The Master of Phoenix Hall (7 page)

“That's what I'm for,” she replied.

I wondered what I would ever have done without her. I suppose it was a blessing for both of us. She would have a better life here in the country with me than she would ever have had in London, and if her encounter with Billy Johnson was any indication, it would not be a dull one.

After breakfast we set to work cleaning up the house. We were soon in a flurry of soap suds, mops, polish, rags, wax and broom, and it was thrilling to see the floors sparkle with new golden highlights as we rubbed the wax in, to see the rich grain of the furniture gleam after we polished it. Nan took down all the curtains and washed them in a big pot in the back yard, stirring the soapy water with a large wooden spoon she had found. I began to wash the windows in the parlor. The glass had a fine blue sheen, and it sparkled with silver sunbursts as I cleaned away the dust and grime.

I was almost finished with the windows when I heard the carriage. It turned down the road and came up in front of the house. I wiped a strand of hair from my forehead and peered at the man who got out of the vehicle. He was very tall, with an athletic build and a graceful, fluid carriage of his body. His hair was light brown, and his features were extremely handsome—in a genteel way. He wore a pair of tight gray trousers and a plum colored frock coat. His boots were shiny black leather, and he wore a black silk tie flowing over the starched, ruffled white shirtfront.

He stuck the whip in its socket and whistled. A gorgeous silver gray dog leaped out of the carriage. It was a Borzoi and the most beautiful animal I had ever seen, elegant in every line.

Nan was in the kitchen, ironing the curtains, and I called her to go to the door. I had no idea who the visitor might be, but I did not want him to see me in a dirty cleaning dress. I hurried upstairs and changed, gave my hair a few rapid brush strokes and tried to compose myself. From my room I could hear the rich, husky voice of my visitor talking to Nan. I went downstairs, hoping my appearance was not too bad.

The gentleman rose when I stepped into the parlor. The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They were light gray, with tiny green specks, surrounded by thick, sooty lashes. They were gentle eyes, and the smile that played at the corners of his lips was a gentle smile.

“Miss Todd? I am Greg Ingram, a friend of your late aunt's.”

“How do you do, Mr. Ingram?”

“I thought I would return your property. It was given to me, for safe keeping, I suppose you'd say.”

“My property?”

“Peter here,” he said, pointing to the dog that was curled up in front of the fireplace, evidently at home, obviously contented. “He belonged to your Aunt Lucille. I took him after she passed away. He is a fine animal.”

“I should say so,” I replied, kneeling to stroke his head. Peter took to me immediately, arching his neck so that I could scratch his ear and gazing at me with serene golden-brown eyes.

“I thank you for caring for him,” I told my visitor. “You evidently did a fine job of it. He is in lovely condition.”

“It was my pleasure, Peter was a good companion at the school. The boys loved him.”

“You are a school teacher?”

“In a manner of speaking. Teacher, counselor, disciplinarian. We have twenty boys at the school—sons of the wealthier families in and around Lockwood—and I think of myself more as their friend than as their teacher.”

“I am sure they must return the thought.”

“Oh, for the most part, when we go for boating trips or picnics. A little less so when I try to drum Latin into their heads or have to use the rod.”

“Do you use it often?” I inquired.

“Only when I have to,” he replied matter-of-factly.

It was difficult for me to imagine Greg Ingram thrashing a boy. He seemed the epitome of gentility, a kind, intelligent man with an air of good breeding and background. Yet I could see how he would be firm. There was nothing soft about the man. He had strong, powerful hands, and his every movement was decisive. I judged him to be in his early thirties.

I asked Nan to bring us tea and we sat down. Greg Ingram sat on the chair in front of the window, his legs spread out in front of him and his palms gripping his knees. I noticed the sheen of his boots and the way he held his head a little to one side.

“I don't want to interrupt your work,” he said. “I can see that you've had a very busy morning.”

“Yes. We're trying to put the house in order.”

“How do you like Dower House?” he asked.

“I think it's lovely.”

“It has always been one of my favorite places in Lockwood. I came to visit your aunt quite often. Lucille was a Latin scholar, and she often helped me with a difficult passage in Virgil.”

“She was? I didn't know my aunt read Latin. In fact, I know very little about her. She was a stranger to me.”

“She was an enigmatic old woman,” he said, his eyes turning inward as he reflected on the character of his deceased friend. “She was salty and even vulgar in ways, could brawl and curse with the best of them, yet her kindness and gentility at the bedside of a sick child or a dying man was something to behold. There was nothing she couldn't do if she put her mind to it. She discovered that she needed to know some Latin in her studies of herbs, so she purchased books and learned it. She was quite a reader, too.”

He pointed to the books on the bookcase. There were dozens of them, bound in brown and gold leather, the color of their bindings contrasting nicely with the polished golden grain of the oak shelves.

Greg Ingram told me many stories about my Aunt Lucille, and as he talked about her I began to feel that I knew her for the first time. She was eccentric, the black sheep of my mother's family, running off with a man far below her station and becoming a gardener's wife. Yet I felt her life, particularly the years spent at Dower House, must have been a rich and rewarding one, and I was sure that she had been happier than my mother ever was.

“What do you intend to do now, Miss Todd?” he asked.

“I don't know. I have no particular plans. I want to settle in and take long walks and get to know the countryside. I want to do some gardening, and I want to read all those books, and I want to meet the people who knew my aunt.”

“Do you have a friend back in London?” he asked.

Although it was a very discrete question, I knew that he was referring to a male friend, a fiance. I blushed slightly, turning my head so that he would not see.

“No—” I replied. “I—there was no one.”

“That's nice,” Greg Ingram said.

I looked full into his eyes. They were smiling, and once again the strange beauty of them struck me. I blushed all the more, and I was relieved when he got up to leave. He paused to give Peter a final pat on the head and then asked me to attend services with him at the church. For a moment I hesitated, looking into his eyes, then I agreed to go with him the following Sunday. He said he would be by to pick me up, and we parted at the door. I watched him drive away, and I was still standing at the door when Nan came rushing into the hall.

“What a fine looking gentleman,” she cried.

“Yes. He certainly is,” I remarked.

“Such fine clothes, such manners. We'll have to fix up your lilac silk dress for Sunday.”

“Nan! Were you listening?”

“No,” she said evasively, “but I was in the kitchen ironing, and I couldn't help overhearing him ask you to go to church.”

“What else did you hear?”

“Well—almost everything,” she said slyly.

“So you like Greg Ingram?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. And you?”

“I—I think I like him, too,” I replied.

Peter came up to me, holding his head up to be stroked. I rubbed my fingers over the silver gray fur as he watched me with adoring eyes. Nan looked at the animal a little dubiously at first, but I could tell that she was won over by his great beauty. Neither of us would be adverse to having a watch dog after last night.

“Mr. Ingram is a fine spoken gentleman,” Nan said. “And I know you made a good impression on him, Miss Angel. I could tell. His eyes lit up when you came into the parlor. Oh, I'm so excited—” She was already visualizing a romantic intrigue, no doubt, and I smiled at her foolishness. He was a fine gentleman, indeed, but I could see no reason why Greg Ingram should be interested in me. A man with his handsome looks and fine manners could doubtlessly have any girl he wanted, and I was sure he did not want me. Nevertheless, my heart felt lighter as I went back to my chores, and I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would wear on Sunday when he came to take me to church.

The rest of the week passed quickly for us. In three days we had Dower House sparkling. We put everything in order and there was not a surface that was not resplendent with polish or wax. I gathered up all my aunt's things and packed them away in a large trunk, reflecting sadly on the character of the woman who had left me this place.

The days were white and golden with sunlight, the sky washed with gentle spring rain that caused wild flowers to crowd the hills. I worked in my aunt's gardens, pulling weeds, and fingering the rich brown soil. I studied several of the books on herbs in her small library, and it did not take me long to learn enough to care for the various plants. On my hands and knees, spading fork in hand, sunbonnet on head, I thought I could never know such peace and contentment.

We were so tired each night that we went to sleep quickly and gave no thought to the incident that had awakened us on our first night here. At any rate, we had Peter now. He slept in the hall, curled up on the thick blue rug that Nan had placed there for him. He quickly became as much a part of the household as Nan's canary who, perched in his cage in the kitchen, filled the lower floor with his singing. It seemed impossible that any other sort of life had ever existed. We spoke of Mrs. Clemmons and her dress shop as something distant, long ago in the past.

Billy Johnson became a part of the household, too, or so it seemed to me. He was at Dower House every day on some pretext or another, and while he helped with the chores and did many things that neither Nan nor I had the physical strength to do, he seemed to spend most of his time sitting in the kitchen chair admiring Nan and hindering her at her work. She scolded him with her sharp tongue, called him worthless and a pest, but this did not prevent Billy from coming back again and again. Sometimes they argued violently, for he had a quick temper and when he was angry the house seemed to shake with his rage. They both seemed to enjoy these verbal free-for-alls, each pushing the other to the extreme edge of fury and then standing back to witness the wrath. It was a sport Nan excelled at, and it kept boredom from setting in.

Billy brought us all the news from the village. He told us about the fight that had broken out on the square when some of the men working at Phoenix Hall came to town and tried to crash a dance the girls of Lockwood were giving. It had resulted in a brawl, and Billy had had a part in it, blacking several eyes and breaking one man's nose. Roderick Mellory had witnessed it all, sitting in his carriage and laughing. He had spurred his men on, Billy said irately, and had made no effort to help when some of the older men had tried to break the fight up. Billy also told us all the latest rumors about the highwaymen. Several professional men from London had come to Lockwood to ask questions and interview anyone who might possibly know anything about the holdups. They were sure that the bandits were stationed in or around Lockwood.

On Friday Nan and Billy went berry-picking. They came home with a huge bucket filled with juicy red dew berries, and Nan baked a cobbler. I noticed that her cheeks were rather flushed, and there was a secretive look about her eyes. She smiled coyly at Billy as he straddled his wooden chair. Billy's hair was mussed, and he had a sheepish look in his eyes. Nan was finding her own kind of happiness, and I was happy for her. I thought about Greg Ingram and wondered if I, too, would ever have that look of bliss.

I could tell that Greg Ingram was pleased when he saw me that Sunday. I was wearing an old dress of lilac colored silk, but Nan had adorned it with some fine black lace, and I thought it elegant and fashionable. My bonnet was purple velvet, with a broad black ribbon, and I carried a black string bag and a pair of black lace gloves. He stood for a moment just looking at me, his eyes reflecting his pleasure, and I was glad that I had taken such pains with my appearance. I told myself that this would be my first public appearance in Lockwood and that that was the reason I dressed with such care, but in my heart I knew that it was because I had wanted to see this look in his eyes.

“You look very nice, Miss Todd,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, highly complimented.

It was a long drive to the church, but it seemed all too short. He talked about his experiences at the schoolhouse and all the pranks that the boys pulled. I loved the sound of his voice, so rich and well modulated. It was like a kind of music. Ever so often he would turn to me with a smile. He was evidently enjoying himself, and I wondered if he had driven many young women to church in his smart carriage.

The countryside was lovely with the first touches of spring. Bright hard little jade green buds were on some of the trees and the grass was turning a rich emerald shade, scattered with white and yellow wildflowers. We passed Phoenix Hall, and I was surprised to see that the workmen were busy at their repairs even on Sunday. I made no comment about it, but it struck me as strange. Roderick Mellory seemed to flaunt all the conventions.

Greg helped me out of the carriage in front of the church. We went into the church slowly, his arm linked in mine. I saw heads turn as we came in, but the people did not stare openly. Greg nodded to many of them. I kept my eyes downcast, slightly intimidated by all the strangers. For the most part they were simple people, strong, silent men with lined, weathered faces that showed years of hard labor, women with eyes that had seen many privations. They were soberly dressed in brown and black, and I felt rather out of place in my lilac silk.