Wilde, Jennifer (67 page)

Meg
was examining titles when I entered the library. She gave a start and looked at
me with wide, nervous eyes, as though I had caught her in some petty
misdemeanor. I smiled warmly, trying to put her at ease, but she didn't smile
back. She stood stiffly, her manner anything but welcoming.

"I
didn't mean to disturb you," I said quietly. "It's such a lovely day
I thought I'd select a book and go out into the gardens to read for a while.
It's—it's nice to see you up and around."

"Helmut
decided it was time I left my room," she said coldly. "I'm to come
down to meals, and I'm to stop acting like a child. When my brother decides
something, it's done."

"Are
you feeling better?"

"I'm
feeling better."

She
was distinctly thorny, but somehow or other I felt that this was merely a kind
of defense. There was no reason for her to dislike me—or to like me, either—but
I sensed that her antagonism wasn't directed against me personally, and I was
not put off by her manner. She had grown even thinner since her arrival, and
her dress seemed to hang on her. Her cheeks were very pale and drawn. Her
light-brown hair was pulled back severely and worn in a tight bun on the nape
of her neck, a few wispy tendrils escaping to curl over her temples.

"Is
my brother around?" she inquired.

"He's
gone out to the plantation this afternoon. There's some kind of problem he has
to attend to. He didn't tell me any of the details. You used to live at the
plantation, didn't you?"

She
nodded. "I hated it."

"Roseclay
is much nicer."

"I
suppose."

"I
really am glad to see you're feeling better, Meg. I looked forward to your
return."

She
seemed surprised. "You did?"

"I
was hoping we could be friends. It gets rather lonely without anyone to talk
to."

"I
imagine it does."

Standing
directly in a shaft of light, Meg looked like a twelve-year-old child with
those thin cheeks and enormous eyes, but there was nothing childish in her
manner. I sensed bitter disillusionment and mature depth that she kept
carefully hidden.

"You
married him for his money, didn't you?" she asked abruptly.

"Of
course I did," I replied.

The
answer seemed to please her. "It couldn't have been for love. My brother
isn't a very lovable man. At least you're honest about it. I admire that."

She
turned away and began to study the books again.

"Would
you like to come out into the gardens with me?" I asked.

"I
think not," she replied, pulling a book from the shelf.

"I
really would like to be your friend, Meg."

The
girl took another book, pulled down the volume beside it, and tucked all three
under her arm. When she turned around to face me, her eyes were cool.

"I
don't think Helmut would like that," she said.

"That—that's
absurd."

"You
think so? You don't know him very well. He doesn't want me to have friends. He
doesn't want me to have a lover. He likes to keep me to himself."

"I
know he thinks a great deal of you and is deeply concerned about your welfare,
but—"

"I
don't care to discuss it," she said tartly.

"Meg—"

"I'm
sure you have very good intentions," she interrupted, "but you really
know nothing about it. You married him for your own reasons, and he married you
for his. Let me give you a word of advice—don't meddle, don't probe. Leave
things alone."

"But—"

"I
really must get back up to my room now. As you can see, I'm not a very friendly
person. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's really much better this
way."

She
left the room abruptly, the books clutched under her arm. I was sure that
beneath that thorny façade Meg was a deeply sensitive and responsive person,
but she hadn't given an inch. If it wasn't personal dislike that had caused
that rigid defensiveness, I wondered what it could be. Somehow I felt certain
that the cause went much deeper, and I suspected that the thwarted romance with
James Norman was somehow involved.

Helmut
always insisted that we dress for dinner and dine in the formal dining room,
even when there were just the two of us. He enjoyed sitting at the head of the
little table like some all-powerful monarch, being waited on by silent,
apprehensive slaves fearful of displeasing him. It gave him a chance to savor
his power and position. He was already waiting in the parlor adjoining the
dining room when I came down that night. That surprised me, for he usually
didn't come down until the last moment.

"Good
evening, Helmut," I said.

"Good
evening, my dear. You're looking splendid."

"Thank
you."

"New
dress?"

"It
arrived last week. You approve?"

"You
look quite ravishing. Pity there isn't an attractive young man to appreciate
it. We must give another party soon, invite a few single men. I imagine you'd
enjoy that."

"I
might," I replied.

Helmut
smiled. He seemed very pleased with himself, I thought. His sarcasm was
delivered in an almost playful manner. Blond hair sleekly brushed, cheeks
ruddy, he looked like an evil courtier who anticipated practicing a subtle form
of devilment. Helmut loved to bully people, but my refusing to be cowed always
took the edge off his pleasure.

"Did
you get your problem at the plantation solved?" I inquired.

"Thoroughly.
I rather imagine they'll toe the line after today."

"What
happened?"

"One
of the niggers was getting a bit surly, encouraging the others to follow his
example. I took care of the situation. Personally. I doubt if you'd care to
hear the details."

"I
don't imagine I would."

Her
eyes gleamed with amusement. "You know, I suspect you have a very tender
heart beneath that cool façade. I suspect you're not nearly as hard and
mercenary as you pretend to be."

I
ignored his remarks, and Helmut merely curled his lips in a sarcastic smile. A
few moments later Meg stepped into the room. She wore a loose-fitting dress of
crushed brown velvet, and two spots of pink rouge glowed on her cheeks,
enhancing her pallor. She hadn't bothered with her hair. It was still worn in
the tight bun, those wispy tendrils still brushing her temples.

"Ah,"
Helmut said. "We're honored. The invalid has decided to join the living at
last."

So
Meg was to be his victim, I thought. The girl stared at him coldly, refusing to
rise to the bait, yet I could sense a nervous tension in the way one hand
clutched her skirt, wadding the velvet beneath her fingers. Helmut studied her with
his head tilted slightly to one side.

"We
must do something about you," he remarked. "You look like a scarecrow
in that dress, and that paint you've smeared on your cheeks hardly helps
matters."

"I
don't give a damn how I look, Helmut."

He
arched his brows, pretending to be shocked. "My little sister has grown
up, it seems. She even uses curse words."

"I
know a few others, as well."

"I'm
certain you do, but you won't be using them, will you?"

Meg
didn't reply. Her fingers clutched at the velvet, and I felt she was trembling
inside. Helmut strolled toward her like a sleek cat toying with a mouse. Meg
looked at him defiantly. He crooked his arm, indicating that she should take
it, and after the slightest hesitation she did, bowing her head submissively. They
led the way into the dining room.

"It's
nice having you with us," Helmut said after the soup was served.
"You're quite over your illness?"

"I
came down, Helmut. Just as you ordered."

"I
shouldn't think it would be necessary to give orders. I should think you'd be
eager to take part in things."

Meg
kept her eyes lowered. Helmut sighed wearily.

"I
rather imagine you were indulging yourself—staying in your room like
that."

"Think
what you will," she replied.

"I
hope you're through with such nonsense now. We must get you some new clothes.
Marietta should be helpful there. She was a seamstress, you know. Among other
things."

"I'd
love to help you get a new wardrobe, Meg," I said, ignoring his sarcasm.

"I've
no interest in clothes," she said coldly.

"We
can't have you looking like a starved scarecrow," her brother continued.
"Granted you're no great beauty, but you can at least look
presentable."

Meg
lifted her eyes, meeting his gaze for the first time. "Presentable?"
she said. "For whom?"

"Why,
for society. There'll be parties. People will be coming to Roseclay, and you'll
be visiting them."

"Will
I?"

"But
of course."

"You
intend to launch me, it seems. Does that mean you intend selecting a husband
for me?"

She
seemed to be challenging him in some way, and Helmut wasn't at all pleased. He
glared at her.

"After
all," Meg continued,
"you
saw fit to marry. Under the
circumstances, an unmarried sister should only be in the way. Particularly one
so drab and unattractive."

"That'll
be enough," he said harshly.

"Oh
dear, have I said something wrong?"

"I'd
advise you to be careful what you say."

Meg
glanced at me, then looked back at Helmut. I had the feeling that they were
discussing something else altogether. A disturbing undercurrent charged the air
with tension. Helmut's eyes fairly blazed, and Meg finally lowered her own,
looking meek again, all the fight gone out of her. A footman took away the soup
bowl. Another brought in the second course. Helmut's eyes never once left his
sister.

"I
don't like your attitude," he said.

"I'm
sorry, Helmut."

"I
should think you'd show a little gratitude."

"I'm...
very grateful."

Thoroughly
chastened, now, she looked on the verge of tears. That bright candle of
defiance had flickered out, leaving her frail and defenseless. Helmut smiled a
private smile, pleased with himself, and I detested him for what he had done.
There were several minutes of silence, and when he spoke again his coarse,
guttural voice was tempered with genuine compassion.

"Finish
your meat, Margaret. You need to build up your strength."

She
nodded meekly, like a child.

"Perhaps
you'll play for us after dinner," he said, still speaking in that
curiously softened voice. "I bought the piano especially for you, knowing
how you love music and how beautifully you play. It would give me great
pleasure."

"Very
well," she replied.

"Only
if you want to, Meg. Only if it will give you pleasure, too."

"I'll
play for you, Helmut. Just as I used to."

"Fine,"
he said.

His
maimer was amazingly gentle. The bully had vanished completely, and his blue
eyes gleamed with an emotion that was unmistakably love. How complex it all
was, I thought. Meg was very dear to him, the one person on earth he cared
about, yet he treated her mercilessly, deliberately tormenting her. Why? Once
again I had the feeling that James Norman was involved. Did the girl know he
was back in Natchez? Did she love him still?

After
the meal was finished, we went into the parlor, and Meg sat down at the piano
with humble obedience. She stared at the keys for a moment, her shoulders
hunched, and then she began to play a soft, sad melody. She did indeed play
beautifully, coloring each note with subtlety. She poured out her soul in the
music, I thought, as though she were expressing through music emotions too
fragile and dear to risk exposing in any other way. Helmut sat with his chin
propped on his fist, legs stretched out in front of him, gazing at his sister
with hooded eyes. The brutish quality was still in evidence in the set of his
jaw, in the curl of his lip, but his usual harshness was temporarily subdued.

Meg
finished the piece and turned to look at him, her fingers resting on the keys.
Helmut nodded, and she began to play again, this piece as lovely and melancholy
as the last. It was hard to believe that the girl who was playing was the same
person who had been so bitter and thorny in the library earlier. I wondered
what she was thinking as she played. Was she lamenting her lost love? Was that
why the music was suffused with such poignant sadness? The melody rippled and
flowed, gradually slowing, eventually ceasing. Meg sat back, folding her hands
in her lap, her head bowed. She gazed at the keys as though in a trance.

"That
was lovely," Helmut remarked.

"I'm
glad you're pleased," she said in a hollow voice.