Night of the Candles (14 page)

“It would be unwise to leave too soon simply because you dislike the company.”

She sent him a slanting glance. “I would have thought you would be anxious to depart as soon as possible.”

“Not if it means injuring your health. I feel, in some sense, to blame for this, you know. If I had come with you when you asked, it might not have happened.”

In her present mood she felt this was too true to be denied. “You … you needn’t stay, Nathanial — not if you would rather go.”

“I wouldn’t think of leaving at this juncture, my dear. Besides, I have it from Theodore that Jason is finding our visit a welcome distraction. He told Sophia’s brother that he thought it would be a shame if we didn’t stay at least until after this candle thing at Hallowe’en — that we were more than welcome to stay longer if we wished.”

“Oh, yes, but after all, what else can the man say? He can hardly throw us out on our ears.”

“You think not? I wouldn’t put it past him if he really wanted to be rid of us. There is something ruthless about Jason Monteigne, don’t you think?”

“Ruthless? I haven’t seen that much of him, but it’s hardly the word I would have chosen.”

He looked pensive. “Perhaps you’re right, but there is something odd here. This house, that ferocious beast outside, his own brooding spells. It doesn’t add up to a happy man.”

“Oh, Nathaniel,” she smiled. “It isn’t like you to be melodramatic. You sound as if you think him another Byron, ‘… mad, bad, and dangerous to know’! It’s scarcely polite. He is your host, and he has been very considerate under the circumstances.”

“If I didn’t know you, Amanda, I’d think you had a partiality for the man.”

“Don’t be ridiculous — just because I refuse to run a man down behind his back!”

A shocked look came over Nathaniel’s face at the irritation in her voice. “Amanda! This only proves that you need to retire. You are not yourself at all.”

“And I tell you I have no need to rest. I wish you would all stop hovering over me like mother hens!”

“Very well then, if that is your wish. Theo has invited me to join him in a hand of cards. If you need me you can send to his room upstairs.”

“Nathaniel, this is so petty,” she said, but he had already gone, his back ramrod stiff, from the room.

Their quarrel had brought a faint throbbing to her head, and she put a hand to her brow, frowning a little as she massaged it. She knew that Nathaniel was right. She should go up and lie down, but pride and a kind of irritable obstinacy that was foreign to her nature kept her from doing what was sensible.

Thinking that perhaps a breath of fresh air would rid her of her headache, she stood up. Moving with weary footsteps she went from the room and across the hall to the front door.

From the dining room there came the sounds of Proserpine removing the dishes from the table. But for the cook, the lower part of the house seemed deserted. Outside, the day had grown warmer with the ascent of the sun. The wind that blew across the gallery had a softness that reminded Amanda of spring even though it carried with it the drifting whirl of fallen leaves.

She looked around her nervously for the dog, Cerberus. Not seeing him, she hurried down the steps and along the brick wall to the gate. She stopped to fumble a moment with the catch, then she spun through the opening and clanged it shut behind her.

At the sound the great gray-black dog came loping around the side of the house, the bristles on the back of his neck rising. As he saw her standing beyond the fence a growl began to rumble in his throat. He gave a short warning woof, then stood watching with malevolent eyes as she walked away.

The grass that brushed against her skirts and was trodden beneath her feet gave on a smell like new-mown hay. The ground underneath it was still somewhat damp, but the grass itself was dry. In some places near the house it had been flattened by trampling feet, but farther away it stood tall and thick, waving gently in the wind.

Walking aimlessly, Amanda skirted the house and set out across an open space that had the look of an overgrown field. Near the line of the trees she stopped. Looking back the way she had come, she could see the rear of Monteigne, one or two storage buildings, fig bushes and pear trees.

The house stood four-square with its white walls gleaming and its gray roof silvery in the sun. As Amanda stood there looking at it she began to feel that behind that blank, too stolid, exterior something was concealed, much as the impassive face of the gambler hides both triumph and defeat, trust … and trickery.

But was it really the house, or was it the things that had been hinted, the things that she had heard without being able to understand? There was Amelia’s illness. Was it real or faked? There was her distaste for the possibility of children, her relationships with the people in the house — intense relationships filled with love or hate. And then there was her death. That Amelia should take her own life, whatever the reason, seemed so unlike her. But in the past few days she had begun to feel that she had never known Amelia at all.

She shivered suddenly and once again put her hand to her head. As she brought it away, she stared at it, surprised to see the trembling that shook her. The wind that had felt so good a few minutes before now had a chill edge. Her knees hardly seemed able to support her.

She should try to get back to the house. She was weaker than she had imagined. Even as the thought was formed she sank down upon the thick grass.

For a moment she rested, leaning on her arm, then it gave way and very slowly she lay back closing her eyes.

She could feel the sun, warm against her face and the roughness of the grass under her fingers. Here, close to the ground, the wind could no longer strike her and, half hidden among the tall ledge, she felt curiously safe. As the seconds passed she could hear the minute rustling and crackling of the grass around her and the faint buzzing of a yellowjacket.

Then, as it had happened once before, she felt herself receding, moving back farther and farther within herself. It was as though somehow she was being forced out of her rightful place. After that, grayness, like a cloak settling over her, blotted out the bright glow of the day, leaving her in darkness.

She awoke slowly, stretching, laughing softly to herself, her eyes dancing with victory. She ran her gaze down the length of her body and frowned. Then she shrugged, a rueful smile curling her mouth.

She sat up and looked around her. There was no one in view, nothing to see but the house before her.

She felt a tightness about her neck. Raising one hand to her throat she felt the constriction of a high collar tightly closed. Smiling a little she began to unfasten the buttons down the front of the polonaise and then those of the blouse. She pulled the wide wings of both collars open to a deep vee that exposed the soft curves of her breasts.

Lifting her fingers she began to pull the pins from the coronet on top of her head. She ran her hands through the long, russet strands, letting it spread out like a cape upon her shoulders.

She raised her skirt and dropped the pins into the pocket of her top petticoat. Then, letting it fall, she got slowly to her feet.

As she stood looking about her, her gaze moving around the brilliant pale blue sky of autumn, she undid the buttons of her sleeves and folded them back to her shapely elbows. She shook her hair back loving the feel of the wind blowing through it. She was still, her face lifted, her eyes closed, then with a mischievous smile curving her mouth, she started toward the house.

She paused at the gate, watching the front door with eager anticipation. But then as the sun went behind a cloud a shadow of doubt flitted across her face.

At that moment the great black dog got up from where he had been lying in the shadowed end of the gallery. He shook himself, then stood, his ears pricked forward, watching her.

“Cerberus,” she cried, swinging through the gate, slamming it behind her.

For a long moment the dog did not move. Then, he gave a short bark and began to pad toward her. His stride grew longer, his tail began to wag, and then he was leaping about her, uttering sharp ecstatic barks of welcome, his long pink tongue lolling out as he jumped up, trying to reach her face.

She caressed him, scratching his crown, pulling his ears, and swinging his massive head from side to side. She spoke to him softly in a voice he obviously recognized and loved.

The dark figure of a man moved from the open doorway of the house. He crossed the gallery and stood with one hand braced against a square, white column.

“I would never have believed it,” he said, shaking his head.

She looked up and a smile came and went on her face. “Theo,” she said, and pressed the dog down to stand beside her with her fingers just touching his head.

“That dog hasn’t been that friendly in months. I would have wagered he would have taken more than one bite out of a stranger like you.”

“It seems you would have been wrong.” She moved her fingers through the dog’s fur without looking up.

“You must have had quite a walk.”

She was silent so long that he began to think she was not going to answer. Then she slanted a quick glance at him. “Yes.”

“If you had told me you were going I would have walked along with you.”

“It is kind of you to say so.”

The wind, sweeping around the corner of the house flattened her skirts against her and blew a strand of hair across her eyes. Reaching up, she caught it back and then suddenly lifting her eyes to Theo she gave him a slow, enchanting smile.

Theo pushed away from the column and descended the steps toward her.

“For the first time I believe I see the resemblance between you and your cousin.”

“Oh?”

“When Amelia first came here she, too, used to come back from her walks with a high bloom on her cheeks and as windblown as a gypsy.”

“That is bad?”

“I didn’t say that. I liked her wildness. It made her seem natural and unaffected, less the … the Lady of Shalott that Jason wanted.”

She looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing. “What … oh, I see. Pale and wan, lying on a bier … I don’t think I like that comparison.”

Theo shrugged and refused to be drawn, staring beyond her toward the stable and barn. The slight movement of a facial muscle, the twitch of an eyelid, made her follow his gaze.

Turning her head, she saw Jason coming then, his hands swinging at his sides with his free and easy stride. A smile curved her lips. She made a move as if to go forward to meet him, then she checked herself, following him with her eyes, ignoring Theo’s frown.

Opening the gate, Jason came toward them up the path. She could feel his eyes on the flush that deepened in her cheeks, on her disordered hair, and the deep opening of her bodice. She wanted to laugh in sheer pleasure, but she knew it would sound mad. Still, she could not resist dropping him a mocking curtsy.

Deliberately she turned away to smile at Theo. “Shall we go in?” she asked, her voice low and somewhat husky as she took his arm. There was time enough for that other matter, as important as it was. It was so good to be alive, to see, and be seen. There was no hurry, none at all.

It was then that the third man stepped out onto the porch. He was a stern-faced man, with little sensitivity.

“Amanda,” he called, his voice tinged with impatience. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you this past quarter hour and more.”

He lowered his head as he hastened down the steps, then, as he looked up again, he seemed to realize the disorder of her clothing and hair, for his eyes widened.

“Amanda!” he exclaimed accusingly, grasping her arm, looking as if he wanted to shake her.

“Nathaniel…” Theo cautioned, his eyes on her white face. No one paid him any heed.

She stared as if she had never seen the man before her. Her eyes closed. She raised one hand, gropingly, toward her head, pressing against her temple.

At her side the dog was growling deep in his throat. He dropped into a crouch, slowly backing away, his hackles rising.

Jason stepped forward between the girl and the dog, his voice carrying a warning as he spoke. “Down…”

“Jason,” she said, her eyes mirroring a frightening distress as she turned naturally toward him.

Would she have fallen? She was not sure, still she sought like a child the safety and haven of Jason’s arms.

“Well, I’ll be…” Nathaniel exclaimed. “I said all along she should have been in bed. She is not at all herself yet, not at all!”

AMANDA lay listening to the sound of the guitar. The music Jason played had a plaintive sound. A Spanish piece, it had a hint too of la soledad, a bitter poignancy that seemed to match her own mood.

She was lying on a settee, a lightweight patchwork quilt across her knees, her back resting against a pile of pillows. After what had happened this afternoon, they had not wanted her to come down. But she had been adamant against Nathaniel’s irritable concern, Sophia’s jibes, and Malta’s nervous apprehension. So far as she knew, only Jason had put forward no objection to her coming down. She was obscurely grateful to him for it

Still, even here in the parlor she could not escape Marta’s determined surveillance. The nurse sat to her left, comfortably ensconced in a heavy chair. On Amanda’s right was Sophia, and among the three of them, before the settee, they had set up a table. On its surface was scattered quantities of black jet and crystal beads, lengths of wire, and a large pair of shears. There was also a pile of colored paper that had been cut into the shape of flower petals.

Marta was engrossed in the task of forming the bead-strung wires into flowers and then shaping the single flowers into bouquets. When complete with a beaded ribbon, they would be taken to the cemetery on All Hallows’ Eve. Sophia had the more delicate job of turning the paper petals into full blown roses that, later, would be dipped into hot wax to make them permanent.

Amanda, although she still felt weak, was unused to idleness and, as she lay back against the pillows, her fingers were busily sliding the jet and crystal beads onto a piece of wire.