Night of the Candles (26 page)

And Marta, clinging to her job and its security in the fear and shuddering of a frightened, drink-soaked, middle age, dogged by something in her past. How far would she go to protect her position and herself?

As long as she was listing, consider Theo. Did he, a man content to live at the expense of his friend in return for a minimum of effort, have no motive for the deed? What if he had cared less for Amelia than he pretended? What if his devotion, now so freely admitted, was a screen? He might have dallied with Amelia, might have been charmed by her manner and her beauty, but in the end opted for the security of being the brother of Jason’s new wife. It would not be the first time brother and sister had connived for gain.

Then suppose there was one other name to be added, one other name to couple with suspicion and deceit. Amelia. Amelia waking to a dark and silent house uncaring of her suffering, with no answer for her call. She might have struggled from her bed and reached for … oblivion.

There they were. No one, with the exception of Nathaniel, who had not been here, could escape the taint of suspicion. And of them all, who would have a reason for wanting to frighten or harm her, Amanda? There must be a connection.

Gradually voices raised in argument impinged upon her consciousness. She sighed, closing her eyes. Was there nothing here at Monteigne but suspicion and harassed tempers and discontent? Had this ever been a happy place filled with sunshine, the sound of children and laughter?

Those voices — one sounded like Theo in a rage while the other was … a woman — Sophia, Marta? Marta, she thought after listening a moment. She imagined Theo was taking the woman to task for lying about Amelia’s condition.

Marta, however, sounded quite vehement. Suppose she had told the truth? Suppose Amelia had been carrying a child, Theo’s child, with no one the wiser except her nurse? Would it change anything, this secret? Nothing, other than to strengthen her reason for suicide. Unless…

Unless the secret had been found out. Unless Jason had found out

The implications of that train of conjecture were so unwelcome that her mind shied away from it. She found herself straining her ears, questing in memory for another time, another quarrel. It had not been long ago. Yes, of course. Here in this house, the night she came. A quarrel between Theo and his sister, a quarrel ending in a blow. Who had struck whom? Then it had seemed obvious, but she was no longer certain.

Nothing so definite ended this contretemps. The voices faded allowing her to shrug off the interruption and return to her own problem.

Who had tried to harm her, and why? She must be methodical and objective; still it was an effort to consider Marta first. Did me woman realize that she had mentioned the death of the old woman in her drunken ravings? Did she hope that fear would drive Amanda away before she could put the bits and pieces of the puzzle together?

Or could it have been Sophia, for the same reason … plus another — fear of Jason’s attraction for Amanda’s type? Amelia had taken him from her grasp once, and she did not want to risk its happening again.

That was flattering herself, she thought wryly, but it could not hurt to explore every possibility.

Carl had liked her, until he had discovered she was not Amelia. Surely he was not cunning enough in his madness to dissemble to that event. And Theo? She shook her head. It was possible, of course, but she did not like to think of it. Which left only Jason.

Jason. Would he stoop so low? Was he capable of such petty skirmishing, when he could have thrown her out of his home bodily at any time and remained within his rights. There might have been some community comments, but that would not have weighed with him, would it? Jason. It was difficult to feature him pitching gum balls at a horse. It was not…

A faint sound, like the furtive creaking of a board gingerly stepped upon brought her thoughts to a halt. She half turned, listening. The sound did not come again, and yet the quiet seemed to hold a tense, unnatural, hush. The sound came from the hall, she thought. A chill ran over her and glancing down she saw her fingers clasped together so tightly that the knuckles were white. Forcing them apart, she stretched her fingers, letting them curl naturally at her sides, then moved to the door.

She touched the cold doorknob lightly, then her grip increased as she turned it and eased the door open to a slit.

Marta, her head closely covered by a scarf, a dolman cape emphasizing her width, was just descending the stairs. She kept close to the wall of the staircase where the treads were firmest.

When she had dropped down out of sight, Amanda slipped into the hall, moving with swift steps to the stairwell. From there she watched as Marta paused, glancing left and right into the empty parlor and the sitting room. Seeing no one, the nurse hurried to the front door, swung through, and closed it noiselessly behind her.

With swift, running steps Amanda gained the upper gallery to keep the nurse under observation.

The woman moved out the front gate and along the drive until she was lost beyond the screen of the woods. She did not look back.

“AMANDA. There you are,” Sophia said, coming toward her as she re-entered the house. “I’ve been looking for you. Would you mind lending me a hand … literally?”

“Of course,” Amanda said, closing the door to the gallery behind her.

“I’m just finishing tying the bows on the last of the fresh bouquets of chrysanthemums. A person needs three hands for that,” Sophia said with a smile as they made their way down the stairs to the sitting room. “Marta was to help me with them, but she’s gone off somewhere and everyone else has deserted us … though you can be sure Jason will be back late this afternoon with some cutting remarks if we aren’t ready to go.”

Sophia’s cordiality might be due to a need for assistance, but somehow Amanda doubted it. She accompanied her warily.

“If you will just hold the bunches of ribbon I have formed into loops, I’ll wrap this wire around them and twist it, so?”

“Yes, I see.” Amanda picked up the mass of yellow ribbon. Several loops slipped out of place and she carefully secured them. They worked in silence while Amanda waited. There was nothing here that Sophia could not have handled alone if she had so wished.

As Sophia twisted the soft copper wire, she glanced at Amanda from the corner of her eyes. “I suppose you will be leaving soon?”

“I imagine,” Amanda answered.

“In the morning, perhaps?”

Amanda flicked a look from her lashes. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“I … thought maybe a small celebration tonight would be in order. We always have a late dinner on All Hallows’ Eve, and I thought a bottle of wine, to toast the happy couple, would be in order.”

“Oh?”

“Forgive me for anticipating your news, my dear, but you know you can’t keep a secret in this house.”

“You will be … disappointed, then, to hear that I haven’t given Nathaniel my answer.” That should give Sophia pause.

“The answer is yes, of course? You couldn’t let such a worthy man slip through your fingers.”

Worthy. Yes, that described Nathaniel. “I rather thought you were convinced Nathaniel is after my money?”

“That was before I met the man,” she objected with a laugh that had a forced sound. She moved to several bouquets that lay scattered on papers over a table where she began to wire the ribbon about the bare stems. “You do intend to have him, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You don’t want to keep him dangling forever. He might decide he doesn’t care for the match either.”

“In that case we will both be better off, won’t we, if we are so changeable?”

“Oh, it’s easy to be flippant, but marriage is a serious matter.”

“Marriage? Or just being married?”

“I … don’t understand you.”

“Marriage to a certain man or just … being married?”

“Are you suggesting that I…”

“That you have a somewhat different point of view.”

“So would you, my girl, if you had no money, nothing. If you had seen your youth slipping away with all the presentable men gone to war, and, at last, found younger women carrying off the matrimonial prizes!”

“Sophia…”

“Oh, spare me your enthusiasm, or your platitudes!”

“I will not rush into marriage.”

“Rush? You have been engaged to this man for months.”

“So I have. That should tell me something, shouldn’t it?”

“Oh, very well then,” she said in a tight voice, “do as you please. But don’t blame me if you live to regret it!”

“No, I won’t,” Amanda agreed as she closed the door quietly behind her.

Though she had kept her temper and said nothing she regretted while she was with Sophia, now anger slowly grew within her. How could Nathaniel have discussed his proposal … and his soreness of her answer! … with that woman? She was bitterly disappointed in him. It was a betrayal of their relationship, of their plans, and of the sane and sensible future they had laid out together.

Then why, a quiet voice within asked, was she angry? Why wasn’t she hurt and disillusioned? Why did she have this urge to fly into a rage and create a final scene rather than to assuage her pain in his arms?

Her face thoughtful, she mounted the stairs to her room.

At last the time to leave for the cemetery drew near. A carriage and Nathaniel’s gig stood before the gate. Hampers of food and drink; chicken, ham, baked potatoes, pie and cake, tea, chilled wine, and hot coffee, had been piled into the carriage along with all the beaded, paper, and natural offerings of flowers. There had been a kind of hectic gaiety about Sophia, like an excited hostess at a party, as she saw to the placement of everything carried out by Theo and Jason. She had dressed with extravagance also, at least to Amanda’s eyes, in a many-flounced gown of dark blue taffeta trimmed with black braid and a black silk hat with white and blue plumes curling about the brim. Amanda, in her dress and matching cloak with a simple gray weave felt austere in comparison, nearly as plain as the men in their dark suits with black armbands.

“Are we ready?” Sophia asked then answered herself. “No. Where is Marta? Perhaps someone should go up … no, here she is. All right then…”

Marta had returned as stealthily as she had gone. Now, her face carrying a flush of high color and her eyes looking peculiarly determined, she sailed out of the door. Gathering voluminous skirts of an ugly brown about her, she followed Sophia’s gesture and climbed into the carriage.

“Theo has said he will drive this vehicle. I will ride with Marta to look after my creations. Amanda, I’m sure you prefer to drive with Nathaniel in the gig. Jason…”

“My horse is saddled and waiting.”

“Oh? I rather hoped you would come into the carriage with us. It looks so much like rain we may all be glad of a roof and doors around us before the evening is over.”

Jason cast a glance around the pewter sky but he made no comment, and after a moment’s hesitation Sophia climbed into the carriage and shut the door behind her with an irritated slam.

Then in a flurry Theo scrambled to the carriage box, Jason mounted, and Nathaniel handed Amanda into the gig and climbed up beside her. He slapped the reins against the horse’s rump and with a jerk, the procession started.

For a little way Jason rode even with the gig talking in desultory fashion to Nathaniel, but finally he dropped back, and Amanda could hear his voice raised slightly as he spoke to the others above the noise of the carriage following.

The damp wind of their movements blew against her face, and she pulled her cloak more closely around her to shut out the penetrating chill. Like Sophia, she could feel the prospect of rain in the air, a cold rain presaging winter. The autumn was almost gone. The leaves had left nothing but the brown tatters of their spring costumes hanging on the trees. The weeds that lined the roads were dry and sere. Still, it was early for winter. Fall — the rich, pleasant Indian Summer that passed for fall of the year in the South — usually lingered until after Thanksgiving.

“Comfortable?” Nathaniel broke into her reverie.

“Yes,” she answered shortly, remembering her anger with him.

She noticed the glance he slanted at her, but she averted her face.

“Amanda? Is … something wrong?”

“What could be wrong?” she asked perversely.

They drove on for a few moments in silence. “You are not yourself,” he said decisively.

“I thought you were of the opinion that I have not been myself for some time?”

“Very true.”

“I could almost say the same of you.”

He considered that in silence. “Has something happened that I don’t know of?”

Amanda allowed herself to remember the evening before when for a few short moments Jason had held her in his arms. A delicate color burned on her cheeks.

“I asked you a question, Amanda,” he insisted, and because the pompous assurance of his tone annoyed her, she lashed out at him.

“I’m not sure you have the right to know anything of my affairs, Nathaniel.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, frowning as he divided his attention between her face and his driving.

“It means I’m no longer certain anything that occurs or is spoken of between us will remain private.”

“If I had some idea of what you are getting at…”

“I’m referring to the fact that you discussed your proposal to me with Sophia — I can only assume, before you spoke to me.”

“Now, Amanda, it wasn’t that way at all. We were talking and the subject came up and she mentioned what a good opportunity it would be…”

“So the whole thing was her idea!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Don’t you see what she was doing? She was trying to maneuver us into marriage to suit her convenience.”

“I don’t see that at all. Why should she care whether we marry now or later?”

She should have foreseen that question. Now she did not know how to answer. “She is jealous and … and terribly possessive of Jason. She lost him once to a … a younger woman and would like to make certain it doesn’t happen again.”

She thought that for a moment he looked a trifle conscious of the force of her argument, then his face closed in and he began to defend his position.