Free Norton, Andre - Novel 23 by The White Jade Fox (v1.0) Page B

what she
says. The Captain always told me—'Let the storm rage, but just ride it
out-—then go about your own business.' "
                   Saranna had dropped Damaris' hand since they
were now in the hall away from the bold gaze of that—that creature! She was
trying to order her hair, draw on the net which confined it. But the wise
comment Damaris had just uttered made her pause. That the child had been
encouraged so to circumvent her stepmother was another inkling of how Honora
had been regarded in this house while its master was still alive.
                   Only that rancor he had encouraged now lived
on, past his own demise, and might be a worse trouble for his beloved
granddaughter than any help. Why had he not seen that? Saranna could well
believe that Honora was one who would have her own way, either ignoring any
obstacle, or disposing of it ruthlessly. And if Damaris were considered an
obstacle to anything her stepmother truly wanted— Saranna tucked in a last
wandering lock, more intent now on what might be the situation here than her
own disheveled appearance.
                   Honora's tales of an unhealthy inheritance,
her hint of mental instability where Damaris was concerned— Was there some dreadful
purpose about that, not just reaction to perhaps some such outburst as Saranna
had faced in her chamber? If so—then how could she herself warn the child—?
                   "Good morning, Saranna, Damaris. What
have the two of you been doing—grubbing about in the garden?"
                   There was amusement and distaste blended in
that voice. Once more Saranna met the lady of the house (and her complete ease
here established her in a role which poor Damaris was as yet too young to play)
descending the staircase. This time Honora did not wear her mauve silks and
laces, but was dressed for riding, the long skirt of her habit held up in one
hand as she descended. Her fair curls were displayed to the best advantage
under the brim of a leghorn hat with the rim looped up on both sides, and from
that a feather drooped nearly to her shoulder. The habit was of lavender
cashmere (it seemed even in such matters Honora kept to her half-mourning), but
it was enriched by needlework in black of vines, flowers, and arabesques, its
bordered sleeves slashed to reveal under ones of black net, the same material
forming her chemisette.
                   "You had better wash—thoroughly— “ Now the distaste had the upper hand in her tone.
"Breakfast is on the table. Have the goodness to remember that Mrs. Parton
has many duties and do not delay over long—"
                   She waited for no reply, having set them on an
equal basis, as naughty children. Saranna, to her own inner anger, found
herself obediently climbing the stairs to make a hurried correction of the many
faults of her morning toilet. When she issued forth from her chamber again,
Damaris was waiting at the head of the stairs. "You won't tell?"
                   Saranna shook her head. "I promised,” she
returned.
                   Honora was seated behind the coffee service
with the same accustomed ease of manner as she had displayed in the Baltimore house. And Mrs. Parton stood before her
replying to searching questions concerning provisions.
                   "I, of course, shall have supplies sent
from the city,” Honora was saying. "After all, country fare is hardly what
we would wish to place before such guests. When Mr. Fowke settles in at Queen's
Pleasure, we may expect more select society here. I have promised him to ride
over today and give my opinion of what is necessary to enhance the great parlor.
Ah, there you are, Saranna, Damaris."
                   She nodded to them as they slipped into their
chairs, managing to convey that they were both lacking in manners, burdens
which she must bear.
                   "Who is