Page 11 of Velvet Shadows


  I began to be a little anxious about those headaches, for I knew that Victorine took only remedies provided by Amélie, and those always sent her into deep sleep. Yet she awoke again in good health and spirits. But I resolved at the first opportunity to suggest that Mr. Sauvage call in his own physician. Only during these days I practically never saw my employer, save at dinner in the evening, and then I could not speak out before the others.

  We received other “morning calls” from neighbors during these days and twice Henry Beall rode over. But we saw nothing more of Mrs. Beall, though she had accepted the invitation to the ball. Henry mentioned the return of his sister from a fashionable school down the peninsula, but, I noticed, he did not speak of his stepmother.

  It was very plain he was fascinated by Victorine. Though she, as plainly, gave him no encouragement. I think Mrs. Deaves favored him; certainly she was most gracious when he called.

  Our ball gowns were finished and hung in our wardrobes. To Victorine's great delight her brother produced the traditional pearl necklace for a young lady making her first bow to society. Our house guests began to arrive and these I found a varied lot.

  Most of the men were business associates of Mr. Sauvage, bearing names which carried great weight in financial circles. Among them were some of the French colony of note in the city. Their ladies all dressed in the height of contemporary fashion, as I had expected. But I detected those differences of background which marked the fluid state of this society. Though their mothers might have to make an effort to move into this elite world, the daughters adapted better. Two of the noted belles of the season accompanied their parents, but neither to my mind could compare with Victorine.

  The overflow of accommodation in the main house was taken care of by two guest cottages, in which the bachelors were quartered. And our company was in such numbers I had to make a distinct effort to remember names.

  Though Victorine was in truth hostess, Mrs. Deaves, under the pretense of helping her, insinuated herself wherever possible. If the girl was conscious of this encroachment she did not comment. I was proud of her demeanor, for she was on her best behavior and so enchanting. Perhaps the fact that she was the present center of attention brought out the best in her nature.

  Dinner on the night of the ball was served in the smaller salon and not prolonged. I think that the ladies would have been satisfied with trays in their rooms while they gave last attentions to their toilets. But we dressed early instead.

  Fenton arranged my hair, adding a slight padding which I disliked in the ordinary way. She very artfully placed a violet-adorned comb at just the right angle.

  I knew I had very little claim to being more than passable looking, but with Fenton's aid I had never made such a good appearance as I did that night. My mother's parure was the perfect touch, I knew, as I put on the earrings, fastened the brooch to the front of my corsage (which was not cut as low as Victorine had urged), added the necklace, and slipped the bracelets over my long gloves.

  A bouquet had been delivered to each lady earlier, with Mr. Sauvage's compliments. Mine consisted of the ivory roses, accompanied by a short note of regret that it was not white violets. The fragrant flowers were in a crystal holder united by a chain to a ring one could slip on a finger. My fan was of my father's giving, a brisé one of carved ivory from China.

  “Miss”—Fenton sat back on her heels (she had knelt to smooth out my short train)—“you look just lovely!” Her plain face lighted up.

  “Mainly your work, Fenton.” I gathered my skirt and made one of those grand curtsies learned at Ashley Manor. “To you goes the credit.”

  “Oh, miss—!” I was surprised at the feeling in her voice. When she had been sent to me I had resented her as a curb on what small independence I thought I had a right to. Perhaps I was uneasy because I had never had a personal maid before. And sometimes she had looked so disapproving, as if the arrangement suited her no more than it did me. But recently we had become closer. And I was aware she took pride in dressing me and that I must be a credit to her.

  My skirts whispered on the carpet as I went on to Victorine's suite. There I faced one who might have stepped out of a fairy tale—the princess all little girls long to be. Her hair was dressed loosely, a second string of pearls woven through it. Above the massing of gauze which edged her satin bodice, molded so closely to her young body, her perfect shoulders emerged as if from some lightsome summer cloud. We read of great beauty but we seldom see it as I viewed it that night.

  “Tamaris—but that dress is right for you after all.” She picked up a mother-of-pearl holder with pure white roses.

  “Victorine! Never have I seen anyone look so lovely!” And I meant that with all my heart.

  She caught up her full skirts and turned slowly about, looking over her shoulder into the mirror.

  “Myself, I think that Amélie has done better than ever before. You hear that, Amélie—très bon!”

  Amélie held a spangled fan in one hand as she watched Victorine with an odd expression I could not read. Was it envy?

  A little of my old distrust and uneasiness flooded back. But I would not think of that now; nothing must mar Victorine's happiness tonight.

  Mrs. Deaves was as magnificent as I had guessed. Her golden skirts with their trimmings of hummingbirds, the beaks of which were gold, the tiny eyes rubies, had the splendor of at least a duchess. Though I disliked seeing those small birds killed to make dress ornaments. Their use so was a part of the same waste which assaulted something in me all through this house. Gold and yet more gold, red velvet, things which in restraint could be beautiful, but when in opulent parade disgusted rather than pleased.

  My dinner escort was a Major Barkley from the Presido, colorful in his dress uniform, stiffly attentive. He was one of the bachelors and his remarks (plainly delivered for the sake of good manners) were based on features of the countryside. Though he unbent a little when I spoke of Mr. Sauvage's description of some of the old California houses which had not been razed. He said he had been stationed here prior to the war and grew quite animated in his description of a cattle round-up on such a ranch. My companion to the left was a much older man, who, when we exchanged conversational partners, paid me some too florid compliments, but exhibited much greater interest in the contents of the plate and glass before him.

  Even the house had been changed tonight. Now the great hall under its amber dome had a circular seat of quilted red velvet in the center. This formed a ring to enclose a tiered pyramid of red and white camellias, bordered by red and white roses, the fragrance of which was near overpowering. On the balcony at second-floor level a string orchestra had been installed to play soft music to promenade by, and there were divans and chairs scattered about.

  The two great salons, where strips of opaque crystal bearing mythological designs alternated with full-length mirrors on the walls, had been converted to one huge ball-room by pushing sliding panels back into hiding. It was at the entrance to this that Mr. Sauvage stood, Victorine to his right, and me (in spite of my attempt to avoid being so singled out) to his left.

  Mrs. Deaves did not form one of our small reception list, though I did not doubt she had fully expected to. She stood instead with others of the house party, a set smile on her lips, talking in a low tone, with feverish vivacity, to her dinner partner.

  My discomfort at being so placed on show was such that I found it increasingly difficult to remember names and faces as the guests began to arrive, each lady being presented at the door with a dancing program.

  Mr. Sauvage had already filled ours I saw when I had a moment to glance at mine. When our duty in the reception line was finished I was claimed by the Major who, though not too graceful, performed creditably enough in the lancers to music provided by a second and larger orchestra.

  If Mr. Sauvage had ignored Mrs. Deaves’ wish to be singled out as co-hostess, he was politely punctilious about giving her the second dance, having opened the ball with Victorine and t
hen relinquished her to a younger escort But when the third, a waltz, began, he bowed before me.

  In such a throng, with people continually passing in and out, or going to walk along the conservatory veranda, or sit in the center hall, it was difficult to keep Victorine in sight, especially as all the other debutantes present also wore white. I was trying to locate her when my partner said abruptly, “Are you looking for someone, Tamaris? Do you have some acquaintance here you want to meet?” His tone was sharp with no jesting note in it.

  “No, sir. But as you well know my status here is on a slightly different basis than that of your other guests. I am watching for Victorine.”

  “Duty as always then.” But there was a softer note in his voice. “Tonight I do not think you should take that duty too seriously. Think not of Miss Penfold the very proper lady instructoress, the ideal companion-in- residence, but rather of Tamaris who is quite young enough, and certainly pretty enough, to be enjoying a ball.”

  Only he was so deadly wrong.

  Supper was served at midnight and my escort of the last waltz, an amiable young man whose name to this day I cannot remember, proved himself quite adept at selecting from the display of macaroons, blanc mange in fanciful shapes, tipsy cake (and very tipsy it was, too), brandied cherries, jelly trifles, and the like a most tempting plate. Having been ceremoniously seated on the round seat in the hall to await his return with champagne, I had a moment free to check on Victorine.

  And I saw her—not nearby, but up on the balcony, where she stood with her back to the silver railing, talking with a man. Some trick of the gaslight caught his face and I started. He possessed a masculine version of Amélie's features! But I must be imagining things—

  Before I could rise my escort returned and I had no valid reason to hurry away. Also the young man had left Victorine and she was now seated as if awaiting the same service which had just been provided for me. Who was that man?

  I did not really taste the delicacies on my plate, nor attend intelligently to my partner's conversation. I hoped I was not outwardly rude; at least he showed no signs of boredom. But at last I could stand it no longer.

  Thanking him as gracefully as I could, I explained I must seek Victorine. It was a lame excuse but he accepted it politely. Perhaps with relief, as I had certainly not been a rewarding supper companion.

  As I started up the stair to the balcony I saw Victorine on the move again. This time she sped down a side corridor, the cream Chinese shawl about her shoulders. And she was heading for the stairs at the back of the house. It was up to me to restrain her from any folly. I gathered up my far too heavy and hindering skirts to follow her.

  Although the forepart of the house was thronged, here was silence and emptiness. Luckily Victorine never glanced back; she could not hear any trailers. She gained the lower hall and the door there giving on the garden, but not that section where the fairy lights of tree-strung lanterns illuminated statues and walks.

  My skirts caught on a bush and I had to halt for a moment. That pause, short as it was, lost me Victorine. But she could not be too far ahead, and this leafy underbrush had only one opening. I shivered as I hurried on, my skirts held as high and close to my body as I could manage. Victorine had a shawl but the night wind was cold on my bare shoulders.

  A fork in the path—which way? The garden was so large and the paths had been laid out to wander, crossing and dividing. Perhaps I could never find her. The way to my right led to the lighted section. Now I caught the scent of tobacco; some masculine guest had come outside to indulge in that habit most ladies deplore.

  “Miss Penfold!”

  I turned my head to see Henry Beall.

  “Is there any way I may assist you?” Even the dim lantern light betrayed my agitation. I must be very careful lest Victorine be suspected of some indiscretion.

  Which meant I must bear the suspicion of indiscretion for myself. I forced a smile I did not feel.

  “You surprised me, Mr. Beall.” In my own hearing, my voice did not carry the right note of embarrassment. But perhaps I underrated my powers of dissimulation for now he was smiling, a smile I hated to have turned on me, since it made very plain he thought I was keeping some rendezvous.

  “Your pardon, dear lady.” The bow he made me was a veiled insult, warming my cheeks with a flush of anger. Yet I could not counter it with the disdain I wished. “But you are very much alone here. May I share your solitude? The moon is bright enough for a stroll or—”

  I must find Victorine! But how to rid myself of this unwelcome escort I did not know. There was really only one way and that would confirm all his suspicions. So it must be done.

  “You are most kind, Mr. Beall. But, as it chances, I do have an escort due to appear at any moment—”

  Again that hateful smile.

  “But of course, dear lady. His gain is my loss. I will be but an unnecessary third. But may I inquire if you have seen Victorine? The next dance is mine and I have not found her—”

  “She may have retired momentarily, sir. You would better seek her in the house than here.” My impatience colored my reply. He smiled more broadly and bowed again.

  “Naturally. Please accept my apologies for the intrusion.”

  I watched him go before I moved on, suspicious that he might choose to linger for no other purpose than to see who would join me. Only when I was sure he was out of sight did I turn into the left-hand path.

  The gravel was white in the moonlight and I could hear muted sounds of music from the house. But somehow I seemed cut off from the safe world I knew. I was chilled, worried, and, worst of all, sure I had neglected my duty. Had I kept closer watch on Victorine I might have prevented this midnight excursion.

  I paused to listen, and so caught the murmur of voices. Whispers so low pitched I could distinguish only a word or two, and those in that patois which Victorine spoke with Amélie. Only three words I could understand reached my straining ears:

  “St. John's Eve.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Since I was not a Catholic the saints’ days meant nothing to me, but the words were my guide as I stole forward. Ahead, as the path turned, a screen of brush still concealed the speakers from sight. Just as I made up my mind to move boldly, I heard the crunch of heavy footsteps on gravel, moving away. Throwing aside all caution I hurried around that curve.

  Here was a glade opening around a small pool with a softly playing fountain to feed it. Facing that was a garden bench of wrought iron. And on it Victorine sat, or rather slumped.

  Her shawl had slipped to the ground, her head lay back, her eyes closed. I ran to her, sniffing a stranger scent than the rose oil she used as a perfume, something vaguely disagreeable.

  “Victorine!” I caught her hands, her flesh was fever hot She opened her eyes, staring at me as if I were a stranger. And she kept moving the tip of her tongue back and forth across her lips as if she still tasted something she longed to savor again.

  Then her eyes focused, and I felt tension flow out of her. Her hands went limp, her head dropped even more. Her eyes were closed now, a grimace of what might be pain distorted her face.

  “Victorine! You are ill!”

  “Oui”—her answer was very low and weak—“so very ill, Tamaris. Please do not leave me—” Her hands turned in mine, closed with a convulsive, bruising force on my wrists.

  “Let me go for help—”

  “Non! Stay, please stay. I am so triste—my head, it spins so—such pain, such floating—! Stay with me, do not leave me alone!” She continued to hold my wrists with a strength I would not have believed such a frail girl could possess, as if so she anchored herself to safety.

  Perforce I stayed. Though I was worried. Certainly these attacks were not just acting to avoid situations she disliked. Victorine needed far more than just the tending of a devoted ignorant maid.

  “Victorine? Tamaris?”

  I was never so glad for anything in my life as to see Alain come into the glade. At th
e same time Victorine's grip on me loosened. I caught at her just in time to steady her against my body or she would have slid to the ground.

  Together we got her back to the house, Alain carrying her, while I kept the bushes from catching at her billows of gown and train. When we brought her into her suite Amélie was there as if she knew there would be a need for her. As she worked efficiently to get her mistress to bed, with what little help she would allow me to give, I knew Alain was waiting in the sitting room. But I had so little explanation for him—

  “She is ill.” Amélie shot a hostile glance across the bed. “Always she has these—these maladies when she is too excited. Now she sleeps and when she wakes all will be well. It is true, what I tell you!”

  I thought that Victorine did now seem to be sleeping normally. But that she needed treatment for such attacks was apparent. However, when I went out to Alain, I thought to discuss this in Victorine's suite might not be wise. Amélie could be on guard in more than one way, not only for her mistress, but also that she not be supplanted here.

  “What is it?” I could read Alain's impatience in his tone. “What were you two doing out in the garden, Tamaris?”

  I made a warning gesture to the door behind me and answered carefully.

  “Victorine was taken with one of her bad heads. She thought going into the night air might help.”

  His expression changed slightly. He had been quick to catch and interpret my signal, for now he said, “It is well you found her. We must let her rest.”

  He opened the hall door, then closed it firmly behind us both. Nor did he say anything until we were opposite my own sitting room. Then, with no by your leave, he opened the door of that and waved me in.

  I was afraid Fenton might be waiting. But the room was empty, with only a single lamp turned low.