The Black Swan

“The last thing I want to do, Miss Lucie, is speak out of turn,” she began, and proceeded immediately to do so. “I know she is the sister... but that’s a very different matter than being the mistress of the house, and it seems to me-and Emery is with me in this-that at times it would seem she thinks of herself as mistress of the house.”

“I am sure she does not, Mrs. Emery.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure she does.”

“What is worrying you, then?”

“About this bed. She carries on for all the world as though this is her place. I said to Emery, I said, ‘Is it for her to choose this bed? Is it for her to decide to get rid of the old one?’ That was a fine bed, that was. It’s been there since the year dot. I reckon it was worth a pretty penny. Yet she had it taken away. Goodness knows where it is now.”

“It was ruined by the fire and all that water which was poured on it.”

“Ruined, me foot. I reckon it could have been put right.”

“She was so upset about the fire, Mrs. Emery. She wanted to get rid of everything that would remind us. She had a point.”

“I should have thought it would be for the mistress of the house, Miss Lucie. Neither Mr. Emery nor I would say, ‘this has to go,’ or ‘that has to stay.’ That’s for the mistress. That’s what I don’t like. ‘What next?’ I say to Mr. Emery, and he just looks at me and says, ‘Aye, what next?’ “

“Well there won’t be any more beds to be got rid of, I hope. Mr. Fitzgerald and I are very satisfied with the replacement.”

“Well, that’s as may be. But it don’t seem right to me. But if you say so. And there’s something else.”

“Oh? What?”

“Well, prowling about. She’s been in the attic looking at the trunks and things ...”

“It’s an ancient house and it fascinates her, Mrs. Emery. She will be living here with us, you know, so it will be her home.”

“Well, frankly, that’s what I’m afraid of, Miss Lucie. Two ladies as mistress ... it don’t seem to work somehow.”

“Oh, it will, because she’s my sister-in-law and really a great friend of mine. I think she would be surprised if she thought she had given offense to you.”

“Well, all I wanted to say is that it wasn’t only being in the attics. She’s been prowling about the gardens... taking a rare interest in everything, talking to the servants... asking them questions about the ghost.”

“Did they mind?”

“Not them! They like that sort of thing. Makes them feel important. They seem to think something of her. But, of course, they’re an empty-headed lot, most of them. No thought for the house. But if you say it’s all right... What I don’t like is to see someone quiet and gentle being taken advantage of.”

“It’s kind of you, Mrs. Emery, but I don’t think that is what she intends. I am sure she would be very upset if she knew you were offended.” Mrs. Emery nodded in silence, but I could see by the vigorous manner in which she stirred her Darjeeling, that she did not agree with me.

A few days passed. I was wondering how Belinda was getting on. I imagined all must be going smoothly, otherwise I should have heard, for if she were succeeding she would forget all about me. It was only if she needed help that she would remember. I pictured her confessing to the complaisant Bobby. I was sure he would fall in with her wishes. They would employ the best lawyers and if Henry Farrell really would set the divorce in motion, there might not be too much delay. I hoped it could be completed with speed and secrecy before the child was born. It was difficult to imagine Belinda as a mother, but people often surprise one-particularly in this respect.

It had been a pleasant day. It was about a week after I had returned and we had slipped back into the old routine. I was always wondering when Roland would have to go back to London, for I supposed these visits would become a part of our daily lives. He had talked a little about the wool trade which was carried on in Yorkshire. I supposed I should accompany him when he went up North, which I realized he would have to do more frequently than he had been doing of late.

We had loitered at the table over dinner. We had been recalling our stay in France, and Phillida enlivened the conversation with her versions of one or two incidents which had befallen her. She told them in a breezy manner and they were usually concerned with some gaffe of hers.

We laughed a good deal, remembering.

Afterward we sat in the drawing room, talking idly. Phillida left first and said she was going to bed. Roland and I went up soon afterward. It had been a rather chilly evening and Mrs. Emery always ordered a fire to be lighted in the room when the temperature dropped a little. Now it gave a cozy aspect, throwing fire lit shadows on the walls.

“I think Phillida is getting over the shock of the fire, don’t you, Roland?” I said. “Oh, I do. But she really was very upset. She is so fond of you. As a matter of fact, I have not seen her so disturbed since our parents died. I don’t think she will ever really forget while she’s here. She doesn’t ever come into this room, does she?”