Winterwood by Dorothy Eden

the lurch by Eliza’s getting ill and that wretched Miss Brown’s leaving us in Switzerland. Although I must be fair to her and say that my daughter tormented her. I must have your promise, Miss Hurst, that if you undertake this journey with us you will not desert us halfway. After we reach Winterwood is another matter. Shall we regard this as a trial arrangement?”
    “Certainly, Mrs. Meryon. Nothing could suit me better.”
    Charlotte sighed with relief. She had saved face. She had been forced to engage Lavinia, but had done so on her own terms.
    “Then I hope you are ready to begin at once. My husband and I will be at my aunt’s palazzo all day, so I shall want you to stay with the children. Please pay particular care to Edward. He is a high-spirited child and loves to do what he calls his disappearing trick.” Charlotte smiled fondly and went on, “Tomorrow I will want you to pack my aunt’s belongings. Eliza is coming today to help me sort them out. It’s all so exhausting in this heat. And I worry continually about my poor aunt. She isn’t fit to travel, but insists on doing so.”
    “It would be terrible if she died on the way,” Lavinia said.
    “Don’t even begin to think of such a thing,” Charlotte spoke with a peculiar intensity. “It simply mustn’t be allowed to happen.”
    Lavinia very soon had sympathy with the departed Miss Brown. She knew that Flora, self-willed, pampered and highly disturbed as a result of her crippled condition, would be difficult, but Edward proved to be nothing less than a fiend. He refused to obey, was ill-mannered and noisy, and tormented Flora until she was in furious tears.
    “I told you, Miss Hurst. Mamma ruins him. She thinks he can do no wrong. He’s her pet. How do you like being a pet?” she demanded viciously of Edward.
    “How do you like being a crybaby?” Edward retorted. He really was a beautiful child, with his rosy cheeks and glossy black curls. He was the exact opposite of Flora with her waxen peaked face and straight brown hair. She must have been a plain child even before her accident. No doubt her mother had always been disappointed in her. Her best feature was her eyes, which could blaze into a tigerish color when she was agitated. But even they became a disappointing hazel when she was dejected or tired. The Italian sun had brought out a faint dusting of freckles on her cheekbones, which were causing her distress. She wanted to put rice powder over them, and sulked when Lavinia laughed at her vanity.
    “If you’re going to behave like Miss Brown I’ll be sorry I ever persuaded Papa to employ you,” she said spitefully.
    “Old Brownie,” Edward put in. “Flora was awful to her. Miss Hurst, can I go out and play?”
    “Not until Flora has had her rest after luncheon. Then we will all go for a walk.”
    Edward behaved as if he hadn’t heard her. This, Lavinia was to find was a characteristic of his when people didn’t say what he wanted to hear. He appeared to be quite contentedly occupied playing with his toy soldiers, and Lavinia giving her attention to Flora, couldn’t have said when he disappeared.
    It was the stranger bringing him back who startled her.
    He walked into the room after the most perfunctory tap at the door, dragging a pouting Edward by the hand.
    “I found this young man wandering in the Piazza. I thought I had better bring him back”—he had given Lavinia a casual look, then looked again, with some intentness—“since I hardly think you had given him permission to be out, Miss—”
    He waited in the boldest way for her to say her name. He had expected her to be Eliza, and was inquisitive as to her identity. She hadn’t the slightest idea who he was. He had a handsome highly colored face, though it verged on coarseness, with thick lips, and bright bold eyes. His clothes suggested the dandy. He had a look as if he were about to break into laughter. His lips were slightly parted and seemed to quiver.
    What was so