The Lady of Lyon House by Jennifer Wilde Page A

smile remained. She had the look of one with a great secret, bursting to tell it yet refraining because of the power it gave her.
    Agatha Crandall left the room, very satisfied with herself. Corinne stood at the window, mastering her rage. I was embarrassed. I was completely bewildered by the ugly scene and did not know what to say now that I was alone with Corinne. I was upset; the peace and harmony I had first felt at Lyon House had been rudely disturbed.
    â€œThat woman is intolerable!” Corinne cried, turning to face me. “She is wretched when she’s drunk, of course, but when she’s sober she’s even worse! Wretched, wretched woman!”
    â€œSurely she meant no harm,” I said.
    â€œMeant no harm! The old harridan would love to upset everything!”
    â€œIf you feel so strongly about it, why don’t you get rid of her?”
    â€œI might,” Corinne said, her eyes snapping. “I just might! She can’t treat me like that—”
    Corinne saw my expression, and she calmed herself. She picked up the hat and held it in her arms, the moss green veil sweeping the floor. Corinne enjoyed scenes, and she no doubt derived great satisfaction from her eccentric tantrums and the confusion they caused, but she had not enjoyed the scene with Agatha Crandall, nor had her emotion been simulated. Her shoulders slumped now, and there was a look of concern in her dark eyes.
    â€œWhat did she really say to you?” she asked. “You stay away from her,” Corinne said. “She’s a wicked old woman who loves to stir up trouble. She finds life unbearable, so she spends most of her time trying to make it unbearable for everyone else. She resents me because I had been kind to her and tried to help her. That’s what always happens when you are good to someone. Why I put up with her I don’t know.”
    Edward Lyon came sauntering into the room, his hair mussed and his face still showing signs of sleep. He wore a brown velvet smoking jacket with his black trousers and a pair of soft brown leather slippers. When he saw Corinne’s expression he stopped and shook his head. Then he made as if to make a hasty retreat.
    â€œAnother of those mornings,” he said, grinning.
    â€œAgatha,” Corinne said, as if the one word explained everything.
    â€œI see,” Edward Lyon said. He looked at me and lifted an eyebrow. “Has Agatha been bothering you?” he asked pleasantly.
    â€œNot at all,” I replied.
    â€œShe’s been babbling again,” Corinne said, “telling this child Heaven only knows what kind of nonsense! We are going to have to find a way to stop her. We are simply going to have to do something, Edward. I can’t take any more of this!”
    â€œDo you think so?” he asked casually.
    â€œYes. The woman is impossible!”
    â€œVery well,” he said, “don’t get into a stew about it. We’ll work something out. Now I suggest we all have breakfast. I saw Cook going into the dining room with the most marvelous plate of biscuits.”
    â€œIs that all you have to say?” Corinne cried.
    â€œYes, dear, at least for the moment. I’m hungry.”
    â€œYou’re as bad as she is!”
    â€œWe abound with passion here,” Edward Lyon said to me. “You will find it most invigorating.”
    Corinne was sulky all during the meal, and Agatha Crandall sat with her peculiar little smile, hardly touching her food. I had no appetite myself, and only Edward Lyon ate heartily. He buttered the biscuits and spread them with strawberry jam. He was obviously quite accustomed to these scenes and clearly did not intend to let them ruffle him. He was immune to his aunt’s moods and enjoyed his breakfast as much as he would have had all been peaceful accord.
    Shortly after breakfast it began to rain, pouring in great blinding sheets, and making the world outside a whirling mass of gray. The