That she planned, after a short rest, to go to London.
I remembered what that man Rainaldi had said, that she was obliged to sell the villa in Florence.
I remembered, or rather I realized, with the full force of its application, that in Ambrose’s will he had left her nothing, nothing at all.
Every penny of his property belonged to me.
I remembered, once again, the servant’s gossip.
No provision made for Mrs. Ashley.
What in the world would they think, in the servants’ hall, on the estate, in the neighborhood, in the country, if Mrs. Ashley went about giving lessons in Italian?
Two days ago, three days ago, I would not have cared.
She could have starved, that other woman of my fancy, and deserved it.
But not now.
Now it was different.
The whole situation had entirely changed.
Something would have to be done about it, and I did not know what.
I could not possibly discuss it with her.
The very thought made me go scarlet again with shame and embarrassment too.
Then, with a sensation of relief, I suddenly remembered that the money and the property were not yet legally mine, and would not become so until my birthday in six months’ time.
Therefore it was out of my hands.
It was the responsibility of my godfather.
He was trustee to the estate, and my guardian.
Therefore it was for him to approach my cousin Rachel and make some sort of provision for her out of the estate.
I would go to see him about it at the first opportunity.
My name need not come into the matter.
It could seem as though it was just a piece of legal business that would have happened anyway, the custom in this country.
Yes, that was the solution.
Thank heaven I had thought of it.
Italian lessons… How shaming, how appalling.
Feeling easier in mind I came back to the house, but I still had not forgotten the original blunder.
Remarry, sell the rings… I came to the edge of the grass by the east front and whistled softly to Don, who was sniffing in the undergrowth.
My footsteps crunched slightly on the gravel path.
I heard a voice call down to me,
“Do you often go walking in the woods at night?”
It was my cousin Rachel.
She was sitting, without a light, at the open window of the blue bedroom.
My blunder came upon me with full force, and I thanked heaven she could not see my mind.
“At times,” I said, “when I have something on my mind.”
“Does that mean you have something on your mind tonight?”
“Why, yes,” I answered. “I came to a serious conclusion walking in the woods.”
“What was it?”
“I came to the conclusion that you were perfectly right to dislike the sound of me, before you saw me, and to consider me, as you did, conceited, pert and spoiled.
I am all three, and worse than that besides.”
She learned forward, her arms upon the windowsill.
“Then walking in the woods is bad for you,” she said, “and your conclusions very stupid.”
“Cousin Rachel…”
“Yes?”
But I did not know how to make my apology.
The words that had strung themselves so easily to make a blunder in the drawing room would not come now that I wished the blunder remedied.
I stood there below her window, tongue-tied and ashamed.
Suddenly I saw her turn and stretch behind her, and then she leaned forward once again and threw something at me from the window.
It struck me on the cheek and fell to the ground.
I stooped to pick it up. It was one of the flowers from her bowl, an autumn crocus.