Winterwood (17 page)

“So Miss Hurst has kept you well.”

“Oh, yes, Papa. We went to Dover and she bought me the shoes she spoke of. And we were all in the drawing room last evening and Miss Hurst danced with Edward. And later Mr. Peate came to see Great-aunt Tameson.”

“Mr. Peate!” Charlotte was very still, her eyes grown dark.

“He is staying in the village,” Lavinia answered. “Yesterday he walked across the fields and then came up to the house to see Lady Tameson.”

“Why did he walk? It’s a wonder he wasn’t shot for a poacher,” Daniel said.

“I suppose he hasn’t a horse or a carriage,” Edward said pertly.

“If you ask me, the fellow hasn’t got anything.” That was Sir Timothy, who had come pottering in in his velvet smoking jacket, his spectacles hanging precariously over one ear. “He’s a complete blackguard, I believe. All this talk of Australia. Stuff and nonsense. There must have been a bad streak in Willie Peate’s family.”

“Has he gone?” Charlotte asked in a voice so quiet that one scarcely noticed its panic.

“Out of these parts? Bless my soul, no. He said he wouldn’t be leaving without paying his respects to his dear cousin. I imagine he means you, Charlotte. He said something about a promise. I wouldn’t have thought that was a word that made much sense to a fellow like that.”

Charlotte had picked up Sylvie, and wrapped her arms tightly around the shivering animal.

“Did he see my aunt?”

“Certainly. That’s what he professed to have come for.”

“How was she afterwards? Miss Hurst?”

The midnight scene was a deep secret. Eliza had been made to understand that, too.

“A little excited and restless, Mrs. Meryon. Eliza gave her some of the draught the doctor left.”

Daniel set Flora back in her chair. His eyes fixed on Charlotte, he said, “Ask Mr. Peate to dinner, my love.”

“But I thought you didn’t like him.”

“We must be civil, nevertheless. I believe you said something in Venice about his being welcome at Winterwood.”

“I suppose I did say something like that. After all, Aunt Tameson is his aunt, too. If only by marriage. I didn’t really think he had enough regard for her to bother to come.”

“Perhaps Winterwood interests him as well as his aunt.”

“Why do you say that?” Charlotte asked too quickly.

Daniel was watching her, frowning a little.

“I only made a comment, my love. I had a fancy a man like Jonathon Peate would be drawn toward a great house. I scarcely imagine he has the entree to many.”

Charlotte made her familiar gesture of pressing her hands to her temples.

“Don’t let us talk of it now. I am utterly exhausted. That long drive. I must go up. Edward, bring Sylvie for me. You may stay a little while if you’re quiet Poor Mamma’s head—”

She drifted away, the pretty color gone from her cheeks, her head drooping as if the weight of her coiled black hair was too much for her.

Her headaches were not real, Lavinia suddenly knew. They were a form of escape. She had become very adept at using them. Did Daniel mind? There was nothing in his face but the faint anxiety which Lavinia realized was almost habitual when he looked at Charlotte.

For the rest of the day Charlotte kept to her room, except to make a short visit to Lady Tameson.

“I couldn’t help hearing some of what was said, Miss Hurst. The mistress seems upset about Mr. Peate’s visit. She said, ‘You’ll have to send him away,’ and my lady just laughed and said ‘Try.’ ‘Try,’ she said, several times. Then she said, ‘Just let me die in peace, both of you.’ I don’t like it, Miss Hurst.”

“You don’t like what?”

Eliza set her lips. Her honest eyes were puzzled.

“I don’t like what’s happening, yet I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong. All I know is I’m on that poor old woman’s side. And Miss Flora’s, if it comes to that. She’s the only one showed her aunt a bit of love. My, there’ll be a to-do about that secret will.”

“Keep the secret, Eliza,” Lavinia urged.

That night Jonathon Peate came to dinner. Lavinia didn’t know who had invited him, but there he was, handsome in his brash way, paying exaggerated attention to Charlotte, whom he called “pretty cousin.” He was also more than a little interested in his surroundings, and Lavinia saw his eyes wandering speculatively. He even tested the thickness of the carpet with his toe, not minding that his action was noticed.

“Are you interested in carpets, Mr. Peate?” Daniel asked dryly.

Not in the least abashed, Jonathon gave his easy laugh and said that he was interested in everything.

“You have a fine place, Mr. Meryon. I’ll be frank and admit that I’m not accustomed to luxury.”

“You never stayed with your aunt in Venice, then?”

“Goodness me, no. I hadn’t seen her for years. Charlotte and I were in the same position in that respect.”

Charlotte seemed to wince slightly, as if she disliked his familiarity. Yet she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. It was as if she were hypnotized. She could have pleaded her headache and stayed in her room, but it seemed almost as if she were afraid for Jonathon Peate to be there without her, as if she were worried about what he might do or say.

Certainly he was an entertaining guest. He had traveled a great deal, and talked graphically about countries and people and voyages, both on steamships and sailing vessels. He said he intended to go to America after his poor aunt’s death.

“I have an ambition to set up business in New York. In my opinion it’s a far more thriving city than London.”

“What shall you do?” Daniel asked.

“That I haven’t entirely decided. It will depend on my capital.” His gaze went around the room again, musingly and deliberately. It came to rest on Lavinia. “I shall also marry.” He laughed, showing his fine white teeth. “It’s time I settled down.”

“You have an attachment, Jonathon?” Charlotte asked merrily.

“I believe so.”

“You’re not sure? Come, Jonathon, I thought you of all people knew your own mind.” Charlotte seemed to be possessed of an uncontrollable gaiety that almost bordered on hysteria. Her eyes were so bright, so wild. “What is it you look for in a woman? Beauty? Domesticity? Fortune?”

“Spirit,” said Jonathon, looking at Lavinia. “A bit of devilishness, if you like. Temper and spirit. Like a blood horse.” He gave his long laugh. “If that comes with looks as well, I’ll count myself lucky.”

“You seem very sure of yourself, young man,” put in Sir Timothy. “This high-spirited young woman may be having none of you.”

“I think she will,” said Jonathon, smiling. “I think she will.”

Lavinia made a sharp movement, just controlling herself in time. She believed she might have thrown her glass of wine in that abominable man’s face. She knew that she was never going to feel safe until he had left Winterwood.

The evening seemed never-ending. Jonathon turned the sheets of music while Charlotte sang. Then he came to sit beside Lavinia, who kept her eyes fixed on her embroidery.

“Where did you learn to do that stuff?” he asked. His expression was so impertinent, so mocking, that Lavinia, in her state of tension, pricked her finger and had to dab at the blood with her handkerchief.

Jonathon gave his loud ha-ha-ha. “It’s not a natural occupation to you, I can see. Charlotte, how did you come to employ a governess who doesn’t excel at the womanly occupations? Perhaps Miss Hurst is better at arithmetic.”

Stung to lifting her head and looking at him, Lavinia caught Daniel’s gaze instead. Her heart sank. For the first time she saw a question in it.

“Miss Hurst is not a governess,” he said quietly. “Neither is she on trial at this moment.”

The unfortunate word sent a flood of color into Lavinia’s cheeks, but luckily Charlotte, in her quite unpredictable way, had disliked even that doubtful kind of attention which Lavinia was getting, and came sweeping across the room saying that perhaps Jonathon would like to play a hand of bezique. Sir Timothy enjoyed a game, and so did she.

Lavinia took the opportunity to murmur excuses and slip out of the room. She didn’t go upstairs. She was too agitated and restless. She went to the long gallery, lit only by moonlight, and paced up and down, trying to compose herself. One day she would not be able to control her hot temper, and then everything would be finished—Flora with the new shoes she was to walk in, poor dying Lady Tameson, the luxury of the house, the charming blue garden with its uninterrupted quiet…

It was only when she thought of losing these things that she realized how much they meant to her, even Flora with her mixture of disagreeable manners, pathos and fugitive charm.

The moonlight lay in pale swathes across the floor. In the darker areas she had to avoid furniture and the two suits of armor that stood near the door. They were like figures watching her silent perambulation. On her return journey, one of them spoke.

“What is the trouble, Miss Hurst? Why are you so agitated?”

She would have noticed him before if she hadn’t been so wrapped in her thoughts. His white shirtfront was perfectly visible and not at all like the rigid armor-plated chest she had thought it.

“You shouldn’t startle me like that, Mr. Meryon.”

“I’m sorry. Shall we ring for lights?”

“Oh no, no. I only came here for a moment, to be alone.”

“Does Mr. Peate worry you?”

He had said she was not on trial. Was he now going to put her on trial and conduct a cross-examination?

“He is a little too familiar, perhaps. But it’s not for me to criticize your guests.”

Daniel made a violent exclamation, as abruptly bitten off.

“Being meek doesn’t suit you. Why the devil do you have to be meek?”

She looked at him in astonishment.

“What else could I be?”

“I don’t know. I’m only wondering how long you can keep up this charade.”

“If you mean I’m not suited—”

“Oh, you are too well suited. You have warmth and heart. So we use you. Mercilessly.”

“Mercilessly?”

“Perhaps. I should tell you to go, Miss Hurst. But I can’t because Flora needs you. You see that I put my daughter’s good above yours. That’s what I mean by being merciless.”

“I don’t think I understand you. Am I to come to some dreadful harm by staying here?” When he didn’t answer, she laughed uneasily. “I am quite accustomed to coping with unwanted attentions if you are thinking of Mr. Peate.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Mr. Peate.”

“Then—”

“Your eyes are shining in the moonlight, did you know?”

She did, because his were shining also. She was astonished at how much they had progressed in intimacy since that afternoon in the Contessa’s
palazzo.
And yet this had happened without intimate conversations, with nothing more than an occasional meeting and a few formal remarks. In Venice it had been instinctive only; now it was palpable, unmistakable. For one giddy moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She almost willed him to. She stood motionless, aching with the desire to have his arms about her.

But a vestige of common sense remained. She found the logical center of her brain telling her that at least Jonathon Peate’s attentions were honest. Daniel had a wife for whom he showed a constant anxious tenderness; he bought her extravagant and charming gifs, he loved her. So what was this scene but another version of the quick fumble in the dark by the master with the servant?

She made herself move away, saying, “I think I find this conversation quite unintelligible, Mr. Meryon. Will you excuse me if I retire?”

He followed her into the lighted corridor. Out of the treacherous moonlight and shadows sanity had come back to him, too. His voice was as formal as hers.

“Certainly, Miss Hurst. I hope you sleep well.”

It was a mistake to turn and say good night. For then she saw the torment in his face.

You should leave Winterwood… But you can’t desert Flora. Her young life is more important than yours… You know you can’t leave Daniel, but how long will you be able to keep out of his arms. How long?

“I hope you sleep well, Miss Hurst,” he had said. Mockery. Hypocrisy. For he loved his wife. How could he not? She was so beautiful, so gay, but poised so uncertainly on the edge of happiness, retreating into headaches and collapses, needing his tenderness and understanding.

Lavinia did at last fall asleep, but only to be wakened by Charlotte laughing. She thought the card party must have only now broken up, and that they were going upstairs to bed.

When the laughter continued, she fumbled for the candlestick at her bedside, and struck a match. The light fell on the face of the little bedside clock, showing that it was four o’clock. Then why was Charlotte still walking about?

The laughter died, then began again, so close that it seemed to be just outside her door. There was a whispering; then Charlotte said quite clearly, “No, it isn’t my cousin who has upset me. I find him amusing and pleasant and I have no intention of sending him away.” Abruptly she broke into another peal of laughter. For no reason at all Lavinia found herself shivering. She heard Daniel’s voice, “Hush!” and Charlotte saying, “Don’t stop me. If I didn’t laugh I would go mad.”

Daniel must have taken her arm then, for there was a murmur of something about “Bertha” and “one of your pills” and the voices died away. Presently a door shut. The strange early-morning promenade was over.

The next morning Flora couldn’t eat her breakfast. She said she was perfectly well, but not hungry. When Lavinia began the massage of her legs, which was now routine, she said, “Why do you
pretend,
Miss Hurst? You know I will never walk again.”

Lavinia suddenly guessed the reason for this mood. Flora must have heard the disturbance in the corridor last night.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked. “I don’t suppose you did. People were walking about awfully late. Mr. Peate kept your mamma and papa up playing cards.”

Flora lifted a tearstreaked face.

“If I don’t marry, Mamma will have me
forever!”

“Not necessarily. You may have your own establishment.”

“How? Papa isn’t rich enough. He says Winterwood takes all his income.”

Lavinia wished she could tell Flora how rich she was going to be.