Winterwood (18 page)

“Don’t let’s be so gloomy.”

Flora leaned forward, her face sharpened into an uncomfortable intensity. “How can I help being gloomy, when Mamma says she will go mad? It’s because of me, I know.”

“Mamma exaggerates. And so do you. The sun’s shining today, had you noticed? I thought we might take an airing into the village later. I have some small purchases to make, and perhaps you have, too.”

“What should I need?” Flora said sulkily.

“I don’t know. A new face, perhaps. I don’t much care for the look of this one this morning.”

“When Mamma laughs like that, Papa gets upset,” Flora said rapidly as if telling a long-suppressed secret. “He looks worried and says she must take her pills. He never laughs, too. Because there isn’t anything funny to laugh at, except privately in Mamma’s head.”

So Flora was touched by the chill of that laughter, too. It was perplexing, especially since Charlotte was so gay when she came in to say good morning. She was dressed in a pale gray riding habit and looked very elegant.

“What’s this? Your breakfast not eaten? Are you ill, dearest?”

“No, Mamma.”

“What is it, Miss Hurst? She looks pale.”

Flora’s passionate glance toward Lavinia meant that nothing was to be said.

“I think she just needs some fresh air, Mrs. Meryon. I thought if the sun stays out we would go for a walk into the village.”

“What a good idea. I am going out, too. Sylvie needs exercise, and so do I. We ate such large meals at Windsor. Course after course. I was telling Teddy about Prince Edward’s toy soldiers. He has not only the British army but the French, too. I have promised Teddy some similar ones. What would you like, Flora dear? I am not sure what were the little princesses’ favorite toys. They are allowed to look at but not touch their mamma’s collection of dolls.”

“I am too old for dolls,” Flora said ungraciously.

“Naturally, darling. But there must be something you would like.”

“I want nothing but a new horse.”

Charlotte’s brow puckered anxiously. Did she realize her uncontrolled laughter last night must have disturbed the house, and now was she trying to make amends by being the perfect mother, the perfect wife?

“Someday, my darling. But I can’t buy that in the village, can I? Now cheer up. I hope that walk will put some roses in your cheeks.”

Fortunately the day stayed fine enough for the walk into the village. Lavinia asked Mary to come, too, thinking the perky little creature would chatter enough to amuse Flora. They took it in turns to push the chair down the rutted lane, and finally Flora was giggling wildly at the bumps and skids. In the village she plainly enjoyed the deference paid her, the doffed caps and the bobs, and the anxious inquiries about her health.

Lavinia left her with Mary on the village green while she went into the tiny dark apothecary’s shop to make some purchases. Perhaps, in her position, it wasn’t wise to be asking for her favorite rose-perfumed soap, and rice powder, but there was a limit to the sacrifices that she could make.

“Good morning, miss,” said the chemist. “I hope the young lady is better. I’d advise a warm scarf against the wind.”

“But she isn’t ill,” Lavinia said, in surprise.

“No, I suppose toothache isn’t exactly an illness. But it’s painful enough, for all that. I hope the laudanum was an effective remedy.”

Lavinia was about to tell him that he was making a mistake, he must be confusing Flora with some other child. Some instinct stopped her, and she listened to him saying, “Now there’s a lovely lady, Mrs. Meryon. So upset about Miss Flora that she came herself to fetch the medicine for her. I advise care in its use, though. It’s dangerous stuff.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Lavinia took her purchases, and paid for them.

Had Charlotte wanted the laudanum for herself? Did that explain her erratic moods?

W
HEN THEY GOT HOME
,
Jonathon Peate was standing warming himself at the fire in the library. He looked as much at home as if he had been a constant guest at Winterwood for the whole of his life. He saw their arrival, and came strolling to the door, giving his jovial laugh.

“Hullo, princess. Have you been taking an airing? And the fair Miss Hurst!” He bowed low. “If I had known, I would have accompanied you.”

“But you would not have been invited,” Flora said in her clear, merciless voice. “Call Joseph, Miss Hurst. I wish to go up immediately.”

Charlotte came hurrying down the stairs at that moment, saying, “I’m sorry, Jonathon, but Aunt Tameson isn’t feeling well enough to see anyone at present. She’s had another attack, and is resting.”

“I’ll wait,” said Jonathon smiling. “I have plenty of time.”

“By all means have some sherry with me. But it’s no use expecting to see Aunt Tameson tonight. Miss Hurst, what are you doing standing there?”

“Waiting for Joseph to take Flora up,” Lavinia answered calmly. She wondered why Charlotte’s voice had that edge of hysteria. Was she so upset because Aunt Tameson had had another attack?

Flora’s hands were tight on the arms of her chair. When Joseph came she clung to him, looking over his shoulder at Lavinia.

“I hate Mr. Peate! I expect Great-aunt Tameson heard his voice and that’s why she is ill again.”

But, strangely enough, Lady Tameson wasn’t exhausted from another attack. She heard their approach and rang her bell violently. When they went in, she said, “I’ve been waiting for you, Flora. I have the cards dealt”

Flora’s face brightened.

“Mamma said you were not well enough to see anybody. Was she just telling a lie to that horrid Mr. Peate?”

Propped against the pillows, Lady Tameson looked remarkably alert. At Flora’s words she first of all looked startled; then a curious, sly look came over her face.

“I’ve got them all running,” she said obscurely. She gave her dry cackle. “So Jonathon’s downstairs, is he? Well, let Charlotte entertain him. Now, miss. Get your outdoor things off. Hurry up. I have a feeling I’m going to give you a sound trouncing today.”

“If you cheat, Great-aunt Tameson, I’ll refuse to play with you again.”

“Oh, get along with you. Everyone has to cheat at some time. The important thing is not to be caught at it.”

So Charlotte had not even looked in to see if her aunt were well enough for visitors. For reasons of her own she was keeping Jonathon away. Lavinia thought about the laudanum she had purchased and was suddenly cold. Surely Charlotte could not be planning to hasten the old lady’s death—because it was dangerous to her interests to have Jonathon using his persuasions on a gullible old woman…

Anything seemed possible that evening, for although Jonathon had departed before dinner, Charlotte was terribly restless. At first she talked too much, then was completely silent. She toyed with her food, and paid no attention to the conversation of Daniel and Sir Timothy. Almost before dessert was finished she sprang up to leave the table, and Lavinia had to follow her.

In the drawing room she turned her strange intense gaze on Lavinia and exclaimed, “Don’t stare at me, Miss Hurst. You did nothing through the whole of dinner but stare at me.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Meryon. I hadn’t meant to.”

“You’re wondering why I didn’t allow Mr. Peate to see my aunt. It was only because he isn’t an ideal sickroom visitor, as even you must admit. He means well, no doubt. But all that virility—” Charlotte shuddered, as if the virility disturbed her as much as it must an old sick woman. Yet Lavinia was certain it wasn’t the real reason for keeping Jonathon away. And could she continue to do so? Jonathon wasn’t a man to be prevented from doing what he wished. “I can wait,” he had said.

As it happened, there was no need for Charlotte to worry. For Lady Tameson died that night.

Only Eliza was with her.

Hours later, after Doctor Munro had been and gone, the funeral arrangements made, and the bedroom door shut, and the little silver bell on the bedside table stood silent, Eliza was still incoherent.

She had grown fond of the old lady she said. She would miss her terribly.

“She had just said her prayers, Miss Hurst. I’d never heard her say them before. She must have had a feeling she was going. She said, ‘You’ve been good to me, Eliza.’” Eliza’s apron went to her eyes. “And then she kept groping at her neck. I don’t know whether she couldn’t get her breath, or whether she was feeling for a crucifix. I once nursed a Roman Catholic lady who held her crucifix all the time, and that put it in my mind. But my lady wasn’t a Roman Catholic, was she? She can’t be, if she’s to be buried with her little boy.”

Eliza looked a little calmer, as she made her recital of the night’s drama.

“I might have just fancied it. It was ever so queer in the half dark. I’d only had time to light one candle and I really couldn’t see properly. Poor lady. She’s to be buried with her rings on, the mistress says, because they’re too tight to get off. I always wondered at her not having them cut off before they, got so tight. But she was so fond of her jewelry, poor soul. She’ll be happy to take some of it with her.”

Two ladies attired entirely in black arrived from London to measure Charlotte and Flora for mourning clothes. Daniel and Jonathon Peate, who was there more than ever, wore crepe armbands, but Flora was turned into a little black crow, and even Edward had to wear a black bow tie and an armband. Charlotte planned to go to the funeral swathed in black veils—perhaps to hide her expression, Lavinia thought, for try as she would she couldn’t show grief. Her eyes literally shone with relief. It was as if poor Lady Tameson had died in the nick of time.

Yet Jonathon, whatever his hopes might have been, seemed in no way perturbed. He put on a long face when he remembered, but most of the time he was as loud-voiced and smiling as ever, and was always about somewhere, sitting over the library fire, walking up and down the long gallery, or prowling about the gun room, or the gardens.

He would be leaving after the funeral, Charlotte said. Lavinia was in the library when Charlotte and Daniel came in. She had been looking for books for Flora’s history lesson, and was on her knees behind the high leather couch, searching for titles. She intended to announce her presence at once, but her intense anxiety to know the future of Jonathon Peate kept her silent.

“We must extend hospitality to him until then,” Charlotte was saying. “How would it look if we didn’t?”

“Because he is some sort of cousin of yours, don’t let him assume he has permanent rights on our hospitality,” Daniel replied. “I don’t like the fellow. I don’t like his effrontery. I believe he hadn’t the faintest degree of feeling for his aunt. He seems to me to be quite callous.”

“Oh, no, he isn’t,” Charlotte said. “Haven’t you seen the way he looks at Miss Hurst?”

“I am not blind,” Daniel said curtly.

“Could that be why you don’t like poor Jonathon?”

“If you mean that I don’t like lasciviousness, yes.”

“Miss Hurst hasn’t complained.”

“Perhaps she is in no position to complain.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t feel it a cause for complaint. There is something about her that deliberately attracts men. Haven’t you observed it, my love?”

Charlotte’s voice was sly, insinuating. “Perhaps, if Jonathon is to go, she should go, too.”

“She will go when her usefulness is at an end.” Daniel’s voice was so hard and final that Lavinia began to wonder if she had imagined that tender scene in the long gallery. But he had used the word “merciless” then, she remembered. Now he was merely illustrating what he had meant.

“Let us say no more about it,” she heard him conclude. “This is hardly the time, with a funeral on our hands. How long, pray, are you going to wear those excessively gloomy clothes?”

Charlotte gave a little rippling laugh.

“Do you not like me in them? Then I promise not for long. Aunt Tameson wouldn’t have expected it. She was a very worldly woman. I have ordered some more pleasant gowns in gray, if that pleases you. I would have liked lavender, but that color will always remind me too painfully of my poor darling aunt. Perhaps we might have some festivity for Christmas, not too much, of course, but all this gloom is bad for the children. A very small party on Christmas Eve?” Charlotte’s voice had become light and gay, with one of her mercurial changes of mood. They were going out of the room, Charlotte saying, “And I should like to give you a new hunter for a gift. I remember hearing you say you needed one. And I promise I shall not object if you have architects down in the new year…”

Lavinia laid down the books she had selected, and rubbed her stiff hands. She wished she hadn’t listened. Overhearing other people’s conversations was wretched. Daniel’s words had sounded so hard and cold, and now the apprehension she had had ever since Lady Tameson’s death settled more heavily on her. Charlotte was gaily planning how to spend a fortune. She had still to learn that it was not hers.

“How are we going to tell them?” Eliza had said, shivering.

“That is my task,” Lavinia had answered. “I will do it when Mr. Mallinson comes down from London. And don’t worry, Eliza. There is no blame to be attached to us. A dying woman’s request must be respected.”

Jonathon Peate looking at her with his unconcealed desire; Daniel planning to keep her until her usefulness, like an aged horse or dog, ended; the secret will to be confessed to; Flora silent and white-faced since Lady Tameson’s death… The prospect was scarcely pleasing.

Flora sat patiently in her chair while the long-faced dressmaker, Miss Toole, clucked over her sympathetically.

“What a little mouse she is, to be sure. Not a word out of her.”

Lavinia agreed. She even wished that Flora would indulge in one of her fits of temper and hysteria. She had scarcely spoken since the news had been broken to her of her great-aunt’s death.

She had simply said in a muffled voice, “I’m glad. She was a disagreeable old woman,” and her eyes had gone dark, almost black, with shock. After that, even Edward couldn’t rouse her to a spark of life. She was pale and listless, paid no attention to her lessons, and refused to do the simple exercises Lavinia had devised to keep her body supple. She let everything be done for her without protest. She seemed to have lost her anger. That, Lavinia was afraid, was the worst thing of all.