Angel in Scarlet (11 page)

“I
like
Teddy,” she protested.

“Shut up, Janine. I'm trying to think.”

“You'd better think fast,” Solonge said dryly. “The blessed event is scheduled to occur in eight months, perhaps sooner.”

“I don't see
why
I can't marry Teddy. I'm twenty-one years old. I'm already an old
maid.
”

Not technically, I said to myself, but I didn't dare say it aloud. I stood near the hall doorway, and all three of them had forgotten I was present. I felt like an intruder, an outsider, but that wasn't at all unusual when I was with them. Marie pursed her lips, thinking hard, her eyes glittering. Solonge perched on the arm of the sofa beside Janine and began to tap her fingernails on the edge of the end table. How beautiful they were side by side like that, Solonge all fire and vitality, Janine indolent and lethargic, a vision of placid loveliness.

“We'll go back to Brittany for a visit,” Marie said. “I still have a friend there—Clarise Duvall. We've kept in touch through letters all these years. She'll know what to do. She'll help us.”

Janine pouted. “But—”

“I've put aside a little money—not quite enough to finance the trip, but your stepfather will provide the rest. I'll see to it. The three of us will go back to Brittany for a long holiday. We'll leave as soon as possible, and when we return no one will be any the wiser.”

“Does Father know about Janine?” I asked.

Marie looked at me, irritated at my intrusion.

“Does he?” I insisted.

“We haven't told him,” Solonge said. “Janine hasn't even told Teddy.”

“I don't want Father to know,” I said. My voice was firm.

“He'll have to know,” Marie said tersely.

“No. He has—he has enough to worry about. I don't want him upset. You can ask him for the money if you must, but you aren't going to let him know why you want to go to Brittany.”

Marie elevated one thin brow. “I'm not?”

“You're not,” I told her.

She smiled then, a vicious smile. For a moment, for the first time, I actually hated her.

“Because if you do,” I continued, “I'll tell Eppie about Janine and Teddy and her pregnancy. If I tell Eppie, the whole village will know before nightfall.”

I meant what I said. Marie could see that. The smile faded from her lips. Our eyes met and held, my own level and determined. I had never defied her before, and although my childish mischief had caused her to bewail her lot in years gone by, I had never questioned her authority or deliberately given her any trouble. Her yellow-green eyes were filled with anger, but there was a new respect as well. For that brief moment we might almost have been equals, and then she grimaced and lowered her eyes.

“I suppose there isn't any reason why he should know,” she said, and I could imagine what those words cost her.

“None whatsoever,” Solonge agreed.

“I must get to the kitchen. Dinner will be late tonight. I'll speak to Stephen afterward. I'll need your help in a few minutes, Angie. I do hope you remembered everything on my grocery list.”

She left then, garnet skirt rustling, and Solonge gave me an admiring look.

“The kitten has claws,” she said.

“I—I couldn't let her tell Father. He—it would upset him dreadfully. He admires Teddy, thinks of him as his friend. Teddy's always ordering books for him. He—he'd feel betrayed.”

“You're absolutely right, darling.”

I sat down in the chair beside the door, suddenly exhausted and feeling drained from my confrontation with Marie. I was amazed at my boldness and surprised by my easy victory. I vowed to be extra-nice to my stepmother. I wasn't proud of myself for blackmailing her that way. I felt very bad about it. Marie might be harsh and bitter, might be sharp-tongued and frequently shrewish, but she wasn't the evil stepmother I sometimes encountered in novels. She was unhappy and disappointed in her life, and I could understand why she wanted more for her daughters.

Solonge got up from her perch on the arm of the sofa. “Well, sister dear,” she said, “you've gotten yourself into quite a mess, it seems. I hope Teddy Pendergast was worth it.”

“I don't know what I'm going to tell him,” Janine sighed.

“Not a bloody thing, love. If you have any sense at all you'll never go near him again.”

Janine's blue eyes looked regretful. “I suppose you're right,” she agreed. “He did have a beautiful, soothing voice, though, and the nicest smile.”

“Do you love him?” I asked.

“He made me feel good all over,” she said dreamily. “When I looked at him I felt hungry—like I feel when I see a box of creamy chocolates. I just couldn't resist him.”

Solonge gave her sister a thoroughly exasperated look. “Jesus!” she snapped. “You really shouldn't be allowed outside without a leash. There are a number of things you need to learn, love, the first one being that a girl
al
ways takes precautions. Men are too bloody anxious to think about such matters.”

“I'm going to miss Teddy,” Janine confided in a sad voice. “It was so sweet of him, asking me to marry him like that, and he didn't even know I was pregnant. I wish
Maman weren't
so difficult.”

“In this particular case she's dead right, much as I hate to admit it. After you got your fill of chocolates you'd be trapped, living in two tiny rooms over a bookstore with a man who couldn't afford to give you a bloody thing. Next time you feel hungry, love, make sure the man has enough money to keep you in style.”

“I thought you were on
my
side.”

“I am,” Solonge said. “You're never going to marry into society, nor am I, but you can bloody well do better than Teddy Pendergast.”

“If we're going to Brittany we'll need some new clothes,” Janine said, stretching out again. “I really would like a new bonnet, one of those straw ones trimmed in taffeta ribbons like we saw in the magazine from London. I think blue ribbon would be ideal—”

Janine didn't get a new bonnet, but she and Solonge did get new frocks. I spent endless hours with scissors, needle and thread, making them up in my attic room, a watered blue-gray silk for Janine, trimmed with pale blue lace, a golden-yellow taffeta for Solonge. I studied the London magazines in order to give the garments a modish look, and Solonge said I had a natural sense of style and was much better than the dreary old seamstress who used to sew for them. She slipped me two pounds and told me to treat myself while they were gone.

“Don't
ask
where I got the two pounds,” she added wryly.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” I replied.

“You're growing up, darling. Thank God you're not growing up like Janine and me. I fear both of us inherited very bad blood, but you—you're intelligent and gifted and kind. Make the best of it, love.”

Though I wasn't really envious, knowing the purpose of their trip, I was wistful on the day of their departure. It would be lovely to take a trip, I thought, to see new places, meet new people, to have an adventure. A private carriage had been hired to take them to the nearest post station, and a husky footman in brown hoisted their trunks up on top of the vehicle, Solonge watching with an appraising eye. Marie wore a black silk dress and a black bonnet with garnet trim and looked chic indeed as she snapped orders and hustled her daughters into the carriage. Father and I stood on the front porch. I never learned how Marie got the money from him, but I did know he hadn't an inkling of Janine's condition.

We waved as the carriage pulled away with the pyramid of trunks strapped onto the roof, and then Father sighed wearily and said it looked like the two of us would have to make do with each other's company for a while. I said it shouldn't be
too
taxing. Father smiled and patted me affectionately, smiling again when I said I wasn't sure what kind of
meals
we'd have as I wasn't very handy in the kitchen. I'd probably set the house afire, I added, and he said he supposed we'd just have to risk it. He curled his arm around my shoulders and led me back into the house. It seemed very still and quiet. That afternoon Father left the door to his study open for the first time I could remember.

April was a lovely month, warm and pleasant. Flowers bloomed riotously in the gardens, as did the weeds, and Father and I spent many hours outside, raking and weeding and cutting back. He tired easily and often just sat out in the sunshine while I crawled about on my knees and got dirt under my fingernails and soiled my old cotton dress. It was nice to dig in the soil and pull up the weeds and clip the rose shrubs, nice to be out in the fresh air and smell the loamy earth and flowers and listen to the birds making fluting noises in the boughs of the oak trees. Father enjoyed it, too, and I felt it did him good. Many times he dozed there in his chair with a book in his lap, rays of spring sunshine bathing his face.

I did a lot of house cleaning, too, throwing open all the windows to let in the air, polishing the furniture with beeswax, scrubbing the kitchen floor with lemon juice and water. The house smelled wonderful afterward, all airy and fresh, and I took considerable satisfaction in my work. I took considerably less in my cooking. The huge old stove Marie used with such aplomb was a terror to me, always got too hot or not hot enough, always emitted billows of smoke when I opened the door. I burned several meals, burned my fingers as well, but Father was the soul of patience and always complimented me even if the baked chicken was brown as mahogany or the joint of roast so pink and runny it almost lowed when you stuck a fork in it. I got our bread from the bakery, and we had a lot of fresh fruit and cheese and vegetables cooked in butter. My Yorkshire pudding was a disaster. Father tactfully suggested we save it and use it to put up new wallpaper in the pantry.

“I'll never be a good cook like Marie,” I complained.

“Afraid that's true, Pumpkin.”

“Some women have the
knack
. I don't.”

“You have a point there.”

“I'll never be able to cook fish till it's tender and whip up a delicate sauce to go over it.”

“But your heart's in the right place,” he told me, “and you've done wonders with the house and garden. I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks,” I said glumly. “I think I'll attempt an apple pie tomorrow afternoon.”

“Uh—why don't you just buy one from the bakery, Pumpkin. There's no sense in your going to all that trouble.”

We got a letter from Marie in early May. They had arrived safely and were staying with her dear friend Clarise Duvall and the girls were having a wonderful time, she said. It was so lovely there and Clarise, was so hospitable that they might just stay longer than planned, she wasn't sure just
when
they'd be home. Father said he was glad they were having a nice holiday and didn't seem a bit perturbed that they might not be returning any time soon. I longed to know what was really happening and how Janine was, for I knew being pregnant could sometimes be difficult indeed. What were they going to do with the baby when it arrived? I wished Solonge would write to me privately and tell me what was really going on.

Father had a bad spell toward the end of May. He coughed and coughed and grew so weak he could hardly climb the stairs. I fetched Doctor Crandall, and the two of them were closed up for a long time in Father's study. Doctor Crandall looked cheerful when he left, but I could tell he was putting on an act for my benefit. Father told me there was absolutely nothing to be concerned about, he had new medicine now and would have to rest for a few days but he'd be as fit as ever in no time. He
did
seem to get better, although I thought he looked thinner, his frock coat seeming to hang loosely on his once sturdy frame. His cheeks seemed thinner, too, but they were no longer pale, were, instead, a healthy pink. I told myself the new medicine must indeed be working, and if he didn't eat as much as usual that was because of my wretched cooking.

We took several short walks as the weather grew warmer, strolling leisurely, talking about books we'd read, Father questioning me about my reactions to them. He was warm and amiable and gently humorous, making wry remarks, slashing the shrubbery with his fine polished oak walking stick with its ornate silver head. We both enjoyed the walks, although he was always tired afterwards. He insisted the exercise was good for him, and, he added, the company was superlative. I glowed inside when he said that. How I loved him. How glad I was we had this time together. We were closer than ever before, and I realized I was wonderfully blessed to have so handsome, so special a father.

He continued to get better, continued to grow stronger, and one afternoon in July he suggested we walk to the village and stop in at Blackwood's and see what they had in stock. I was hesitant, not sure how I would react when I saw Teddy. I asked Father if he was sure he wanted to walk all that way and he informed me that he had walked to school and back for more years than he cared to remember and wasn't completely decrepit yet. He was wearing light brown breeches and a handsome brown frock coat and a rather dapper waistcoat of bronze and beige striped satin, his frilly white neckcloth dapper, too. Silver-streaked pale gold hair neatly brushed, gray eyes full of wry good humor, he looked heartier than he had looked in some time, and I felt he was fully recovered at last.

It was a warm day. I was wearing a white cotton frock with narrow violet stripes, the full skirt billowing as we strolled toward the village at our customary pace. The sky was a pale blue, awash with silvery sunlight, and the air was filled with all the smells of summer. Father was in an unusually good mood and looked forward to visiting the bookshop. I decided I would be very polite to Teddy. It wasn't
his
fault Janine had taken a fancy to him, and I really couldn't blame him for succumbing to her blandishments. What man wouldn't?