not rescue Melody from that quarter: he may torture her with silence and his brusque nature, but he would not do anything to inspire any real danger of impropriety from Melody. So Jane stayed by her mother’s side adjusting all the small comforts needed to ease her fretting. She had just begun to read to her from William Meinhold’s
Sidonia the Sorceress: The Supposed Destroyer of the Whole Reigning Ducal House of Pomerania
when the distant sound of the front door opening and shutting interrupted her recital.
“Who is that?” Mrs. Ellsworth demanded.
“Mr. Vincent departing, I should expect,” Jane said.
Her mother plucked at the blanket fretfully and craned her neck toward the window as though by artful twisting of her head she might see out it. Jane put aside the book without waiting for her mother to ask a second time. She lookedout the window, fully expecting that Mr. Vincent would be striding across the lawn, but saw no one.
“Well?” her mother demanded querulously from the bed. “Who is it? Was it Mr. Vincent?”
“No. Someone must have arrived, but I do not know who it could be.” Jane returned to her book, intent on resuming where she had left off, with Sidonia in danger from a bear, but her mother was not willing to let the matter rest.
“Oh, I do hope it is not Lady FitzCameron. Perhaps I should prepare myself in case it is. It would not do to receive her in bed. Now, if it were Mrs. Marchand, it would be quite a different story because Joy is always so generous and so understanding of my neuralgia. She would be quite, quite willing to see me in the state that I am in, especially after the fright over poor Melody.”
“First, Mother, I am certain that it is not Lady FitzCameron, for her carriage is not at the door. Second, you have no reason to be still afraid for poor Melody, as we went for a walk in the shrubbery this morning and she gave every sign of having affected a full recovery.”
“Oh! I do wish I had been consulted. I would have told her not to go walking under any circumstances. A fall such as hers can have grave consequences later, without any warning. Mark my words, she will be plagued with health troubles for the rest of her life.”
Jane feared that was true, though not for the reasons put forward by her mother. She had a vision of Melody becoming an invalid like Mrs. Ellsworth, for the purpose of theattention it brought to her. She wondered if that was how her mother’s case had begun, and if Mrs. Ellsworth knew any longer what her real aches were and which were imagined. Melody’s moans of pain had seemed genuine enough. Still, Jane reassured her mother on Melody’s general good health as best she could and then asked if she should continue reading
Sidonia the Sorceress.
“Oh no! I should not be able to concentrate without knowing who is belowstairs. Pray, do go and see who has come. If it is a person of consequence, I should pay my respects.”
Jane could have told her mother that if it had been a person of consequence, Nancy would have brought his or her card up straightaway, but she knew that to argue would only prolong the moment when she went to quiet her mother’s unease. “Of course. I will be happy to check for you.”
Setting the book aside once more, Jane made her way downstairs. She paused by the parlour door, struck by the bouts of laughter within. Jane cracked the door, peering in at a scene which astounded her.
Melody was seated on the couch by Captain Livingston, who must have been the recent arrival. They faced Mr. Vincent, who was conjuring small vignettes on the tea table before them. Jane could barely make out the illusion from where she was, so she crept farther into the room in order to see better. Mindful of Mr. Vincent’s feelings, she endeavored not to watch the folds he manipulated, but to focus on the small manikins. Even so, she marveled at hisskill in managing the minuscule folds needed to create the illusion. The scenery, he had tied
Sidonia the Sorceress: The Supposed Destroyer of the Whole Reigning Ducal House of Pomerania
when the distant sound of the front door opening and shutting interrupted her recital.
“Who is that?” Mrs. Ellsworth demanded.
“Mr. Vincent departing, I should expect,” Jane said.
Her mother plucked at the blanket fretfully and craned her neck toward the window as though by artful twisting of her head she might see out it. Jane put aside the book without waiting for her mother to ask a second time. She lookedout the window, fully expecting that Mr. Vincent would be striding across the lawn, but saw no one.
“Well?” her mother demanded querulously from the bed. “Who is it? Was it Mr. Vincent?”
“No. Someone must have arrived, but I do not know who it could be.” Jane returned to her book, intent on resuming where she had left off, with Sidonia in danger from a bear, but her mother was not willing to let the matter rest.
“Oh, I do hope it is not Lady FitzCameron. Perhaps I should prepare myself in case it is. It would not do to receive her in bed. Now, if it were Mrs. Marchand, it would be quite a different story because Joy is always so generous and so understanding of my neuralgia. She would be quite, quite willing to see me in the state that I am in, especially after the fright over poor Melody.”
“First, Mother, I am certain that it is not Lady FitzCameron, for her carriage is not at the door. Second, you have no reason to be still afraid for poor Melody, as we went for a walk in the shrubbery this morning and she gave every sign of having affected a full recovery.”
“Oh! I do wish I had been consulted. I would have told her not to go walking under any circumstances. A fall such as hers can have grave consequences later, without any warning. Mark my words, she will be plagued with health troubles for the rest of her life.”
Jane feared that was true, though not for the reasons put forward by her mother. She had a vision of Melody becoming an invalid like Mrs. Ellsworth, for the purpose of theattention it brought to her. She wondered if that was how her mother’s case had begun, and if Mrs. Ellsworth knew any longer what her real aches were and which were imagined. Melody’s moans of pain had seemed genuine enough. Still, Jane reassured her mother on Melody’s general good health as best she could and then asked if she should continue reading
Sidonia the Sorceress.
“Oh no! I should not be able to concentrate without knowing who is belowstairs. Pray, do go and see who has come. If it is a person of consequence, I should pay my respects.”
Jane could have told her mother that if it had been a person of consequence, Nancy would have brought his or her card up straightaway, but she knew that to argue would only prolong the moment when she went to quiet her mother’s unease. “Of course. I will be happy to check for you.”
Setting the book aside once more, Jane made her way downstairs. She paused by the parlour door, struck by the bouts of laughter within. Jane cracked the door, peering in at a scene which astounded her.
Melody was seated on the couch by Captain Livingston, who must have been the recent arrival. They faced Mr. Vincent, who was conjuring small vignettes on the tea table before them. Jane could barely make out the illusion from where she was, so she crept farther into the room in order to see better. Mindful of Mr. Vincent’s feelings, she endeavored not to watch the folds he manipulated, but to focus on the small manikins. Even so, she marveled at hisskill in managing the minuscule folds needed to create the illusion. The scenery, he had tied
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