so very glad he came after me when my aunt and uncle brought me here. Otherwise, I might have had to marry Cousin Thorpe.”
“Very many women would not mind it.”
“Oh, he’s wonderfully good, but half the time I can’t decide if he is speaking seriously or not. With Gilbert, I always know just where I am and what he thinks. Not very exciting, perhaps, but so comforting.” She sighed but not at all sadly.
“I can see how it would be.” Personally, she thought she’d find it deadly dull. Part of the excitement, she felt, of knowing Thorpe was wondering what he was going to say next. Now, aware that he used his flippancy as cover for his true heart, she could enjoy his conversation to the full. Or would be able to, she reminded herself, if she had the chance of a future life of listening to him.
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