[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
might recognize her. He had seen pictures, though the last one had been at least three years ago. Young
women changed so much at that age.
Then, like the moment between shadow and sunlight, twenty years vanished, giving Neville his sister back
to him as she had been when she had left for the United States with her new husband.
There stood a graceful figure, high-held head crowned with thick chestnut hair that defied a fashionable
hat s attempt to tame it. There flashed the violet eyes beneath the shadow of the jet-trimmed brim. There
in a tidy mourning black frock was the womanly form that had made Alice one of the acclaimed beauties
of her debutante season.
Here again posed the loveliness that had stolen the heart of Pierre Benet Pierre who had stolen Alice s
heart in turn. When the senior Hawthornes would not consent to their daughter s marrying a penniless
French physician, Alice had eloped with her Pierre. Soon thereafter the newlyweds had departed for the
United States. Neville had not seen Alice since.
Recollection hit Neville as solidly as a physical blow. He would never again see Alice, not even if he
made that long-postponed trip to the United States. A letter had arrived six months ago reporting that
Alice and Pierre had died in a conflagration that had also destroyed their home. The fire had reportedly
been set by savage Indians who had left nothing behind them but charred wood and the arrow-riddled
body of the family dog.
The young woman who could not be Alice walked down the gangplank and made her way through the
crowd, coming directly to Neville with perfect confidence. Clearly, she had recognized him.
Jenny? Neville said, and heard his own voice emerge hoarse and unfamiliar. Little Jenny?
Uncle Neville, she replied, and her voice, sweet, but decidedly American in accent, broke the spell.
It s me, Jenny Benet.
She pronounced the surname English style, not the French Ben-nay, but Neville heard traces of a
French accent incongruously interwoven with the American. Jenny seemed about to say more, but she
paused, studying him. Neville wondered what had caught her attention.
He had long ago recovered from the assault that had forced him to retire from the military, but the scars
remained. Those on his head were mostly hidden by thick hair not unlike Jenny s own in color and
luxuriance, but nothing would hide the ugly slash that began at the bridge of his nose and carried across
his left cheek. Although in his mid-forties, Neville had taken care to remain active, and was not
dissatisfied with his form. His father had gone to fat long before he reached this age. The limp remained,
of course, and the slight unevenness of his shoulders, but these could not account for the strange
expression spreading across Jenny s features.
Uncle Neville, she said at last, what s wrong?
You look, he managed to reply, giving only part of the truth, so much like Alice. Those portraits your
parents sent never did you credit.
Jenny grinned, a wide, open smile that nonetheless held traces of sorrow too fresh to be forgotten.
I m glad to hear you say it, she replied. I always thought Mama was the prettiest lady I d ever seen.
There was the trace of the French again, on the word Mama, and hearing itNeville could imagine Pierre
bending over his daughter s infant cradle: Say Mama, little Genevieve. Say Papa.
Now that Neville could separate his niece from that momentary transformation into her mother, he could
see something of Pierre in Jenny as well. These traits were less physical: a confidence he d never seen in
Alice until she d defied everyone for her Pierre, an alert watchfulness that was a far cry from Alice s
missish shyness, that disturbing tendency to assess her surroundings and make instant diagnosis. But then,
except through her letters, Neville hadn t really known Alice these past twenty years. Maybe Jenny was
like her mother in these ways too.
Neville would have been hard pressed to say what was more unsettling, this sudden onrush of memories,
or what he knew he must confess in the near future. Neville settled for focusing on the immediate present,
knowing even as he did so that he was delaying the inevitable.
Are you tired, Jenny? he asked. I have a suite ready for you at my house, but if you are hungry we can
send the luggage ahead, and stop for cakes and tea.
Cakes and tea, Jenny replied promptly. I m too excited to sleep, and scared stiff that once I see a bed
I ll drop off and miss my first day in England.
Very well, Neville said with an amused smile.
Needless to say, they couldn t leave immediately. Jenny had left her traveling companions rather abruptly
when she glimpsed Neville in the crowd on the dock. Now she had to return, make her apologies,
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]