Winterwood (28 page)

To everyone’s surprise, Charlotte announced her intention of making a journey to London to do some shopping for Christmas. Daniel protested, asking her why, when she hadn’t accompanied him and Flora and Miss Hurst.

“Because now I have changed my mind,” she said. Her voice was quite gay and good-tempered, but it seemed to have an underlying strain. Her fingers, Lavinia noticed, were never still. They fiddled with her rings, her pearl necklace, occasionally the small rosy pearls in her ears. “Anyway, my shopping is a secret. If everyone in this house is to have secrets, why shouldn’t I?”

She would take Bertha, she said. They would stay overnight and return by the afternoon train the next day.

“She’s going to find a house for her and Edward!” Flora hissed. “That’s what she means by it being a secret.”

“Nonsense! She wouldn’t do that without telling Papa.” Since Flora seriously believed the absurdity, Lavinia added, “Where would she get the money to buy a house?”

“She would sell some of her jewels.”

“What a little romancer you are,” Lavinia said, but privately she, too, was almost certain that it was not something so innocent as Christmas shopping that took Charlotte on a journey she hated in midwinter.

She was absent two days, and returned looking peaked and tired. She declared she was exhausted after that awful train journey, the carriage was full of soot and it was freezing cold. But she had accomplished her shopping successfully and no one was to ask a single question until Christmas Day.

Someone, however, did ask a question, and that was Jonathon. His conversation with Charlotte was obviously not meant for other ears, for they were both abruptly silent when Lavinia, wheeling Flora into the long gallery where they proposed to decorate the Christmas tree, came unexpectedly on them.

It had been impossible to hear the end of their conversation.

“Not enough,” said Jonathon genially. “Sorry.”

Charlotte saw Lavinia and Flora approaching, and cried gaily, “Cousin Jonathon says I should have bought more baubles for the Christmas tree. He has such extravagant ideas.”

“It’s nothing to do with him,” Flora said in some surprise. “Simon and Miss Hurst and I are decorating the tree. Why are you here, Mamma? You have never wanted to help before.”

“Perhaps I do want to this year.” Charlotte was twisting her hands nervously. Lavinia hoped Flora did not identify the peculiar light in her eyes as fear. It seemed very plain to her.

“Our dear Flora knows what she wants, as usual,” observed Jonathon. “What an extraordinary daughter for you to have, Charlotte. You who never know your own mind. But that’s your fascination. Do as Flora suggests. Leave the tree to her and the admirable Miss Hurst. Come and tell me more about your expedition to London. I’m beginning to hanker for the big cities myself, delightful as Winterwood is. After Christmas…”

Their voices died away. It seemed as if Charlotte were mesmerized into accompanying Jonathon to some other more private place where their conversation could be continued without interruption.

“After Christmas can’t come quickly enough,” said Flora, “if it means saying goodbye to that horrible Mr. Peate. Even if Mamma takes Edward to London, I shall be happy here with you and Papa. You don’t dislike me quite so much now, do you, Miss Hurst?”

“I find you tolerable,” Lavinia said gruffly.

Flora really had an extraordinarily sweet smile. Perhaps Lavinia found it so because it was uncannily like her father’s.

“Oh, thank you, Miss Hurst. I really believe you are speaking the truth at last.”

When had she ever been speaking the truth? Lavinia wondered that, miserably, when, dressed in the yellow taffeta gown for the Christmas party, Flora pronounced that she was as beautiful as she had been at the opera in Venice when they had first noticed her.

Lavinia twitched at the skirt uneasily.

“It’s quite absurd, Flora, that I should dress like this. It’s unsuitable, to say the least.”

“But I have ordered you to wear the dress I gave you,” Flora said regally. She sighed with sheer delight. “You really do look exceptionally well, Miss Hurst. Have you studied yourself in the mirror?”

Lavinia had done that and turned away from her reflection. Of what use to look her best? The man she loved could not look at her, and the one she hated would look all too long.

“I believe you are fatally beautiful like that lady Mr. Peate talks about,” Flora mused, and was startled when Lavinia begged her not to talk like that “Why not, Miss Hurst? I would adore to have a fatal beauty.”

“Well, perhaps you will when you have your own party dress on,” Lavinia said brusquely. “You have stared enough at me. Now let us attend to you. Would you like your hair up?”

Flora’s cheeks went pink with pleasure.

“May I? Oh, I should like that above all things. It will compensate for having to sit in a chair. But if I am to have my hair up, aren’t I too old to wear a pink sash? And must I wear that baby necklace of coral beads? I’d much prefer Great-aunt Tameson’s diamonds. When shall I be old enough to wear them?”

“What about living in the present?” Lavinia suggested. “Putting your hair up is a big enough step for one day.”

But when Flora was dressed in the stiff white dress, and her swept-up hair gave her narrow, delicate face a premature maturity and showed her long neck, very white and slender and young, she promptly burst into tears.

“What is the
use,
when I can’t walk? I thought I would be able to walk for Christmas and I can’t. Who is to admire me when I am a cripple?”

“Hush, love, hush! Indeed no one will admire you if your face is red from crying. Stop it at once. I’ll get a little of my rice powder for your nose if you’ll stop this minute.”

With a tremendous effort Flora controlled her tears, though her thin bosom still heaved. She let Lavinia dab her nose with powder and managed a wan smile.

“But it is a tragedy all the same, Miss Hurst.”

“Well, do you know, I think Mr. Bush would be too shy to talk to you if you were walking about like everyone else. As it is, I am sure he will sit beside you while the rest of us dance.”

A little less mournful, Flora began to pat the neat cluster of ringlets tied with ribbon on the top of her head.

“Do you think he will notice that my hair is up?”

“We must assume he has remarkably poor sight if he doesn’t.”

“Like Uncle Timothy,” Flora began to giggle. Then she had another of her mercurial changes of mood. “Oh, I do wish Great-aunt Tameson were here. She could have worn her violet velvet gown and all her jewels. She told me she loved parties. She used to have very grand ones in her
palazzo
in Venice. She said if the jewels of all the guests there were put in a gondola they would have sunk it. And there were thousands of candles and the floor of the ballroom was pink marble. All the same, Winterwood can be just as grand. I wish she were here tonight to see it.”

T
HE CANDLES
ON THE
Christmas tree were alight and radiant. Logs crackled in the huge fireplace. The damask curtains were drawn across the many windows of the long gallery, and the portrait of Daniel’s mother, the girl with the curling dark hair and eyes that matched the gentians in her favorite blue garden, gleamed faintly. Shadows hung about the far end of the gallery, but here, in the center, gathered around the Christmas tree and the fireplace, all was warmth and color.

Charlotte had added to the color by wearing a dramatic crimson velvet gown, as if she had some private gloom she wanted to banish. Her jet black hair was piled high on her head; her eyes were shining, like colorless glass. Tonight her beauty had that touch of eeriness that was slightly repelling. Some emotion was held tight beneath the perfection of her flesh and bone.

Whatever the emotion was, it changed when Lavinia appeared.

“You are very grand, Miss Hurst. This is only a small family party. Not a night at the opera.”

“Mamma, I made Miss Hurst wear her new gown,” Flora said. “It is my Christmas gift to her. Doesn’t she look beautiful in it? And have you noticed that I have my hair up?”

“That is ridiculous for a girl of twelve. Miss Hurst’s influence again, I imagine?”

Extremely disappointed by her mother’s disapproval, Flora looked about to weep. Daniel, more observant than he had appeared to be, said calmly, “Our daughter is growing up, my love. Shall we have our gifts off the tree before they catch on fire? Those candles look remarkably perilous to me. And then I believe Mr. Bush is going to play the piano for a little dancing. No doubt he will want your help to turn the pages, Flora.”

Mr. Bush’s fair skin colored much too easily. He murmured something about being delighted, and Flora’s tears were banished by her own patent pleasure.

The gifts were handed out one by one by Sir Timothy, whose privilege it was, as the oldest person present. He kept dropping his spectacles and misreading labels, but at last everyone had beribboned packages to open. Flora had a riding crop from her father. She looked about to burst into tears once more at this suggestion that she would soon be riding again. Then she forgot herself in her eagerness to watch the reception of her own lavish gifts. Perhaps she should not have been allowed so soon to display her riches. Edward and Simon, to be sure, were highly delighted with their extravagant gifts, but Charlotte held the little silver box on her lap and viewed it with a strange expression, almost of hate.

“Press the little button, Mamma,” Flora begged.

Charlotte obeyed and gave a gasp as the small blackbird sprang out and whistled merrily.

“Do you like it, Mamma? Does it please you? Papa and I found it in a shop in the Burlington Arcade.”

“It looks much too expensive,” said Charlotte.

“But that doesn’t matter. I could give you a hundred presents now I’m rich.”

“It’s vulgar to talk like that. And your aunt never expected her money to be wasted. Now don’t look glum. It’s just not suitable for a little girl to spend a lot of money. But the box is very pretty.”

Sir Timothy, unaware of the small contretemps, saved the situation by saying that he fancied he had just heard a blackbird. Surely that was not possible in midwinter. He would have to write to the
Times.

Flora screamed with laughter.

Uncle Timothy was delighted with his gift, as was Simon with his cricket bat and Edward with a train set that represented the Great Western Railway.

“I say, Flora, I like your being rich. I hope you always will be.”

Charlotte’s eyes rested broodingly on Edward’s rosy face. Then, as if she must retain the gaiety at all costs, she commanded Mr. Bush to begin playing so that they could dance.

Lavinia’s pleasure in the lovely room and the apparently happy family faded as she watched Daniel dancing with Charlotte. They looked so handsome, and even though they didn’t talk, Charlotte’s cheeks caught some of the color from her gown as they spun in a lively polka. Then Jonathon bowed over her, asking if he could have the pleasure. He was almost good-looking in his evening clothes, almost a gentleman.

But that impression quickly faded as he began to talk.

“I must admire your cleverness, Miss Hurst.”

“My cleverness?” She frowned.

“I warrant that dress cost a pretty penny. There must have been other cheaper ones that our dear Flora would have thought quite as good. But you were wise to choose the best. Butter your bread while you can. And I must say you look ravishing. No wonder Cousin Charlotte is put out. I’ve told you before she can’t hold a candle to you. Oh, she’s pretty enough, but touch her and she’ll break into a thousand pieces. I can’t endure hysterical women. You have fire and calm. A very exciting combination. You deserve to be well-gowned and you must admit that your youthful mistress can well afford the cost of keeping her adored Miss Hurst. You can wrap her around your little finger, can’t you, my sweet Lavinia? I’ve watched you for weeks. Your technique is superb.”

As Lavinia stiffened in his arms, unable to escape this loathsome conversation without creating a scene, he went on, “It’s almost a pity to kill the golden goose. You might have been able to equip yourself with a great many more things before you left Winterwood. But I regret to say I’m much too impatient. I can’t wait that long—What the devil are you doing?”

Lavinia had broken away from him, careless of any scene.

“I am sorry, Mr. Peate. I would like to dance with Simon.”

Simon, overhearing, came forward shyly, pleased.

“I think you will be much too expert for me, Miss Hurst. I am only learning.”

“Then all the better to have a little practice.”

She spun away with him, laughing to mask the reason for her heightened color. After he had settled down into the step, he said, “What was Cousin Jonathon talking to you about, Miss Hurst? You looked angry.”

“Did I? Well, perhaps I find his compliments a little fulsome.”

“To tell the truth I don’t like him either. Why does Mamma want him here? He’s been hanging round for an awfully long time. I thought he would go when Great-aunt Tameson died.”

“Your mamma has been a little sad and gloomy since your aunt died and likes company. I think she is very much affected by events like that.”

“Yes, she either laughs or cries. She always has. There ought to be an in-between state, oughtn’t there?” Simon asked seriously.

“Yes, I suppose there ought.”

“You have it, Miss Hurst.” The boy blushed at his temerity. “I think you look very nice tonight. Not at all like a companion, really.”

“Yes, that’s what Mr. Peate was telling me,” Lavinia said dryly. “He was quite right. I ought not to have worn this dress. I only did so to give Flora pleasure.”

At that moment the music stopped. When it began again Charlotte, exclaiming that she had not known Simon had grown into such an expert dancer, whirled him away, and Daniel stood beside Lavinia. He didn’t ask her to dance. Neither did he comment on the way she looked. Indeed, he seemed scarcely to have glanced at her. She might have been wearing her old woolen day dress for all he noticed.