“Not to my knowledge. He drank to excess, of course, but I never heard anything about his roaming outside the house in such a state. I cannot think Samson would have permitted anything so dangerous.”
“Someone, Mrs. Bristcombe in fact, told her the noises in the orchard at night were pixies, and so she had to sleep on the west side. I have moved her to the east, hoping the pixies have made their last racket. I am taking the late Mrs. Grayshott’s suite for myself,” she added with a defensive look, ready for objections.
“I should think so. It used to be a charming suite. We had the furnishings imported from France. No doubt you will secrete your pin money in the secret compartment Andrew installed at the back of one of the drawers for Louise.”
“Bobbie mentioned it. I have not seen it yet. He was quite ingenious with mechanical contrivances, was he not? Bobbie showed me her walking doll.”
“It was a hobby with him. I have an extremely ugly clock at the Hall I must show you some time. He fixed up a mantel clock for me, the face of it inserted in the stomach of a blackamoor, engineered in such a way that the fellow’s eyes move with every tick. It annoyed me so, I had it removed to a guest suite. It is one of Bobbie’s favorite toys. When will you be bringing her to see me?”
“Does she go to you often?”
“Not till the present, but I hope to see you both there frequently, now that matters are more congenially arranged. I shall have the pleasure of your company this evening, I trust? We are to dine there. I’ll send the carriage for you at six, if that-”
“Yes, it meets with my approval,” she told him, with a baleful stare that concealed her joy.
“One would never guess it from that black scowl, cousin,” he answered, and arose to leave.
Chapter Seven
Dinner with the family, whether at the Hall or the Dower House, was always a civilized, happy interval in the day, looked forward to as if it were a party. She knew from comments made by Lady Jane that larger parties were held as well, but in this period of mourning, it was only family. Till she was more sure of her footing, Delsie was happy it was only family. She looked forward to holding her own first dinner party at the Cottage. On this evening, Lady Jane brought forward a subject of great interest to the widow, a shopping trip to the village on the morrow. Delsie had made a list of items required for the Cottage, herself, and, even more urgently, for Bobbie, whose wardrobe was in sad need of replenishing. She was happy she would make her debut in Questnow under the unexceptionable chaperonage of Lady Jane. She hardly feared any direct insults, but the villagers, used to thinking of her as one of themselves, might be jealous of her sudden rise to prominence.
After dinner, she discussed with Lady Jane what she meant to buy and where the best price might be found. DeVigne and Sir Harold had a game table drawn up to the other side of the grate and had a game of chess. At eleven o’clock, Lady Jane began yawning, and it was the signal for the company to take its leave. She and Harold walked to the Dower House through the garden that separated the two buildings. It was not a long enough distance to require having their carriage put to. DeVigne was to see Delsie home. With a pleasant glow still lingering from the evening, she was surprised when his first question after they were ensconced in the carriage was, “I expect you find the time at the Cottage lonesome, with only Bobbie for company?”
“Oh, no! I was very busy all day with my bookkeeping, you recall, and getting settled in.”
“You will soon make new friends, to call on you and to visit in turn. It is the mourning that keeps our circle so close at this time.”
She had not the least desire to see the cozy circle enlarged by so much as one. “I suppose so,” she answered.
“For the present, you must feel free to visit Aunt Jane if you are lonesome, or bring Bobbie to me, as I mentioned. I am home a good deal in this weather.”
“I won’t be lonesome,” she said, and smiled softly to herself. How wonderful to have whole days to herself, with no school. It was like a long, perpetual holiday. “Oh, but I didn’t mean to be unsociable. I shall take Bobbie to Lady Jane, of course.”
“Also to her Uncle Max, I hope. I mentioned two homes where you will always be welcome, cousin.”
Twice he had mentioned it. She hardly knew what to say to so much condescension, and said, “Thank you.”
“I did not mean to give the impression I was bestowing a favor. Quite the contrary. I am sometimes lonesome too.”
It was a novel thought to ponder, that deVigne, with his mansion and his carriages and his arrogant face, should ever be lonesome, but perhaps he was. Still, she could not quite envision herself walking boldly to his front door and asking for him.
When they reached the Cottage, the house was in utter darkness, looking strangely ominous, with the untrimmed shrubbery reaching black arms into the path, and with the building itself a black hulk, lightened by the irregular paler shapes of the plaster in the half-timbering. She was reluctant to enter; “I should have told them to leave some lights burning,” she said. More inexperience on her part.
“It should not have been necessary. Any sane servant should have known enough. You’ll have a job on your hands reforming the Bristcombes, it seems. At least they have not locked you out. The door is on the latch.”
They entered into a perfectly black hallway, where deVigne fumbled at the table to light a lamp. Of the Bristcombes not a sign was to be seen. “I wonder if he locked up before going to bed,” Max said. A check of the side door in the study revealed it was locked, and they assumed the kitchen quarters to be safe as well. Delsie locked the front door after him and took the lamp up the stairs to light her way. Even with her lamp, she found it rather frightening to be going alone down the black hallway, in a strange house. She peeped into Bobbie’s room, to see the child sleeping soundly, looking so innocent and vulnerable, with her little hands, open palms up, on the pillow. The child was her responsibility now, an awesome task, really. Strange how she was coming to love her, yet she had the very eyes of her father.
She went into her own room, lit another lamp, and prepared for bed. She took up a volume of poetry from Louise’s bookshelf and brought the lamp to her bedside table to read. It was with a feeling of sheer luxury that she looked at her watch, read the hour as well after eleven, and knew it was not too late. There was no need to be up at seven. She would read till midnight. She was relaxed, happy, looking forward to the shopping trip tomorrow, when she extinguished her lamp at midnight and fell into that light doze that precedes sleep. Before she was quite unconscious, her arm was rudely jostled. She jumped in her bed, her heart pounding.
“They’re back,” a soft voice said, giggling at her alarm.
“Oh, it’s you, Bobbie,” Delsie said, shaking herself awake. “You frightened the life out of me. Who is back? What’s the matter?” she asked, thinking in her confusion that the Bristcombes had been out, and that was why the house had been plunged into darkness when she returned.
“The pixies,” Bobbie said.
“Poor dear, you’ve had a bad dream. There are no pixies tonight. Were you frightened? Come and get into bed with me if you like. There’s plenty of room.”
Bobbie took immediate advantage of this tempting suggestion, and popped in with her stepmother. They were both sleepy, and were about to nod off when a slight sound was heard from the window. “It’s the pixies, Mama. I told you they were back,” Bobbie said, yawning in mid-sentence, as she snuggled deeper into the bed, no longer afraid of the pixies when she had protection.
Mrs. Grayshott listened, soon incontrovertibly aware that something was going forward in the orchard beyond her window. That it was either pixies or the ghost of her late husband never so much as occurred to her. It was only the ignorant, superstitious folks such as the Bristcombes who believed in pixies and putting a dish of salt by a corpse to prevent its rising. The sounds obviously came from a live, human trespasser, whose identity interested her.