Night of the Candles (7 page)

It was a short while later that Sophia tapped on the door and then stepped into the room.

“You have a visitor,” she told Amanda, an arch amusement lacing her voice.

“I know, Marta saw him from the window,” Amanda admitted.

“Then do you want to receive him or not?”

“I … perhaps it would not be the thing?” she suggested doubtfully.

“Your fiance? Unexceptional, I would think. It would not do if he were only a suitor, but in this case I don’t see how it can hurt, especially if you are in company…”

“I take your point. You will stay then?”

“Gladly,” Sophia answered promptly, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

Accordingly, while Sophia went to show Nathaniel upstairs, Marta fetched her dressing gown to put around her shoulders and cover her nightgown. Amanda smoothed a hand over her hair and down the long auburn braid that hung over her shoulder, pinched her cheeks to bring color to her face, and composed herself for the meeting with her hands folded in her lap.

Sophia opened the door and stepped aside. Nathaniel walked to stand, ill at ease, his color high, in the center of the room.

He was not a handsome man, but a high forehead and a certain severity of expression in his hazel eyes gave him a distinguished appearance. His dark brown hair was brushed back to fall in a loose wave at his temple, and he wore deep sideburns to the point of his jaw. Annoyance at his errand, concern for Amanda’s predicament, and a degree of embarrassment made his manner stiff.

“Well, Amanda?” he said.

“Nathaniel.”

“Miss Abercrombie has been telling me about your fall and the situation here. How are you?”

“Well enough. A bit of a headache still. But … why are you here?”

“Why am I…” he caught himself with a flicking glance to the two other women, Sophia and Marta, in the room. “I returned from the state capital to find you gone on this long journey without a word…”

“I left you a letter explaining…”

“Yes. I had it. Really, Amanda. There was no need for such haste. I would have come with you; I told you as much.”

“Yes, after we were married. I tried to make you understand that I wished to clear this from my mind before. I know there will be little enough time for jaunts of this sort later on. You are always so busy.”

“Don’t let us go into that again. I have come to take you home.”

“It was kind of you to bother, Nathaniel. However, I don’t believe…”

“Faulting Amanda,” Marta broke in a decided voice, “cannot possibly be moved. Not now, not tomorrow, not for several days.”

“See here, who is this woman?”

“I am a nurse-companion, mein herr.”

“Surely there was no need to go to that extent,” Nathaniel protested.

“Not in this case,” Sophia explained. “Marta was called in for the late wife of Mr. Monteigne.”

“I see. Your effort in coming here was for nothing then, Amanda.”

“It seems so,” Amanda was forced to agree.

“What of the legacy?” Nathaniel, ever practical, went straight to the sore point.

“You mean … the necklace?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I … I tried to persuade Jason, Amelia’s husband, you know, to take it. He is her legal heir. But he refused.”

“Very right of him. Then you are to keep it?”

“I suppose, if I can find it.”

“If you can find it?”

“I had it when I fell, but now it is gone.”

With his customary self-control Nathaniel said nothing, though his lips tightened and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“It was a pretty bauble,” Sophia drawled. “I’m sure Amanda thinks that I took it while she was unconscious.”

“Not at all,” Amanda said, aware of a warmth stealing into her cheeks. Under the circumstances, she found Sophia’s bluntness disconcerting, almost as much as Nathaniel’s critical attitude.

“I’m sure you must be mistaken,” Nathaniel said with a touch of gallantry. “I can’t imagine anyone suspecting you of a crime.”

“How nice of you to say so,” Sophia returned at once. “Still, I must admit I did covet the necklace.” She gave a wry smile as if to deprecate her feminine weakness, but Nathaniel turned away.

“Are you comfortable, Amanda? Do you have everything you want?”

“Oh, yes. I’m fine,” she answered in a slightly warmer tone in response to his show of concern.

“What about a doctor? I suppose a decent man has been consulted?”

“I’m afraid not. You see…”

“There was not the least need. I am fully competent to deal with this situation.” Marta drew herself to her full height, a formidable figure with her stoutness, every bit as tall and probably heavier than Nathaniel.

He frowned. “You won’t object, however, if I seek another opinion?” Without waiting for a reply he turned back to Amanda. “I’ll have to go back to town now, but I’ll be back early in the morning with the physician.”

“All right, Nathaniel.”

“I don’t particularly like leaving you. You know I wouldn’t if it wasn’t necessary.”

“Yes,” she said smiling a little. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

He stood still a moment longer, his eyes on her face. Finally he gave a short nod, then turned on his heel and left the room.

“My!” Sophia said lightly, “the masterful type. I wonder, Amanda dear, how you ever dared cross him?” She smiled and then went from the room after Nathaniel to show him out of the house and to the front gate.

Marta made a sound between a snort and a grunt. She moved with a heavy step to the front window, and though Amanda refused to allow herself to question the nurse about what she saw below, it was some time before she heard the sound of the carriage leaving.

Amanda had an early dinner with Marta in her room. Actually it was not dinner at all but a high tea with pekoe, chicken sandwiches, a heavy, spiced fig cake, and honey on toast dripping with butter. It was satisfying and faintly stimulating. It put Amanda in the mood for a bath before the fire in the fireplace. Marta dragged an old copper sitz bath into place, along with its bath screen to enclose the bather in the warmth from the fire and keep out chilling drafts, then she trudged up and down the stairs with the water cans.

The bath itself was a long, slow process. It took some time merely to get from the bed to the tub with Amanda leaning heavily on Marta’s arm to conquer her dizziness after each step. But at last it was accomplished, and feeling deliciously clean and drowsy, Amanda sat in a chair before the fire while Marta loosened her heavy braid and brushed her hair until it shone with the gleam of the fire in its waves.

“You are very good-natured, Marta,” Amanda said. “You make a wonderful nurse.”

“I only live to serve my patients,” she answered in a muffled voice.

“You must have done this often for my cousin. I’m sorry if I have brought back hurtful memories. I think you were fond of her.”

“Yes, fraeulein, I was fond of her, but you must not trouble yourself about looking like her. It is not so marked a resemblance, once a person gets to know you, and even if it were, it is not something you can help. Me, I remember how she suffered. So. It is not to grieve that she no longer feels the sorrow in her heart.”

“The sorrow, Marta?”

The brush stilled then began to move again. “Why, fraeulein, the knowledge that she would never be well, the knowledge that she must leave her dear husband forever.”

“Yes, I … see.”

“You needn’t sit with me tonight,” she said a little later as she lay against the pillows settled for the night.

“I do not mind,” Marta protested.

“No, but I do,” Amanda said firmly. “I forbid it. Truly, it bothers me to know that someone is losing sleep because of me. I don’t want to take laudanum tonight, and I’m sure I couldn’t sleep with you awake in the chair beside me.”

“Well, if the fraeulein is certain … but I’m not at all sure that Herr Jason will agree.”

“If he doesn’t, just send him to me.”

“Yes, fraeulein. If it is all right I will stay here beside you until you grow sleepy. That you will not mind?”

Seeing that it was the best she could do, Amanda agreed. Whether it was the presence of the nurse, the bed rest she had been forced to take during the day, or the persistent tiny ache behind her eyes, her drowsiness evaporated once the lamp was blown out. She lay staring at the walls in the last nickering orange light of the dying fire, unable to sleep. The silver stripes of the wallpaper reflected a reddish fire glow, as did the turnings of the polished wood of the armoire. The brass of the fender around the fireplace gleamed.

Marta sat still, so still that several times Amanda looked toward the slipper chair, wondering if she had dozed off, but each time the German nurse’s eyes were fixed unwavering on the bed of coals beneath the mantel.

At last she heard footsteps outside in the hall as the others went up to bed. She had opened her mouth when a scratching came on the hall door, a soft sound that would not have awakened a sleeper. Moving quietly, Marta rose.

Amanda closed her eyes, hoping to encourage her to leave her post. She heard Marta round the end of the bed, then reaching the door, ease it open. There was a whispered consultation, then Marta stepped through the door and began to close it behind her. As Amanda opened her eyes she could not see who Marta had spoken to, though before the door closed she saw the shadow of a man stretching, elongated, across the floor toward her, projected into the darkened room by a light behind him in the hall. The man’s shape was wide and long, tapering as though he wore a long cape or a set of waterproof oil skins, something, which enshrouded him from, shoulders to ankles. As she watched, he raised an odd stocking cap to his head, slipping it down over his face to his neck. His resulting appearance struck a chord of memory. She groped in her mind for the dark image, without being quite able to capture it. A blue flame dancing on the red coals in the fireplace leaped higher then died.

The change in light attracted the attention of the couple at the door. There was a flutter of white, and then the door closed. Amanda was alone in the dark.

She was awake and yet she was not. She felt suddenly free, and at the same time, compressed, pushed back, into the depths of her mind. It was a strange feeling but not entirely new. It had been growing, even as her breath moved regularly in and out in the rhythm of sleep. It had been a gentle sensation, gentle but unrelenting, one that paid no heed to the gossamer beat of a fluttering spirit of resistance. Weak, she was so weak, and half inclined, in her inner confusion, to succumb willingly. She had always given in to this smiling invader, this companion of her loneliness, sharer of sorrows. She allowed herself to be thrust aside and sighed, moving deeper into blackness. Aware that now she was twain, and yet unaware. She felt detached, as unconcerned as a dreamer dreaming of a stranger.

When she opened her eyes and looked about the room, her own room, it was no dream; she was no dream. She stared up at the canopy above her, at the tissue cloth of silver, and she smiled. Glancing down she ran her hand over the silk coverlet, enjoying the tactile sensation. She stretched, raising her arms above her head, then as the movement brought the ache in her head back she put a hand to her temple, an expression of surprise on her face.

She gazed about the room anxiously, as if searching for a change. Finding none, a look of satisfaction gleamed for a moment in her eyes. Then she threw back the covers and levered herself into a sitting position.

When her head had stopped spinning she stood up, holding to the tall post at the head of the bed. The washstand with its lamp was close. She reached out and took up a sulphur match, striking it on the rough underside of the marble top on the washstand. With trembling fingers she lifted the globe and touched the match to the blackened wick. It caught slowly, then as she turned up the wick, flared into a steady light. She replaced the fragile glass globe and turned away.

Standing there in the light she stared down at the nightgown she was wearing. It was simple, unadorned white dimity. Typically Amanda. Not at all right. She would prefer something soft and fine with lace and embroidery perhaps, in a pretty color, yellow or lilac. And this heavy braid. She had never been able to bear to have her hair confined at night.

Stronger now for being on her feet, she moved, staying near the bed until she was certain she would not need its support, toward the armoire. Bracing her forearm against the side she turned the handle and pulled the door open.

The dresses hung on their padded silk hangers, dresses covered with braid and tassels, with lace and embroidery, dresses in bright hues with all the extravagances of fashion dreamed of in Paris and New Orleans and Philadelphia. Shoes in neat canvas cases were in the bottom of the armoire while parasols of lace and satin, silk and tassels, stood closed in the corners. Fans lay on the shelves along with neatly piled lingerie, with corsets and camisoles and a scattering of garters. There was also a pile of folded handkerchiefs, each delicately embroidered. With a thoughtful frown she took one from the top of the pile and turning, tied it quickly to one of the tall posts at the foot of the bed. It hung, a white signal, and an odd smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she turned back to the armoire.

She chose a nightgown of white silk with a panel of green embroidered leaves set into the bodice and a green ribbon threaded through the decolletage to gather it up for modesty.

She stepped out of the dimity gown and threw it on the bed and then let the white silk one flow down over her with a delicious coolness. She pulled the green ribbon, drawing it closed over her breasts and tied it in a graceful bow.

That little exertion left her faintly nauseated with a swimming feeling behind her eyes. As she made her way to the dressing table she held to the furniture, then half collapsed onto the stool before the mirror.

This would not do, she told herself dropping her head into her hands. She must be stronger.

At last, looking down, she noticed the end of the braid that fell over her shoulder. With trembling fingers she slipped the ribbon tie off and began to separate the plait into strands. Finally she picked up the brush. As she began to pull it through the lustrous tresses she automatically raised her eyes to the mirror then she stopped, staring. Gray eyes. Lashes and brows slightly darker than they should be, a firmer chin and wider mouth. For a moment tears threatened, then she took a deep breath, compressing her lips. What had she expected?