Lady Genevieve started awake, inhibiting her grandson’s answer. However, in a moment, her head nodded downward again.
“I mean,” Thorpe said softly, “that I find you do not like to be asked what you think. It leads me to wonder what you would say if I asked what you think of me.”
“I think you are my employer.”
“My employees usually look at me when I speak to them.” Had he meant to sound so stern? Involuntarily, Lillian turned her face to him. He grinned. “I was growing tired of your profile, charming though it is. You have speaking eyes. Miss Cole, and when they are turned from me, I cannot tell your thoughts.”
“My thoughts are my own, Mr. Everard. And I think that you should not speak to me so.”
“How so?”
“As though . ..” Lillian chose her words carefully. His laughing intelligence would make game of any ill-considered statement. “As though I were not your daughter’s governess.”
“I had hoped you would be my daughter’s friend, Miss Cole. Very well!” He raised his voice to a spritely level, and again Lady Genevieve’s head bobbed upward. Her blue eyes opened and she gazed without seeing at Lillian. Then, as though her eyelids were not under her control, she dozed off once more.
“Very well,” Thorpe continued, more quietly. “I shall say nothing to you beyond ‘Good morning,’ ‘good evening,’ and ‘I hope the lessons progress well.’ And yet, Miss Cole, from the moment we met... never mind, you do not want me to speak to you as though you were anything but Addy’s governess.”
Teasingly, now that she wanted him to continue speaking, he was silent. With curiosity and exasperation warring in her brain, Lillian revised her first estimates of him. He was a flirt, a trifler, the sort of man no woman was safe from. Undoubtedly, he regarded all females as his prey, the pursuit of which was of more interest than the capture. So she’d inform Paulina at her first opportunity, which would be soon. If she stayed the week out, it would be as much as her patience could bear.
Nothing that happened upon her return changed her resolve. After pausing to help Lady Genevieve with the packages she’d chosen not to have sent by the shopkeepers, Lillian followed Addy to a bright bedroom off the schoolroom. A maid was folding the light, corded muslin cloak the girl had worn during the drive.
In answer to Lillian’s question, she said, “Oh, she’s gone, miss.”
“Gone? Where to?”
“The gamekeeper’s cottage, miss.”
“Very well.” Lillian thought it was going to be difficult to teach a child who was never there.
Useless, however, to blame Addy for her attitude. Lillian knew she would not receive respect from the child if no one else gave it to her. Certainly Lady Genevieve was not in the least supportive. Indeed, Lillian suspected Lady Genevieve of absolutely encouraging her great-grandchild to behave badly. She felt desperately sorry for the next governess who would have to overcome this hostility in earnest or lose her place.
Without a word to Lillian, the maid left the room. Lillian, remembering that Thorpe had told her she’d eat below stairs tonight, trailed after the maid. There was a mirror in the corridor that led from the upper rooms, and Lillian stopped to be sure her hair was neat. She did not want to give anyone at Mottisbury Castle further cause for censuring her.
When she pushed open the door to the dining hall, she heard, “... Said she’d not stay to be talked down. Miss Addy did. Comin’ here with her la-di-da ways ...”
“Coo-ee,” said a footman, nudging the maid Lillian had followed. She clapped her mouth shut to stare with the others at the governess.
“Excuse me,” Lillian said. “Mr. Thorpe asked that I join you this evening.”
Slowly, Mr. Becksnaff got to his feet, his napkin still in his hand. “You’re welcome. Miss Cole,” he said. “You there, Burrows, shove over.”
The maid rolled her eyes at Lillian but did not speak. No one spoke to her or seemed to hear her when she tried to begin a conversation or join the one in progress. Had her hands not been quick to intercept passing platters, she doubted whether she would even have garnered a mouthful of food. The staff, she noticed, ate well, with several removes supplementing the partridges and beef.
As some daylight remained after supper, Lillian decided to continue her exploration of the gardens cut short yesterday by her unexpected bath. The shrubs and trees were lit from behind by the last golden glimmerings of the sun. Lillian paused to admire the peach and purple clouds of sunset and realized that she was listening for the sound of Thorpe’s step across the gravel walks. Dismissing this foolishness resolutely, she hurried on around the corner of the house.
A bay horse, broad of shoulder and deep of chest, waited by the door, its bridle held by a groom. The front door closed and Thorpe stood on the step, drawing on his gloves. “I’ll be back about midnight, Collins,” he said.
“Yes, sir. I’ll wait up, then.”
“Thank you, that’s good of you. Hello there.” For a moment, Lillian thought Thorpe must be addressing the horse. Surely, with the sun fading and the lamps not yet lit, he could not have seen her, standing just barely in view. “Miss Cole? Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
“No, Mr. Everard.” She couldn’t stand here, hesitating like a fool. Walking out to meet him, she repressed the memory that she’d only a moment ago wished she’d had something to say to him, so that he might think of her as he set out on his ride.
“Is anything amiss?” he asked.
“No, sir. I was admiring your beautiful grounds.”
“In the dark?”
“It has only this moment grown dark, and it does not keep you from riding.”
“There’s going to be a moon. See?” He turned and pointed to where a second sun, not yet silver, rose above the treetops. It was huge, like the face of a benevolent goddess, bending low to see that all went well with her people. “I shall come to no harm on my ride. And I haven’t far to go. I’m only going to the village to dine with my steward, as I do every Wednesday evening. Did you say something, Collins?”
The groom, who’d choked, said, “Oh, no, sir. A... a fly flew down my throat.”
“Then allow me to suggest that you keep your mouth closed. I trust, Miss Cole, that dinner was to your liking?”
“Excellent, Mr. Everard.”
“I’ve long suspicioned that my servants eat better than I. When you join me tomorrow evening, you’ll be able to tell me if I’m correct.”
“Addy and I will be there, if I can find her.”
“Has she run off?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid the naughtinesses you committed as a child have been passed on to her.”
“I would be glad if she took after me in some regard, though perhaps that is not the characteristic I’d choose. Pray excuse me, now; I mustn’t keep the horse standing.”
“Of course not. Good evening, Mr. Everard.”
“Good evening.” He stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the wide back of the horse as easily as if he were walking up stairs. At the light touch of his master’s heel, the black-footed horse danced away. Lillian watched, her pleasure in horsemanship more than doubled by the strength and grace of the rider.
The groom began to walk off. “What is the name of Mr. Everard’s steward?”
“Mr. Gatestream, miss.”
“And does—? Never mind.” It was with difficulty that Lillian reminded herself of her complete lack of interest in what Thorpe did or who he visited. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Gatestream might have an attractive daughter. Other imaginings filled her head without her in the least wishing for them. A man such as Thorpe Everard could not be contented only by the meager companionship of his grandmother and his child. Somewhere there must be some woman or other who supplied his other wants, and his visits to her might well occur every Wednesday. The groom might have choked on a passing insect or on a knowing laugh.
Retiring once more to her own room, she paced restlessly. Finding this occupation palled, she bore a candle into the schoolroom, for she’d not yet inspected the arrangements there. As far as she could remember from her own schooldays, all seemed in order. After half an hour, she was about to go once more into her room, to read sermons if no other entertainment offered, when she became aware of whispering from the room beyond. Once it made an impression on her conscious mind, she realized she’d been hearing these vague sounds for some time.
There seemed to be only one voice, but it went on and on. A prickly feeling arose on the back of Lillian’s neck. Were there
two
voices? The ghostly bonging of a clock somewhere deep in the house startled her, but she retained enough wit to laugh at herself. After all, it wasn’t midnight. Whoever heard of a ghost walking at eight o’clock in the evening? After a few moments, unable to distinguish any words, Lillian knocked at Addy’s door. The whispering stopped.
Turning the handle, Lillian opened the door an inch or two. “May I come in?”
In a sulky voice, Addy said, “If you want to.”
She lay under a white coverlet, all her toys around her. Lillian saw a wooden horse, several fashion babies whose ragged finery seemed to indicate a lack of a doll to be abigail, and a stuffed rag-man flopped over in a deep bow. Addy’s pale hair had been confined under a plain cap, from which the ends floated freely. She looked at Lillian with hostile eyes.
“I am glad to find you awake,” Lillian said. “I hoped to tell you that story I promised you last night.”
The gray eyes, so big in the small face, were lit by an anticipation quickly dampened. “If you want to,” she said again.
Lillian drew a low chair close to the bed. “Once upon a time,” she began at once, not looking at Addy’s face, “there lived a young, handsome rajah who decided it was time to marry.”
“What’s a ... a ... ?”
“A rajah? It’s a kind of a king that lives in India. They are usually very rich. I saw one once no older than yourself who was so covered with jewels I could hardly tell where the boy left off and his bracelets began.”
“Boys don’t wear bracelets,” Addy said in disgust.
“Some do. In India. Do you want to hear about Chani?”
“Who’s Chani?”
“The rajah. He rode with many servants and friends to a nearby kingdom. The beautiful queen had long wanted to marry Chani. But when he saw her handmaiden Noorina he could find no love in his heart for the queen.” Lillian, through some instinct she’d not known until that moment she possessed, kept her voice very low and even.
“One night, Noorina met Chani in the garden, where he pledged that only she would be his wife. Noorina told him she too had fallen in love at first sight. ‘But, oh prince,’ she said, ‘my mistress is not queen only but a sorceress of black art. She will work us a mischief. Let us, therefore, flee in the night.’ Chani, however, loved honor more than life, so he went to the queen and told her everything.”
Addy said, “Oh, dear,” then tried to look as though someone else had said it, glaring at her dolls to find the guilty party.
“Oh dear, indeed. The evil queen hid her anger and ordered that Noorina be dressed in great state. She insisted that the lovers be married at once before her eyes. The queen said to her former handmaiden, ‘In your wedding clothes, you are very lovely. Yet there are many in the world more beautiful than you, and your prince is young.’
“ ‘I know Chani will always be faithful,’ Noorina answered, her eyes on her beloved.”
Prom behind Lillian came the sound of a strong step. Addy sat up in bed and said, “Hush, Papa.” Lillian did not look up though she could practically feel the warmth of Thorpe’s glance on her shoulders.
“What happened then?”
“Lie down again, Addy, and I’ll tell you. The festival lasted for days, but Chani was eager to return to his own kingdom with his bride. The queen loaded them with gifts, but she said to Noorina, ‘Sitting in your palanquin, you are very beautiful. Yet there are many in the world more enchanting than you, and your prince is chivalrous.’
“ ‘I know Chani will always be faithful,’ Noorina answered, her eyes on her beloved.
“ ‘Yet, if he kisses another before you reach his kingdom,’ the queen said, ‘he will forget you.’
“ ‘I know Chani will always be faithful,’ Noorina answered.”
Lillian wondered why she’d chosen this story. In truth, she’d made no conscious choice; it had merely been the first tale that she’d remembered. But somehow, telling it while Thorpe Everard listened made the meaning different from what she’d believed it to be.
She took a deep breath and went on, ever more softly for Addy’s blue-veined eyelids were closing. “When the wedding party was gone, the evil queen fell to rending her clothes and gnashing her teeth. None of her servants dared to look upon her face, so hideous did her rage make her.
“Several nights later, as Chani rode before his followers, he saw a fabulous city, all golden spires and silver walls. Sweet smells and happy music filled the air. His companions ...”
The little girl was asleep. Her thin chest rose and fell to sighing breaths, as she clutched the rag-man. Lillian stood up and put the chair in its place against the wall. Only then did she turn to face Addy’s father, but he was gone.
Lillian did not know if she were glad or sorry. Thorpe Everard was perhaps the most charming man she’d ever met. She felt drawn to him by his humor, his kindness and, though she preferred to think this was not the most important attraction, his remarkable good looks. Yet how impossible that Lillian Canfield should lose herself among the throng of his female admirers. The mad notion of the Curse of the Everards came back to her as she walked through the dark schoolroom to her own chamber. Surely pride would be proof enough against it, if she even believed in such things.
* * * *
In the morning, Lillian did not know whether she should first seek out Addy to begin lessons or search for Thorpe. She had a serious matter to discuss with him, for his highhandedness of the day before was as nothing compared with the dreadful discovery she’d made that morning while dressing. Crossing her arms on her chest, she sat on the bed, trying to maintain her calm. Surely her dignity demanded that she make no mention of the matter, but at the same time, she burned to take him to task. Puffing angrily, she decided to put this feeling to good use. Miss Addy would not escape her today!