Thank goodness Aunt Harriet was being helpful, and was adhering to the terms of the unspoken truce they had established between themselves earlier while her hair was being arranged in the artfully artless-seeming disarray of curls and escaping tendrils that had been fashionable twenty years ago. Thankfully Alexa sat down, wondering almost incredulously if her shy, sedate mama and even Harriet had actually dared to wear such diaphanous garments in public. Why, even she had felt strangely embarrassed and almost naked when she had made herself leave the sanctuary of her room this evening, although Harriet had told her with a snort of impatience that some young women of her day, like Lady Caro Lamb, had even gone so far as to dampen their gowns and petticoats so that the outline of their legs and breasts could be more clearly noticed! “And except for a few old dowagers, no one seemed to think that was too shocking either, so you have no reason to keep studying yourself in the mirror while you blush! After all, it’s not as if you’ll be seen by any outsiders, my dear. I’ve seen you wear much less around the house when you choose to go native on hot afternoons!”
Taking small sips of her chicken broth gave Alexa an excuse to keep her head bent so that she did not have to look up and discover that Papa had started to drink too heavily again. She remembered suddenly that Aunt Harriet had asked her casually if perhaps she had found some pretty earrings or other trinkets of her mother’s that might go well with the green dress. “I seem to remember a pair of jade earrings that I cannot remember her wearing since...”
“Oh, I was feeling so sleepy that all I bothered to look for was this dress and the shoes and reticule Papa described. I’ll have plenty of time later, I daresay.” She had been equally casual, and Harriet had not pursued the subject further.
Perhaps I am becoming overly suspicious, Alexa thought contritely now as her aunt began to engage her in a flow of inconsequential small talk while their soup plates were whisked away to make room for the next course. The small activities of the day were reviewed in order to take up time and make it seem to move faster. There had been a family quarrel—two of the coolie women had delivered themselves of their infants at almost the same time and not more than a hundred yards or so away from where they had been working. “And as hard as it is to believe, they were back at work before three hours had passed—just as if nothing untoward had taken place at all! Like healthy animals!”
“Well, perhaps they are luckier than most civilized women...” Alexa had begun when Papa interrupted in a reproving voice that took her by surprise.
“Hardly a suitable topic for the dinner table, surely, Harriet? And especially not a fit subject for discussion with young, gently-reared females, I should think! Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
“Certainly!” Harriet snapped back. “Shall we discuss the harvest instead and how we are progressing? Alexa and I have been thinking that we might have to hire more coolies this month. The ideal weather we have been blessed with...”
“Oh yes, Papa!” Alexa broke in eagerly. “I believe that all the ‘cherries’ will be ready for picking at about the same time this year, which is quite unusual, as you know. And Paul was telling me that in Brazil...”
“Paul? And who, pray, is this ‘Paul’ you appear to be on such familiar terms with that you use his Christian name so freely?”
Quite taken aback by Papa’s frown and unwontedly angry tone of voice, Alexa found herself almost stuttering. “Why—Papa! You must not think... We are only friends and...nothing else! And I did not mean...mean to...”
“Harriet? I am waiting for you to enlighten me and tell me what this unwonted familiarity does mean! What kind of freedom—or should I say license instead?—have you permitted an innocent and inexperienced young female left in your charge to become exposed to while I have been ill? Ah, I remember all too well that other time before when I became so ill, and you...”
While he was speaking, Harriet’s fingers seemed almost to claw at the high neck of her dark taffeta gown, her face becoming blotchy and her voice strident as she broke in: “Before, did you say, Martin? Is it possible that you still choose to blame me for what happened, when in spite of your self-deception and purposeful blindness you must have known very well that I would have done anything— anything in the world, to prevent what happened!”
“Oh please!” Although she did not understand what the words that Papa and Aunt Harriet flung at each other meant, Alexa could not help feeling guilty for being the cause of their argument. She leaned forward now, as they both looked towards her, and said urgently: “Papa, please! You must believe me when I say that my familiar use of a man’s first name does not denote any further degree of familiarity! And Aunt Harriet is not to blame for anything because I have done nothing wrong, I promise you! Paul da Rocha—Senhor da Rocha, if you prefer—is every inch a gentleman and has offered me nothing but friendship, that is all. The same sort of friendship that I feel towards Letty—Mrs. Dearborn, that is. Papa—you know I am no longer a child, and I can only wish that you could trust me!”
“If you remember, Martin, I told you that Alexa had gone to dinner at the Dearborn place, and that Muttu and her ayah accompanied her,” Harriet said in almost her normal tone of voice before she added more strongly, “and you said nothing at all when I came up to ask your opinion—merely nodded your head as if it was of no consequence to you!”
Papa acted as if he had not heard anything Aunt Harriet had said, Alexa noticed with a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. He drained his glass of brandy and signaled impatiently for it to be filled again before he said with a frown. “ Letty, did you say? You refer to that Dearborn woman who dyes her hair and hires herself a new young man every season?”
“Papa!” Alexa could not repress her puzzled, almost shocked exclamation. “How could... Why, I always thought you liked Letty Dearborn! Why, the first time you joined us for dinner since...in weeks was when she came. And you seemed to like the Senhor da Rocha too.”
“Have to be polite to neighbors, my dear. But that’s got nothing to do... Yes, yes! You can fill my glass again; and set the decanter down here while you’re about it! Inefficient— Might have trained them better, eh, Harriet?” Martin Howard turned from his glass and shuttled his gaze from Harriet to Alexa and back again; his eyes narrowing slightly. “Tom should understand perfectly well what I mean, dear sister! Letty Dearborn’s a clever businesswoman and knowledgeable enough about coffee planting, I suppose. Neighbor, as I said. Tradition of hospitality— have to be polite! But I can’t have any of the women in my household associating with her on a personal level, after all—what? Surprised at your attitude of laxity, Harriet. I’d hoped you would have explained why too close an association with the wrong kind might...”
“I’m sorry, Papa! And if you wish to send me to my room I’ll gladly go.” Pushing back her chair clumsily, Alexa sprang to her feet; her color high and her eyes as dark as storm clouds. “And I’m sorry, too, if I’ve spoiled dinner for everyone, but I...cannot bear to hear good friends vilified! Mine—and yours too, Papa, even if you have been too ill to remember! For while your other, respectable, hypocritical friends might have offered lip service, only Letty Dearborn did something to help us! While I was in Colombo and Aunt Harriet was kept so busy, Letty sent her own foreman over to help. And we might not even have a coffee crop to send to market this year if not for her! Papa, surely you must understand that?”
Alexa stayed defiantly on her feet even though her knees had begun to shake after she had finished delivering her explosive little speech. Surprisingly, Papa had not said a word, although for a few moments she had noticed that he stared at her with his mouth slightly open as if he had not seen her before. She had shocked him, she supposed. And then he quickly raised his glass to his lips and swallowed half its contents, still without saying a word or taking his eyes from her face.
In the end it was left to Harriet to break the tense silence, as she said matter-of-factly: “Well! And now that you’ve had your say a
nd have not been banished to your room in disgrace, I suppose you might as well sit down and continue eating your dinner! Yes, boy, you may as well take away the plates and bring us the next course. Please make sure it is still warm.” And while Alexa subsided into her chair rather sullenly, feeling slightly deflated, Harriet turned back to her brother and said thoughtfully, “Do you think we could afford another hot plate soon? Cook broke one the other day and we are down to just two.”
The meal progressed in comparative silence, just as if nothing had happened. Alexa looked stubbornly down at her plate, her face still rather flushed. She might have spoken a little too strongly to Papa, she supposed, but on the other hand he had been wrong and unfair to speak of Letty in such denigrating terms. At any rate, he had not reproved her for speaking out; but Alexa could see from beneath the cover of her thick lashes how many times he refilled his glass, and she began to feel a trifle guilty. Papa wasn’t well, and perhaps he hadn’t realized what he was saying.
Perhaps she should have made allowances for him. Oh, she hadn’t meant to upset him!
“Alexa, if you have quite finished playing with your fish, perhaps we can go on to the roast? Martin, will you carve or shall I save you the trouble by having Cook do it?”
“Of course I’ll carve. What do you think? Can’t have a perfectly good roast ruined by that old butcher!”
At least he acts as if he is quite sober, Alexa thought relievedly as he began to carve the juicy roast with all the expertise she remembered from so many other occasions.
“Here we are! Harriet, you prefer your meat not too rare, don’t you? Two slices? And...” Catching his inquiring look, Alexa felt a sudden rush of affection mixed with contrition towards him for having forgiven her for her outburst.
She said quickly, with a small, tentative smile, “Very rare, please, Papa. The way I always like it. And just one very thin slice, please.”
“What’s this? Rare, did you say? But, my dear...why, you’ve always said you could not bear the thought of...well...red meat!”
“But I’ve always—” Alexa began before she suddenly broke off. It had been Mama who could never stomach rare meat and always begged for the slice at the end.
While she looked up dismayedly, searching for words, Papa said benignly, “No need to feel you must try it rare, my love, just because everyone teases you. Here you are— your very favorite part of the roast!”
Alexa remained silent as the houseboy set her gold rimmed plate before her and while Harriet passed her the gravy with a grimly warning look. She was even able to help herself to a square of the Yorkshire pudding and a serving of boiled cabbage and potatoes. Once Papa had eaten something he’d be himself again, of course. Surely it wasn’t because of her that his mind had chosen to regress again; although Harriet would probably say so, of course.
“Well? Shall we begin before our sumptuous repast is cold? Ah, very good indeed! Must remember to tell Cook he’s really outdone himself this time, eh? But, my dear! Is your portion not quite to your liking? Would you prefer that I give you a slice from the other end?”
Alexa had opened her mouth to say hastily that she was quite satisfied with her slice of roast beef when a sudden, stubborn instinct made her pause instead and take a deep breath before saying in as normal a voice as possible, “It is a very nice slice of beef to be sure, Papa, and just thin enough; but I had hoped you might remember that I prefer my roast beef as rare as can be—just as you do.”
“But I don’t understand!” Papa said querulously as he put down his knife and fork and knitted his brows in a confused fashion before looking towards Harriet as if for support. “Harriet, you can confirm it, can you not? Hasn’t Victorine always preferred the slice at the very end? Surely...”
“But, Papa—Papa, please look at me! Please see me! I am not my mama!” Disregarding Harriet’s warning exclamation, Alexa left her seat and ran to him, bending over him urgently. “I’m only dressed up in one of Mama’s old gowns to please you, Papa, but I’m not...Victorine. This is Alexa you see, and I am not your wife, dearest Papa, but your daughter. I know you understand!”
“What? What? Victorine...?” When Papa looked up at her his eyes seemed glazed and puzzled, and his mouth worked.
“Alexa! Papa, please look at me! I am your daughter, Papa!”
“Daughter?” He looked from her to Harriet, his voice turning petulant “I have no daughter, have I, Harry? Stillborn, they told me. Both of them. My poor Victorine...”
Strangely enough it was to Alexa and not her brother that Harriet directed her angry reproof as she burst out, “Don’t you think you’ve stirred up enough trouble for one night? Be silent now, for God’s sake, and leave him alone!”
But it was too late now to stop herself from saying what she felt had to be said; for Papa’s sake and for her sake, Alexa thought stubbornly as she held onto the arm of his chair as if for support and went on speaking as if she had not heard her aunt.
“You listen to me, Papa, and try to understand that it is only because I love you so that I... Oh, Papa! I am your Victorine’s daughter, don’t you see? I am a part of her, that is why you see her in me. And you haven’t lost me, any more than you have really lost Mama, because... because she’ll always be close to us and live with us in the memories of her that we carry in our thoughts. Don’t you see? Even if Mama had to go, she left me behind to take care of you and comfort you—if you will let me. But you must see me for who I am, Papa! My mother’s daughter, not my mother!”
“See you? See? Ah yes...I suppose...the eyes. Not Victorine’s eyes, are they? Victorine’s pretty ball gown, but— but you are my Victorine’s daughter, aren’t you? That’s right! Part of her. Of course! She wouldn’t leave me all alone. I should have known it, shouldn’t I? She had to go because of little Freddy. Softhearted, wouldn’t want him to be alone! But she left part of herself behind, didn’t she? Victorine wouldn’t leave me all alone either—I should have had more faith, shouldn’t I? Why, I feel as if she’s so close sometimes! Feel her. Sometimes think I hear her voice...”
“Papa...!”
Alexa had not realized that she had been clutching at the arm of his chair until he suddenly patted her hand with a faint sigh.
“Yes. Thank you, my dear, for helping me to understand. Of course. Victorine’s daughter. Her flesh and blood. Support and comfort. I should have known my Victorine wouldn’t leave me quite alone, shouldn’t I? ‘Ye of little faith...’ My apologies! And now, why don’t we do justice to this excellent roast, eh? Have boy bring your plate back to me, my dear, and you shall have a slice of beef as rare as you please!”
Chapter 20
After that night even Harriet had been forced to admit, albeit a trifle grudgingly, that Papa had changed for the better and become more like his old self. He had begun making an effort to leave his bed early enough to ride out and inspect what was being done on the estate, and he came down to dinner every single night and talked quite sensibly of business matters. Sometimes, he even made an effort to be humorous and to tease Alexa, especially when he found her hard at work in his office. He would pat her on the cheek or on the arm in an almost absentmindedly affectionate manner, as if he wanted her to know that he noticed her; and he had got in the habit of expecting her to be ready to pour out his tea for him in the morning room when he returned from his daily tour of inspection.
“Your mama always sat in here waiting for me, looking so fresh and pretty. Insisted on pouring my tea herself, too. You remember, don’t you, my dear? She wouldn’t want you to wear black either—never wore it herself. ‘Reminds me of those ugly old carrion crows!’ she used to say. You should wear her colors; she’d like that. Pretty pale greens and pinks and lavenders; yellow too.”
Of course she wanted to please Papa and to show him how happy and grateful she was to see him making an effort to take up the threads of his life again. And if all he asked of her was to wear her mother’s favorite colors and take over some of her mother’s duties
... Alexa reminded herself frequently that it was little enough to ask of his only child and heiress, after all.
Suddenly, and almost without being aware of it, Alexa found that she had fallen into a kind of set routine that ruled all her time and all her days. It was her duty to be a comfort and support to her Papa, just as she had promised. Aunt Harriet reminded Alexa of it whenever she showed signs of restlessness and spoke impulsively of visiting Kandy or going hunting with some of her old friends.
“Perhaps when everything has gone back to being more normal and we all have more time to ourselves...” Harriet would say vaguely after Alexa had admitted that perhaps she was being selfish and inconsiderate after all.
Perhaps... perhaps... ? As one day followed another with an almost agonizing slowness and sameness, Alexa realized that those nebulous perhaps were all she had to look forward to. After her morning ride with Papa— sidesaddle now, because she was a young lady and not a gypsyish hoyden—they would go upstairs together to change; and then she would run down to the morning room to sit behind the dainty little table with its silver tea set and pour out tea for Papa and Aunt Harriet. After that it was accounts and then tiffin. Her afternoon nap—even if she didn’t really take a nap at all and tried to read a book instead. And then...
When she started thinking along those lines Alexa had to catch herself back sharply. “Stop it. You mustn’t think that way!” There were a few occasions when she almost said the words aloud, to startle the inquisitive birds and squirrels who hid in the trees outside her open windows. She told herself that she was restless because of the heat.
September was harvest time and one of the hottest months of the year, each day seeming hotter than the day before. Far too hot to wear layers of clothing in the afternoon, especially in the privacy of her room; but since Papa had taken to popping his head in unexpectedly to ask her some question about the accounts, Alexa found herself forced to wear some light garment at least; usually an old cotton petticoat that had seen better days.
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