Winterwood (22 page)

He asked her to sit down, and offered her a glass of Madeira. He had been riding, and was still in riding clothes. He looked a little fatigued, the lines deepened in his cheeks, his jaw hard. But otherwise he did not bear the look of someone with the cares of the world on his shoulders, as Eliza had described him.

“Then what is it you wish to discuss with me?”

It was difficult to remain calm.

“You have probably heard that Mr. Peate has told Flora about her fortune.”

“Yes, I did hear. But fortunately she has taken it the right way, and thinks only of money to spend for Christmas. So perhaps I was wrong and he right.”

“He is never right about anything!” Lavinia said passionately.

Daniel looked at her with raised brows.

“You say that very feelingly, Miss Hurst. Is there any particular reason?”

“Only that he is a most unlikable person, sly, untrustworthy, dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

She nodded vehemently.

“I believe so. Don’t let him stay here, Mr. Meryon. Persuade your wife he is here only to do harm.”

Daniel’s eyes had hardened.

“Explain yourself, Miss Hurst.”

“Why, he came into the blue garden, Flora’s precious blue garden, quite uninvited, and told Flora she would always be a cripple. He called her a little—” But she could not say the word. She must not go too far or Daniel would recognize her intense personal hatred for Jonathon. “I believe he is one of those people who want to do harm. How can he remain a welcome guest after that?”

Daniel had turned away so that she couldn’t see his face.

“You must address your appeal to my wife, Miss Hurst. It is she who wants the fellow here.”

“But does she, Mr. Meryon? Or is he intimidating her in some way?”

“Intimidating?” He turned sharply. “Oh, come, Miss Hurst, that’s a little unlikely. I believe he is playing heavily on their being kin, if only by marriage, and merely wants free lodgings for a time. So he flatters my wife outrageously, and she listens.”

“Flatters?”

The inquisitive brow went up again.

“That is a more likely explanation than yours, Miss Hurst. Anyway, I have heard him at it. And Charlotte appears to find him an amusing and entertaining guest. Which is a rather important consideration at this particular time. To tell the truth, Miss Hurst, I abominate having Peate in the house, and so does my uncle, but if it helps Charlotte we can put up with him until after Christmas.”

“How can it help her? That man?”

Now she believed what Eliza had said. For his face had grown careworn, with a deep look of sadness and perplexity.

“My wife, as perhaps you have realized, Miss Hurst, has these breakdowns, when she must not be crossed in the smallest way. Her aunt’s will has precipitated one of the worst she has had. Now she is recovering, but her well-being, for some curious reason, seems to depend on having Peate about. She says that the house would be too melancholy without guests, her aunt would have wished this, and anyway he amuses her.”

“I believe he frightens rather than amuses her.”

Daniel looked at her closely.

“Do you say that because he frightens
you?”

“Yes, he does, because of his small cruelties,” Lavinia said intensely. “Reminding Flora that she was a cripple, and laughing. Nothing you can say in his favor will impress me.”

“I don’t intend saying anything in his favor. But we can surely come to little harm with a few more weeks of his company. I believe he came here for pickings in his aunt’s will, but now those haven’t materialized, he intends to get as much free hospitality as he can for compensation. I’ll send him packing in January, I promise you, Miss Hurst.” He was laughing. “You do look as if you are afraid of him. Why, the fellow hasn’t a subtle brain in his head. And he’s vulgar as well, as my uncle would say. Can’t you just quietly despise him?”

“I do that already.”

“Then—” A new thought struck Daniel. “Is he worrying you with attentions? Miss Hurst! I want the truth.”

“No, Mr. Meryon. He isn’t worrying me. If it is so important to humor Mrs. Meryon, then of course we must do so. I only think that we should all be on our guard.”

“Did you think I was not?” came the quiet answer.

She gave a little sigh of relief.

“You should stop me, Mr. Meryon, when I start pursuing dragons.”

“But I like to watch you. You pursue them with such intensity. Now perhaps you will consent to sit down and have that glass of Madeira.”

L
ATER THAT DAY
CHARLOTTE
gave orders for her horse to be saddled and brought to the door. Dressed in her pale gray riding suit, she ran down the stairs saying she must get some fresh air, the house was suffocating. Sylvie was at her heels. They looked like wraiths disappearing out of the front door, the slender woman and the slip of a dog.

Bertha had followed Charlotte down the stairs and said uneasily that when the mistress was in one of those moods nothing would stop her. Ride she must, as fast as her horse would take her. Goodness knows what she was riding from, but she would come back calm, that was the important thing.

She came back an hour later, when it was completely dark. She had lost her bowler hat, and her hair had come down. It streamed in a dark fall over one shoulder. Although she looked like a witch, she was, as Bertha had predicted, quite calm. She would change quickly and then say good night to the children. It was the first time she had gone to them in their bedrooms since the disastrous day of the funeral and the will reading.

It was remarkable how the atmosphere in the house changed now that the mistress’ strange malaise seemed to have passed.

Phoebe was singing at her work and little Mary, with more energy than strength, was filling the porcelain tub in front of the fire for Flora’s bath, and twittering like a sparrow about the events of the day.

“Eliza says she can’t get used to the bell not ringing in my lady’s room. I remember when my own grandma died, we cried because she lay so quiet. She never stopped scolding when she was alive, and it was awful queer seeing her mouth shut. It never was shut before. I wanted her to come back and start belting us again, even though it hurt something cruel.”

“Did she leave you anything?” Flora asked.

Mary stared, then gave a derisive laugh.

“What had she got to leave except old clothes. There was her good buttoned boots that fitted Linda, and Ma had her Sunday bonnet.”

“Great-aunt Tameson has left me her fortune,” Flora said with dignity. “I don’t really know what to do with it all. I expect there’s quite a hundred pounds. I intend to buy Christmas presents for everybody. Would you like to come to London with us to shop?”

Mary’s diminutive figure stood arrested, the copper jug in her hands.

“Me! Do you mean that, miss?”

“Of course,” said Flora graciously. “Miss Hurst, we will take Mary to London with us, won’t we?”

“Yes. Actually your Papa mentioned that we would,” Lavinia answered.

“Lor!” Mary ejaculated, her face full of terror and excitement.

Flora began to giggle.

“It’s not that wonderful, you silly creature. It’s not like Paris or Geneva or Venice. But it’s well enough. We must make a list of suitable gifts. I intend to buy Simon a cricket bat, but what that spoiled Edward—”

“Who is talking about Edward being spoiled?” came Charlotte’s warm gay voice. “Flora, dearest, how are you? Have those lazy toes moved again?”

She came sweeping into the room dressed now in one of her graceful ruffled tea gowns, and smelling of some fragrant scent.

“Oh, Mamma! You’re better!”

“Much better, darling. I’ve been for a long ride and blown all the cobwebs away.”

“Then you don’t still hate me?”

“Hate you, beloved?”

“For getting all Great-aunt Tameson’s money. You may have the jewels, Mamma. I don’t care much for diamond brooches. But I really do need a good deal of money for the gifts I want to buy.”

“Sweetheart!” Charlotte laughed and held out her arms in an extravagant gesture of affection. “There will be plenty of money for several Christmases. And to tell the truth, I don’t care for diamond brooches either. They must be put in the bank until you are older. Papa will arrange it.”

“Then I really am rich? Mr. Peate said I was.”

A flicker crossed Charlotte’s face.

“It’s none of Mr. Peate’s business, but yes, my funny little daughter, you are rich. And isn’t that a lucky thing, since—”

The half-finished sentence took all the light out of Flora’s face. In one second it had lost its delight and grown shut-in, controlled.

“You think Great-aunt Tameson only did this because I am a cripple. That’s what Mr. Peate said.”

“I tell you, it’s none of Mr. Peate’s business.”

“Then why must he stay here, Mamma? Why don’t you tell him he’s not wanted?”

Charlotte’s gaiety was only on the surface after all. Underneath, the tensions were still there, making her frown, giving her voice a quick, brittle quality.

“But he
is
wanted, darling. I want him to amuse me. Is that so strange? I can’t bear a quiet house, and since we’re in mourning we can’t have a large party. Don’t look so sulky. You know I can’t endure you to be in a pet. Silly child. As if you’re not thoroughly spoiled already—an heiress at your age! Why, you’ll be able to marry anybody—if you grow pretty and walk again.” Charlotte’s pitying gaze suggested that neither of these things would happen. She embraced Flora again, and said, as if generosity overcame her, “I’m going to spoil you even more. I’m going to give you Sylvie.”

“Oh, Mamma!” Flora was incredulous. “But you love her!”

“I shall still exercise her, of course. But she may spend the day in your room.”

“Every day?”

“Of course. Have I made you happy? Then I am glad. You see, everyone thinks of you, Papa, Mamma—Miss Hurst. Miss Hurst, I would like a word with you if you can spare a moment.”

Lavinia followed Charlotte out. Charlotte walked to the window seat at the end of the corridor and, sitting down, pressed her hands to her face.

“That poor creature! Helpless! Plain! Condemned to a wheelchair! And now she will be at the mercy of fortune hunters. Some man will marry her for her money and then persecute her, hope she will die.” Charlotte must have realized that those words might just possibly have described her own wishes. She said brusquely, “Don’t look so horrified, Miss Hurst. That is human nature. Why didn’t I have a normal daughter!”

“Flora is normal!” Lavinia said emphatically.

“Normal! That pathetic creature!” Charlotte gave a short laugh. “And now burdened by all that money. Three hundred thousand pounds or more. A great fortune. You may have meant well, Miss Hurst, but you did
not
do her a service when you encouraged my aunt to pity her.”

“But, Mrs. Meryon, I did nothing of the kind. Pity is the last thing I have ever given Flora.”

Charlotte made an impatient gesture.

“Oh, spare me your protestations of innocence. Perhaps you meant well. My husband persuades me you did.”

“Mrs. Meryon, I have said I had no influence—”

“On the contrary, Miss Hurst, you have a great deal. Especially on the opposite sex. I am not permitted to malign you at all. In my own house! They say I wrong you—”

“They?”

“My husband and Mr. Peate. They won’t believe—”

“Do you listen to Mr. Peate?” Lavinia interrupted, her voice tight with shock. How far did Jonathon Peate think he could interfere? Why was he listened to?

“He is not an easy man to ignore, as you must admit. He is quite—persuasive. But let us keep to the point. Neither my husband nor Mr. Peate will believe that you bring disaster—”

“Disaster!” Lavinia whispered.

“Perhaps unintentionally. Some people have this aura of danger. I see it around you. I have an ability to sense things.”

The curious cloud that oppressed Charlotte touched Lavinia, too. Charlotte was right. She did, unintentionally, bring danger. Justin had known that—briefly…

“There, you look frightened too, Miss Hurst.”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about, Mrs. Meryon.”

Charlotte made an effort to be practical.

“No, of course not. Daniel says I have fancies. I have always had a too vivid imagination. Flora takes after me in that way. You must control Flora’s hysterics, Miss Hurst. If mine had been controlled when I was young, I think I would have been stronger now, and perhaps not have these shattering headaches.” She pressed her fingers to her temples again, and Lavinia remembered, with a chill, Jonathon’s cruel words about Flora inheriting her mother’s madness.

“That’s why a few drops of laudanum are to be recommended when Flora is overexcited. You will remember that, Miss Hurst, won’t you?”

“They certainly did her good after the funeral,” Lavinia admitted.

“That’s what I say.” Charlotte stood up, her animation returning. “And I will send Sylvie down. My adored little dog. Does that make me less of an unnatural mother?”

Lavinia wished she could accept that gesture as a genuine one. But was Charlotte, too, thinking of her daughter as an heiress, someone who had, belatedly, to be loved?

The uneasy conversation weighed on Lavinia as she returned to Flora’s room. Apart from her skepticism, in a strange way she had fancied Charlotte was appealing to her for help. She was frightened—perhaps only of the dark clouds in her head or of her unruly passionate love for Edward and the equally uncontrolled dislike for Flora. Flora was plain, crippled, offending to her fastidious eye, unmarriageable, but now had to be loved because of her fortune.

The tingle of apprehension Lavinia felt was not imaginary. She was privately resolving to keep a close watch over her charge. For as long as she was permitted to. After Christmas, if Jonathon Peate kept his threat, she would have to forget Winterwood and its inhabitants.

“Miss Hurst, people who give you the thing they love best must really care about you, mustn’t they?” Flora was clamoring.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Then Mamma’s giving me Sylvie must mean she really loves me, after all. I am so happy, because now I have a great many people to love me. You, Papa, Mamma, Great-aunt Tameson in heaven, perhaps even Edward. Miss Hurst, may I put up my hair for Christmas?”