"Yes, the Duchess was very candid with me. It merely makes me more eager to take the position. Epilepsy is a much misunderstood illness. I was a medical student before I turned to teaching, so I feel I can be of help there."
"Why did you give it up? It is a noble profession."
"Healing the body? Certainly! But healing the mind, developing its gifts, is surely just as important. Besides," he added, with a grin, "I had no aptitude for medicine. Every time a knife cut into human flesh, living or not, I fainted dead away. It got to be a joke, and my fellow students enjoyed dragging me out of the room by my heels, but the professors began to be irritated by my crashing down unconscious in the middle of their demonstrations. So I gave it up."
Marianne was enjoying the conversation, and would have gone on with it, had not the ringing of the luncheon bell reminded her of the time.
"Are you joining us for lunch?" she asked.
"No, I thank you." MacGregor rose. "I have a cold ride ahead of me, and the weather threatens. I hope we may meet again, Miss Ransom."
"I hope so too," Marianne said sincerely.
She went in to luncheon and immediately demanded of Carlton what Mr. MacGregor's prospects were. "I liked him very much," she declared. "I think he would be good for Henry."
"Do you indeed," said Carlton, with a malevolent look. "You favor freckles and a Scottish burr, then?"
"I was not speaking of his personal attributes," Marianne said in a dignified manner. "But of his qualifications for the post."
"The Duchess was most impressed with him," Dr. Gruffstone said, forestalling another rude comment from the lawyer.
His efforts to keep the conversation pleasant were in vain, however. Carlton was in a perverse mood and kept interjecting remarks that seemed designed to be inflammatory. He contradicted almost everything that was said, and found matter for insult in the most innocuous subjects. He even provoked the doctor by derogatory remarks about his profession.
"After all," he said, at one point, "it has been a good many years since you qualified, doctor. 'Thirty-eight, was it not?"
"You mean to make me an old fogy, do you," said the doctor, with perfect good humor. "No, no, my lad; 'forty-five was the year. A long time, but not so long as you would have."
"Where did you study?" Carlton asked.
The doctor looked surprised at his inquisitorial tone, but replied readily enough, "I took my degree in London, after studying for several years in Edinburgh."
"Ah, Edinburgh."
"A beautiful city," the doctor said reminiscently.
"With such wonderful people. Major Weird, Deacon Brodie, Burke and Hare…"
"Come now," the doctor protested. "Is that how the legal mind operates? To define a charming old city in terms of the murderers who plied their trade there? If so, I am glad I think otherwise."
"But Burke and Hare were in your own profession, Doctor," said Carlton, leaning back in his chair.
This sally finally pierced the doctor's armor. "What an outrageous thing to say!"
"Well, at least their friend Dr. Knox was. He bought the bodies from them." Carlton closed his eyes and began to chant,
" 'Up the close and doun the stair, But and ben wi' Burke and Hare. Burke's the butcher, Hare's the thief, Knox the boy that buys the beef.' "
"Knox was never charged," said the doctor, red as a turkeycock. "The whole dreadful situation would never have arisen had it not been for the antiquated laws forbidding medical students to obtain cadavers for dissection. How can a surgeon possibly learn -"
"What?" Marianne exclaimed in disgust. The sense of the discussion had finally become clear to her. "Surely, gentlemen, this is not a suitable subject for luncheon conversation."
"I quite agree, Miss Ransom," the doctor said. "And I beg your pardon for my part in it."
"But wouldn't you think Dr. Knox might have noticed that some of the corpses were still warm when they were delivered to him?" Carlton inquired sweetly.
Marianne made a protesting sound and fled from the room, followed by the doctor's indignant response.
During the afternoon the snow began. Delicate, fragile white flakes drifted against the windowpanes and danced in the wind. Marianne took a book and went to the rose parlor, which was the most cheerful room in the bleak old place on such a day. Tired after a hard morning's exercise and a disturbed day, she was drowsing over the pages of Carlyle's French Revolution when the butler announced a caller.
"Mr. St. John, miss."
Marianne rose and tried to smooth her hair.
"I am afraid I woke you," the vicar said, advancing with outstretched hand.
"I am glad you did. I ought to have been improving my mind instead of dozing. The Duchess is in her room, Mr. St. John; shall I ring and -"
"I asked to see you. You do not mind?" Still holding her hand, he stood so close that with her disadvantage of height Marianne had to crane her neck at an uncomfortable angle in order to meet his eyes. He appeared very serious.
"No, no, of course… I am happy to see you. Would you care for tea, or sherry, or-"
She made as if to tug on the bellpull. St. John forestalled her.
"I want nothing, except your attention. I did intend to pay Her Grace a pastoral visit, but I was denied. Is it true that she is sinking fast?"
"Who told you that?"
"Gruffstone and Carlton." The vicar smiled faintly. "Two faithful dragons, guarding her door. Faithful, but oh, how terribly, tragically misled! Now of all times does she need the consolation only I – that is, only my Master, through me, His humble servant – can give."
Marianne indicated a chair, but he refused with an agitated shake of his head. So she sat down, thinking that in this case Carlton and the doctor had acted correctly. The vicar's brand of salvation was not suited to the Duchess even when she was in good health, and she needed no more reminders that her end was near.
"You have done all you could," she said. "Please sit down and let me give you a cup of tea. You are upset -"
"Upset!" The vicar whirled and crossed the space that separated them in a single bound, his coattails flying out like the wings of a big black bird. Marianne was so startled that she emitted a faint yelp of alarm. Before she could do more the vicar took her by the shoulders – it seemed to be a favorite gesture of his – and lifted her clean out of her chair. Holding her at arm's length, with the tips of her slippers barely touching the floor, he cried out, "Yes, I am upset! I confess it. But I will not yield. I will snatch one brand from the burning. Miss Ransom, will you… No, I will not ask, I will command – purely in my pastoral capacity, of course. Miss Ransom, you must be mine!"
Marianne could only conclude that she had lost her wits, or that the vicar had lost his. One of them must be mad.
Seeing her consternation, St. John grew calmer. "I have frightened you," he said.
Marianne nodded dumbly.
"My zeal overcame me." St. John lowered her into her chair. But then he lifted her again, having transferred his grasp from her shoulders to her waist. "I do not ask this," he explained carefully, "out of selfish lust."
"Oh, indeed?" Marianne had at last recovered her breath. She put her hands against the young man's chest and pushed. For all the effect this had she might have been pushing at a stone.
"No," St. John said. "I do it in order to save a soul. You are doomed to perdition, my dear Miss Ransom, if you remain here.
I offer you sanctuary – redemption – everlasting bliss! I realize the ambiguities of your position: your doubtful heritage, your lack of a dowry, your scandalous past. I overlook them. At heart you are honest, I am sure. We will leave this house at once. I will take you to an aged relative of mine, where you will remain until the wedding."
Throughout this speech his actions had been somewhat at variance with his lofty sentiments; for his arms clasped Marianne closer and closer and he made a very determined effort to reach her lips with his.
Sad to say, Marianne's reaction was not ind
ignation or the sense of spiritual shame the vicar had hoped to inspire. It was, simply and solely, boredom. She wondered how she could have gone out of her way to catch a glimpse of this singularly dull, pompous young man.
Finally, realizing that she was losing ground in her effort to keep him from kissing her, she freed one hand and slapped his face as hard as she could. St. John let her go. Nursing his wounded cheek with one hand, he stared at her in shocked surprise.
"You are distraught," he suggested.
"I am insulted – and amused. Let me advise you, Mr. St. John, the next time you propose to a lady, do not begin by listing all her negative qualities. Can you find your way out, or shall I ring for Jenkins to show you out?"
St. John found his own way out.
Marianne collapsed into a chair. She did not know whether she wanted to laugh or cry or swear. She was only certain of one thing: what a blessing it was that Carlton had not come in upon that dreadful, farcical scene!
Even as the thought came to her mind a voice remarked, "Very nicely done, upon my word. I would not have believed you had it in you."
Carlton's head appeared above the back of the sofa.
"You listened!" Marianne cried furiously. "You are the most disgusting – the most reprehensible -"
She was so angry she stumbled over the last word, pronouncing it "rehensibubble," and Carlton burst out laughing. Marianne fled, her hands pressed to her burning cheeks.
After that misadventure it was time to force herself to face the Duchess.
At first all went smoothly. The Duchess appeared bright and calm. They spoke of Mr. MacGregor, and Marianne expressed her enthusiastic approval. The Duchess agreed. She had one more candidate to interview next day, but unless he proved to be extraordinary she thought the nod must go to the young Scot.
When Marianne rose to dress for dinner, the Duchess caught her hand and, with a startling change in manner and tone, said, "You have not forgotten? You will keep your word? It will not be long now…"
"I know." The fingers clasping hers were so thin and cold they felt like fleshless bone. Marianne repressed a shudder. "I – I will do my best. Are you not coming downstairs tonight?"
"No, I think not. I am a little tired. I want to save my strength for tomorrow." The Duchess smiled – a strange, shadowy smile. "We will have a grand dinner party and all dress in our best. Won't that be splendid?"
"Yes, indeed," Marianne managed to say. When she was outside the room she wiped her fingers with a fold of her skirt; but the icy touch still lingered on her flesh.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At two o'clock in the morning Marianne finally abandoned her effort to sleep. She had been tossing and turning for hours, watching the shadows lengthen as her candle burned down, and listening to the hiss of sleety snow against the windows.
Dinner had been a miserable affair. The brisk north wind had found cracks and crannies in the paneling of the dining room that had never before been apparent, and Marianne had shivered in her formal gown until the doctor sent a maid for her shawl. She could not meet Carlton's eyes. Whenever she tried, they narrowed with such diabolical amusement that she was afraid he would say something about the encounter between herself and the vicar. He was in a particularly exasperating mood, baiting the doctor, insulting Horace the cat until Lady Annabelle finally threw her napkin at him and retired in a high dudgeon, and even committing the unspeakable faux pas of speaking to the footmen as they passed the dishes. And after dinner, when Marianne tried to speak alone with the doctor, longing for the solid comfort of his conversation, Carlton refused to be dismissed. He suggested music and made her stay at the piano until bedtime.
She had hoped the dreary weather would help her sleep, but it was no use; the knowledge of what the next day would bring twisted in her mind like a sharp knife, destroying peace. Twenty-four hours from now, she told herself, it will be over. But that was no comfort, for who knew what the denouement would bring, and what unwilling role she would play in bringing it about?
She got up at last, lighted a fresh candle, and started to look for the doctor's brown bottle. She did not like sleeping medicine, but tonight she would have been tempted to swallow a cup of hemlock if someone had assured her it would bring temporary forgetfulness. She searched in increasing frustration until she remembered that Carlton had made off with the medicine and had never returned it. That made her stamp and use some of the squire's swear words. If the hour had not been so late she would have gone after it, but she could imagine Carlton's comments if she crept into his room in the dead of night.
Parting the window curtains, she peered out into the dark. There was nothing to be seen but a blowing curtain of snow. An icy draft blew against her through cracks in the molding and she let the curtain drop.
There was no sense in going back to bed. Wrapping herself in a comforter, she poked the fire up and settled down with Carlyle. He had put her to sleep once before, perhaps he would perform the same office again.
Sleep came upon her so subtly that she did not sense its approach. It seemed to her that she was still sitting by the fire, her head bent over her book, though its print had become a meaningless blur, when a smoldering brand in the fire broke and sent up a last spurt of flame. In the brief illumination she saw a figure sitting in the chair opposite hers.
Such is the nature of dreams that they carry an emotional atmosphere independent of their content. The most innocent-seeming dreams can cause the dreamer to wake in a sweat of terror, and nightmares of death and horror do not always alarm. So Marianne was not frightened, even when she recognized the neat black skirts and little lace cap and the face of Mrs. Jay.
The vicar's widow was smiling. She looked vigorous and healthy and many years younger than she had looked when Marianne last saw her. As Marianne started to cry out, in pleased greeting, the elderly lady lifted a warning hand. Nodding almost coquettishly, she sketched a brief gesture in the air… and disappeared.
Marianne rubbed her eyes. Her lower limbs, which had been tucked up under her, had gone quite numb. She staggered to her bed. This time she fell asleep at once.
Dreams are all very well, but their influence does not last long. Marianne awoke with a lingering memory of happiness and peace; but as soon as she came fully awake the knowledge of what was to happen that night swept over her like a great salty wave.
The weather was so bad that even Henry had to admit it was not a good day for sledding, so they spent the morning in the schoolroom finishing the battle of Waterloo. This time the victory almost went to Napoleon, thanks to Roger Carlton, who turned up in midbattle and demanded to be allowed to play. He was given the Austrian troops and managed them so successfully that the Iron Duke had to fight for his life. At last, however, the British lion roared triumphant over the field, and Henry sat back on his heels with a sigh of delight.
"That was splendid! Let's do it again."
"Not until my wounded have recovered,"
Carlton replied. On hands and knees, his hair hanging over his brow and his sleeves rolled up, he had entered into the game with enthusiasm, shouting orders in fractured German and imitating the agonies of the wounded. "They need nourishment, and so do I; it is time for luncheon. You are coming down, are you not, Miss Ransom?"
Before Marianne could answer, Henry scrambled to his feet with a glad cry. "Mama! I won, Mama; the British won!"
"Wonderful," Lady Violet said, smiling. "Miss Ransom, Mr. Carlton – how good of you to play with Henry."
"I enjoyed it," Marianne said truthfully.
"Run along and wash for lunch, Henry." Lady Violet ran caressing fingers through her son's hair. "Mr. Carlton, if you will excuse me, I would like to speak to Miss Ransom for a moment."
So that is how you do it, Marianne thought, as the two male creatures obeyed without an argument or a backward look. I wonder if I could learn. But perhaps it takes generations of aristocratic blood, or some such thing.
She started to scramble to her feet, but Lady
Violet put a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't stand, I beg you. I will not keep you long; I only wanted to apologize for not accompanying you to church Sunday. You are a kind person. You have been very good to my son. I hope… I hope that from now on we can be friends."
"I would be so glad," Marianne exclaimed, quite overcome. "I need a friend, Lady Violet, I do indeed."
"I wish I could help you." The lady sank into a chair and looked thoughtfully at Marianne. The girl was pleased to see that she had abandoned the defensive gesture of hiding her face with her hand. "I know what is happening; but I do not know what to do about it."
"Did you know him?" Marianne asked.
She did not have to name names. They both knew to whom she was referring. Regretfully Lady Violet shook her head.
"I have heard a great deal about him, of course. But he had been dead for over five years when I married Henry's father and came here to live."
"I wish I knew what to do," Marianne murmured.
"I am hardly the proper person to ask," Lady Violet said, with a faint smile. "I have not managed my own life so well as to venture to offer advice to others. But if I were to advise you, Miss Ransom, I would tell you to leave this place. There is a curse on the Devenbrook family. No one knows it better than I. You will only fall victim to it yourself if you attempt to fight against it."
This statement was made in such a calm, reasonable tone that Marianne stared, hardly able to believe her ears were not deceiving her. Lady Violet nodded at her.
"I wish you well, Miss Ransom. You have been kind to Henry. But you cannot combat the curse of the Devenbrooks."
Well, Marianne thought dismally, as she made her way to her room, that is a sad end to what began so well! She could not blame poor Lady Violet for adding to her worry instead of relieving it; but she wished the lady had stopped after her thanks and not mentioned curses.
The last candidate for the tutor's post never came. Marianne was not surprised; as the day went on, the storm mounted in fury. By three o'clock it was as dark as night and the lamps were lighted. Soon thereafter Marianne was summoned to the Duchess. She obeyed, trembling with apprehension.
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