The Lady of Lyon House by Jennifer Wilde

pressing the thin lips tightly together.
    â€œPerhaps you don’t,” she said. “I shall have to keep my eye on you just the same. You behave yourself, hear me? I could be wrong—yes, I could be wrong.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œNever you mind. Just behave.”
    She was talking in riddles. I could not understand what her strange words meant. I remembered that she drank large quantities of liquor, and although she did not appear to be intoxicated at the moment her brain was probably fuddled by the alcohol. She stood staring at me, her eyes full of something that I could not properly identify. Mischief? Perhaps. The old woman looked very mischievous. She would probably avoid any real trouble, but I thought she probably relished a good scrap. I could not dislike her, just as I could not dislike a troublesome child, and that is what she reminded me of.
    The front door slammed loudly, and in a moment Corinne came storming into the room. She was wearing the outfit her nephew had described to me, the tan riding habit, the hat with the billowing moss green veil. The veil half concealed her heavily made up face, and it swept behind her now as she entered the room. She brought an air of electricity with her. The room seemed to be charged with tempestuous vitality. She stopped and stared when she saw me standing there with Agatha Crandall. She did not look at all pleased.
    â€œYou’re up?” she snapped, addressing Agatha.
    â€œYes, dear,” Agatha said. I noted the acid tone of her voice. She smiled at Corinne, and the smile was malicious.
    â€œThat surprises me,” Corinne said, her own voice far from sweet.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYes. It surprises me that you were able.” She emphasized the last word.
    â€œEveryone seems to exaggerate my drinking,” Agatha remarked. “It may be a small vice, but at least it doesn’t hurt anyone. I could think of a lot worse things a person could do.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Corinne demanded.
    â€œTut, my dear. Have I scored?”
    They stood glaring at each other. I could feel the animosity. It was like being in the room with two cats, both holding back, both arched and ready to let fly with fang and claw. Corinne jerked off her hat and threw it across the room, the veil fluttering wildly. It landed on the sofa. Agatha lifted an eyebrow and smiled her superior smile. It was evident that these two women could not stand each other, and I wondered why Corinne kept Agatha at Lyon House, that being the case.
    â€œWhat has she been saying to you?” Corinne asked me.
    I started to reply, but Agatha Crandall spoke up before I could get the words out.
    â€œNothing, dear. Nothing at all. Just little pleasantries. Nothing else—yet.”
    â€œIf you dare—”
    â€œNo, dear,’ don’t fly into one of your rages. You know how they upset you.” She spoke in the dulcet tones of the paid companion. “You would just have to spend the rest of the day in bed and take some of your nasty medicine. Besides, you know they’re absolutely meaningless with me. Save them for someone they will impress.”
    Corinne was smoldering, her dark eyes full of anger. I thought she was going to hurl something at the other woman, but she managed to control herself. Her mouth twitched and she clenched her hands. She whirled around, her back to Agatha Crandall. Her shoulders trembled.
    â€œThere, there,” Agatha said. “That’s better. You know how these rages affect you. At your age you simply must avoid them. You work yourself into such a frenzy, such a frenzy, and for no purpose.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go open another bottle, Agatha,” Corinne said, the words full of rancor.
    â€œOh, I don’t think so, dear. I don’t think so. Now that Julia is here I believe I will abstain for a while. I must keep sharp and alert. You never know—” Her voice faded off, but the