Authors: Amanda McCabe
"Mr. Lindley has been to Italy. His library is ever so full of strange things he got there."
"Strange things?"
"Paintings of funny-looking people, and statues with no clothes on," Sarah said in a shocked whisper. "And glass that's ever so pretty. Blue and red—all colors."
"Murano glass," Kate whispered. She could see it behind her closed eyes, shimmering glass in deep jewel colors, sapphire, ruby, amethyst. In fanciful shapes of flowers and birds and medieval unicorns. In her mind, she walked in the bright sun of that island of glass, the light warm on her hair, casting sparks from the colored facets around her.
A hand appeared in front of her imagined gaze, long, brown, strong fingers holding a red glass rose. Kate reached out for the treasure, turning to see who offered it....
"...do they have those everywhere in Eye-taly, Mrs. Brown?"
And the vision was gone, burst like an iridescent bubble at the sound of the maid's voice. Murano—and the man with the rose—utterly vanished.
Kate's eyes flew open. "Beg your pardon, Sarah. I fear I was woolgathering."
Sarah giggled again. "I just asked if Eye-taly was full of strange paintings, like the ones Mr. Lindley has. Ladies in the woods wearing almost nothing, or people in funny hats."
"There is much art everywhere in Italy, to be sure. I would have to see those paintings to know if there were ones like them to be seen where I lived."
"All of Mr. Lindley's Eye-talian things are in the library, Mrs. Brown. I get to dust in there sometimes. It's like a fairyland, it is." Sarah gave a last pat to Kate's hair and stood back with a satisfied smile. "There, now! What do you think?"
Kate stared into the mirror and saw distractedly that Sarah had braided and twisted her hair into a neat crown atop her head. It was quite nice, but still her mind was far away, locked into speculation over the "fairyland" of Michael Lindley's library.
She positively ached to see it, yet knew there was no possibility. She could hardly sneak in there and pretend to be dusting, like Sarah.
"It looks lovely," Kate said automatically. "Thank you, Sarah."
Sarah beamed, and twitched at her apron again. "You have lovely hair, Mrs. Brown. Not like Lady Christina's! So curly, hers is. It tangles up again as soon as it's brushed."
Kate opened her mouth with intentions of asking Sarah more about the Italian treasures in the library, but she had no chance. The door opened again, to admit two maids bearing steaming pitchers of water and neatly folded towels. Behind them marched the stern Mrs. Jenkins, her black dress rustling sharply and her gimlet eyes taking in every detail in the room. Sarah fled before the housekeeper's stare, and Mrs.
Jenkins gave Kate her orders for the day—to set the schoolroom in order.
That put an end to any idle moments. Kate quickly dressed, and spent the rest of the morning arranging this cozy space, unpacking crates of books and inventorying supplies of paper, ink, and slates. She hadn't thought at all about Murano glass, Italian paintings, and walks with attractive men in the moonlight.
Almost.
She opened her eyes now, and stared out at the schoolroom. It was her domain, all neat and tidy and orderly. The green draperies and cushions gave it a fresh, springtime feeling. But a painting would be so nice over the fireplace. An
Italian
painting, perhaps?
A knock echoed at the door, and Kate sighed. Why were her reveries always interrupted by knocks in this house? But then, she reminded herself, this wasn't
her
house. She was only here on sufferance.
"Come in," she called, and sat up straight in her chair, smoothing down her gray muslin skirts.
Lady Christina came into the room, smiling shyly. She held a pile of books in her arms, and Kate noticed that though Christina wasn't wearing a grubby apron, there was a strange blue green stain on her white sleeve. Her hair fell in a thick, somewhat tidy braid down her back.
"Good morning, Mrs. Brown," she said, depositing the books on one of the desks.
"Good morning, Lady Christina," Kate answered brightly. She was unreasonably relieved to see the girl, and
not
Lady Darcy or Mrs. Jenkins. "You are looking very well this morning."
"So are you. And so is this room!" Christina turned in a wide circle, taking in all the arrangements. "It was just being used for storage. Michael brought back so much rubbish from the Continent when he was younger that there was no place to put it all. I thought all the trunks and cases could never be cleared out, but now look how neat it is."
"I think it will be a very comfortable space for our lessons," said Kate. "There is even some room over there for dancing."
Some of Christina's coltish enthusiasm dimmed. "Indeed," she answered. "Speaking of lessons, Mother sent these books up. She thought they might be useful. She planned to bring them herself, but then Lady Ross and one of her daughters unexpectedly came to call. Amelia is down there with them."
Kate got up from her chair and went to inspect the volumes. No wonder Christina wasn't enthusiastic about them—
A Lady's Rules for Proper Behavior, Etiquette for Every Occasion,
tomes on housekeeping, flower arranging, French verbs. "Is that usual in this neighborhood for ladies to pay unexpected calls?"
"Not at all," Christina said. She drifted over to one of the windows and pushed open the casement to let the breeze pull at her braid. "But Lady Ross said there was a situation at the Ladies' Society that she absolutely
must
speak to Mother about immediately. If you ask me, she just wanted to bring her daughter Emmeline here to parade her in front of Michael yet again."
Parade
her in front of Michael? An image sprang up in Kate's mind, of a line of young blond misses in white cantering up and down before Michael Lindley's sky-blue gaze. The book she held slipped from her hands, crashing to the desk.
Christina glanced back with a puzzled frown. "Are you all right, Mrs. Brown?"
Kate gave a little laugh. "Oh, yes. I dropped the book. How very clumsy of me."
Christina nodded, and turned her attention back to the scenery outside the window.
Kate took the volumes and busied herself with arranging them on the shelves. She ought to let the matter drop, of course, but some imp of mischief wouldn't let her. She just
had
to know more—only because Mr. Lindley was her employer, of course, and his personal situation could affect her position at Thorn Hill. That was all. "Is this Miss Ross your brother's betrothed, then, Lady Christina?"
Christina gave a very unladylike snort. "She wishes she was! Emmeline Ross is here at Thorn Hill every chance she gets, tossing her curls around and giggling like a bedlamite. She nearly took his eye out with her fan at the last assembly, the way she was waving it around and crying, 'Oh, la, sir!' I'm sure she thought she was Marie Antoinette, flirting with all the gallants at Versailles."
Christina did such a marvelous job of batting her eyelashes and pursing her lips that Kate had to laugh, despite her strange jealous pangs. So Emmeline Ross liked to
flirt
with Mr. Lindley, did she? Well, it sounded as if she did it very ill indeed.
"So, no, Mrs. Brown," Christina continued, giving her a curious glance. She probably wondered at Kate's question. "My brother would never wed such a silly cabbagehead as Emmeline Ross, as much as she would like that. All the single ladies of the neighborhood have their caps set for Michael."
Well, Kate thought, she could hardly blame them. "And does he favor any of them in particular?" she said, her voice carefully pitched to reveal only careless interest, mild gossip.
"Not Michael. He has scarce looked at another lady since Caroline, my sister-in-law, died. Though there
are
rumors about Becky—" Christina broke off with a laugh. "Oh, but that's not important. I'm not supposed to listen to the gossip of the farmworkers, you know."
Kate stared at her, but Christina wouldn't meet her gaze now.
Rumors? Who is Becky?
her mind screamed impatiently.
Tell me!
It was obvious that Christina had said all she was going to on the subject. "It's such a beautiful day, Mrs. Brown," she said. "We shouldn't spend it indoors, prattling away about nonsense. Let's go for a walk. I can show you some of the estate."
A walk would be very nice. Maybe the fresh air would bring Kate to her senses. "That sounds very pleasant, Lady Christina. I'll just fetch my bonnet, then."
* * *
The next time Lady Christina suggested a walk, Kate thought as they clambered up the side of yet another steep hill, she would just sit down and refuse. The girl must be part mountain goat, with the way she scrambled nimbly over rocks and ditches. Her hair streamed in the wind as they navigated narrow, almost imperceptible pathways, and her brown woolen cloak billowed around her. She seemed a part of this land, as if she belonged there, as if she had sprung full-grown from the patches of heather and immediately begun to name all the plants around her.
Kate, on the other hand, had never so obviously been a creature of warmer skies and watery climes. She panted ungracefully as she stumbled in Christina's wake up another hill. Rough gorse caught at the hem of her pelisse, and the wind threatened to snatch away her bonnet. A stitch pierced at her side, and she rued the fact that she was in such ill shape.
Ladies
weren't meant to take exercise, of course; a calm stroll through a park or a lively quadrille was thought to be sufficient. But Yorkshire was
not
Venice, as was more than apparent, and the same rules could not apply.
Pampered princesses would not last long on the moors. Obviously, if she wanted to keep up with her new pupil, she would have to grow a tougher skin.
She laughed aloud to imagine what her mother might say about
that.
Christina glanced back over her shoulder. "Did you see something funny, Mrs. Brown?"
"Oh, no," Kate answered, her voice labored and husky as her breath rasped in her lungs. "I just—just thought of something my mother once told me."
"Oh." Christina turned away, obviously unimpressed by anything a
mother
might say. But then her head whipped back around in Kate's direction, and her determined expression melted into one of concern.
"Are you quite well, Mrs. Brown? Your cheeks are very red. I'm walking too fast again—I always do that. Here, let's sit down for a bit."
"What a fine idea," Kate said, with a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be the patron saint of poorly conditioned governesses. She perched on a low stone wall next to Christina, breathing slowly and carefully until the stitch subsided.
"I walk these hills every day," Christina said after a moment. Her voice was uncharacteristically subdued. "I'm so used to the pathways and hillsides that I forget not everyone is accustomed to them."
"It is very different from walking in the city," Kate agreed. "I see I shall have to buy new, sturdier boots soon." She held out one foot and ruefully examined her dainty half boot. The pale gray kid with ivory buttons had seemed so elegant in London; now it was scuffed and worn.
"You can borrow some of mine until then, though your foot is much smaller than mine," Christina offered. She pulled out two apples from the pockets of her cloak and held one out to Kate. "Tell me about London, Mrs. Brown. I mean, if you please. It must be a fascinating place."
"Have you never been there, Lady Christina?" Kate said. She bit into the apple, the taste of it crisp and sharp on her tongue. She hadn't realized how famished the walk had made her.
"Not since I was a child, and I saw little of it then. Just my nursery, and the park. Once, my father took me to the Tower, but that's all." Christina munched on her own apple, her sun-browned face wistful and very young-looking. "My father died when I was just eight, and we stayed in London for just a while longer, until Charles married Mary. Charles is my older brother, the earl."
Kate was oddly fascinated by this peek into another family's history. "Then what happened? Did the earl not want you living with him any longer?"
Christina shrugged. "Charles didn't mind. He's a good enough sort, in his own way. But Mary is very grand, you see, and cutting a dash through Town would be difficult with a bossy mother-in-law and a little child dogging her steps. Mother and I would have moved to the dower house at Darcy Hall, but then Caroline died in that accident."
Caroline.
The sweet beauty who bore Amelia. Michael Lindley's wife. The apple suddenly tasted a bit more sour than before. Kate tossed its remains away from her. "Your other sister-in-law?"
"Yes, and Michael was in a bad way then. He wanted to go away somewhere quiet, and he needed Mother to help him with Amelia. She was just a tiny baby then. So, then we came here."
A bad way.
Wracked with grief for a lost love. Kate thought of scenes from operas, men half mad with anguish, clutching their lovers' bodies to them as they wailed out their sorrow to the heavens.
Such an informative day it had been, she thought. First the maid's confidences, now Christina's.
"And you have never been back to London?" Kate asked.
Christina shook her head. "Charles and Mary's life wouldn't suit me. I would never fit in there. But I think London itself must be marvelous!"