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  “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.

  “Don’t let’s be so gloomy.”

  Flora leaned forward, her face sharpened into an uncomfortable intensity. “How can I help being gloomy, when Mamma says she will go mad? It’s because of me, I know.”

  “Mamma exaggerates. And so do you. The sun’s shining today, had you noticed? I thought we might take an airing into the village later. I have some small purchases to make, and perhaps you have, too.”

  “What should I need?” Flora said sulkily.

  “I don’t know. A new face, perhaps. I don’t much care for the look of this one this morning.”

  “When Mamma laughs like that, Papa gets upset,” Flora said rapidly as if telling a long-suppressed secret. “He looks worried and says she must take her pills. He never laughs, too. Because there isn’t anything funny to laugh at, except privately in Mamma’s head.”

  So Flora was touched by the chill of that laughter, too. It was perplexing, especially since Charlotte was so gay when she came in to say good morning. She was dressed in a pale gray riding habit and looked very elegant.

  “What’s this? Your breakfast not eaten? Are you ill, dearest?”

  “No, Mamma.”

  “What is it, Miss Hurst? She looks pale.”

  Flora’s passionate glance toward Lavinia meant that nothing was to be said.

  “I think she just needs some fresh air, Mrs. Meryon. I thought if the sun stays out we would go for a walk into the village.”

  “What a good idea. I am going out, too. Sylvie needs exercise, and so do I. We ate such large meals at Windsor. Course after course. I was telling Teddy about Prince Edward’s toy soldiers. He has not only the British army but the French, too. I have promised Teddy some similar ones. What would you like, Flora dear? I am not sure what were the little princesses’ favorite toys. They are allowed to look at but not touch their mamma’s collection of dolls.”

  “I am too old for dolls,” Flora said ungraciously.

  “Naturally, darling. But there must be something you would like.”

  “I want nothing but a new horse.”

  Charlotte’s brow puckered anxiously. Did she realize her uncontrolled laughter last night must have disturbed the house, and now was she trying to make amends by being the perfect mother, the perfect wife?

  “Someday, my darling. But I can’t buy that in the village, can I? Now cheer up. I hope that walk will put some roses in your cheeks.”

  Fortunately the day stayed fine enough for the walk into the village. Lavinia asked Mary to come, too, thinking the perky little creature would chatter enough to amuse Flora. They took it in turns to push the chair down the rutted lane, and finally Flora was giggling wildly at the bumps and skids. In the village she plainly enjoyed the deference paid her, the doffed caps and the bobs, and the anxious inquiries about her health.

  Lavinia left her with Mary on the village green while she went into the tiny dark apothecary’s shop to make some purchases. Perhaps, in her position, it wasn’t wise to be asking for her favorite rose-perfumed soap, and rice powder, but there was a limit to the sacrifices that she could make.

  “Good morning, miss,” said the chemist. “I hope the young lady is better. I’d advise a warm scarf against the wind.”

  “But she isn’t ill,” Lavinia said, in surprise.

  “No, I suppose toothache isn’t exactly an illness. But it’s painful enough, for all that. I hope the laudanum was an effective remedy.”

  Lavinia was about to tell him that he was making a mistake, he must be confusing Flora with some other child. Some instinct stopped her, and she listened to him saying, “Now there’s a lovely lady, Mrs. Meryon. So upset about Miss Flora that she came herself to fetch the medicine for her. I advise care in its use, though. It’s dangerous stuff.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.” Lavinia took her purchases, and paid for them.

  Had Charlotte wanted the laudanum for herself? Did that explain her erratic moods?

  Chapter 12

  WHEN THEY GOT HOME, Jonathon Peate was standing warming himself at the fire in the library. He looked as much at home as if he had been a constant guest at Winterwood for the whole of his life. He saw their arrival, and came strolling to the door, giving his jovial laugh.

  “Hullo, princess. Have you been taking an airing? And the fair Miss Hurst!” He bowed low. “If I had known, I would have accompanied you.”

  “But you would not have been invited,” Flora said in her clear, merciless voice. “Call Joseph, Miss Hurst. I wish to go up immediately.”

  Charlotte came hurrying down the stairs at that moment, saying, “I’m sorry, Jonathon, but Aunt Tameson isn’t feeling well enough to see anyone at present. She’s had another attack, and is resting.”

  “I’ll wait,” said Jonathon smiling. “I have plenty of time.”

  “By all means have some sherry with me. But it’s no use expecting to see Aunt Tameson tonight. Miss Hurst, what are you doing standing there?”

  “Waiting for Joseph to take Flora up,” Lavinia answered calmly. She wondered why Charlotte’s voice had that edge of hysteria. Was she so upset because Aunt Tameson had had another attack?

  Flora’s hands were tight on the arms of her chair. When Joseph came she clung to him, looking over his shoulder at Lavinia.

  “I hate Mr. Peate! I expect Great-aunt Tameson heard his voice and that’s why she is ill again.”

  But, strangely enough, Lady Tameson wasn’t exhausted from another attack. She heard their approach and rang her bell violently. When they went in, she said, “I’ve been waiting for you, Flora. I have the cards dealt”

  Flora’s face brightened.

  “Mamma said you were not well enough to see anybody. Was she just telling a lie to that horrid Mr. Peate?”

  Propped against the pillows, Lady Tameson looked remarkably alert. At Flora’s words she first of all looked startled; then a curious, sly look came over her face.

  “I’ve got them all running,” she said obscurely. She gave her dry cackle. “So Jonathon’s downstairs, is he? Well, let Charlotte entertain him. Now, miss. Get your outdoor things off. Hurry up. I have a feeling I’m going to give you a sound trouncing today.”

  “If you cheat, Great-aunt Tameson, I’ll refuse to play with you again.”

  “Oh, get along with you. Everyone has to cheat at some time. The important thing is not to be caught at it.”

  So Charlotte had not even looked in to see if her aunt were well enough for visitors. For reasons of her own she was keeping Jonathon away. Lavinia thought about the laudanum she had purchased and was suddenly cold. Surely Charlotte could not be planning to hasten the old lady’s death—because it was dangerous to her interests to have Jonathon using his persuasions on a gullible old woman…

  Anything seemed possible that evening, for although Jonathon had departed before dinner, Charlotte was terribly restless. At first she talked too much, then was completely silent. She toyed with her food, and paid no attention to the conversation of Daniel and Sir Timothy. Almost before dess
ert was finished she sprang up to leave the table, and Lavinia had to follow her.

  In the drawing room she turned her strange intense gaze on Lavinia and exclaimed, “Don’t stare at me, Miss Hurst. You did nothing through the whole of dinner but stare at me.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Meryon. I hadn’t meant to.”

  “You’re wondering why I didn’t allow Mr. Peate to see my aunt. It was only because he isn’t an ideal sickroom visitor, as even you must admit. He means well, no doubt. But all that virility—” Charlotte shuddered, as if the virility disturbed her as much as it must an old sick woman. Yet Lavinia was certain it wasn’t the real reason for keeping Jonathon away. And could she continue to do so? Jonathon wasn’t a man to be prevented from doing what he wished. “I can wait,” he had said.

  As it happened, there was no need for Charlotte to worry. For Lady Tameson died that night.

  Only Eliza was with her.

  Hours later, after Doctor Munro had been and gone, the funeral arrangements made, and the bedroom door shut, and the little silver bell on the bedside table stood silent, Eliza was still incoherent.

  She had grown fond of the old lady she said. She would miss her terribly.

  “She had just said her prayers, Miss Hurst. I’d never heard her say them before. She must have had a feeling she was going. She said, ‘You’ve been good to me, Eliza.’” Eliza’s apron went to her eyes. “And then she kept groping at her neck. I don’t know whether she couldn’t get her breath, or whether she was feeling for a crucifix. I once nursed a Roman Catholic lady who held her crucifix all the time, and that put it in my mind. But my lady wasn’t a Roman Catholic, was she? She can’t be, if she’s to be buried with her little boy.”

  Eliza looked a little calmer, as she made her recital of the night’s drama.

  “I might have just fancied it. It was ever so queer in the half dark. I’d only had time to light one candle and I really couldn’t see properly. Poor lady. She’s to be buried with her rings on, the mistress says, because they’re too tight to get off. I always wondered at her not having them cut off before they, got so tight. But she was so fond of her jewelry, poor soul. She’ll be happy to take some of it with her.”