Marianne scrambled to her feet. Victor stepped forward to offer his hand; she ignored it. The smile faded from the tutor's face, to be replaced by a singularly ugly look Marianne wondered how she could ever have thought him pleasant or amusing. He showed all the signs of the dissipation Henry had accused him of: sunken eyes, pasty complexion, and a perceptible tremor in the hand he now withdrew.
"What do you want?" Henry demanded. "We are busy. Go away."
"I am sorry to interrupt Your Grace in such an edifying Sunday activity," said Victor, with a sneer. "But Miss Ransom is wanted."
"I want her!"
"Sure, and you'll not be the only one! I was referring," Victor explained, smirking at Marianne, "to her noble Grace. Now you can't be letting her wait, can you?"
"Certainly not," Marianne said coldly. "Henry, I have enjoyed this. Tomorrow, after your lessons, perhaps we can finish the battle. This time the French may win after all!"
Henry's sulky look was replaced by a smile. "No, they won't."
"We shall see. Thank you for letting me come."
She walked straight toward Victor, whose outstretched arm barred the door. At the last possible moment he stepped aside and followed her out into the hall.
"Will you not wait a tiny little minute? It's wanting to speak with you I am."
"I have nothing to say to you," Marianne snapped, continuing on her way.
"Have you not then? Yet we could be the best of friends, I'm thinking; having so much in common, one might say."
Trotting along beside her he put out his hand with what he obviously believed to be an ingratiating smile.
"We have nothing whatever in common," Marianne replied. "And as for being friends, that is not only ludicrous, it is insulting. I warn you" – as he seemed to be about to take her by the arm – "if you touch me I will complain at once, not to Her Grace, who must not be troubled with such things, but to Mr. Carlton. He will see that you are dismissed, and possibly thrashed."
Victor looked as if he might have said more, but Marianne did not wait to hear it. Increasing her pace, she went on as rapidly as she could. The tutor did not follow.
Once she was out of sight, she paused for a few moments to compose herself, since she did not want the Duchess to ask the cause of her flushed lace. She was half tempted to carry out her threat of telling Carlton. Surely the tutor was not the right person to be in charge of a boy like Henry. Yet she hesitated to complain of him. It seemed so mean-spirited.
When she reached the Duchess's room she found Dr. Gruffstone pacing along the corridor, glancing impatiently at his watch.
"Is something wrong?" Marianne asked. "I came as soon as I could."
"No, no. Her Grace simply wondered what had become of you, and since she is not to suffer the slightest worry I sent the servants to look for you. Will you sit with her awhile? She has been resting and now wants to be amused. You may even play a game of backgammon if you promise to lose badly, so there will be no suspense to the play."
"Of course," Marianne said, returning his smile. "I will go in to her at once."
She found the room in semidarkness and at first thought the Duchess had gone to sleep. However, she roused when Marianne tiptoed in. In a dazed, drowsy voice, she said, "I have had the most beautiful dream… At least Horace would call it a dream. David… He smiled at me and held out his hands and called me 'Honor.' He was the only one who ever called me that."
"Dreams can be very real," Marianne said gently. "Would you like to sleep again?"
"It was not a dream. I saw him as plainly as I see you." Marianne did not point out that in the shadowy twilight she must appear insubstantial and ghostly too. The Duchess went on, "I could even make out the furnishings of the room where he was. It was a shabby, homely little place, a bedchamber of some kind. There was rain pouring down the windowpane. Blue hangings on the bed… Or were they gray?" The Duchess sighed. "It is fading now, but it was very real."
A superstitious shiver ran down Marianne's limbs.
"It is cool here," she said. "Shall I put more wood on the fire, and light the lamps? What can I do to amuse you? The doctor says we may play backgammon if you would like."
"What, on Sunday?" The Duchess laughed. "Horace is a frightful old pagan, but I know better. Yes, light the lamps if you will, child. Tea will be coming up shortly."
Marianne poked up the fire and lighted all the lamps she could find. With the curtains drawn the room took on a warm, cheerful look that was much more to her taste.
The Duchess also seemed more cheerful, though she complained, half jokingly, of having a hard time keeping her eyes open.
"It must be the weather. The sound of rain always makes one sleepy. Never mind, a cup of tea will wake me up. Tell me what you have been doing all day."
Marianne gave her a spirited account of the battle of Waterloo and the activities that had preceded it. The Duchess laughed aloud at her description of herself on the velocipede, her knees high, scraping first one wall and then the other as she raced.
"I know I should not have allowed the Duke to play on Sunday," she said apologetically. "But I did want to be friends with him, and he seemed at loose ends -"
"And that wretched Irishman sleeping off his overindulgence," the Duchess broke in. "Don't look so surprised, child; I am not incompetent yet! I began to question his influence over Henry last time I was here, and what I have seen on this visit confirms my feelings that he must be replaced. Don't apologize for breaking the Sabbath. You committed a minor sin in doing an act of kindness, which is much more important. Now tell me… Ah, here is Rose with our tea."
Marianne was happy to see that the tray the maid carried appeared to be heavily laden. She had worked up an appetite playing with Henry.
All at once the maid came to a dead stop, her eyes bulging. The cups and saucers on the tray rattled. Marianne jumped up and seized it as it tilted; she was just in time to prevent the contents from sliding off onto the floor.
She put the tray on a table. "What on earth is the matter. Rose?" she asked.
The maid tried to reply. The muscles of her throat bulged, but no sound came from her parted lips. Her staring eyes were fixed on some object behind Marianne.
Marianne turned, following the gaze, which was almost as explicit as a pointing finger.
The wall between the windows blazed with letters of fire. A large oil lamp on the table below them allowed her to read the message they spelled.
"The time is near. Come to me then."
The maid began to scream. Marianne swayed, not through faintness, but through indecision. She did not know whether to run to the Duchess, or silence the shrieking maid, or summon help, or seize the nearest cloth and wipe out the fiery letters… assuming they could be wiped out by something so ordinary as a cloth.