Wintersbride

by Sara Seale

  "Oh, yes, but that's natural, you know. I was the person responsible in her eyes for denying her what she wanted. Though Simmy blamed herself at the time for the accident, it was really a merciful release."

  "Oh, yes—the accident? Did she not then die here at Win­tersbride?"

  "No. She slipped out one day when Simmy was resting. They found her on the moor at the bottom of an old mine shaft. We'll never know if she jumped or fell, but the coroner brought in a verdict of accidental death."

  "How terrible!"

  "Terrible but merciful," he said sternly. "She might have lived on for years, an incurable wreck. She was my failure, Miranda."

  She sat very still, wanting to take him in her arms but knowing that he was thinking only of the dead Melisande, whom he had somehow failed.

  "One cannot," she said, seeking the right words, "give more than one has. You did not fail her, Adam—she could not have wanted your love enough, I think."

  He looked at her then, a long, curious look, which held bitterness and regret.

  "But you see," he said slowly, "I didn't love her. That was my failure."

  "You didn't love her?" repeated Miranda stupidly.

  He stood by the table, his profile clear and sharp against the dimmed globe of light.

  "Passion is not love, Miranda—don't ever confuse them," he said, and she thought there was a hint of warning in his voice. "Melisande was brilliant and beautiful and I was very young, but passion is demanding and doesn't last. Had I loved her she might not have desired other men and, failing that, the final solace. One can't know."

  She locked her hands fiercely round her knees to prevent them from reaching out to him. It was plain now what Melisande had been.

  Slowly something in Miranda was released. She no longer needed to fight a dead love that had never existed, and she could not hate a poor ghost whose beauty at the end was gone. But there was still something of Melisande that could work destruc­tion, and Miranda sprang to her feet and ran to Adam.

  "Why do you stay here?" she cried urgently. "Why do you bring your child up in this—this unhappy house?"

  "Don't you realize yet that I'm trying to safeguard Fay from her mother's inheritance?" he said. "Fay is her mother over again, passionate, unstable in her emotions, with the same arrogant beauty."

  "No, you are wrong," Miranda said. "Adam, listen to me, I beg you, and do not say, as you always do, that Fay invents or that I am fanciful. Simmy wishes you to think these things. She wishes to keep Fay from you. I have heard her, Adam—I have heard her suggested to Fay that you are to be feared, that you do not wish to be bothered with her. You have relied on Simmy for so long that you can no longer see that things could be different. Today, she deliberately tried to make me believe that Melisande had been—deranged, that Fay might also be affected."

  He had turned up the lamp again while she was speaking, and as the light grew slowly brighter, she saw in his dark face the first signs of doubt. He put his hands on her shoulders, and his eyes searched hers, probing, demanding.

  "Do you realize what you are accusing her of?" he asked.

  "Yes," she replied, her eyes clear and steady. "Simmy wants power. She is possessive and sees her position threatened with each fresh move you make. If the child loves you she will be normal with you, if she is treated like other children she will prove to be just as they are. Your second marriage has already threatened her authority, though she has done her best to treat me always as a child. If Fay grew up as she should, going to school, making friends that took her away from here, what would Simmy's position be? She would leave when the time came and her services were no longer needed. But as things are, she is here for life if she is clever, so she cannot afford to miss a single chance of asserting her authority or of making mischief. I do beg of you, Adam, to think about what I have said and to observe for yourself. Do you not see that it is possible you have been wrong—that in your daughter you may have the answer to what you think of as your failure?"

  She felt his fingers grip her shoulders, and his voice was suddenly harsh as he replied, "If I thought you were right," he said. "If I thought there was the smallest chance you could be right… but Simmy… it sounds incredible…"

  "Think back, Adam. Was Fay an ordinary, natural child all the time Nanny had her?"

  "Yes. I didn't see a great deal of her, of course, while her mother was ill, but later—she was very fond of Nanny, you know. I'm afraid Nanny's going was the cause of the child's dislike for me."

  "Why did you dismiss her?"

  "His hands dropped from her shoulders and he turned away.

  "We discovered she had been responsible for bringing drink into the house. She wasn't entirely to blame, I suppose. Mel­isande had always been able to get around her, and she was uneducated and obstinate and probably didn't realize the harm she was doing. But of course I couldn't keep her on for Fay."

  Miranda wrinkled her forehead.

  "And this was a whole year after your wife died? Was that not rather strange?"

  "Not really. Simmy had known for some time but didn't want to distress me. It was only when the time came for her to leave herself that she thought I ought to know Nanny wasn't altogether trustworthy."

  Miranda's silence made him turn to look at her again, and something in her face made him exclaim quickly, "But that's unthinkable!"

  "Is it?" said Miranda gently. "But do you not consider it rather strange that Simmy should wait until she is to go herself to accuse Nanny?"

  "No—no, certainly not. She was concerned for the child when she should no longer be here herself."

  "So you asked her to stay on instead of Nanny, and she accepted at once?"

  "Not at once. She had little experience of governessing, then." He rubbed his eyes wearily with the backs of his knuck­les. "I think perhaps we are both a little fogged and out of focus, my dear. This gale gets on one's nerves, doesn't it? Perhaps one day I'll take your advice and get rid of Wintersbride."

  "And you'll listen to me now without—without impa­tience?"

  "Am I impatient with you? Yes, I'm afraid I often am. Yes, I'll listen, Miranda, and now that you know a little more about me perhaps you'll bear with my moods."

  He put a hand under her chin, tilting her face to the light.

  "You don't look well," he said. "Perhaps I ought to send you away for a bit."

  "So I was telling Mrs. Chantry a little earlier," said Simmy's voice from the doorway. As usual she had entered the room so quietly that neither of them had heard her, and Miranda won­dered how long she had been standing there.

  "You think she should go away, Simmy?" Adam asked, a curious inflection in his voice.

  He was regarding her with a strange expression, as if he was seeing her for the first time, and her glance went quickly to Miranda's flushed face.

  "A break is always a wise precaution when nerves are a little frayed," she replied in her colorless voice. "Too long cooped up in one place makes us—overimaginative, don't you think?"

  "Perhaps," he said noncommittally, and she smiled.

  "I only came to see if you had forgotten the time, as I did not hear you come up to change," she said. "It's half-past seven."

  Adam frowned, for the first time irritated by her interruption.

  "Then we won't bother to change at all," he said a little brusquely. "Don't trouble to remind us another time, Simmy. Dinner won't be kept waiting."

  The shadows were too deep for the expression on her face to be read, but Miranda saw her hands move quickly at her sides.

  "Very well. I'm sorry for disturbing you," she said quietly, and left the room.

  For several days after that, Simmy kept Fay in her own wing, saying that she had a slight cold. It was an excuse to keep her away, Miranda thought, but by the end of the week the girl from the village went down with influenza, and a few days later Mrs. Yeo and Bessie succumbed.

  Miranda and Nancy took over the house between them, Miranda turning cook with
much satisfaction while Nancy ran up and down to the sickrooms with trays. Simmy declined to take over such little nursing as was necessary, saying that she could not run the risk of carrying the infection to Fay, but Nancy was of the opinion that the governess thought it beneath her to wait on servants. And while she looked after Bessie, Miranda thought it only tactful to minister to Mrs. Yeo herself.

  "You oughtn't to be doing this at all, Miranda," Adam told her. "It would have been very much better if Simmy had taken on the nursing and let you look after Fay."

  "She did not think so when I suggested it," said Miranda, and he gave her a quick look.

  "Have you seen Fay lately?"

  "Oh, no, because, you see, now I am in direct contact and Simmy will not permit visits to the schoolroom."

  "I see. Well there's no reason why you shouldn't meet in the open air. A brisk walk would do you both good. I'll speak to Simmy," he said, and Miranda knew that he was displeased by the governess's attitude.

  So now, each morning if the weather was fine, Fay and Miranda took a walk together. The child delighted in being excused from lessons and was much surprised that it should be her father who had ordered the change.

  "Simmy said it was Adam who wouldn't let me see you," she told Miranda, "but I heard him tell her I was to stop lessons for the time being and go out with you alone whenever I liked, so Simmy must have got it wrong, mustn't she?"

  "Yes, my cabbage, Simmy gets many things wrong," Miranda answered. "I have always told you that your father wants you to be happy, but he does not get a' chance of know­ing what you want if you do not tell him."

  "I suppose not, but Simmy always said I wasn't to bother him. Do you think, Miranda, he would come for a walk with us on the weekend?"

  Miranda's heart lifted. It was the first time she had ever known the child to express a tentative wish for her father's company.

  "I'm sure that he will," she said warmly, and prayed very earnestly for a fine Sunday.

  It was an illuminating walk for Adam. Once free of her initial awkwardness, Fay chattered away, letting fall innocent remarks that set him thinking. He watched her with Miranda, and could not deny that the spontaneous affection with which she treated the girl had all the appearance of the natural devotion of a warmhearted little girl. He, like Miranda, no longer believed that this was one of the emotional instabilities that Simmy was always guarding against, and when, during the homeward walk, the child without hesitation slipped a hand into his, he gave it a grateful squeeze and smiled down at her in such a way as to receive a half shy, half surprised smile in return.

  Miranda enjoyed her hours in the kitchen preparing the food while she listened to Nancy's gossip. She took special delight in cooking tempting meals for Mrs. Yeo.

  "I would like to say, madam, that I very much appreciate all the trouble you have gone to," Mrs. Yeo said the day before she was to get up for the first time. "Not many would have done as you have, not even, God forgive me, my other dear lady, for she was not one to think of others, poor soul."

  Miranda, touched at now being bracketed approvingly with Melisande's well-loved name, said gently, "Perhaps she could not think of others, Mrs. Yeo. When someone is as sick as she was, the mind is not responsible."

  "That's both true and charitable," Mrs. Yeo said, nodding her head. Then she asked, a little sharply, "Did Miss Simms tell you what was the matter with Mrs. Chantry?"

  "No, Mr. Chantry told me."

  "That's right. Don't let Miss Simms acquaint you with facts that you ought to know. She has an ugly tongue."

  Miranda sat down on the bed.

  "Mrs. Yeo, you knew Nanny well," she said. "Do you think her dismissal was right?"

  An unaccustomed flush stained the housekeeper's flat cheeks. For a moment she pursed her lips, as if she was forcing back an unguarded word then she said with slow deliberation, "No, madam, I do not, but you are the first to ask me that and I would like to know what made you ask."

  "Because," said Miranda, a little pulse of excitement begin­ning to throb in her temple, "I think the evidence came only from Miss Simms, and I think Miss Simms had reason to wish Nanny out of the house with no hope of returning."

  Mrs. Yeo took a deep breath, then felt blindly for one of Miranda's hands.

  "You're right, madam," she said, the flush deepening. "And so I told the master at the time. But, poor gentleman, he had been through so much. He wouldn't listen to servants' gossip, he said. We all resented Miss Simms, he said, because of her position in the house, but he had reason to trust and be grateful to her and he only wanted to do the best for his little girl. I don't rightly know how Miss Simms found the evidence that convinced the master, but Nanny swore till the day she left that nothing had been in those bottles but her own cowslip wine, which wouldn't hurt a fly. She used to give it to my poor lady watered down with sugar when the craving came over her, and all it could possibly do was to give her the comfort of a glass in her hand, if you understand my meaning."

  "And what happened to Nanny?" '

  Mrs. Yeo looked surprised.

  "She's only ten miles away the other side of the moor, where she was born," she said. "Retired she is and living on her brother's farm these last five years. She writes to me regular for news of Miss Fay."

  "Would she talk to me, do you think, if I went to see her?"

  Mrs. Yeo considered the question, looking at Miranda a little dubiously.

  "Well, as to that I don't know. It was all so long ago and it's best to let sleeping dogs lie," she said.

  "Mrs. Yeo," Miranda said carefully, "I have reason to think, and so I believe have you, that Miss Simms has caused a great deal of trouble in this house. I trust you, so I will tell you that I believe she has come between Miss Fay and her father by making out that the child is—different from other children I know that many of the inventions and supposed falsehoods that Miss Fay is credited with have been put into her head by Miss Simms herself. I must be able to prove the truth to Mr. Chantry, for he has trusted Miss Simms for so long that he is not easy to convince. Is it not better that I see Nanny, who is perhaps the one person who really knows?"

  A strange expression crossed the housekeeper's face as she spoke and her little bright eyes watched Miranda closely.

  "You have a wise head on you, for all your childish appear­ances, my dear," she said. "Go and see Nanny. I will give you her address."

  It was not possible, however, to go at once. With only Nancy and herself to run the house between them, Miranda found little time for visiting.

  With both Mrs. Yeo and Bessie sick, Adam and Miranda dined in the small study and waited on themselves. Miranda enjoyed the informal meals, delighting in surprising Adam with a new dish and relating the trivial happenings of the day with a turn of phrase that could usually make him laugh. At moments she could pretend to herself that the bitter words that had passed between them on the occasion of Pierre's visit had not been said, and she would find him watching her with eyes that at times were puzzled, and at others unexpectedly tender. He no longer shut himself up in his own study after dinner, but seemed content to remain with her by the fire. And she would observe with satisfaction the tiredness leaving his face as his body slowly relaxed in the big chair.

  But the evening was always over once bedtime came and they left the friendly warmth of the study. Although she had long ago unlocked the door again between their rooms, he never used it. Their good-nights were said in the chilly corridor and she had not the courage to find an excuse to invite him in. Once, to postpone the moment of separation, she took him into the nursery to describe her plans for turning it into a sitting room for herself.

  "Why have you chosen this room?" he asked, picking up one of the wooden animals that still stood on the mantelpiece and turning it over idly in his hands.

  "It is convenient," she said glibly, unable to tell him that for her the nursery would form a link with him and, by reason of its proper designation, one day he might desire more of her. "It is
on the same floor as my bedroom and is sunny and never used. Besides, I like nurseries."

  "Do you, Miranda?" he said, giving her a very odd look.

  For a moment she thought he was going to add something further. But he apparently changed his mind and, bidding her a brief good-night, went on to his own room.

  By the beginning of November the house had returned to its usual routine.

  Tonight, the first for a week after the house was back to normal, Miranda sat listening absently while Simmy discussed some point in Fay's timetable with Adam. She was thinking that now that she had leisure again, she must make that journey across the moor to see Nanny. If it was a fine day tomorrow she might go then.

  "I'm sorry, Simmy," she said, realizing the governess had spoken to her. "What did you say?"

  "I said I had found one of those girls' school stories you left for Fay under her pillow this morning," Miss Simms repeated, and Miranda smiled. So Nancy's novelettes had been discarded for more wholesome literature!

  "I was just telling Mr. Chantry that I thought such reading was a little unsuitable as there is no question of Fay ever going to school," Simmy said.

  Before Miranda could reply, Adam said pleasantly, "I've been reconsidering that matter, Simmy, and I'm not at all sure a carefully selected school of the right type mightn't be a good plan for the child when she's older."

  Miranda looked at him quickly. Was he really serious or was he testing Simmy's reaction for his own or Miranda's benefit? The governess was too quick with her reply.

  "You know that it's out of the question, Mr. Chantry," she said, and Adam's eyebrows went up swiftly.

  "I know you've always thought so, Simmy, but you could be wrong," he answered.

  Miss Simms shot Miranda a vindictive glance.

  "I've no doubt Mrs. Chantry has been talking to you," she said. "But, forgive me, she does not understand the position as you and I do."

  "Well, I don't know," said Adam, pushing back his chair in order to watch the two of them. "Mrs. Chantry is young and possibly has clearer judgment, and I must own I find nothing delicate in Fay, either physically or—mentally—today."