by L. V. Lloyd
Gothic Romance
by
L.V. Lloyd
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Copyright © 2016 L.V. Lloyd
Amazon Edition
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
Cover by EJ Kellan Premade Covers
www.premadecoversbyejkellan.weebly.com
A big thank you to EJ for the wonderful cover.
Thanks to Atlas-Skye and Dayo Abedawo
for your assistance with editing.
Any errors are, of course, my own.
Chapter One
Night had fallen early due to the storm. It was pitch black outside, the only light came from the lantern at the front of the coach, bobbing crazily over the road. Wild gusts of wind threatened to tip them over every so often and the coachman gripped the reins even more tightly, swearing under his breath. Rain beat frantically against the windows, and Jonathan let the curtain fall, wondering how much further they had to go.
He pulled the rug tighter around his knees, grateful that he had not ridden, as he had originally intended.
“You can’t turn up to your new job on horseback, Master Jonathan!” Ellen had scolded. “Not when his lordship has offered to send his coach for you.” Ellen stood in front of him, arms crossed in disapproval. She had been his nurse when he was a child, and although he was now the ripe old age of twenty four, she still tended to treat him as her charge. Even though Ellen was his landlady, having married Joe Higgins, the innkeeper, Jonathan still felt the tug of that early obedience.
“I suppose not,” he’d agreed reluctantly.
Jonathan was glad now, that he had listened to her advice. He sat back against the cushions inside the coach. He might as well get as comfortable as he could, worrying wasn’t going to make the journey any shorter. He let his mind wander, wondering what sort of man his employer might be. He had yet to meet him. His interview for the position had been conducted by his lordship’s man of business, Mr Griffin, which in itself had been rather odd, come to think of it. One would have thought Sebastian, Lord D’Anvers, would have wished to meet in person, the man who was going to tutor his son.
Although, from what Mr Griffin had said, Evelyn was a sickly child, unable to participate in the sports and outdoor activities considered essential for an English lad. Jonathan knew some fathers would take this as a personal affront, his own father for example had never understood his preference for study over sport. “I didn’t send you to Oxford to have you spend all day with your nose in a book!” he had said, full of indignation. “You’re there to make a name for yourself, make friends—important friends—men who hunt and box, who can drive to an inch, shoot the heart out of an ace of spades!”
Jonathan smiled wryly. Quite what good his father thought those accomplishments were going to do him, he had no idea. None of them were likely to earn him a living.
He enjoyed riding, but he was no bruising rider to hounds, nor could he take the fly off a horse’s ear with the tip of his whip. No, in fact it was his despised studies which had earned him the position as tutor. Latin, mathematics, the classics; they were all essential knowledge for a modern boy, even if he was only twelve. He looked forward to introducing Evelyn to the academic world he loved; he hoped he would find the boy eager to learn, bored with being confined to his room for most of the time.
The coach came to a sudden halt and Jonathan peered out of the window. It seemed they had come to a gatehouse. A man, bent over under a heavy coat, hurried out into the rain and opened the gate. The coach picked up speed again, and Jonathan remained at the window, waiting to catch a glimpse of Castle Blackstone, the place that would be his home for the next six years.
He could see trees lining the drive, black and wet in the night, and then the coach came out into a broad expanse of lawn and Jonathan could see the castle for the first time. As if orchestrated specifically for him, a dagger of lightning split the air, illuminating the building which loomed over him, turrets and gables thrusting into the dark sky. The building appeared to be in total darkness, except for one window high up in a turret which glowed with golden light. He thought he saw a figure outlined there for a second, peering down at him, before the light went out.
Chapter Two
Cracckkk! Lightning split the sky just as the coach drew to a halt in front of the building, lighting up the facade and the ivy which was encroaching on one side. Stone steps led the way up to a portico, and Jonathan could see the heavy wooden door shut tightly against the night. A bleak enough welcome, thought Jonathan, as he peered out of the coach. Then the door opened and yellow light spilled forth.
Jonathan gathered his bags together while a footman opened the carriage door, struggling to hold it against the wind.
“Mr Winter?” The man spoke with a heavy accent.
“Yes,” answered Jonathan with a brief smile.
“Can I take your bags, sir?”
“No, I’ve got them. But there’s a trunk on the back,” he told the servant.
“Leave it with me, sir. The master’s waiting for you inside.”
Jonathan hurried up the steps, blinking in the rain, to where the door stood, held open by an elderly butler. He went inside with a nod of acknowledgement, looked in vain for a mat to wipe his boots on, then gazed around in search of Lord D’Anvers.
He found himself in the vestibule, a room whose main purpose appeared to be the display of a wide staircase rising in one imposing flight to a half landing, where it branched out to the left and right. Large wooden doors studded with iron were placed on either side of the vestibule, one closed and the other open, leading into what had most likely been the Great Hall in an earlier period. At any rate, Jonathan caught a glimpse of a huge fireplace inside, large enough to hold half a tree trunk. Despite the stormy night though, the fireplace appeared to be cold and empty. Jonathan shivered, suddenly aware of a draught whispering around his neck.
Where was Lord D’Anvers?
A faint sound caught his attention and he glanced upward at the marble staircase in front of him. A tall man, dressed all in black, except for the white lace frothing at his neck and wrists, stood halfway down the stairs, staring back under hooded eyes. His thick black hair was unpowdered, swept back from his forehead; harsh lines bracketed his mouth which was thin lipped and unsmiling. He looked as if he was approaching forty—older than Jonathan had been expecting.
“Welcome to Blackstone, Mr Winter.” His voice was a crisp baritone, cool despite the words of welcome. “James will take you up to your room directly. Oh, and dinner will be served in half an hour, please don’t be late.”
“Yes, m’lord,” murmured the footman, who had entered silently behind Jonathan.
“Thank you, my lord,” echoed Jonathan, a bit uncertainly. He felt as if he should say something more, but he wasn’t sure exactly what.
He followed the footman up the grand staircase to the second floor and along the corridor to the left. The servant opened a door and went in. “This ‘ere’s your room, sir. The schoolroom is next door and Master Evelyn’s chamber is the one after that.”
The room was larger than Jonathan had expected and well—if plainly—furnished, containing a bed, a chest of drawers, and a cupboard. A chair sat before a small desk. Jonathan was pleased to find his trunk already there at the foot of the bed, but best of all, was the s
mall fire burning cosily in the grate. He thought when the door was closed he would be quite snug in here.
A black jacket and a shirt of dark blue were laid out on the bed. His uniform, he supposed, though rather grand surely for such a purpose? He fingered the shirt, feeling it slip coolly between his fingers. Instead of the expected cotton, it was made of silk. Jonathan felt suddenly uncomfortable. He supposed it was natural enough for his employer to provide a uniform but this was far more luxurious than anything he could afford himself. He turned to the waiting manservant.
“Thank you, James. Can I trouble you for some water to wash in?”
He caught the brief flash of concern over the man’s face and hastened to reassure him.
“It’s all right, I won’t take long, but I’d like to clean up before I sit down with his lordship.”
“Of course, sir.”
Half an hour later, feeling more refreshed, and wearing the jacket, Jonathan followed James downstairs to the dining room. Dark paintings of dead game and sporting scenes lined the walls, and a large silver epergne took pride of place in the centre of the long table which was set for two. Lord D’Anvers was already present, a slight frown between his brows.
“I’m sorry for keeping you, my lord.” Jonathan was quick to apologise, even though he didn’t think he was late.
D’Anvers nodded silently and gestured to a seat at one end of the table. When Jonathan was seated, he took his place at the other end.
Another manservant served the meal and, as Jonathan was waiting for his lordship to speak first, the entire meal was spent in silence. At the end, D’Anvers blotted his lips with a white napkin, and rose. Jonathan scrambled hastily to his feet.
“I’ll bid you good night, Mr Winter. I have business to attend to this evening, but James can show you over what you need to see of the house before retiring. I’ll introduce you to Evelyn in the morning, myself.” He turned as if to walk away. “Oh, just one thing. The top floor of the west wing is out of bounds. No-one goes there without my express permission. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord,” answered Jonathan, suddenly and intensely curious. What a queer set up and no mistake!
Chapter Three
Something woke Jonathan in the middle of the night. He sat up hastily, taking a second or two to remember that he was not in his usual bed but in his new room at Castle Blackstone. The room was dark, only a faint glow coming from the coals in the grate. His ears strained but he heard nothing further. Had he been dreaming? After a moment, he lay back down and snuggled under the blanket. It must have been a dream.
The room above his head was on the empty, forbidden floor, he couldn’t possibly have heard footsteps up there.
Jonathan slept soundly for the rest of the night, right through until daylight. When he woke, the storm had blown itself out and pale sunlight was breaking through the clouds. He washed his face in the bowl provided and brushed his ebony locks. Then he dressed in his breeches and a plain white cotton shirt, put his new jacket on over the top, and made his way downstairs to the breakfast room.
It was empty when he arrived, but he smelt the enticing aroma of bacon and kidneys coming from one of the chaffing dishes on the sideboard. He lifted the lid on another dish to find it full of plump sausages. Jonathan had no doubt this lavish display was presented every morning, ready to await his lordship’s convenience. Not that he was complaining!
He helped himself and took a seat at the table, wondering when he was going to meet Evelyn. He really needed to have a proper meeting with Lord D’Anvers, to discuss whether the program of studies he had selected would be satisfactory. He wanted a thorough discussion of what Evelyn’s schooling had been to date, not the vague description he had received from Mr Griffin.
As if his thoughts had conjured him up, a small blond haired boy entered the room, dressed in pale blue pantaloons and matching jacket.
Surely, this must be his young charge, Evelyn.
Jonathan’s first thought was that the boy was small for his age, evidently he had yet to start growing. The figure he had glimpsed in the window last night had been taller, so, it had not been Evelyn then, eager for a glimpse of his new tutor. His second thought, was that the boy, with his delicate features, looked nothing like his father.
The youngster advanced toward Jonathan and gave a small bow.
“Good morning, sir. I am Evelyn Lawrence D’Anvers. Are you my new tutor?”
“Yes, Evelyn. I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Jonathan Winter, you may call me Jonathan.”
Lord D’Anvers entered the room a second later. “Ah. I see you two have met. Have your breakfast, Evelyn, and then you can start your lessons.”
Jonathan cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Lord D’Anvers, but I thought you might want to discuss my lesson plans before we start. I’m sure there is a lot you would like to tell me about Evelyn, about your expectations.”
Lord D’Anvers stared at him with a raised eyebrow, thick and black above his dark eyes, like a crow’s wing. “My expectations? What I expect, Mr Winter, is that you’ll cover the necessary subjects in sufficient depth so that Evelyn will be able to take his place at Cambridge, in due course. Evelyn himself is the one best placed to tell you how much he has learnt, or hasn’t learnt, already. Isn’t that right, Evelyn?”
Despite that evidence of cold indifference from his father, the boy’s face held nothing but polite agreement. “Yes sir.”
“But—”
“The topic is closed, Mr Winter. Your credentials are excellent, I’m sure you’ll do a satisfactory job.”
Jonathan realised it would do no good to persevere for the present. Perhaps after a few days, he could approach the topic again. “Of course, my lord. Ah... can I ask, what schedule would you like me to follow? Does Evelyn have any other commitments I need to take into account?”
“I’ll leave that in your capable hands. Whatever you think best.” D’Anvers pursed his lips. “Just no outdoor activities. As I’m sure Mr Griffin told you, Evelyn’s health is poor.”
“Yes, my lord.” Although in one way Jonathan felt grateful to have a free hand, on the other he had expected Evelyn’s father to show more interest in his son’s progress. As far as he knew, Evelyn was D’Anvers’ only child, his heir. For the first time, he wondered what had happened to Evelyn’s mother. He knew, of course, that Lord D’Anvers was a widower, but he did not know under what tragic circumstances. He wondered now, if his wife’s death had anything to do with my lord’s attitude. Perhaps he was still grieving.
Chapter Four
Jonathan was too busy during the next two weeks to think any further about the forbidden wing or strange noises. He found Evelyn bright enough, but sadly behind other boys his age in many subjects, except for mathematics. Presumably his poor health was responsible for that. Long periods confined to bed were bound to have caused gaps in his study.
“Mathematics is your favourite subject, is it?” asked Jonathan, as they pored over a text book together.
“Not really, but Harry made it interesting.” A look of sadness crossed Evelyn’s face.
“Harry?”
“Harry was my first tutor, before you. Until Harry came, I had a governess. Miss Powers.”
“What happened to Harry?”
Jonathan thought Evelyn hesitated a moment before replying. “He got sick. He went away about six months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” offered Jonathan, and left it at that. Poor Evelyn, it sounded as if he had been fond of the man.
He and Evelyn would spend the morning studying, and in the afternoon, they would go for gentle walk around the grounds. Jonathan knew Evelyn had to avoid heavy exertion but he thought the boy needed to get out of the house as much as he did. There was a brooding atmosphere inside, whether because of Lord D’Anvers’ coldness or the ivy creeping up the walls, Jonathan couldn’t decide.
Of Lord D’Anvers himself, he saw very little except at mealtimes. Managing the estate appeared to fill his
days, although occasionally he saw him watching them from afar, mounted on top of his black stallion, Destiny.
After two weeks of this routine, Jonathan decided it was time to make a few changes. He started with the evening meal; two weeks of sitting alone in silence with Lord D’Anvers as they ate, was enough.
“My lord?”
“Yes?” came the surprised response.
“As part of Evelyn’s education, he would benefit from joining us for dinner. He needs to learn the art of conversation.”
“Does he?”
“Yes,” stated Jonathan, firmly. “It is just as important for him to know how to go on in polite society as any of the other subjects he is learning.”
Lord D’Anvers was silent, long enough for Jonathan to feel anxious, when he said, “I suppose you’re right. Invite Evelyn to join us tomorrow evening, would you?”
“Yes, my lord.” Jonathan hid his relief and sipped his soup.
From then on, dinner became much more enjoyable. Jonathan would start a different conversation each night, on anything from philosophy to the latest news from London. At first the conversations were between himself and Evelyn, but after a while Lord D’Anvers would join in, usually with a dry comment that showed he had been paying far closer attention than it had seemed.
The next custom Jonathan sought to change, was Evelyn’s habit of resting every afternoon after their short walk. In his opinion, the boy spent far too much time in his chamber as it was.
He broached the subject carefully at dinner one evening.
“I thought Evelyn and I might take a turn in the trap tomorrow, my lord, if I have your permission?”
“The trap?” asked D’Anvers, sounding dubious, as if Jonathan had offered to teach Evelyn to drive a racing curricle.