Madalena

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Madalena Page 18

by Sheila Walsh


  Amaryllis had been a pretty child; as a woman she was breathtakingly lovely. A flawless skin rivalling the delicate bloom of magnolias was enhanced by black, silken curls; if the eyes were a little hard and the rosebud mouth pursed with discontent, these were but small imperfections.

  Her manners, however, were less impressive, though Felicity was obliged to acknowledge that tiredness was probably making her over-sensitive. It was perfectly understandable that Amaryllis should appear a trifle cool. To be suddenly confronted by a relative whose existence was but indifferently known to one was bound to be something of a facer.

  She resolved to set matters straight.

  ‘I am obviously not expected,’ she said with some crispness. ‘I have no wish to impose myself upon you, cousin. Clearly my letter has gone astray.’

  Amaryllis asked with conspicuous reluctance, ‘Are my … are your parents also back in England?’

  ‘They are both dead.’ The bleakness of the reply was echoed in Felicity’s eyes. A tiny, involuntary ripple of shock ran round the room, but she was unaware of it as she knew again the despair of total bereavement. It was in part this despair which had led her to seek out her sole remaining family, for did not blood call to blood at such a time?

  To be sure, they had met no more than a few times ‒ and that as children ‒ but had not Amaryllis herself lost husband and mother over recent months? It should have forged a bond between them. Watching Amaryllis now, pettishly plucking at the fine floating gown of deepest violet, which so exactly mirrored her eyes ‒ and seeing in those eyes an ill-concealed relief that she would not be called upon to receive an aunt and uncle whom she despised ‒ Felicity was forced to acknowledge that her judgement had been sadly out.

  ‘Well, I am very sorry to be sure,’ Amaryllis was saying. ‘I suppose since you are here, you had best remain ‒ for the present at any rate.’

  Dear God! Does she imagine I am come to sponge on her? Felicity’s spirit moved in revolt.

  ‘No. I will not stay,’ she said quickly. ‘I came only …’ Here she stopped. Only to enlist your aid in securing me a position was what she had intended to say, but before so many people ‒ and with that odious man’s glass upon her ‒ the words stuck, and with craven cowardice she allowed them to remain unspoken.

  ‘I see now that it was foolish of me to come as I did. I have left a trunk at the Swan in Stapleforth. If you will provide me with some form of conveyance, I will trouble you no further, cousin.’

  ‘Bwavo! Well spoken, Juno!’ applauded the Corinthian. ‘Amawyllis ‒ you’ll not let this so charming cousin escape?’

  Amaryllis wriggled her shoulders. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! I have said she may stay, have I not?’ She turned impatiently to Felicity. ‘You cannot possibly put up at a common hostelry alone.’

  The absurdity of this was too much for Felicity. Why should she care for the good opinion of these people? Her good humour restored, she said with a twinkle, ‘My dear Amaryllis, you would be amazed at some of the places I have been thankful to lay my head. No, my difficulties are, I fear, financial. Not to put too fine a point on it, coz, I have scarcely a feather to fly with and must secure a position without delay. I thought perhaps a governess ‒ or a companion ‒ I believe I have the necessary skills. It occurred to me that you might know of someone ‒ a personal recommendation would undoubtedly carry more weight.’

  There ‒ it was out! The various reactions were fascinating to behold. Amaryllis flushed bright red, furious, Felicity supposed, at being so let down before her friends; the friends tried to look as though they hadn’t heard … except for Mr Dytton, who studied her anew ‒ and with a subtle shift in the degree of familiarity. She knew without a doubt that there would be many Mr Tristram Dyttons in her life from now on; the prospect depressed her beyond measure.

  Amaryllis had recovered sufficiently to manage a brittle laugh. ‘Lud! Do not speak to me of governesses! I have just dismissed my third ‒ and my darling Jamie scarcely more than a babe. I am nearly demented. The Earl is threatening him with the advent of a tutor, which is absurd! He is not yet seven and a most delicate child! I have the greatest difficulty in securing anyone who fully understands his needs, and am frequently left with only his father’s old nurse …’

  A calculating look passed fleetingly across her face. ‘Perhaps your arrival is opportune, after all.’

  Felicity swallowed her dismay. It was certainly no part of her plan to become an unpaid skivvy ‒ trapped forever as a poor relation! But just for a week or two, would it be so bad? A breathing space ‒ time to adjust her ideas and, if necessary, advertise. The bleakness of the alternative, with its inevitable depletion of her resources, decided her.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will stay and look after your son, cousin, but only until you are able to find a permanent replacement.’

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