by M C Beaton
Yvonne left but only went as far as the other side of the door, where she pressed her ear against the panels, not being weighed down by any stupid English inhibitions about not listening at doors to other people’s conversation.
The panels of the door were very thick, and so Yvonne could only hear an indistinct murmur of voices. She stooped down and put her ear to the keyhole.
The voices were still too low. But perhaps they might soon speak louder.
“And as to the matter of my ward,” the viscount was saying, “do you think you will be able to cope with her?”
“I do not like discussing your ward when she is listening at the door,” said Patricia gently. “I did not hear her go upstairs.”
“Surely not.” The viscount strode to the door and jerked it open. Yvonne rose from her stooping position with a flaming face.
“I was tying the ribbons on my sandals,” she gasped before flying up the stairs.
“Impossible child,” said the viscount, shutting the door and turning once more to Patricia.
“She will soon become accustomed to our English ways,” said Patricia placidly. “She must be overset with the excitement of the journey. It must also be a great strain for her to converse constantly in English. What was it you wished to discuss with me, my lord?”
“Simply the matter of what to do with Yvonne’s French servant. But that has been settled.”
Patricia nodded but did not say anything. Lord Anselm looked at her with approval. She never chattered on unnecessarily. Her fair hair was braided in a neat coronet on her head. Her dove-gray gown was simply cut but flattered the elegant lines of her body. She exuded an air of tranquillity and calm.
“As to arrangements for meals,” said the viscount, “I have already endured one dinner in Yvonne’s company and am reluctant to suffer another. I should like you both to take your meals in the little dining room. It is at the end of the corridor on the second floor, just along from your rooms. But provided I am not out and about on the estate, I should like you to meet me here at four o’clock each afternoon to give me your report.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“As to Yvonne’s education, she appears to think she knows everything. To keep her out of mischief, it might be as well to find something she does not know and occupy her mind with that.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I think that is all, Miss Cottingham. You may go.”
She dropped him a graceful curtsy and glided from the room.
Yvonne, dressed in her best silk gown, was furious when she learned she was to dine with her governess while the viscount dined apart. But she kept her temper. It was early days yet. She was determined the viscount should like and respect her, and taking her temper out on her governess was certainly not the way to achieve it.
After dinner, she said good night to Patricia, pleading exhaustion. But instead of going to bed, she put on a warm cloak and slipped downstairs.
She saw the butler, Fairbairn, crossing the hall and asked him where she might find Gustave.
“He has been given lodgings in the stables,” said Fairbairn. “I shall send for him.”
“No, I shall go myself.”
Fairbairn looked at the great doors, which were already locked for the night. “I’ll need to ask his lordship’s permission to unlock the doors, my lady.”
“No, do not do that,” said Yvonne, turning away. “I can see Gustave in the morning.”
Fairbairn bowed and left.
Yvonne stood in the shadowy hall, biting her lip. The viscount would simply forbid her to go out. But poor Gustave! Lodged in the stables. Sleeping on straw! There must be another way out of the castle. She found the back stairs, which led down to the kitchens, at the far corner of the hall. She followed the twisting stone staircase down and down.
She quietly pushed open the baize door to the kitchen. It was empty, and from a room beyond it came the sound of voices. The servants were obviously enjoying their own dinner in the servants’ hall.
She slipped quietly across the kitchen and out a door on the other side and then through a chain of small rooms—butler’s pantry, pantry, scullery—until she saw another door in front of her. She gently turned the key and let herself out into the night.
A great howling gale struck her, tearing at the skirts of her gown and tugging her hair free from its pins. She set out into the darkness, pausing every now and then to sniff the air for the smell of horses.
A hunter’s moon sailed high above through the tearing clouds. The castle looked black and sinister and evil. The wind, shrieking through the battlements, sounded like the cries of condemned men.
She began to wish she had waited until morning.
Then she saw a dim figure over by some outbuildings and called out, “You, over there. Come here immediately.”
The figure came closer, and by the fitful light of the moon, she saw he was wearing the Anselm outdoor livery.
“I am looking for my servant, Gustave,” she said.
The man bowed. “Follow me, my lady.”
Gratified that even the outdoor servants had heard of her and knew her title, Yvonne tripped after him. He led the way to the side of the castle, where the white disk of a stable clock shone in the moonlight.
Instead of going into the stables, he led the way to a staircase at the side. “It’s up there, my lady,” said the servant. “Second door. Would you like me to announce you?”
“No, thank you. I can find the way myself.”
She went up the staircase and found a narrow corridor at the top. She knocked at the second door, and Gustave opened it.
“Come in, my lady,” he said, standing aside.
Yvonne walked in and looked about her curiously.
It was a small, cozy room lit by an oil lamp. There was a narrow bed covered with a patchwork quilt, a small fireplace, a table, and two chairs. There were chintz curtains at the window and even a blue hooked rug on the floor.
“This is very fine, Gustave,” said Yvonne. “When I heard you had been sent to the stables, I was afraid you were lying in straw.”
“It is very good,” said Gustave. “I am to be your personal groom. You will not tell them I detest the horses?”
“No. Gustave, of course not. Are the other servants kind to you?”
“They do not like foreigners; that is plain. But I think they have been ordered to look after me. I have been supplied with tobacco, beer, and coals for the fire.”
“He is very kind, this guardian of mine,” said Yvonne, sitting at the table.
“Yes, milady.”
“Just the kind of man Papa would have wished me to marry.”
“Just so, milady. I have very few words of English, but I understand more than I can speak. One of the old grooms was in the wars and speaks a little of our language, so I put together that his lordship is not married because he once had many lady relatives in his charge.
“He says he detests the women, all of them. He has not smiled once”—Gustave looked at her slyly—“before the arrival of this governess.”
A shadow crossed Yvonne’s face. “Ah, the so excellent Miss Cottingham. So sensible, so practical. But it is unthinkable that a lord should marry a servant.”
“This governess is not quite a servant. She has the distinction of being hired as your companion rather than as your governess, which elevates her in the eyes of the household. She has been talked about very much since her arrival today. The servants say it might not be a bad thing if his lordship married her.”
Yvonne felt tired and depressed. “They talk a great deal of nonsense.”
She stayed chatting to Gustave for some time, enjoying the freedom of being able to converse in her native tongue.
When she took her leave, the sky was cloudless and the moon was bright. She was able to find her way without difficulty.
Instead of going to the kitchen door, she went around the side of the castle and then out to the edge of the cliffs and l
ooked down.
Far down below, the sea rose and fell, surging against the cliffs and dropping back. She leaned forward, thinking she saw the dark shape of a small boat very near the cliffs. If it was a boat, it would surely be sucked against the cliffs by the land swell.
“Yvonne!”
Startled, Yvonne nearly fell over. She whipped about and clutched at a sleeve.
“What are you doing out here?” demanded Patricia Cottingham.
“What are you doing out here?” countered Yvonne crossly.
“I came looking for you. Let us go in. You must never go so near the edge of the cliffs again. It is most dangerous.”
“I think there is a boat right down there,” said Yvonne, turning back to the sea. “They will surely be dashed against the cliffs.”
“Nonsense,” said Patricia sharply. “If you do not return with me this minute, I shall be forced to tell Lord Anselm of your escapade, and then your freedom will be much curtailed. Besides, there is no boat there.”
“How do you know? You have not even looked.”
“I do not need to look. I know this coast. No boat would come so close to the cliffs.”
“Then I am going to show you,” said Yvonne, giving her an impatient little push. “Look! There!”
Yvonne blinked. The sea rose and fell, silver and empty under the moon.
“You see,” said Patricia calmly, “you have been imagining things. Do you come with me now, or do I have to call Lord Anselm?”
“Oh, very well,” said Yvonne, beginning to walk back toward the castle. “But there was a boat. I saw it.”
CHAPTER THREE
The next month turned out to be the weariest and most boring time Yvonne had ever endured.
The viscount owned property in the north and had left four days after her arrival at Trewent Castle with only a curt good-bye.
The weather was miserable. The sea pounded on the rocks, and great buffets of wind hurtled hail against the leaded windows of the castle.
Yvonne, left in the company of Patricia Cottingham, tried to make the best of things. She dimly suspected her companion’s education was sadly deficient, but then it was very hard to find out what Patricia did know or did not know.
Patricia questioned Yvonne closely as to her education and then suggested she study science. Yvonne, intrigued at being allowed to study a subject normally considered a masculine preserve, readily agreed. Patricia ordered books from Truro and then seemed content to sit and sew while Yvonne studied them, occasionally remarking in her calm way, “Really! Yes, it is fascinating, is it not?” when Yvonne read something out to her.
Gustave bravely faced the weather and his fear of horses to accompany Yvonne riding. Yvonne had chosen a mount for him, to the amusement of the stable staff—an old and placid mare. Gustave was delighted. He said it was just like riding an animated sofa.
Patricia said she disliked riding and did not accompany them. She tried, however, to get Yvonne to wear a mask, saying her skin would become sadly weatherbeaten. Yvonne refused. Patricia remarked casually that a man as fair as Lord Anselm would surely not admire a lady with a tanned and leathery skin, and so Yvonne compromised by wearing a veil.
And then when the horrible month of May was over, when everyone had quite decided there would be no spring at all, the weather changed abruptly. The skies cleared and the sun shone down. Flowers and green leaves appeared all over the place as if by magic. The castle windows were opened to let in the sunny, fresh air.
A letter arrived from Lord Anselm. He was near the end of his journey, he said, and would be with them soon.
Yvonne tore gown after gown out of her closets, trying on first one and then another. Her hair had grown very long. Would he like it shorter? Would he even notice her? Would he see her at all, or would he send for Patricia and leave her alone in her rooms?
She heard the sounds of his arrival two days later and waited impatiently for his summons.
She heard a servant mounting the stairs, but he scratched at Patricia’s sitting room door and not at Yvonne’s.
Yvonne heard Patricia descending the stairs, and then there was silence.
Her eyes filled with tears. Was she so very repulsive that he did not even want to see her?
Tired of sitting in her room, she walked down the stairs and looked longingly at the library door. Then she walked out of the castle and went around to the front.
There was a very small stretch of grass between the castle and the cliffs edge. Under the library windows ran a terrace.
After some hesitation, Yvonne quietly mounted the steps to the terrace and edged her way along to the nearest library window.
It was open and she could hear their voices clearly. Lord Anselm sounded very animated. He was describing his journey.
Yvonne leaned forward and peeped in.
Lord Anselm and Patricia were standing on either side of the fireplace. Patricia was wearing a gown Yvonne had not seen before. It was of pale blue silk. She stood with her eyes modestly lowered. Yvonne noticed the way the viscount’s eyes lingered on her.
She felt a choking lump rise in her throat as she turned away.
She felt unloved and unwanted.
She went back up to her rooms and changed into her riding habit, and soon she was striding toward the stables, calling for Gustave.
She rode a great distance across the moors with Gustave on the old mare plodding behind her. At last, as the sun began to sink into the sea, Gustave called plaintively to say that he and his beast were exhausted.
Reluctantly, Yvonne wheeled her mount about and set out for the castle.
There were no instructions for her to see the viscount, only a placid dinner with Patricia as usual for company. Patricia did not remark on Yvonne’s long absence but merely talked about the masons who had arrived that afternoon to set their ladders up outside the castle preparatory to repointing the brickwork.
“Lord Anselm tells me he plans to have the whole building redecorated,” said Patricia. “He has been gracious enough to seek my advice as to colors and materials. He had our rooms painted before our arrival, but he is not satisfied with the result and wants them done again.”
She turned her head to instruct a servant to take away their empty plates. Yvonne glared at her. She had learned from Gustave that afternoon that the servants, much as they approved of Patricia, had nonetheless been somewhat shocked that their master should immediately demand to see her and neglect his ward. Yvonne began to wonder whether she really liked her guardian. He had snubbed her time after time, and he was beginning to shock his own servants by treating the governess like an equal.
Yvonne would have been even more wretched had she known her guardian was not deliberately snubbing her. Most of the time, he forgot about her very existence. Her only importance in his life at that moment was to supply him with an excuse to summon Miss Cottingham to interviews.
He was guiltily aware that in consulting the governess about the redecoration of his home, he was stepping out of line. But after years of giggling, dithering, shrieking females, it was wonderful to see Patricia’s calm face and listen to her quiet, steady voice.
He finished an excellent dinner and, after going through the estate books, took himself off to bed, well content.
He would have been horrified and amazed could he have known that his little ward was lying facedown on her bed, crying her eyes out.
Yvonne become aware of someone in her bedroom. She straggled up against the pillows. The bed curtains were drawn back, and she saw Patricia standing there with a candle in one hand and a glass in the other.
“I heard you crying,” said Patricia, “so I brought you some hot milk to help you sleep. What is the matter?”
“I hate this country,” said Yvonne, scrubbing at her wet eyes with her fists. “I wish I were back in Portugal.”
“The strangeness will soon wear off,” said Patricia gently. “Drink your milk. It will soothe your poor nerves.”
; Yvonne drank the glass of milk and then said, “I am grateful to you for your sympathy, Patricia. I shall do very well now. Please leave me.”
“Good night,” said Patricia.
Yvonne stared miserably up at the bed canopy. Tomorrow she would do something, anything, to bring herself to her guardian’s attention.
Abruptly, she fell into a deep sleep. In her dreams, she was once more in Lisbon, away from this cold, unfriendly England. The sun beat down on her head. She was warm. Beautifully warm. If she looked across, she could see the tall ships in the harbor and little fishing boats rocking at anchor. She found she could not see the Lisbon harbor clearly. She forced her eyes open, waking up as she did so. At first she thought her dream had changed for another one and that she was in the grip of a nightmare.