Corey McFadden (5 page)

Biting back her anxiety, she reached out and pulled open the shutter of the window, just a bit. An icy blast hit her full in the face, but it smelled clean and fresh and she inhaled in great gulps. She let out her breath with a gasp as her eyes met an incredible landscape. Stretched out before her as far as she could see was the most magnificent countryside she had ever seen. An endless, rolling valley of green and brown met softly sloping peaks in the distance, and she could see the brilliant blue shimmer of a large lake not far away. She pushed her head as far out of the window as it would fit and breathed in the glorious air and the majestic sights. She felt clean for the first time in days.

Drinking in the sights that met her eyes along with the invigorating air, she smiled as she thought of her watercolors. She itched to do justice to the gray mist that spilled over the mountains. Even now, in late winter, the subtle colors blended the light and the shadow so delicately, washing the hills and valleys with the spectacle of a muted sunset. Contemplating the splendor of the canvas before her, she eventually drifted into a pleasant nap, rocked by the gentle sway of the well-sprung carriage.

* * * *

“And you are not to trouble Lady Eleanor about the children for any reason whatsoever, Miss Carpenter, is that understood?” Mr. Hawton, the steward, was just finishing his precise explanation of Joanna’s duties. He sat in his small, cluttered office in the back of the house, sprawled in his chair, his heavy, booted feet propped casually on the corner of the desk. Joanna stood, not having been invited to sit down. It was not so much that she minded being put in her place—she must get used to that sort of thing, after all—it was more his manner of looking at her that had her nerves on edge. He was a handsome man, no doubt about that, and there was no doubt either that he was well aware of that fact. One could see it in the cut of his breeches—too tight they were for decency—and in his white cambric shirt, casually open at the neck so that a tuft of black hair showed rather aggressively from beneath. But it was his eyes that held Joanna’s attention; blue and heavy-lidded, they surveyed her with an unnerving arrogance, almost a possessiveness, that suggested he thought she was his for the taking, at his pleasure. His mouth had a cruel twist to it, almost a mocking expression, as if she had just said something unbearably stupid. Not for the first time this week did Joanna regret that Little Haver had been such a small village. She felt quite at a loss in the world of men, and a sense of vast discomfort.

She took a deep breath. Perhaps it was all a matter of her own inexperience and anxieties.

“I do understand, Mr. Hawton. But in case of an emergency, an illness, for instance....”

“Even then, Miss Carpenter,” he interrupted, a trace of impatience in his voice. “I have explained to you that the children are Sir Giles’s niece and nephew, children of his dead older brother. Sir Giles is away most of the time. He looks after the family’s lead-mining interests in Dufton. The children are nothing to her ladyship, and she does not wish to be bothered under any circumstances. In case of dire emergency you may consult me or any of the upper staff. Now, have I made myself clear?”

For a brief moment Joanna stared back at him, a slight tendency to mutiny at war with her good sense, then she nodded slowly. It was fast becoming clear to her what was really wrong with this post. This family was as cold as ice. It had not escaped her attention that at no time during this brief discussion had Mr. Hawton even mentioned Sir Giles’s attitude toward the children. If he was even worse than his indifferent stepsister, God help these poor orphans.

It had been rather late when she had arrived last night. Stepping out of the carriage into a rainy darkness, she had been confronted by an imposing facade of dark gray, rain-streaked blocks, looming dark and unwelcoming, shadowing her insignificance. Inside, the house was as gloomy and forbidding as the outside. There seemed to be no light anywhere she looked. The young maidservant who led her through the silent house held a long taper, shielding the flame with the palm of her hand. It cast a small pool of light around them, but did little to illuminate the hallway through which they moved as silently as possible. Joanna had had the feeling she was in a cave, spacious enough, she could tell from the echo of her footsteps and the cold drafts around her feet, but strange and forbidding all the same. There had been candles standing unlit in brackets in the hallways. Joanna rather feared this would prove to be a painfully frugal household. Papa had always remarked that God had said, “Let there be light,” so he had never bothered to stint on oil lamps or tapers. Joanna was used to a cozy brightness, not a brooding, cavernous dark, and her spirits, already low, had sunk further with every step.

At least her room seemed well-appointed, though it, too, was dark when the girl had gone, leaving only one lamp lit in the room. Joanna had blessed Mistress Gertie as she dug from her bag the candles that the good woman had insisted she take along with her, lest the rooms at the inns prove too dark.

The extra light revealed a large, comfortable-looking bed covered with a beautiful quilt whose bright colors, if faded, were nevertheless a cheerful sight in the gloom. There was a small table next to the bed, a dresser which held a washbasin and pitcher, and a dressing table with a small mirror. A large overstuffed wing chair was set to face the window. Although the heavy draperies were drawn tightly closed, Joanna rather hoped that a chair positioned to look outward augured well for a lovely view.

And there had been a cold supper waiting for her, mercifully delicious, and warmish water for a much-needed wash.

She had been aroused this morning from a heavy but troubled slumber at an early hour by a tap on the door and a tray of tea with toasted bread and butter. She supposed this sufficed for breakfast as she had been offered nothing further this morning. Now, at half past eight in the morning, having received some twenty minutes of instruction from Mr. Hawton, she had yet to meet the children and had heard nothing of them, not the sound of laughter, not even small footsteps. The house was cold and dark, even in daylight, and her spirits were much oppressed.

“I should like to meet the children as soon as possible, Mr. Hawton. I am prepared to begin with them right away,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. The man continued to stare at her the way she’d seen a cat watch a mousehole, and it was doing nothing for her composure.

“Indeed you will, Miss Carpenter. I shall take you to the schoolroom now where I trust the children are waiting for you. And may I remind you that they are to be seen and not heard, most especially when her ladyship is in residence. She is not expected to return until next week, but it’s best that you get in the habit of keeping the children out of the way and quiet at all costs.”

“I see,” Joanna replied in a tight voice. Already her heart went out to these poor orphans. No one had seen fit to mention to her until this morning, as if it were an afterthought, that these were not the children of Sir Giles, but rather the children of an older brother and sister-in-law who had died in a carriage accident a few months ago. And there was no love for these babies in this house from Sir Giles or his stepsister. Of that much she was now certain.

She trailed behind Mr. Hawton, trying unobtrusively to take in the house around her as she passed through it. From the rear office off the kitchen they came into the main hall, a vast, almost cavernous space with a number of closed doors leading from it. Although there were candles in sconces arranged along the walls, none were lit. From what furniture and appointments she had glimpsed so far, it did not seem that money was a problem, but for the life of her she could imagine no other reason for the deliberate gloom.

On the third floor, down the hall and across from her own bedroom, they stopped before a closed door. Mr. Hawton opened it without a knock and stepped in, Joanna behind him. The first impression to assail her was that it, like everywhere else in the house, was dark, dark and so quiet that she assumed no one else was there. There was a large window facing west, but despite the hour no one had thought to open the heavy draperies that covered every inch of it. No lamp or taper burned. But Joanna forgot the dark directly, as she spied the two small figures seated silently in the gloom, at desks several feet apart in the center of the room. Two pairs of young eyes looked back at hers. Expressionless.

Joanna started to smile at them when she was interrupted by Mr. Hawton’s voice. “Annie, you may go now,” he said, no warmth in his tone. “You may collect the children for the noon meal as usual, then arrange with Miss Carpenter as to what time she wishes to finish for the day.” He waited while a youngish girl detached herself from the shadows in the corner of the room and, bobbing a curtsey, made a quick exit.

“I trust that is all you will need from me, Miss Carpenter,” he went on coolly. “The housekeeper, Mrs. Davies, will give you further instructions about the household arrangements. If there are any difficulties with the children, you will bring them directly to me as we discussed.” His eyes strayed to the boy and a look of disgust crossed his face, his lip curling. “Understood?” he finished, with a look at Joanna. There was a faint smile about his mouth, but it was not pleasant. Again there was that look in his eyes that held the suggestion of something Joanna did not want to even think about. She nodded to him, trying to meet his unnerving gaze, and was relieved when he turned and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. She no longer wondered why the other governesses had left so soon. Rather, she wondered why they had stayed so long.

Resisting the impulse to stick her tongue out at the door, she took a deep breath and turned to face the children once again. There were the two little pairs of eyes on her. As far as she could tell, neither child seemed to have moved a muscle since she had entered the room. She put what she hoped was a merry smile on her face. It was a real effort. There was no answering smile from either child. She started to say hello, then realized with a start that no one had ever told her what their names were. Orphaned, nameless, motionless, seated silent in the gloom.

Suppressing a snarl, she strode over to the window and pulled back the draperies. Instantly the room was flooded with light. Was it her imagination or did she hear a small gasp of surprise behind her? Before she turned from the window, she caught a glimpse of a rather magnificent sight, a glittering stretch of blue water, sparkling in the morning sun. Resolutely she put it from her mind. There would be time enough for scenery later. Right now these two benighted children needed all her attention.

Still wearing her happiest smile, she crossed back to the children, pulling with her a small child’s chair that had been sitting by the window. She planted the little chair between the two desks and sat herself down on it. She was now at their eye level. There was still not so much as a flicker of expression from either child. They could have been statues from all she could tell so far.

“My name is Miss Carpenter and I have come from Little Haver in Shropshire to be your new governess,” she began pleasantly. There was no response. “Now tell me,” Joanna said to the girl, trying to keep her voice bright, “what is your name? No one has told me what your names are.”

There was a moment’s hesitation in the girl who stared back at Joanna, eyes large. Then in a very small voice the girl said, “Emma, Miss Carpenter.” That was all. Joanna smiled at Emma and turned to the boy. As her gaze fell on him in the light, her breath caught in her throat. He looked so much like Mistress Gertie’s Tom, moon-faced, with wide eyes, a slight fold across the lid giving them the unusual look. But where Tom’s eyes were always dancing with laughter and love, these eyes were dark and mistrustful, as if in looking upon Joanna he knew he looked upon an enemy.

“What is your name, lad?” she asked gently. Tom could have answered such a question, but he was much older and Mistress Gertie had worked hard to teach him some of the simpler things. This boy simply looked back at her, saying nothing.

“His name’s Tom, miss,” came the small voice at her elbow.

“Tom?” Joanna answered. “What an odd coincidence. I have a very dear young friend back home in Little Haver. He is very much like you, Tom, and his name is Tom, also.” She smiled at him but got no smile in return. Nothing except that dark suspicion in his eyes.

Not taking her eyes from his, Joanna asked, “Emma, can Tom speak for himself?”

Again there was a long pause, then the girl’s small voice answered only, “He talks to me.”

“My friend at home is very like your brother, Emma,” Joanna said gently. “He doesn’t talk much but he understands much of what is said to him. Does your brother understand us when we speak to him?”

Now the silence was long enough that Joanna turned back to face Emma. The girl looked uncertain and somewhat mutinous as if she couldn’t decide how to answer this question.

“Emma, I think you are used to people not being very nice to Tom. That happens to my Tom, too. When people don’t understand things they can be ignorant and cruel. But I promise you, I will be nice to him.” She waited. It would be very hard to build any trust with this unloved, ignored little girl.

Finally, Emma seemed to make up her mind. She squared her little shoulders and in a louder voice than Joanna had heard her use thus far she said, “My brother understands a great deal of what is said to him. He is
not
an idiot, I don’t care what they say. And he can talk if he wants to. He just doesn’t bother, because no one here will take the trouble to listen.”

Joanna stared back at the grim little face. The girl’s chin was lifted in defiance as if she dared Joanna to laugh at her and tell her that indeed, the boy was a fool.

“Well, I am glad you told me the truth, Emma,” Joanna said gently. Her heart was twisting. How long had these children been in this stark, cold environment? How long had it been since anyone had taken the trouble to listen to either of them?

She realized that apart from knowing that they had been orphaned, she knew absolutely nothing about these poor waifs, and she made up her mind to approach Mrs. Davies for more information as soon as possible.