Blind Trust (17 page)

“But you're not dressed to go out.”

“Go out? But where am I going, Adelle?”

“Sakes alive, Darcy Statton, don't you remember you're to pay a call with me today? You promised—and not only that, you
must
. I know William Archer isn't a blood relative, but I am related by marriage, and I have to call on his fiancé. She's sitting there in that huge house, all alone—no relatives on
that
side, so she'll be depending on William's. I know it's tiresome, but you
did
promise.”

“Oh, Adelle, of course I did.” Darcy made an effort to concentrate. Like the tonic, the engagement had completely flown out of her mind, but she remembered now that she had promised Adelle last week. How fortuitious this was. “I'm so sorry I'm not ready, but it will take me only a moment. Have a cup of tea with Claude, and I'll be right back down.”

“Now, Darcy, I don't know,” Claude said. “You said you would stay home today, my dear.”

“Don't be silly, Claude. She's not staying home, she's going with me. It's a family obligation.” The green feathers on her gay little hat quivering, Adelle sat down with the air of a person in the right. “And she promised,” she said to Claude, as though that settled it.

“Well, if you take our carriage and come right back here with her. No shopping at A. T. Stewarts or tea at Sherry's. Will you give me your promise, Adelle? Darcy hasn't been well.”

“I promise faithfully, Claude, I will deliver your wife back to your doorstep immediately after the call,” Adelle said solemnly. “But I came in my carriage, and we will take it.”

Claude wasn't satisfied, but he nodded; he wouldn't risk offending Adelle by suggesting Darcy should travel in something more stately than Adelle's bright canary carriage with the maroon upholstery.

Smiling to herself, Darcy left the room quickly. Solange helped her into her new ruby velvet dress with an underskirt of the palest pink. It had a matching coat with a fur cape and muff, and she turned in front of the mirror for a last look. Her cheeks were a bit pale, and she pinched them for color.

Adelle rose as soon as Darcy entered the room. “Darcy certainly looks very well to me,” she said, rising and holding out a hand to Claude. “Come along, Darcy.”

The sun outside was very bright. Darcy faltered for a moment and pressed her hand to her forehead.

“Are you all right, dear?” Adelle said by her elbow. “Don't tell me that Claude had reason for concern. I thought he was just being fussy.”

The momentary dizziness cleared. “It was just the sun. It's very bright today.” Darcy climbed into the carriage and sank gratefully into the leather seat. It was warm and comfortable inside from sitting in a pool of sunlight.

Perhaps it was the sleepless night spent thinking of Tavish. Perhaps it was the result of dressing so hurriedly. Perhaps it was the effort of trying to figure out how, after they paid the call, she'd be able to get away from Adelle without too many questions. But she suddenly felt rather drowsy. Darcy leaned back and closed her eyes.

Adelle wasn't at all put out when Darcy fell asleep, but she did poke her rather sharply in the ribs when they were ushered into Julia Hinkle's parlor. She shot Darcy a warning look that told her to wake up and join the conversation. They had fifteen minutes to talk about the weather and social happenings around town—excluding any gossip, of course—and perhaps a word or two about the wedding plans.

“I was so glad to hear about you and William,” Darcy said.

“Are you enjoying New York, Miss Hinkle?” Adelle asked.

“If I were not, you could hardly expect me to own up to it,” Julia Hinkle said. Her hazel eyes had a gleam of sharp intelligence in them, and her thick coiled hair gleamed. She had an hourglass figure, fashionably plump, and was beautifully dressed in dovegray peau de soie with pink roses embroidered on the bodice and along the scalloped skirt. Valenciennes lace trimmed the sleeves and neckline. “I know how New Yorkers are about their city. Still, I can honestly say that I
am
enjoying the bustle of New York. My father is homesick for San Francisco, though, I fear.”

“I hear it's a lovely city,” Darcy said. “I'd like to see it someday.”

“It is so very beautiful. I think you would enjoy it, Mrs. Statton, for I cannot imagine anyone not admiring its beauty—the blue bay and the golden hills. That is to say, if you survive the train trip there,” Julia said, her lips quirking upward with a hint of mischief. “We had a private car, but it was still quite grim. We were stuck for a day and a half in a snowstorm on the way. I did not know what would have been worse—to take my chances in the elements, or be cooped up with my father. Ladies, there were wild bears outside, but inside was no safer when my father began to run low on cigars.”

Darcy laughed, an uncommon occurrence at a morning call. She thought Willie Archer was doing well for himself, despite the talk about his “Wild West girl.”

“I hope the snow is behind us this year,” she said. “Spring feels just around the corner.”

“Yes, tomorrow is the first of March,” Adelle said. “Your stepmother was unable to make the trip, I understand, Miss Hinkle.”

The good humor on Julia Hinkle's face flickered for an instant. “She has been ill, and we thought it better that she not make the trip,” she said. “I miss her, especially at such a time.”

“I expect that you do,” Adelle murmured. The admittance of an emotion was also an unusual occurrence at a morning call. Perhaps to change the subject, Adelle pointed to a painting over the fireplace. “Is that her likeness?”

“Yes. It's quite a good one, actually.”

Darcy looked at the portrait. It was an unusual one; all the society portraits Darcy had seen—such as the one of Mrs. Astor that she received under—relied on the richness of dress and the magnificence of jewels to convey the importance of their subject. But the woman in this painting was not wearing a single jewelonly a plain gold wedding band. She was dressed in a simple and rather shocking Oriental robe of butter-yellow satin. She was slim, and her vivid flaming hair was piled high, making her seem very tall. She held a closed-up scarlet fan negligently in one drooping hand. Serene blue eyes stared out into the middle distance with a kind of innocence belied by the sophisticated trappings.

“She's very beautiful.” Darcy looked closer at the portrait. It was strange, but the woman seemed familiar somehow. “What is your stepmother's maiden name, Miss Hinkle?”

An odd request, almost rude. Julia looked surprised. “Anne Madison.”

“When the weather is nicer, you must walk over the Brooklyn Bridge,” Adelle said. “I assure you …”

Darcy didn't hear the rest of Adelle's chatter, for her attention was riveted on the portrait. She blinked and swayed, suddenly realizing that the room was uncomfortably warm. She found it difficult to concentrate. She'd never met an Anne Hinkle or an Anne Madison, but the elegant woman teased her memory. Perhaps she had called on her mother. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Anne Hinkle had ever visited New York, but then Adelle was rising, giving Julia her hand, and Darcy had to rise, too. The visit was over. Darcy's head felt a bit woozy, and she hoped the chill air would clear it.

She took deep breaths of it unobtrusively as they passed through the porte cochere into the carriage. “Well,” Adelle said, “I must say I don't know what to make of her. Willie is crazy about her, his mother says. I wonder what John would have thought, if he'd been alive; he was always so fond of his cousin. Now I must take you back home to your husband, Darcy. Perhaps you should lie down and rest when you get there. I suppose my company isn't very stimulating, but I would think you'd manage not to yawn.”

The carriage began to jounce down Fifth Avenue. “You always wake me up, Adelle,” Darcy said, making an effort to sound brisk. “As a matter of fact, I feel so much better that I'd like to walk home.”

Adelle shook her head. “Oh, no. I promised Claude I would bring you home directly.”

“But we're so close—I have only five blocks to walk, Adelle. And it's such a fine day. Don't concern yourself, I'll explain to Claude.”

Adelle shook her head more firmly. “I would not for the world bring the wrath of your husband down upon my head.”

“Adelle, really, I—”

Darcy faltered as Adelle turned to her, her small dark eyes suddenly shrewd. She gave Darcy a sweeping glance that caused color to stain her cheeks. Then she turned front again.

“Honestly, Darcy, you must think I don't have two eyes in my head.”

“I don't know what you mean—”

“I would think you would feel free to confide in me. You saw me through the worst of it when John died, and I would do anything for you. Don't think I haven't heard the rumors Cora Van Cormandt is spreading.”

“Cora? What kind of rumors?”

Fussily, Adelle began to adjust her gloves, finger by finger. “Now, I don't want to cast stones, understand me. Nobody knows better than I do what you've had to endure. And don't I know that Cora Van Cormandt was using your little indiscretion to cover her glaring one with Ambrose Hartley. It was the only way she could divert the rest of the house party, let alone her best friend Maud Valentine, from what was going on.”

“What are you saying?” Darcy whispered.

“You and that Mr. Finn, of course. He is
very
handsome, I admit. But really, Darcy, if half of what Cora Van Cormandt says is true—the looks, the walks, the interrupted kiss—”

“Interrupted kiss!”

“Oh, that was fabricated, was it? Well. It doesn't matter.”

Darcy found herself speechless. She realized that her overriding emotion wasn't shame. It was anger. She stared ahead stonily.

Adelle looked at her uneasily. Then she patted her knee. “Don't fret, dear. Everything will be forgotten next week. Now, where would you like me to drop you right now?”

Darcy felt emotion flood her. Adelle was so kind; she'd had a friend here all along. “Twenty-third Street,” she whispered.

Adelle informed the driver, then turned to her. “I'll drop you, and then take the carriage back to my house and wait for you. I must insist, Darcy. I must bring you home. I'll give you two hours, no more. It will not do to inflame Claude, especially now.”

“Yes. I'll be there in two hours.”

“I'll say Aunt Catherine asked to see you. Surely he won't object to that,” Adelle said decidedly. Then she pressed her mouth firmly shut until they reached Twenty-third Street. Never before had she stayed silent for so long in Darcy's presence.

Darcy pressed Adelle's hand and thanked her with her eyes as the carriage pulled over. Holding her skirt with one hand, she got out.

Adelle leaned out of the window. “And Darcy? Everything
will
be forgotten next week. But do be careful.”

Darcy found Columbine reading
Looking Backward
, a new book by Edward Bellamy, by an indifferent fire. Her feet were up and her hair was a bit disheveled, but she rose with a warm smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Statton. I've been reading the most marvelous book. You just missed Mr. Finn. He'd been here an hour but had to leave. He'll be disappointed to have missed you.”

Exhausted, disappointed herself, Darcy felt like bursting into tears. “I do wish,” she blurted, “you would call me Darcy.”

“Please sit down, Darcy, and please call me Columbine. You need tea. How lucky I have some here and don't have to ring for it. We would have to wait until spring for it.” Columbine poured her a cup of tea and gave her a concerned look. “Are you quite all right, Mrs.—Darcy?”

“Just a bit tired. Thank you for the tea.”

“It is such a pleasure to have company. Perhaps you could call on me tomorrow, Darcy, at this time. We should make a habit of it. Sometimes Mr. Finn will come by at this time, I hope you wouldn't mind that.”

Darcy had wondered how much Tavish had told Columbine. Now she realized that Columbine must know something of what had happened, at least. “No, Columbine, I wouldn't mind that.” She sipped her tea, then put it down. If Columbine had been taken into Tavish's confidence, then Columbine would not think it odd if she left, she reasoned. “I hope you won't think me rude, but I should be leaving. I only came to—I stopped by to thank you for your kind note. And I will come tomorrow, when I have more time.” She stood up, and immediately sank down into the chair again. Her legs felt so weak!

“Mrs. Statton—Darcy, are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she murmured. “I'm so tired today, I don't know why.”

“Perhaps you should consult a physician.”

Darcy stood again. “Oh, I have. A Dr. Arbuthnot, he's quite well known. He's given me a clean bill of health and a tonic and told me to get plenty of fresh air. So perhaps I should.”

“Yes. Yes, that will bring the color back to your face.”

Columbine watched Darcy go, her brows knit. Darcy Statton did not seem like herself. It was almost as though she was in pain, though why Columbine thought that she couldn't say. Perhaps she'd been disappointed that Tavish had left. Perhaps she'd heard—or her husband had—the rumors that Ned had told her about. But why should a woman in love look so pale? Thoughtfully, she took a pencil and looked around for paper. Bell had tidied up in her usual annoyingly fastidious way, so there was none to be found. Exasperated, Columbine scrawled a name in the margin of her new book:
Arbuthnot.

Darcy pushed on. She had enough time to get farther downtown and still make it back to Adelle's by her deadline. Why she needed to see Tavish so badly, she didn't know. It was a numbing feeling now, pushing her tired feet, anchoring her mind to the one idea that she must see him. She must tell him that it would be difficult for her to leave the house, perhaps impossible, for a few days. She headed for the Sixth Avenue El.