Виктория Холт - Snare of Serpents

“Miss Grey will be arriving at the end of the week.”

“Miss Grey …”

The irritation showed again. “I am sure that Miss Grey will give every satisfaction.”

I came out of the study, dazed and very sad.

I knew I was not going to like Miss Grey. How should I stop comparing her with Lilias?

And a few days later Miss Zillah Grey arrived.

THE HOUSEHOLD was in a state of disbelief. Miss Zillah Grey astonished them all; and what was most amazing was that my father had engaged her.

She was the sort of person whom people would turn to look at when they passed her in the street. She had what I can only call a flaunting manner. Her clothes, her gestures, everything about her seemed to be saying “Look at me.”

She was definitely not what Mrs. Kirkwell would call “ladylike” but she was very affable to everyone and within a short time of our acquaintance she was calling me “dear.” I had thought I should hate Lilias’ successor, but I could not hate Zillah Grey. I could only marvel at her.

She had brought a great many clothes with her … all of them quite unsuitable, I should have thought.

When I had taken her to her room on her arrival she had looked round and said she knew she was going to be happy. Then she had taken off her hat and removed the pins from her hair; she shook it out so that it fell in seductive waves about her shoulders like a reddish cloak.

“That’s better,” she said. “You see I’m making myself at home.”

I was amazed by the pots and bottles which were soon arrayed on the dressing table. I had thought there might have been some books in her baggage, but there was no sign of even one. She hung up her clothes and asked for more coat hangers.

Bess was amazed. I could imagine what she was telling them in the kitchen.

When my father came in he asked if Miss Grey had arrived and when he was told that she had, he said he would see her in his study at once.

I saw her going down the stairs. She had piled her hair high on her head, which made her look very tall, and I noticed that she had reddened her lips.

I was certain that he would decide she was most unsuitable. I was sorry in a way for, although I deeply regretted Lilias’ departure, I felt it would be more interesting to have a governess like Miss Grey than the normal kind.

I wondered what the servants were thinking. Lilias was no longer there to tell me what they said. But I was sure there would be marked disapproval from the Kirkwells.

The interview with my father lasted over an hour. I was surprised, expecting it to be brief. When it was over my father sent for me.

He was looking rather pleased, I thought, and I wondered what that meant.

“So,” he said. “Your new governess is here. She has met you, she says.”

“Yes. I took her to her room and we talked a little.”

“Good. I am sure she will be of great benefit to you.”

I was astonished. How could he think that?

He said to me: “She will dine with us. It seems to me the most suitable arrangement.”

“You … er … approve of her?”

He looked pained. “I am of the opinion that she will teach you a great many things you should know.”

It was extraordinary. Was it because I was comparing her with the really rather conventional Lilias that I found her so strange? My father, obviously, did not.

She appeared at dinner that night in a black dress which fitted her figure rather closely. She had what Lilias had referred to as “an hourglass figure.” Her red hair was wound round her head in what was meant to be a severe fashion—but somehow it was quite the reverse on her.

My father was gracious. It was more like having a guest to dinner than a governess.

He said: “Of course, you have not yet had an opportunity to assess Davina’s capabilities, but when you have you will be able to decide what is best for her.”

“Davina and I are going to get along wonderfully,” she replied, smiling at him.

“Her governess left in rather a hurry. I fancy she was not entirely competent.”

I could not resist cutting in. “Miss Milne was a very good governess, Papa. She made learning interesting.”

“And that is what it should be, of course,” said Miss Grey. “And that is how I intend to make it.”

“I suppose my daughter will be having some sort of season. But that, of course, is a little way ahead. We can wait until after her seventeenth birthday before we need to consider that.”

“I am sure you are right.”

The conversation went along on conventional lines. I gathered Miss Grey had recently come to Edinburgh. Her home had been in London.

“And what do you think of our Scottish ways?” my father asked almost playfully.

“I think they are divine,” she answered.

I glanced at him, wondering whether he would think this blasphemous in some way. It was a strange word to use. But she lowered her eyes so that the fanlike black lashes lay demurely against her skin; the full red lips smiled and the little nose and long upper lip looked more kittenish than ever. My father’s look was indulgent. His lips twitched a little as they used to when my mother said something which amused him and at the same time shocked him a little.

“I hope,” he said, “that you will continue to do so.” I left them together over coffee in the drawing room. It was an extraordinary evening. Everything seemed so different now … even my father.

DURING THE NEXT WEEKS, although I spent a good deal of time with Zillah Grey, I felt I did not really learn a great deal about her. She seemed like two different people … no, more than two. She appeared to be able to slip into different personalities with the greatest of ease. With my father she played the ladylike person who is suddenly confronted with the need to earn a living. That was characteristic of most governesses; but with her it was different. They were usually quietly retiring, very much aware of their reduced circumstances, unsure where they belonged, poised between upstairs and down. Zillah Grey, although she had a habit of lowering her eyes, did not strike me as modest. I suspected she did it because it was an excellent way of calling attention to those long thick eyelashes. She was certainly not without guile. She knew exactly how to behave with my father and he approved of her wholeheartedly.

With me her attitude was more volatile. Sometimes she threw off all pretence. She would laugh uproariously and I noticed her accent changed a little—her words became more racy.

It soon became clear that there were to be no set lessons.

“What I have to do is prepare you for society, so your father tells me,” she announced.

I was amazed. I could not imagine her being a great success in Edinburgh society, or even being accepted into it. What was she going to teach me?

I asked her what I needed to know.

“Clothes for one thing,” she said. “You have to make the best of yourself. You could be quite good-looking.”

“Could be?” I said. “Surely one either is or one isn’t?”

She winked at me. She had a habit of doing that when she was in certain moods. “That’s one of the things I’m going to teach you. Oh, we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

She said I ought to learn to dance. “Ballroom dancing, of course,” she added. “Is there anyone here who can play the piano?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve had lessons. Miss Milne, my last governess, played well.”

“Well, you can’t play and dance at the same time, can you? I’ll have to see what we can do about that. I can knock out a bit of a tune myself. I wonder if there’s someone who could partner you.”

“You mean one of the maids?”