Kissed by Starlight (5 page)

“Clarice is—”

Lady Stavely held up her hand. “We shan’t discuss her. I may as well say that the Board of Governors approves my choice.”

“You’ve already discussed this with them?”

“Naturally. It is where I went yesterday afternoon.”

“Yes. Your expedition with Mr. Ashton.”

Lady Stavely had a trick of turning only her eyes to look at someone. It was disconcerting, like a painting where the eyes alone follow the viewer, yet Felicia was not in this case unnerved. She knew too much about Lady Stavely. At this time, she did not feel she could expose Lady Stavely as an adulteress; it no longer mattered to Lord Stavely and the exposure might cast shame on his name. There was also Clarice to be considered.

As well to be honest—Felicia knew her own undeserved reputation was such that others might think the pot was pointing out the kettle’s grimy face. Nonetheless, she could not refrain from making the occasional pointed reference to the solicitor in the hope of making “the galled jade wince.”

After a rather horrible pause during which Felicia felt Lady Stavely thinking things, the older woman went on in a voice that was only very slightly changed. “The Board of Governors is prepared to offer you the position on the same terms as the last directress received. If you can leave in the next several days, Miss Dravoget will be able to conduct you over the institution and describe your duties. I told them you will be happy to oblige them in this. I trust I am not in error?”

Felicia didn’t answer that. She settled more deeply into her chair and said, “You don’t like me. Yet you are recommending me for this post. Why?”

Chapter Three

“‘Tis a fair question,” Lady Stavely admitted. “Though I should be the first to admit that having you at Hamdry has been of some benefit to me. You take from me those uncongenial duties which, as mistress of the household, I should otherwise do myself. Yet, it would be pointless to say that you and I deal well together. Removing you from my house—and it is now my house—will be akin to shaking a stone from my shoe.”

Felicia willed herself not to flush pink but she feared it was a failure.

“You will not, I’m sure, balk at a trifle of plain speaking,” Lady Stavely went on, “having begun it yourself.”

“No. I don’t mind it.”

With an air of being scrupulously fair, the older woman continued, all the while twisting and turning the rings on her fair white hands. “You are also very good with my child. Clarice .. . Clarice loves you dearly.”

“I love her too.”

“Yes...” The edge of her red upper lip lifted for an instant, showing the even white teeth within. “For her father’s sake, I was willing to bear with you. Without him, however, I have no reason to keep you. Clarice will forget you within days, as she does when someone dies. Her father is already but a memory which is even now fading.”

“That’s true.” The knowledge struck Felicia with a pain like losing him all over again. Clarice was the only other person who could remember Lord Stavely in any way close to how Felicia herself would remember him, as a loving father.

Speaking a little more quickly now that the shifting world of emotion could be left behind, Lady Stavely said, “After all, we must consider your future. Circumstanced as you are—no legitimacy and only a small yearly sum guaranteed you in the will—you can hardly expect a marriage to any decent man. Even a widower with children, who might otherwise not be so particular about choice, would think twice before importing a woman of questionable background into his home.”

A slight smile curved Lady Stavely’s mouth and tightened the lines about her eyes. “I don’t say these things to hurt you, my dear, but to explain.”

“You needn’t explain any more. I am aware of my circumstances.”

“For this same reason, the post of governess is closed to you. You might, I suppose, go into trade, but without the proper backing ...” A slight widening of her hands indicated failure without a word. “I’m sure you would rather not seek assistance from kindly gentlemen, though it would come to that in time.”

With every word, Felicia seemed to hear doors slamming one after another along a hot and airless corridor. She said, “I wonder then that the Board of Governors should entrust me with these orphans.”

Lady Stavely’s chilly laugh, hardly more than a whisper, reached her. “Who cares if one bastard child is taught by another? The children of this orphanage are the by-blows of various gentlemen who, as your father did, find themselves saddled with their brats. Except for the annual payment for their upkeep, these gentlemen pay no attention at all to these unfortunate offspring. Most men aren’t like your father, my dear.”

“No; he was a good man.”

The everlasting tingle of those rings went on uninterrupted.

“Good? Careful, perhaps. You were his only mistake. Really, I have little to complain of.”

Behind Felicia, the door opened. “Beg pardon, Lady Stavely. Sir Elswith Stanton and Justice Garfield are here and ask to see you if you are free.”

“Ah, good. I shall be able to ask Sir Elswith about those horses.” Once again the cold eyes turned on Felicia. “I hope—nay, I know you will see the advantages of the offer and accept at once. If you decide within the hour, I’m sure Justice Garfield will be happy to carry a message to the chairman of the Board.”

“I shall give you my answer within an hour then,” Felicia answered, trying to be as cold as her father’s wife. The slight, self-satisfied smile she received in return told her what a miserable attempt it had been.

Finding the house stuffy, Felicia again escaped into the garden. Though Doctor Danby had warned her to stay out of cold drafts, Felicia felt that to continue to breathe the same air as Lady Stavely would surely choke her. Besides, she wanted to take a look at the place where the statue had been.

In all the confusion of her illness and the aftermath of weakness and strain, Felicia had asked few questions about the storm. The household servants knew but little and she had not wanted to ask Lady Stavely. Clarice was full of interest in anything alive; inanimate things were of no concern to her.

Snow now lay only in the shadows. Wherever the sun could reach, it had melted, leaving no mark on the dark earth. Wrapped up in a hooded cloak, Felicia didn’t feel cold even though a high wind troubled the tops of the trees. She heard voices as she came nearer to the site.

She found that her heart was beating absurdly fast. What if other statues had come to life? She forced away the image of herself, stark mad, talking to marble figures. And indeed, except for a queer feeling when she looked at the busts just now, statues seemed to have given up speaking to her.

Down the path, two young men, in smocks and moleskin breeches unbuttoned over the knee, threw chunks of stone into a wheelbarrow. “Nice bit of work here,” one said.

“Oh, aye.”

“Reckon these old-time fellers knew a thing or two ‘bout stone.”

“Oh, aye.”

“Raight laifelike some o’ these images.”

“Oh...”

“Excuse me, William Beech,” Felicia said. “What happened here?”

“Good day to you, miss,” the talkative gardener said, touching his cap. “Raight pity, ain’t it? That big wind knocked ‘em over laike zo many ninepins. Smashed this ‘un to blazes, poor ol’ beggar.”

William Beech leaned on his shovel, while the other gardener, blushing like a red tulip, went on picking up the bigger pieces and slinging them into the barrow. William Beech stirred the bits around with his toe. “Poor ol’ beggar,” he repeated. “You’m to the house don’t know how fond we get o’ these stones. Mortal fond. They zeem almost minded to talk, don’t they, Harry?”

“Talk?” Felicia asked, forcing a smile. “If you think the statues are talking to you, William Beech, you better hie you to Doctor Dandy.”

The two men smiled at this pleasantry. “Don’t reckon I need trouble Doctor, miss. Just a manner of speakin’. They could tell stories, if they were zo minded. Me ol’ dad zay there’s figures here older than the house....”

“The house is no more than a hundred and twenty years old, so that is hardly amazing. My father used to say that some of these statues were old when Christ lived.”

“Are they now? Parson’d like to hear ‘em talk then, would he not? Fancy that, Harry. Old when He lived.”

Harry had doffed his hat when the conversation had taken a religious turn. Now he covered up and nudged his brother’s elbow. William Beech said, “Oh, aye. Back to work. Did you find all you wanted, miss? If not, I’ll leave Harry here to finish while you ‘n’ me take a stroll....”

Used to seeing doubt in the eyes of the older servants, Felicia was taken aback to find covetousness in the eyes of a younger one. Yet William Beech had blatantly winked at her.

“No, thank you,” Felicia said, and turned sharply upon her heel. Had she been overly familiar with a servant, and therefore responsible?

He called after her, “You let me know, miss. Make a nice change for you, I would.”

Felicia walked faster, her cheeks afire. Had it come to this? Suddenly she understood how much she wanted her father’s protection. If she mentioned to him what William Beech had said ... A thorough thrashing and dismissal without reference would be the least that would have happened.

But she shrank from describing the scene to Lady Stavely. After all, she had stopped to talk to the men, if only from the most innocent motives. Yet how easily it could be twisted to look as though she had somehow enticed William Beech into making such an offer. Somehow, she did not think Harry would make much of a witness in her defense.

On the far side of the garden, where the rosebushes were only sleeping ghosts of themselves, Felicia stopped to catch her breath. Though she had not been touched, she smoothed back her hair with both hands, feeling that her inward turmoil must be showing in outward disarray. She opened her cloak and fumbled in her interior pocket for a handkerchief. The white flash of cloth recalled something to her mind that had been overlooked in her hasty retreat.

The stone the men had been picking up had also been white. Surely the statue she thought she had seen come to life was gray. Also, hadn’t Harry been holding a highly carved section in his hand ... ? Felicia closed her eyes to summon up the image, using her artist’s inner eye.

It had surely been part of a foot, the high arch of a bare foot! The statue of the man had been booted....

Felicia pressed her handkerchief to her lips. This was folly! What she had seen that day had been a hallucination, brought on by grief, hunger, and the approach of the illness that was to lay her low. Whatever she thought she had seen was suspect.

If she was suffering from a delusion at the time, then somewhere in this garden the statue of the cloaked and booted man must still stand.

It had been one of her father’s favorites; she’d seen it a hundred times or more in his company. If the wind had not blown it down, it must still stand. If it stood, she could see it and prove to herself that all she’d seen had been, indeed, a figment of her temporarily deranged mind.

“Only temporarily, thank God,” she said aloud. “Don’t start talking to yourself, Felicia my girl, or they really will lock you away.”

Held in a curving embrace by the line of the stream, the garden was laid out around an oval lawn in a grid of four boxes, two atop the other two. Each grid had an outer and an inner partition. Taking one grid at a time and proceeding carefully up and down each aisle, she reasoned, she should be able to catalog every statue before bedtime, from the big copy of the snake-entwined Laocoon to the littlest nymph dipping her toes in the stream near the ornamental grotto.

Clouds had come up, making shadows that shifted and changed over the graveled path. Felicia found herself nodding as she passed the statues, as though she’d begun a stroll through a town full of old friends.

When she heard the step on the gravel behind her, she froze. She had just passed a large piece of work in the form of Zeus pursuing Europa—not the most delicate of subjects, Zeus being in the shape of a heavily browed bull, but redeemed by its quality. Felicia held very still, expecting to hear the snorting of hot breath behind her. Or perhaps ... perhaps it would be him looking at her with those deep, hard eyes. Her breathing quickened.

“My poor dear girl...”

The voice was familiar. Glancing gratefully toward heaven, Felicia turned around. “Sir Elswith! I’m sorry I didn’t thank you for your kind remembrance of my father.”

“Never mind that! I entirely understand. Your stepmother has just been telling me of your illness. You’re completely recovered now, I take it?”

“I feel very well. Doctor Danby warns me to take care....”

“Danby’s an old woman! You look positively aglow!”

Felicia gently disengaged her hands, which her father’s old friend had grasped, then absently retained. At once, an expression of hurt surprise appeared on his broad face.

Felicia smiled up at him to soften her action. ‘ Tell me, Sir Elswith, have you decided to take the horses? I know how much you admired my father’s taste....”

“Your stepmother has offered them to me. I think I can find room for them in my stables, less for her sake than for...”

“For his? Thank you. I hate to think of his cattle going to strangers.”

“A thought that does you credit.” He passed his hand over the rather heavy, beard-shadowed jaw that spoiled his mature good looks. For the rest, he had that straw-colored hair which never seems to turn gray, and a trim figure. Most of the women Felicia knew, overlooking the jaw and the somewhat fleshy lips, considered him handsome and were always willing to receive his ponderous gallantries. Men, even her father, thought of him as a good fellow, a devil to ride, and not much else.

He had always made a point of bowing to her, even in company, when others, aware of her equivocal position in the household, ignored her. She was willing to think of him as more sensitive than these others, while always considering that he might simply be less so.

“What are you to do now?” he asked, falling into step beside her. His highly polished boots crunched the gravel decisively, while his breeches and loose coat showed that he’d ridden over.