“But how does one eat a coconut?” Blythe asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” confessed Vanessa, looking at the hard, brown shells.
“You need to break through the tough outer coating,” Lord Falconbridge said, “to get to the sweet white flesh and juice inside. I shall bring some back from my trip.”
Blythe’s eyes turned sad, but she brightened when her father shot down every one of the ducks in a row in the shooting gallery and won a stuffed rabbit. Moving to the next stall, he hit the bull’s eye on the dartboard and won another toy, a painted top. Farther on, men were testing their strength by hitting a metal plate with a wooden mallet to try to strike the bell at the top.
“Try it, Father,” Blythe begged. “You’ll make the bell ring.”
Lord Falconbridge got it close, and everyone politely clapped until a burly fellow spat in his hands, took the mallet, and struck it with such force the bell clanged loudly.
His lordship shrugged and grinned before drawing them away.
Vanessa was surprised at how much younger and more carefree he looked.
“You almost did it, Father,” Blythe said, clutching the prizes to her chest.
While Blythe ate candy floss, Vanessa bit through the sweet shell of a toffee apple to the slightly tart flesh beneath. Although his lordship had refused one, he commented on how tasty it looked while they watched a tumbling troupe. The four men with handlebar moustaches defied gravity, inducing oohs and aahs from onlookers.
As they came away, Lord Falconbridge darted off to buy a toffee apple for himself and ate it down to the core.
Vanessa tried to hide her smile. “Would you mind if I visit the flower stall?”
“I’d rather like to try my hand at the archery.” He winked at Blythe. “Archery or the flower stall, Blythe? What’s it to be?”
“I’ll come with you, Father.”
Vanessa inspected the displays of flowers, knowing many of the fine blooms had come from the Falconbridge Hall hothouses. The money raised was for a local orphanage. She was leaving when she saw Lovel.
He stood legs apart and arms folded, standing out in his plain clothes amongst a group of black-haired gypsy men with colorful bandanas on their heads, dressed in their full-sleeved shirts embroidered with thread and beads. It did not surprise her to see him here, for she knew gypsies often worked at fairs and were a clannish lot. A friendly family of gypsies came every year to Cornwall. Vanessa did not think these men looked sociable. There was a furtiveness in the way they looked around while they talked to Lovel. With a glance over his shoulder, Lovel squatted to examine the contents of a box on the ground. Rising, he nodded and spoke at length as they listened. The men appeared to defer to him. Did he have his lordship’s permission to be here?
Vanessa didn’t want him to see her and turned away to look for Blythe and her father. She hurried past a tent where a crowd watched a man throwing balls in an attempt to knock a lady into a vat of water. At that moment, the ball struck home, and with a cry, the woman’s chair gave way. She fell into the water with a huge splash. Shouts of glee went up around the crowd, and Lovel’s attention was caught. He spotted Vanessa.
Her heart thudding irrationally, she nodded to him. Lovel raised his cap with his usual knowing smile.
At the archery game, Lord Falconbridge fired the last of three arrows into the bull’s eye and won a bear for Blythe. He looked absurdly boyish and delighted. As she congratulated him, someone in the crowd pushed past, jostling her, almost knocking her over. His lordship put his hand out to steady her. Remembering the night, she ran into him in the dark, she pulled away at his touch, then embarrassed, offered a smile of apology. “I’m all right, thank you.”
As threatening clouds advanced, people began to leave. Vanessa protectively took Blythe by the arm. Blythe glanced up at her with a grin on her dirty, sticky face. “My, look at all those things your father has won for you. Let me carry them, it’s time to go home, grubby one.” Blythe gave a tired nod of acceptance and held out her prizes. She kept hold of the bear.
A chill wind sprung up, whipping dirt into eyes and sending people scurrying as the canvas tents began to flap. “It looks like rain,” Vanessa said. “We’d best hurry.”
With his lordship following, she ushered Blythe toward where Capstick waited, reassuringly impassive, smoking his pipe by the brougham.
Blythe fell asleep on her father’s lap during the short ride home. She woke as they arrived, and rubbing her eyes, gathered all her new possessions together to take to the day nursery. She dropped the bear and Vanessa picked it up. “Come on, sleepyhead, you need to have your bath.”
During the night, Vanessa wrestled with telling his lordship about seeing Lovel at the fair. She concluded that the groom was up to no good and her employer should know about it. She knocked on his study door after breakfast.
He was smartly dressed in a three-piece, gray town suit accented with a royal blue tie. His journal lay open on the desk, revealing another fine detailed drawing of a butterfly. It reminded her of the one she’d found in the desk drawer in her room.
“Yes, Miss Ashley?” he asked, with a quick glance at her.
“Might I say you draw beautifully, my lord?” She stepped forward for a closer look at the sketch in black ink.
“I don’t consider myself an artist, but I do know butterflies.”
“I’m sure you must.”
Did she fail to lend her voice sufficient gravity? He frowned and tapped the book. “You know, Miss Ashley, the study of terrestrial invertebrates, which is seen as frivolous to some, will one day be considered one of the most important branches of the natural sciences.”
His passion and his knowledge impressed her. He had written several books about moths and butterflies, which she intended to study after he’d gone. “I feel certain that history will prove you right, and your name will be linked with Darwin’s and other intrepid scientists.”
He smiled faintly. “I’m delighted to be mentioned in the same breath as Darwin,” he said dryly.
He didn’t believe she meant it. Vanessa hurried on, explaining how she had seen Lovel at the fair. “It’s not as though he was doing anything wrong.” Accepting that it was merely intuition making her uneasy, she doubted her fears would be feasible to his logical mind.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I gave Lovel permission to work at the fair running the pony rides.”
“When I saw him, he wasn’t with the ponies but a group of men.”
“I believe he claims kinship with some of the gypsies who run it.”
“He was examining the contents of a large box.” Vanessa began to feel foolish and wished she had something more substantial than that to offer. What was it about that man that disturbed her?
“It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s discovered a way to make money from the enterprise. He’s a crafty fellow. I don’t have a problem with it as long as it’s legal, and it doesn’t interfere with his work at Falconbridge Hall.” He glanced at her and frowned. “You dislike Lovel? Has he ever done anything to upset you?”
She shook her head, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it. “It’s just intuition.”
He raised his brows. “As a scientist I’m afraid I give little credence to intuition. An unreliable emotional response which lacks empirical evidence to support it.”
“I’ve found it useful during my lifetime, my lord,” she said annoyed at being dismissed so summarily.
“If we debate the merits of women’s intuition, Miss Ashley, I suspect I’ll lose.” He smiled. “I don’t wish you to concern yourself with Lovel. I’ll have Johnson keep an eye on him while I’m away.”
Not entirely satisfied Vanessa left the room. At least she’d expressed her concern.
In the schoolroom, she tidied away books while Blythe sat at her desk drawing with her colored pencils. She came to look over the child’s shoulder. The picture of a cozy house amid a pretty garden showed some early talent. “T
hat’s very good, Blythe. Where is it?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“What do you mean by safe?”
Blythe shrugged and didn’t answer.
Vanessa felt sure this was something to do with her father’s trip but discussing it would only make it worse. For the moment, distracting Blythe might serve best. “Your father draws beautifully.”
“Father draws bugs and things.”
“Does he ever draw scenes or people?”
Blythe’s shoulders tensed. “No. Not like those hanging on the walls. I liked the one in the drawing room, but someone stole it.”
“Surely it wasn’t stolen,” Vanessa said uneasily
Blythe forehead puckered. “When we woke up in the morning, it was gone. And so was Miss Lillicrop. That’s when Father hired Johnson.” She colored the trunk of a tree with a brown pencil.
“I imagine he was in need of a butler.” Vanessa’s mind was in a whirl. Did someone steal the painting? Possibly the governess? “Were the police called?”
Blythe nodded, her blue eyes wide. “Two policemen came. Their uniforms had silver buttons, and they wore funny hats shaped like thimbles. One policeman wrote everything down in his notebook. They didn’t find the picture though.”
“Do you remember who the artist was?” Vanessa wondered if the painting was valuable. The work of many famous artists hung on the walls.
Blythe shrugged. “It was just a small picture of horses in a field.”
“Has anything else been taken?”
“I don’t think so.”
While it appeared to be foul play, she tried to ease Blythe’s mind. “It was probably removed by mistake.”
The frown vanished from Blythe’s brow. “Really?”
“I expect it will turn up. That’s enough drawing for today. We’ll study color and the different painterly techniques artists employ. Then we’ll make a tour of the paintings in the house.”
Their discussion on the color wheel completed, Vanessa and Blythe wandered the house.
They paused in front of a painting by Édouard Manet in the dining room. “This is an excellent example of en plein air,” Vanessa said. The Picnic was of a naked woman sitting beside clothed men in the park. “The Impressionists liked to paint en plein air, or out of doors. They captured moments with short quick brush strokes of color. Consequently, the works of Monet and Pissarro are not as finely wrought as the realism of the Gustave Courbet painting we’ve just been studying. You need to view the work of the Impressionists from a distance.” Vanessa stepped back and bumped into a hard body. Lord Falconbridge.
Thoroughly disconcerted, she gasped. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”
“Hello, Father,” Blythe said. “Miss Ashley is teaching me all about art.”
A dark eyebrow arched. “So I see.”
Vanessa sighed inwardly. Would he object? Manet’s painting featured prostitutes, although Blythe would not know that.
“Father, can I read Treasure Island?”
“That’s quite a change from your usual books.” He looked searchingly at Vanessa, and she geared herself for criticism. “Might I see you for a moment, Miss Ashley? In my study.”
Vanessa summoned the nursery maid before hastening along the hall. Her legs felt like lead, and her pulse pounded in her throat. She entered the study where his lordship perched on the edge of his desk, swinging one leg, and looking thoughtful. He stood as she entered and nodded in greeting. “Was Treasure Island your choice, Miss Ashley? I thought Blythe was more interested in fairies and so forth.”
“Blythe chose the book herself. I thought it might be due to your descriptions of your travels.”
“Ah.”
Concern for the child settled on Vanessa’s chest like a heavy weight. But should she burden him when he was soon to leave? It might be her last chance to speak. She swallowed. “My lord, I find Blythe often troubled. She is not the carefree child she should be. She has expressed nervousness about a missing painting and along with losing her mother and her governess leaving so suddenly…”
He scowled, and she caught her breath. “You have been here only a short time, Miss Ashley. Don’t you think your assessment of my daughter is a trifle rash?”
“Perhaps, but the awful experiences she has faced cannot be denied. The loss of a mother…”
His lordship stalked away from her. He turned, his jaw tightening. “I believe you’ve exceeded your position. These things are none of your concern.” The autocratic dark eyebrow rose again. “If you don’t feel up to performing your duties, please tell me. I shall have to replace you, and I have little time in which to do it.”
Vanessa gasped. “I am confident I can perform my duties, my lord,” she said. “Your daughter says she doesn’t feel safe in her own home.” The irritation in his eyes made her quake. “A little help would be appreciated. You failed to mention these things that
affect Blythe so deeply. I have had to feel my way with her. How can I help Blythe if I don’t know what bothers her?”
His eyes looked shadowed before he dropped his gaze. “I didn’t expect you to turn this into a criticism of me, Miss Ashley.” A small smile flitted across his mouth. “I’m sure you would be first class in a debate. Like your mother perhaps?”
“My mother?” she asked, distracted.
“She believed in a woman’s right to vote, did she not?”
“She fought for that, yes. Along with many other women.” She put a hand to her burning cheek. “Blythe feels very insecure and with you leaving for such—”
“Now you go too far.” He thumped the desk, and the pens and pencils danced across it.
Vanessa jumped too.
“I only thought you could set her mind at ease before you go.” Determined to fight for Blythe despite what it might cost her, she held his gaze steadily.
He huffed out a sigh. “How would you suggest I do that?”
“Blythe needs security. She needs to know there is permanence in her life. That the people she loves, and values won’t desert her.”
“That’s a cruel thrust, Miss Ashley. How well you do it,” he said in a milder tone. “I am thankful you are not holding a rapier.” He picked up a pen and twirled it in his fingers. “You may go.”
Vanessa left the room trembling with frustration. Had she made things worse for Blythe?
If he dismissed her, Blythe would have no one while her father was away.
***
Julian sat down in his chair. Damn and blast! Miss Ashley knew just how to provoke him! He ran his hands through his hair. Why, when his plans ran so smoothly, did he feel guilty and restless at the prospect of leaving? Usually, he couldn’t wait to go, and had gone without a backward glance, leaving Clara and baby Blythe behind. Now Clara was gone, and Blythe no longer a baby, the weight of responsibility settled more heavily on his shoulders than before. What if something went wrong while he was absent from home? He thrust the thought away and closed his journal with a snap. He hoped this trip would fulfill his expectations and be one of the last dangerous trips of lengthy duration he would make.
Julian straightened the pile of books on his desk with an impatient hand. He had come to rely on Miss Ashley to care for his child in his absence. She would do so, he was sure, it was just that he no longer considered it a fair arrangement. Neither was it fair to blame her for his frustration.
Why did he hate the thought of seeing condemnation in her eyes? Should he care a damn what an employee thought of him? He should dismiss her rather than to allow her to affect him this way. But that was something he just couldn’t contemplate.
Chapter Eight
In bed that night, after spending a good hour grappling with the fear that she would soon be leaving, Vanessa decided to teach Blythe to ride a bike. It would cheer the little girl up, and if Lord Falconbridge planned to dismiss her, there was no point in worrying whether he might disapprove of Blythe learning such modern ways.
After breakfast, they left the house
. “Can I give Buttercup a carrot before we go riding?” Blythe asked.
She smiled at Blythe’s eager expression. How she loved that horse of hers. “Very well.”
Lovel greeted them at the stables. As she waited for Blythe to feed the horse, he took off his hat and approached her. “Miss Ashley?”
“Yes, Lovel?” She turned to look at him. His mouth broke into a brazen smile. “I wondered if you enjoyed the fair.”
“I did, thank you. I believe you were in charge of the pony rides.”
He nodded. “My cousin Stephan runs the fair.”
“Does he? I didn’t know. I thought it very well run.”
He nodded and walked away.
Vanessa went to join Blythe. She ushered the girl toward the bicycle shed, wondering why Lovel felt compelled to speak to her about it.
Vanessa took the bike out onto the carriage drive and lowered the seat. As Blythe could ride a horse so well, she doubted she’d have trouble keeping her balance.
Laughing and wobbling over the driveway, Blythe soon mastered it and sallied forth like a duckling taking its first swim. She soon tired of the driveway, however. “I want to go somewhere else,” she cried. “Can I ride out along the road, please?”
“Not this time, Blythe.”
“You have ridden into the village, haven’t you, Miss Ashley?”
“Yes, but your father would not like it.” She was soon to learn exactly what Blythe’s father thought for he strode over the lawns toward them.
“Look, Father,” Blythe cried, riding around in a circle. “See what I can do? It’s such fun.”
“I’m watching, Blythe,” he called out. He came to stand beside Vanessa. “Why on earth doesn’t she topple over?”
“Blythe has excellent balance.” She tried to read his expression. “It’s perfectly acceptable these days to ride a bicycle. We cycled often in Cornwall.”
“Many things are done in Cornwall that are not done here.”
Her imminent dismissal made her bold. She would not allow him to browbeat her. “Very soon you will see bicycles everywhere.”
The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall Page 8