Bellevere House (Vintage Jane Austen) Page 12

  Ed held out his hands deprecatingly. “We didn’t mean to make a mess of things, sir. It just got a bit out of hand. Everything’s under control now.”

  There was a pop like a champagne bottle as a broad stream of water erupted from the ceiling. People retreated, squealing, as it gushed out at high pressure, spraying a steady geyser over the nearby desk and bookcase. Uncle Warren was too startled to ask for an explanation, had they been able to give one, which they weren’t. They stared at the water in stupefied silence until Faye clapped a hand to her mouth. Oh no. I left Mr. Rivers with the plumbing!

  An instant later that mature, established businessman stormed into the room, beads of water dripping off his hair. He threw down a plumbing pipe and screamed at Myrtle. “I think I broke something and it’s not my fault! don’t think I should have to repair the bathroom. I really don’t think so! I am a guest. I’m not supposed to do anything. I expected to come here and do nothing while people fed me sandwiches!”

  His face was crimson with long-suppressed anger. Uncle Warren’s, by contrast, was as calm as the Sphinx’s. In a moment the latter inquired of Myrtle if she was wearing her mother’s bathrobe. Myrtle blushed and automatically tried to remove it. Realizing that she had only underwear on underneath, she quickly retied the robe around herself and nodded mutely.

  Uncle Warren turned to Faye. “Faye, where is your aunt? I don’t see her here.” With terrible calm, he then addressed Artie. “And might I have your name, sir? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Artie scowled. He did not pay much attention to the actions of the others and believed he should continue with his pompous play-acting of what he imagined Old Warren to be like. “How did you get into the house, whoever you are? I can’t have strange men just running in and out, not with young ladies in the house. Explain yourself. Who are you?”

  Uncle Warren smiled a tiny smile. “I will be happy to tell you.”

  After that, calm was restored in a miraculous space of time. He immediately wrote the irate Mr. Corbie a check and made arrangements for the cattle to be rounded up with Mr. Corbie’s grudging assistance. (The cattle weren’t his, and he didn’t really want to help Grover Haverton—or any of the Havertons. But rounding cattle up was something he knew how to do, and Uncle Warren showed enough respect for his skill and experience to win him over.) Then Uncle Warren shook hands with the Watertons and said he would be delighted to reschedule their outdoor concert to the next weekend, with a full reimbursement in the meantime and no charge for the second concert. Once they and their friends—once again in a fine cheery mood—were disposed of, Horace and Helene were introduced as Mrs. Halwell’s brother and sister. Uncle Warren was very nice and never once asked about the wedding veil which Helene still held bunched in her hands. He looked at Mr. Rivers with interest and said he’d like to take him for a drive and get to know him better. He did not express any opinions on Mr. Rivers’ noticeable age gap with Myrtle, and Mr. Rivers began to look very comfortable as they walked off together.

  Myrtle stood on the side, her face flushed with streaks of pink. She was very quiet and didn’t trust herself to express any opinions when Mr. Rivers was introduced as her fiancé. Her father didn’t know about the adventures with Horace—and he mustn’t know. Horace acted as if nothing had happened between them. She must do the same.

  The others scattered as if by magic. Faye supposed it was really all over now. Not that Uncle Warren was a bore or a dead weight—but it was pretty likely there’d be no more movie scouts and herds of cattle now he was home.

  In two weeks, Myrtle was married. Uncle Warren had a conversation with his daughter, but the details were private and revealed to no one else. Faye guessed he had brought up the topic of suitability. How could he not? But for some undisclosed reason, Myrtle expressed interest in continuing the engagement and her parents did not oppose her. Faye guessed that Myrtle had a desire to marry quickly so she could leave home and continue to amuse herself under Mr. Rivers’ nose. In any case, Myrtle and Mr. Rivers had a few stiff moments at first, as they encountered each other during family dinners and other such events. But it seemed to wear off into a kind of tranquillity—at least enough to make the wedding possible. The ceremony was very small and private, with only about twenty guests. Then the new couple quickly left for an apartment suite Mr. Rivers had rented in New York, in the third floor of a former nineteenth-century hotel. Faye suspected Myrtle was a little resentful about the hush-hush nature of the whole thing, because she’d planned since girlhood to have a huge wedding with announcements and photos in the paper and lavish decorations. But Uncle Warren had been completely firm that this was the direction the wedding would take, and Myrtle hadn’t argued. After Horace suddenly seemed to lose all interest in her, she didn’t have much of a choice.

  Artie vanished into the blue after Uncle Warren made it clear his airs were not amusing. Faye felt sorry for BeBe, who she was sure cherished more feelings for the father of her baby than she wished to let on. It couldn’t be easy to see him rejected so soundly by her family. And they didn’t yet know all! But Faye still had hope it would come out right, given enough time. How could her aunt and uncle, who adored children so much, not relish the addition of a little grandchild? She knew Aunt Betty practically lived for babies. They could buy little baby clothes . . . and decorate the baby’s room . . . Faye was really beside herself. In any case, she had a lot of time to think about the topic. So did BeBe, although Faye couldn’t, after watching closely, detect much sign of thinking on her part.

  The whirlwind party dissolved as rapidly as it had come together, but the effects of those blithe, thoughtless weeks were all too real. Faye thought sometimes about the flawed relationship that must now exist between Myrtle and her husband. It was amazing that Mr. Rivers had gone ahead with the marriage. But he was a person likely to cling stubbornly to any previous arrangement, especially since he clearly had a deep-seated desire to maintain a relationship with a much younger woman. And what younger woman was he likely to get other than Myrtle? Faye felt he had received enough hints to make the decision without interference. However, the Carters did not leave when the others did. It was a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one. Faye had harbored a fear that without the events created by her cousins and their friendship with Mr. Rivers and Artie, the Carters would become bored in Parkdale. She knew she wasn’t a very interesting companion unless her cousins drew her out, as she’d always depended on them to do. But the Carters remained for weeks, with no signs of leaving. Faye thanked God for this daily blessing and prayed for its continuance. Summer’s almost over. In three weeks it will be September. Winter here will be so dull without anyone here to spice things up for me.

  One morning, Uncle Warren came downstairs to find her tidying Aunt Betty’s desk. The Carters were expected to join them for supper in an hour or two. As she handed her uncle the mail, a ruckus on the stairs disturbed them. BeBe, after some urgent telephone calls and audible complaints about “crushing oppression,” had just managed to persuade Myrtle to let her stay in New York. Perhaps a little confiding of a certain matter to her sister had helped Myrtle understand the urgency. BeBe rushed down the stairs, literally scooting past her father.

  “Gotta . . . run . . . miss . . . the 12:30 train . . .,” her high-pitched voice shrieked nervously.

  Uncle Warren folded the newspaper and held up a warning finger sternly. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

  BeBe’s back hunched. Holding a hand to her hat, she turned defiantly around. “Um . . . Myrtle asked me to live with . . . I mean, stay with her. I mean, gollee, don’t act as if it’s so strange! Don’t sisters care about each other? Goodness, what are you suggesting? Anyway, I’m late. Mustn’t miss a train—isn’t that what this family stands for? Well, g’bye!”

  She flew down the hall, the door emitting a resounding clap as she slammed it. Uncle Warren, after a pause, turned to Faye. “And are you going to run out on me too?”

 
; Heavens, no! How can you ever doubt my loyalty, you grand old man? Faye swallowed hard and shook her head several times. “No. Not at all. I’m honored to stay in your house.”

  “Ah,” said her uncle, eying the door. “How reassuring. You know, I was starting to develop a strange idea that I wasn’t welcome back here. Ludicrous, isn’t it?”

  The doorbell rang. Faye, glad to avoid sensitive topics like Uncle Warren’s surprise return, rushed to answer it. She thought it was probably Helene, coming early. But it was even better. Gasping, she opened the door to disclose Bat! After officiating at Myrtle’s wedding, the Halwells had gone up somewhere near Canada so Dan could put in an appearance at one or two revivals. Anyway, she hadn’t expected to see her friend again for at least another week, and was ecstatic. Bat wore an adorable wide picture hat just like the ones that had been in fashion a few decades ago. Faye had often heard her aunt speak lovingly of them. Bat’s eyes beneath the hat were wide and eager. Could this day be any more perfect? It’s just a gift from God, a tiny daily miracle. I hope I’m always grateful for the little things. And how could she not be, when they were so laced with treasure and filled to overflowing with delight?

  Chapter 14

  Faye threw her arms around her friend and escorted her back into the house. “Oh, Bat! It’s so good to see you! I’ve missed you terribly.”

  Bat’s eyes crinkled up in little laugh lines. The wide hat was so fetching. She really had a true ladylike essence about her, all gentility. Even though she’d been born in Tennessee alongside Faye, Faye always saw something of the Old World in her—something of southern England. “Yes, Dan and I went to visit his cousin in Minnesota after the revivals. It’s lovely there this time of year.”

  “Minnesota? How harsh,” Faye laughed.

  Bat untied her hat to disclose mountains of curly soft brown hair. She’d kept her hair longer than the bob, now worn up in a soft bun since ringlets had gone out of fashion, and though it was a little eccentric, Faye thought it suited her perfectly. There’d always been teasing when they were kids about how Faye had blonde hair and Bat had brown. Even though they weren’t sisters, people always compared them. But Faye had never done so.

  “Oh, snow and ice are only for winter! I wish you could see the deep lakes and the huge green fields dotted with flowers,” she exclaimed. “It’s like the great bowl of heaven spreads open before you and the sky is so near and at the same time so far away. I’ve never been closer to God. And Dan’s family are wonderful, pleasant people. Do you know they still draw water from a well and use a wood-burning stove to cook on?”

  Faye squealed. “No! Really?” She grabbed Bat’s hands and together they squealed like children in excitement. “Ahhh!”

  Bat nodded her head up and down, tears darting from her eyes. “Yes!” She glanced around, biting her lip. “By the way, I was wondering if I could borrow one or two small items of clothing from you? Or from anyone, really. My things were blown away by a tornado just as we were about to drive back here, and all my clothes are gone except what I’ve got on. Dan lost his wallet too, so we’re low on cash until he can withdraw more. And I just don’t think wearing only one soiled outfit would look decent, do you?”

  Faye clutched at her heart. “A tornado? Oh, I pray those never happen to anyone, but somehow they still do. I guess my faith isn’t strong enough to change the weather.”

  Faye was more than happy to give several of her dresses to Bat, and her friend after inquiry also took a hat, a pair of blue pumps, and a bracelet Faye had received as a token Christmas gift from Grover years ago. Faye was more than happy to part with all the items.

  Coming downstairs, they passed the angular window at the head of the landing. A noticeable feature of the house, it was a jagged alcove that created a fashionable obstructive shape, without particular symmetry. Cool white light from it always kept the hall looking peaceful and dim.

  Bat clutched Faye’s hand. “Is it true that your uncle has a collection of regional flora? I had heard someone in your family had an intellectual fondness for botany.”

  Faye’s eyes gleamed. Of course! The Fern Museum. A female Haverton some generations back had amassed a huge collection of seeds, fern leaves, and dried flowers which were now deposited in dusty splendor in a very far back room. Faye’s uncle had often considered donating this collection to some natural history museum, but people had protested that it should be sold instead. But it never was sold—nor did they try to sell it—so for the present it remained, taking up quite a bit of space. The collection contained detailed specimens of every kind of plant native to the hundred miles surrounding the house. Nothing so exhaustive had ever been collected from this area, and Uncle Warren sometimes spoke with pride of having had a great naturalist in the family. Bat had a scientist’s eye for plants and animals in her own right. Faye had often urged her to make her little butterfly and plant collections public or apply to work at a museum, but Bat always blushed and told her she was grateful for the appreciation God had given her of His natural world, but her place was with her family. What a pity. And in this age of great achievements for female scientists too. I wish I could raise her confidence about herself. She’s brilliant.

  By late afternoon, Bat had to go home. Faye almost cried as she left, she had so enjoyed being with her friend. They were more than friends—sisters—though one had brown hair and one had yellow. Putting a hand to her heart, Faye smothered a tear and bravely waved goodbye. But it was not long before she had another visitor. Helene followed Bat by about five minutes. As she entered the hall she removed her round black tam cap, a more fashionable and feminine version of the Scottish tam o’ shanter.

  “I’m sorry to pounce on you early like this! If I caught you off guard, I throw myself entirely on your mercy. You have to forgive selfish people because they’ll never reform. Isn’t that a proverb or something?”

  Faye laughed and assured her she wasn’t being selfish at all. She was proud to say her aunt and uncle were always ready to receive visitors, even should Franklin Delano himself be in need of an overnight stay. Soon the two were deep in the family pictures placed around the room, enjoying themselves hugely. Helene had not really been able to see any of them before, though she had been in the house many times, because of the bubbling wild nature of the time when she first came to Parkdale. She admired a pastel cameo of a young Aunt Betty; joked about the heathenishly fashionable Twenties schoolgirl clothes of Myrtle and BeBe in a framed class picture; and stumbled on a picture of Eleanor Wankle, wearing a brooch and high lace collar, in a recess of the desk. The photo was a very old daguerreotype, browned and tinted by age. As she realized this was Grover and Ed’s mother, she remembered that Faye and Ed were not related by blood.

  “I suppose that makes sense, now I think about it. But it was easy to get you all mixed up as one big family. So you didn’t grow up here? Where did you go to school?”

  “Back in Tennessee. I had one year at the high school here, but not enough for me to get a chance to know anyone. And the education I’d had was intermittent, so Uncle Warren had me tutored privately to bring me up to standard. I’m grateful of course, but I do sometimes feel left out. Like all the kids here, my cousins grew up with their friends and went to school together. Every day I feel I miss out on the fraternity the Parkdale young people have with each other.”

  Smiling brightly, Helene put the photo back on the mantle. “I understand. Anywho—enough of that. I’m sure I’ve nosed quite enough for one day. A certain amount can pass off as amateur detective work. The rest is just rude.” She pulled some sheet music from her purse. “If you don’t mind, I’ll play something.” She patted the piano bench. “Won’t you turn the pages for me?”

  She plunged into a piece of recently composed classical music, called “Der Mondfleck.” Faye supposed she knew nothing about it, but some of the notes seemed so hard to sing that Helene’s voice slid rapidly up and down in an awkward, stilted sort of shriek. At least, it appeared that wa
y to Faye. But who am I to say that? Helene is a tremendous musician. And besides, I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “What is it about?” she inquired cautiously when Helene’s fingers came to a rest.

  Helene shrugged. “Oh, a man got the moon stuck on his shoulder and couldn’t get it off. It’s really more about the tune, you know? The music of the future.”

  “Sounds like a band of drunken crickets,” Faye blurted out. She clapped both hands to her mouth, but she couldn’t unsay the words. Oh, how she wished to! Such a pity her plain-dealing outspokenness always got her in a pickle. She wasn’t cut out for intrigue, that was for certain.

  Helene flushed. “Well, it is hard to sing, and I’m so lazy I prefer some of the easy popular music. But when I played this once before, Ed seemed to like it. Said it was a crystallization in chords of the shattered, wild and terrible beauty of our time. I always feel ashamed I don’t like opera more. Especially since I claim to be so broad-minded. But I don’t understand most of it.”

  Faye nodded. “Many of the songs seem lovely, and the singers’ voices are wonderful. I can’t imagine doing such high notes myself. I feel guilty about it, but I find opera boring. I guess it’s a foreign taste.”

  There wasn’t much in these remarks, since they were very trite—Faye had yet to meet a person who didn’t say they loved the singers but hated opera—but the two felt very friendly and didn’t mind being unoriginal. A minute later, Ed himself came in, making them both feel instantly cheerful. He had a way with people that Faye always admired, putting them at ease with the smoothness of petroleum jelly. So does that mean I can’t live without him? Because that is how I feel about petroleum jelly. But then, I overlook it most of the time, and I never get very excited about it. Which could be a small problem when it comes to love. Sigh.