The Lynmara Legacy

by Catherine Gaskin

  Rather slowly she removed her coat, revealing a school tunic, a white blouse and blazer. Then with a single swift gesture she pulled off her hat, as if it bothered her. She placed them neatly across the arm of the sofa, and then seated herself. William Osborne for the first time saw her face clearly. His immediate reaction was ‘What a little madame!’, and then, more soberly, ‘What a beautiful girl’.

  Whether Nicole Rainard was beautiful or not was debatable. She had a rather severe face, not the sort currently in fashion, the features were delicate, classical, a pointed chin, faint hollows at the cheeks; but when the gaze went to the eyes the rest was forgotten. While William Osborne took in all this, he also noticed her hair, a great fall of silken black hair caught in a simple ribbon behind her head, hair that reminded him of her mother’s. She had white skin, like her mother’s, and those odd dark upward-slanting eyebrows. She certainly was not pretty in the conventional sense. Given those eyes and those features, she was either beautiful, or she was nothing at all. William Osborne decided that she was beautiful. He was one of many men who would ponder that question in the years to come.

  She heard what Osborne had to say in silence, a silence that strangely disconcerted him. For only the briefest moment her lips parted, as if to utter a protest, when he explained the condition of Henry Rainard’s will which meant that she was to be separated from Anna. But he never could afterwards be certain that it was a protest.

  ‘It’s all settled then,’ she said when he had finished.

  ‘There are details to be worked out. I am in contact, of course, with the solicitors for the estate of Henry Rainard, and Sir Charles Gowing’s solicitors. I have made the suggestion that it would be unwise for you to leave St Columba’s until you have taken your examinations in June. A shame to leave without seeing the results of your work … After all, a few months doesn’t make any difference in complying with the terms of the will.’

  ‘I must see my mother.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not only has your mother already consented to the terms, but, I believe, she has left New York. We do not know her present whereabouts.’

  Some colour came into the white face before him. ‘But she was to receive money …’

  ‘My dear, I wouldn’t attach too much importance to that. The sum of money is not great. I believe Henry Rainard deliberately left it in that twilight area which constituted neither a bribe nor an insult. It was there, available. In these times there are few people who would have refused it. But I don’t think it in any way influenced your mother’s decision. She obviously intends to use it to make some fresh start somewhere. Your mother appears to me to be a woman of admirable will and purpose. She will keep her promise.’

  ‘But I should have been asked ‒’

  ‘Would it have been fair to consult you? To tell you that a considerable amount of money and the chance of further education in Europe was yours ‒ but only on the condition that she did not attempt to see you? Very properly she did not consult you. She left something with me for you …’

  He went to his desk and brought an envelope and a silver letter-opener. The heavy bond paper was headed with the name of Fairfax & Osborne; Anna must have written the letter here in this office.

  Nicole read it twice. It was phrased in Anna’s careful, stiff English, as if she did not entirely trust herself writing in this language. ‘Nicole ‒ do as they say. Don’t try to fight them. Not yet. I couldn’t refuse this condition. Pride is a poor substitute for the reality of money. You cannot live off it, and you cannot eat it. This way, there is no chance that you will ever live at a Mrs Burnley’s again. Do you understand? You will ask what my feelings are. I am angry and hurt, as I have been before. I recovered from that, and I will again. This action of Stephen’s father is just what I might have expected from the English, but you will find them different, because the situation for you will be different. This is the second time the English have managed to throw me out. I do not intend they should ever do it again. How much I would like to be able to refuse that man’s money, but that also would be stupid pride, which I cannot afford. I have uses for it, and it will be used. I will not burden you ‒’ Here a few words were crossed out heavily, as if Anna had faltered. ‘‒ with all my hopes for the future. I cannot, I do not intend to try to live my life again through you. I wish with all my heart that your future will be a happy one. I think it is certain now to be a successful one ‒ who knows, even brilliant.’

  The flowing lines of the letter broke as if Anna had been shy of adding the last. ‘I think, in our way, we have loved each other. I know we have not been very close, but that is the fault of neither one. We have respected each other. Remember this, please, and do not try to find me. Anna.’

  It was so strange, that final signature. The letters had come all through the years to the school, and had always ended ‘Your loving Mother’. Now the person behind that broke through. Nicole stared at the sheets of paper, conscious of William Osborne’s eyes on her, and she was remembering so much that Anna’s strong will had cloaked. She was remembering the organized Christmas and Easter holidays, designed to get her away from Mrs Burnley’s as much as possible; she was remembering the sameness of the summer holidays in Maine, the long silent walks they took together, never having much to discuss, sharing no plans, few jokes, Anna never talking of the past, or of the future, until it had been forced from her that night at Lucky Nolan’s. For the first time Nicole was conscious of having missed a great deal in not insisting on knowing her mother, in not breaking through that reserve and iron will. It could once have been done. It was not possible now. Suddenly the thought came to Nicole; she raised her head.

  ‘When I’m twenty-one? ‒ will I be able to see her then?’

  William Osborne relaxed a little. The first flicker of something human had broken into that stony little face before him, the face that with its trace of childishness still left, still so much resembled the face of the older woman. The self-discipline in both those faces had almost repelled him. It was not natural that women should be this way. For the first time he began to feel easier about the situation, and relieved that he was not part of an instrument which had irrevocably separated this mother and her daughter.

  ‘That will be your decision, of course. The terms of the will are only operative until you are twenty-one, at which time you will come into control of this money, and the right to decide whether or not you wish to see Mrs Rainard.’

  ‘Will I know where she is? Will she keep in touch with you, even if she’s not allowed to write to or see me?’

  He shrugged. ‘That will be her decision. If she chooses to communicate with us, we, at the proper time, will pass on whatever information we have.’

  ‘I see.’ It was said softly, with a kind of deadness of tone which Osborne hated. He talked further about plans for the future. Nicole gave monosyllabic replies, betraying no sense of curiosity about the people who were to become her guardians, about plans being made for her, where in England or Europe she might go to school.

  ‘You don’t seem interested,’ Osborne said at last, driven to it by exasperation.

  Nicole stood up. ‘I’m not very interested, Mr Osborne. I have made application for admission to Vassar, Radcliffe, and Bennington. One of those places was where I was to go to school. I’ve worked for it. Do you expect me to get excited by places I’ve never heard of?’ She reached for her hat and coat. ‘May I go now? I’m sure you and Sir Charles Gowing’s lawyers will fix up the details. There’s really nothing for me to do, but do what I’m told, is there?’ She pulled her hat on firmly, and he jumped to his feet, speechless, to help her on with her coat.

  At that moment one of his two secretaries knocked, and opened the door. The other entered carrying a tray which contained William Osborne’s idea of what a hungry young girl might like for tea. Nicole was already holding out her hand to him.

  ‘But do stay and have some tea ‒ an English custom I’m sure you’ll get used to, and like
.’

  ‘Thank you, I think I would like to start back. There’s a whole evening’s study. So close to the exams, one can’t afford the time …’

  And she left him, his secretary standing with her mouth just slightly open, bearing the tea tray with its little sandwiches, scones, tiny cakes. He had thought he was arranging a tea-party for a child, but this budding young woman was having none of it. Damn, he thought; she was so like that other woman who had compelled him to do things exactly as she had wanted them done, and immediately. He hoped, against all practice, that when she was a grown woman, this girl didn’t decide to give Fairfax & Osborne any of her business affairs to handle. He didn’t want any more, either of Anna Rainard or her daughter.

  When the chauffeured car William Osborne had hired for the journey drew out into the uptown traffic, Nicole said to the driver, ‘I’ll be making a stop, a short stop, on the way back.’ She gave him the address on Central Park West, the apartment Anna had never let her see.

  The driver protested. ‘But I’ve had instructions …’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Nicole said smoothly. ‘It’s all been arranged with Mr Osborne.’ The man didn’t believe that any kid wearing such a school uniform could lie like a veteran, so he did as she asked. The rest of the journey uptown was made in silence, Nicole desperately hoping that when they reached the address, the bluff would keep working. She said nothing but ‘Thank you. I don’t expect to be long,’ as the driver held the door open for her at the entrance to the apartment block, which boasted a uniformed doorman, who hurried to open the door at the sight of the big chauffeured car, an apartment block which had no pretensions, was neither too shabby nor too grand. Nicole waited until the doorman let the door swing closed behind her before she spoke. She didn’t want the driver to hear what came next.

  ‘I’m Mrs Anna Rainard’s daughter. She’s staying near my school in the country and she’s not well. She sent me to get a few things from her apartment. I realize … well, in the rush I forgot to bring the key. Can you let me in? I don’t want to have to go all the way back.’ She tilted her face upwards towards his, and gave the slightest smile. The man blinked rapidly, and wished she hadn’t looked like that.

  ‘Mrs Rainard’s apartment? Well, we don’t have any authority to let anyone …’ Another uniformed man was coming from behind a counter where a rack revealed apartment numbers and the mail sorted and waiting for the tenants. ‘Mike, I’ll handle it.’ Then he in his turn looked hard at Nicole, and once again she used a rather wan smile. ‘Mrs Rainard’s sick, is she? Too bad. Sorry to hear that. And you’re her daughter? Yes, she did go off a few days ago with bags and said she’d be gone for a while. Heard she had a kid …’ It took minutes more of talking before he produced keys, and took her up in the elevator. ‘Against the rules, but, hell, you look so much like your mom, there couldn’t be any trouble.’

  ‘Yes, it was stupid of me to forget the key. And the note she wrote for you … But she was so feverish with this ’flu … and I didn’t want to leave her too long. Thank you very much for your trouble …’ as the man opened the door of an apartment for her. Then, for the first time in her life she found herself passing over a five dollar bill. ‘My mother said to give you that.’

  ‘Well, thanks. That’s real nice of Mrs Rainard. She always was a real nice lady. Sorry about her being sick …’ He wanted to stay and talk, and Nicole found herself smiling again at him. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said as she closed the door.

  She hadn’t known what to expect. It was nothing like Mrs Burnley’s, of course. It didn’t look the boudoir-like place she had dreaded, either. There was only one room beyond the small lobby, a room with a view of the park. There was a kitchenette, and a bathroom. It was comfortably but very simply furnished, neat and almost painfully clean. It told Nicole absolutely nothing of the woman who had lived here. There were a few books with Russian titles, but no piano. There were no magazines, no newspapers. Only the slight film of dust on the polished surfaces told her that no one had entered here for some days. There was no sense of disorder, or of anyone having left in a hurry. Nicole felt her throat tighten as she looked at it. Why had she come? What had she expected this place to tell her? Anna’s final letter to her had been left with William Osborne. There was nothing for her here.

  After a while she began to open closet doors, to open the drawers, searching for something of her mother. There was nothing identifiably hers. The dresses that still hung in the closets belonged to a nightclub entertainer, as did the astrakhan coat and hat. There was a satin-lined box full of costume jewellery, satin bags with silk stockings and lingerie neatly folded. Nicole had never seen underwear like this during the times she had shared a room with her mother. In the bathroom cupboard there were two bottles of perfume, and a whole range of cosmetics, three bottles of nail-polish. Nowhere could she find the neat dark dresses and coats Anna had always worn when she was with her. What remained in this apartment was what signified the woman, Anna Nicholas, the fill-in pianist who worked at Lucky Nolan’s. Anna Rainard had gone.

  Even the refrigerator had been emptied, and the current switched off, as if Anna had been careful of wasting electricity. Who would come, Nicole wondered, to take the rest of it? ‒ the coffee, the tea and sugar, the tin of plain biscuits, the breakfast cereals? Where would the expensive evening dresses go and who would use the perfume? Mr William Osborne didn’t have the answers to everything. Nicole sat down in a chair, facing the open closet doors. Nothing, nothing at all. She had always known herself to be a solitary person, but she had never been absolutely alone until this moment. It was a shock to feel the tightening of her throat swell to a lump that could not be forced away. She seemed to have been a very young child the last time she could remember having wept. So now the tears that came, the blinding storm of tears, were totally unfamiliar, another and worse shock to add to all the ones these last days had given her. Nicole didn’t recognize her own self weeping.

  But she had stopped weeping, and leaned back in the chair, spent and exhausted, when she heard the door behind her open. She jumped to her feet angrily, thinking the man at the desk had returned. The words of protest died as she looked, for the second time in her life, at Lucky Nolan.

  He removed his hat. He was wearing a dark coat over a dark suit. The slightly exaggerated cut of the coat, his dark, rather dapper good looks added up to someone who looked expensively, but just a little flashily, dressed. He looked what he was ‒ a very successful nightclub owner.

  ‘Well, kid …’ he greeted her. ‘Come to see if she left anything for you? Well, she didn’t. I’ve been through it all.’

  ‘How did you know …?’ Nicole struggled for her words. The winter afternoon had darkened, and she hoped this man would not see the signs of her weeping. But he switched on a table-lamp, and she blinked uneasily in the light.

  ‘How did I know you were here?’ he finished for her. ‘The desk man downstairs called me. He’s not quite as dumb as he seems. These apartment house guys, they know all the tenants’ business. What else do they have to do all day but collect information? Sure he knew about me ‒ what my name is, where to find me. He probably knows a hell of a lot more about you than you’d expect. Well, so he called me, and I came.’

  ‘What for?’

  He shrugged. ‘Good question. I didn’t know if there was maybe something I could do to help.’

  ‘Do you know where she is?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, kid, and I’m not going to try to find out. It was quite a letter your mother wrote to me. She’s a very determined woman. When she says it’s over, I know it’s over. Listen, you can’t hold anyone ‒ man or woman ‒ when they want to go. She told me why she was going. You’ve always come first with her, kid. And I’ve always known it. She wanted everything for you. And now, because she thinks she’s somehow going to get in the way when you might have a chance of marrying some big-shot guy, she just ups and gets out. Don’t ask me where Anna gets these ideas. Wo
uldn’t be right for you to have a mother who was still working in a nightclub. She’s too damn polite to say it wouldn’t do to have me in the background either. So she leaves, disappears. She says, “Thanks, Lucky, for everything. It’s been swell knowing you.” That’s it.’ He nodded towards the open closet doors. ‘That’s all of it. All that’s left.’

  He walked across the room and paused before the closet, running his hand along the row of dresses. ‘Good taste, Anna had. Classy. That old fool of a grandfather you have, kid, he just should have seen her sometimes. He should have seen her.’ He went to the open drawer and picked up a handful of the costume jewellery, and dropped it slowly back. ‘I told you she wanted everything for you. Look, other dames would have had a few diamonds, a bracelet, earrings, things like that. No, not for Anna. She wanted your school paid. Sometimes, honest to God, I used to feel like a real cheapskate because she only had this junk stuff. But that’s the way she wanted it. She used to say, “I don’t need to get rich out of you, Lucky.” Listen, kid, when you find a dame like that, you hold on tight. But when she’s gone, you know she’s gone for good.’ He banged the drawer closed. ‘So she’s gone.’ He swung back and faced Nicole. ‘So ‒ is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘They’re doing everything now.’

  ‘Listen, kid, no use in being sore at me. That’s the way things go. Yeah, I know you don’t think much of me. But I gave Anna whatever she wanted for you. That old man, your grandfather, he wouldn’t have been interested in some kid who’d come out of P.S. 43 in Bedford-Stuyvesant in Brooklyn. You can bet your boots he found out all about you before he decided to unload his money. Going to live with some fancy relations, aren’t you ‒ titles and all that? Well, it isn’t my style, but Anna would have been all right there. Pity that old fool of a man never took the trouble to find out ‒ really find out about her. Anna was the swellest dame I ever knew. They don’t come like her much. I’ll probably never see her again. But if that’s the way she wants it, that’s the way it’s got to be. And listen, kid, if she ever gets in touch with you ‒ if you’re ever in touch with her, just say Lucky sends his regards. No ‒ tell her Lucky sends his love.’