Elizabeth Mansfield (4 page)

“Can I what? Remember my beloved brother’s face? What an absurd question.”

“I mean actually
see
him in your mind whenever you wish to. Can you do it now, this moment? Close your eyes, Aunt Ethelyn, right now, and try to remember him. Tell me if you see him clearly, just as he was.”

“But of
course
I …” Ethelyn stared at the child looking innocently up at her. Then she shut her eyes tightly. After a moment she blinked her eyes open and glanced down at her niece who still held her hand and was watching her closely. “Well, I
think
I …” She shut her eyes again. Her heavy cheeks quivered, and her brow wrinkled as her effort intensified. “Isn’t that strange?” she murmured. “I see the
portrait
of him that we’ve hung on the drawing room wall, but …”

“I remember his nose,” Oswald put in reflectively. “Had a slight hook in it, from having been tossed from a horse during that hunt—”

“Oswald, don’t speak like a fool!” Ethelyn barked, her eyes still shut. “Desmond’s nose was perfect.”

“Remembering that his nose had a hook doesn’t count, Uncle Oswald,” Pippa explained reasonably. “You’re remembering a fact, not seeing a face.”

“Ummm,” he nodded, shutting his eyes to try again.

Camilla sank back against the sofa cushions and looked at the others in wonder. There they were, the three of them, trying to conjure up the face of the deceased Desmond in their minds merely at the behest of the little girl. Her ingenious daughter had managed to turn what could have been an unpleasant scene into a little game. Pippa was truly an amazing child.

Of course, Camilla herself could see Desmond’s face all too clearly in her mind. She didn’t even need to close her eyes to conjure up a vision of those steely eyes, that thin-lipped mouth, that wiry,
grey hair that had been steadily receding from his forehead in recent years. Even after almost a year, the memory of his face could make her blood run cold. In her dreams she still heard the cutting sarcasm of his voice and the sound of his icy scoldings. At unexpected times of the day she still found herself stiffening when she heard a certain sort of footstep on the stairs. And sometimes at night, when she blew out her bedside lamp, she had to remind herself to relax … to will herself to recall that he could no longer pay his devastating fortnightly visits to her bed.

“The child’s right,” Oswald admitted. “I can’t bring his face to mind either.”

“I think it’s shocking!” Ethelyn muttered irritably. “We must ask our Blessed Lord’s forgiveness this evening at prayers. Perhaps with His Divine Assistance we may find the strength to overcome this lapse in our mental powers. Meanwhile, Philippa, I will refrain from any further comment on the unfeeling words you spoke when I entered. I suppose you meant no harm.”

“Thank you, Aunt Ethelyn,” the child said pleasantly.

“Now, my dear, I desire you to run off and occupy yourself elsewhere,” Ethelyn ordered. “I have something of importance to discuss with your mother.”

Pippa, with a sidelong glance at her mother, bobbed obediently and turned to go. Her mother handed her her book with a reassuring smile.

“What have you there?” Ethelyn demanded as the girl skipped to the door. “I hope, Philippa, that it isn’t one of those dreadful novels for which you seem to have such an appetite.”

“It’s only
Evelina.
And it can’t be
very
dreadful, for it was written by Fanny Burney whom you told me you’d met in your youth.” With that the girl smiled, waved a cheery goodbye to her uncle, gave her mother an encouraging wink which seemed to say,
Don’t let the old dragon bully you
, and whisked herself out of the room.

Lady Ethelyn glared at the door as if trying to decide whether to call the child back for a scold or let her go. After a moment, she wheeled about to face her sister-in-law on whom, she concluded, a scolding would have more effect. “Really, Camilla, how can you permit the child to read
novels
? If I know Miss Burney’s interests, the book deals with nothing but flirtations and matchmaking and the like. I can’t approve of so frivolous a piece of reading matter even for an adult, but to permit a mere
child
to—!”

Camilla clenched her fists in her lap and tried to keep Ethelyn’s booming voice from overwhelming her courage. “I believe it best,” she said quietly, “to let Pippa choose her own reading matter, since she is so advanced.”

“Choose her own? Are you
mad?
A child, no matter how gifted, needs direction. She should be reading books which are
edifying
rather than entertaining—like Mr. Watt’s
Divine and Moral Songs for Children.
Or, if she must read stories, let her peruse the one I gave her last week.”

“If you mean the tale by Mrs. Sherwood called
The Fairchild Family
, she’s already read it.” Camilla’s lips turned up in a tiny, almost unnoticeable smile. “She said it was excessively silly.”

“Silly? It was recommended by Harriet More herself!” Ethelyn’s breast heaved in outrage that anyone could question the judgment of the famous evangelical.

“Nevertheless,” Camilla said, her chin coming up bravely, “Pippa said it’s fit only to frighten little children, making them believe that at each and every second of their lives they are walking the tightrope between eternal bliss and eternal damnation. She said she’s sorry for the little ones in the charity schools who have to read it, but that
she’s
too old to be frightened by it.”

“Shocking! The child’s too clever for her own good!” Ethelyn frowned down at her sister-in-law darkly. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you took her to task for saying such sinful things.”

“There was nothing sinful—!”

“You are as aware as I am that we
do
walk a tightrope, every moment of our lives, between bliss and damnation, and the sooner a child knows it the better. You, of all people, should show some concern for Philippa’s immortal soul!”

A flash of anger seared through Camilla’s chest. “There’s not the least reason for me to have concern for her soul!” she retorted, a touch of waspishness in her voice. As if Pippa had anything in her soul but the purest, sweetest innocence!

But there was nothing to be gained by pursuing this subject with Ethelyn. Camilla had never been able to argue against either of the Wyckfields—Ethelyn or Desmond—with any degree of success. Even when she was in the right, they could put her on the defensive and make her feel inadequate. Often in the past, she would find herself at the end of a dispute defeated, choked with frustration and shamefully giving way to a flood of tears. Even now that Desmond was dead, and she was legally mistress of this house, she found herself intimidated by her sister-in-law’s sheer forcefulness. She realized that she’d have to face up to Ethelyn one of these days, if she was ever to have any sort of life for herself. But it was silly to have an altercation now on so ludicrous a subject as the danger to her daughter’s soul from a bit of innocuous reading. “Did you say earlier, Ethelyn, that you have something to discuss with me?” she asked, turning the subject.

“Yes, I did.” Ethelyn seated herself imperiously on the chair facing the sofa and folded her hands in her lap primly. “It’s the matter of
your
butler.”

“Hicks? Again? What’s he done?”

“The man actually uttered a foul blasphemy … and in my presence!”

“Oh, Ethelyn, he
couldn’t
have,” Camilla said, leaning forward worriedly. “I’ve known him all my life, and I’ve
never
heard him—”

“But
I
heard him!” Ethelyn retorted coldly. “I gave him an order, and I heard him mutter something under his breath.”

Camilla felt her stomach tighten. The matter of Hicks had been a subject of contention between them for years, and Camilla instinctively felt that the matter was about to explode in her face. She got up from the sofa and returned to her place at the window. Staring out on the prim grounds with unseeing eyes, she said hesitantly, “Perhaps you misunderstood … or didn’t hear him quite accurately … ?”

“Camilla, I am sick and tired of listening to your weak-kneed defense of that incompetent, disobedient,
godless
knave! While this is, of course, just as much your home as mine—and the Good Lord knows that you may have an equal say in running it—you cannot expect me to have to endure obscenity and blasphemy from the servants!”

Camilla’s fingers clenched.
An equal say in running it, indeed!
she thought, gritting her teeth furiously. Never once in the eleven years since she’d come to this house as a bride had Ethelyn permitted her to make a decision regarding the running of the house. Everything from the planning of the week’s menus to the decoration of the sitting room was decided by her sister-in-law. Even the servants knew whose word was law in this house. While Desmond had been alive, he’d been the undisputed master, but the domestic details had been the province of his sister, not his wife. And now that he was dead, nothing had changed. Even though he’d left everything to his only issue—his daughter Philippa—Ethelyn still ruled with an iron hand. Desmond had left both his wife and his sister generous independencies and had stipulated that the estate of Wyckfield Park should be open to them whenever they wished to reside therein, but Ethelyn still behaved as if the property were her own.

Only two members of the household staff considered Camilla to be mistress of the house—Hicks and Miss Ada Townley, her old governess. Camilla had brought them with her when she’d come to Wyckfield Park eleven years ago. During all those years, Ethelyn had attempted to oust the two servants
whom Camilla had (as Ethelyn like to put it) “inflicted” on her. But Camilla, even though she’d been too young and frightened to take a stand on anything else, had been adamant about keeping them with her. She’d felt (and she
still
believed) that they were her only friends in the household of cold antagonists who surrounded her.

In defense against the houseful of indifferent or icy adversaries, Camilla, Miss Townley and Hicks seemed to form a small enclave of cheerfulness and affection which embraced little Pippa and protected them all from feelings of loneliness and ostracism. But Camilla soon realized that it was an enclave which Ethelyn was determined to break apart. Ethelyn had often and openly declared that Hicks and Miss Townley encouraged Camilla and even Pippa in keeping secrets, in scornful attitudes toward the rest of the household, in engaging in frivolous pursuits, and in latitudinarian—nay,
godless
—behavior. Ethelyn had long ago convinced herself that she and she alone was responsible for the welfare of the immortal soul of every member of the household, even the staff. Anything which interfered with that Godly Mission was sinful in the extreme.

Camilla knew that Ethelyn’s resentment ran deeper than her repeated protestations that she was concerned only for the welfare of their souls. The little circle of four had managed, by sticking together, to keep from being completely dominated by the strong-willed, dictatorial woman. The truth was that Ethelyn had convinced herself that if she could rid the household of Hicks, she’d be able to control the others.

Camilla could feel, in the determined fury of Ethelyn’s voice, that her sister-in-law had made up her mind to force a confrontation. Hicks’s blunt, country honesty made it hard for him to hide his feelings, and his outspoken manner had always roused Ethelyn’s ire. But Camilla had managed, until now, to keep matters from coming to a head. With her legs trembling under the black skirts, she turned to face her irate sister-in-law and try again. “I’ll speak to him, Ethelyn,” she offered with a sigh.

“You’ve spoken to him any number of times already, and it hasn’t made one particle of difference in his manner.”

“But I shall be …
most
severe,” Camilla promised.

Ethelyn hooted. “It’s not
in
you to be severe! You’ve never shown the servants that you have an ounce of strictness in you. It is your nature to be lenient and indulgent, and
this
is the result. I’ve warned you, Camilla, that softness of character eats away at the discipline of a human being as well as a household. If it weren’t for my God-given strength, this house would be a shambles.”

“If I’ve been lenient and indulgent,” Camilla declared, lifting her chin in self-defense, “it’s only because you’ve never given me the opportunity to—”

“Oh, how many times do I have to listen to
that
argument? It won’t wash, Camilla. If you feel superseded in the running of this house, you have only yourself to blame. I’ve said to Oswald time and again—haven’t I, my dear?—that if you’d shown any sign of the rigor and forcefulness needed to run an establishment of this sort, I would have gladly surrendered the responsibility into your hands. Just ask Oswald if those weren’t my very words.”

“I think, ladies,” Oswald murmured, pulling his bulk from the wing chair awkwardly, “that I had better toddle off and let you pursue your discussion uninterruptedly.”

Camilla frowned in disgust. It was just like Oswald to wish to evade the scene. She supposed that, many years ago, when he’d been with the Admiralty, he might have been a tolerable sort, but he’d long ago lost any vestige of purposefulness of character. Now he was careful only to avoid confrontation or any involvement in the stressful situation developing around him. He seemed to wish for nothing but peace and his daily allowance of sweets.

His wife fixed a firm eye on him. “Sit down and be still, Oswald! I want you to be a witness to this.
I mean to settle this matter once and for all, and I want no recriminations later.”

“I don’t see what there is to settle,” Camilla said with quiet constraint. “I know that Hicks’s manner is annoying to you, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to change him at his advanced age, so we may as well make the best of it.”

“I
intend
to make the best of it, Camilla, by insisting that we get
rid
of him.”

“Oh, Ethelyn, you can’t mean that. Surely you see that I couldn’t discharge a man who has been in my family’s employ all his life.”