Free Scarlett by Alexandra Ripley Page B

while they were waiting for their goods to be wrapped. Why, half the time she already knew what was on the front page before the paper ever got printed; she could probably throw away the whole batch on her desk and not miss a thing.
    Scarlett’s smile disappeared. No, she couldn’t. There’d be a piece about Melanie’s burial, and she wanted to see it.
    Melanie…
    Ashley…
    The store would have to wait. She had other obligations to see to first.
    Whatever possessed me to promise Melly that I’d take care of Ashley and Beau?
    But I promised. I’d best go there first. And I’d better take Pansy to make everything proper. Tongues must be wagging all over town after that scene at the graveyard. No sense adding to the gossip by seeing Ashley alone. Scarlett hurried across the thick carpet to the embroidered bell pull and jerked it savagely. Where was her breakfast?
    Oh, no, Pansy was still at Tara. She’d have to take one of the other servants; that new girl, Rebecca, would do. She hoped Rebecca could help her dress without making too big a mess of it. She wanted to hurry, now, to get going and get her duty over with.
    When her carriage pulled up in front of Ashley and Melanie’s tiny house on Ivy Street, Scarlett saw that the mourning wreath was gone from the door, and the windows were all shuttered.
    India, she thought at once. Of course. She’s taken Ashley and Beau to live at Aunt Pittypat’s. She must be mighty pleased with herself.
    Ashley’s sister India was, and always had been, Scarlett’s implacable enemy. Scarlett bit her lip and considered her dilemma. She was sure that Ashley must have moved to Aunt Pitty’s with Beau; it was the most sensible thing for him to do. Without Melanie, and now with Dilcey gone, there was no one to run Ashley’s house or mother his son. At Pittypat’s there was comfort, an orderly household, and constant affection for the little boy from women who had loved him all his life.
    Two old maids, thought Scarlett with disdain. They’re ready to worship anything in pants, even short pants. If only India didn’t live with Aunt Pitty. Scarlett could manage Aunt Pitty. The timid old lady wouldn’t dare talk back to a kitten, let alone Scarlett.
    But Ashley’s sister was another matter. India would just love to have a confrontation, to say nasty things in her cold, spitting voice, to show Scarlett the door.
    If only she hadn’t promised Melanie—but she had. “Drive me to Miss Pittypat Hamilton’s,” she ordered Elias. “Rebecca, you go on home. You can walk.”
    There would be chaperones enough at Pitty’s.
    *   *   *
     
    India answered her knock. She looked at Scarlett’s fashionable fur-trimmed mourning costume, and a tight, satisfied smile moved her lips.
    Smile all you like, you old crow, thought Scarlett. India’s mourning gown was unrelieved dull black crape, without so much as a button to decorate it. “I’ve come to see how Ashley is,” she said.
    “You’re not welcome here,” India said. She began to close the door.
    Scarlett pushed against it. “India Wilkes, don’t you dare slam that door in my face. I made a promise to Melly, and I’ll keep it if I have to kill you to do it.”
    India answered by putting her shoulder to the door and resisting the pressure of Scarlett’s two hands. The undignified struggle lasted for only a few seconds. Then Scarlett heard Ashley’s voice.
    “Is that Scarlett, India? I’d like to talk with her.”
    The door swung open, and Scarlett marched in, noting with pleasure that India’s face was mottled with red splotches of anger.
    Ashley came forward into the hallway to greet her, and Scarlett’s brisk steps faltered. He looked desperately ill. Dark circles ringed his pale eyes, and deep lines ran from his nostrils to his chin. His clothes looked too big for him; his coat hung from his sagging frame like broken wings on a black bird.
    Scarlett’s heart turned over. She no longer loved Ashley the way she had for