Lily (19 page)

“She’s not quite that bad, Mother.”

“You say that because you don’t care what you eat. I suppose that Howe woman is still your housekeeper?”

“I believe so. The last time I noticed.”

“Odious woman. You ought to fire her.”

“Why? She takes care of everything and leaves me alone. She’s perfect.”

Lady Elizabeth clucked her tongue and glanced around, patting down stray tendrils of brown and silver hair. “How gloomy this room is, Devon. Why don’t you paint these apartments? The whole house is looking shabby these days, if you ask me. If you let it go, it’ll only cost more when you finally get round to fixing things.”

“How is Clay?” Alice interjected, flashing Devon a sympathetic smile. “Stringer said he’s not at home.”

“No, he’s gone up to London, I believe,” he answered smoothly. “Said it was too dull here. He’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

“We hear the oddest rumors about him, you know. It’s hard to know what to believe.”

“Believe them all,” he returned with a laugh. Seeing his mother’s face, he went on quickly, “He’s all right, though, in perfect health and all that. I shouldn’t be surprised if he decided to settle down one of these days. That should please you, Mother.”

“It will please me when I see it. I don’t know which of my sons is a bigger disappointment to me.” Devon crossed his arms and sent her an amused smile, and after a few seconds she gave in and returned it. “You haven’t asked about Catherine,” she observed brusquely.

“Yes, I was going—”

“She’s having another child.”

“Good God. That’s—”

“Seven, now. Yes, I know. I’ve never known such a woman for having babies. She didn’t get it from me, and I hardly think she got it from your father. It must be some throwback to another generation. She says to tell you she’s not writing another letter until you answer at least one of hers. Really, Dev, she’s your only sister, you might at least try to stay in touch.”

Before he could answer, a parlormaid appeared in the doorway. She bobbed a nervous curtsey, unused to such important guests, and announced her errand. “I’m sended t’ tell your ladyships your rooms are ready, and t’ take you up if you d’ care t’ rest afore your supper.”

Lady Alice rose. She was a slight, small-boned young woman with pretty light-brown hair and hazel eyes. “I believe I’ll go up. You two have a nice chat. I’ll join you at dinner.”

Elizabeth nodded approvingly; Devon stood up and walked Alice to the door.

The maid had one more message. “I’m t’ say as well that Midge’s been walked and watered and’s having a nap in your room, m’lady,” she said to Elizabeth.

“Good Lord, Mother, you didn’t really bring that snub-nosed wheezing machine, did you?”

“Certainly; I go nowhere without my little dog. Thank you—what is your—?” But the maid had already disappeared, following Alice. “What’s that girl’s name? She’s new, isn’t she?”

“Is she? I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Honestly, Devon, you ought to pay more attention to the running of your own house. Your servants could be robbing you blind and you’d never know it. Alice is looking well, isn’t she?” she went on without a transition. “Some women bloom later in life, you know. I believe Alice is one of them.”

“I’d say she has a few good years left. What is she, all of twenty-four?”

“Oh, if that. She’s a handsome girl, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“She has such a lovely, calm temperament. Why, I feel as comfortable with her as I do with my own daughter. She’ll come into quite a large fortune when the baron passes away, of course. There’ll be men swarming all around then, I expect. Not that there aren’t now, but she’s such a modest, unassuming—”

“Mother.”

“Yes, dear?”

“Alice is a bright, attractive, good-hearted woman, we’re agreed on that, and someone ought to marry her. It’s not, however, going to be me.”

Lady Elizabeth raised innocent eyebrows. “Goodness, I never suggested that you should!”

“Oh, come now.”

“Very well,” she conceded easily, “I admit it’s crossed my mind that the two of you do suit rather well. The Fairfaxes are old friends; you and Alice have known each other all your lives, there would be no surprises. It’s not as if you aren’t
fond
of each other. And Alice needs someone to take care of. It might not be an
exciting
match, but it would be a strong one, based on liking and trust and respect. And,” she added deliberately, “I should think you’ve had enough excitement in that other sort of way to last a lifetime.” As she’d half expected, Devon’s face closed up at that. But she went on, leaning toward him, eyes intent. “My dear child, don’t you
want
to be happy?”

“I don’t think of it,” he answered shortly. “You say you love Alice as a daughter, but obviously you haven’t thought of her happiness. If she’s so dear to you, how could you wish someone like me on her?”

“What nonsense. You could be a good husband to any woman if you’d—”

“You’re wrong. And this is a pointless conversation.” He turned his back on her and stood gazing out the open window across the shadow-dappled terrace. The sea was a quiet, insistent murmur far below. On the horizon he could see a trio of herring boats from Looe, bobbing on the water like peas on a glittering silver plate. To the east, a thin disk of a moon was creeping into the blue sky.

He turned back. “I’m sorry, Mother. Let’s not quarrel.” He crossed to the sofa and took a seat beside her. The late-afternoon sun strayed across her delicately lined face, illuminating more silver hairs than he remembered from the last time he’d seen her. “Tell me about yourself. How have you been?” He didn’t really expect an honest answer; well or ill, Elizabeth’s routine response to that question was invariably, “
Very
well, thank you,” followed immediately by a diversionary question about the health of the inquirer. She was uncomfortable talking about herself, and believed that describing one’s physical or emotional state to others, unless it was perfect, was vulgar.

So Devon was surprised when she said, after only a moment’s hesitation, “I’ve been sad. I’ve tried to shake it off, but I can’t.” He reached for her hand, and she eked out a stiff little smile for his benefit. “It’ll be four years in August, you know.”

“Yes.”

“I miss him very much.”

“So do I.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it? Our marriage was stormy, to say the least; sometimes I was only happy when we were apart—he here, I at White Oaks. But I would give so much to have him back now. I think I would even consent to live here, just to be with him. It’s what he always wanted.”

“I never thought I would hear you say that. You hate it here.”

“Yes, it’s ironic. But you’re mistaken—I don’t hate it; I just couldn’t live here. Devonshire has always held me, in the same way Cornwall held him.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re like him in that way. We quarreled over naming you, you know.”

Devon nodded; he knew this family story well.

“I said I’d live here the year round if he’d let me call my firstborn son Devon.”

“But you didn’t keep your promise.”

“No.” She sighed and looked away. “He was a difficult man, your father. You’re so like him, much more than Clay. He was moody, like you, and intense. He loved and hated with equal passion, and he was as reckless as he was cautious. He could feel great sadness, but also tremendous joy. Like you, he loved Darkstone.”

“Because of the sea.”

“He said it saved him from going mad. I would laugh at that—thinking he was exaggerating, trying to get my attention.” She bent her head. “I wasn’t as good a wife as I should have been, Dev. I loved him very much, but I couldn’t live with him. Or so I thought. Now …”

She looked up. To Devon’s relief, her voice lost its melancholy heaviness and grew strong again. “Regrets are foolish, of course. If Edward were to walk in that door right now, we would be happy together for a few hours. After that, the hard words would start again.” She put her head against the back of the high sofa. “Still, you know, one of the biggest regrets of my life is that I wasn’t with him when he died. I should have been here, with you.”

“But you didn’t know he was dying.”

“It doesn’t matter. I should have been here. He was my husband.”

They fell silent. Each knew the other too well to offer false comfort. Tragedies happened; facile explanations for somber reality no longer consoled them. Both had lost their heart’s desire, and they had become experts in the elaborate art of compensation.

“Well,” Elizabeth said at last, turning brisk. “I think I will go up and change now. We’ve both brought our maids, did you know? Quite an impressive entourage we make. I assume your Mrs. Howe will make arrangements for them—something else you needn’t think about. Are you still keeping country hours, with dinner at five?”

“Five is late for us.” Devon smiled, helping her up. She was not as spry on her feet as she’d once been, he noticed. “We’ll be famished by then. But by God, we’ll be fashionable.” Elizabeth chuckled. “I’ll walk up with you, Mother,” he said, and took her gently by the arm.

“You don’t really expect us to
dine
at that table, do you? With all the under-servants?”

Lily paused, clutching a handful of silverware, and looked up. It was Miss Turner, Lady Alice’s personal maid, poised in the doorway in a crisp gown of puce silk. Miss Kinney—Lady Elizabeth’s’s maid—loomed up behind her in the next second, and together they regarded Lily with identical expressions of tolerant amusement. “We’re really in the country now, Mary,” Miss Turner said to her companion. “This girl was actually going to seat us at the servants’ table.” They chortled together.

Lily straightened slowly. They were about her age, perhaps a year or two older. Before she’d come to Darkstone, she hadn’t known about this powerful, zealously guarded line of demarcation between upper and lower domestics in a great household. The highest female rank was lady’s maid, higher even than housekeeper, and a woman who attained that exalted post never let anyone under her forget it. Lily despised the whole business. She hated the petty nastiness of a system where a girl promoted from scullery to kitchen maid could finally be greeted by the parlormaid with “good morning.” But at least she had learned that it wasn’t only the rich who could be arrogant and condescending about rank; that was a
human
trait, unrelated to fortune. The truth was, rigid class distinctions brought out the worst in everybody.

She laid down the last fork and put on her politest smile. “Where do you think you might like to ‘dine?’” she asked, giving the word the same artificial emphasis the regal Miss Turner had.

The maid’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “In Mrs. Howe’s room, of course. But not on that gruel the cook calls fish stew, I trust.”

“Oh, surely not,” agreed Lily. “If you’re ‘dining’ with our estimable housekeeper, I’m confident you’ll enjoy better. For
country
fare, of course.”

Miss Turner sniffed. She felt insulted, but she wasn’t sure why. “Impudent girl. Where do you come from?”

“From Cornwall, of course. The land of pilchards and barbarians. Excuse me, I’ll just go and lay two more places in Mrs. Howe’s room.” She sidled past the two ladies’ maids, and felt their astonished eyes follow her out of sight.

When she returned they were still there, seated languidly at the same table they’d recently spurned—evidently finding it more gratifying to be important before an audience than only with each other. The butler’s society was deemed worthy of their notice, so while pretending not to see the other servants who had come into the room, they told the taciturn Stringer all about the prodigious amounts of luggage their mistresses were traveling with. Miss Turner described the distress of Joshua, Lady Alice’s Negro footman, when he learned he would not be accompanying his mistress on the trip. Joshua was the pride of the Fairfax domestic household with his sumptuous emerald green livery, silk stockings, and powdered hair, and Miss Turner vowed he smelled sweeter than her ladyship sometimes. “What a peacock he is, truly, and so devoted to my lady. She takes him everywhere, of course, and positively dotes on him. ‘Twas Lady Elizabeth who said he mustn’t come, for she would bring her little dog along, and she said there wasn’t room for
two
mascots. When Joshua heard, he wept like a baby, and the tears made little black trails down his powdered cheeks.”

Miss Turner surveyed her spellbound listeners with satisfaction. Tales of the high life were rare at Darkstone; the servants were drinking in her words like sponges. Encouraged, she went on to tell of a ball that Lady Alice’s family had given in the spring, providing lavish details about the lengthy preparations, the gown her ladyship wore, the hair style Miss Turner herself had helped create, the food served and wines drunk, the orchestra that had played. Lily busied herself with finishing the table, barely listening. It was the sudden coy note in Miss Turner’s voice that caught her attention, even before she understood the words.

“I’ve heard a rumor that there’ll be another celebration at Fairfax House soon … or perhaps at Darkstone Manor. Maybe you’ve heard it too, Mr. Stringer.” She had everyone’s attention now. “It’s said,” she murmured, leaning close in a pretense of confidentiality, “that there’s going to be a wedding between my mistress and your master before the year’s out.”

Lily stood quite still, palms pressed against the coarse homespun tablecloth until the odd numbness passed. It could only have lasted a few seconds, for in the next moment she became aware of a murmur of excitement greeting Miss Turner’s news. A moment later she felt the speculative, surreptitious stares of some of the servants, gauging her reaction. She set the last plate down, straightened a crooked spoon, giving what she hoped was a credible imitation of indifference. Inside, she felt as if she had been punched.
Foolish, foolish girl,
she chided herself. The day had been full of harsh lessons, but this one was the hardest; it put all the others in perspective.

Lowdy appeared in the doorway, behind a kitchen maid carrying a tray. The smell of fish stew brought Lily to the brink of nausea. Suddenly it didn’t matter what any of them thought of her, or what they might say behind her back. She went to Lowdy and spoke low and fast.