Barrett's Hill Page 9

  “Who shall be Santa Claus?” Elinor’s voice was higher-pitched than usual in her childlike excitement.

  “I reserve that prerogative, my dear,” Karlew said importantly. I forced myself to regain what I could of my waning holiday spirit. My presents were received well, even Fathimore looking pleased with the token handkerchiefs I gave him. I waited nervously for Adam to open his.

  If he was surprised to receive merely an envelope neatly inscribed “To Mr. Traywick From Miss Miranda Howard” he didn’t show it. He carefully read the contents, which was a one-way ticket back to Wyoming, and put it back in the envelope.

  “Why, Miss Miranda, how thoughtful of you.” He leapt up and kissed me gently on the cheek; the touch of his cool lips set off a chain of hopeless longing. “That’s very touching.”

  “What was it?” Maxine could no longer restrain her curiosity.

  I suddenly felt ashamed of myself. I could have waited to declare my enmity. I hadn’t needed to bring spite into Christmas.

  “Nothing,” I muttered, pulling at the lace handkerchief in my hand.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Miranda,” Adam protested. “It was a very tender love poem. Tell me, Miranda, did you write that yourself?”

  All sense of shame dropped from me. “No, it was taken from the works of Edgar Allen Poe.” I glared at him.

  “But I can assume you agree with the sentiments expressed therein?”

  “Oh, I agree with the sentiments expressed therein,” I said coolly.

  “‘Nevermore’?” he said quizzically. “Somehow I doubt that.” He smiled as he said it. “But you haven’t opened my presents yet.”

  Karlew seemed to come to his senses after being in a slight stupor. “Of course, of course. Here you are, Elinor . . . Maxine . . . Miranda.”

  The three of us received identical large boxes. Elinor fluttered as she took off the satin ribbons. “I declare, I wasn’t expecting anything like this, Adam. You didn’t need to get us presents.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said politely, as Elinor opened a lovely cloak of pale blue. As she flowed with tears and murmurs of “how lovely,” Maxine tore at the wrappings of her present.

  “Oh, Adam,” she gasped. “Oh—thank you!” She leapt up and gave him a hearty kiss. “A real red satin dress. My very own.”

  I wondered how Maxine could be so idiotic as not to realize she’d look like a prostitute in that dress. However, she was giddy with delight, and I couldn’t really begrudge her her bad taste.

  “You haven’t opened yours yet, Miranda.” Fathimore’s soft little voice interrupted my thoughts.

  I opened it reluctantly. I was sure it was going to be something suggestive, something insulting.

  It was a nightgown. Made of the softest white lawn and fine imported lace, it would cover me totally from the high-buttoned neck to the ruffles at the ankles. It was a nightgown made for a virgin princess on her wedding night and the loveliest thing I had ever seen or owned in my life. In the middle, nestled among the delicate folds, were the hair pins I’d left in his room. I wanted to cry.

  “I assured Adam that such an old friend of the family would be allowed to give such a . . . an intimate garment without giving offense,” Karlew was saying nervously.

  I nodded and looked at Adam. I had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on in my mind.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. There were all sorts of unpleasant witty things I could have said, but I said none of them. I smiled calmly and folded my hands in my lap to hide their shaking.

  What a cruel man he really was. To taunt me with such a lovely, romantic thing. What was he asking of me—to throw myself at his feet, crying “take me”? So that he could have the supreme pleasure of coldly rejecting me?

  I distrusted him completely. Every action had a sinister, ulterior motive—I was merely the means to an end. What the end was I hadn’t the faintest idea. Something to do with Carly’s murder. And I realized then that I truly didn’t care about Carly at all. She was probably destroying my life as she destroyed countless other women’s lives, I told myself with fine self-pity.

  “Well,” Maxine said briskly, not wanting to lose the center of attention for longer than she could possibly help it, “shall we get on with it?”

  Cousin Elinor murmured something properly remonstrative and everyone began talking at once. I was desperate to keep out of Adam’s way and, abetted by Maxine’s possessiveness, managed it without being too obvious. Feeling justifiably secure, I decided to retire early and not tempt fate.

  “Are you feeling quite well, my dear,” Elinor’s slurred voice questioned me.

  “Oh, certainly, Cousin Elinor. But I’m tired, what with all this excitement. And, of course, tomorrow will be a full day,” I said quite truthfully. I nodded politely to Karlew, Fathimore, and then to Adam, deftly avoiding his eyes. As I gathered up my presents Fathimore lisped after me:

  “Don’t wear that lovely new night gown tonight, Miss Miranda. I’m convinced you should save it for a time when someone is there to appreciate it.” He giggled softly.

  The unwilling memory of his pudgy hands fondling me came into my mind, and a wave of nausea spread over me. I turned back and gave him a look of such cold, murderous hatred that I felt faint with the passion of it. I slammed the door shut behind me and paused on the third step, trying to get my equilibrium back. But I paused a moment too long. The door opened, and before I could whisk myself upstairs Adam came out, closing the door softly behind him.

  “Waiting for me, Miranda?” He moved to the bottom of the stairs. It was disconcerting to look down on him when I was accustomed to his lean form towering above me.

  “Of course not,” I snapped. “How could I know when you were coming out? You might have been in there another hour.”

  He smiled. “I should have thought you’d know that after you left I’d have no reason for remaining.”

  “I didn’t know it, because it’s not true,” I said bluntly. “I hope you found your present to your liking?”

  “Oh, I found it very entertaining. Rather a waste of money, but then, it’s the thought that counts.” His eyes swept over me insolently. “I trust you were pleased with my meager token?”

  “I was not amused.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be amusing.” For a moment his voice was cold as my own. Then he smiled again. “I only hope we can put it to more use than that ticket to Wyoming.”

  “Go to hell,” I spat at him, and turned to go upstairs. He reached out and grabbed my wrist so that I nearly dropped my armload of presents.

  “You haven’t spoken more than two sentences to me since that little episode in my hotel room. Am I to understand that remorse and guilt have driven you to avoid me?” he questioned me lightly.

  “Hardly guilt or remorse, my dear sir. Intense loathing might be a better term.”

  “It might be better, but it would also be a lie,” he said, running his thumb over my wrist. I wondered if he could feel my pulse jumping beneath my skin. “When are you going to accept it?”

  “Accept what?” I made the fatal mistake of asking.

  “That you belong to me. That you’ll never belong to any other man as totally as you belong to me,” he said smoothly, implacably.

  “I belong to no one!” I said sharply. “Least of all to you.”

  “Most of all to me,” he corrected gently. He let go of my wrist. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of doing anything about it. At this point.”

  “Merry Christmas, Mr. Traywick,” I said angrily, and proceeded to stalk upstairs, which was slightly difficult to manage with my arms full of presents and my long skirts trying to trip me up. When I reached the landing I couldn’t resist turning for one last glance at him. He was grinning up at me in a manner that can only be described as suggestive
in the extreme.

  “And a Merry Christmas to you, my love,” his voice floated after me. When I reached my room I slammed the door loudly enough to be heard by anyone two floors down who happened to be listening.

  Chapter 11

  I WAS QUITE prepared to hate Adam Traywick for the rest of my life after that evening. He made me feel . . . I don’t know, I suppose threatened is as good a word as any. Not threatened as if by a murderer, but threatened in subtler ways. I was furious with him for saying I belonged to him—furious because I knew it was the truth. If he ever decided he wanted me I was afraid I’d go running to him. Why couldn’t it have been someone kind, someone simple? He made me feel awkward and conspicuous, as if his eyes were seeing through all my little tricks and subterfuges. I had absolutely no desire to join in the New Year’s Eve party Karlew was gleefully arranging.

  “I do think we should make an appearance this year at the festivities down at Carter’s Hotel,” Karlew told us grandly the next evening. “Perhaps we can set a good example to the townsfolk, deter them from wallowing in the excesses so identified with this night.”

  Maxine brightened at the thought. “Can we really go to the party? I thought you said there were too many ruffians and drunkards there.”

  Karlew frowned at her from over the obscenely large goose he was hacking to pieces. “I think we menfolk are able to take care of you three lovely young ladies.”

  “Who are ‘we menfolk’?” I asked suspiciously, while eyeing the gray peas with distaste.

  “Why, Adam, Fathimore, and myself. As a matter of fact, this was Adam’s idea. As he said, Miranda, you aren’t getting any younger, and it would be a good thing if you saw a bit more of the world. We don’t want it said that we never gave you any chances.”

  I was breathless with fury. “Well, perhaps an old spinster like myself might throw somewhat of a damper on this happy party.”

  “Oh, no, Miranda,” Karlew assured me, blithely ignoring the rage within me. “Adam is most particularly looking forward to showing you around a bit.”

  “I’ll bet he is!” I said viciously, and fell to making plans to avoid that happy party. I wasn’t going to let myself get anywhere near him again. I really didn’t dare.

  Therefore, Christmas week was filled with my mild complaints of migraine headaches, incipient tuberculosis, diphtheria, and measles. I contemplated twisting my ankle or spraining my wrist, but that might require a doctor who could easily expose my tricks. So I sat in my bed, dutifully sewing the proper white dress that Elinor had planned and cut out for me. I must admit, if I ended up going to that wretched party I could hardly look less inspiring than by wearing that insipid dress. I tacked on lace ruffles and sighed.

  Karlew stomped into my room after dinner on New Year’s Eve. “What are you doing in bed?” he demanded. He looked like a stuffed pigeon in formal clothes that had become too small for his expanding stomach.

  I paled. I still didn’t like being yelled at, even if I’d put up with it my entire life. “Cousin, you know I’ve been feeling ill this past week . . .” I began.

  “I know you came down with this strange tropical fever the moment you heard about the party tonight. Well, by God, you’re getting out of that bed and coming if I have to dress you myself!” he shouted, his colorless eyes glaring.

  I sat there, unmoving. Actually, for a moment I was frightened of my silly, pompous cousin. “But why does it matter whether I’m there or not?” I protested faintly.

  “It matters because I have said so! We are leaving in exactly a half hour. If you are not downstairs and ready to go I will send Adam up to fetch you. Then we’ll see how fast you get out of those night clothes,” he said crudely, and slammed the door.

  I was shaking all over with anger and fear. How dare he speak to me like that, how dare he? A cold, methodical rage had taken control of me. I would make them regret forcing me to go to that dance. Looking at the uninspiring white dress hanging dumpily on the dressmaker’s dummy, I reached over and yanked at the neck and was rewarded with a tearing noise that did little to calm my fury. I stalked around the room, grinding my teeth, when my eyes saw my lovely nightgown hung reverently in the closet.

  Chuckling grimly to myself, I slipped out of my flannel nightgown and started putting on my finest underclothes. I laced myself in as tightly as I could and pulled Adam’s lovely present over my head. When I turned to see myself in the mirror I laughed aloud with delight. For I was beautiful in that nightgown. It suited me better than it would have suited anyone else. The high, lacy neckline set off my face, giving it an ethereal look. My eyes were a smoky blue with anger and excitement, my cheeks slightly flushed. I brushed my hair thoroughly, and, for the first time since I was seventeen, I left it hanging down my back in tawny waves. I put on the white kid dancing slippers Elinor had purchased for me and stared at myself thoughtfully, trying to decide what was missing. A sash, of course. One that would match my eyes, perhaps. Maxine had a lovely satin dress of just that shade.

  I took my scissors and tiptoed to the floor below. There was no one in sight. I crept into her yellow room and within one minute had vandalized her one attractive dress. I tied the sash around my waist (much smaller than Maxine’s) and whirled in front of her many mirrors.

  “You are so lovely,” I told myself smugly. I looked at Maxine’s mantel clock. Ten minutes more. I ran lightly back to my room to complete my toilet. I put on my mother’s large and very beautiful sapphire ring, so that the only colors I wore were the blue of the ring, the sash, and my eyes, and the red-gold of my hair. I took my heavy black velvet cape from my wardrobe and started towards the door, just as I heard Karlew bellow up to me. Without deigning to answer, I sailed downstairs, being very careful to keep the cape around me so no one should guess I was wearing anything other than that wretched little debutante’s dress. Just before I came into view I remembered to put my hood over my head. If Elinor saw my hair loose all would be lost.

  I smiled at the assembled group graciously. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. But I only decided at the last minute that I couldn’t miss this delightful party.”

  Karlew snorted. He was inebriated, a state I had seen him in only once or twice. My best policy was to ignore him.

  “I hope you’re feeling better, Miss Miranda,” Fathimore said softly.

  “Oh, I am, Mr. Wilby. I am feeling quite splendid, thank you.” My voice was very bright.

  “My dear,” Cousin Elinor’s plaintive little voice drifted over to me, “wouldn’t you rather wear your nice new cloak instead of that old, moth-eaten cape?” Her hands reached out to take it from me, but I twisted away.

  “No, thank you, Cousin. I’m very comfortable in this.” I pulled it closer around me.

  “And since when was a young lady interested in comfort on the night of a party?” Karlew was attempting to be jovial. “Times certainly have changed since I was a boy. At least my daughter is an old-fashioned girl.”

  The old-fashioned girl smirked at me happily. “I’ll lend you one of my coats if you wish, Miranda,” she offered in an outburst of generosity. “You wouldn’t want to be considered tacky.”

  “I’ll wear what I’m wearing,” I said stubbornly.

  “In that case,” Adam said after a moment, “I think we’re ready to leave.” He turned to me and offered his arm. “Miss Miranda?”

  I hesitated. Karlew, in his present state, would possibly trip me, and anything was preferable to Fathimore’s sweaty hands. I would simply have to rely on my strength of mind not to be affected by Adam’s proximity. I smiled graciously at him and took his arm, ignoring Maxine’s glare.

  We walked down the hill in absolute silence most of the way. It was a very strange night, amazingly warm for Vermont at the end of December. The snow on the ground was wet and shiny, and the clouds were rushing madly about the sky.

  “It�
�s a peculiar night.” Adam had followed my gaze upward.

  “Is it?” I made my voice coldly disinterested. I was anxious for the unveiling. I smiled to myself.

  “What are you up to, Miranda?”

  “Up to?” I echoed, looking innocent. “What makes you think I’m up to anything?”

  “I know you don’t realize it yet, but I know you very well. And you’re definitely up to some sort of mischief.”

  “Well,” I said calmly, “if I am, I imagine you’ll find out what it is soon enough.”

  “I imagine I will,” he agreed.

  Carter’s Hotel was very brightly lit. Some enterprising person had strung paper lanterns on the front porch, and they were rocking somewhat drunkenly in the winter wind. We entered the spacious front hall just ahead of my relatives.

  “Now may I take your cape, Miranda?” Adam offered after a moment when I’d made no move to take it off. Smiling in what I hoped was a suitably cool, remote manner, I casually untied the velvet ribbons at my throat and handed the wrap to him.

  He stared at me in amazement, obviously struck dumb with surprise. Then he threw back his head and laughed out loud with the first genuine amusement I’d heard from him.

  “Miranda, my dear,” he said solemnly after a moment, “if I ever fall in love with anyone it will be with you.” He took my hand and kissed it reverently.

  “You do that,” I said calmly. For some totally idiotic reason I wanted to burst into tears. The simple truth was that deep down I wanted him to be desperately in love with me already, even though I hated him. I also knew perfectly well that I didn’t really hate him at all, but I wasn’t about to force myself to face the truth about my complex feelings at that point.

  “Oh, my God, Miranda!” I heard Elinor gasp behind me. “What have you done?”