by JayneFresina
She had seen the kite again later, when she was on the pier with her parents. Ever remembered the sound of the wind as she stood here at the railings, mesmerized by that kite as it darted along above her head, dodging and circling.
Someone nearby whistled that damned tune.
Her fingers tightened around the railing and she closed her eyes.
For just a moment she was back there, at six years old, watching the kite. And with the horrid tune, creeping in. She knew the words to it now, having heard it played on the gramophone in Gabriel Hart's drawing room.
Oh, this maid that I loved she was handsome
And I tried all I knew, her to please.
But I never could please her one quarter so well
As the man on the flying trapeze.
He floats through the air with the greatest of ease,
The daring young man on the flying trapeze.
His actions are graceful, all girls does he please,
And my love he has stolen away
The whistled tune came from below her feet. She looked down and saw, through a gap in the boards, the sea slapping against the thick, solid pilings.
Somewhere far along the railing, a man scratched at the stubble on his face, his fingers rasping over his skin. With his other hand he jingled coins in his pocket and it sounded, to Ever's tender ears, like metal slates tumbling down the side of a building, falling onto gravel. In the other direction a mother unwrapped a sweet for her crying toddler. Ever heard the rustling, crackling paper as if it was right by her ear. The woman was exhausted, her mind wearily circling. Why won't this blessed child stop crying? I'm at the end of my tether. The end of my tether. Like that kite. At the end of my tether.
So she looked up again, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun with one small hand. Yes, there was that same kite, spinning wildly in a sudden updraft. Any minute now it would plunge again to the water. She knew the pattern already.
It came close, shuddering and purring in the wind, sweeping its tail behind. Ever reached up with her hand, as if she might actually touch it. She could catch the tail if she stretched her arm up and stood on the lower rung of that painted railing. Just a bit farther.
The man playing with the coins in his pocket was unaware of a hole in the lining of his coat. It was unlikely that he even knew when a few coins tumbled to the boards and rolled along. But Ever, of course, heard them. The rattling, rolling coins had found a groove in the wooden planks and they sped toward her. Now she didn't know whether to reach for the kite or the spilled, shiny coins.
The whistling stopped.
But she could hear instead a heartbeat, loud and strong. Thumpity-thump, thumpity-thump, thumpity-thump...
She opened her eyes.
The sun was gone. The kite was no more. The man with the coins, the anxious mother and screaming toddler had also vanished.
It was a grey day in December, 1905, and Ever, at the age of twenty-four, was alone by the railing on the pier, huddled in her new, fur-trimmed coat.
Her pulse regained its usual pace as she backed away from the railing. It began to rain again now. Time to go home.
Perhaps she would not go to the pier again. In her heart she was torn between wanting to remember what had happened, and not wanting to know at all. Some of life's mysteries, as she'd said to Mr. Hart's guests, were better off left unsolved. Perhaps certain memories were better left in the dark too.
So she returned to Mr. Hart's house on the esplanade. Back to her new life. Odd that she already thought of it as "home".
This time, of course, she remembered to use the servant's entrance, but as she walked through the still room and into the kitchen she found the tall figure of Mr. Bede standing before her, frantically working his fingers together behind his back— rasp, rasp, rasp— a scowl of extreme irritation on his face. "Where have you been, Miss Greene?"
Removing her hat, she replied, "Out on the pier. It was my half day off, Mr. Bede."
His nostrils flared. "The master is most annoyed. You were not supposed to go out without notifying him. He thought he had made that clear."
"I'm afraid not. And I don't care to be spoken to like an errant child, sir."
"I have my instructions, Miss Greene, and it is up to me to see to it that the staff complies with the master's wishes."
"I fail to see why I am not at liberty to do as I please in my free hours."
"The master has very particular ideas about—"
"If the master takes issue with whatever I choose to do on my day off, he can take it up with me directly."
"I can? How kind of you, Greene."
Ah. She might have known he was there. Hiding in the shadows again. Listening to all this.
Slowly he rolled into view around the wide, painted-brick column behind the rigid butler. His arms were crossed, his eyes dark fathomless wells once more.
"You," he said angrily, lounging against the brickwork, "went out without telling me. Without telling anybody. And now I find you went out onto the pier. Forbidden, Miss Greene. Absolutely forbidden."
Again she was fascinated to hear that he could speak without the cockney accent when he felt the need, all his syllables crisp as if they were carved in steel. And it occurred to her that he didn't really need a governess to teach him at all. Was Signora Brunetti correct when she said he had used that as an excuse to lure her there?
Mr. Bede discretely backed away, disappearing into the butler's pantry and closing the door.
Clutching her hat, Ever faced her employer boldly, more than a little annoyed by his dictatorial manner. "I was unaware that I could not leave the house, Mr. Hart. In my free hours I thought—"
"Did I not tell you, the first night you were here, that it was treacherous on that pier?" His question sliced through her words and the air like a cold, sharp, glinting blade.
She walked up to where he stood against the column. "I took a stroll along it and had tea while I listened to the band in the pavilion. I assure you it was quite harmless." Well, almost.
He ground his jaw. "Alone?"
"Of course. Surprisingly enough I returned in one piece. As you see."
"This time." His gaze, the anger not dissipated, stroked her slowly, up and down. "Somebody might have accosted you, if they saw you there all alone. They might get the wrong impression."
She snorted with amusement. "They would very quickly be disabused of the notion then. Just as you were."
"Clearly you've been sheltered," he snapped, "and have no idea of the dangers lurking out there for young women, if you cannot take my warnings seriously."
"Perhaps you would prefer to keep me on a leash?"
"Perhaps I should."
Neither blinked. She felt her own temper rising, but held it back. Her employer was clearly waiting for something— an explosion of some sort— but she would not give him that satisfaction. Besides, it was the height of impropriety to lose one's temper or display an excess of self-indulgent emotion, as she had told him already. He didn't have any book in his hands to throw today.
"Do you insist on the other members of staff informing you whenever they go out?" she inquired evenly, knowing already the answer.
"You are a different matter."
"I am? Why?"
"You are new here. You're young, refined. Don't know your way around."
"That's why I wanted to explore."
"But not along the pier, Miss Greene," he growled. "A young, respectable, unmarried lady should not go out wandering unescorted on the pier. You, of all people, ought to know that."
Interesting. So he understood the rules of etiquette when he wanted to, she mused. When they were of use to him. Just as he knew how to correctly and clearly pronounce his words when he chose to.
She cleared her throat and said quietly, demurely, "Well, the next time I wish to leave the house I will be sure and apprise you of it."
His eyes narrowed. "That's all you've got to say, Greene?"
"Yes.
I cannot agree that I will go only where you think I should. But I will certainly tell you where I'm going in future. Perhaps that will put your mind at rest." She blinked her lashes just once. All apology and innocence.
"It was careless of you," he muttered, standing straight and brushing down his sleeves. "Thoughtless."
She said nothing.
"Don't imagine you have the upper hand with me just because I let you get away with talking to me the way no one else would ever dare, Greene. I must be bloody smitten."
"Smitten?" She tucked her hat under one arm and removed her gloves. "Now who wanders unescorted into dangerous, unfamiliar territory?"
He scowled fiercely. "Don't worry. I'll overcome it."
"I'm sure you will now that you know how seditious I am."
"Yes...just as soon as I know what that means." With this he stormed back upstairs and slammed a door somewhere above them. Mrs. Palgrave, whom he passed on the stairs, looked back up them as she came down. "What's the matter with him today?"
"I really do not know, Mrs. Palgrave. Apparently I upset him by going out of the house and not informing anybody of my intentions."
The housekeeper paled. "Oh, dear. Where...where did you go?"
"Only to the pier."
Her lips gathered into a grim knot and then unraveled again to ripple out a low reply, "Well, that explains it."
"Does it?"
"He doesn't like that pier, Miss Greene. Feels very strongly about it. Won't go near it and doesn't like anybody else he cares about to go there either."
"Really?" Her heart faltered into an uneven rhythm.
"Buys a house overlooking the sea but won't go on the pier. Who knows why? He won't say. But he had to live here just the same. Funny, isn't it?"
Yes, it was very strange. But Ever Greene had known stranger.
He did not mention the incident to her again. For a while, at least. Desirous of keeping the peace herself, Ever did not refer to it either. The time would come when he must tell her about his reason for avoiding the pier, but then she might have to confess her own mysterious connection to that place. And she was in no haste to do so.
* * * *
The days slipped by. Mr. Hart proved himself to be a surprisingly adept student, with a remarkably quick mind and a thirst for knowledge, as impatient to learn as he was to do most things. Frequently she was obliged to slow him down, while he wanted only to plow ahead with a reckless enthusiasm.
Preparing her pupil for his foray into the king's enclosure at the Epsom Derby, she gave him a lesson on the peerage, titles and how to address the nobles he would meet there.
"You will address King Edward as Your Majesty, of course. You should always bow when meeting the king and when taking your leave. But you must never arrive at an event after his majesty, not depart before he does."
"I've met the feller a few times, when he was a prince. Introduced 'imself to me as Bertie."
"Even if he did so informally, the correct form of address in public is Your Majesty."
"What about the rest of 'em?"
"A duke or a duchess would be, Your Grace. An earl and his countess wife would be Lord and Lady whatever-the-name-of-the-earldom."
"What if I know her by her first name?" he asked with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Or some other pet name?"
She pursed her lips.
"Lass might be offended if it seems I've forgotten her," he added.
"There is, however, such a thing as discretion. She might be more grateful for that, than she would be offended. Especially in this circumstance."
He merely grinned.
Ever continued with the lesson. "A viscount would be addressed as Lord Whatever-the-name-of-the-viscountcy."
"And what'll they call me?"
"Mr. Hart."
He screwed up his face. "That ain't up to much."
"I believe your ...unique charm will more than make up for the lack of title."
"Is that flattery, Greene? I thought you didn't hand that out."
"I don't. Unless it is earned and thus well-deserved. When I said I wouldn't flatter you, I meant that I would never do so merely as a matter of course, to stay in your favor. There are few things worse than obsequious flattery. And very few things that reveal ill-breeding so well."
"Then you think I have charm? That's what you're tryin' to say with all them words."
"All those words."
"Do you?" he persisted stubbornly.
Ever exhaled a curt sigh. Once again he fished for her approval and she was hooked into giving it. "Yes. But then I tend to find charm in the oddest, most unlikely things and places. My mother always said I was a peculiar child and as an adult I fear I'm even more peculiar. My preference for dark mysteries, quirks and the underdog has been allowed to run quite unchecked." She paused, opened the book in front of her and pretended to study it. "But that same failing is, of course, what brought me here in the first place."
"Then I'm grateful for it." He sniffed. "And I'd better make sure I don't start being too ordinary and boring your bloomer's orf."
"Mr. Hart, I can assure you, there is no danger of that."
"Which bit?"
She replied firmly, "Both."
* * * *
With Mrs. Palgrave's help a tailor was brought to the house so that measurements could be taken and new clothes ordered from London. Gabriel Hart had never hired a valet and knew nothing of how to dress to suit his muscular form. Occasionally women in his life— and the less said about them the better— had tried to interest him in fashion. To disastrous consequences, as evidenced by several inexplicable garment choices in his possession. Although he had always spent extravagantly he had rarely done so wisely, especially when it came to his wardrobe, therefore it was important that he learn to find a style that not only suited him perfectly, but did not fall prey to the crimes of fashion.
"A gentleman always dresses for the occasion, but never lets the current trend dictate. He is a leader, not a follower. Other men should desire to emulate his style."
Gradually he learned to pick out garments he knew would look well on him.
"You ought to hire a valet," she suggested.
"Why bother? When I get meself a wife, she'll help me, won't she?"
And Ever suffered a twinge of something very like jealousy when she thought of another woman picking out his cravats and waistcoats.
"What's wrong now?" he demanded, catching her expression reflected in the mirror behind his, as he fastened a tie pin. "It took me half an hour to get this ruddy knot right."
"Nothing at all. It looks...very...well."
He swept his hair back with one hand and sniffed. "Can't polish a dog turd, eh? Is that what you're thinking?"
Startled, she stepped back. "Certainly not. I told you, Mr. Hart, that you look...very nice. And kindly do not refer to...excrement…in a lady's presence."
Swinging around to face her, he frowned. "Feels like I'm going to the gallows. It's too tight. Go on then, fix it! 'Urry up!"
So she reached up and helped loosen the knot a little. Her hands, she noted, were a little unsteady, and it took her longer than it should before she had managed to properly arrange the silk necktie.
Gabriel began to whistle a tune while he waited.
And that only delayed her progress, for it was the tune she hated, the tune that had haunted her in childhood nightmares.
He floats through the air with the greatest of ease,
The daring young man on the flying trapeze...
The dreadful, strained jollity of it made her head hurt. It was like trying to force a smile when one felt only heart-wrenching sadness.
"Don't whistle," she snapped. "A...a gentleman would never whistle."
He broke off. "Crikey. The number of things I can do in the presence of a lady gets smaller by the day." But he smiled and his eyes lit up with that sensual warmth she had never seen in anybody's gaze before when they looked at her. He was freshly shaven today, more youthful i
n appearance. Cutting down on drink and cigars, even just a little, had probably helped, she thought.
Of course, when she wasn't with him in the evenings he probably smoked like the proverbial chimney. But he was making an attempt to please her. To— as he put it— get things right.
She swallowed hard, smoothed her fingers one last time over the silk and then put her hands behind her back. Out of harms temptation.
"Have dinner with me this evening," he said suddenly.
"Dinner?"
"Yes, you know...food. At a table. With candlelight and good wine. I've been dining in lonely splendor since my cousins left."
She hesitated. "I'm not sure Mrs. Palgrave would approve."
"Just as well we don't have to ask her permission then, ain't it?"
"Isn't it," she corrected.
"I'll take that as a yes then. Or do I have to invite you on a bit o' paper, in third person?"
"Not on this occasion." She smiled tentatively.
"Watch out, Princess. You might crack the ice."
* * * *
When Ever entered her little garret room to dress for dinner, she had no intention of making too much effort on her appearance. Something clean and tidy would do.
But before she knew what was happening, she had put on her best evening gown— burgundy taffeta, not fancy, but definitely a little less "prim" than her day dresses. Oh, was it too much? She hesitated before the dresser, peering into that little oval mirror, wishing it were a full-length glass. When was the last time she wore this gown? Couldn't remember. It looked rather well on her actually.
What harm would it do to wear it for dinner with her employer? He was making an effort, so why shouldn't she?
Once she had decided to keep the dress on, she had to do something new with her hair, which was currently tied up in a plain, severe knot and looked utterly out of place. After struggling for half an hour she had it re-pinned in a softer style, held in place with a jet-beaded comb.