Part 21 (1/2)
”Dr. Matthews.” Mamma's voice interrupted his increasingly desperate description of G.o.d's little girl angels. ”Why don't you go downstairs and wait for me in the morning room? Thomas will fetch the tea.”
”Yes, Lady Mountrachet,” he said, relieved to be delivered from the sticky conversation. He avoided Rose's eyes as he left the room.
”Now, Rose,” said Mamma, ”that was ill-mannered of you.”
The admonition was diluted by Mamma's recent concern and Rose knew she wouldn't suffer castigation. She never did. Who could be cross with a little girl waiting for death to find her? Rose sighed. ”I know, Mamma, and I'm sorry. Only I feel so light-headed, and listening to Dr. Matthews makes it so very much worse.”
”A weak const.i.tution is a dreadful cross to bear.” Mamma took up Rose's hand. ”But you are a young lady, a Mountrachet. And ill health is no excuse for manners less than perfect.”
”Yes, Mamma.”
”I must go and speak with the doctor now,” she said, laying cool fingertips on Rose's cheek. ”I'll look in on you again when Mary brings your tray.”
She swept towards the door, dress rustling as she crossed from rug to floorboards. ”Mamma?” called Rose.
Her mother turned back. ”Yes?”
”There's something I wanted to ask you.” Rose hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Aware how curious her question was. ”I saw a boy in the garden.”
Mamma's left eyebrow briefly broke formation. ”A boy?”
”This morning, I saw him from the window when Mary moved me to my chair. He was standing behind a rhododendron bush speaking with Davies, a naughty-looking boy with s.h.a.ggy red hair.”
Mamma pressed a hand against the pale skin beneath her neck. Exhaled slowly and steadily so that Rose's interest was further piqued. ”That was no boy you saw, Rose.”
”Mamma?”
”That was your cousin, Eliza.”
Rose's eyes widened. This was unexpected. Princ.i.p.ally because it couldn't be so. Mamma had no brothers or sisters, and with Grandmamma's pa.s.sing, Mamma, Papa and Rose were the only Mountrachets left. ”I have no such cousin.”
Mamma straightened, spoke unusually swiftly. ”Unfortunately, you do. Her name is Eliza and she has come to live at Blackhurst.”
”For how long?”
”Indefinitely, I fear.”
”But, Mamma...” Rose felt more light-headed than ever. How could such a tatty urchin be her her cousin? ”Her hair...her manner...her clothes were all wet, and she was dirty and wind-blown...” Rose shuddered. ”There were leaves all over her person...” cousin? ”Her hair...her manner...her clothes were all wet, and she was dirty and wind-blown...” Rose shuddered. ”There were leaves all over her person...”
Mamma lifted a finger to her lips. She turned to face the window and the dark curl at the nape of her neck s.h.i.+vered. ”She had nowhere else to go. Father and I agreed to take her in. An act of Christian charity she'll never appreciate, let alone deserve, but one must always be seen to do the right thing.”
”But, Mamma, what is she to do do here?” here?”
”Cause us great vexation, I've little doubt. But we could hardly turn her away. Failure to act would have looked dreadful, thus must we turn necessity to virtue.” Her words had the sound of sentiments being forced through a sieve. She seemed to sense their emptiness herself and said nothing further.
”Mamma?” Rose poked cautiously at her mother's silence.
”You asked what she is to do here?” Mamma turned to face Rose and a new edge entered her voice. ”I am giving her to you.”
”Giving her to me?”
”As a project of sorts. She will be your protegee. When you are well enough, you will be responsible for teaching her how to behave. She's little better than a savage, not one whit of grace or charm. An orphan who's had little if any guidance as to living in polite society.” Mamma exhaled. ”Of course, I have no illusions and don't expect you to work miracles.”
”Yes, Mamma.”
”You can only imagine, child of mine, the influences to which this orphan has been exposed. She has been living in London among such dreadful decadence and sin.”
And then Rose knew just who this girl must be. Eliza was the child of Papa's sister, the mysterious Georgiana, whose portrait Mamma had banished to the attic, of whom n.o.body dared speak.
n.o.body, that is, except Grandmamma.
In the old woman's final months, when she had returned like a wounded bear to Blackhurst and retired to the turret room to do her dying, she drifted in and out of wakefulness, speaking in fits and starts about a pair of children called Linus and Georgiana. Rose knew Linus was her father, thus, she gathered, Georgiana must be his sister. The one who had disappeared before Rose was born.
It was a summery morning and Rose was resting in the armchair by the window with a warm sea breeze tickling the back of her neck. Rose liked to sit by Grandmamma, to study her as she slept, each breath possibly her last, and had been watching curiously as beads of sweat glazed the old woman's forehead.
Suddenly Grandmamma's eyes blinked open: they were wide and pale, bleached by a lifetime of bitterness. She stared at Rose a moment but her gaze remained untouched by recognition and slid sideways. Transfixed, or so it seemed, by the gentle billowing of the summer curtains. Rose's first instinct was to ring for Mamma-it had been hours since Grandmamma last awoke-but just as she reached for the bell the old woman heaved a sigh. A long, wearied sigh, so thoroughly deflating that thin skin sagged into hollows between her bones.
Then out of nowhere a wizened hand clutched Rose's wrist. ”Such a beautiful girl,” she said, so quietly that Rose had to lean close to hear the words that were spoken next. ”Too beautiful, a curse. Had all the young men's heads turning. He couldn't help himself, followed her everywhere, thought we didn't know. She ran away and didn't come back, not a word from my Georgiana...”
Now, Rose Mountrachet was a good girl who knew the rules. How could she be anything other? Her entire life, confined to her sickbed, she'd been captive to her mother's episodic lecture on the rules and nature of good society. Rose knew all too well that a lady must never wear pearls or diamonds in the morning; must never ”cut” someone socially; must never, under any circ.u.mstances, call on a gentleman alone. But most importantly of all. Rose knew that scandal was to be avoided at all costs, that it was an evil whose very hint could smite a lady where she stood. Smite, at least, her good name.
And yet this mention of her errant aunt, the tantalizing whiff of family scandal, did no such thing to Rose. On the contrary, it sent a wicked thrill racing down her spine. For the first time in years she felt her fingertips tingle with excitement. She leaned closer still, willing Grandmamma to continue, eager to follow the flow of conversation as it swirled into dark uncharted waters.
”Who, Grandmamma?” prodded Rose. ”Who was it followed her? Who did she run away with?”
But Grandmamma didn't answer. Whatever the scenarios that played across her mind, they refused manipulation. Rose persisted but to no avail. And in the end she had to be content with turning the questions over and over in her mind, the name of her aunt becoming for her a symbol of dark and testing times. Of all that was unfair and wicked in the world...
”Rose?” Mamma's brows were knitted into a slight frown. One she tried to conceal but which Rose had become practiced at recognizing. ”Are you saying something, child? You were whispering.” She reached out a hand to gauge Rose's temperature.
”I'm all right, Mamma, just a little distracted by my thoughts.”
”You seem flushed.”
Rose pressed her own hand against her forehead. Was she flushed? She couldn't tell.
”I shall send Dr. Matthews up again before he leaves,” said Mamma. ”I'd sooner be careful than sorry.”
Rose closed her eyes. Another visit from Dr. Matthews, two in the one afternoon. It was beyond her capacity to bear.
”You're too weak today to greet our new project,” said Mamma. ”I'll speak with the doctor and, if he deems it suitable, you may meet Eliza tomorrow. Eliza! Imagine bestowing a Mountrachet family name on the daughter of a sailor!”
A sailor, this was new. Rose's eyes snapped open. ”Mamma?”
Mamma grew flushed herself then. She'd said more than she intended, an unusual c.h.i.n.k in her armor of propriety. ”Your cousin's father was a sailor. We do not speak of him.”
”My uncle was a sailor?”