The Last Camellia: A Novel (11 page)

Flora

I
wondered what Mr. Beardsley seemed so anxious about, but there wasn’t time to investigate. The children were waiting in the nursery. Abbott sat on the window seat, looking out to the gardens. Nicholas lay facedown on the floor, in protest. Katherine, sporting a permanent frown, tugged at her curls as she stood near the dollhouse, where Janie sat playing happily.

“Nicholas,” I scolded. “You’ll ruin your clothes.”

The boy sat up reluctantly, at a snail’s pace, before standing and shuffling to the window seat by Abbott. “Hey!” Abbott cried, giving his younger brother a hasty shove. “I was here first.”

“Come now, boys, there’s room for the both of you,” I said.

Mrs. Dilloway had explained the children’s schedule earlier. His Lordship had taken them out of boarding school, so their days were filled with a chorus of tutors and lessons, with very little playtime, except on weekends, and only for an hour in the afternoons.

I kept an eye on the clock; the children would need to be dressed and ready for dinner by six. I felt a pit in my stomach, knowing I’d be meeting Lord Livingston for the first time, and I didn’t want there to be any hiccups.

Abbott sighed, pressing his face against the window. Outside, the countryside was awash in gray. Rain splattered against the window. “Why must it always rain here?”

Janie ran to my side. “It’s only thunder, honey,” I said, smoothing her silky blond hair with my hand.

“I don’t like thunder,” she said. Her blue eyes clouded with worry and her little mouth turned down at the corners. She was a beautiful child. I wondered if she took after her mother.

“What should we do to keep our minds off of it, then?” I asked, glancing cautiously at Katherine, who sat on a nearby sofa with folded arms. “Katherine, do you have any suggestions?”

“It’s
Lady
Katherine,” she said sharply.

Nicholas flung a rubber ball in the air; it bounced off the roof of the dollhouse. “You’re not a lady yet,” he said teasingly.

“I
am
a lady,” she said. “I’m ten years old, and Father said I am to be called Lady Katherine by the servants.”

“Miss Lewis isn’t a servant,” Nicholas piped up.

“Yes, she is,” Abbott countered.

“Children,” I said, raising my voice over their shouting. “Please, stop arguing. You may think of me however you like. But I am your nanny, and I am here to look after you. Like me or don’t, but please, do not shout at one another.”

Katherine sighed and turned to face the bookcase. She reached to a high shelf, and the sleeve of her dress fell back to her elbow, revealing a dozen wounds, jagged and raw.

I gasped, and rushed to her side. “Katherine, what happened to your arm? Did you get hurt?”

She quickly covered her forearm with her sleeve. “It’s nothing,” she snapped.

“Let me see it,” I said. “Did someone hurt you? Please, I—”

“I’m fine,” she barked. “I only fell in the garden. It’s nothing.”

I touched my hand to her arm, gently. “But I only want to help—”

“Please,” she said, wrenching her arm away from me. “I told you it’s nothing.”

Abbott picked up a comic book and buried his nose in it, and Nicholas sulked. I turned to little Janie, who held a doll with flaxen hair in desperate need of a brushing. I would have to get through to Katherine, but it wasn’t happening now. “Let’s see about this dolly’s hair,” I said, reaching for a hairbrush on the floor near the sofa.

I turned to Katherine. “Do you like dolls?”

“No,” she said, without looking at me.

“Katherine doesn’t like anything,” Abbott said with a smirk.

“You know nothing about me,” she said in protest.

“She used to like to look at the flowers,” Nicholas added. “With Mother.”

Katherine made a disgusted face at her brother. “Don’t speak of Mother in front of
her
!”

“Why not?” Nicholas countered.

I looked at Katherine again. “You like flower gardens, then, Katherine?”

She didn’t answer.

“I do too,” I said. “In fact, when the rain clears, I was hoping that you children could take me on a tour of the gardens. Maybe tomorrow.” I hated to think that I was using the children to lead me to the camellias, but I had to find a way into the orchard without being too conspicuous.

“Father doesn’t like us to go into the orchard,” Katherine said, snuffing out the idea.

“Why?” I asked, remembering a similar warning from Mrs. Dilloway.

“Because Mummy—”

Katherine elbowed Nicholas in the side. “Ouch!” he cried.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Katherine added, rolling her eyes.

“Please,” I said. “Let’s stop all this bickering and amuse ourselves properly.” I glanced at the bookcase a few feet away. “Who likes stories?”

The older children didn’t answer, but little Janie walked to my side and leaned against my leg. “I do,” she said with a smile.

“Good, then,” I said, selecting a book from the shelf at random. “We shall read.”

I felt Katherine brush my side as she pushed past Nicholas to secure a preferable seat on the sofa. “Excuse me,” she said briskly before nestling next to a pillow, returning her arms to a folded position. Nicholas sat beside her, and Abbott lay on his side on the rug and let out a yawn.

“Now,” I said, turning to the first page before glancing at the clock. “Just enough time for a nice story before we dress for dinner.”

“Children!” Mrs. Dilloway scolded. “Quickly, take your seats before your father arrives.” I thought of Papa at home in the bakery in New York, with flour under his nails and a big jovial smile, and felt sorry for these children. No one should fear their own father the way they did.

Nicholas and Abbott scrambled into their chairs. They looked sharp in their dinner suits, like little men. Katherine sat across the table, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the sleeve of her pale yellow dress before giving me a mischievous smile. Of all the children, she worried me the most.

Mrs. Dilloway indicated a seat at the end of the long table, much too large and lonely for four children and their father. “Miss Lewis, you may take your seat here, near Janie. She needs assistance being fed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, scooping Janie into my arms and depositing her into the seat beside mine as Mrs. Dilloway left the room. I felt as if we were all part of an elaborate theater production just before the curtain rises.

Abbott tapped his knife against his plate, and as if on cue, Nicholas picked up his fork and began with the water glass.

“Really, you two,” Katherine huffed. “Must you always act like barbarians?”

Janie squealed with delight, and in an attempt to join her brothers’ dinnertime percussion ensemble, she reached for the spoon at her place setting and knocked her crystal water glass to its side. Water soaked the tablecloth before the glass spun to the ground, missing the rug and landing on the hardwood floor, where it shattered in jagged shards.

“Oh dear,” I said, quickly kneeling to attend to the mess. As I did, a hush fell over the dining room. “Tin cups would be much more sensible for children of your age. I shall talk to Mrs. Dilloway.” I concealed the shards of crystal under the table. “There,” I said, rising to my feet. Your father will never know. It will be our little secret.”

My cheeks reddened when Lord Livingston entered the dining room. Tall and thin, his temples kissed with gray, he still looked a great deal younger up close. I could see where Nicholas got his good looks. He was the spitting image of his father; I wondered if Abbott resented the resemblance.

He cleared his throat.

“Welcome home, Father!” Katherine cried.

He nodded at her formally, then turned to Mrs. Dilloway, who approached the table carrying a domed serving platter. “Who,” he said, waving a finger at me, “is
this
?”

“This is Miss Lewis,” she replied nervously. “The children’s new nanny. She arrived yesterday.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir, I mean, er, Mr. . . .” I said.

Mrs. Dilloway looked momentarily pained. “Miss Lewis is from America, your Lordship,” she said, as if to get the matter over with swiftly, efficiently.

He handed Mr. Beardsley his coat without taking his eyes off me. “Indeed,” he said wryly. “I may not know how children are raised in America, but at Livingston Manor, no one drinks from
tin
cups.”

“Why, yes,” I stammered, “yes, of course. I only thought that the children could—”

“The children,” he continued, “will learn to drink from glasses like ladies and gentlemen.”

“It’s just that, with all due respect, sir, little Janie is only two, and—”

“I’m well aware of my daughter’s age, Miss . . .”

“Miss Lewis, sir,” I said. My cheeks burned, and I thought I heard a giggle from Katherine’s direction. “Yes, sir, I mean, your Lordship.”

Lord Livingston sat, and I followed.

“Papa, I can jump my horse over the river now,” Nicholas boasted.

“No you can’t,” Abbott interjected. “You missed that jump by a good three feet.”

Nicholas looked down at his lap, then back up again at his father, ignoring Abbott. “You could come riding with me in the morning and see for yourself.”

“Not tomorrow, my boy,” he said. “I have business to attend to in the morning.”

Nicholas sank back into his chair as Mrs. Dilloway ladled a thick, orange-colored bisque into the bowls in front of us.

“Would you like to hear me play the piano after dinner, Father?” Katherine asked sweetly. “I can play Minuet in G now.”

“Very good, Katherine,” he said. “But I’ll be retiring right after dinner. Another time, dear.”

“Yes, Father,” she said with a disappointed sigh.

I fed Janie a spoonful of soup, and she happily lapped it up, oblivious to the disappointment of her siblings.

“And how do you like your accommodations here, Miss Lewis?” Lord Livingston asked, dabbing a napkin to his mouth.

“Very well, thank you,” I said. “You have a beautiful home.”

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “It’s been in the family for generations.”

“The gardens are particularly lovely,” I added. I clenched my fists, wishing I could retract the statement. Mrs. Dilloway glared at me from the corner of the room.

“Well,” Lord Livingston replied, “you can expect some changes to the property this fall. The camellias are coming out.” He set his fork down with such force, I wondered if he’d chipped the china. “All of them. The ground is too damp now, but by next spring, before the rains, they’ll be leveled.” He cut into his roast beef, eyeing it approvingly. “Camellias have no use. None at all. No fruit. Just flowers, and even they don’t last long.”

I winced at the thought of the orchard being destroyed. A massacre. I couldn’t help but wonder if the Middlebury Pink might be better off in the garden of a Nazi than destroyed.

“Mrs. Dilloway,” he said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “I have a great deal of paperwork to attend to. Will you be good enough to bring my dinner to my study? I shall finish in there.”

“Yes, your Lordship,” she said, reaching for a tray on the side table as he stood up.

Abbott and Nicholas looked wounded, and Katherine stared down at her lap, eyeing something in her hands. “Oh, Father, I wish you wouldn’t go,” she said, casting a sly glance in my direction. “There’s something I wanted to show you. Something that I found in the nursery. It fell out of Miss Lewis’s pocket.”

“What is it, dear?” her father asked, walking closer to observe her outstretched hand. I squinted, trying to make out the object in her palm, then realized, in a moment of panic, that she held a kumquat. From the conservatory.

“Good gracious!” Lord Livingston exclaimed. “Where did you find this, Miss Lewis?”

Katherine flashed a satisfied smile.

“I . . .”

Mrs. Dilloway intervened. “Mrs. Marden brought home a basket of them from the market. She offered you some at lunch, didn’t she, Miss Lewis?”

“Yes,” I chimed in. “I tucked some in my pocket for later, and I guess I must have forgotten about them. I’m ever so sorry.”

Lord Livingston looked relieved but tired. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll say good night now.”

“Good night, Father,” Abbott said, followed by Nicholas. Katherine sulked, but Janie sat up and said, “nigh nigh, Poppy.” Her father was already too far gone to hear her.

“Miss Katherine,” Mrs. Dilloway said with a frown, “I’ll take the kumquat.”

Katherine relinquished the exotic fruit and crossed her arms in triumph. “I don’t care what you say. I know where you got it.”

“That will be all,” Mrs. Dilloway scolded. “The boys will have dessert; Janie, too. But you will retire to your room where you will think very carefully about how we welcome our guests at Livingston Manor.”

Katherine stood up and walked proudly ahead.

“Please,” I said to Mrs. Dilloway. “Don’t punish her on my behalf.”

Katherine shot me a sharp look. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, walking toward the stairs. “I don’t like Mrs. Marden’s old lemon cake anyway.”