Shades of Milk and Honey (11 page)

“Oh! How beautiful!” Miss Dunkirk dashed to the nearest rosebush and inhaled the subtle perfume. “One imagines lovers from one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels walking through these flowers and declaring their love and undying passion.”

“It is hard for me to imagine that! My memories are of hiding from our governess here.”

“Did you truly hide? I would have imagined that you were a dutiful pupil.”

“I was, for the most part, but for a period of several months our governess was quite taken with dosing us with the vilest tonic you can imagine. I hid whenever it was time for the tonic, hoping that this time, I would get away, but she always found me in the end. So now, every turn makes me think of the secret passages and running from tonics.”

Miss Dunkirk’s face lit with delight. “Are there secret passages?”

“Not formally, but there were places where a shrub is missing and tree branches were trained to cover the gap.” Jane laughed as old memories came trooping back. “I had quite forgotten how I used to frustrate Henry—Captain Livingston, now—when he stayed with his aunt.
Lady FitzCameron would let him come to play with us, but his idea of playing involved chasing us with snakes or toads.”

“Did he! I cannot imagine him being so awful.” Miss Dunkirk clapped her hands and leaned closer, her face shining with merriment. “Oh, do tell me. What was he like as a boy?”

“A scoundrel. I suppose all little boys are, but he was the only one close to our age at the time. Nothing delighted him more than making us shriek. So I would run into the maze and hide while he looked everywhere for me. It was easy, for a small girl could slip through the gaps. The hardest thing was controlling my laughter as he ran past me. I have not thought to cut through the hedge in years, and it is likely that I am no longer small enough to do so.” She touched the petals of a rose, thinking of her father’s request that she wear roses, and then of the ball, where she would gladly have slipped through the walls. “I think I prefer your imaginings to my memories. This should be a place for lovers.”

“Mr. Vincent would like it, I think. It is so hard to tell what he likes and does not like, but I think that he is fond of seclusion, so a hidden garden would appeal to him. Do you not think so?”

“Perhaps. I know very little of him.” Jane winced, remembering the
tableau vivant
on the hill. “I am afraid that he does not care for me.”

“Oh, but that’s not true! He likes you very much.”

Surprized, Jane said, “Does he? It does not seem so to me. What has he said to make you think that he does?”

“
I
said that you were very talented, and he didn’t say that you
weren’t
—which might not seem like much to you, but to one who knows him, it is clear that he agreed, or he would have said otherwise. Oh, he is very droll like that. A look or a glance will be all he will allow of his thoughts, but to one who knows him, it is as if he had said a volume.”

Jane wondered that Miss Dunkirk would boast so of knowing him, almost as if they had the intimacy of family. “I must bow to your judgment, since I know so little of the man and you study with him.”

“He is such a wonderful teacher. Truly he is. Though I wish I had half the talent that you do.” Miss Dunkirk sighed and sat on the bench in the middle of the roses. “He is like my brother: They both think that the arts are the highest accomplishments and think little of people without those skills.”

A small hope flared in Jane’s breast that Mr. Dunkirk might learn of Melody’s deficiency in the matter of the arts, but she quashed it as ruthlessly as she could. Though she felt she would have been justified in exposing Melody after her trick the day before, Jane would not—she could not—bring herself to be anything less than virtuous with regards to Mr. Dunkirk if she had any hope of gaining his—

Jane reined in her thought there. No. She had no hope of that. She must remember herself and not be tempted by the idle thoughts of Mr. Dunkirk’s sister, who was, after all, very young and given to fancies.

“Now, I know you have spoken falsely, for your brother holds you in high regard.”

“Well, he is bound to! Mr. Vincent is not, but I begin to think that he likes me a little, because he is not so cross as when he first came. I have seen him once or twice almost smile at me when I did something right.”

“Ah. ‘Almost smiles’ are indeed something worth working for.”

“You may teaze me, but Mr. Vincent’s praise is more valuable for being rare.” Miss Dunkirk’s gaze turned inward, and her countenance darkened. “Teachers with quick praise are not to be trusted.”

Jane regarded her, wondering again what her history was that gave her periods of such darkness. These moods had become rarer as she and Miss Dunkirk had gotten to know each other, but some chance word or turn of phrase would still cast her spirits down from time to time. Jane wanted to bring her back to her former laughing self, so she said, “I have always thought that the least trustworthy teachers were the ones with tonics.”

A laugh broke out of Miss Dunkirk, restoring gaiety to her face. “I thank the heavens I have never had a tutor with tonics.”

At that point, Mr. Dunkirk and Melody finally reached the center of the maze. “There you are. We have been hearing your laughter, but could not find you. At least, I could not. I am certain that Miss Melody knew her way through the maze precisely.”

“It does not do to go too quickly to the heart, Mr. Dunkirk,” Melody said, her gaze cast downward, looking
out from under her eyelashes at him. “I knew you would find your way sooner or later.”

Oblivious to Melody’s flirtation, Miss Dunkirk hurried at once to her brother’s side. “Oh, Edmund. You must build a shrubbery at Robinsford Abbey with a maze in it. I can think of nothing more charming. Say you will. Do, say you will.”

He ruffled Miss Dunkirk’s hair fondly, as if she were still a little child. “And where does this desire come from? I cannot think of hearing you express a preference for mazes before now.”

“It is only that it is so charming and romantic. Well, Miss Ellsworth doesn’t think it is, but I do. Say you will build one.”

“Oh?” He ignored her renewed entreaty and arched an eyebrow at Jane, who had remained at the bench when they entered. “And what is your opinion of mazes?”

Between Jane and Miss Dunkirk they related the tale of the governess with the tonic. Melody joined in the recital with details which Jane had quite forgotten. As the group made their way out of the maze, Jane gradually faded to the back of the conversation. Melody sparkled and laughed, holding the attention of the Dunkirks with her charm. So Jane, who had not the heart to listen, was the first to see the man exiting their house.

To her surprize, Mr. Vincent had come to call.

Upon seeing them, Mr. Vincent looked as though he would like to vanish, either into the house or under one of his charms, but after a moment he greeted Miss Dunkirk with more cordiality than Jane would have suspected him capable, and offered only slightly less to the rest of the party.

Miss Dunkirk wanted to shew him the maze at once, but her brother suggested that perhaps Mr. Vincent had come for some purpose and that they should let him communicate that first. At that, Mr. Vincent stammered and rubbed at the ground with his boot and looked so ill at ease that Jane suggested that they retire to the drawing room, thinking that it might give him
some time to gather his wits. It seemed apparent that her judgment was entirely correct in that by the time they reached the drawing room, he had returned to his usual taciturn self.

Once they had seated themselves and Jane had rung for some refreshments, Mr. Vincent seemed to gather his strength. He said, “Lady FitzCameron sent me. She thought I might amuse Miss Melody in her convalescence.” He left unsaid the rest of his thought, that Melody seemed uninjured and that his trip was to no purpose.

“How kind, Mr. Vincent! I am quite well, as you see, but I do appreciate Lady FitzCameron’s generous attention.” Melody’s warmth was too much for Jane to bear, knowing how much of the attention was due to a deliberate falsehood.

“If you will excuse me,” Jane said, “I should check on our mother. She was not well this morning and I have been too long away.” As she let herself out of the room, she reflected that her own words, while strictly true, were at their heart as much a falsehood as Melody’s. Though Mrs. Ellsworth had been unwell that morning, Jane had no real concern for her well-being. She simply needed to be away so that she did not have to bear witness to the fruits of her sister’s behaviour.

She went upstairs to her mother’s rooms and spent a quarter hour helping Mrs. Ellsworth with the arrangement of her pillows—which were not fluffed enough and then were lofted too high, and with the blankets, which were too
hot and then too cold—when she heard the front door close.

“Who do you suppose that is?” Mrs. Ellsworth queried.

“I am sure I do not know. It might be the Dunkirks departing, or Mr. Vincent.”

“Well, go at once and look. My nerves cannot abide not knowing.”

Jane went to the window and, seeing the figures on horseback ride down the front and sweep back to Robinsford Abbey said, “It was Mr. and Miss Dunkirk on their way to Robinsford Abbey.” Which meant that Melody was now alone with Mr. Vincent. Well, Jane need not rescue Melody from that quarter: he may torture her with silence and his brusque nature, but he would not do anything to inspire any real danger of impropriety from Melody. So Jane stayed by her mother’s side adjusting all the small comforts needed to ease her fretting. She had just begun to read to her from William Meinhold’s
Sidonia the Sorceress: The Supposed Destroyer of the Whole Reigning Ducal House of Pomerania
when the distant sound of the front door opening and shutting interrupted her recital.

“Who is that?” Mrs. Ellsworth demanded.

“Mr. Vincent departing, I should expect,” Jane said.

Her mother plucked at the blanket fretfully and craned her neck toward the window as though by artful twisting of her head she might see out it. Jane put aside the book without waiting for her mother to ask a second time. She looked
out the window, fully expecting that Mr. Vincent would be striding across the lawn, but saw no one.

“Well?” her mother demanded querulously from the bed. “Who is it? Was it Mr. Vincent?”

“No. Someone must have arrived, but I do not know who it could be.” Jane returned to her book, intent on resuming where she had left off, with Sidonia in danger from a bear, but her mother was not willing to let the matter rest.

“Oh, I do hope it is not Lady FitzCameron. Perhaps I should prepare myself in case it is. It would not do to receive her in bed. Now, if it were Mrs. Marchand, it would be quite a different story because Joy is always so generous and so understanding of my neuralgia. She would be quite, quite willing to see me in the state that I am in, especially after the fright over poor Melody.”

“First, Mother, I am certain that it is not Lady FitzCameron, for her carriage is not at the door. Second, you have no reason to be still afraid for poor Melody, as we went for a walk in the shrubbery this morning and she gave every sign of having affected a full recovery.”

“Oh! I do wish I had been consulted. I would have told her not to go walking under any circumstances. A fall such as hers can have grave consequences later, without any warning. Mark my words, she will be plagued with health troubles for the rest of her life.”

Jane feared that was true, though not for the reasons put forward by her mother. She had a vision of Melody becoming an invalid like Mrs. Ellsworth, for the purpose of the
attention it brought to her. She wondered if that was how her mother’s case had begun, and if Mrs. Ellsworth knew any longer what her real aches were and which were imagined. Melody’s moans of pain had seemed genuine enough. Still, Jane reassured her mother on Melody’s general good health as best she could and then asked if she should continue reading
Sidonia the Sorceress.

“Oh no! I should not be able to concentrate without knowing who is belowstairs. Pray, do go and see who has come. If it is a person of consequence, I should pay my respects.”

Jane could have told her mother that if it had been a person of consequence, Nancy would have brought his or her card up straightaway, but she knew that to argue would only prolong the moment when she went to quiet her mother’s unease. “Of course. I will be happy to check for you.”

Setting the book aside once more, Jane made her way downstairs. She paused by the parlour door, struck by the bouts of laughter within. Jane cracked the door, peering in at a scene which astounded her.

Melody was seated on the couch by Captain Livingston, who must have been the recent arrival. They faced Mr. Vincent, who was conjuring small vignettes on the tea table before them. Jane could barely make out the illusion from where she was, so she crept farther into the room in order to see better. Mindful of Mr. Vincent’s feelings, she endeavored not to watch the folds he manipulated, but to focus on the small manikins. Even so, she marveled at his
skill in managing the minuscule folds needed to create the illusion. The scenery, he had tied off; but beyond that, she was unwilling to look. She would try to enjoy the scene for what it was.