Cynthia Bailey Pratt (9 page)

Hammond shrugged. Whether she was as beautiful as temptation or as ugly as the devil made no difference. He would not allow himself to be distracted by a woman. Not when so much depended on him acting in a rational manner, and he’d learned long ago that indulgence in female attractions did not encourage cold rationality. He followed the muddy track of the boy.

Chapter Five

As soon as Jocelyn came in, she poked vigorously at the fire in the stove. She put the kettle on and brought out the good silver set before she removed her bonnet and pelisse. Mrs. Swann carried a reputation for accepting nothing but the best. Her house, Marlbridge, was famous in Libermore for the number of servants it employed and the splendor of its furnishings.

To feed this paragon, Jocelyn brought out fresh butter and newly made bread to be sliced very thin. She could also give them a seedcake, not yet marauded by Arnold. Because it was so early in the year, she had only black currant jam left over from last year’s making. Jocelyn rinsed the teapot twice before setting the tea to steep in fresh hot water.

Helena came in, a covered basket over one arm. “The Swanns are still by the graveside. I doubt they will be very much longer. Mrs. Bartlett Swann seems to be impatient.”

“It must be difficult for her. I have heard her mother-in-law is terribly particular. This is the first time she’s ever been in the house. I don’t quite know if I am pleased to be honored or not.” Jocelyn brought out a round silver epergne, highly polished, and set the plates on it. In addition to her biscuits, Helena also contributed tiny jam tarts and a small pot of strawberry preserves.

“Thank you,” Jocelyn said while she scooped it into a glass bowl the size of her palm. “I had only the one kind.”

“Nicholas said I might bring it, when he heard who was coming. I thought it nice of him. He loves strawberry jam. I could scarcely credit that he was giving it up. But I could believe anything of him this morning. He is in such a good mood.”

Jocelyn picked up the silver stand by the elaborate finial on the top and carried it into a room at the rear of the house. Helena followed with the tea tray, although she did not heave her usual sigh of pleasure upon entering the salon. The green and white room with curved doorways and arched Gothic windows was the most easy and elegant room in the Luckems’ house. The furnishings were old-fashioned and supremely comfortable. It had been decorated by Jocelyn’s mother, and Jocelyn kept it scrupulously clean, both as a memorial and because she, too, thought it beautiful.

“I shall have to go down and listen for the Swanns. With no housekeeper again, they might knock half the day and I’d never know they were there.”

Helena did not seem to hear what Jocelyn said. She looked fixedly out the far window. Jocelyn said her name, and the girl looked at her. “Oh, I am rude. . . . Don’t go down just yet. I ... I have a favor I wish to ask of you.”

“You know I will do whatever you ask.”

Helena held up one small hand with a half-smile. “Don’t be so quick. I might ask you for something you don’t wish to do. I-I want to invite myself to stay with you. Just until your aunt and uncle return.”

“Of course. If you’re brave enough.”

“Brave enough?” Helena said, taken aback.

“I’m afraid the calm can’t last. The boys, you know.”

“Oh, yes. I’m not worried about the boys. Mr. Fletcher seems to keep them well in hand,” Helena said, tasting his name on her lips.

Jocelyn kept silent regarding her opinion of Mr. Fletcher’s methods, saying only, “Granville has the chance to attend Oxford next year. I hope he can; he wants it so.” Cheerfully she added, “Would you like to come tonight?”

“If I could, that would be wonderful!” Helena straightened up and seemed to feel more gratitude than the size of the favor merited.

“Pardon me for asking, Helena ... are you all right?”

“I? Yes, of course.” Helena smoothed her lavender dress at her waist, looking only at that. Jocelyn waited, certain her friend could not keep the cause of her distress secret. “To be frank, Jocelyn, I am disturbed by my brother hiring that man.”

“I wondered about him myself.”

“It was so strange of Nicholas to take Cocker on,” Helena said, turning toward Jocelyn. “Everyone knows his reputation. They say he half-killed Jem Stanton last year and ... I have heard other stories. It surprised the congregation as well. They’ve mentioned him to me, not liking to disturb Nicholas. They always tell me about the things that disturb them, never approaching my brother directly.”

“And did Mr. Fain explain?”

“I asked Nicholas his reasons. He only gave me one of his looks and said the more a man is hated, the more he needs the help of the righteous.”

“I suppose a vicar might try only to see the good in people, but to inflict Cocker’s company upon you is going a little too far. Has Cocker’s behavior been . . . correct?”

A flush of color mounted into Helena’s pale cheeks. “Yes, of course. That is ... I try not to speak to him. It’s ridiculous, I know, to avoid him the way I do. It isn’t because I’m afraid, I wouldn’t want you to think that, but he looks at me like ... oh, I don’t know.”

Jocelyn knew very well the look Helena meant. The thought of it made her feel as if she had stepped on something squashily unmentionable. She patted her friend’s hand. “Never mind. I think avoiding him is the wisest thing you can do. You shall stay with us as long as you like. Even after my aunt and uncle come home. Goodness knows. Uncle Gaius won’t mind, if he ever notices. You know Aunt Arasta likes you.” Jocelyn went toward the door, wondering if she’d eased Helena’s mind.

“I hope Cocker goes away again soon,” Helena murmured.

“Away?” Jocelyn asked, absently returning. “When did he go away?”

“Let me see.” Helena wrinkled her forehead as she concentrated. “Not last night, or the night before. Thursday. That’s right. I remember because he slept all day Friday, and I wanted him to repair the chimney pot. Nicholas told me not to disturb him.”

A flash of impatience sparkled in her eyes. “It’s the third time in two weeks he spent the night away. Nicholas seems always to consider Cocker’s convenience before mine. It’s very vexing. And all the worse because when Martha Hodges came to do the washing, she complained that his clothes reeked of fish. I can’t speak to the man about the condition of his clothes, can I?’

“Fish?” Before Jocelyn could explore that oddity, they were interrupted.

Behind them Granville opened the salon door, saying in his clearest and roundest tones, “I am certain my cousin wishes to meet you in here.” He stood aside, with a graceful gesture, to allow both Mrs. Swanns to pass in before him. The two unmarried girls rose to their feet. To their amazement, Nicholas Fain followed the ladies into the room. Granville shut the door behind him.

The elder lady touched hands with Jocelyn. She smelled faintly of powder and, unexpectedly, of raw potato, carried to prevent rheumatism. The vicar steadied a white armchair that matched Mrs. Swann’s attire as the lady sank slowly into it. Her grenadine shawl draped across the chair arms as elegantly as if she’d spent an hour arranging it.

The silver-haired vicar asked, “I hope I am not
de trop,
Miss Burnwell? Mrs. Swann pressed me so earnestly to come to your delightful tea, I could not resist.”

Jocelyn wasn’t quite certain what
de trop
meant, but she said, “I am always glad to see you, sir,” as she took her place behind the teapot. After exchanging one wondering glance with Helena, Jocelyn made an effort to be pleasant to all her guests, although a curious feeling of oppression, as before a thunderstorm, seemed to have entered the genteel salon.

Miriam and Helena sat on opposite ends of the settee, looking like a pair of unhappy caryatids. All Miriam’s bright chatter vanished, and her round blue eyes showed white around the edges. Helena’s color had drained away, and she never took her eyes from her half-brother.

Mrs. Alastair Swann listened intently to Jocelyn and the vicar’s rather desultory conversation about their hopes for this year’s roses. Jocelyn thought of a cat watching a bird and felt Mr. Fain was about to be snatched up.

Granville alone seemed at ease, lounging by the cold fire-place, toying with the small, rather blurry portrait of Jocelyn’s father, her mother’s lone memento of her husband.

“What is it you have there, young man?” Mrs. Swann called. Granville came and put it into her hand. “Such a stern expression ... it quite puts me in mind of someone. I wonder who it could be? Miriam, my dear, look at this and tell me of whom I am thinking.” Granville spared either lady the effort of passing the portrait.

“What nice manners young Mr. Luckem has,” Mrs. Swann confided to Jocelyn across the vicar. “Not quite as polished as they will be after he journeys to London. Your aunt and uncle are in London now, are they not?” Before Jocelyn could answer, Mrs. Swann demanded, “Who is it, Miriam?”

“I cannot say, Mrs. Swann,” Miriam answered, holding the portrait out to Granville, only to have it taken by the vicar.

“Well, you do not yet move in quite the circles I have attained. Perhaps after your next Season you may be able to tell me.” Jocelyn passed Miriam a cup and saw she blushed angrily, feeling the sting in her mother-in-law’s words. “Ah, Mr. Fain, do you know of whom it is I am thinking?”

Mr. Fain shook his head, his perfect teeth flashing for a moment in his brown face. “No, I am afraid I do not myself move in very exalted circles. Perhaps it is the uniform, Mrs. Swann, that deceives you. All young men in the navy look alike.”

He held out the portrait, and Granville collected it. Mr. Fain looked at Jocelyn for a long moment, his white teeth still showing. It was certainly only her imagination that made her believe that if Mrs. Swann was a hungry cat, Mr. Fain was a well-fed wolf.

Mr. Fain turned to the older woman and said, “How soon do you return to London, ma’am?”

“I cannot say, my health being what it is. Ah, me! I must not drone on about my own affairs when all the world is agog at the events now taking place in the Capital. The fetes and the fireworks! The Princes from around the globe! Miriam, you recently received a letter from London. Tell us all the news.”

In a slow, careful manner, quite unlike her usual effervescent confidences, Miriam outlined the Czar’s itinerary, finishing by saying, “And the Regent has invited His Imperial Majesty down to Oxford to dine.” She smiled openly. “Isn’t that too amusing! He did not ask him to address the students or the teachers, nor to the services there, but to dine!”

As soon as Miriam began to show an interest in what she said, Mrs. Swann interrupted. “Tell me. Miss Burnwell, did you by any chance see Mrs. Hodges this morning?”

“Her daughter delivered the milk today, Mrs. Swann. I did not notice whether Mrs. Hodges was in church.”

“Yes, she was there. Unusually subdued, I thought. I have heard that that husband of hers is missing again.” Mrs. Swann nodded her white-swathed head portentously.

“I saw Martha when she came to do the washing,” Helena volunteered. “As I told Jocelyn—”

Mrs. Swann interrupted once more by exclaiming, “It’s quite beyond me how these Hodges are always about when there’s a penny to be turned.”

“I quite admire them,” Jocelyn said. “Matthew Hodges is a scoundrel without a doubt; however, his wife and daughter never speak slightingly of him.”

“They do their duty,” Mr. Fain added.

Miriam said, her voice hard, “They work hard enough to keep him in drink.”

Her mother-in-law looked at her for a moment. “Drink is sometimes a man’s only refuge from the wrong wife.” An uncomfortable silence fell. Mrs. Alastair Swann seemed to realize she spoke too harshly. To recover, she asked, “Might I take another of those little tans, Miss Burnwell? They are quite delicious, nearly the same as those served at Austrian House. Did you make them?”

When Jocelyn indicated that they owed the treat to Helena, Mrs. Swann inclined her head toward Miss Fain, the small egret plumes in her turban nodding limply. “Quite delectable, my dear. I trust they do not require too much sugar. Nothing is more injurious to household economy than too much sugar. Why ...” She went on with a tale about some miserable housewives she knew.

“I used no sugar except that of the preserves and the pastry,” Helena said with mock seriousness.

Jocelyn studied the teapot with great attention, hoping the twitching muscles of her cheeks were not noticeable.

Mrs. Swann seemed uncertain whether the vicar’s sister was making sport of her. “Ah, yes.” She coughed a little “ahem” that seemed to restore her equilibrium. “What preserves will you make this year?” she asked.

Helena said, “The strawberries look as if they’ll...” Her voice died away, and her blue eyes grew rounder. A flush came into her skin, and a long moment passed before she continued speaking. Mr. Fletcher had opened the salon door.

He came completely into the room before he seemed to realize anyone was there. Jocelyn, however, noticed his eyes went instantly to Helena, and only long after he saw her did he pay attention to the rest of them.

Jocelyn said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Fletcher. Won’t you join us? I shall just go and refill the pot and get more cups.”

“Permit me, Cousin Jocelyn,” Granville said quickly, eager to show off before members of the best family in the county. He smiled charmingly at Mrs. Swann. “Even my cousin must admit I do know how to make tea passably. Pray excuse me.” He picked up the tea tray, without so much as a rattle from the spoon in the sugar bowl, and left through the opened door.

“What?” Mrs. Swann said with an air of confusion. “Have you no one to help you. Miss Burnwell?”

“Yes, ma’am, I have my cousins, and Mr. Fletcher is always to be relied upon.”

“I must wonder greatly at your aunt’s leaving you alone in a household where there are no other females.”

“Fortunately,” Jocelyn said smoothly, “Miss Fain has accepted my invitation to stay.” She saw the tutor’s serious eyes fasten on her friend.

“I am surprised you did not see fit to inform me of this, Helena,” the vicar said, his strangely dark eyebrows lifting.