by Amanda Deed
Mr King stopped walking and turned to stare at her as if reading her sincerity. ‘You have an interest in structure?’
Serena let out a self-conscious laugh and continued toward the door. ‘Well, I’ve always loved beautiful homes. Truth be told, I dreamt of living in such a place. Aleron is so majestic, I can’t help it.’
‘It pleases me to hear you say that.’ Within a few strides he was at her side again, grinning broadly.
Another boost to his ego, Serena supposed, but suppressed the sigh of frustration that rose in her. And yet, he surprised her as he leaned closer to speak.
‘Meet me in the library after supper. I wish to show you something.’
Serena’s heart rate leapt at his nearness, and at his suggestion of a secret meeting. Before she could ask him what he wanted to show her, he had hurried off toward his rooms. What treasure did the library hold that he was eager to show her?
Supper was tedious, despite the delicacies that enriched her plate. Serena found it hard to concentrate on the conversations taking place around her. She nodded absently here and there when one of the family addressed her directly. When Mr Xavier asked her if aught was the matter, she pleaded weariness from the day’s work—which was not entirely untrue. It warmed her heart that he cared enough to ask. If only Mr King showed her such compassion, then she might be more certain of his approval.
Finally, after making her excuses to Mrs Jones, Serena made her way to the library. More than a little excited, she checked over her shoulder several times to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Was she committing an indiscretion? Guilt had a way of creeping in—unwelcome. Mr King hadn’t suggested anything untoward, after all. Glancing behind her once more, she turned the knob and pushed open the library door.
There he sat, lounging on a sofa, an open book on his lap. He did not appear to be waiting for an arranged appointment at all, let alone a secret one.
A little breathless, she greeted him. ‘Good evening, Mr King.’
His eyes shot up and he snapped the book closed. ‘Ah, Miss Bellingham.’ He rose to his feet and approached her.
‘What is it you wanted to show me?’ Serena scanned the dimly lit room for anything out of the ordinary.
Mr King’s gaze ran over her entire being. ‘Do you have warmer clothes to wear?’
‘No, but I’m all right. It’s not excessively cold in here.’
‘Hmm. We shall have to remedy that. Wait here. I’ll return momentarily.’ With those words, he hurried from the room.
Had he heard her?
When he returned a few minutes later, he carried a heavy cloak and a scarf over his arm. ‘These should keep you warm enough.’ He presented them to her.
‘I don’t understand, Mr King. I am comfortable in here.’
‘But we are not staying in here,’ he announced with animation. ‘I have asked Xavier to hitch the greys to my curricle. I want to take you for a drive.’
Serena opened her mouth in a silent ‘oh’. He was taking her out. In his carriage. At night.
A tiny thrill shot through her body. She did not expect he had anything in mind other than sharing an interesting book, but she was not inclined to refuse any time with him.
Mr King held the coat up for her and then draped the scarf around her neck.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Shall we, then?’ He proffered his arm.
With a smile, she hooked her hand through his elbow and let him lead her to the stables.
A serious-faced Mr Xavier greeted them. ‘Uncle, I wish you wouldn’t take the curricle out at night. There is no moon this evening and the clouds obscure the stars.’
‘Nonsense, Xavier. I have a bright lantern and I am not racing. And besides, we are not going far. Just to the lighthouse. We shall be back before you know it.’
Mr Xavier looked as though he had much more to say, but held his tongue and nodded instead, fiddling with the reins in his hand.
Mr King turned to Serena and assisted her into the light carriage, then climbed up beside her. The young horseman handed him the reins without a smile and bid them a safe drive. Mr King tipped his hat to his nephew and flicked the reins.
‘Did you mention a lighthouse?’ The exchange between the two men piqued Serena’s interest.
Mr King shot her a sideways glance. ‘I thought since you appreciated Aleron, I would show you other interesting architecture in the region.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. Francis Greenway built the lighthouse nearby. He died five years ago, but his work lives on.’ He briefly looked at her again. ‘That’s the great thing about buildings. They outlive their creators.’
Serena smirked at him. ‘Unless they burn down.’
Mr Kings eyebrows drew together. ‘What a thing to say. Miss Bellingham, I declare that was most irreverent of you.’
As if the structures themselves were deities. Serena turned her face away, so he did not notice her roll her eyes.
‘Anyway, as I was saying, Mr Greenway designed several buildings around Sydney. He originally came to Australia as a prisoner. Fraud I think it was. But while still incarcerated, he showed his ability in design and soon received a commission to build the Macquarie Lighthouse. He wasn’t happy just to create buildings in the standard way, he aspired for something greater. No box-like structures for him, no. He built in grand Palladian style as you shall soon see.’
‘Will I see, sir? In the dark?’
Mr King turned to her with a quirked eyebrow as though in disbelief. ‘It’s a lighthouse, m’dear. Of course you’ll see it.’
Serena suppressed a giggle and pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders. Even if Mr King thought too highly of himself, he certainly possessed a wealth of knowledge. She could learn a deal of information from him. Indeed, it would be akin to receiving an education—something she had experienced little of before Mama passed. And what a teacher he would be.
Once again, Mr King shifted his face toward her, this time with a gentle smile. Serena bit on her lip and dipped her head. Thankfully it was too dark for him to see her blush. He mustn’t know the attraction she felt. Surely, he would think her more the fool for it.
‘Here we are,’ he declared, rounding a bend, and Serena saw the aura of light shining from the lighthouse out to the ocean beyond them.
12
The lighthouse was a whitewashed construction, tall and stately. Similar arches to those at Aleron graced the base of the lighthouse. ‘These arches are more rounded than yours,’ Serena noted as her escort handed her from the curricle.
‘Yes, I follow a more gothic approach than Mr Greenway did, more reminiscent of churches and cathedrals.’ His fingers lingered over hers for a moment, making Serena’s heart quicken. She tugged her hand away and walked toward the edifice.
Mr King, having secured the horses, jogged up beside her with the lantern and offered her his arm. Serena hesitated. She could become too comfortable with this closeness.
‘We can’t have you stumbling in the dark.’ He gave her a cajoling wink.
Serena capitulated and took his arm, but kept her gaze fixed on the lighthouse. ‘Why use a design trait usually devoted to glorifying God?’
Mr King eyed her askance. ‘Why should God be stingy with the grand architecture? Are we not worthy to live with as elegant design as He?’
Serena tried not to frown at his arrogance. ‘None of us is worthy, Mr King. Not in the least.’
‘Humph.’ He gave her a dubious look. ‘And do you suppose such humility impresses the Almighty?’ His words held a hint of scorn.
Serena carefully chose her reply. ‘The Scriptures say a man’s pride shall bring him low, but honour shall uphold the humble in spirit.’
‘They say that?’ Mr King looked more doubtful than ever.
‘Yes, they do. In Proverbs, I think
.’
He shrugged. ‘I put little stock in the Bible. So, what is your impression of this lighthouse?’
Like that, he dismissed the subject, without a blink of his brown eyes. Did he realise that King David called God a light to his path—a guiding light similar as a lighthouse to a sailor? Serena determined not to press Mr King on the matter though, and turned her full attention to the tall building before her. They now stood at the base of it, and she leaned her head back to admire the majesty of the smooth stone tower—a herald to ships on the sea to find safety. An important structure that must stand the test of time.
As if reading her mind, Mr King spoke. ‘I daresay this lighthouse will stand for several hundred years yet. It is soundly built, even if I had naught to do with its construction.’
Serena’s lips twitched with amusement at his superiority again. ‘Does it pain you to admit another architect has done well?’
He arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Why should it pain me? Credit where credit is due, you know. Aleron house will survive at least as long as this lighthouse, if not longer.’
‘You are that confident?’
Mr King seemed surprised at the question. ‘Of course I am. Were I not confident, I should have torn it down by now and rebuilt it.’
How was it possible to enjoy someone’s company when they often spouted sentiments of self-importance? And yet, Serena did. She shook her head in amusement. ‘Well, this lighthouse is remarkable. For a building so necessary to seafarers, it is surprisingly graceful.’
Mr King rounded on her, peering into her face in the dim light. ‘Would you like to see more?’
‘Well, I—’
‘It shan’t take long. And I promise they are at least as interesting as this.’
‘But it must be almost midnight. Doesn’t the darkness concern you?’
Mr King grimaced. ‘I am adept at handling the reins you know, and the night is yet young. Come, it will be diverting, I promise you.’
He appeared so genuine and his face held such wide-eyed expectancy that Serena could hardly say no. However, she doubted she had much wakefulness left in her. ‘Very well. Lead the way, Mr King.’
It turned out that Mr King grossly underestimated his idea of ‘it won’t take long’. Five miles and almost an hour later, he steered the curricle into the sparsely lit streets of Sydney. Oh, so close to her family, her heart was drawn toward the docks, as though an invisible string tugged it in that direction. Dare she ask him to visit?
‘Mr King…’ she swallowed the question before she blurted it out, too afraid.
Perhaps this hadn’t been the wisest idea, after all. No one chaperoned them, and their ‘short outing’ was now several hours long. Serena smothered a yawn as he handed her from the vehicle outside another intimidating piece of architecture.
‘This one, I think you will appreciate.’
Serena looked up and focused in the semi-darkness. ‘Why it is St James.’ She’d walked past this church countless times over the years. ‘I am very familiar with it.’
‘But did you know Greenway designed this building?’
She shrugged. ‘No, I never thought about it.’ Serena gazed up at the towering spire, although it was difficult to see on such a dark night, and then studied the rest of the building. ‘I do recognise similarities to the lighthouse. The curved arches, for instance.’
‘You are quite insightful, Miss Bellingham. Walk with me.’ He thrust his elbow out.
‘Mr King. It is the middle of the night. Should we not—’
‘Nonsense. Those rules on the proper times for an excursion are the fabrications of stuffy individuals with no imagination. You only live once.’ He turned to her as he finished this rebuke and such animation lit his eyes, she could not argue with him. Mr King wrung an exorbitant amount of life from every moment. Overawed by it, Serena could only nod her compliance.
They had barely turned the corner when Mr King pointed out the Barracks building. ‘That is also a Greenway design.’
Serena had little to say. The arches were represented again, but the total construction was square and less interesting than the lighthouse and the church.
‘Did you know he also designed the Female Factory at Paramatta, where the maids come from every Monday?’
‘No, I didn’t know that. I’m sure Mr Greenway must have been very busy with all of these buildings.’
The two walked on in the darkness and Serena pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders. As the night deepened, the air grew colder still. Few other souls roamed the streets at this hour. Serena gasped at two men staggering in a drunken stupor, presumably back to their homes for the night. The occasional horse and carriage trundled by, but the streets were quiet, save for the howling of dogs in the distance. They were nearing the shoreline—Serena sensed it in the salt on the air, and pangs of longing for home arose within her again.
‘You are quiet of a sudden, Miss Bellingham.’
‘I was just reminded of home. The smell of the ocean brings it back.’ Serena swallowed the lump in her throat as she glanced up at him.
As they approached one of the street lamps, she noted a frown creased the small space between Mr King’s brows. Was he perturbed by her admission?
‘You miss living in a hovel surrounded by the stench of fish?’
‘I’ve never called it a hovel ... and my family must miss me as much as I miss them.’
‘You found happiness with needy siblings and a pilfering father?’
As quick as the pangs of homesickness had risen, a burst of anger now overrode them. ‘Mr King! You go too far. I love my father, even though he made one mistake, and I love my sisters, even though they have been my responsibility these past few years. My home was, well, my home. Until you took it away from me. Do you never care for anything save yourself?’
The words were out before she could stop them, but then she clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I ...’
A distant look came over Mr King’s features. A memory perhaps, or maybe he didn’t care for her tirade.
‘I should not have spoken so boldly.’
Mr King said nothing, but continued to walk toward the harbour.
‘It appears you consider me ungrateful.’ Serena wanted him to know how his words had affected her.
He shrugged—a noncommittal lift of his shoulders—which told her nothing.
‘It is hard to be grateful when an injustice has been done to me and my papa.’
‘I could have had him imprisoned.’
Serena wanted to groan. So, she should appreciate that one reprieve? ‘Instead I am imprisoned. In luxury, yes, but a prison nonetheless.’
‘There must be consequences. That is true justice.’
‘And what of grace?’
‘Was it not grace to allow your father to continue to provide for your family, instead of rotting in gaol while you starved?’
Serena let out a long, frustrated sigh. She was not intelligent enough to keep arguing with him. And to be honest, he had a point—although, it would be preferable if Mr King could extend enough grace to pardon the whole incident. After all, Father did not actually succeed in stealing the painting.
‘And here we are at another of Greenway’s buildings.’ He stopped and gestured with his arms at the walls before them, closing the topic of justice versus grace.
Still churning with frustration, Serena looked up at the structure before her and tried to put aside her annoyance. ‘Why, it is a castle.’
Mr King made a mirthless noise that might have been a laugh—and a scornful one at that. ‘Yes, a very elaborate design. However, it is a stable.’
Serena gaped at him, dumbfounded. ‘A stable? Why create a stable that resembles a castle?’
He made a face. ‘I imagine the government house they planned would have dwarfed it by
comparison. But they never completed the rest. I believe Mr Greenway thought too much of himself and in time, he lost his position.’
She had to use great restraint to not compare one architect with the other standing before her. Could Mr King not see the similarity? Would he be in danger of losing his commission if he continued to act so superior?
‘If I were him, I would have stuck to my ideals, too. Perhaps I might have suffered the same fate.’
Had he read her mind?
‘But then, I possess an advantage over Francis Greenway.’
Serena cocked her head at him. ‘And what is that?’
His face split into a wide grin and he winked at her. ‘I have charm.’ In an unexpected movement, he grasped her by the hand and pulled her along the street. ‘Come, I feel like a dip in the ocean.’
How was she supposed to convince Mr King to go home? He did not appear weary in the slightest, but skipped down the lane ahead, while she stumbled behind, exhaustion dragging at her every step. One moment he had been the harsh master, the next a proud architect, and now an excited little boy. But then, she switched and changed almost as much—from fatigued, to exasperated, to intrigued and even entranced. His boundless enthusiasm was infectious.
Serena had no idea of the time, except from the way her eyelids drooped the moment she stopped moving. Like now, when she sat upon a rock whilst Mr King peeled off his shoes and socks, and frolicked in the shallows, mindless of the cold.
‘Come, Miss Bellingham. Come and join me.’ He ran along the shoreline, kicking up water and sending spray high into the air. He would be soaked through in moments if she didn’t discourage him.
‘No, no, Mr King. I am content to sit here for now. But we must leave soon, I think.’ She smothered another yawn.
Mr King was enjoying himself so much that guilt nagged at her for wanting him to stop. Serena panicked when it appeared he might strip to his underclothes and dive right into the water, but he must have had second thoughts as moments later he turned and ran back up the beach.
Breathless, he paused before her. ‘We should return to the horses, yes?’