I was almost pleased when Selina laughed at her instruction and turned to Jeremy and me.
“If I’m going to tell, I want to show it to everyone!” she cried and ran through the door ahead of us, her fair hair bouncing against her back.
Jeremy left his carrousel beneath the Christmas tree and came beside me up the stairs, while Miss Garth followed gloomily, once more preoccupied with her role of Cassandra. This was not a good idea, she insisted. The child was too excited. The whole thing must be stopped.
My first misgivings came when Selina went to the closed door of her mother’s boudoir. When Miss Garth would have stopped her from entering, she laughed mischievously and slipped out of the governess’ grasp, darting into the room ahead of her. In the thin light from the hall I saw her run to the velvet draperies that hid her mother’s bedroom and push them aside.
“Do light the gas, Miss Megan,” she called. “It’s dark in here.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Miss Garth told me sharply. “The child has no business in this room while her mother is absent and neither have you.”
She was right, of course, but now, in spite of a certain uneasiness, I was curious to know what so excited Selina. I went to the mantel, found matches, and lighted the gas Leslie so seldom used in this room of scent and shadow.
Kate had apparently been in to put things to rights after her mistress had dressed for the ball, for there was no disarray in the room. The bedclothes were turned down neatly, and Leslie’s nightgown lay across the coverlet. All was in its usual place, and any dusting of powder had been wiped from the top of her dressing table, her perfume bottles and silver-backed brushes set in order.
For a moment the four of us stood looking about. Then Miss Garth moved decisively toward the gas I had just lighted and turned it out. But in the instant before the light vanished, Selina cried out.
“It’s gone!” she wailed. “It isn’t here at all. So how can I show you?”
Miss Garth gave Selina no further chance to explain. She took her by the arm and whisked her off to bed in such high indignation that not even her charge protested. Jeremy and I found ourselves in the hall, looking at each other in bewilderment.
“What do you suppose all that was about?” I asked.
Jeremy shrugged. “Just Selina being silly,” he said.
I was willing to leave it at that.
“Perhaps it’s bedtime for us too, Jeremy,” I said. “This has been a long, happy evening.”
He came upstairs with me and went to bed without objection. But when I returned to my own room, I found I had no desire to go immediately to sleep. A restlessness possessed me. To amuse myself, I sorted out the small gifts I had brought up to my room—Jeremy’s sphinx, Selina’s pomander ball, Andrew’s sketch. I’d felt a sense of friendly companionship tonight while Andrew was there. For a little while I had been able to shut Brandon Reid away in a hidden compartment of my mind. But now I remembered, and remembering, I knew what it was to be lonely on Christmas Eve.
As midnight neared, I could endure my gloomy thoughts no longer. I slipped my dolman about me and tied a woolen scarf over my head against the chill of the night. Then I went softly downstairs and out the front door, taking my latchkey, so I might return without disturbing the servants.
I stood on the high marble steps and lifted my face to a cool wind blowing from the harbor, as if its very touch would clear my troubled thoughts and brush away longings that frightened me. The square lay peaceful and bright beneath the quiet sky. Through recent snow diagonal paths ruled long brown lines. Here and there about the perimeter a lighted Christmas tree brightened a window, and friendly lamps burned where occupants were still up on Christmas Eve. Along one edge of the square the Gothic buildings of the University formed a gray border without illumination, though lights gleamed in the windows of the church next door.
From downtown I heard the clock bell of old Trinity begin to strike the midnight hour and I knew that Christmas Day was nearly upon me. One by one I counted the strokes, and, when they came to an end, a hush seemed to fall upon the air. It was as if a concerted breath were held, as if all the city waited. Into this breathless pause came a burst of rich, sweet sound as the bells of Trinity began to peal their joyful welcome to Christmas Day.
My heart lifted in spite of myself, and I looked up at heavens deep and blue and spangled with stars. The words of the song we had sung earlier returned to whisper softly through my consciousness: All is calm, all is bright … Something of the night’s peace descended upon me, and I returned more calmly to the house and started upstairs to my room.
Gaslight still burned on the second floor, and, as I followed the hall to the upward turn of the stairs, I caught a slight movement in the shadows. For an instant I was startled and thought of Jeremy. Then I saw that it was Miss Garth who had placed a chair outside her mistress’ door and sat there, alert and watchful. She saw me, but she did not speak, and I went up the stairs quickly, wanting no encounter with Thora Garth in that lonely hallway.
The sense of peace was suddenly gone. It was a long while before I fell asleep. Sometime during the early hours of Christmas morning I wakened to hear horses being stabled in the mews beneath my window and knew that Leslie and Brandon had come home.
NINETEEN
Early the next morning, before I’d had breakfast, I went downstairs, meaning to go for a walk in the winter sunshine of Christmas Day. More and more the atmosphere of the house weighed upon me, oppressed me.
But though I moved quietly, someone else was up as early as I, and, as I passed the library, Brandon heard my step and called to me to come in. I paused just inside the door. Here was my opportunity to tell him that I could not remain in his employ much longer. I must form my own plans soon and act upon them.
As he came toward me, however, I saw his face, haggard in the early morning light, the eyes sunken in the sockets. It could not be the late hours of a ball that had done this to him. With his vitality he could have danced the dawn in with ease, had the occasion been a joyous one. I put my intent aside, knowing I could not add to whatever trouble had set this stamp of suffering upon him.
“Merry Christmas, Megan,” he said, but there was no merriment in the words. He put a hand into the pocket of his burgundy dressing gown, then drew it out, extending it toward me. In his fingers he held a small blue box, a jeweler’s box.
I stared at it blankly, taken aback.
“It’s for you, Megan,” he said. “Today is Christmas, and this is my gift to you.”
I did not want him to give me anything. I did not want him to be thoughtful and kind. I kept my hands behind my back like a willful child.
“We’re opening our gifts under the tree later this morning,” I told him stiffly.
With a quick gesture, as though I exasperated him, he caught my hand and drew it from behind my back, pressing the little box into my fingers and holding them closed about it so that I might not refuse.
“Under the tree you will find a proper gift chosen by Leslie. This is my own gift to you, Megan. It is a very small way of thanking you for all you’ve done in this house. You can’t deny me so trifling a pleasure. Open it; I want to know what you think.”
With uncertain fingers I pressed the catch of the box, and the lid flew up. Pinned to the white satin inside was a pale green scarab set in a simple silver brooch.
“That wasn’t bought in the streets of Cairo,” he said. “It is from the tomb of Queen Hatshepsut. I thought it might please you, so I had it set in a brooch.”
It pleased me so very much that I did not want him to guess the extent of my delight.
“It’s beautiful,” I said in a low voice.
He touched the scrollwork of the design with his forefinger. “The material is glazed steatite. The marks it bears spell the queen’s name. I wish you could see Deir-el-Bahri at Thebes where this came from. All those rows upon rows of great steps leading to higher levels where the gigantic enthroned figures s
it. Images of the queen on every hand—the same broad-cheeked beautiful face repeated again and again. The place is both temple and tomb.”
As I listened, studying the tiny scarab, my mind conjured up a vast temple set against bare brown hills. He broke the spell of my vision abruptly.
“What did you do on Christmas Eve?”
“We trimmed the tree,” I told him.
“And—afterwards?”
I told him of how I had been unable to sleep and had come downstairs to stand on the front steps. Of how I had heard the bells of Trinity on Christmas Eve.
“I wondered if you’d hear them,” he said. “At midnight I found an open window where I could breathe fresh air and be alone. I thought of you then, Megan. While the bells were ringing.”
I had come into this room meaning to tell him that I could stay no longer in this house, but I knew I could not speak at this time. There was a burning of tears behind my lids, and I dared not remain in his company. I turned from him quickly and fled the room.
I ran upstairs with his gift held tightly and in my room I cried over it a little. No matter what this house held for me in the way of pain, I would keep this small brooch always and remember that Brandon Reid had thought well enough of me to want me to have it.
When I went to breakfast that morning I could not resist pinning the delicate brooch at the collar of my dress.
Miss Garth, the children, and I breakfasted together in the nursery. Only Selina still seemed excited about Christmas. Miss Garth appeared morose and greeted me with the news that poor Miss Leslie had danced beyond her strength last night and was too ill this morning to join in the Christmas-tree festivities. Though the governess said nothing openly, I caught the implication that Brandon Reid was to blame.
During the meal Jeremy inquired about the date for the opening ceremonies at the Dwight Reid Memorial Home, and Miss Garth answered him impatiently.
“Why don’t you ask your uncle? I know nothing at all about it. And care less!”
“I want to be there,” Jeremy said with the same persistence he had shown before. “Do you think my mother will take me?”
Garth glowered at him. “I hope your mother will stay home. If your uncle has his way, there’ll be no ceremony.”
Jeremy sighed and did not question her further. He and Selina left the table ahead of us, both eager for the opening of presents. Ordinarily I would have followed, loathe to be left alone with Miss Garth. But now I found myself regarding her with open curiosity. It was so seldom that she sided against Leslie. Only in this matter did she oppose Mrs. Reid.
“Why don’t you want to see a ceremony held at the opening of the memorial?” I asked.
She was angry enough to answer me. “Because the whole thing is a mockery—that’s why! The boy’s father wasn’t always the hero they make him out to be. There was bad blood there, I can tell you. The boy is like him. For once his uncle knows what’s right and what isn’t. But my poor Miss Leslie is completely deluded and won’t listen to reason. If Master Brandon hadn’t been away in Egypt—” She paused, and I pressed her quickly, wanting to hear more of this astonishing revelation.
“What brought the older brother home from abroad that last time?”
“He came because Master Dwight sent for him! He wanted his big, strong brother to rescue him from the results of his own weakness of character.”
“What had he done?” I asked bluntly.
“Enough to put the Reid name under a black cloud and perhaps land himself in jail in the reform wave that was picking off those in high places. Enough to ruin all he had built, and undoubtedly kill his father with shock over the disgrace.”
“But—what was it he did?”
I had pressed too hard. Miss Garth’s dark gaze returned from a stormy distance to focus upon me. “None of this is your business, my girl. It’s past history now, and the only thing that matters is not to revive it and stir things up all over again. If you had any sense, you’d not stay around to be mixed up in it. You’d not wait for your next dismissal—you’d leave this house to save your own reputation … and perhaps more!”
Animosity toward me marked every line of her face, but I stood my ground.
“I don’t like to be threatened,” I said. “Neither by daylight, nor in a dark room.”
Miss Garth pushed back her chair and left the table without another glance in my direction.
I sat on, thinking of the surprising things she had said. That the brilliant, successful young Galahad, Dwight Reid, might have had feet of clay. That he had sent for Brandon to come home and rescue him from some scrape of his own making. What did all this portend? I sensed some significance here, some meaning that would make everything clear, but I could not put my finger upon it.
There had been spite in Garth’s eyes, in her voice when she spoke of Dwight. A memory of that day when I had seen her in Leslie’s room, wearing Leslie’s gown, with the double miniature in her hands, returned to me. I had wondered which brother her look of adoration had been for. Now it appeared that, unlike her mistress, she had harbored only contempt for Dwight. Could it be that a secret infatuation for Brandon throbbed beneath the stiff façade she presented to the world?
Selina called to me then, and I put aside these new troubling thoughts as best I could in order to join the children in their opening of Christmas presents.
It was as well that we had enjoyed a taste of real Christmas last night, for nothing was the same this morning. The tree was gay and bright, the candles shone with a lovely radiance, and the air was scented with evergreen. But the warmth that made all this important was lacking.
Brandon Reid’s mood was far from festive. He stood with his back to the mantel, above which we had draped a string of red tissue-paper bells purchased from Stewart’s store. The gay bells, unfolded to plump accordion pleating, presented a somehow ludicrous contrast behind his somber head, seeming frivolous to an improper degree. When Miss Garth told him that his wife would not be down, he looked increasingly displeased.
As their gifts were doled out, the servants offered polite thanks to the master and went off with their unopened packages. Brandon was courteous enough, but clearly remote. I could not help wondering what had happened at the party last night to result in Leslie’s illness and this dark, angry mood of her husband’s. Miss Garth’s excuse that too much dancing had brought such a result did not convince me.
Now and then I glanced uneasily at Jeremy and saw that his attention was fixed mainly on the gift he had wrapped so carefully for his uncle.
When it came to giving out the family presents and those for the governess, Andrew, and me, Miss Garth employed Selina to fetch packages to her from beneath the tree. She would read off the name, and Selina would take it to the recipient. Jeremy’s package had still not been chosen, and I could sense the boy’s anxiety whenever his sister went near the tree. If it had been possible, I believe he might have taken the gift away and hidden it upstairs, rather than face this chill, indifferent mood of his uncle’s.
Except for Andrew’s occasional efforts, Selina was the only one with any Christmas spirit that morning. She had forgotten about her “secret” and bubbled gayly along, with no awareness of the pall that lay upon the room.
When the child at last picked her own gift for her uncle and carried it to him down the long room, I saw Jeremy’s interest quicken. Perhaps he thought the reception of this gift might be some indication of how his own might fare. Brandon, to do him credit, endeavored to play the game. He held up the bright fluff of varicolored embroidered felt that Selina intended as a penwiper, and remarked over it as he was supposed to do. But the effort rang false, and even Selina sensed that her gift had not been received with a proper Christmas enthusiasm.
“I made it very quickly, Uncle Brandon,” she apologized. “I know it isn’t very neat, but there was no time to make another.”
Her uncle did his best. “It’s very pretty, Selina. I’ll keep it on my desk and think of you wh
enever I use it. Thank you, my dear.”
She seemed satisfied and skipped back to the tree to find a gift for Miss Garth. Nervously I fingered the scarab pin at my throat and caught Andrew watching my fingers. The look he gave me was mocking, and I knew he guessed where the pin had come from. It had been a mistake to wear it, I thought, and let my hand fall to my lap.
My own gift from Mr. and Mrs. Reid was a muff of gray squirrel—a luxurious present. Yet this had been chosen by Leslie and it did not mean to me what the little scarab meant. It was merely a conventional gesture, since Mrs. Reid wanted me out of this house.
By that time I believe Jeremy thought that his sister might overlook his gift for Brandon altogether and leave it there among the unopened gifts for their mother. But she crawled among the remaining packages on her hands and knees and saw it at last.
“Oh, look!” she cried. “It’s for you, Uncle Brandon. Jeremy made it for you, and I know what it is.”
The room was oddly still as she ran to put the package into her uncle’s hands. Perhaps we all sensed in one way or another how much hung in the balance with this particular gift. All, perhaps, except Brandon himself. Ever since she had dashed the beads to the floor in his room, Miss Garth had hated what Jeremy was making and undoubtedly wanted to see no good come of it. Andrew had admired the collar more than once and shown some surprise at Jeremy’s workmanship. Selina had been proud and admiring from the beginning.
I watched as tensely as Jeremy did and wished that I might catch Brandon’s eye and send him a pleading glance to remind him of his promise. But he did not look my way at all. With maddening deliberation he fumbled with ribbon and paper, perhaps postponing the moment when he would have to pretend a role he had no heart for just now.
Jeremy sat on a low footstool near the fire in utter stillness. Only his eyes were alive and anguished.
“Oh, do open it!” I cried, unable to contain myself.
Brandon threw me a look that told me he did not care for impatient women, and at last opened the cardboard box in which Jeremy had nested the gift in tissue. Silently, without expression, he drew it from the box and held it in his hand. I saw again the wide, flat collar with its rows of beads strung on thin wire. Further spokes of wire around the wheel held it flat. Here and there the dark pattern of cut steel was broken with touches of red and green and turquoise blue.
Window on the Square Page 19
