Different Tides (3 page)

So, Zachariah Fleet had taken the precaution of having her investigated in advance. Of course he had. He wasn’t the type of man who left anything to chance, and probably knew more about her than she knew about herself. But why her, when there could be any number of women more experienced, and worthy of the position?

‘What does Mr Fleet do to earn his living?’

‘Oh, something to do with investment, I believe. I can never understand what these men get up to … The man is a genius where making money is concerned.’

A knock came at the door. ‘Mrs Spencer has arrived, Mrs Beck.’

‘Thank you, Cora, show her up.’ A wide smile sped across her face. ‘While you were in the bath I sent a message with your measurements and colouring to my dressmaker, and told her to send everything that she had ready to wear. It’s so exciting. As soon as we have you looking decent we shall go shopping … I love shopping, don’t you?’

Clementine couldn’t remember the last time she had bought anything new, but she imagined that growing used to it wouldn’t be hard.

Soon there were packages on the bed. The gowns were generally unfussy, but a feast of colour and softness. Julia picked out a plain undecorated gown in cream, with a lace trimmed bodice and puffed sleeves to be worn over the tight sleeves. ‘You’ll look elegant in this.’

Clementine did feel elegant, and to her shame she remembered the vulgar gowns she’d admired on her mother and knew they fared badly against hers. But she must not get above herself. She must remember that her current blessings must be paid for in kind.

She protested, but half-heartedly, because her longing for something feminine and pretty outweighed her good sense. ‘This is too much … something grey and serviceable would be more suitable.’

‘Zachariah gave me instructions … to avoid grey, brown and black, unless it’s for outdoor wear, he said. He gave me a list, and will expect me to get everything on it, plus a few necessary items he’s left for me to determine. We’re not even halfway through it yet. We shall have so much fun over the next few days spending his money.’

‘Julia, you are incorrigible,’ she protested, half-laughing. ‘I’m his servant, not his … well … his lady, I suppose.’

A glance slid her way, inquisitive and amused. ‘You meant to say his mistress, didn’t you? Let me tell you though, that would be a fine thing, my dear, were it Zachariah Fleet. He would surely be extremely discreet about such affairs. No doubt he has them, though not a glimmer of gossip has filtered my way. So annoying of him to be so secretive, but men have ways and means of going about such business, one supposes.’

Goodness, Julia is a gossip, even though there’s no harm in it really
, Clementine thought.

‘Besides, he would not sully the family name by hiring his mistress to take responsibility for his young wards, for he wouldn’t want the children corrupted in any way, shape or form. Now, I must stop gossiping.’

His mistress! Did he have one? Clementine pondered on the thought, but dare not ask her, lest it get back to him. She didn’t want to lose her place because of an inquisitive tongue. And although she knew it was avarice, she didn’t intend to lose all these wonderful garments before she’d had a chance to wear them.

Julia had a good eye for quality, and by the time her employer came to collect her a few days later Clementine had two trunks waiting in the hall.

‘What do you think of her now?’ Julia asked Zachariah when she came down the stairs.

The glance that washed over her was so quick that it only grazed an insult across her cheek in passing. At the same time he drawled, ‘I hardly recognize you, Miss Morris, for you are quite the lady. I must congratulate you, Julia. She is a work of art and you’re the genius who painted her.’

‘I merely helped her emerge. If you’d oblige me with a second, more leisurely look you could perhaps make comment of the impression she has on you with more enthusiasm. How do you expect to attract a wife when you can’t offer a decent compliment?’

‘I’ve been telling you for years now that I have no wish to attract a wife.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll indulge you if I must, Julia, though Miss Morris doesn’t appreciate attention from men so a prolonged scrutiny from me would surely raise her ire, as well as her colour.’

‘What nonsense! It just needs the right man to come along and sweep her off her feet. Isn’t that right, Clementine?’

There was a moment of silence when Clementine’s colour did indeed rise, and she hoped the ground would open and she’d disappear into the hole with a puff of smoke.

Zachariah chuckled. ‘Well, Clementine Morris … you had plenty to say for yourself on the subject the last time we met. Have you suddenly lost your tongue?’

She didn’t know what to say to that, so stood there, fighting off her embarrassment, until she sneaked a glance at him from under her bonnet and saw the amusement in his eyes. She laughed and shrugged at the same time. ‘I would suggest that you’ve left your broom at home on this occasion, Mr Fleet. Julia, please stop your teasing else I’ll never speak to you again.’

Julia kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll miss you, my dear. You must write to me for advice, and once a month so you can tell me all the local gossip, and let me know how you are getting on with Zachariah. Being a man, he can be difficult to manage at times.’

The exaggerated sigh he gave was accompanied by a grin.

Julia patted him on the cheek. ‘As for you, dear man, come to dinner when you return. You can tell me all about the children. I approve of your young lady. You’ve made a good choice for your wards now we’ve tidied her up a little, I think. When will the children be arriving?’

‘The agent expects the ship to arrive within the fortnight.’

‘From where are they coming, Mr Fleet?’

‘From Australia.’

Clementine was shocked into saying, ‘Alone?’

‘Good God, no! I’m not quite as irresponsible as that, though placing children in the company of people who are strangers to me does make me uneasy. They’ll be in the charge of friends of their parents who they’re already acquainted with, apparently. The ship will disembark passengers at Poole and my wards will be amongst them.’ He gave Julia a hug. ‘I expect to be back in London this time next month, Julia. Now, we must be off if we’re to make the inn before nightfall without tiring the horses too much.’

‘Goodness, you are too softhearted, Zachariah. Horses are born to pull carriages.’

‘Try telling that to one who has decided to be stubborn about it.’

The servant took the trunks out to the waiting carriage while Clementine exchanged a final hug with Julia. ‘Thank you for your hospitality; you’ve been so kind.’

Two solid-looking horses, a grey and a dark bay, waited for their riders to mount. She was relieved that the men were acting as outriders. She wouldn’t have to share the intimacy of the close confines of the carriage with them. She grinned. They probably didn’t want to share it with a female anyway, since they’d have to mind their manners.

She was practically lifted into the carriage by Zachariah’s valet with a firm hand under her elbow.

‘I’m Evan Bergerac, actor, singer, poet, temporary gentleman’s gentleman and lover of beautiful women. At your service.’ Evan gazed from under hooded eyes at her for a few moments then kissed her hand.

She withdrew it. He turned and exchanged a grin with his employer. ‘I don’t think she likes me.’

‘She obviously has good taste.’ Zachariah smiled at her. ‘Evan is harmless.’

She wondered at the familiarity between them – as though they’d known each other for a long time.

One of her trunks was strapped to the back; the second took up most of the floor. The coach horses fretted in their straps, tossed their heads with imperious grace and stamped their hooves. Two coach drivers would travel with the carriage and pair, one to relieve the other. She would be well guarded.

Her excitement threatened to bubble over when the carriage began to move. She gave a final regal wave as they rounded the corner, for truly, she felt like Queen Adelaide in her carriage.

She doubted if Zachariah felt as grand as King William though. He was less fanciful than she.

The pace was leisurely and they made their first stop at an inn, busy with other weary travellers. After an early dinner they retired for the night.

Zachariah Fleet was in the next room, his bed in the same position on the other side of the wall, she guessed. Odd to think there was just a few inches separating them. She placed her hand against the wall and could almost feel his warmth as she whispered, ‘Goodnight, Mr Fleet. I hope your dreams are pleasant.’

Dorset

Although her employer must have been more exhausted and aching than Clementine was, after he’d assisted her from the carriage he made no complaint. He just placed his hands on his back, did a few gentle twists and turns and then stretched towards the sky with a pleasurable groan.

He nodded towards the second coachman. ‘I feel as though the grey has ridden me, not the other way round.’

To which remark the grey cast an eye his way and snorted.

Zachariah stroked the grey’s nose to soften the insult and said to Ben, ‘Rouse the staff, then alert the housekeeper.’

After a similar stretching action, Evan began to help unload the luggage.

Zachariah Fleet didn’t look as though he’d travelled all that way astride a horse. He was almost as immaculate as he’d been when they started out, except his hat and coat were peppered with dust and he’d gathered a manly darkness to his jaw line where his beard pricked through his skin.

Removing his hat, he raked long fingers through his hair and then moved a short way away from her to beat himself around his shoulders with the hat. Dust flew in all directions.

When she laughed with the unexpected pleasure of the action, he smiled at her. ‘Well … what do you make of your new home, Miss Morris?’

They were standing just outside the porch, but she’d already taken note of the features of the house from the carriageway on the way up. It was larger than she’d expected yet it was not a grand home by any means. Built of warm red brick, it was topped by grey slates. The windows were arched and leaded, with top lights of painted glass, as were the panels in the double oak doors.

The house was firmly planted at the top of a rise in a summer flowering meadow that was dotted with a few grazing sheep that resembled clouds propped on sticks, and it had a view that went on forever. The fields surrounding it were full of ripening corn that undulated in the soft breeze.

‘Welcome to Martingale House,’ he said.

‘What a pretty name, and for a lovely home.’

‘It was named after the architect who designed it for himself initially. Gabe and I were born here.’

‘Gabe?’

‘My brother, Gabriel, the late baron.’

‘You mentioned you were brought up by a cleric.’

‘I was, from the age of eight until I ran away. He was a distant relative on my mother’s side who lived in Oxford. When my father died, my mother was persuaded by her family to send me there. They convinced our mother that the discipline would correct my overbearing ways.’

‘You don’t appear to be overbearing to me. Self-controlled would suit you better, I think.’

‘I hope you mean that in a complimentary manner.’

‘Do you?’

He smiled at that. ‘The self-control was learned over time under John and Julia’s tutelage. My family thought I was a bad influence on my brother.’

‘Were you?’

‘Probably. He was easily led and allowed others to think for him. Ask him a question and he’d never give an answer, just prevaricate until somebody answered for him. Gabe always lived for the moment, while I lived for the future, knowing it had to be better.’

His mood seemed introspective and she took advantage of it. ‘You must have missed Gabe.’

‘Yes … I did. I admired him, and envied him. He was so active, adventurous and heroic. I was dull and quiet in comparison. When the family turned him against me it was bitter. I ran away from my foster home when I was twelve. I didn’t see Gabe for a long time, though I heard of him now and again.

‘How did you survive?’

He looked troubled. ‘By being dishonest for the most part. I hadn’t realized that depending on myself for support was harder than it seemed, and there was no adventure in begging for the next piece of bread or stealing a purse and forever looking over your shoulder, scared to death in case you were recognized and sent to prison. You know what being a poor child is like.’

She had not expected a confession of a childhood so ill spent, and gave a shocked cry that drew a wry look from him. She found herself wanting to know more about him. ‘How did you get to meet John and Julia Beck?’

‘Through my manservant, Evan. I tried to rob him when I was ill and starving. He took me to a Quaker soup kitchen, but the place had closed for the night. John Beck was still there though. He took me to his home by my collar and I’ll never forget the lecture I was subjected to when I finally recovered.

‘Julia had a pot of broth on the stove. She told me I could join them for dinner if I took a bath, and she found me some clothes her sons had grown out of. Then she said I could stay the night, and if I had the urge to steal something would I please do her a favour and take the purple and green plant stand in the hall rather than anything else. I never moved out, and I regard them as my family. So you see, I’m not so perfect.’

He had captured her attention now. ‘I don’t recall telling you that you were perfect … just self-controlled. What happened after that?’

‘With a loan from John I invested in property and managed it myself. The rents accumulated and I looked for other safe investments.’

‘And that included the family home?’

‘It wasn’t exactly an investment. Six years ago Gabe sent me a message. He was in Marshalsea, the debtors’ prison. He’d made unwise investments and was ruined. He could barely pay for food and his wife and baby were homeless. The remaining relatives faded away, except for Alice’s half-sister and brother, who descended like carrion to feast on anything left over. They insisted Gabe was in their debt, and demanded the deeds to the family home and its contents to be handed over to them.’