Jane Ashford (15 page)

Jenkins came in response to the bell, and Lady Fanshawe went upstairs to bed. Euphie followed soon after, tired out from her journey and the new experiences of the day. But before she fell asleep, she lay for a while in her bed, wondering whether she would indeed like this place and the life she would lead here. Lady Fanshawe seemed kind, if a little intimidating, and the house was certainly luxurious. Moreover, she was to have a fashionable haircut and some new dresses, things she had wished for for years. Euphie sighed and snuggled down in her covers. Whatever happened, it would be wonderful to look smart for the first time in her life.

The following morning, Euphie’s hair was cut by Lady Fanshawe’s dresser, under the countess’s close supervision. Euphie watched wide-eyed as her braids were unwound and snipped off, to be replaced by a cloud of auburn ringlets all around her face. “Much better,” pronounced her employer in a self-satisfied tone, and before the girl could take a breath, she had summoned her own dressmaker to supplement Euphie’s wardrobe.

“We shall want several gowns,” she told the woman when she arrived. “Two for evening, I suppose, and a walking dress, and two morning dresses. That will do to start, at least. Let us look at
your patterns.”

They proceeded to do so, the countess clearly in charge.

“That one is pretty,” said Euphie hesitantly after a while, pointing at one of the models in the dressmaker’s booklet.

“Oh, my dear, not pink!” was Lady Fanshawe’s reply. “You must never wear pink, with your hair. Pale green, blue, buff, perhaps brown, and of course, white—but never pink.”

“That’s what Aggie always says,” answered Euphie a little wistfully.

“Aggie? Oh, your sister. Well, she is quite right. I think we will have one of these, and a simple white evening dress, and…” She went on with complete certainty, while Euphie wondered whether the treat of getting new dresses was quite the same when one was allowed no choice in the matter.

But another concern was more pressing. “Lady Fanshawe, you cannot buy me so many new things,” said Euphie. “You mustn’t.”

“And why not?”

“Well… well, because I am only—”

“You were engaged to be my companion, and I require the people around me make a good appearance. The clothes you have are not suitable.”

She said this very coolly, but Euphie could not help but realize that true kindness lay beneath her tone. There was no necessity for her to clothe her hired companion.

“Besides,” continued the older woman, “I am enjoying myself immensely. I had forgotten how much fun it is to outfit a young girl; my daughters came out years ago, and they have never wanted much help. Only think, I haven’t felt bored this whole day, and it is nearly teatime. You cannot deny me this pleasure, Euphie.”

When she put the matter this way, Euphie could do nothing but bow her head in assent.

“Let us go and have our tea, and then we shall look through my closets and see what we can find for you. I have dozens of shawls and gloves and that sort of nonsense, none of which I ever wear.”

Euphie started to protest again, but the countess waved her words aside.

“I will not listen. Haven’t you realized yet that I am a disagreeable old woman who always gets her way? And I don’t mean to change for you.”

Smiling, Euphie followed her into the drawing room, where tea was already laid out, and they sat down behind the teapot. The girl vowed that she would be as helpful as possible to Lady Fanshawe, to make some return for her kindness.

In the next few days, Euphie learned the routines of her new home and recovered most of her customary gaiety, dampened since her parting from her sisters. Her new dresses arrived, and she spent a blissful few hours trying them one by one and admiring the effect in the mirror. She learned to deal with her new haircut and became accustomed to the vast increase in her wardrobe. Nero was introduced to the staff belowstairs, and received with great cordiality. For the sake of Pug, Euphie endeavored to confine him to her own bedchamber, but this was very difficult, since Nero was a playful, lively animal.

In the afternoons and evenings, she helped Lady Fanshawe with her correspondence or, sometimes, read aloud to her. But the countess seemed to get more pleasure from simply listening to Euphie’s chatter and her opinions on the new things she saw in London when she went walking.

In a surprisingly short time, they were getting on famously, and Euphie felt that if only she might see her sisters once in a while, she would be very happy indeed. She wrote them long letters, full of underlining, detailing her good fortune.

***

On the fourth evening after her arrival, Euphie and Lady Fanshawe sat in the drawing room after dinner, the countess reclining on a chaise longue and Euphie reading aloud. But after only ten minutes, the older woman made an impatient noise and said, “Leave off, my dear. This is the stupidest book I have ever come across. I don’t care a whit whether this mawkish heroine manages to find her mother or not. Indeed, I hope she won’t. Perhaps then she will be forced to show some initiative instead of moaning and sobbing like a hired mourner.”

Euphie giggled. “The woman at the circulating library promised this was a very edifying work.”

“I daresay. I shall turn to it the next time I require edification. For now, let us abandon it.”

“Certainly,” replied Euphie, shutting the volume without any sign of regret. “What shall we
do then?”

“I haven’t any idea,” began the countess petulantly. Then she added, “Yes I do, though. You shall play for me. You see, I have not forgotten that you are supposed to be musical.”

“Have you an instrument?” asked the girl eagerly, half rising from her chair.

“Of course. Weren’t you told? How heedless of me. I’m sorry. We have a pianoforte in the back parlor. It was a fine instrument at one time, though I daresay it is monstrously out of tune now.”

They walked together down the corridor to the back of the house, and Lady Fanshawe opened a door on the right. “Here we are. Just ring for candles, Euphie. And we must have them kindle a fire. I use this room so seldom, it feels quite damp.”

But Euphie did not appear to hear her. All of her attention was focused on the pianoforte in the corner of the room. She walked up to it and sat down, running her fingers over the keys, trying one here, one there. The countess watched her with interest for a while, then went to ring the bell herself, a small smile playing about her lips.

The servants brought candles and lit the fire, making the room much more comfortable than before. But Euphie still seemed oblivious; she was trying snatches of melody and listening.

“It is out of tune, isn’t it?” said Lady Fanshawe. “No one has played it since my daughters left home. I never had any skill myself, though I love music.”

When she had repeated her question, Euphie finally replied, “Yes, it is a bit, but not so much that one can’t play.”

“We’ll have someone in tomorrow to see to it. But now, if you would oblige me, I should love to hear you play.”

“Of course.”

“Shall I send someone for your music?”

“Oh, I don’t need it. I’ll do something I know.”

“Splendid.” The countess went to sit down in a capacious armchair near the fire, from which she had a good view of the instrument and Euphie’s profile. The room was dim despite the candles, and the flames cast moving shadows over the deep half turned blue walls.

Euphie sat very still for a moment, then leaned forward and began a Mozart sonata which she particularly loved. She played with utter concentration, and her eyes gradually grew rapt as the music rose and fell. She moved with it, her hands delicate on the keys and then passionate. It was clear that she was aware of nothing else.

As she played, Lady Fanshawe’s expression grew more and more arrested. She watched the girl with growing interest and respect, and when the last notes died away, she said softly, “Beautiful. You have great talent, my dear. That was wonderful.”

Euphie started and turned around. “Th-thank you. That is one of my favorite pieces. I love it.”

“Indeed. And have you always been fond of music?”

“Always! I cannot remember a time that I was not trying to play.”

“That’s wonderful. And you play from memory?”

“Only pieces I know very well. And I am always learning others. I have piles of music upstairs.”

“I see. Well, you must use the instrument whenever you wish. I shall have it tuned tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Lady Fanshawe. You are always so kind to me.”

“Nonsense. My motives are thoroughly selfish. You must practice so that you can play to me in the evenings. Will you do another now?”

Smiling, Euphie nodded and turned back to the pianoforte. The countess leaned back in her chair again and prepared to listen.

After this, it became their habit to have music in the evenings. Sometimes Lady Fanshawe would bring fancy-work and sew as she listened, but most often she simply sat still, her head back. She seemed to enjoy these sessions at least as much as Euphie, and she always thanked her warmly. Euphie found that she knew quite a bit about music, and they had many lively dialogues on this subject.

***

Thus, the days passed pleasantly in Berkeley Square, Euphie feeling more at home with each one. When she had been there two weeks, she and Lady Fanshawe were sitting at lunch one day discussing the possibility of going for a drive. “I should like to show you Kew,” the countess was saying, “or perhaps Richmond. The flowers should be just coming up.”

Euphie was about to express her willingness to see either when a terrific uproar began. Both of them swung around to stare at the door. “What is it?” said Euphie.

“Let us go and see,” replied Lady Fanshawe, rising and starting out of the room.

The sounds led them down the corridor toward the back of the house. As they went, the din grew louder, and when they reached the half-open door of the back parlor, they encountered a wide-eyed maid staring at it apprehensively. “I don’t know what it can be, ma’am,” she said. “I dusted this morning, like always, and there weren’t nothing in there.”

Lady Fanshawe moved forward and pushed the door wide. “I think,” she said as she strode into the room, “that it must be Pug.”

It was. In the middle of the carpet sat the dog, crouched down in a miserable hump and howling piteously. At intervals, he rubbed his nose gingerly on the carpet, as if to soothe some ache.

“Pug,” repeated the countess, going to him. “Whatever is the matter?”

But the dog was beyond reasonable communication. He merely continued to howl, his bulging brown eyes fixed on her ladyship’s face.

“Has he hurt himself?” asked Euphie, coming to join her.

“I don’t know. He looks all right.” Lady Fanshawe moved as if to pick him up, and Pug fell over on his back, his paws waving feebly in the air.

“Oh, do stop, you ridiculous animal,” responded the countess. “How can I see what is the matter if you lie on your back?”

Pug howled again, but just as he was hitting his stride, a noise from the corner of the room made him leap up again and stand on stiff legs, his hackles rising.

The two women looked around, but they could see nothing. Then, without warning, a small white bundle shot from beneath the edge of a tablecloth and swooped under Pug’s low belly. The dog leaped convulsively into the air and came down moaning and shivering.

“Nero!” exclaimed Euphie. “Stop it at once, you naughty cat.”

The kitten had stopped and turned to see the effect of his joke. He sat now some distance away on the carpet, surveying the scene with sparkling blue eyes.

“Oh, Lady Fanshawe, I am so sorry,” began Euphie, “I try to keep him shut away.”

“No, indeed. It is quite Pug’s fault.” She turned to the dog. “Do you think I have not seen you stalking poor Nero about the house? I suppose you found him alone here and tried to fight him. And got your nose scratched. Serves you right.”

Euphie, who was trying very hard not to giggle, put in, “But, Lady Fanshawe, Nero was teasing him. You could see that. And he mustn’t.”

“That is true,” replied the countess judicially. She turned back toward the cat. “You must behave yourself, Nero, and try to humor Pug.”

Unable to hold herself in any longer, Euphie burst out laughing.

Lady Fanshawe whirled and put her hands on her hips, though her lips were also trembling. “This is no laughing matter, young lady. All the members of my household must agree.”

Encouraged by her severe tone, which he evidently took as a vindication of himself, Pug chose this moment to challenge Nero once again. He advanced toward the cat’s position, growling and baring his teeth. But he prudently halted just beyond Lady Fanshawe’s skirts, keeping the line of retreat open.

Nero, delighted at this renewal of their game, danced forward and batted at him playfully with one paw. The dog fled around the countess, and Euphie collapsed into an armchair, putting a hand to her mouth.

“Enough,” exclaimed the older woman, and the tone of her voice made Nero stop and look up at her, blinking. Euphie tried to stifle her merriment. “It is all very well for you to laugh,” the countess said, “but we must do something. Pug and Nero must both learn better manners. I will not have this fighting.”

“N-Nero is only playing,” the girl choked out.

“Possibly. But he must learn when a joke ceases to be amusing to its victim. Now, what shall we do?” She considered the problem.

Pug peered around Lady Fanshawe’s skirts at Nero, who batted at him once again. The dog pulled back quickly. Then, assuming a look of great cunning, Nero sank down on his stomach and began to inch his way along the carpet in the opposite direction around the countess’s dress. Euphie choked again.

“I have it,” said Lady Fanshawe. “They must be taught to get on with one another, and I know just how it can be done.”

“How?” replied Euphie. But just then Nero jumped out from behind her ladyship and attacked Pug from the rear, startling the dog into a convulsive somersault. Euphie doubled up with laughter as Lady Fanshawe sought to snatch up first one, then the other combatant.

When things were at last quiet again, the countess said sternly, “You will henceforth, Euphie, take both of these creatures on your walks. I will order Jenkins to contrive a double lead, so that they must go together side by side. In this way, they will learn to get along or they will get no exercise at all.” She looked satisfied. “I daresay this problem will disappear in no time.”

Appalled, Euphie stood up. “But… but, Lady Fanshawe, I can’t… they will…”

The countess fixed her with an implacable gaze. “Who brought Nero to this house?” she asked.

“Well, I did, of course, but—”