Household

by Stevenson, Florence

  Sir Simeon had coal black hair, and if his rather somber eyes did not flash, they were a deep brown which was almost as satisfactory as black. His features were definitely handsome, and he was also charming. Thus, she found it very odd in herself that she had conceived so immediate a dislike for him. Searching for a reason, she fell back on one that was patently ridiculous.

  He had startled her, appearing so unexpectedly behind her on the graveled path. She had been clipping roses to bring to her mother’s room, that lady being in even lower spirits than usual. With the intention of going back to the house, Juliet had turned and found him there. She had not even heard the crunch of gravel beneath his feet, even though she heard it all well enough afterwards and the explanation for not having heard it had been eminently reasonable. He had been walking on the grass rather than the gravel.

  Sir Simeon’s own reaction to her had proved far different. His graceful speech, full of such words as nymphs descending from Olympus, should have thrilled not embarrassed her. Here was a man of the world come from London, still a magic name to Juliet, who had yet to visit it and who envied Kathleen greatly for not only visiting it but living there. Sir Simeon, bowing over her stiff little hand, complimented her on her beauty, but here a second set of quibbles arose. Though he was quite right about her beauty, her mirror telling her no different, his hand was very cold and his lips similarly chill. That suggested thin blood, a condition one could only pity, but his touch had made her shiver. She had been intensely pleased when Sukey, one of the maids, came to tell her that she was wanted inside.

  Juliet’s opinion of Sir Simeon, detailed later that evening to Colin, surprised and annoyed him, a fact he did not hesitate to reveal. “I would think,” he began coldly, “that when a man has saved my life, you’d be kinder in both your thoughts and your actions. You deliberately avoided him in the music room tonight!”

  They were in Colin’s bedchamber again, and Juliet took an anguished turn around the room, coming to stand opposite her brother.

  “I have tried to be kind to him,” she stressed, “but I do not care for him.” She regarded Colin unhappily. “I pray he’ll not ask me to dance tomorrow night.”

  “I am sure that he will,” Colin said pointedly. “He praised your beauty to me. And if he does wish to inscribe his name on your fan, I beg you’ll not refuse.”

  “Oh, dear,” Juliet sighed. “Have I no choice in the matter?”

  “It would be the only courteous way to behave,” Colin affirmed. “Which reminds me...” Reaching into his pocket, he produced the fan. “This comes from London, my dear.”

  She gazed on it delightedly. “Oh, Colin. The sweet thing!” She flung her arms around him. “I do love you so much. I will even dance with Sir Simeon, but you must ask me, too.”

  “I will, dearest child, but I fear that even were I near you, you’ll be surrounded by lads who’ll not give a mere brother a chance.”

  “I expect that’s true,” she agreed seriously. “So you must be the first to inscribe your name here and now.”

  Colin laughed, and taking the fan to his desk where there resposed an inkhorn and quill, he wrote his name on the first of the spokes, “You’ve a great deal of confidence in yourself,” he commented as he returned it to her.

  “Papa has said that I am the most beautiful girl on either side of the border.” She smiled up at him. “And I say that I have the most handsome brother in the whole world.”

  “Your brother thanks you... and believes you are a bit short-sighted.”

  “I am not in the least short-sighted!” she exclaimed.

  “Very well... but I charge you, be nice to Sir Simeon.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said, pouting. “But I am doing it only for you.”

  ❖

  On the night of her birthday ball, Juliet, sitting at her dressing table and having her curls piled up on top of a wonderfully intricate metal structure tricked out with horse hair, soon to be powdered and topped by a spun-glass coach and four, watched with less interest than usual. The excitement she had been experiencing all that month and for months before that had abated. She felt both tired and out of sorts mainly because of a dream she had had the previous night, one she blamed on Sir Simeon Weir. She was well aware that she was being unfair. It was not his fault that she had dreamed of him, nor her’s neither, she thought bitterly. Still, if he had not been at the Hold, she would not have spoiled her night by dreaming about him.

  “It seemed so real...” she muttered.

  “I beg your pardon, mademoiselle.” Monsieur Vigot, the hairdresser, a little hoptoad of a man, blinked at her in surprise.

  “Nothing, Viggie. I was thinking out loud.” Juliet flushed and flushed again remembering that ridiculous dream. In her dream, she had awakened suddenly to find Sir Simeon Weir seated on the edge of her bed, smiling down at her.

  “Why are you here?” she had questioned, adding rudely, “Go away.” In her dream, she had not been surprised that he should be there, only annoyed.

  She was still annoyed and her annoyance increased as she remembered his reply. “I am here because I love you.”

  Now why had she dreamed that?

  Kathleen had once told her that she willed herself to dream of John making love to her. Juliet had willed no such thing. She could not imagine anything more horrid than having Sir Simeon make love to her. Still, in the dream she had suffered his kiss. It had been horrid. He had not kissed her lips, rather his mouth had fastened near her throat, remaining there for at least... she did not know how long. Then, whispering that he loved her and would return, he had gone. She had awakened immediately and had felt very odd—dizzy and weak. She had been unable to remain awake, and in the morning, the condition still persisted. However she was feeling better now.

  “Helas, ’tis the season for the mosquito, but perhaps a little powder...” the hairdresser murmured.

  “I beg your pardon, Viggie?” Juliet apologized. “I was not attending. What were you saying about powder?”

  “See, there is a little mark on the whiteness. A mosquito must have bitten you... and twice.” He placed a long finger on her throat.

  “Perhaps it is not...” Juliet put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sudden giggle. Meeting the hairdresser’s curious gaze in the mirror, she gave him no explanation. It would have been dreadful had she said, “Sir Simeon may have bitten me.” She would be making a joke, and Monsieur Vigot, to whom gossip was as precious as gold, might have taken her seriously and have bruited her tale through the household. Colin would never have forgiven her! “Perhaps it is not a mosquito but some other insect.” She leaned forward and found to her amazement that there were two little marks on her neck. Something had bitten her in the night, though she doubted it could have been Sir Simeon Weir. She looked anxiously at her hairdresser. “Do you think my necklace will hide these?”

  “Ah, your necklace... I was forgetting that. Of course, mon enfant, diamonds hide much!”

  At last she was dressed. Looking into the glass, Juliet hardly recognized herself. Her gown, with its immense panniers of white and gold satin over a pleated underskirt in white satin, again patterned with golden lilies and edged with gold scallops along the hem, the whole held up by an immense hoop, was magnificent. Her close-fitting bodice was laced tightly in the back, cut low and square in the front, accentuating the slight fullness of her bosom. Her sleeves were edged in fine lace. Diamond earrings matched the diamonds that clasped her throat, and there were also diamonds set in the heels of her little white satin shoes.

  “C’est magnifique!” exclaimed Monsieur Vigot, and Maria, her maid, gasped, “Lor, I’m struck dumb, milady.”

  Juliet wanted to nod but thought better of it. Despite all the pins in her headdress, it still felt as if it might topple and send the coach and four skimming to the floor. She would also need to take care how she walked, for despite the fact that she had been practicing for this night all of her life, or so it seemed, the hoop needed managing
. She smothered a giggle. It was well the entrances were wide. And Colin, who was waiting in her sitting room to escort her to their mother’s bedchamber, would also guide her down the stairs.

  “But you are beautiful, too!” Juliet greeted her brother, who was looking at her dumbfounded. He was, she thought, in his white satin coat, his gold embroidered waistcoat, his white satin breeches and his white stockings with their embroidered clocks. He wore his own hair but heavily powdered and tied in the back with a black ribbon. Diamonds sparkled in the lace at his throat. A flurry of compliments flew between them and then he offered his arm.

  “Come, let’s get to Mother.”

  Catlin, propped up on a mound of lace-edged pillows and wearing a pale, rose-colored negligee, looked at her two children through a haze of tears. Colin, clad in white, much resembled Richard as he had been on that night, over a quarter of a century ago, before Tim, her protective coachman, had sent him sprawling in the street. Juliet? Juliet as usual, was looking very beautiful but... Catlin frowned. It seemed to her that the girl was paler than usual. It was on the tip of her tongue to comment on it, but now was not a time for criticism.

  She said, “I wish I might be present, my own darlings, but be assured that all my thoughts will be with you. I pray you’ll have a lovely time.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Juliet stepped forward impulsively, wanting to kiss her.

  “No.” Catlin raised a protesting hand. “Best not bend or stoop too much with such a head.”

  Juliet moved back. “It is rather silly, isn’t it? I am sure Colin thinks so.”

  “I never said that,” he retorted indignantly. “And ’tis my honest opinion you are not the most beautiful girl in three counties but in all of England and Scotland, too.”

  “Indeed, she is.” Richard, attired in royal purple, stepped into the room and moving to Catlin dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I wish you’d be with us, my dear,” he said and swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat as he met Catlin’s eyes, adoring and unreproachful. They were, he thought, still as blue as the lakes of Kilarney. Bottling up a sigh, he escorted his radiant children from the room.

  Once she set foot on the dance floor, Juliet’s unaccountable malaise vanished. Besieged by partners, she disappointed all of them by opening the ball with Colin and then proceeded to be gracious and generous as well. She was extremely glad that Sir Simeon did not become one of the number eagerly soliciting her for minuets, gavottes and country dances. However she did meet him during one of the figures of a dance and, much to her secret embarrassment, just managed not to grimace. She did have to agree with Colin that he was a good-looking man. Powdered hair became him, and his eyes were really quite beautiful, deep and dark, twin wells into which one could fall. She banished that surprising thought. Even if she had dreamed of him, she could never become attracted to him!

  As she had opened the ball with Colin, Juliet closed it with Tony, who was looking remarkably handsome in a plum-colored suit stitched with silver.

  “Well, infant,” he said as the music ended and the weary musicians set about packing their fiddles, flutes and harp, “have you fallen in love?”

  Juliet smiled up at him. “There are so many,” she complained. “I thought I loved Christian Rivermead, but the stream’s run dry.”

  “Ugh,” commented her brother, pretending to shudder at her witticism.

  Juliet flushed. “Colin would have laughed,” she accused.

  “I am sure of that.” Tony regarded her gravely. “You are mighty close with Colin,” he observed.

  She glared at him. “Not so close as that, Tony. I want to fall in love.”

  “And what do you think of Sir Simeon Weir? He has been casting sheep’s eyes in your direction all this night.”

  “I wish he were a thousand leagues from here,” Juliet said positively. “Imagine a man who sleeps the whole of the day away. I could not exist without the sun!”

  “He is a strange sort,” her brother agreed. “I am not at all sure I like him.”

  “I am sure I don’t like him,” she stated. She gazed across the ballroom at those guests who still remained. “He’s not here now. I expect the sunrise has sent him off to bed.”

  “It should send us all to bed. You’re looking very weary yourself, infant.”

  “Oh, Tony,” she scolded, “you should not call me ‘infant’ when I am seventeen and seven months.”

  “A great age,” he teased.

  “I do not see Felicity,” Juliet observed.

  “She left early.” He frowned. “She wasn’t feeling quite the thing.”

  “A pity. She did look so beautiful in that blue gown.”

  “Yes,” Tony agreed. “A picture.”

  “And one you’d like to add to the gallery upstairs,” she accused.

  Tony flushed. “It is my hope,” he admitted.

  “And her’s as well,” Juliet commented. “If anyone’s affianced this night, ’twill be you. La, Tony, I think I am quite envious of you.”

  “There’ll be other balls, infant.”

  “Oh, I do hope so!” Juliet exclaimed. “I do love to dance!” She whirled around the polished floor, looking at her image reflected to infinity in its four facing mirrors, and was caught by Colin, who whirled her around again, while Tony stood watching and frowning slightly. He was glad that Colin must soon return to Oxford. They were almost too close, the pair of them. Then he forgot them, as looking into the mirror he seemed to see himself and Felicity. She had looked beautiful tonight, and though it had been entirely wrong to voice his sentiments and intentions before speaking to her father, he had offered and she had glowingly accepted. He would wait on Sir Robert Campbell tomorrow.

  ❖

  Near six in the evening two days after the ball, Kathleen went into labor, and the Hold was in an uproar—mainly because Catlin had told of Molly, rushing howling down the castle corridors with the spirit cat shrieking behind her.

  Upbraided by a harried and anxious Richard, Catlin merely sobbed and wailed, “You must believe! Why will you not believe I hear them? And the children do, also.”

  Richard, dispatching messengers for the doctor and also for a midwife, was glad Catlin’s formidable bulk prevented her from leaving her bed. He had had enough of hysterics from the maids who, without one shred of evidence, believed implicitly in Catlin’s damned banshee and had crazy anecdotes of their own to prove the improbable. His main concern was that these tales of the creature’s overwrought behavior must not reach the ears of his suffering daughter.

  Unfortunately, despite all his determined efforts to keep Kathleen from finding out about Molly’s so-called peregrinations, on entering her chamber he learned that she knew all about them, as did Tony and presumably Colin and Juliet, who had not yet come to their sister’s room.

  “Superstition,” Richard proclaimed, looking into his daughter’s agonized face. “’Tis naught but superstition.”

  ❖

  Below in the great hall, Colin was bidding farewell to Sir Simeon Weir, who cloaked and booted, was just inside the door. “I thank you for your hospitality,” he said gratefully.

  “We were pleased to have you,” Colin replied politely, hoping that his thoughts were not mirrored in his eyes. Though he was reluctant to admit it, the fact that Juliet had conceived such a dislike for the man had influenced him adversely. However he did not agree that Sir Simeon had a unhealthy pallor, something he had ascribed to the fact that his guest ate very little, merely picking at his food. Tonight, he was looking very well. There was color in his cheeks, and his eyes were certainly brighter. The rest had obviously done him a world of good.

  “I was quite taken with your little sister Juliet,” Sir Simeon was saying, “but I fear she did not feel the same for me.”

  “Oh, well,” Colin temporized, “Juliet does not know her own mind and...” He paused, cocking his head. He was hearing Molly now, wild and piercing. He thought immediately of poor Kathleen and wished Sir Simeon would hurry with
his farewells.

  “I must go,” Sir Simeon said. “And I thank you again. I am in your debt indeed, and I hope that some day I will be able to repay your hospitality.”

  “I wish you a safe journey,” Colin said, following him outside and watching him mount his horse and ride off into the gathering shadows. Coming back into the hall, he had a mind to seek out Juliet, whom he hadn’t seen since they had gone riding early that morning. She had dreamed of Sir ’ Simeon again, she told him gloomily. “He quite ruins my nights,” she had concluded.

  She had looked tired, Colin recalled. He should tell her that, if out of common courtesy, he had not actually speeded the parting guest, he had at least seen him off. However, Molly’s howling was loud and agonized. He hurried back to Kathleen’s chambers.

  ❖

  Juliet had been feeling tired ever since the ball and, in fact, had found it very difficult to rise this morning. It had been a real chore to go riding with Colin, but she had not wanted to forego that pleasure. However, upon coming back, she had fallen into her bed without removing her garments, even though they smelled most unpleasantly of horse. She had been so weary that when Sukey came to tell her that Kathleen was in labor, her first thought had been one of actual annoyance. Even though Kathleen would never know, she felt very guilty about that, and certainly she must soon go to her sister’s apartments. She, too, had heard the keening of the banshee and the yowling of the cat. That spelled danger, she was sure of it—but it was so difficult to bestir herself. She longed to rest. She dared not rest for she would fall asleep, and Kathleen would never forgive her. She rose and was about to ring for her maid when there was a soft tap at her door.

  “Come,” she called, expecting Colin, but it was Sir Simeon Weir who stood framed in the aperture and, even as her surprise was turning to anger, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Indignation boiled up in her bosom, “What are you doing in my room?” she demanded.