Window on the Square

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  Brandon held it up to examine it more closely, and I saw his eyes light with an appreciation in which there was no pretense. He knew what it was at once, and his smile of approval for Jeremy was surprisingly warm.

  “It’s for the Osiris, isn’t it?” he said. “A fine piece of work, Jeremy.”

  “I’m not sure when those collars were in fashion,” Jeremy said worriedly. “I’m not sure this is right for Osiris.”

  “That won’t matter,” Brandon assured him. “Long after the broad collar went out of style it was used as a funerary ornament, and the dead were Osiris’ business. I suppose you’ve tried it for fit?”

  Jeremy nodded as though he found it difficult to speak. Since I felt a little lightheaded with relief myself, it was easy to guess how he must feel.

  Selina danced about them in delight, clearly pleased that their uncle liked her brother’s work.

  “Jeremy let me go with him when he tried it on Osiris,” she said. “Since the beard sticks out from the chin, the collar goes right under it. It looks beautiful.”

  “Miss Megan helped me,” Jeremy said, finding his voice again. “She wouldn’t let me give up when I got discouraged.”

  Brandon looked at me across the room. His gaze flicked from my face to the pin at my throat and back again, and there was something as gentle as a caress in his eyes. It was almost as if he reached out to touch me as a lover might. The look was so unexpected that it disarmed me completely. For an instant my guard against him went down and I gave him look for look. By the time I recovered and steadied myself, Andrew was watching me. I knew he had seen the exchange and I could feel his disapproval almost as if it were a tangible thing. I could not have cared less.

  When the last present had been opened, Brandon suggested to Jeremy that they take the collar to Osiris. Selina wanted to go with them, but Miss Garth called her back. She was attending a Christmas luncheon party today, and it was time for her to dress. Jeremy went eagerly with his uncle, and I was glad to see them go alone, without interference. Selina, remembering the party, was now impatient to be off and went away pulling Garth along with her.

  Andrew and I were left with the debris of Christmas, and this was a tête-à-tête I had no taste for. I went to work as busily as possible.

  TWENTY

  “Help me snuff out the candles, will you?” I said to Andrew. “Then I’ll ring for Kate to clear up the trash.”

  I gave him a snuffer on a long handle, and he came to assist me. As we circled the tree he reached the place where Leslie Reid’s packages were heaped unopened.

  “They look a bit forlorn, don’t they?” he said.

  I was surprised to hear such sentimentality from Andrew and I glanced at him in surprise. He was regarding me with a look that was oddly intent and a little pitying. I wanted neither his pity nor his interest and I turned my back and reached for a high candle.

  “Why don’t you take her packages upstairs to Mrs. Reid?” Andrew asked.

  Was he baiting me? I wondered. Didn’t he know that Mrs. Reid had wanted to dismiss me? I turned from the tree to face him. “Miss Garth says she doesn’t wish to be disturbed. It’s not my place to take her presents to her.”

  The wry, familiar smile twisted Andrew’s mouth. “You’re a kind enough person ordinarily, Megan. You’re thoughtful toward everyone in this house. Even toward me at times, and toward poor old Thora. Toward everyone but Mrs. Reid.” He reached a finger toward the scarab brooch at the throat of my dress. “But of course you can’t be generous to Brandon Reid’s wife.”

  I moved from his touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I seldom see Mrs. Reid. It would be ridiculous for me to carry her packages upstairs and disturb her while she’s ill.”

  “Would it?” Andrew said.

  I began to suspect what he was doing and why. Whether I wished it or not, he was intent on protecting me from Brandon. Deliberately, cunningly, he was turning me to face the possible suffering of Leslie Reid. What he could not know was that I had settled all this with myself in my own way. I did not need the effort he was making.

  He must have sensed my resistance, for he changed his approach. “Will you come for a walk with me, Megan? I’d like to tell you what I mean. We can’t talk here without interruption.”

  There was an earnest persistence in him, and I realized again how little I really knew Andrew Beach. When he roused himself to action, he could be thoroughly determined. Perhaps it would be best to go with him and hear him out. Only then could I defend my own position against his misconceptions. Besides, there were certain things I wanted to tell him, and a question I meant to ask.

  “I’ll get my cloak and bonnet,” I said and went upstairs.

  When I came down ready for the street, he was waiting for me near the door and his eyes brightened at the sight of me. I could not help but think that all might have been easier for me if I had felt some answering response.

  As we went down the steps, he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “It’s pleasant to walk with a pretty girl on Christmas morning,” he said.

  The mood I remembered from that night at Mama Santini’s was upon him again, but now the spell of a darker, more desperate love held me in thrall and I had nothing to offer Andrew Beach.

  After a bright early morning, the day had turned gray and there was once more the smell of snow in the air. All about us bare branches etched a delicate brown tracery against the snowy area of the square, and I studied it as I walked in silence at Andrew’s side. It was he who wanted to talk, and I could only wait for what I feared would be a lecture.

  He began, however, with ancient history—with the time when Leslie Rolfe had fallen in love with Dwight Reid.

  “Not that I knew either family then,” he said. “But I learned a great deal about them when Dwight Reid died. And more has come to light since. Dwight fought in the war, as you probably know. Brandon didn’t. Though it wasn’t Brandon’s fault that he saw no action. He went as a civilian aide on a mission sent to England for the purpose of swinging British sympathy toward the North. From what I’ve heard, it was a post he served well. I’ve no quarrel with him on that score.

  “While he was away the Rolfes, in trouble financially, moved next door to the Reid house on Bleecker Street, and Dwight, home on leave, fell in love with Leslie. Perhaps she had a special aura of romance around her then—at least in Galahad’s eyes. Before the war began her father’s fortune had been ruined. He was trying to recoup with war profits, but the family was still in straits. I fancy that old Rolfe must have been more than pleased with Dwight’s interest in his daughter.”

  “Brandon Reid was still in England at the time?” I asked.

  “He came home after Dwight had rejoined his company. Garth says he met Leslie at a party and didn’t know who she was, or that she was all but engaged to his brother. He followed suit, falling in love with her too.”

  We had reached the Washington Square fountain, and Andrew stared absently at icicles dripping in spears from the low rim of the basin. His story had roused my interest. I wanted to learn all I could about Brandon Reid, no matter how much pain such knowledge might bring me. Only through knowledge could I understand him now.

  “Go on,” I urged. “What about Brandon?”

  Andrew reached down to touch a dagger of ice, and it shattered with a glassy crackle. “Brandon learned the truth, of course, and he accepted the assignment of a mission to France and got out of the country. His background of experience in England was useful to the government. When the war was over he went to Egypt and managed to be away on one expedition or another after that for years at a stretch. Leslie married Dwight, and, I suppose, should have lived happily ever after, since he was the better man.”

  That I would not accept. “Was he the better man?” I challenged. “Or is Dwight Reid’s reputation a myth? Is it something Leslie clings to and the public was fooled about?”

  Andrew threw me a questioning look, and I told him what Garth
had said that morning at breakfast. He did not speak until I concluded with the matter of the letter Garth claimed had brought Brandon home from his last expedition. Then he nodded with no great surprise.

  “I’ve wondered sometimes if too much perfection was claimed for Dwight. And I’ve heard an unpleasant rumor or two. About the letter, I wouldn’t know. At any rate, the great traveler, who had once been in love with Leslie, came home to his brother’s house. And by great coincidence the brother died and the young wife was left unprotected.”

  I heard the bite of scorn in his words and stiffened. “You’ve no right to make veiled accusations!”

  “I’m making no accusation of any sort,” Andrew said.

  “Why did you bring this up?” I demanded. “What has any of it to do with me?”

  Andrew smiled and again drew my fingers into the crook of his arm as we walked on, crossing a path that led over what had been the Washington Parade Ground, and before that Potter’s Field.

  “You know very well why I’ve brought it up,” he said. “I don’t want Reid to accomplish with you what he has accomplished with other women. There’s time to turn back, Megan, if only you’ll try to see him as he is. There’s a ruthless quality about him that drives through to get what he wants, no matter what the cost, or how long it takes. I want to see you sorry for Mrs. Reid as well as distrustful of her husband. You can afford to be more generous and kind.”

  This was too much. “As you are being generous and kind in that portrait you’re painting! Do you really believe that she is so gentle and generous?”

  He answered me quietly enough. “No, I don’t. But perhaps she needs to see herself in a more flattering light. Sometimes I think we tend to become what others believe we are.”

  Since he had an apparently low opinion of me, I grew still more annoyed. “Mrs. Reid is a woman who married her husband’s brother a year after the man she loved died. A woman who, you say, has never loved anyone but the younger brother. Give me the answer to that, if you will, instead of condemning Mr. Reid.”

  “You ask me questions I can’t answer,” Andrew admitted. “Whatever either of them may have hoped for in this marriage, each appears to have suffered disappointment. But it’s you I’m thinking of now, Megan.”

  I was still angry. “You take too much upon yourself! You’re not the keeper of my conscience. I know very well what I should or should not do, but I have very little sympathy for Mrs. Reid.”

  “I suppose that’s natural enough,” Andrew said.

  I saw once more the hint of pity in his eyes and flared out against it. “Do you know that she tried to dismiss me?” I asked. “That she told me to leave the house? She believed whatever Garth told her and would not listen to me. It’s only because of Mr. Reid’s intervention that I’ve stayed on.”

  “Garth saw to it that I was informed,” he said shortly. “What else could you expect but dismissal under the circumstances?”

  “Expect? I expect nothing! But I did hope that I would be allowed to help Jeremy in my own way. And without being blocked by his mother or Miss Garth. As it is, who could be more unwelcome than I, if I were to take those gifts upstairs to Mrs. Reid?”

  Andrew’s steps had slowed beside me. “Can you give her no reassurance at all, Megan? Have you no sympathy for the humiliation of her position?”

  “Perhaps there’s humiliation for me too,” I said, “when I’m given no chance to do the right thing as I see it.”

  He swung me suddenly about, his hands upon my elbows so that I was forced to look into his eyes. There was an insistence in him that I had never seen before.

  “What I’m suggesting is the right thing. You’ve known what loneliness is like. Go back and take Mrs. Reid’s gifts upstairs to her. She needs a friend in that house—a woman nearer her own age than Garth. You can help her if you will.”

  I did not want to be swayed by him. “Why do you involve yourself in this?” I asked.

  For a moment he hesitated, the wry smile lifting a corner of his mouth. Then he did an unexpected thing. He leaned toward me and kissed me in a light quick caress.

  “Perhaps that’s why,” he said. “Perhaps because of how I feel about you, Megan. Though that is something you’ve been too busy otherwise to notice.” He laughed and was himself again, setting me gently from him.

  For a moment I could only stare—perhaps not so much in surprise as in dismay. Had I not sensed the direction in which he was moving and even wished at times that I could respond? The reassurance he sought was not so much for Leslie, I suspected, as for himself, and I wanted very much to be kind to him.

  “If it will please you,” I said, making the only small offer I could give him, “I’ll do what you ask. I’ll take the gifts to Leslie, if you believe this will help.”

  I did not fool him. We had been walking in the direction of the house, and, as we neared the front steps, he paused.

  “I won’t try to tell you what you must do, Megan,” he said quietly. “It’s true that I have no right to advise you. Or to condemn any course you choose to take, for that matter.”

  He turned my gloved hands palm up and held them for a moment. I think he meant to say something more, but instead he let me go. He waited there motionless while I ran up the steps and let myself in the door. When I glanced back, he was still there, staring up at the house.

  I let myself in and went to the drawing room, where Kate was at work clearing up. Whether it was foolish or not, I must keep my promise to Andrew, and when I had gathered her presents into my arms, I started upstairs to Leslie’s room.

  TWENTY-ONE

  My arms were so well filled with packages that when I reached Mrs. Reid’s door I had not a free finger with which to rap. I called to her softly, half hoping that she would be asleep and never hear me. Then I could return my armload to the tree, my conscience silenced, with nothing further for me to do. I had no belief that this action was right or would in any way be welcomed by Mrs. Reid. Yet if it would show Andrew that I did not mean to follow my love in Brandon’s direction, then this was what I must do.

  In a faint voice Mrs. Reid called to me to come in. The door was ajar, and I pushed it open and went into the darkened room.

  “I’ve brought your Christmas gifts,” I said. “I thought you might like them here where you can open them comfortably.”

  She looked at me so blankly that I felt impelled to offer something more.

  “You were missed at the tree this morning,” I added as I put my burden down on the foot of her bed. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

  She remained listless, indifferent, offering no response. How dreary this dim room seemed in spite of its luxury. The lack of air and light must surely affect the woman in the bed.

  “Do you mind if I open the draperies?” I asked.

  “Do as you like,” she told me without interest.

  When I had let in the light of late morning, I poured her a fresh cup of tea from the cosy-covered pot beside her bed and helped her to sit up. She did not resist me, but sipped the tea and watched me gravely over the rim of the cup.

  Dark circles showed beneath her eyes, and there was no dusting of powder, no blush of coloring in her cheeks. The merciless daylight made her look wan and tired, and I saw the beginnings of fine lines at the outward corners of her eyes, the first etching of permanent unhappiness about her mouth. It would be possible, I thought, to pity her, as Andrew did.

  I moved the packages where they lay tumbled across her feet and spoke cheerfully. “Which one will you open first?”

  After a moment’s hesitation she reached across the satin quilt and made a selection. It was her gift from Brandon.

  She read the card and dropped it aside. I could not help but see the first words of the bold handwriting: “To my adored wife …”

  She held the package in her hands and looked up at me. “Why are you doing this, Miss Kincaid?”

  I did not want to tell her that the task had been thrust upon me and th
at I had begun to feel a little sorry for her.

  “The packages looked forlorn under the tree,” I said. And that was true enough.

  With little interest, she untied the ribbon about the package. The wrapping opened to reveal a large flat box with a Tiffany label, and as she touched the lid it sprang open.

  I caught my breath. Against rich black velvet lay a parure in chased gold, rubies, and diamonds. The set consisted of necklace, pendant earrings, and a bracelet. I had never seen anything so handsome and I was astonished when Leslie pushed the box from her and burst into tears. In utter devastation she wept without concealment.

  Dismayed, I searched her dressing table, found a lace-edged handkerchief, and gave it to her in some concern. She dabbed futilely at tear-drenched amber eyes.

  “It’s always like this!” she cried. “He thinks money can make up for emptiness! Once I knew what love was like. Once I had a husband who adored me. That’s why I know now what emptiness is.”

  Her outburst shocked me, not only because of her meaning, but because it meant a relinquishing of all pride. If she lost her pride, she would have nothing.

  “At the ball last night he humiliated me dreadfully,” she choked. “He would not even pretend to be pleased with my company. It was no better than our trip up the Hudson, when he was constantly impatient with me.”

  I could well imagine how Brandon might humiliate a woman if he chose, and I could not help but pity his wife. Yet he was not a man who would willingly endure in a woman endless headaches, vapors, and self-pity.

  She must have sensed my softening toward her, for she grasped at it. “Sit down, Miss Kincaid. Now that you’re here, you must listen to me.”

  I seated myself on the edge of a chair beside her bed, wishing myself anywhere but in that room and blaming Andrew for placing me in this predicament.