from his chair and dropping something, or perhaps throwing it to the floor.
“Love!” I heard him shout as he paced the room with rapid strides. “Is that what they call it in your grand books of poetry when a woman leaves her baby in the cradle to run off with a boy of sixteen? Love!” He gave a snort. “I know some other pretty names for it.”
“I didn’t do so badly by you, Jackie,” she cried. “Those early years were good years, when we’d found this place and the money came pouring in. The luck of Seldom House came true for us, didn’t it, and we were as happy as two people ever could be.
“I know about her, the fair-haired girl,” she continued, and her voice shook as she said it. “She’s lovely, Jackie. Really quite lovely. I know that’s why you sent me home, but I’m not angry, truly. Just remember the good times like I do. Give me this one thing now.”
“Her? You mean them!” His laughter was harsh. “I’ve lost count, there’ve been so many, and every one of them was better than you, with your jealous moods and mad rages. What about poor little Evie, who ended up in the mill race for kissing me at the harvest dance? No, I’ll not let you out to roam the countryside; it’s a public duty to keep you confined.”
At first, only harsh and irregular breaths answered him. Then Miss Winter mastered herself and spoke, her voice strangled and harsh.
“Evie drowned herself,” she said. “I was miles away, and you know it. It suits your precious vanity to pretend I’d do murder for your sake, but listen to me, little Jack Cookson, you puling mamma’s darling, I feel nothing but pity for those silly girlswho waste their days buttoning your breeches and wiping your chin. And I’d not leave now if you begged me to. I wouldn’t miss the show. It warms my heart to think that one day I’ll watch you die, and we’ll always have each other then, Jackie boy.”
“You damned witch!” he shrieked. “Why, I’ll watch you die right now!” And from within the room came the sound of crashing furniture. I did not stay to listen while they killed each other, but ran away in fright.
Himself stood in the doorway of a handsome dining room, with Chinese plates and crystal glasses set upon the table, and tapers shining in the brackets. Mrs. Sexton brought a tureen from the kitchen, and I turned to help her. He stood by to watch us work, like proper gentry.
“Well?” he asked when he saw me alone.
“I couldn’t disturb them,” I said.
Mrs. Sexton looked me over, and she must have guessed what had occurred. “I’ll disturb them,” she said grimly.
She soon returned with the unholy pair. Their eyes were flashing, and their color was high, and not a word did they say while we sat on padded chairs and Mrs. Sexton served the soup. But after supper was over and Mr. Ketch had stormed off tocool his temper in some other corner of the house, Miss Winter sipped wine by the fireside quite peacefully and watched the two of us play.
“What do you have there?” she asked Himself.
Now, I had had the good sense to leave Alma Augusta in the kitchen, but Himself was playing with the other wax doll right in front of her. He trotted over and showed her his plaything, bristling with pins and scars.
“He’s a pirate,” proclaimed Himself.
To my surprise, Miss Winter smiled, and she seemed a whole person just then, not two darting eyes behind a white mask. “He certainly is,” she agreed. “A most selfish and conceited pirate. Be sure to play rough with him, won’t you?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Seeing himself succeed at giving orders made me bold to try. That evening, while Mrs. Sexton ran the warming pan under our sheets and Himself employed a feather as a plank to save his pirate from drowning in the washbowl, I carried a chair over to the shrouded mirror to lift the pillowcase away. As I reached for it, I saw a movement in the glass beneath the cloth: my own movement to uncover it, no doubt.
“Love!” I heard him shout as he paced the room with rapid strides. “Is that what they call it in your grand books of poetry when a woman leaves her baby in the cradle to run off with a boy of sixteen? Love!” He gave a snort. “I know some other pretty names for it.”
“I didn’t do so badly by you, Jackie,” she cried. “Those early years were good years, when we’d found this place and the money came pouring in. The luck of Seldom House came true for us, didn’t it, and we were as happy as two people ever could be.
“I know about her, the fair-haired girl,” she continued, and her voice shook as she said it. “She’s lovely, Jackie. Really quite lovely. I know that’s why you sent me home, but I’m not angry, truly. Just remember the good times like I do. Give me this one thing now.”
“Her? You mean them!” His laughter was harsh. “I’ve lost count, there’ve been so many, and every one of them was better than you, with your jealous moods and mad rages. What about poor little Evie, who ended up in the mill race for kissing me at the harvest dance? No, I’ll not let you out to roam the countryside; it’s a public duty to keep you confined.”
At first, only harsh and irregular breaths answered him. Then Miss Winter mastered herself and spoke, her voice strangled and harsh.
“Evie drowned herself,” she said. “I was miles away, and you know it. It suits your precious vanity to pretend I’d do murder for your sake, but listen to me, little Jack Cookson, you puling mamma’s darling, I feel nothing but pity for those silly girlswho waste their days buttoning your breeches and wiping your chin. And I’d not leave now if you begged me to. I wouldn’t miss the show. It warms my heart to think that one day I’ll watch you die, and we’ll always have each other then, Jackie boy.”
“You damned witch!” he shrieked. “Why, I’ll watch you die right now!” And from within the room came the sound of crashing furniture. I did not stay to listen while they killed each other, but ran away in fright.
Himself stood in the doorway of a handsome dining room, with Chinese plates and crystal glasses set upon the table, and tapers shining in the brackets. Mrs. Sexton brought a tureen from the kitchen, and I turned to help her. He stood by to watch us work, like proper gentry.
“Well?” he asked when he saw me alone.
“I couldn’t disturb them,” I said.
Mrs. Sexton looked me over, and she must have guessed what had occurred. “I’ll disturb them,” she said grimly.
She soon returned with the unholy pair. Their eyes were flashing, and their color was high, and not a word did they say while we sat on padded chairs and Mrs. Sexton served the soup. But after supper was over and Mr. Ketch had stormed off tocool his temper in some other corner of the house, Miss Winter sipped wine by the fireside quite peacefully and watched the two of us play.
“What do you have there?” she asked Himself.
Now, I had had the good sense to leave Alma Augusta in the kitchen, but Himself was playing with the other wax doll right in front of her. He trotted over and showed her his plaything, bristling with pins and scars.
“He’s a pirate,” proclaimed Himself.
To my surprise, Miss Winter smiled, and she seemed a whole person just then, not two darting eyes behind a white mask. “He certainly is,” she agreed. “A most selfish and conceited pirate. Be sure to play rough with him, won’t you?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Seeing himself succeed at giving orders made me bold to try. That evening, while Mrs. Sexton ran the warming pan under our sheets and Himself employed a feather as a plank to save his pirate from drowning in the washbowl, I carried a chair over to the shrouded mirror to lift the pillowcase away. As I reached for it, I saw a movement in the glass beneath the cloth: my own movement to uncover it, no doubt.
Similar Books
