The Lady of Lyon House (8 page)

“Welcome to Lyon House,” he said.

CHAPTER SIX

“S
TUNNING
,” Corinne Lyon cried, “simply stunning. I had no idea! If I had known what a beauty you are, I would never have let you come. Absolutely not! Think what that youth and freshness will do to me if anyone sees us side by side. I shall look like a crocodile!”

I could think of nothing to say in reply. I stood rather timidly, my lashes lowered.

“I shall have to keep you hidden,” she said, nodding her head as if in agreement with herself. “If company arrives, into the closet you go. Is that understood?”

“Now, Corinne,” Edward Lyon protested.

“Hush, Edward. Run along! What are you doing here anyway? This is women talk. Julia is going to tell me all about her love affairs, and I am going to make her blush with a full account of mine.”

“It would take three weeks,” Edward replied, mock serious.

“We have nothing but time,” Corinne snapped. “You run along now. I don't want to share this delicious creature with anyone just yet!”

She smiled as her nephew left the room, closing the door behind him. We were in the parlor, a vast, light room with white walls and delicate French furniture of white wood and sky-blue satin upholstery. Long draperies of thin blue material swept the floor, covering the French windows that opened out into the gardens. Corinne opened the draperies and threw back the windows, pausing for a moment with her hands on the sill. All the glorious smells of the gardens swept into the room. In the misty blue twilight I could see pink and white rose trees.

“So you like Lyon House?” she asked.

“I adore it,” I replied. “I think it is the loveliest place I have ever seen.”

“It's nice, quite nice,” she replied, “a little small, a little simple, but it's the simplicity and smallness that give it its character. I abhor those mammoth graystone monstrosities that mar the countryside with their turrets and towers.”

“It must be wonderful to be the Lady of Lyon House and be surrounded by so much beauty,” I remarked.

“It is, my dear, it is. Of course it was more exciting in the old days when the place was aswarm with people, when the drive was crowded with carriages and every room rang with laughter and voices. There used to be parties every week, and so many handsome young men—but, alas, I am afraid those days are gone. I seldom see anyone now.”

“You don't go out?”

“Only to ride in the morning and to visit the tenant farms. Haven't been to the village in years, much less anywhere else. And people seldom come to Lyon House. I frighten them away. It's just as well.” There was a touch of sadness in her voice.

She saw that I was watching her closely, and she tapped her lace fan against her palm, folding the lace pleats.

“Can you really blame me for not wanting to see people, to have people see me?”

“I don't understand what you mean,” I replied.

“Come, come, my dear. You're young, but you're no fool, and you are not blind either. I used to be a great beauty, celebrated in twenty counties. Young men used to perish just for a glance of me. Now—” She threw her hands out in a lavish gesture. “You can see for yourself.”

Corinne Lyon was certainly not beautiful. She was not really old, but her face was a mask of wrinkles, poorly disguised under layers of heavy make up and powder. Her cheeks glowed with rouge, too much and too red, and her thin lids were coated with silver-blue paint, the lashes long and curling and obviously false. Her eyes were a young woman's eyes, dark brown and shining, staring sadly through the mask of age. Her hair was a tumble of auburn curls, frosted with silver, and I suspected that it was false, too, a skillfully designed wig.

“The fever,” she said, “seven years ago. I wanted to die when I recovered and first saw myself in the mirror. I really wanted to die, but I carried on, though not as before.”

She stalked across the room, moving with a flamboyant grace rather like that of a grand actress who overplays her grandness. She was wearing a dressing robe of tea colored silk, beautifully tailored. It had frothy brown lace about the throat and wrists, and she wore an enormous topaz ring. She whirled around to face me, opening the fan of yellow lace with one quick slap on her wrist.

“I never go out without a veil,” she said. “The children of the tenants used to run when they saw me. They thought I was a witch. What do you think of that?”

“I think they must be very rude children,” I replied, “very poorly trained.”

“Really? And what do you think of me?”

I hesitated. Her brown eyes challenged me, hard and defiant.

“I think you're incredibly vain and incredibly proud. In fact, you strike me as being a very foolish woman.”

“My dear! No one has ever spoken to me like that!”

“I'm sorry. You asked me a question. I've been taught to tell the truth.” The words sounded priggish to my own ears, and I blushed, looking down at the pearl gray carpet. I could feel the color rushing to my cheeks. Corinne Lyon burst into laughter. It was a rich, raucous sound that filled the room with wicked merriment. I looked up, angry with her now. I had come here as a guest, but I had not come to be mocked.

“You're also rude!” I snapped.

“Rude! My dear, how delightful! You're a treasure. I can see that we are going to get along gloriously. I adore someone with guts! It took a lot of guts to tell me that, didn't it?”

“Yes, it did,” I replied, frowning at the distasteful word.

“You really think I'm vain—and foolish and rude?”

“I do.”

“That's wonderful, almost as nice as being thought wicked. This has stimulated me marvelously. Like a brace of champagne. I think it's wonderful to have you, Julia. Mattie was a dear to think of it. We'll have such a grand time—”

I liked her then, for the first time. Her pose was an outrageous sham, I thought. She was a lonely old woman who had had a great tragedy in her life, and she tried to conceal her unhappiness with flamboyant, highly colored conduct. Her nephew had told me that she was really generous and kind hearted, and I did not doubt it. I saw that her pose was necessary to her. She had to generate an air of temperament and spirit to draw the attention to herself that had once been summoned by her beauty. Without that attention, she would feel she was living in a void. Sensing this, I
felt I could get along with Corinne Lyon quite easily. It would be easy to feed her ego and at the same time appreciate the genuine qualities which the pose couldn't quite hide.

“Now you must want to see your room,” she said, snapping her fan closed again. “And perhaps you'll want to rest a while before changing for dinner. We're going to be grand tonight—champagne and candlelight. So few people come to Lyon House—this is an occasion!”

She led me out of the parlor and into the large, airy main hall. I had a glimpse of pearl gray wallpaper and gleaming white woodwork before she led me up the gracefully curving white spiral staircase. The stairs were carpeted in sky blue, the nap a little worn, and a great chandelier hung over the stairwell, dripping crystal pendants that sparkled with rainbow colors in their prisms. Corinne moved briskly up the stairs, her tea-yellow skirts rustling noisily. She talked vivaciously as she led me down the hall on the second floor.

“It'll be so nice to have someone new in the house,” she said. “It does get rather lonely. Agatha isn't much company—poor thing. You'll meet her later on. Edward is always wanting to go gallavanting off to be with people his own age. I can't blame him, really. It looks like you are going to have to put up with me.”

“I think it will be delightful,” I replied.

“Do you play cards?”

“Not very often. I do know how.”

“Marvelous! We can play after dinner. Edward won't play with me anymore. I always win.”

“Do you cheat?”

“He says I do. It's an outrageous lie!”

Corinne took me down the hall to the last room. She opened the door and showed me inside. A maid was hanging my clothes up in the closet. My bags were on the floor, opened, half their contents already taken out. Corinne stood in the doorway for a moment, watching me as I looked at the room, and then she left, saying she would see me at dinner.

“And who are you?” I asked the girl who was hanging up my clothes.

“Molly Jenkins, ma'am. I'm to be your personal maid.”

“Goodness, I've never had a maid before.”

“I've never been one before,” she replied frankly.

“Do you think you'll like it?” I asked.

“It's better than getting up at the crack of dawn every morning and milkin' two dozen cows. I hated that. And the chickens—” She shook her head and shuddered, making a grimace.

“You live on a farm?”

“I did till I came here two weeks ago. I was so excited when my Pa told me I was going to work at Lyon House. Bertie wasn't so happy—he's my beau, Bert Martin, works at the dairy and delivers milk at the village. Bertie didn't want me to come here. Said I wouldn't stay.”

“Why didn't he think you would?”

“If you'll pardon me for sayin' so—the old lady. She's a terror. Fired the whole lot of servants just over two weeks ago, had a perfectly smashin' row. Millie Jones, my girl friend, she worked here once, and she said no amount of pay would bring her back. I don't mind, though. My Pa ain't so easy to get on with himself, and the old lady doesn't frighten me none.”

I smiled. Molly was a frank, engaging creature with touseled black curls and bright blue eyes. Her nose was turned up at the end and there was a sprinkle of golden brown freckles over the bridge. Her cheeks were ruddy with health, her mouth saucy and very pink. She told me that she was sixteen years old, almost seventeen, but she seemed more mature. I could easily imagine that life on the farm had taught Molly many things. She was pretty and lively, and I guessed that Bertie Martin had a hard time of it with her. I could imagine a whole flock of strong, rowdy boys vying for the privilege of being sassed by her.

“Of course she'd been sick,” Molly continued, “real sick, in fact. They had to order medicine all the way from London, Cook says. She was in bed for the longest time, moanin' and lookin' at death's door. Then she pops up and comes chargin' through the house like her old self, findin' everything all wrong. Screamed and raged, and before the day was over she'd discharged the whole lot of 'em, down to the last maid. Mr. Lyon had a hard time gettin' replacements.”

“I can easily imagine that,” I replied.

“Of course, she never goes out. That makes it bad. She just rides every morning, never goes to the village. I like her myself. I just step out of the way when she starts breathin' fire.”

I laughed, thoroughly delighted with the girl.

“She isn't like the other one,” Molly said. “I don't like her at all.”

“The other one?”

“The one they call Agatha. She nips, you know. Bottles everywhere in her room. She doesn't scream and carry on like the old lady, but she's spooky. Drags around without sayin' a word and lookin' at everyone with that awful smile on her lips like she's just swallowed the canary. No, I don't like her at all. She gives me the creeps.”

Molly finished hanging up the clothes and put the bags on top of the closet shelf. She rubbed her hands together, satisfied with her work. She wore a blue and white striped dress, the skirt turned up a little to reveal the edge of her starched, ruffled petticoat. A white apron was tied around her waist and a ruffled white cap perched precariously on her raven black curls.

“Is there anything else you'll be wantin', Miss Julia?”

“Not just now, Molly.”

Molly made a little curtsy, somewhat awkwardly. It was obvious that she was not accustomed to her role as a ladies' maid. It would be hard for a girl with such high spirits to conform to the formal, studied attitude of a proper maid, and I liked her better this way.

“You'll forgive me for talkin' so much,” she said at the door. “My Pa says it's my worst fault—chatter, chatter, chatter all day long, and Bertie Martin just has a fit. He doesn't want to
talk
when he's with me. He just goes out of his mind sometimes, but I know how to handle him. He knows to watch his step, or I'll let Steve Woods take me to the fair.”

“The fair?”

“The county fair. It's two weeks from now. Mr. Lyon will probably take you. I wouldn't half mind
that.”

She gave me a saucy grin and left the room, swishing her skirts. I stood in the middle of the room, studying it for the first time. It was lovely, every detail carefully appointed. The walls were covered with a pale green material, almost white, richly embossed, and the carpet was a dull gray. A pair of French windows opened out onto a little balcony, and the draperies hanging over them were jade green, thin and blowing in to the room. A valance of dark green satin hung over the top, contrasting with the jade material. The bedspread and hangings over the bed were of the same materials. The furniture was sturdy oak, painted glossy white, and the top of the dressing stool was upholstered in vivid yellow satin. A silver-gray vase on the bureau held a bouquet of daffodils of the same color yellow. For all its beauty, it was comfortable, the kind of room I could relax in.

I pushed aside the draperies and stepped onto the little balcony. It looked out over the gardens on the west side of the house. The last rays of sunlight had gone and the moon was not yet out. The gardens seemed to be suspended in the hazy twilight, not quite visible, not quite dark. I could smell the blossoms from where I stood.

I don't know how long I stood there, watching the shadows darkening and letting the soft zephyrs of breeze stroke my cheeks. I felt a kind of deep contentment, a vague emotion tinged with sadness. I was sorry to be away from Mattie and Bill and all my friends, but I was happy to be here with all this peace and beauty. I liked Corinne Lyon immensely, and I was sure the feeling would deepen into affection. I was charmed by Edward Lyon and strangely eager to know him better.