Winterwood (14 page)

S
IMON,
ON HOLIDAY FROM
school, and Edward’s tutor, a fair-haired nervous young man called Mr. Bush, arrived together the next day.

Simon was a grave, quiet boy so like his father that Lavinia loved him on sight. Flora, too, had a great affection for him, though she pretended otherwise.

Edward’s reaction to the two arrivals was to disappear for the entire morning, and to be brought home muddy, wet and unrepentant. He flew at once to his mother, muddying her skirts, but Charlotte merely smiled fondly and said that although Mr. Bush was to teach him arithmetic and grammar, he was not to crush his high spirits.

“Poor Mr. Bush,” Flora giggled. “He looks completely alarmed already. Do you like his appearance, Miss Hurst?”

“Yes, but I think he looks too young and gentle.”

“I fear so, too,” Flora sighed.

“Why are you so distressed? For Mr. Bush’s sake?”

“No, for yours, Miss Hurst. I had thought he might make a husband for you. Mamma never said he was so young, or so entirely unsuitable.”

“Your Mamma had Edward’s future in mind, not mine.”

“Yes, but I had thought you might have a romantic friendship, while Edward was being taught better manners.”

“Flora, you’re quite incorrigible. Now let us get on with our lesson, and have no more matchmaking. Poor Mr. Bush.”

The thought made them both suddenly burst into peals of laughter. A shadow fell across the table. Daniel picked up the book they had been reading.

“The poems of Alfred Tennyson. I hadn’t known Mr. Tennyson was a humorist.”

“Oh, Papa, he isn’t,” Flora spluttered “Miss Hurst and I were having a joke.”

“May I not share it?”

Flora refused to see Lavinia’s warning glance. “I was hoping to arrange Miss Hurst’s marriage to Mr. Bush. But I’m afraid he’s unsuitable. Isn’t it a great pity? Papa, don’t you find it amusing?”

“Not in the least,” said Daniel. “Just as I find the part of matchmaker very unsuitable to you.”

Flora’s eyes sparkled.

“Are you angry with me, Papa?”

“With you for being precocious and with Miss Hurst for encouraging you.” He swung on his heel and went out.

Flora stared at Lavinia aghast, then burst into violent sobs. It was some time before Lavinia could calm her. Then she said, “It’s because Simon is home. Papa loves him best.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Then why was he cross with me just because I mentioned your marrying Mr. Bush? And he gave Mamma Sylvie. He knows how dearly I would love a greyhound. And soon they are going to have a gay time at Windsor while I am stuck here in this damn chair.”

She stared at Lavinia aggressively, waiting for her exclamation of shock at the unladylike word. In this mood she was very plain. Her mother’s delicate beauty had missed her completely. She was a pale little caterpillar of a person, perhaps with a chrysalis to break out of, though at this moment it seemed she was doomed to plainness, and a pathetic endless search for love.

Lavinia quelled her distaste, then wondered if it were not distaste but a heart-wrenching pain. It would be easy to fall into self-pity with Flora. She, too, disliked thinking of the gay royal occasion at Windsor.

“Is everyone to be helpless and unhappy simply because you are? Anyway, your mamma will let you take care of Sylvie while she is away. And perhaps by the time they return you will be able to walk again.”

Flora’s fingers curled into her palms hard.

“Miss Hurst, you really are the most stupid person. You know very well I am a prisoner in this chair forever.”

“That’s because you want to be.”

Flora was startled out of her bad temper.

“I
want
to be! Do you think I
like
it?”

“You make a great fuss when I want to rub your legs. You say you can’t do exercises. So I can only conclude you enjoy your condition.”

Flora bit her lip. “Are you going to leave me?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you said that as if you hated me.”

“I think you talk too much about love and hate. No, I’m not going to leave you, at least not until you can walk again.”

And that was a rash thing to say, for suddenly Flora’s face blazed with the first look of hope Lavinia had yet seen in it. But all she said was, “Then I suppose I had better try to do those old exercises. Come, Miss Hurst. Take me upstairs.”

Now she was committed. Flora had to be made to walk.

The strange woman called that afternoon after Charlotte and Lady Tameson had departed for a drive which was to include a call on the vicar, Mr. Clayton, and a visit to little Tom’s grave. Edward had accompanied them and, as usual, Flora was jealous.

“Mamma’s making Edward Great-aunt Tameson’s pet, too.”

“You don’t want to go to a graveyard,” Lavinia said.

“I do. I love the little angel on Tom’s grave. I love it almost as much as the baby in my garden.”

“How can you go in your chair?” Edward jeered. “You’d go bump bump over the graves. Anyway, I don’t want to sit in the carriage beside Great-aunt Tameson. She smells.”

“It’s only her violet perfume. I expect she wears it so little Tom will recognize her when she goes to heaven.”

“I wish she’d go soon,” Edward said. “Mamma is always making me do reading and writing with her. I can write my name better than she can write hers and she’s as old as the hills.”

“You’re showing off,” said Flora. “She’d rather play cards with me, and I hate her more than you do.”

Edward had gone off unwillingly, dressed in his blue velvet suit, with his black curls shining. And later the stranger had arrived.

She was sitting in the hall when Lavinia took Flora down for her afternoon walk. Joseph said she had been there for half an hour and was waiting to see Lady Tameson. She was a plainly dressed elderly woman, a neat black bonnet framing her pleasant face. She had made a long journey, she had said, and wouldn’t leave without seeing Lady Tameson.

Just then Lavinia heard the wheels of the carriage, and pulled Flora’s chair aside to allow Lady Tameson, leaning heavily on Charlotte’s arm, to enter.

The visitor sprang up and dropped a curtsey.

“Ma’am!” she cried. “Asking your pardon, but I heard about your return and I had to come and see you. After all these years.”

Lady Tameson stared.

“Charlotte, who is this? Why should she want to see me?”

“But don’t you remember Bessie Jenkins, ma’am? I was with you when the news came from Brussels, about the poor master, and then when your little boy died, bless his heart. You wouldn’t forget crying all night in my arms, ma’am?”

Lady Tameson’s mouth opened and shut, but no sound came. She seemed bewildered.

“It’s a long time ago. Bessie Jenkins? You must have changed.”

“Asking your pardon, but so have you, ma’am. Your beautiful hair that I used to be so proud to brush—”

It was Charlotte who interrupted, her voice high and strained.

“Naturally people change in forty years. My aunt is very feeble, Mrs. Jenkins. You haven’t chosen a very opportune time to call. It would have been better if you had written first, so that my aunt could have been prepared. Just now she’s distressed after seeing her son’s grave. I must see her upstairs.” Over her shoulder she said, “If you go to the kitchen one of the maids will give you a cup of tea.”

The expression on Bessie Jenkins’ face was first one of disappointment, then of anger. She stared after the two slowly ascending the stairs, and said clearly, “I won’t be taking any tea, thank you. I’ll get on my ways.”

She was muttering to herself as she made for the door, “That Miss Charlotte always was above herself.”

Flora, who had watched and heard everything with the keenest interest, suddenly wheeled her chair rapidly after the disgruntled Mrs. Jenkins.

“You are speaking of my mother,” she said haughtily.

“Aye. I spoke the truth.”

“Do you remember her, as well as Great-aunt Tameson?”

“She was a wee bit of a thing. She’d not recall me now. But the mistress—aye, her memory’s gone, poor thing. She wouldn’t have not recollected Bessie Jenkins otherwise. Well, I’ll be off, and sorry I made the journey.”

“Great-aunt Tameson wouldn’t mean to be unkind,” Flora said earnestly.

“No, I wouldn’t have thought so. I wouldn’t have thought her head would be turned by marrying into the foreign nobility. But it’s a sad thing she doesn’t remember her Bessie. We shed many a tear together once upon a time. Well now, that’s life. And you’re a poor wee thing sitting in that contraption.”

Flora’s eyes flashed. “It’s not forever. You don’t have to be sorry for me.”

“I can see that. I like a bit of spirit. You’re like my poor mistress used to be. Bless you, lassie. You can tell your mamma I won’t trouble to call again since I can see it’s no use. Though I’d never have believed the mistress would have forgotten her Bessie.”

The next day Mr. Mallinson, the solicitor, came down from London. There was a great deal of solemnity while he took his instructions and prepared Lady Tameson’s will, with the ceremony of signing it to follow. Lavinia was called in to take her part in this. She noticed that poor Lady Tameson was quite distressed and nervous. No doubt signing her will did make her see all too clearly the grave yawning. Mr. Mallinson seemed to understand this, for he was as soothing and tactful as a doctor. When she had at last made her laborious signature, “Tameson Barrata,” and worried about her handwriting being too shaky he assured her that it was perfectly legible, and in any case the two witnesses had observed her making it, which was their purpose.

“Well, Charlotte. I’ve kept my word.”

“Yes, aunt, dear. Now you must rest.”

“Why? I’m not exhausted from signing my name. Don’t shut me away now that everything’s done neatly. Ask Flora to come and play a game of cards with me.”

It seemed that the ceremony of the will had upset Charlotte more than it had Lady Tameson. Her eyes were strained and apprehensive. Had she thought the old lady would die before her estate was made over to the occupants of Winterwood—as undoubtedly it had been?

“Aunt, you know Flora always upsets you. You both quarrel.”

“I like quarreling. Send the child in.”

Apart from Mr. Mallinson’s visit nothing happened that weekend. His business accomplished, Mr. Mallinson proved to be a jolly little man fond of his food and wine. He played chess with Sir Timothy after dinner and reminisced about various episodes in his legal life. He regretted that he had not known Lady Tameson previously. It was his partner, now deceased, who had acted for her at the time of her first husband’s death.

Charlotte didn’t sing that evening. She reclined on the couch, Sylvie, the little greyhound, curled up beside her. She said she felt quite well, but she wasn’t really relaxed. Once she sighed deeply, as if some worry were over.

In the morning Daniel and Simon went riding, and later everyone except Lady Tameson went to church, even Flora, whom her father carried in and propped among cushions in the family pew. The sides were high enough to prevent the curious from staring in, but there were plenty of stares of pity and interest when Daniel carried her out again. Flora was used to this and clearly enjoyed it. She put on her most wan look and drooped against her father’s shoulder, her eyes remarkably observant beneath their meekly lowered lashes. A pat on the head from the vicar and a reverent inquiry as to her health completed her satisfaction.

Lavinia was pleased enough to have Flora take all the attention. She wondered how long it would be before she stopped being nervous of the stare of strangers. Supposing someone exclaimed, “Miss Hurstmonceaux!” as Jonathon Peate had done.

But the quiet little village took no more than a passing interest in her. There was much more to take attention, with poor crippled Miss Flora’s appearance, and the talk about Mrs. Willie Peate, now a foreign contessa, and the London solicitor down.

Sunday passed and it was Monday and Mr. Mallinson left in the dogcart to catch the train back to London.

That was the morning Edward played truant again from poor Mr. Bush and was found fishing for tadpoles in the village pond, his jacket muddied and his feet soaking wet. Winterwood was a large house, but scarcely large enough for Edward’s yells not to be heard all over it when his father punished him. Charlotte retired to her room and Flora gloated over the chastened Edward.

“Did Papa beat you? It was hardly worthwhile for a few silly tadpoles. What do you plan to do with them? Grow them into frogs?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“I’m not telling.” Edward was tearstained and sulky. “It isn’t fair, anyway. You play cards with Great-aunt Tameson and Simon plays chess with Uncle Timothy and I have nobody.”

“You’re Mamma’s pet,” Flora pointed out.

“Mamma has Sylvie now.”

“Then you have Mr. Bush.”

“And you had better go to him at once if you don’t want more trouble,” Lavinia said. She weakened. She supposed the child was lonely. “Later you may come for a walk with Flora and me.”

But Edward hadn’t finished with trouble for that day. Suddenly, late in the afternoon, Lady Tameson screamed. When Eliza rushed in, she found the old lady blue in the face and moaning with pain. A draught of her medicine revived her sufficiently to gasp something about a “beast” in the bed and Eliza stripped back the sheets to find two of Edward’s tadpoles, expiring more successfully than Lady Tameson.

This time the culprit had the grace to look a little frightened.

“Edward, you could have killed her!” Lavinia exclaimed. “Don’t you realize that?”

“Tadpoles don’t hurt you!” Edward said sulkily.

“But why did you do it, you little imp?” Eliza was beside herself with fright. “Did you want to kill your poor old auntie? What good would that be doing you?”

“It was only a joke,” Edward maintained stoutly. “I only thought the tadpoles would—would—” He had seen his mother coming and burst into loud sobs. “Mamma, I wasn’t really trying to kill her.”

Charlotte was hurrying, her arms outstretched.

“Who is saying such a terrible thing? Miss Hurst! Eliza! This is frightful. An innocent child!” She gathered the sobbing boy into her arms. “I was resting and I heard the commotion. Whatever is the trouble?”