The Curiosity Keeper (19 page)

He stole another glance in her direction. Everything about her presence boasted confidence—her calm expression, her straight posture. And he was as fidgety as a child.

Had he made a promise he could not keep? It had been upon his suggestion that Miss Iverness left everything she knew for a position at a school that might or might not have a place for her. That would quickly become known when Mr. Langsby was ready to speak with them. But whatever the outcome, Jonathan was willing to wager that Miss Iverness would somehow prevail. The woman kept surprising him.

Even this morning, when he arrived at Kettering Hall to escort the women to the school, he had found Miss Iverness in his father’s study—the very place to which he had been denied admittance for so long. Miss Iverness and his father had been laughing together. Talking.

He shook his head in disbelief and turned from the window. “I still cannot believe that my father invited you into his study.”

A smile curved her lips as she straightened her glove. “I must confess I was intimidated when I first met the man. He seemed so surly. I thought that he was going to throw me from Kettering Hall when he realized who my father was. But under all that gruffness he is really quite interesting.”

“Interesting?” Jonathan raked his fingers through his hair. “You may not know, Miss Iverness, that my father will not allow me in that chamber—nor my sister, for that matter. So you must understand why we find your being there so unusual.”

She smoothed her skirt. “Your father and I share a common interest, Mr. Gilchrist. He is proud of his collection, and he has every right to be. It really is impressive.”

“It ought to be,” snorted Jonathan. “It consumes enough of his time and money.”

“You sound as if you disapprove.”

“It is not that—not exactly. As far as I am concerned, my father can do whatever he chooses. He always has done, at any rate. I confess, however, that I have never seen the beauty in those old things as he does.”

“Old things tell a story, Mr. Gilchrist, just as the lives of people do.” Miss Iverness’s dark eyes were fixed intently on him. “They preserve the past and remind us of how far we have come.”

“Ah.” Jonathan could not help but smile. “Now I understand why my father was so keen on showing you the room. You are one of
them
. A collector, I mean.”

She shrugged and tilted her head to the side. “I suppose I am—although I do not have the same urge to possess rare items.
But one cannot grow up as I did and not at least appreciate their appeal.”

“Well, at least my father has taken a fancy to you, and that is a rare thing these days.”

Their conversation was interrupted when two teachers clad in black exited the superintendent’s study, closing the door behind them. Jonathan walked back to sit beside Miss Iverness. “Are you certain you would not rather I speak to Mr. Langsby on your behalf?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. I am quite certain. It is a conversation I should like to conduct myself.”

She lifted her head at the sound of the door opening again, and Jonathan turned around to see Mr. Langsby standing on the threshold.

“Ah, Mr. Gilchrist. Is it Wednesday again already?” Mr. Langsby propped his hands on his hips, his tall frame nearly brushing the top of the door frame.

“That it is,” Jonathan replied, standing.

Miss Iverness rose next to him. The movement drew the superintendent’s attention. “And who do we have here?”

Jonathan stepped forward. “Allow me to present Miss Iverness. Miss Iverness, this is Mr. Langsby, the superintendent of Fellsworth School.” The two exchanged their greetings, then Jonathan continued the introduction. “Miss Iverness is a friend of the family. She is visiting us from London.”

“Well, then, if you are a friend of the Gilchrist family, you are more than welcome in the halls of Fellsworth School.”

A genuine smile accompanied her response. “I thank you.”

Mr. Langsby turned his attention back to Jonathan. “You
are later than usual. The students will be seeing to their studies now. I hope that all is well and you have not been detained unpleasantly.”

“No, not at all.” Jonathan stepped aside to allow a line of little girls to cross the foyer. “We returned from London last night and I had a few matters to attend to this morning.”

“Ah yes,” Mr. Langsby exclaimed. “I thought I heard that you had gone to London. Business or pleasure?”

Jonathan scratched the back of his head and cast a glance at Miss Iverness. Definitely not pleasure. “A bit of a family matter. Nothing significant.”

The words “nothing significant” tasted bitter in his mouth. But even if he were to share the real reason that had taken him to London, Mr. Langsby would likely not believe him. Ian Gilchrist was rumored to be one of the richest men in the county. But Jonathan knew what very few knew—that the excessive spending and giving was a facade.

His father had always been a prideful man, not a generous one. He hated to part with money in any manner that was not to his benefit, but was always willing to share his wealth if doing so elevated him in the opinion of the community. Even now that his fortune had turned, he refused to curb his generosity, fearing that others might discover the situation and think less of him. He certainly would not want anyone to know that Jonathan had traveled to London to meet with a hired investigator as a last-ditch effort to save the family fortune. Such news would certainly raise a local eyebrow or two.

“And how is your father?” Mr. Langsby’s question pulled him back to the present. “And Miss Gilchrist?”

“Father is well, thank you, though his gout is giving him
trouble these days. My sister is well as always. How are the children? Any bumps or bruises that I need to tend to today?”

Mr. Langsby bobbed his head. “They are as well as can be expected. One of the boys fell and sprained his ankle. It has been tended to, but it would be good for you to look at it. Robert Wright and Reginald Rutherford have both complained of stomachaches. And a teacher just informed me that one of our young ladies, Jane Sonten, has been confined to bed this morning with chills.”

Jonathan searched his memory, but the girl’s name did not register. “I do not think I am acquainted with Jane Sonten.”

“Likely not. She is a relatively new addition. Furthermore, she has just returned from an unexpected and lengthy visit home. Her mother died, and her father has just now decided that she should return here. I think the poor child is simply overcome with grief, but I would like you to look at her just the same.”

“I see. I will check in on her then.”

“Very good.”

The finality in Mr. Langsby’s tone suggested he was finished with their conversation. But Jonathan turned to Miss Iverness, who had been standing silently. Their eyes met, and her expression brightened. He resisted the urge to speak on her behalf, which he would have undoubtedly done for most of the women he knew. But Miss Iverness was different.

“I will go about my business,” he said. “But before I leave, Miss Iverness was hoping that you would grant her a moment or two of your time.”

“Oh?” The superintendent was understandably surprised at the notion. He folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Iverness, I would be happy to give you any amount of time you wish.”

Chapter Twenty-One

C
amille’s stomach flipped as she was introduced to Mr. Langsby.

Mr. Langsby was so calm and assured—his collected demeanor such a contrast to the anxiety swirling within her. He was a tall man, straight and slim as a huntsman’s arrow, with a long, hooked nose dominating his narrow face. But his expression was kind.

She listened as the two men talked without hearing any of it, for her mind had already leaped into a rehearsal of what she would say and how she would convince the superintendent that she would be suitable for a position. Any position.

At length she heard Mr. Gilchrist suggest that she would like to speak with Mr. Langsby. And then the superintendent was speaking to her. “Miss Iverness, would you care to join me in my study?”

She had known this conversation was coming ever since that moment she decided to accompany the Gilchrists to Fellsworth. But until this moment it had never before seemed real. It was merely something they discussed, an idea that merited consideration. But now the moment was here. Camille’s confidence plummeted, taking with it her breath and her ability to concentrate.

She caught the eye of Mr. Gilchrist. His gaze was direct. Compassionate. Somehow bracing. And it occurred to her to wonder why a glance from him should impact her so.

Perhaps it was that her defenses had fallen. Perhaps it was that each moment she seemed to learn something new about him and his family. Perhaps it was just the fact that when he looked at her, he actually seemed to
see
her.

He smiled. And that smile completely disarmed her—just as he nodded and walked away.

“Please, Miss Iverness, be seated wherever you will be most comfortable,” Mr. Langsby offered as he led the way into the expansive study. Camille was struck by the sheer size of the room. In London, everything was cramped, and the ever present mist of clouds and smoke made everything seem dark. Buildings sat atop buildings. Rooms were narrow and confined. The very heavens seemed to press down upon the earth, suppressing and binding everything beneath them.

But here in Surrey everything was open and free. The rooms, even the most modest and unassuming, were spacious and airy. Clear, white light filtered through broad windows. She filled her lungs with air, expanding them to their full extent and then blowing it out.

“Miss Iverness?” Mr. Langsby’s voice brought her back to the present. It all came down to this moment.

“You must think it odd that I should ask to see you.” Camille took a high-backed chair next to the fireplace, hoping that the gentle warmth it radiated would soothe her nerves.

“Not at all, Miss Iverness. Now, tell me. How is it that I may assist you?”

She summoned every ounce of her courage. She had faced
much more frightening men and situations in recent days. This slim, kind-faced man could hardly pose an immediate threat.

She looked down at her hands, worn and rough from working in the shop. Her father would never welcome her back there, not now. And after what she had overheard in the alley, she did not want to go back.

Her hurt fueled her resolve. She sat taller and began. “I know you must be very busy, so I will be direct. I am seeking employment, and Mr. Gilchrist suggested that you might be able to use me here at Fellsworth School.”

Mr. Langsby raised his bushy eyebrows. “A position? Are you a teacher, then, Miss Iverness?”

Panic bubbled. No, she was not a teacher. But somehow, she had to convince him of her abilities. “No, sir. Not exactly. But I have worked in a London shop nearly my entire life, and as such I have extensive experience in keeping accounts and running a business. Mr. Gilchrist mentioned that might be something you would like to offer your young ladies as they prepare to enter the world, so I hoped to offer my assistance in that regard. Or if you have no opening for such lessons, I am young and strong and able to work in a variety of other capacities.”

Her words had come out in a rush, so much so that she wondered if Mr. Langsby had understood them. But after several seconds he shifted in his chair and folded his long arms across his chest, crinkling his plain black jacket at the elbows. “I see. And Mr. Gilchrist recommended this to you?”

“He did.”

“And why is it that he did not speak to me about this?”

“I told him I preferred to speak for myself.”

Mr. Langsby stood from behind the desk and crossed the
room to the window. His next words shifted their discussion in a different direction, jarring her. “London is quite a distance from our quiet Fellsworth. Have you always lived there?”

“No, sir. I spent the first several years of my life in Somerset. London has been my home for the past eleven years, however.”

“I see. And as you have spent so much time in London, why would you wish to leave it?”

Camille decided to respond with a question of her own. “I trust you have been to London, Mr. Langsby?”

He sat down in the chair opposite her. “Of course. Several times.”

“Then you must know that, with all of its attractions and opportunities, it can be quite overwhelming. Dirty and crowded. I am seeking a fresh beginning in a quieter—dare I say greener?—part of England.”

Mr. Langsby stared at her, as if assessing her. His dark eyes fixed on her with such intensity that she fancied he could see into her very soul. She shifted, growing uneasy under his understated scrutiny. “And your family, Miss Iverness—what do they think of your presence here in Fellsworth? Surely they must miss you a great deal.”

His questions were leading her down a path she did not wish to tread. Camille had not anticipated that anyone, especially a potential employer, would ask about her family. But as she was quickly learning, customs here in the country were vastly different than they were in London.

Heat crept up from her borrowed bodice. She pushed the words from her lips, forcing them to sound though they fought to stay silent. “My mother is in Portugal and has been there for several years. My father owns the shop where I have worked these
many years, but his current pursuits are of such a nature that he no longer needs my assistance.”

The words were just true enough. Camille bit her lower lip and met his eyes directly with her own, waiting for his response.

But he did not respond, merely settled back in his chair. Desperation began to settle over her like a cloak. She had wanted a quick response, and his every word seemed painfully slow. This trip had been exhausting, and with every passing hour her situation became that much more tenuous. She could not return to Blinkett Street. Not now. And every fiber within her tensed in fear at the thought of having no means to support herself.

At length he spoke. “At present, Miss Iverness, we do not have an opening for the kind of work you describe. But I must say I am intrigued with Mr. Gilchrist’s suggestion that we might educate our young ladies in the practical art of bookkeeping. The school has a very long-standing relationship with the Gilchrists, and I take their counsel to heart. If Mr. Gilchrist is of the opinion that this would be a beneficial addition to our school, then it is one I should like to consider.