Strands of Bronze and Gold (27 page)

“I wish I could do more. I wish I had money. I wish—”

“I understand. Thank you.”

“And stay away from Garvey,” I said as she turned to leave.

“I try.”

I sighed and stared down at the silk of the dressing gown.

As the shadows grew long, I changed into an evening dress and made my way toward the yellow salon to wait there. I shivered as an
icy breeze wafted through me. Just ahead, in the dim hall, something whisked around the corner—the wispy train of a primrose gown.

I raced ahead to catch the bright misty figure, who was several inches taller than I, with a cascade of glowing hair down her back. Tara. It was Tara. I would speak to her again. However, when I entered the yellow salon, the apparition faded away with a sound almost like a blown-out breath, leaving only a quiver in the air behind.

At that very moment came the echoes of beloved voices. I ran toward them. In the center of the great hall huddled my siblings, made small by the enormous dimensions of the place, gazing wide-eyed at its opulence. M. Bernard smiled benignly on one side and Ducky bobbed and beamed on the other in her best black satin. I paused—something seemed unfamiliar about the stance of my family—before flying down the vast expanse of checkered marble and throwing myself into Anne’s arms, then Harry’s, then Junius’s.

Junius chuckled and held me at arm’s length. “Why, Sophie, you’re so excited to see us, anyone would think you hadn’t been having the time of your life. And look at your hair, so wild and loose.”

“Oh,” Anne said, “no one could ever imagine she wasn’t doing beautifully. Just look at that dress. Chantilly lace! And those pearls! They fair take my breath away. Here, turn around so I can see the back.”

Harry grabbed my waist and twirled so that I spun like a top, and there was laughter when I staggered, dizzy, and M. Bernard caught me in his arms and righted me.

Anne shook her head as if she could hardly believe the sight of me. “This place becomes you. Monsieur de Cressac has been regaling us with little stories of your doings. What a pleasure to have these lovely grounds to roam! We shall have such grand jaunts.”

“And,” Harry said, “he let me drive his bang-up team of matched bays all the way here. He’s a right one, is Monsieur de Cressac.”

Obviously M. Bernard had taken pains to begin binding his spell over them.

“Tell me about your trip,” I said.

“It was long,” Junius said, “and bumpy and bouncy—Harry was sick much of the way—but uneventful.”

“Oh, poor Harry!” I cried. “Is your stomach still queasy? Shall I fetch some peppermint tea?”

Harry reddened. “What? Have you grown up so much these last months that you’ve become our mother now? No, silly little Sophie, I’m fine. Once I was driving Monsieur de Cressac’s well-sprung carriage, I felt tip-top.”

“How is old Mrs. Whaley doing?” I asked. “And did they ever tear down the theater that burned? I have so many questions you never got around to answering when you wrote—and, by the way, your letters were shockingly rare. How is—” I suddenly noticed the pinched lines around Junius’s mouth and realized how exhausted they all must be. “Oh, we’ll have plenty of time later for talking. Let me take you up to your rooms to freshen up, although I can hardly bear to be parted from you for even a few minutes. Anne, I’ll be your maid tonight, but Talitha will help you after this.”

As I took Harry’s arm to climb the stairs, I noted his fine buff-striped trousers and new brown frock coat and felt a swift spark of
anger. How had he afforded these garments when so recently he was in dire financial straits?

Anne wandered from window to window in her bedroom, taking in the views. “It’s glorious here,” she said. “How happy I am for you. You must absolutely love it!” She gave a trilling little laugh “Well, who wouldn’t? Tomorrow you must show me everything.”

“There’s a lot to see.” I felt a quiet pride in the abbey. An ownership.

My sister held on to the bedpost as I tightened her laces. “Monsieur de Cressac is a perfect gentleman,” she said. “Always solicitous of our comfort and so fine-looking. That a man should be so wealthy and still remain easy and unaffected—it’s a wonderful thing. And he’s so interesting! We discussed a great many subjects, and to my mind, he thinks just as he ought about them. My darling, how happy I am that he’s come into our lives!”

I leaned against the bedpost and slowly shook my head.

Anne looked at me, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you troubled in some way by our host?”

“Sister, he wants to marry me.” There. It was out. Now Anne would advise exactly what I must do.

She threw her arms around me. “Oh, Sophie, you fortunate, fortunate girl!”

“I told him no.”

She gave a dismayed intake of breath.
“What?”

“There are things about Monsieur Bernard that make me most—most uncomfortable. I told him no, but he wouldn’t take that as my final answer.” And to think I had expected Anne to be horrified
that I was living in the same house with a man who had romantic interests in me. I almost smiled at her opposite reaction.

“Pray, tell me what those things are, and I’ll set your mind to rest.” She pulled me down to sit beside her on the bed.

“He’s been married four times before.”

“And they all died?”

“Three died and he’s divorced from one.” I couldn’t bring up my conviction that Victoire was also dead.

“Well, my love, it happens. That poor, poor man, to be bereaved so frequently. It’s true he’s a good many years older than you, but that only means he already knows how to please a wife. It makes him responsible and settled.” She giggled. “Very
well
settled.”

“No, please listen. He lets me go nowhere and meet no one. I’m followed by a servant if I so much as set foot outside.”

“That’s the custom with ladies of wealth. He wants no harm to befall you. He loves you so—he’s protective of you, as is right.”

“He doesn’t even allow me to attend church.”

“I must own that surprises me, from one who is such a gentleman. However, I have no doubt once you’re married, the love of a virtuous woman will influence him for the good.”

Anne stood and I helped her lower her evening gown over her shoulders. She took my hands and patted them between her own. “Now, pray, what else bothers you?”

I gently released her grip and smoothed her skirts over the hoop. “He has a temper. It’s boiling just below the surface, and I’m scared of triggering it.”

“He’s a man who commands a great many people. Naturally he’s
a trifle high-handed. As his wife you’ll learn the little ways to please and pacify such a man. You’ll enjoy creating a peaceful domestic haven for him.”

In a flash I remembered the letter from Tara’s aunt ordering her to be more accommodating to her husband. My own sister might well be penning such an epistle to me in the future if I were to marry M. Bernard. I didn’t know what to say now. I had waited months for this chat. I had told Anne my problems and she had dismissed them. My conversation with her was very different from the one I’d had with Anarchy. Anne made my concerns seem light indeed. Were they, in fact? M. Bernard had accused me of dramatics; perhaps I
was
being theatrical. However, there was still one facet of the situation I hesitated to bring up.

“Anne, I’ve met a young man—a wonderful young man—of whom I’m very fond,” I said, casting discretion to the winds as she knelt to dig in her portmanteau for her jewelry case.

She stood and whirled around in one movement. “You
what
? Who is he? I thought you said Monsieur de Cressac doesn’t let you get to know anyone.”

I couldn’t meet her eyes, so I fussed with one of the flower arrangements. “It’s true Monsieur Bernard permits me to meet no one. But I became acquainted with this young man when I was walking unattended in the woods. I had—I had shed myself of my maid.”

“And he came up to you? It was ill-bred to approach a young female like that.”

I turned to face her. “No. I realize how it sounds, but it wasn’t like that. Mr. Stone is a well-bred gentleman—indeed, he’s a
minister—and he worried over the impropriety of our meetings. He would have courted me honorably, but my godfather would never have allowed it.”

“Did you speak to Monsieur de Cressac on the subject?”

“No. I didn’t have to. I knew he would’ve been beyond furious.”

“So he doesn’t know, thank goodness.” Anne’s relief was palpable.

“He may be aware that I get rid of my attendant now and then, but he certainly would have let me know if he’d suspected I was meeting a man. Anyway, Mr. Stone stopped coming, and I was very—very unhappy for a long while. But I’ve been hoping I could leave to go home with you and then write to Mr. Stone. Maybe he would—” I stopped speaking at the look of pity on Anne’s face.

She put her arm about my waist and brushed a tendril of hair from my forehead. “Darling, you haven’t behaved very well, but you know I love you anyway. This is what you must do. You must put away all thought of this Mr. Stone. Your feelings for him will soon fade away as if they never existed. If Monsieur de Cressac knows nothing of him, then least said soonest mended. I’ve never told you this, but I also once had an unsuitable young man pay decided attention to me. He traveled with a fast crowd, and Papa knew he would come to no good. It was difficult, but urged by our father, I did my duty and sent him on his way.”

She thought she was showing me that my feelings for Gideon would soon be forgotten, but instead I wanted to shout,
And look at you now! Are you happier alone and in poverty than you would have been with this “unsuitable” young man?
I couldn’t be so cruel, of course. I twisted my hands. Had I been childish about Gideon? It was odd—I had almost forgotten what he looked like.

Anne was patting her cloudy blond hair before the mirror. “I’m sure Monsieur de Cressac, if he learned of your meetings, would understand there was nothing to them.”

My lips parted. A sharp stab of fear for Gideon pierced my heart. If my godfather got wind of the fact that Gideon and I had spent those hours together … I clutched Anne’s arm. “Please, I beg you to never breathe a word of this to my godfather. Not even—not even if he makes you feel confidential toward him.”

Her brow furrowed. Embarrassed, I released her.

“Of course I’ll say nothing. But, Sophie, do you know—can you possibly realize what your marrying Monsieur de Cressac would mean for us? I haven’t written much of this—I didn’t wish to alarm you—but we’ve had a terrible time of it. I’ve watched Junius age years in these six months. Our father’s affairs were in far worse order than at first we guessed. I can’t tell you how welcome was the money you sent.” She made me face her directly. “In everyone’s life there comes a time when they realize they’ve become an adult and, as such, must make necessary sacrifices. Can it be that for you that time has come?” She stroked my cheek.

My sister’s sweet smile had a pinched, pathetic quality to it I had never before noticed. Indeed, now that I reflected, the change I had fleetingly glimpsed in my family as they stood in the hall was more than a stoop to their shoulders; it was as if a shadow clung to them. While I had been enjoying the luxuries of Wyndriven Abbey, they had been fighting for survival.

“Perhaps it has,” I said softly. “One thing more, Anne: All his wives had red hair.”

She stared for a moment, then gave a merry peal of laughter.
“So,” she said, “he’s a gentleman with decided tastes. Isn’t it fortunate—for both you and us—that you fit his preference? I had wondered why you wear your locks down. Is that a request from him?”

I nodded.

“Well, I don’t deny he’s an unusual man, but what’s the harm in obliging him? Now put a smile on your face and forget that Mr. What’s-His-Name. Come, let’s go down to supper. I’m famished.”

The dinner Alphonse had created was more lavish than any I had ever before experienced at the abbey. There were raw oysters and fried smelts, hare with pudding in its belly and sauce tartare, pigeon pie, quail with truffles, sweetbread patés, roast turkey, potatoes, cheesecake and chocolate custard and fancy cakes.

Junius and M. Bernard ate with relish, Anne more carefully. Both Harry and I picked at our food, although I noticed my younger brother drank a great deal.

My godfather was acutely aware of each of us as he set out to put everyone at ease.

“Harry, my friend,” he said, making my brother start, “I am considering purchasing a new phaeton, but isolated as we are, I’m unfamiliar with the current styles. What, in your opinion, should I buy?”

Harry immediately put down his wineglass and launched into a long description of the benefits of different sporting vehicles. As he spoke, my brother seemed his old self.

When that subject ran out, my godfather asked Anne what she thought of certain popular books, and me, of possible changes to the abbey’s décor.

He flattered Junius by inquiring into his ideas on world events. They discussed the influx of immigrants and the Crimean War and the railway that might someday connect the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. M. Bernard amused us with his description of the government allotting money for camels to be tested for military use.

He had set out to charm my family, and no one could bewitch like my godfather when he made it his business to do so. Whatever his motives, the conversation sparkled.

M. Bernard entertained, Junius and Anne chimed in, Harry drank, and I watched them all.

Despite his fine clothes, Harry was unwell. He looked pale and hollow-cheeked, with dark shadows beneath his eyes. Whatever was wrong with him was worse than what Junius and Anne had been going through. I must speak to him privately.

After dinner Anne and I took up our needles and sat cozily side by side in the library while the three gentlemen smoked and enjoyed their port elsewhere. My sister admired the tapestry I was working on. I myself was not happy with it. The figures seemed to trudge rather than cavort. It was not the lighthearted image I had intended, and yet I couldn’t seem to change it.

“What shining thread did you use for the flames in the center?” she asked.