The Master of Phoenix Hall (17 page)

“Of course you should,” I said.

“But, dammit—”

“You would worry all evening, Greg. Go to him.”

“What about you? The ball—”

“You can take me home first.”

Laurel Mellory came over to us then, seeming to float like a butterfly in her blue and silver gown, the skirts billowing like wings. Her silvery blonde hair was stacked in glossy waves on top of her head, caught up with blue velvet ribbons, and three long curls dangled over her naked shoulder. Her face was animated. Her dark blue eyes were full of excitement. Laurel took my hand and smiled, very pleased to see me.

“Oh, Angela. It's so nice. These people terrify me. They're all so grand! Isn't it exciting! You must stay by me to give me support. I have been looking all over for you. I didn't see you come in. I was afraid that you wouldn't come—” Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm, and her young face was almost beautiful.

“I am afraid I must leave, Laurel,” I said quietly, and then I explained what had happened. Greg added a few words, making his apologies in a sober voice. The sparkle went out of Laurel's face, and she lowered her lids in disappointment.

“No,” she said. “You mustn't go—Greg, of course, you must, but let Angela stay. The ball has hardly begun. We have such magnificent food, and I so wanted you to be here, Angela—”

“I'm sorry, Laurel—”

“No, you must stay,” she said, like the child she actually was. “You can have one of the carriages to go home in. I'll have Clark drive you back to Dower House. Yes, yes, that's what we'll do.”

Greg looked at me with questioning eyes. I nodded my head.

“Very well,” he said. “Come with me to get my cloak, Angela.”

We left Laurel and went back up the stairs to the grand hall. I waited as Greg claimed his cloak. I did not want to stay. The grandness of the people, the glamor of the mansion, the beauty of the music had already put me in a pensive, depressed mood. I wanted to be alone in my simple little parlor. I wanted to sit and sew and be plain Angela Todd. I did not want to masquerade as something I wasn't.

“I feel rotten, leaving you like this,” Greg said, wrapping his rich swirls of cloak about his shoulders.

“It couldn't be helped,” I replied.

“No—no, I suppose it couldn't,” he answered, his voice hard. I was surprised at the tone. “Damn the boy, anyway,” he said. “I don't want to leave you like this. I wanted tonight to be our night, Angela. There is so much I want for us.”

He was very intense. Two small spots of color glowed on his fine cheek bones, and his gray eyes were very dark. I reached up and pushed a lock of hair from his forehead, and he caught my fingers, gripping them tightly in his hand. I winced.

“Greg—”

“There is so much I want for you.”

“Please—” He was hurting me.

He released me. We walked down the hall and he found a servant and requested that his carriage be sent around front. We walked outside, onto the porch with the curving marble stairs. It was cool, with small zephyrs of wind rustling the ivy on the walls. The sky was a cold, hard black, a few frosty stars glittering like bits of ice. The drive curled in front of us, one solitary light casting a silver glow on the crushed shell. I stood at the railing, my palms resting on the cool marble. Greg stood behind me. I could feel his body near mine, and I could smell the leathery, male smell of him.

I was uneasy. I did not know why. The ball and all its color was behind us, all the noise and gaiety shut off behind the heavy oak doors. I was trembling, but I attributed that to the breeze on my uncovered shoulders. I was afraid of what Greg might say. I did not want him to say anything. I wanted the carriage to come and this moment to end.

He was a fine man. He was a very dear friend. He had been wonderful to me ever since I had come to Dower House. He was intelligent, handsome, poised, the kind of man any woman would be fortunate to have, but I did not want him to stop being my friend. I did not want him to become anything more, not just yet. I did not know him, not really, and I did not know myself well enough to sort out the curious emotions I felt.

“You're shivering,” he said, putting his hands on my shoulders.

I shrugged, trying to compose myself.

“It's nothing,” I said. “The carriage will be here in a moment.”

“You'll catch cold,” he replied, his voice very gentle, “and it would be my fault. I wouldn't want anything bad to come to you because of me. Here—” He took off his cloak and wrapped it around me, smoothing it over my arms and shoulders.

“Better now?” he asked, adjusting the heavy satin folds.

I cast about in my mind to find something to say, anything to relieve the tension I felt.

“Greg—the—the notebooks, Aunt Lucille's notebooks, have you been able to do anything with them? You said you might be able to decipher the code. Have you worked on it?”

“I haven't had time,” he replied.

“I'm so curious about them. I am eager to see what they contain. Do you think you'll be able to get to them soon?”

“I don't know.”

“It was so strange, their being locked in that secret drawer, and the gun and the key.” I had not meant to say this. Greg didn't know of them and I was irritated with myself for having let it slip out.

“The gun? The key?”

“There was a gun in the drawer, a fancy little gun, and a key. I've no idea what the key unlocks.”

“Why didn't you tell me about them?”

“I—I don't know. I didn't think it important.”

He did not reply. The silence hung heavy. There was the muted sound of the music, closed off, a faint suggestion of music that only made the silence more uncomfortable. I kept wishing I would hear the sound of hoof beats and the crunch of wheels on the drive.

“Aunt Lucille was a rather enigmatic figure,” I said. “I wish I had known her, really known her. What a strange old woman she must have been with her herbs and poisons and secret drawers and revolvers and keys. You really must decipher those notebooks. Or, better yet, if you don't have time, I can send them to London. There must be someone who can decipher them, perhaps that old man who works in the Museum. I used to talk about Egypt to him everytime I went, and he seemed to know a lot about all the scripts and things—”

I was babbling nervously, and Greg had not said a word. It was quite clear, I had irritated him. He did not want to talk about notebooks and old men who worked in museums. I turned around to face him. I could barely see his face. In the darkness it was a large, pale oval with the jaw thrust out angrily. His eyes were hard and did not conceal his irritation.

“Would you like me to take the notebooks back?” I asked. “I don't want to trouble you, and I'm sure someone in London—”

“Why are you so curious about the notebooks?” Greg said. His voice was level, low pitched.

“Isn't curiosity natural?” I replied.

“Forget them, Angela,” he said. “Forget about sending them away. I will get to them one of these days. Soon. Damn, I wish that groom would hurry with the carriage! I'm worried about the boy.”

“I know, Greg,” I replied, trying to sound comforting.

He
was
worried, and it was admirable in him. Greg was devoted to those boys he taught, and he was willing to give up his own pleasure in order to be at the bedside of one of them, even when his presence could do no real good. That was admirable too. He had been acting strangely tonight, but then he had just returned from a long and arduous journey to Liverpool. He said that his brother's business affairs were in a terrible tangle, and he had had to untangle them. That could not have been pleasant. He had arrived in Lockwood only in time to bathe and change into his formal attire so that he could take me to this ball.

I should appreciate all that, I told myself, and I should not grow all tense and nervous because I'm afraid he is going to declare himself. I should be proud and happy that a man like Greg Ingram is even interested in me. Greg was interested; he had made that clear this evening at Dower House. I should have been ecstatic at my good fortune, but something darker, stronger held me back from responding to Greg. I did not know yet what it was, but I knew it wasn't in Greg's power to unleash that force.

“I suppose I made a fool of myself at Dower House this evening,” he remarked crisply. “Talking like that, telling you my plans, asking you to share them with me.”

“Don't talk like that, Greg.”

“I asked a foolish question. I told you foolish things.”

“No, Greg,” I said quietly. “It was not foolish.”

“I wanted to share with someone, with you.”

“I understand. Your plan—whatever it is, whatever you are going to do that will be so important—I understand. I want to share your excitement about it. You deserve the best, Greg.”

“Do I?”

“Of course.”

“The best is you,” he said, his voice flat.

“Greg—”

“You feel nothing?”

“I—of course I do.”

“You don't show it.”

“Greg—”

“I've tried to make myself clear, my feelings—”

“You are the best friend I have, Greg.”

“Friend? Yes. I have your friendship.”

“Isn't that enough?” I asked. I knew the moment the words left my lips that they were the wrong words.

He laughed quietly. It was a bitter laugh.

“Enough?” he said. “What is enough? You work hard all your life, and you get respect. You toil, you give up, you sacrifice so that you can make something of yourself, and you end up in a country school. You have the respect and admiration of the people, oh yes, and you have the condescending patronage of gentry like the Mellorys, but that's all you have. Tell me, is that enough?”

“For many people it would be,” I replied.

“But I am different. I want more than leftovers.”

“You are being unfair to yourself, Greg.”

“Am I? I want more than respect. I want more than admiration. I want fine things. I want to be able to hold my head high. I want to be powerful. I want to be able to stand beside men like Roderick Mellory and feel equal, equal in every way.”

I made no reply. There were no words I could say that would help. I did not know what I could do to make him see how wrong he was. How could I show him that he was twice the man that Roderick Mellory was? How could I let him know that he was worth more, far more? There was only one way, and I could not bring myself to play false. I could not pretend to feel something that I did not feel.

“You will have all the things you want,” I finally said. “You must give yourself time.”

“Time? There isn't much time, Angela.”

He stood back. I could see the expression on his face, and it hurt me. It hurt me to think that I was partly responsible for that expression. I laid my hand gently on his cheek. After a moment he relaxed. He heaved his chest and sighed heavily. It was as if all the energy was suddenly drained out of him.

“Forgive me,” he said in his natural voice. “I don't know what brought on this outburst. It was uncalled for.”

“You are exhausted. The long trip, this boy's sudden illness—”

“I suppose that's it. You will forgive me?”

“You don't even need to ask that.”

I heard the carriage coming up the drive. I thought it was one of the loveliest sounds I had ever heard. It circled in front of the porch and stopped. The groom began to climb down. In the semidarkness I saw the satiny sheen of the horse's coat.

Greg took both my hands in his. He pressed them tightly.

“I am sorry to leave you like this,” he said. “You understand?”

“You know I do. Be careful. And let me know about the child.”

“I will, Angela. Enjoy the rest of the ball.”

He held my hands a minute longer and then left, without saying another word. It was only after he had climbed into the carriage and was driving away that I realized I was still wearing his cloak. It was much too large for me, the heavy satin folds completely engulfing my body, but I stood there holding it tightly about me. I did not want to go inside just yet. The cloak smelled strongly of his pungent, masculine scent. I stroked the black satin lapels, thinking about the strange, misplaced man to whom the garment belonged.

X

T
HE HOUSE WAS FILLED WITH SOUND
. The music rose and swelled in bright waves and against this there was the sound of people laughing and talking. I left Greg's cloak with an attendant and stood in the hall for a moment. I did not feel like joining Laurel just yet. I had experienced too many emotions, too quickly, and I had not had time to pull myself together. There was a large mirror in a heavily ornate frame hanging on the wall across from me, and I caught sight of myself.

My eyes seemed very large and dark, with shadows under them, and the wind had disarrayed the neat coiffure Nan had worked so hard on. It had stung bright spots of color on my cheeks. I stared at myself. The red satin gown did not seem appropriate with the messed hair and the dark eyes. I wondered what I was doing here in this grand house, hearing the bright music and all the gaily chattering voices. I was like a plain pebble in a box of diamonds, and I did not belong. I wanted to run away, to be alone so that I could sort out my emotions, but my loyalty to Laurel made me stay.

I could not face the people just yet. I walked down the hall and found a door ajar. I opened it and stepped into a small sitting room. It was all in darkness, but a shaft of moonlight fell through the parted drapes, making a shimmering bar of silver in which tiny motes whirled. I stepped into the room, pulling the door closed behind me. I could see a dark blue couch and the outlines of an ivory topped table, touched by the moonlight, but the rest of the room was a nest of shadows.