Different Tides

by Janet Woods

  ‘I haven’t given it much thought.’

  ‘You should consider wearing that cream taffeta gown with the tiered skirt and collar. It’s very becoming. And that embroidered shawl will match the rosebuds decorating the scalloped hems. Come, dear, we will give the children their treat and leave them with Polly while I help you dress. We don’t want to keep Zachariah waiting. His patience is not infinite, and it’s already stretched a little thin.’

  Tears filled her eyes. ‘I’m trying to keep everything under control, but the servants keep getting called on to do other than their normal tasks.’

  Julia gave her a hug. ‘The responsibility of running this house is not yours alone, my dear, and don’t think that Zachariah hasn’t noticed the effort you’ve been putting in. No doubt he will reward you in his own way. After today I will confer with Mrs Ogden and suggest to her that the servants be reminded of their assigned duties.

  ‘Alexandra will complain if they don’t attend her immediately.’

  ‘Let her. She has far too much to say for herself.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Although I shouldn’t say it, she’s a disagreeable creature altogether. Further to that I will ask John to counsel Zachariah as to the benefits of seeing if he can hire a ladies’ maid from the domestic agency for the duration of her visit. In fact, I will interview the candidates myself, and make sure she’s suitable. Now, dry those tears, else your eyes will be all red and puffy, and most unattractive.’

  Within ten minutes Evan was working on Clementine’s hair. He was a dapper little man. Soon he had her hair parted in the middle and drawn into a knot at the crown, where a posy of creamy silk flowers was attached. Miraculously, the strands of hair that usually flew about her face were tamed into pretty ringlets.

  ‘There, I told you Evan was a genius,’ Julia said.

  ‘He certainly is. Thank you so much, Evan, it was kind of you.’

  He made a little bow. ‘I’m at your service, Miss Morris. There’s very little to do here in the country when compared to London, so you just have to ask.’

  The children inspected her before she went downstairs to where the men waited with Julia.

  Zachariah’s eyes widened as she descended, and when he took her hand in his and kissed it, saying, ‘You look lovely,’ she felt the colour float gently into her cheeks like a soft pink cloud.

  She might look lovely, Clementine thought, but Alexandra looked exquisite as she drifted down the stairs in a blue gown that displayed most of her shoulders – one that put Clementine firmly in the shade and widened Zachariah’s eyes even further. She had a white fur collar over her arm, which she handed to Zachariah with a simper, presumably to place around her shoulders so he could view her charms up close. Did she think to make a servant out of him?

  Clementine wished she had the courage to be so artful.

  Evan descended the stair last, brush in hand to make sure his master and his gentleman friend were free of any last-minute lint to mar the perfection of their cutaway jackets.

  Both wore freshly starched cravats. Zachariah’s hair was parted in the middle and fell below his ears in a tumble of unruly waves. He was an exceedingly handsome and well-formed man. So was John Beck, though his hair was streaked with grey and his complexion was taking on that rough outdoors texture that came with age for most men.

  Zachariah handed the cape to Evan. ‘See to Miss Tate first. Mrs Beck tells me I need to hire a ladies’ maid on a temporary basis, something I should have thought of myself. I know someone who runs an employment agency, and if he’s there this afternoon I’ll ask him to recommend someone for the position.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Beside her, Julia sucked in a breath. ‘I cannot remember you buying that gown, Alexandra. In fact, I distinctly remember us discussing it and coming to the conclusion that it was far too expensive.’

  Alexandra smiled. ‘I believe it was you who reached that conclusion. But I couldn’t resist it so I changed my mind and I took the green travelling gown back and exchanged it.’ She turned to Zachariah, her eyelids gently fluttering. ‘I know I’ve presumed on your kindness, sir, and beg your indulgence. I do hope you’ll forgive me.’

  How prettily she said it. Clementine felt like sticking a dagger between her shoulder blades. No, not one dagger but a dozen! More than that, she’d like to slow cook her on a spit over a fire like a suckling pig.

  The power of Clementine’s imaginary revenge was so fierce that she almost smiled with the pleasure it offered her to just think it. Then she reprimanded herself as she recognized she was seething with jealousy, which was not a positive trait to encourage.

  Zachariah shrugged, as offhand as his manners would allow. ‘It’s only a gown, Julia. As Miss Tate is very well aware, she needs no enhancement and would look just as enchanting in a gown made of sackcloth and ashes.’

  Hah! she thought. Removing Alexandra from the spit, she impaled the immaculate Zachariah there instead.

  When he smiled at her, however, she forgave him. Moving to her side when John went on ahead with Alexandra and his wife, he said, ‘You’ll be travelling in my carriage with Miss Tate. Come along, Clemmie, else we won’t get there until it’s time to return home.’

  Alexandra had seated herself comfortably in the middle of the seat, her skirt arranged so it wouldn’t crease.

  Zachariah handed Clementine in and took the seat beside her. ‘I hope you are comfortable, ladies. Considering you had no maid you both look very becoming. An oversight on my part, I’m afraid. I must hire one for the duration of your visit, Alexandra.’

  ‘Evan offered to help me out,’ Clementine ventured.

  ‘How very droll to use a valet as a ladies’ maid,’ Alexandra cooed.

  ‘Not at all. Evan used to work in a theatre and he has many skills. You should ask him to tell you about it. He can be very entertaining.’

  ‘I used Polly as a maid for my hair. She’s inexperienced, but fashions a reasonable style. After all, it doesn’t need two servants to care for two small children. Oh, I forgot, Clementine … you’re not a servant are you? But you said you received an allowance. If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is the description of your position here?’

  This was going to evolve into a right royal argument if she wasn’t careful, but still she said, ‘I do mind you asking since I’ve already informed you of it.’

  Zachariah leaned forward. ‘Clementine is my guest. She also tutors my wards and provides a maternal presence for them. For that service alone she is worth her weight in gold. I would suggest that you desist from being too inquisitive, or jumping to wrongful conclusions, Miss Tate.’

  ‘My pardon. I wasn’t suggesting …’ Alexandra turned to gaze out of the window, flags of colour burning her cheeks.

  Clementine felt sorry for her and said to him, ‘Between us we have made Alexandra uncomfortable. I’m sure she didn’t intend to be inquisitive. Perhaps we should just drop this particular subject.’

  Zachariah shot her an exasperated look.

  Unexpectedly, Alexandra agreed with him, but her voice contained a faint nuance of hurt. ‘Mr Fleet is right. I was being inquisitive, but I was trying to get to know you a little better.’

  He sighed. ‘My pardon if I upset you, Miss Tate.’

  ‘I’m sure I deserved it.’

  ‘No … Clemmie was right to take me to task.’

  Zachariah was not a man who was naturally inclined to indulge in small talk. They made the short journey to Dorchester mostly in silence, a slight atmosphere making conversation awkward.

  The carriage conveying the Becks followed on behind them.

  When they reached their destination he alighted first and helped them down. Alexandra flowed down the carriage steps supported with the lightest of touches on his hand.

  Clementine trod on the hem of her skirt and she stumbled. Zachariah spanned her waist with his hands and lifted her down, as if she weighed nothing at all. ‘I have you safe, my little gadfly,’ he said, his whisp
er designed for her ears alone. When their eyes met for a moment and he smiled, an indescribable awareness shivered through her.

  From the moment they entered the room Alexandra became the focus of all eyes, which she took as her due.

  Clementine was familiar with some of the people there – part of the congregation of the same church. They exchanged smiles and made small talk as Clementine introduced Alexandra to their host, Emma Cheeves, whose husband presided over a bank.

  ‘How lovely to welcome yet another guest from Martingale House. My goodness, Mr Fleet does seem to collect an assortment of beautiful young ladies. You must be a relative because you remind me somewhat of the female side of the former baron’s family. Don’t you think so, Miss Morris?’

  Clementine didn’t see how two people could be described as an assortment, and the reference to the baron’s family triggered an elusive vision of a face, one that left her mind immediately. Besides which, Zachariah wouldn’t like his business to be discussed in public.

  ‘Oh, as to that I couldn’t really say. I’ve never met any of Mr Fleet’s family except his nephew and niece.’

  ‘Always so discreet, Miss Morris. One wonders what you really do at Martingale House. So mysterious … are you connected to the family?’

  Clementine felt uncomfortable at being the centre of attention. Next to her Alexandra gave a light laugh. ‘I’ve been given to understand that Clementine was resident in a workhouse, and she didn’t even know Mr Fleet until a few months ago.’

  The woman tossed her a look laced with scorn and her voice took on a ring of authority. ‘What exactly is your position in the household then, Miss Morris?’

  How smug Alexandra sounded when she murmured, ‘I’ve asked her that myself. Miss Morris is paid for her services and she doesn’t understand that accepting payment makes one a servant.’

  Clementine could have pointed out to her that the fancy gown Alexandra wore had been paid for by Zachariah, but she didn’t, for he’d be angry at the thought of being the object of such gossip.

  ‘It wouldn’t have happened in Sir Gabriel’s day. Now there was a gentleman with charm – too much at times, but he always treated a lady as one should be treated, and the servants were reminded of their place from time to time.’

  ‘The same servants still live at Martingale House, and are part of the family now. Mr Fleet said they know their jobs without him constantly reminding them,’ Clementine told them.

  One of the women asked in a more kindly manner, ‘How are your young charges keeping, Miss Morris? They are such dear children … a tragedy that they lost their parents.’

  The thought of the children made Clementine want to smile, but she didn’t. She was upset, and felt like crying, so she choked out, ‘They are recovering well from their grief at the loss of their mother and father. Like most children they respond well to love.’

  Alexandra gave a tinkling laugh. ‘I try to mother them a little when Miss Morris is attending to her other duties. The children can be naughty, but they get their own way too often, I fear, and that isn’t wise. Were they my children they would be disciplined more often. And really, who has heard of children eating breakfast with the adults in the dining room?’

  ‘How very bizarre. Spare the rod and spoil the child, I say.’ Mrs Cheeves nodded wisely.

  Clementine’s ears began to burn, but with anger rather than anything else.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to walk the length of the room with me, Miss Tate. You must meet my son. He is following in his father’s footsteps and will become a partner in his father’s bank before too long. Are you staying in the district for long?’

  ‘Just until a family legacy has been proved, then I’ll return to Portsmouth, or London I imagine … Unless I meet someone suitable and wed them in the meantime.’

  ‘You have admirers then?’

  ‘One or two.’ The pair turned their backs on her and drifted away, heading for Basil Cheeves, a pale-faced young man with a long chin.

  Julia joined her. ‘I heard all of that exchange. Far be it for me to think ill of anyone, but that young woman is extremely forward and very conceited.’ Julia placed a cup of warm, spiced wine in her hands. ‘Here, my dear, this will chase away the winter chills.’

  ‘Thank you, Julia.’

  ‘Zachariah will not like this.’

  ‘Please don’t tell him, Julia. He will only look on it as a petty women’s matter.’

  ‘My dear … Zachariah may be reserved by nature, but very little gets past him. He sees you here, alone and distressed, and shivering like an abandoned kitten – as he poetically put it. He sent me to rescue you. Soon the news will circulate; he’ll see the glances turn your way as people speculate over your relationship with him.’

  ‘And they will think the worst.’

  ‘For himself he won’t care what they think. He will care about how it affects you though, and if the gossip continues he’ll do something about it.’

  ‘What can he do? You can’t stop people from gossiping.’

  ‘I daresay he will think of something. He knows the power of his position in the community here. If he walked out and took his house guests with him it would cause Mrs Cheeves a great deal of embarrassment. She might even be ostracized.’

  ‘He must not … not over me. It would be too cruel, for when he returns to London I will have nobody to be my champion.’

  The small orchestra filed in and the guests moved towards the seats. Alexandra seated herself with Mrs Cheeves in the front row, the skirt of her gown a shining swathe of silk. Basil Cheeves was staring at her, an expression of admiration on his face, and something else. There was something reptilian in his slightly bulging eyes and the flickering tip of his tongue that he frequently used to dampen his lower lip. Clementine shuddered.

  Relief washed over her when Zachariah and John gazed across the crowd of heads. Julia waved to them and they seated themselves either side, with John on her side and Zachariah on Julia’s.

  ‘Miss Tate is sitting with our hostess,’ Julia informed them.

  ‘So she is. Mrs Cheeves is always at the fore when welcoming a new arrival to the district, and just as quick to discard them if they don’t measure up.’ Zachariah leaned forward. ‘You look flushed, Clemmie. Has something upset you?’

  ‘No … it was the mulled wine. I drank it rather quickly and it brought the blood rushing to my face.’

  He smiled at that. ‘Are you warm enough now?’

  She nodded, charmed by his smile and the infinite hyacinth blue of his eyes. The warmth she experienced had hidden depths and a repertoire of private sins that she wished she could experience with him, and without censure.

  The orchestra tuned up with a multitude of uncoordinated squeaks and scrapes that sounded nothing like music. It made her wince. Then a thread of melody emerged from a violin to shimmer like a firefly in the air. Everyone fell quiet.

  Clementine gazed at the programme. Schumann, Bach, Brahms and Strauss. She’d never heard music played by professional players, and had difficulty pronouncing the names of the composers in her mind, but the music turned out to be as exquisite as it was sensual, and it played upon her emotions, so sometimes she smiled and sometimes a tear rolled down her cheek.

  When the concert was over, she asked Zachariah, ‘Am I allowed to keep the programme?’

  ‘I expect so. Why do you want it?’

  ‘To place in my treasure box. I keep my memories in it.’

  ‘Memories?’

  ‘I’ve never been to a concert before and might never go to one again, so when I’m old I’ll be able to look at the programme and remember this particular concert.’

  ‘I should have thought of that. Every young lady should have a treasure box. I must give you a memento to keep in it.’

  ‘You’re teasing me.’

  ‘I like teasing you.’

  ‘I’m not likely to forget you, Zachariah.’ As soon as the words left her mouth she realized she’d been t
oo personal and wished she could recall them.

  His glance met hers and the buzz in the room faded into the background when he said, ‘Thank you, Clemmie. That’s the nicest remark anyone’s ever offered me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it to sound so personal.’

  ‘A pity.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  The noise resumed. Somebody laughed, glasses chinked.

  Zachariah smiled at her. ‘Shall I ask the musicians to sign the programme for you? I imagine our host has a pen and inkwell they can use for the occasion. Sit there and I’ll go and ask him for it.’

  People were gathering in little groups to talk. In the time he was away nobody approached her, though people kept looking her way, the women sometimes sniggering behind their fans, the men’s eyes bold and speculative. She knew why, and tried not to mind.

  Alexandra was in the centre of a group consisting mostly of younger people. She was talking animatedly and seemed to be the centre of attention. Basil Cheeves hung on her every word.

  ‘It looks as though Miss Tate has attracted an admirer,’ Julia said, coming up behind her. ‘Have you enjoyed yourself, my dear?’

  ‘Immensely. Zachariah has gone for an inkwell, so the musicians can sign my programme.’

  ‘How very low class,’ whispered a woman to her companion, within earshot of Clementine.

  As the pair began to drift away her companion replied, ‘She called him by his Christian name. Miss Tate told me in confidence that the children’s governess was too forward, but Mr Fleet allows her to get away with it because the children like her. He will probably tire of her before too long, then we’ll see where it gets her.’

  ‘Mr Fleet is certainly handsome.’

  ‘And a good match for any woman, since he is worth a fortune. I hear that Miss Tate is an heiress of some considerable endowment. The gown she’s wearing is the latest fashion in London.’

  ‘The young Mr Cheeves paid Miss Tate a lot of attention this evening. I saw Mr Fleet’s eyes on them earlier, and he didn’t look happy about them being together …’

  Surely Zachariah hadn’t fallen in love with Alexandra, Clementine thought. What if he married her? She would be miserable for the rest of her life. It was unthinkable!