Dear Tiberius; (aka Nurse Nolan) (10 page)

Lucy withdrew from the lovely white room biting her lip, and later she heard Lynette go tripping lightly downstairs to the drawing room as if there was nothing in the least wrong with her ankle. Lucy, who was on her way back from her bath to her bedroom, leaned over the balustrade that followed the graceful sweep of the stairs down into the deep well of the hall below, and saw the tall figure of Sir John, black and white and elegant, emerge with the impulsiveness of a boy—or so it seemed to her—from the doorway of the drawing room, and greet her with both hands outstretched. Lynette was wearing the white dress with the golden roses, and tonight Lucy felt sure she was the Princess Aurora awaiting the kindling kiss of her lover—perhaps not so much awaiting it, as expecting it!

Two
nights later
quite an impressive dinner party was given by Sir John, and among the guests were several of his neighbors who did not normally see very much of him. Lucy received a summons, couched in polite phrases, to make a fourth at bridge, and she changed hastily into the only dress she had that she thought was really suitable, and went down to the drawing room.

It reminded her of a stage set with its lights and its flowers, but it was an extremely elegant stage set, and the one figure in the room who instantly compelled attention was Lynette, with her vivid, flame
-
like hair. She was behaving with kittenish playfulness and receiving all the attention of Sir John, who was standing close beside her chair and regarding her with obvious admiration, while the remainder of his guests formed themselves into little groups, and the man called Francis Burke stood rather noticeably alone
before one of the tall windows, looking out into the night.

Lucy spared him a quick, rather surprised look, for he was not precisely a young man, and yet Lynette seemed to favor him when she was not bestowing more important favors on her host. Lucy was inclined to wonder a little about their relationship, and why he had formed one of the house p
a
rty at Ketterings—and, if it came to that, why Sir John had allowed him to be included when it was quite plain that his feelings for Lynette were most decided. But when Lynette was otherwise occupied he had a lonely air about him—almost a neglected air—and Lucy felt vaguely sorry for him.

She herself was asked to join a bridge four with the vicar as her partner, and his wife and a prominent local landowner opposing them. Lynette had no interest in bridge, and did not even pretend that she had, and her mother sat on a striped regency couch and knitted away indefatigably at the heliotrope sweater.

Sir John was called away after a time to the telephone, and very shortly after that Lucy noticed that both Lynette and Francis Burke were missing. Lucy went on playing bridge, finding it very heavy going, until at last the dinner guests began to break up. Sir John returned just in time to receive their farewells and thanks. Lucy
h
erself stole thankfully away, but suddenly remembered that she had left a book she was reading in the chair that took Miranda on her trips about the grounds. This chair was kept for convenience in the little room that gave access to the terrace, and that had once been a part of the drawing room. So she opened the door and switched on the light to retrieve it.

Instantly she regretted what she had done, for instead of being empty the room contained two people. They were standing very close together, near the window, and with the abrupt switching on of the light one of them turned swiftly

toward Lucy. She wore a white dress that billowed around her like a white mist, and was ornamented with large golden roses, and her hair was a living flame of red. Her eyes were brilliantly green, and angry.

“
Oh!
”
she exclaimed, and she sounded as if she was speaking through clenched and faultless white teeth.
“
So you add spying to your other accomplishments, do you. Nurse Nolan? Well...!
”
and she threw off the restraining hand of Francis Burke from her shoulder, and swept into the middle of the room to confront Lucy.
“
I
’
ll see to it that Sir John hears about this!
”

Lucy looked at her as calmly as she was able.

“
I
’
m sorry. Miss Harling, if I
’
ve interrupted something private, but this room is not usually used by anyone, and for that reason we keep Miranda
’
s wheelchair in here.
”
She looked toward the chair, with its neatly folded camel
’
s hair rugs reposing on the seat, standing against the wall, but Lynette did not follow the direction of her glance.
“
I came to recover a book
I
left on the chair this morning, but naturally I didn
’
t know there was anyone in here.
”

Lynette had all the appearance of being about to say something almost violent, but instead she bit her lip until it very nearly bled, and then turned to the man who was now standing uncomfortably at her elbow, and looking at Lucy with something like apology in his distinctly nice eyes.

“
Come along, Francis!
”
she ordered.
“
We might as well go back to the drawing room. In this house, apparently, it is impossible to be at all private!
”

And she swept past Lucy without even glancing at her again, while Francis Burke followed more slowly, and even offered to switch off the light for Lucy once she had recovered her book and was herself moving toward the door. But Lynette called to him imperiously over her shoulder, and he went with a slight, helpless shrug that spoke volumes
to Lucy, who recognized that where the dancer was concerned, at any rate, he had practically no will of his own.

Lucy went thoughtfully upstairs to her room, and for a long time after she reached it she stood by the open window, in the star-pricked darkness of the early autumn night, looking out at the lake that shimmered like a pearl where the stars were reflected in it. And presently the French windows immediately below her were thrown outward, and Miss Harling and her host stepped out onto the terrace. Lynette now had a mink stole around her shoulders, over the drifting white gown, and she was clinging to the arm of Sir John, whose gaze seemed to be compelled by the sheer mystery and magic of the lake.

But Lynette was talking to him with little expressive movements of her hands as they moved toward the head of the terrace steps, and Lucy found herself wondering what she was talking to him about. Was it likely that she was telling him about the hour or more that she had spent alone with Francis Burke in the small drawing room?

Lucy was quite certain she was not, but it did occur to her that she herself might figure in the conversation. And then she sighed suddenly as she watched the two figures—the one not actually tall, but with a masculine grace and ease of carriage that was beginning to awake something like a faint admiration in her own heart, and the other a sylphlike creature who always seemed to be enacting one of the roles she danced, as light as gossamer on his arm—treading the shaven surface of the lawn in the direction of the lake.

But she could not have told anyone why she sighed.

For more t
han a week Ketterings provided a high standard of comfort and entertainment for its guests, and during that time Lucy saw comparatively little of any of them. She devoted half an hour each day to Miss Harling
’
s ankle, and she occasionally walked in the park with Mrs. Harling, and chatted once or twice with Francis Burke. The latter fitted in even less well with his surroundings than the ballerina
’
s mother, who never ceased to feel overawed by the style in which her host lived. But the reason for Burke
’
s inability to feel at home at Ketterings was entirely different, for he knew himself to be the odd man out. He was in love with Lynette—had been in love with her for years, for he was considerably older than she was—but it was a love that was doomed to be unrewarded.

Sometimes, when she watched him strolling restlessly up and down the length of the terrace, gazing unhappily at the lake, with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his always meticulously tailored jackets, Lucy wondered why he had allowed himself to be included in this house party. And she wondered also why Sir John, who was favorite No. 1 with Lynette Harling, had permitted him to be included, when every glance he sent in the lovely redhead
’
s direction gave away the extent and depth of his feelings.

Lucy saw little of Sir John. He did occasionally make his
appearance when she and Miranda were together, but he obviously preferred to visit Miranda when she was alone, and at such times he sometimes devoted half an hour to sitting with her. Miranda admitted almost in surprise that she no longer felt badly in awe of him when he came near to her—in the past the mere threat of a visit from him had made her want to cling to Fiske, or have someone else near to share the embarrassment with her—but now she even enjoyed it when he picked up one of her books and read to her, and she was aware that he studied her more attentively during his visits.

One morning Lucy got up early to take
a stroll in the gardens before breakfast—a thing she had delighted to do often before the arrival of the visitors—and she met him taking the short cut through the rose garden to the house. He had plainly been riding. He looked astonishingly well in riding clothes—so astonishingly well that her heart gave a queer little jolt of pleasure when she saw him running lightly up the time-worn steps that led from the shrubberies, and came to a surprised halt in front of her. It might have been the clear, primrose yellow of his polo-necked sweater, or the fact that his eyes were sparkling—sparkling and alive under the sooty black eyelashes that shadowed them—but he seemed at least several years younger to her this morning, and he was actually smiling. It was a gay, inquiring smile.

“
Why, Miss Nolan—
”
for some reason lately he had dropped calling her nurse
“
—what are you doing up at this early hour?
”

Lucy was taken aback by the suddenness of his appearance, but the friendliness of his greeting made it easy for her to reply naturally. Because it was a warm and sunny morning she was wearing a gay print dress—one that she had bought in Italy when she was on holiday there the previous year—with a white cardigan over it, and there were white, rubber-soled shoes on her feet.

When she had explained that she liked to snatch these early morning moments in the fresh air whenever possible, and had waved a hand to indicate how marvelously fresh she thought everything was, with the dew sparkling on the roses that were still blooming away in profusion, and the green lichens overhanging the rosy red walls hemming them in, a poem in color in the sunshine, he looked at her keenly and said,
“
You like the country, don
’
t you?
”

“
I
adore it. I
’
d never live anywhere else but in the country if I could have my way.
”

Suddenly she remembered his own preference for the town, and a delicate color invaded her cheeks. He saw it, and his eyes smiled at her rather oddly.

“
Do you ride, Miss Nolan?
”
he asked.

“
I used to,
”
she confessed,
“
in the days when both my parents were alive, and we still kept a couple of horses. But I haven
’
t ridden since then.
”

“
But you
’
d like to?
”

“
Oh, yes, of course I
’
d like to!
”

“
Then there
’
s no reason why you shouldn
’
t,
”
he surprised her by telling her swiftly.
“
There
’
s a little mare in the stables that would carry you beautifully—
”
he seemed to be assessing her potentialities as a horsewoman as he studied her
“
—and she
’
s yours to ride when you can spare the time. There
’
s no reason why you should lack exercise if you enjoy it.
”

“
Oh—oh, thank you!
”
Lucy stammered.

“
Not at all.
”
The friendliness faded from his face rather abruptly, and the masklike look with which she was more familiar took its place.
“
And there
’
s another thing, Miss Nolan—or ought I to continue to address you as Nurse Nolan?
”