Lady Blue (2 page)

On the docks, excited passengers reuniting with loved ones swarmed past her and Harmony was carried along in the stream of humanity. Inevitably, she drew close enough to Agatha to open her arms to her sister for a welcoming embrace. In the fleeting instant before her sister’s response, Harmony felt a rush of warmth. Perhaps everything was going to be all right after all. Maybe the long years of separation and infrequent communication were not, in the end, going to matter. Despite her fears and homesickness, maybe Agatha and England were, indeed, going to be “home.”

Heart brimming, Harmony stepped forward and enclosed her sister’s thin frame in the gentle circle of her arms. And felt Agatha stiffen.

“Agatha,” Harmony whispered near her sister’s pearl-bedecked ear. “Agatha …”

The older woman’s only response was to back away, stiffly, from Harmony’s embrace.

“Harmony,” Agatha said sharply. “Decorum, please. We are in public.”

The first barb had been delivered; Harmony felt it keenly. It remained as it had been when they were children, before Agatha turned nineteen and received a substantial inheritance from a recently deceased great-aunt living in London. Though the two had never met they had corresponded over the years. Their communication, and the inheritance, apparently persuaded Agatha to forsake her home and her family and move to Britain.

On the long voyage across the Atlantic, Harmony had had ample time to ponder the changes time must have wrought upon her sister. She had hoped the years might have softened her. She had hoped in vain.

“I apologize, Agatha,” Harmony offered, hoping to pacify her sister before the situation was blown out of proportion as had happened so often in the past.

In response, Agatha gestured to a nearby liveried footman and said, “Indicate your bags, please, Harmony, so Charles may stow them in the carriage.”

Harmony gratefully moved away to study the neat rows of baggage unloaded from the ship’s hold. A moment later she obediently pointed out her brass-banded trunk and single carpetbag.

“Well,” Agatha sniffed. “I can only hope you packed appropriately. You certainly packed
enough.
We will be leading a quiet life in the country, Harmony. I hope you don’t expect to put on airs with a fancy and expensive wardrobe.”

Though she had to bite her lip, Harmony wisely refrained from comment. Thanks to their mother’s fine taste, her wardrobe was smart and contemporary, hardly “fancy.” Agatha, however, would undoubtedly find the lovely clothes worthy of the harshest criticism.

“Put the trunk on top, Charles,” Agatha ordered, “and the smaller bag inside.” To Harmony, she said, “Due to your ship’s arrival so late in the day, we will spend the night in a hotel and proceed to the countryside in the morning. I assume you packed efficiently enough that your carpet-sided bag will suffice for the night.”

It would have to, Harmony mused, a bit of the sting of her sister’s greeting mitigated by the thought of dinner and an evening in what would surely be a posh London hotel.

The carriage ride through the busy city streets was a silent one, a blessing for which Harmony was profoundly grateful. The long trip had exhausted her,

Agatha’s greeting had saddened her, and homesickness seemed to have a grip around her throat, making it difficult to swallow, much less speak. Though the edifice was less than imposing, Harmony was glad when the coachman drew his team to a halt in front of the hotel.

“I will meet you in the dining room in one hour sharp,” Agatha commanded regally and sailed up the narrow staircase to the left of the entryway, a hotel maid scurrying in her wake with her bag. Harmony followed a second maid to another room at back of the hotel’s first floor.

The paucity of furnishings and lack of ambience hardly mattered to Harmony. At least she was alone. For a time. Dinner hour arrived all too soon.

The fare served in the dining room was as plain and unimaginative as the hotel itself. The only spice was Agatha’s conversation.

“I trust your journey was pleasant,” Agatha commented while slicing into a thin, gray slab of meat slathered in an unappetizing, brown, gravylike substance. “I’m certain our late mother’s solicitor provided adequately for your journey out of the trust I maintain on your behalf until your majority.”

“The voyage was very nice, thank you, Agatha.” Harmony speared a small potato after ascertaining the pale tuber had not touched anything else on her plate. It appeared pristine and she popped it in her mouth.

“Do not think,” Agatha snapped, “that you will be seeing any more monies out of your trust until you have come of suitable age. I am not of a mind to spoil you as our parents have done.”

The potato turned to dust in Harmony’s mouth. Shortly thereafter, braving her sister’s displeasure and disapproval, she excused herself and fled to her room. Sleep was long in coming and a blessing when it finally arrived.

And now it was time to get back into a closed coach with Agatha, drive to her home in the country, and spend the next three years, until she attained majority, wondering why her sister resented her so deeply. She could hardly wait. With another long sigh, Harmony pulled on her gloves and left the room. She willed the painful memories of her former life to stay behind along with the ghost of her brief presence in the unwelcoming space. If they accompanied her, she feared she would not be able to bear her prison sentence at all.

I
t’s about time,” Agatha snapped when Harmony appeared in the hotel’s small foyer. She took in her sister’s appearance in a single, brief glance, turned on her heel, and marched out the front door.

Agatha noted, with approval, the alacrity with which her coachman moved to open the carriage door. She did not, however, deign to give him the slightest notice as she climbed inside. Familiarity of any kind with the lower classes was anathema. He did his job and he got paid for it. There the relationship began and ended. Agatha sat back in her seat and smoothed the black folds of her skirt. She stared straight ahead as Harmony ducked through the doorway, averting her eyes when her sister sat down opposite her.

Agatha clasped her hands in her lap and tried to hold back the wave of resentment that threatened to wash over her. She had no desire to live in a constant state of annoyance for the next few years.

It seemed, however, that was exactly what was going to happen. Their mother’s will stated explicitly that Harmony was to live with her until she turned twenty-one, and Agatha was to exercise discretion over Harmony’s inheritance as well. At least their mother had made one sensible decision. Agatha sniffed audibly.

As for her sister’s appearance and manners, well, what could she expect? The girl was scarcely civilized. She had lived in the West, for heaven’s sake, with cowboys and Indians. She had been allowed to ride a horse wherever she pleased like an uneducated heathen.

But she could be trained, Agatha consoled herself as the coachman cracked his whip and the carriage rolled forward. It might well be a long, difficult task, but it was possible. And there was no time like the present to begin.

“I find that color entirely unsuitable,” she said primly. “You should be in black, Harmony.
Black
is the color for mourning.”

“It’s dark blue,” Harmony responded. “It’s close enough.”

“As I said, black is the appropriate color for mourning.”

Agatha’s tone was obdurate. There was not a trace of sympathy or emotion in the angular lines of her thin, pinched features. Harmony did not expect there ever would be. If, after a six-year separation, she had not had a single kind word to say in greeting, she doubted the future held much better. She had not yet even expressed any sympathy for their mother’s passing. Mother. The dearest, sweetest human being Harmony had ever known. It was suddenly more than she could bear, and her simmering anger boiled over at last.

“What would you know about mourning?” she said bitterly. “I can understand why you didn’t come all the way to America when Daddy died. It was so sudden and unexpected. But Mother was sick for a long time, Agatha. You could have come to see her before the end. And if you didn’t want to see her, you might at least have come to the funeral. You would have had such fun gloating over her grave.”

“Harmony!”

The way Agatha had spit her name at her was like a slap and Harmony recoiled. She could not imagine what had possessed her to say such an ugly thing, until she saw Agatha’s lip curl, actually curl like a snarling dog, and the caustic acid of resentment burned her once again.

“It’s true and you know it,” Harmony spat back. “All you ever cared about was money. The only times you wrote were to ask for more.”

“Stop your vile tongue this instant!”

Harmony bit back the next words that longed to tumble from her lips. This was not what their mother would have wanted. Furthermore, Agatha obviously harbored her own resentments, and fueling her sister’s fires was not the smartest thing to do on the first day of a very long stay with her.

Trying to relax back in her seat, Harmony consoled herself with the thought that at least she had not had to spend the last six years with Agatha around. They had never gotten along, and it had been a relief when Agatha had decided to move to England, the birthplace of their now deceased maternal grandparents and great-aunt. Victorian England, as Agatha had informed her family, was more suited to her moral temperament and standards. Knowing she had never been happy on the wild, vast sprawl of the Simmons ranch, their father had willingly financed Agatha’s move, and had, despite Agatha’s inheritance, continued to subsidize her until his death. At that time Agatha had inherited another very comfortable sum. But it hadn’t been enough. It was never enough.

Harmony’s eyes narrowed as she gazed once again at her sister. What was wrong with her? Was she so empty inside that she tried to fill the void with material things?

She was only twenty-seven, but looked forty, Harmony mused. Was it because there was no laughter, no gaiety, no joy in her life? And was that what Harmony was now condemned to as well?

The thought made her shudder. What had her mother been thinking, to put her younger daughter’s inheritance under the control of the elder until Harmony turned twenty-one? How could her mother have done it to her?

But even as she wondered, Harmony knew. She had said as much near the end of her life. She had wanted the sisters to try and find their way back to each other. They would be left with only each other. But would it work? Had their mother been wise or merely blissfully foolish?

As she continued to look in her sister’s direction, Harmony doubted their mother’s plan, if that was what it was, would succeed. But she was willing to try. It was what Mother had wanted, and it was the last thing she would ever be able to do for her.

Harmony could almost feel her mother’s long, thin, elegant fingers squeeze her hand for the final time. Her flesh had felt papery thin. Harmony could barely see the rise and fall of her chest beneath the white muslin gown.

“Promise me, Harmony,” her mother had breathed. “Promise me you’ll try. Agatha … hasn’t known the love and warmth of family as … as you have. Help her. Please …”

Tears rose in a warm rush to Harmony’s eyes and she turned her head so Agatha wouldn’t see them. But who were the tears for, she wondered? Harmony dashed them away and gazed out the window.

Were they for her mother? Herself? For Agatha, perhaps? As hard as she tried to think they might be, however, Harmony was unable to feel any compassion for her hard, unloving sister. Agatha had left the ranch and her family of her own accord. She had freely chosen to live elsewhere and Harmony felt no sympathy for her. Yet she had promised their mother …

Harmony pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed away the evidence of emotion on her cheeks. It would no doubt bring a stinging reprimand from her sister and weaken her resolve to fulfill the promise to their mother. Replacing the handkerchief she turned her attention to the passing scenery. This was her world now. It would be well to take note of it. To try and take it into her heart and get to know and love it. It would make the passage of time less painful if she could come to love the land where she lived.

London’s teeming avenues had been left behind and they entered a pleasant, green landscape. It was similar to, yet different from, countryside she had seen in America. Harmony drew her elegantly arched brows together thoughtfully.

“The scenery here is so … so tame,” she said abruptly in an attempt to reach her sister in whatever distant place she had gone in her mind. “So orderly and neat. Back home it seems more … well, primitive, I guess.”

“Exactly,” Agatha responded promptly. “It pleases me that you are able to note the difference.
Everything
here in England is more orderly and less … primitive, as you say. It is the essential reason I chose to reside here.”

“Yes. I can see how it would suit you,” Harmony said without sarcasm. “It’s beautiful. Still, I miss the ranch. The mountains, the wide open spaces, fields of tall grass bending in the wind.”

Harmony cut herself off before the memory could summon back her tears. Agatha stepped immediately into the silence.

“The ranch is being held in trust. You can return to it at your majority. Though I don’t see why, once having experienced true civilization, you would want to.”

No, Harmony thought. Agatha wouldn’t.

“You are going to learn to lead an entirely different kind of life here,” Agatha continued with mounting enthusiasm. “A godly and righteous life. No more galloping about on horseback like a wild Indian. Chasing after cattle. Or shooting a gun.” Agatha grimaced in distaste.

“What’s wrong with knowing how to ride and shoot?”

“You can’t be serious, Harmony!” Agatha appeared dumbstruck.

“Mother and Daddy thought it was fine,” Harmony replied calmly. “Why don’t you?”

An unbecoming blush crept up the crepelike skin of Agatha’s neck to her cheeks. “I will not deign to answer such an ignorant question. In the future, mind your insolent tongue. I won’t have it.”