Winterwood by Dorothy Eden Page B

morning?” he asked with great interest. His lively little face was highly attractive when it lost its look of obstinacy and self-will.
    “Never. You are too odious.”
    “Well, so are you. You’d better be careful what you say to me because you can’t run away. I’m going to pull your hair until it comes out in my hand.”
    “No, no! Stop him, Miss Hurst! He’s a devil! Miss Hurst!”
    It was a pity that Charlotte chose that moment to return. This was the signal for Edward to burst into loud sobs and fly to his mother’s skirts, and for Flora to sink into a white sulkiness.
    “There, there, my baby!” Charlotte raised indignant eyes. “What have you been doing to him, Flora? You’re the eldest, and should know better. Miss Hurst, this was one reason why I was glad to have Miss Brown leave. She seemed unable to keep order.”
    “I believed I was engaged to look after Flora only,” Lavinia pointed out.
    “Yes, yes. Edward will have a tutor when we get home. But while we are in these straits I do expect you to lend a hand. I have just had a most trying hour with my aunt, and my head is aching. Teddy, pray think of Mamma’s poor head, and stop making that noise. Miss Hurst, I would like you to come this evening to visit my aunt, and take her packing in hand. If you could see the things she wants to take!” Charlotte pressed her hands to her brow. “One would think she was planning to spend a lifetime in England when really, at the most—” Charlotte saw Flora’s too watchful gaze and shrugged her shoulders, indicating wordlessly her aunt’s imminent death.
    “How is she today?” Lavinia asked.
    “Astonishingly well. And that is making her very difficult. She wants to see everything. This must be shaken out; that must be wrapped in cotton wool; her jewelry must be carried by hand; the gown she wore to a royal reception, heaven knows how many years ago, must be packed in a trunk of its own. There are pictures, ornaments, furniture. But those simply must be got rid of. I think you, a stranger, might have more influence with her, Miss Hurst. My husband simply won’t have the patience to travel back to England with a whole caravan of luggage.”
    Now that they were off the tricky subject of the children, Lavinia felt more sympathy.
    “Certainly I will do what I can, Mrs. Meryon. By the way, a Mr. Peate called.”
    A curious expression passed across Charlotte’s face. It was there for the merest second. It was quite unreadable.
    “Oh, Jonathon! Did he say when he would call again?”
    “No, not the exact time.”
    “He’s like all men, expects one to be at his beck and call.” There was a note of irritation and fluster in Charlotte’s voice. “He could be of much more help to me with Aunt Tameson if only he were of some use in a domestic crisis. But I find men quite helpless in a sickroom or in organizing a house. Well, we women must bear the burden. Come with Mamma, Teddy. She might just possibly have a sweetmeat for you.”
    Flora watched them go.
    “You see, Miss Hurst. Edward is Mamma’s pet. He will grow up to be a milksop, Papa says. How lucky you were to be an only child. You would have all your parents’ love. Did it make you very good?”
    “Do I look good?”
    “Not in the least, thank goodness. Miss Hurst!”—Flora’s voice seldom lost its agonized intensity—“Don’t let Mr. Peate look at you like he did.”
    “I can scarcely alter his expression. What was it you didn’t like about it?”
    “I can’t explain. Anyway, I don’t like him. He laughs when there’s nothing funny. We never met him before we came to Venice. Don’t you think that odd?”
    “Sickbeds have a way of gathering strangers together. Perhaps Mr. Peate is fond of your great-aunt.”
    “He’s fond of her money, more likely.”
    “Flora, what a very cynical thing to say. Did you hear someone else say it?”
    “I heard Papa and Mamma talking. Papa said she was to send that fellow packing, but she said