Winterwood (15 page)

Eliza’s homely face was settled in stern lines. She held up a dead tadpole, almost brandishing it in her mistress’ face.

“I found this in my patient’s bed, ma’am. The discovery brought on one of her attacks.”

“She’s—not dead?”

Charlotte’s words brought a fresh roar from Edward.

“Hush, Teddy! Eliza! She’s not—”

That was when Lavinia knew that Charlotte hoped poor Lady Tameson was dead. The old lady had only needed to be kept alive until her will was made.

Eliza, Lavinia divined, had had something of the same thought, for she shook her head with sour satisfaction.

“No, ma’am. She’s recovered as well as possible.”

“Then there’s no harm done, thank goodness.” Charlotte turned to Lady Tameson’s door with obvious reluctance. “I’ll just have a look at her. Wait for Mamma, Teddy.”

Lady Tameson’s voice from within the room was weak but quite audible, a rasping accusing voice.

“That spoiled brat of yours has nearly been the end of me, Charlotte.”

“It was only an innocent prank, Aunt Tameson. All little boys do these things.”

“So even if I lay here dead, you’d be making excuses for him.”

“But you’re not lying there dead, and of course I intend to speak to Teddy. He didn’t mean any harm. He’s very fond of you.”

“Fond! There’s only one person fond of me and that’s my own son.”

“Aunt Tameson!” Charlotte sounded alarmed. “I’m going to send for Doctor Munro.”

Aunt Tameson’s voice grew stronger. “Oh, pshaw! I’m no worse than usual. I’ll die when my time comes. But not before! Don’t count on that!”

Charlotte came out slowly, her face worried. She closed the door carefully, saw the listening women, and said, “She’s talking as if Tom, poor little Tom, weren’t dead.”

“Old people wander a bit, ma’am,” Eliza said. “It was the shock, I expect Usually she’s got all her senses. I’ll go in to her.”

“Yes, please do. And Teddy—come with me. Mamma wants to have a long serious talk.”

I
T HAD BEEN
ONLY
a childish prank of Edward’s, and in its way it had served a purpose, for Edward had obviously frightened himself and his behavior mended. Young Mr. Bush began to look happier. He strolled sometimes with Flora and Lavinia on their walks, showing a deference to Flora that pleased her. Simon’s short holiday was over. Dressed in his school clothes, he said courteous goodbyes. When he had gone it was time for Charlotte and Daniel to prepare for their visit to Windsor.

A week was given over to clothes. Charlotte was having a new ball gown made, and two new tea gowns, each with delicious quantities of lace ruffles. Eliza, who had, in her slow, cautious way, begun to like and trust Lavinia, now offered to make a gown for her if she could buy some material.

“I’m a good seamstress, Miss Hurst. My mother was a mantua-maker, and she taught me.”

“And where will I wear the gown, Eliza?” Lavinia asked, with some bitterness.

“Now don’t you fret, Miss Hurst. There will be plenty of opportunity to wear it. Christmas is coming, and there’ll be balls and parties here. If you’ll excuse me saying so, your blue doesn’t do you justice. Mind you, I don’t mean anything too fashionable, but something becoming.”

This offer was most kind of Eliza, and Lavinia gratefully accepted. She had been paid her first wages that morning, and decided recklessly to lay them all out on a piece of good silk. She would take Flora for a day’s outing to Dover, and material could also be bought for Flora’s promised pink-sprigged muslin. That had to be arranged with Charlotte, but Charlotte seemed so excited and stimulated by the prospect of the coming weekend, that she agreed carelessly to everything.

“By all means, Miss Hurst. Attend completely to Flora’s wardrobe. Buy her any pretty thing she fancies, poor sweet. Go to Blacketts and charge everything to my account, Order the brougham, and take Joseph with you. Don’t let Flora overtire herself, though I am sure I can trust your good sense in that respect.”

Daniel came to hear of Flora’s and Lavinia’s proposed outing, and made a special visit to the yellow parlor to express his pleasure.

“So Miss Hurst is turning your head,” he said to Flora.

“Oh, no, Papa, she only says I may look better when I can put my hair up. When can I put it up?”

“I should think in about five years’ time.”

“But that’s
forever!
Do I have to wear little girl dresses until then?”

“You must ask Miss Hurst.”

Five years. Did he think she would be here that long? She would be twenty-seven. And unmarried… In an even voice Lavinia said, “I intend to buy her shoes also, Mr. Meryon.”

“Shoes? But—”

“It’s a whole year since her accident, and naturally her feet have grown. She has nothing to fit her, and she can’t wear slippers forever. I thought a pair of buttoned kid boots, and a pair of shoes suitable for parties or dancing.”

Daniel’s first surprise had gone and his eyes didn’t flicker.

“Of course. A splendid idea. Get what you think fit, Miss Hurst. I wish I could come with you.”

“Don’t be silly, Papa. You’ll be kissing the Queen’s hand. That’s much more grand.”

“But not so enjoyable.”

“Papa! You’ll be executed for treason.”

Daniel was looking at Lavinia. He had that reflective look that she had never quite interpreted, although she was almost sure it meant approval. Perhaps admiration. She didn’t see how he could be overwhelmed with admiration for her when she had had to keep her natural high spirits and vivacity so damped down, so constantly crushed into the manner of an obedient servant. She must appear very colorless beside Charlotte’s dramatic, haunting beauty. She was perfectly certain she hadn’t misinterpreted the interest in his gaze that night at the opera in Venice. But her appearance since then in her dutiful dull gowns must have erased that memory from his mind. She had an irresistible desire to revive it.

“Are you feeling sorry for me, Miss Hurst?”

“Sorry?”

“That I am to be shot, as Flora suggests?” Flora giggled with delight, but Lavinia remained quite silent, looking at him. “You were looking sad. It was only a joke, you know.”

“Miss Hurst doesn’t like jokes like that, Papa. Once, when I mentioned the gallows, she went quite white. Didn’t you, Miss Hurst?”

“Because she is more sensitive than you, no doubt. Well, I must be off.” Daniel’s voice was brisk again, that contemplative note gone. He took Lavinia’s hand. “Goodbye, Miss Hurst. I am in your debt. Goodbye, little minx.” Flora got a kiss on the forehead, and Lavinia’s own forehead tingled strangely, as if his lips had been placed there. “Take care. Don’t let anything happen to either of you while I am gone.”

Flora was still in a mood of euphoria. “Dear Papa! What could happen to us? He’ll only be gone four days.”

“I suppose a great deal could happen in four days.” Lavinia was feeling tart. The gallows that had threatened Robin… Daniel’s close regard… That kiss that had seemed to be her own. She felt strung-up and tense, and, for some odd reason, apprehensive. The house was going to seem peculiarly empty and unguarded with the master and mistress away.

But everything was all right. The drive into Dover and the morning’s shopping with Flora were a great success. Flora was made much of in the shops. A couch was arranged for her to recline on, and everything was brought to her for her inspection and approval, materials, ribbons, dancing shoes tied with satin ribbons, and a ravishing chip straw bonnet trimmed with pink rosebuds. She felt like a grand lady, Lavinia could see. She waved this away and asked for that, then caught Lavinia watching her with amusement and became loftier than ever in sudden embarrassment and defiance. But there was no doubt she had a fugitive prettiness when she was happy like this. It was possible she would even grow into a woman of charm and distinction, if not of positive beauty. Lavinia knew, all at once, that she wanted to watch that happening, and realized that she was letting this very temporary position grow into something much more permanent. Even after a few hours away she knew she was longing for the return to Winterwood, and the first glimpse of the great austere house set on its hill. In so short a time she had let not only the inhabitants, but the house itself grow on her. It was going to stay in her dreams for a long long time.

“And now,” Flora was saying in her lofty voice, “show us some materials suitable for an evening gown for my companion, Miss Hurst.”

When Lavinia protested, Flora waved an autocratic hand.

“Be silent, Miss Hurst.
I
wish to choose this.”

Lavinia had a moment of panic that her one precious new gown would be of some gaudy material admired only by a child. But Flora proved to have excellent taste. She insisted on a greenish-gray length of taffeta that, she observed, exactly matched dear Miss Hurst’s eyes.

The parcel was to be wrapped and put with the others, Flora said, but not to be added to the account. She personally wished to pay for it. Before Lavinia could stop her, she had produced her little bead purse and taken two sovereigns from it.

“It is my gift,” she said, and added under her breath, “Pray don’t make a scene.”

It was ridiculous, this reversal of their positions. Lavinia struggled with hot resentment at the fate that had reduced her to accepting gifts from a child.

They were bowed out of the shop by the manager, Flora managing to retain her hauteur even in Joseph’s arms.

“Flora, I really cannot accept a gift like this.”

“It is just as important to accept gracefully, as it is to give,” Flora said primly. “I don’t think you are a very good accepter, Miss Hurst.”

“I don’t think I am, either.”

“Then you must begin to reform,” said Flora in her preaching voice. But almost immediately she had reverted to being a child again. “Miss Hurst, do you think I may wear my new shoes this evening? Uncle Timothy always asks Edward and me to have tea with him when Mamma and Papa are away.”

“Certainly you may. So long as you’re not too tired.”

As it happened, Lady Tameson felt well enough to go down to tea, too. It was quite a merry party in the drawing room, for Mr. Bush came down, also, and proved himself an accomplished pianist. His father was a musician, he confided to Lavinia, and this was what he had ambitions of being himself. He kept looking at her in an admiring way, and Lavinia knew he was longing to ask what her private ambitions were.

Lavinia would not let his glances spoil the party. She seized Edward and said that they would dance as Mamma and Papa would be dancing at the palace this evening. While Mr. Bush played a spirited polka, she guided Edward, screaming with merriment, up and down the room, while Flora clapped her hands, and Sir Timothy said, “By jove, I wish I were younger myself.”

It had not grown quite dark enough for the lamps to be lit, and the curtains were still looped back, showing a darkening view of the garden. As Lavinia, out of breath and glowing with warmth, collapsed into a chair, she had a queer impression that the sphinxes on the terrace had moved closer. Indeed, one seemed to be peering with its dead eyes right into the room. What nonsense. It wasn’t the sphinx, it was a man, one of the gardeners, passing and pausing to look inquisitively into the forbidden territory of the drawing room. The fire before which Lady Tameson nodded lit the room sufficiently for it to be perfectly clear to him. The white face had given Lavinia quite a shock. It was time the curtains were drawn.

Lady Tameson stirred and awoke. She pointed at the shining toes of Flora’s shoes, peeping beneath the hem of her dress.

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous shoes?”

Flora’s eyes flashed.

“Because I intend to dance in them one day.”

“Then you’d better start doing something about it, hadn’t you? Letting yourself being carried about. Ridiculous nonsense! Sheer laziness!”

“It is not laziness, you—”

“Flora!” Lavinia said hastily.

Flora bit her lips and glared balefully. “I’ll dance on your grave, you horrid old woman!” Lady Tameson let out her raucous chuckle.

“I’ll not let it disturb my rest. Where’s Eliza? I want to go to my room. I’m tired. All that jigging about everyone’s been doing. I think a short game of cards before supper, Flora.”

“I shall beat you!”

“Come and try then, come and try.”

Eliza and Mary came, and Phoebe to light the lamps and draw the curtains, and Joseph to carry Flora to her room. Edward was banished protesting to the nursery and Sir Timothy said that he would take a glass of sherry before dressing for dinner. Perhaps Miss Hurst would join him.

But Lavinia excused herself. Even though the lights were lit she felt oddly uneasy. Overheated and restless. She felt a stroll in the garden in the cool dusk imperative. She wanted to escape from the thought that was really the cause of her mood, Daniel dancing with Charlotte in the great ballroom at Windsor Castle, while she had only the admiring glances of a nonentity of a pale-faced, pale-haired schoolmaster. She had to fight one more of the unending battles with her pride.

The sun was sinking, a red ball behind the hill. It was a chilly dusk. Little flurries of leaves were whirled about in sudden winds. The terrace was empty, but Lavinia could see Coombe, the gardener, pottering about the rose garden, cutting off dead heads. It must have been he who had passed the window and peered curiously in.

So far Lavinia had explored only part of the garden. She had not yet had an opportunity to walk down to the shrubbery and the ornamental lake. She saw a wildfowl hover, and then plummet downward to the water. This gave her steps a direction. She would walk down to the lake and back, a pleasant brisk stroll which would refresh her before the long evening which Sir Timothy would expect her to spend with him. He had an unashamed enjoyment in the company of personable young women.

The paved pathway came to an end at the bottom of the rose garden. After that one crossed the lawn to the shrubbery, and broad paths between the rhododendrons led down the gentle slope to the lake. At least this was what Lavinia expected them to do, but she must have taken a wrong turning, for she seemed to go deeper and deeper into the shrubbery. Pushing aside branches, and debating whether to retrace her steps or go on, she came quite unexpectedly on the circular stone building. Its doorway was framed with miniature pillars, giving it a Grecian look. It must be the Temple of Virtue built by one of Daniel’s ancestors. What a gloomy place to build what should have been a romantic building. Though perhaps at that time there had been only small newly planted shrubs about it. Now the hoary branching bushes and one weeping willow had grown out of all control, and shut the temple into a green damp darkness. The walls were thick with moss and creeping ivy. The door napped on a broken hinge, leading into a circular chamber with stone floors littered with dead leaves, pillars supporting the roof, and uninviting mossy stone seats built around the walls. It was a dismal place, hidden and forgotten.