Winterwood (7 page)

“Yes, yes. Edward will have a tutor when we get home. But while we are in these straits I do expect you to lend a hand. I have just had a most trying hour with my aunt, and my head is aching. Teddy, pray think of Mamma’s poor head, and stop making that noise. Miss Hurst, I would like you to come this evening to visit my aunt, and take her packing in hand. If you could see the things she wants to take!” Charlotte pressed her hands to her brow. “One would think she was planning to spend a lifetime in England when really, at the most—” Charlotte saw Flora’s too watchful gaze and shrugged her shoulders, indicating wordlessly her aunt’s imminent death.

“How is she today?” Lavinia asked.

“Astonishingly well. And that is making her very difficult. She wants to see everything. This must be shaken out; that must be wrapped in cotton wool; her jewelry must be carried by hand; the gown she wore to a royal reception, heaven knows how many years ago, must be packed in a trunk of its own. There are pictures, ornaments, furniture. But those simply must be got rid of. I think you, a stranger, might have more influence with her, Miss Hurst. My husband simply won’t have the patience to travel back to England with a whole caravan of luggage.”

Now that they were off the tricky subject of the children, Lavinia felt more sympathy.

“Certainly I will do what I can, Mrs. Meryon. By the way, a Mr. Peate called.”

A curious expression passed across Charlotte’s face. It was there for the merest second. It was quite unreadable.

“Oh, Jonathon! Did he say when he would call again?”

“No, not the exact time.”

“He’s like all men, expects one to be at his beck and call.” There was a note of irritation and fluster in Charlotte’s voice. “He could be of much more help to me with Aunt Tameson if only he were of some use in a domestic crisis. But I find men quite helpless in a sickroom or in organizing a house. Well, we women must bear the burden. Come with Mamma, Teddy. She might just possibly have a sweetmeat for you.”

Flora watched them go.

“You see, Miss Hurst. Edward is Mamma’s pet. He will grow up to be a milksop, Papa says. How lucky you were to be an only child. You would have all your parents’ love. Did it make you very good?”

“Do I look good?”

“Not in the least, thank goodness. Miss Hurst!”—Flora’s voice seldom lost its agonized intensity—“Don’t let Mr. Peate look at you like he did.”

“I can scarcely alter his expression. What was it you didn’t like about it?”

“I can’t explain. Anyway, I don’t like him. He laughs when there’s nothing funny. We never met him before we came to Venice. Don’t you think that odd?”

“Sickbeds have a way of gathering strangers together. Perhaps Mr. Peate is fond of your great-aunt.”

“He’s fond of her money, more likely.”

“Flora, what a very cynical thing to say. Did you hear someone else say it?”

“I heard Papa and Mamma talking. Papa said she was to send that fellow packing, but she said how could she when Great-aunt Tameson wanted him. And, anyway, one didn’t behave like that toward relations. And it would look as if we wanted all the money if Mr. Peate was got rid of.”

“Got rid of!”

“I should like to push him in a canal on a dark night,” Flora said broodingly. “I don’t like him. He looks at Mamma, too. It’s a pity Great-aunt Tameson is so rich.”

“Is she?”

“Oh, yes, dreadfully. But I’m sure she doesn’t care a bit about money now. She only wants to be under the stone angel with little Tom. I pray I am never rich in case someone like Mr. Peate stands by my bedside.”

M
R. PEATE
WAS NOT
standing at his aunt’s bedside when Lavinia was there. The old lady lay alone in the vast room. A servant had shown Charlotte and Lavinia in, and had then left. All the windows set in their medieval Gothic arches were shut and the room was stiflingly hot. Candles burning in a branched chandelier of Venetian glass added to the warmth. Their light was reflected in several mirrors so that the room seemed overilluminated, and yet curiously dark. The darkness came from the dark red damask walls and the heavy curtains. The face of the old woman in the bed was almost the color of the candle flames, a pale yellow, in which gleamed a pair of berry-black eyes. There was a strong smell of violets, which, blended with the heat and the candle smoke, was a little sickening.

“How are you this evening, Aunt Tameson?” Charlotte asked. “It’s very hot in here. Don’t you think you should have a window open?”

“And be poisoned by the smell of the canals!” For all her look of frailty the old lady had a surprisingly strong voice.

“After all these years you must have grown immune to that. Did you eat your supper?”

“Such as it was. Who is that?” She pointed a forefinger at Lavinia.

“This is Miss Hurst, whom I was telling you about. She will be helping me with your packing. She agrees with me that we can’t travel laden like camels.”

“What’s it to do with her?” the old lady asked tartly.

Charlotte sighed. “I’m only pointing out that you’ll have to discard some of your belongings. Almost all your clothes must be given away. You really can’t keep ball dresses from the eighteen-thirties.”

“How would you like to throw away the dear treasures of a lifetime? Don’t be too overriding, Charlotte, or I will be sorry I sent for you.”

“I’m not being overriding, aunt. Merely practical. We have filled three trunks already. Tomorrow, with Miss Hurst’s assistance, we will finish.”

“Is this young woman trustworthy? Where does she come from? Why haven’t I seen her before?”

“I explained all that to you. She has agreed to look after Flora.”

“I have a great many valuables,” the old lady grumbled. “I shall wear what I can, but the rest—”

“The rest are locked in your jewel case, which I personally am looking after. Please don’t be difficult, Aunt Tameson. You know that Daniel and I want to move you as soon as possible. This can only be done with some assistance. So you must make up your mind to trust Miss Hurst.”

As I have had to, she might have added, from the resentful glance she gave Lavinia.

The old lady held out a hand to Lavinia. It was the sad hand of an old woman, blue-veined and knotted with age. It was also heavily be-ringed. Lavinia noticed that, although the hand was emaciated, the rings seemed strangely tight, pressing into the flesh.

“You won’t be too cruel, will you, Miss Hurst?”

“Aunt Tameson, are you suggesting I am cruel!” Charlotte exclaimed. “That’s unfair. I couldn’t be doing more to help you. But someone has to be a little practical.”

“Practical people are so dull. I was never one of those, thank goodness. I don’t believe Miss Hurst looks very practical either. She’s too pretty. Why isn’t she married?”

“Now that’s her business, aunt.” There was an edge to Charlotte’s voice, as if this were a question she herself would have liked to ask.

“I expect Daniel engaged her. A man always has an eye for a pretty woman and by the look of him, your Daniel’s no better than others.” The old woman sounded malicious. It seemed as if she didn’t care too much for Charlotte, perhaps because she resented being dependent on her.

Charlotte sighed. “I have explained, Aunt Tameson. We needed extra help. We hadn’t expected Eliza to get ill, and if you must know, we hadn’t thought you would be so feeble. Actually, it was Flora who took a fancy to Miss Hurst, and the doctor has said her wishes aren’t to be crossed, though I must say I don’t entirely agree with that. So now you have the whole story, and it’s time we left you. You must try to sleep. And no walking about in the night counting your possessions. I’ve ordered Fernanda to sleep in here and see that you don’t wander.”

The old lady looked crafty and petulant.

“Why shouldn’t I look at my possessions while I still have them? Soon enough they’ll be gone.”

“And you’ll be at Winterwood, not needing any of them. Forgive me if I sound hard, but you know this is the doctor’s orders. You must rest and get strong for the long journey.”

“You mean otherwise I’ll be listening to those screeching cicadas for all eternity. I’d rather have an English thrush singing on my grave.”

“And so you shall. We’ll take you safely home. But you must promise to be good.”

“Oh, I’ll be good, since I must. Only let us get started. We haven’t all the time in the world. Am I unfaithful, forsaking Lorenzo to lie with my little Tom? But Tom came before Lorenzo. He was my baby. And there was his father. Once I loved him very much. But I was so young. Only seventeen. And he had to get himself killed at Waterloo before little Tom had a chance to know his papa. I must say though,” her eyes twinkled with some dry amusement, “Willie would have been astonished to know that I would be dying a countess. I wonder which husband I shall choose on the other side, Willie or Lorenzo. I admit that I enjoyed Lorenzo’s title and money. Poor Willie was only a captain of Hussars. But I don’t suppose there are any titles in heaven. I daresay we are all leveled into the same dull position.”

“How can you be so irreverent, Aunt Tameson?”

“Now don’t be cross, Charlotte. I enjoyed my title and I shall dislike giving it up. That is the truth.”

Charlotte seemed upset as they left the gloomy room.

“I can’t tell you, Miss Hurst, how these visits to my aunt upset me. The old will be so morbid, and I hate death.”

“I think perhaps your aunt is frightened, too, Mrs. Meryon.”

“Oh, no, she is very strong-minded. Anyway, I don’t believe she means to die at all.”

It seemed as if the words slipped out without Charlotte’s intending them to. She immediately went on, “Naturally Daniel and I hope she will enjoy a long happy time at Winterwood. That’s why it’s important to make this journey as easy as possible for her.”

Lavinia had noticed a peculiar musty smell in the house, as if it had been shut up for years. Now, in the flickering candlelight of the large marble-floored
sala,
she saw dust on the heavily carved furniture and statues and ornaments. The floor looked as if it hadn’t been properly swept for months.

There had been the same musty smell, overlaid by the clinging violet perfume, in Aunt Tameson’s room.

“Are there no servants except that one we saw?” she asked.

It was a casual question, and shouldn’t have prompted such a sharp, suspicious look from Charlotte.

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing has been properly dusted. What are the other rooms like?”

Charlotte threw up her hands.

“Don’t talk about them. Chaos! I wouldn’t have told you this if you hadn’t mentioned it, but my poor aunt has really grown quite eccentric. After being used to a horde of servants when her husband the Count, was alive, she apparently decided she couldn’t stand their noise and clatter and dismissed them all except a girl to clean and shop, and the old one who died. She has been living here in virtual isolation, seeing nobody, and thinking herself poor. That’s a hallucination of the old, I believe. You saw the way she can’t bear to throw anything away. But please don’t talk of this, Miss Hurst. One doesn’t gossip about one’s relatives’ infirmities.”

“Naturally I won’t talk about it,” Lavinia said stiffly.

“I particularly meant to Flora. That child is a jackdaw for gossip. She mustn’t be allowed to think her great-aunt peculiar. Nor must Edward. Children develop secret nightmares about things like that. I want them both to be fond of the poor old lady. They may give her a little pleasure in her last years.”

Charlotte, Lavinia divined, would have liked to have said last months, or even last weeks. Naturally she couldn’t be expected to have any fondness for an aunt she hadn’t seen since she was a child. But she scarcely needed to be a hypocrite. Or did she? Wasn’t it better that way, pretending an affection and concern she didn’t feel. At least it gave a more civilized veneer to the affair, and the poor Lady Tameson could deceive herself that she was being cherished.

Lavinia had found the long strange day quite exhausting. She thought she would sleep soundly, but contrarily it was too hot and she was too strung up and queerly apprehensive. She hadn’t seen Daniel at all. She had had her supper with the children, and gone to her room after they were settled in bed. Then she had begun thinking of the lonely old woman a prisoner in the dusty
palazzo,
and this had taken her depressed thoughts to Robin, who was even more of a prisoner. Finally she had got up to throw open the long narrow window and see if the moon was shining on the lagoon as it had done last night.

She thought its beauty would soothe her. It was very late, past midnight, and there was only a small knot of gondoliers lounging on the quay, talking vociferously, as usual. But no—there were still some strollers. Two people, a man and a woman, walked slowly down the humped bridge over the canal and toward the hotel. As they approached the door, the woman put her hand on the man’s arm, indicating to him that she didn’t want him to come farther. She wore a dark cloak and was heavily veiled. The man took off his hat and bowed exaggeratedly in a mocking way. Then he laughed. His laugh was quite audible and completely recognizable. It was that of Jonathon Peate.

Lavinia was almost certain that the veiled woman was Charlotte.

There was something peculiarly clandestine about them. Charlotte, if it were Charlotte, was hurrying from him as if she were extremely anxious to get away. Yet she paused to look back and he waved. As if he had her under some spell…

The next day Charlotte left Lavinia in the downstairs drawing room of Aunt Tameson’s house to fold and pack a pile of clothing and other objects.

“I hope you have been trained to pack neatly, Miss Hurst.”

Lavinia said with truth that she had. Three months in Cousin Marion’s employment had taught her that. But she doubted if she could constrict this mass of belongings—feather boas, bonnets, gowns, fans, buttoned boots, boxes of gloves, parasols, a large Bible with gilt clasps, bundles of letters tied with lavender ribbon—into boxes.

Over everything hung the violet perfume, making the large room, darkened by closed shutters, stifling and full of ghosts.