Subj: Quentin & Daphne -- 9
Date: 2/7/01 1:15:21 AM Central Standard Time
From: DSRules


1893

Carl wheeled Daphne up the front walk and then carefully lifted her wheelchair up the step into the house.

"Thank you, Carl." Daphne said as Carl stopped inside the foyer.

"You're welcome, Grandmother." Carl responded breathlessly.

"Welcome, Grandmother!" Judith beamed as the help assembled in the foyer for Daphne's inspection.

"Judith! Come over here and give me a kiss."

Judith walked to Daphne's side and then gracefully sank to a stooping position to hug and kiss her grandmother.

"Where is everyone else?" Daphne asked.

"Edward is still down at the waterfront. We've recently received a new ship for our whaling efforts and he's helping inspect it. Laura just went up to the nursery to bring the children down to see you."

"And Quentin?"

Judith sighed and pursed her lips. "He's around here somewhere."

* * *

Quentin stood on the third-floor balcony, listening to his sister's conversation with Daphne. {I don't want to be here.} He thought.

{Yeah?} He asked himself. {Then why are you here, and not in your room? Or in the study? Or in town?}

He felt a thrill of adrenaline when Daphne asked after him, but he ruthlessly squelched it by remembering the taunting tone of her last letter to him.

He'd thought about leaving town when he first heard that she'd be coming to stay with the family, but something had prevented him from going. Perhaps it was a reluctance to ask Edward and Judith for the money to leave. Perhaps it was this perverse need to see her again. He wasn't going to look at it too closely.

{Oh, well.} He consoled himself. {She's only going to be here until her hip has mended, and then she'll be on her way back to Boston.}

Movement on the floor below him caught his eye and he looked at the second-floor landing, where Laura, carrying four-year-old Nora in her arms, while five-year-old Jamison held onto the side seam of Laura's voluminous skirt.

"I don't want to meet great-grandmother," Jamison whined.

"Why not?" Laura asked, keeping her tone light and friendly.

"'Cause. She's gonna be a smelly old lady like Mrs. Stockbridge."

"I promise. She will not be 'smelly.' Daphne Collins was a beautiful woman who smelled of flowers in her youth, and I'm sure she still does."

"Well, all right . . ." Jamison responded dubiously.

Quentin chuckled at this exchange. It sounded so much like something he would have said himself at that age. He had tried to understand Nora, but he was much more in tune with Jamison. Like Jamison, Quentin had been inexhaustibly curious as a child. {I certainly hope that when I have children, they're boys. I understand boys.}

Laura's eyes snapped upwards, making contact with his. He winked at her coolly, pretending that all he noticed was a beautiful blonde in a sapphire-blue dress that accented her complexion perfectly.

Laura rolled her eyes and descended the stairs, her children in tow.

* * *

Laura and the children reached the bottom of the stairs. "Good afternoon, Grandma Collins!" Laura sang cheerfully.

"Hello, Laura." Daphne responded. "My, how Jamison has grown since I saw him last!"

"Why don't you go and give your great-grandmother a hug, Jamison?" Laura prompted.

Jamison took one step forward and then inhaled loudly through his nose. "You're right, Mama," he said. "She's not smelly at all."

Quentin hooted with laughter, leading his sister to look sharply upwards at his hiding place. "Quentin! You come down here right this minute!" She snapped.

Quentin sullenly complied, clomping down both flights of stairs to join his family in the foyer.

"Good afternoon, Grandmother," he pouted. "Welcome to our family." Then with a great deal of flippancy, he lifted Daphne's hand to his lips. He heard Judith's snort of disapproval, but he didn't care.

He was gratified to see a blush rising in Daphne's cheeks. "Quentin." She said in as unruffled a tone as she could manage. "It's good to see you again. Life seems to be treating you well."

"As it truly is, Grandmother." Quentin responded. "I was so sorry to hear about your injury."

Daphne was about to respond, but they were interrupted by the arrival of a maid in a neatly-starched apron and cap. "Miss Collins?" The maid asked, making eye contact with Judith.

"Yes, Emily?"

"The cook says that lunch will be served shortly. Will you be needing a place setting for Mr. Edward?"

"I don't believe we will. He's expected to be down at the waterfront for quite some time. Thank you, Emily."

The family began filing into the dining room. "You play the mistress of Collinwood very well, Judith." Daphne commented as Carl wheeled her along.

"Thank you, Grandmother," Judith responded in a perplexed tone.

"Perhaps I should consider making a few changes to my will," Daphne hinted.

Carl situated Daphne in the spot left open for her at the table, and the rest of the family, except for the children, who were sent upstairs to the nursery for their meal, took their places at the table.

Daphne winced as if in pain, making a soft sound as she did so.

"Are you all right, Grandma Collins?" Laura asked.

"I'll be fine in a moment. Margaret?"

The maid that Daphne had brought with her came to her side. "Yes, Mrs. Collins?"

"Could you please get Magda for me?"

The young blonde grimaced slightly, but soon regained her pleasant expression. "Yes, Mrs. Collins."

Margaret left the room, and Daphne directed her attention back to the conversation taking place around the table as the Collinwood servants began serving the meal.

Every minute or so, Daphne would wince in pain again.

Quentin watched her every spasm out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. "Are you sure you're all right, Grandmother?"

"I'm sure that - what was her name - Mary? Will handle it, Quentin." Laura interrupted.

Quentin shot his sister-in-law a sharp look just as Daphne responded. "I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me."

A moment later, an exotic-looking woman with an olive complexion and waist-length black hair came into the room, bearing a tea tray. On the tray were a tea pot, a tea cup with saucer, and a honey pot.

"Oh, thank you, Magda!" Daphne sighed when she saw the woman with the tray.

Magda sat the tray down in front of Daphne. "Now, don't drink it too quickly. I made the tea a little stronger than usual. Because of how difficult the trip from Boston was." The woman's accent made it clear that she was a foreigner.

Magda put the cup and saucer in front of Daphne, pouring a darkish liquid out of the pot and into the cup. Daphne drank deeply from the cup. First, she grimaced, then she sighed. "Thank you, Magda." She said, clearly dismissing the foreign woman.

After Magda had left, Daphne opened the honey pot, drizzling honey into the cup, which she drank from again. This time there was no grimace, only the sigh.

"What is that, Grandmother?" Judith asked.

"A tea that Magda makes for me. It helps me deal with the pain of my injury. It's from some kind of Hungarian plant called a 'mák.'"

Quentin ate rapidly, then excused himself from the table.

He walked briskly down the hallway to the stairs, then up to the servants' quarters on the third floor. It wasn't difficult to find the room where Magda was staying - he could hear the Gypsy's myriad pieces of jewelry jangling as she moved around the room.

He knocked quickly on her door.

"Come in." He could hear her call out in her heavily-accented voice.

He opened the door and, ducking under the lintel, stepped into the room.

Magda gasped when she turned and saw him filling her doorframe. The ceiling was barely high enough for him to stand upright.

"You are one of Mrs. Collins's grandchildren?" Magda asked, peering at him curiously.

Quentin declined to answer the woman's questions. "I wanted to ask you about your treatment of her. What is that stuff she was drinking downstairs?"

"Just a little something for her pain. It's an old family recipe." Her eyes narrowed, seeming to see right through him. "Are you asking as a concerned grandson, or as more than that?"

"Never mind." He responded, raising his voice defensively. "You haven't answered my question."

Magda smiled, as if to tell Quentin that he had answered her question. "It's made from an herb? Is that the right word? From an herb called a 'mák.'" She reached up and insolently patted him on his cheek.

"Don't worry about your . . . grandmother. I'll take good care of her."

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. "See that you do." He blustered. "It's very . . . important . . . that Grandmother get well as quickly as she can. So she can get back to Boston."

Magda assured Quentin faithfully that she would do everything she could to ensure Daphne's rapid recuperation.

Unfortunately for both Daphne and Quentin, she was lying.