Read Online The Chinese Shawl by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Wentworth
Ads: Link
matter of an instant.
“We’re so fond of him,” said Agnes Fane—“and so very anxious that Tanis should marry and settle down. I don’t at all like this talk of Hollywood. It would be a great grief to Lucy and myself. She’s been like a daughter to us, you know, and we would like to see her children here.” The dark eyes were bent on Laura. A sudden and quite charming smile changed the line of the lips. “I promised that I wouldn’t talk business to you—or no, I do not think I did promise anything of the sort, for after all that is why you are here, is it not? And I believe in frankness. It has never been my way to hint or beat about the bush. This has been my home since I was a child, and it has been Tanis’s home since she was a child. It is my dearest wish that it should be her children’s home.”
She was still smiling as she finished speaking. It was the smile of the great lady who needs only to allow her wishes to be known.
“And now I would like to talk to Alistair Maxwell for a little. Will you tell him?”
When Alistair had been reluctantly detached from a group of which Tanis was the centre, Laura found herself being invited to a seat beside Miss Silver. When she had taken it she was looked at—kindly, firmly, thoroughly. It was exactly like arriving at school and being inspected by the headmistress, She felt that she might at any moment expect to be put on her honour and told that she must aim at being a credit to the school. Instead Miss Silver said in a precise, pleasant voice,
“I knew your father and mother.”
Laura flushed into warmth.
“Oh, did you?” Her voice meant more than the words.
Miss Silver nodded.
“I was in the neighbourhood when they were here before their marriage. I was still engaged in the scholastic profession at the time, and I had a young charge at Fairholme Lacy, which is only a couple of miles from here. Your mother was friendly with my employer’s sister. I saw a good deal of her, and of your father. You are like them both.”
“Not my mother.”
“Not her colouring of course—she was so fair. But there are expressions—when you smile—and the turn of your head and the tone of your voice are exactly hers. I hope Miss Fane will show you the portraits which Amory did of her and your father. You could not very well ask to see them, but she may show them to you. They are in her bedroom.”
Laura caught her breath. In her bedroom—through all those years of resentment—hanging there for her to see by night and by day… She said in a low voice,
“How strange!”
Miss Silver nodded.
“For some people, but not for Agnes. She had commissioned the three portraits, and they are considered very fine.”
“Three?”
“He painted her too. Her portrait is hanging between those two end windows. You can see it without moving.”
Laura looked past the tea-table, past Tanis and Robin, past Carey Desborough who was laughing with Petra North, to the wide ivory panel which separated the two south windows with their heavy folds of violet brocade and their deep pelmets edged and fringed with gold. The canvas was long and narrow, set in a frame of tarnished gilt. It showed Agnes Fane bare-headed and in riding-clothes, coming down a flight of steps. A light switch dangled from one hand, and in the other she held an apple. The whole thing looked so natural that Laura was carried back a generation. This was Agnes Fane—this tall, handsome, imperious creature, coming down the steps to feed her horse, Black Turban perhaps, whom she had ridden over the quarry.
Laura looked quickly away. She was very pale. Her thoughts clamoured. Why does she do it? Lilian and Oliver in her bedroom to look at always, and this picture here for everyone to see. It was a parading of something which should have been hidden, a wearing of tragedy as if it was a garment thrown on carelessly and worn for all the world to see. And with what pride, what stubborn determination, through how
“We’re so fond of him,” said Agnes Fane—“and so very anxious that Tanis should marry and settle down. I don’t at all like this talk of Hollywood. It would be a great grief to Lucy and myself. She’s been like a daughter to us, you know, and we would like to see her children here.” The dark eyes were bent on Laura. A sudden and quite charming smile changed the line of the lips. “I promised that I wouldn’t talk business to you—or no, I do not think I did promise anything of the sort, for after all that is why you are here, is it not? And I believe in frankness. It has never been my way to hint or beat about the bush. This has been my home since I was a child, and it has been Tanis’s home since she was a child. It is my dearest wish that it should be her children’s home.”
She was still smiling as she finished speaking. It was the smile of the great lady who needs only to allow her wishes to be known.
“And now I would like to talk to Alistair Maxwell for a little. Will you tell him?”
When Alistair had been reluctantly detached from a group of which Tanis was the centre, Laura found herself being invited to a seat beside Miss Silver. When she had taken it she was looked at—kindly, firmly, thoroughly. It was exactly like arriving at school and being inspected by the headmistress, She felt that she might at any moment expect to be put on her honour and told that she must aim at being a credit to the school. Instead Miss Silver said in a precise, pleasant voice,
“I knew your father and mother.”
Laura flushed into warmth.
“Oh, did you?” Her voice meant more than the words.
Miss Silver nodded.
“I was in the neighbourhood when they were here before their marriage. I was still engaged in the scholastic profession at the time, and I had a young charge at Fairholme Lacy, which is only a couple of miles from here. Your mother was friendly with my employer’s sister. I saw a good deal of her, and of your father. You are like them both.”
“Not my mother.”
“Not her colouring of course—she was so fair. But there are expressions—when you smile—and the turn of your head and the tone of your voice are exactly hers. I hope Miss Fane will show you the portraits which Amory did of her and your father. You could not very well ask to see them, but she may show them to you. They are in her bedroom.”
Laura caught her breath. In her bedroom—through all those years of resentment—hanging there for her to see by night and by day… She said in a low voice,
“How strange!”
Miss Silver nodded.
“For some people, but not for Agnes. She had commissioned the three portraits, and they are considered very fine.”
“Three?”
“He painted her too. Her portrait is hanging between those two end windows. You can see it without moving.”
Laura looked past the tea-table, past Tanis and Robin, past Carey Desborough who was laughing with Petra North, to the wide ivory panel which separated the two south windows with their heavy folds of violet brocade and their deep pelmets edged and fringed with gold. The canvas was long and narrow, set in a frame of tarnished gilt. It showed Agnes Fane bare-headed and in riding-clothes, coming down a flight of steps. A light switch dangled from one hand, and in the other she held an apple. The whole thing looked so natural that Laura was carried back a generation. This was Agnes Fane—this tall, handsome, imperious creature, coming down the steps to feed her horse, Black Turban perhaps, whom she had ridden over the quarry.
Laura looked quickly away. She was very pale. Her thoughts clamoured. Why does she do it? Lilian and Oliver in her bedroom to look at always, and this picture here for everyone to see. It was a parading of something which should have been hidden, a wearing of tragedy as if it was a garment thrown on carelessly and worn for all the world to see. And with what pride, what stubborn determination, through how
Similar Books
