by Anne Mather
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he enquired now, cynically, turning from the window to flick through the canvases on the desk, and she endeavoured to gather her thoughts.
‘My godmother told me you required someone to take care of your daughter,’ she ventured at last. ‘I assume that was your daughter who—greeted me on my arrival.’
His lower lip jutted as he surveyed her slightly dishevelled appearance. It was a full lower lip; it might even be called sensual. And Joanna was given the piercing appraisal of narrowed amber eyes.
‘I suppose I should apologise for Antonia, shouldn’t I?’ he remarked, as if considering the proposition, and the disarming amusement which had briefly dispelled her indignation vanished.
‘Perhaps she should apologise for herself?’ she retorted, controlling her resentment with difficulty. ‘And I would suggest she is forbidden to run wild with firearms in future.’
His shoulders stiffened. ‘Oh, you would, would you?’
‘Yes.’ Joanna drew herself up to her full height, but even then her five feet six inches fell far short of his superior measure. ‘I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request. She could have killed me in the woods. Obviously she doesn’t understand——’
‘She understands very well,’ he interrupted her harshly, the dark brows descending with ominous intent. ‘She’s known how to handle guns for the past two years—I taught her. You were in no danger.’ He paused, allowing his astonishing words to sink in. ‘You were, however, subjected to a certain amount of—intimidation.’
‘Intimidation! Is that what you call it?’ Joanna could feel the colour sweeping up her normally pale cheeks. ‘How was I to know who she was or what she was doing? She was filthy. She was wearing boy’s clothes. She could have been a thief—a poacher, disturbed at his work!’
‘I see you have a vivid imagination, Miss Seton. That’s—unfortunate. I would have preferred someone a little more—unimaginative.’
His hesitation before using that particular adjective was deliberate, Joanna felt, pinpointing as it did his evident opinion of her. She had never encountered such indifference from a man before, or experienced such a feeling of blind frustration. She didn’t know exactly what she had anticipated, but certainly nothing like this, and his defence of the child was in complete opposition to his expected reaction. She felt like flinging his job back in his face, and only the thought of her mother’s disappointment if she returned to London without giving it a chance kept her silent.
‘So,’ he said, indicating an upright chair opposite. ‘Won’t you sit down, and we can discuss the situation more—amicably. I understand from my sister that you haven’t had any actual experience of teaching a child before, and that you have in fact been finding it hard to gain employment.’ Joanna sat down on the chair he indicated with a bump. He was certainly frank, she thought indignantly, or perhaps insolent was a better description of his vaguely mocking turn of phrase. In the space of a few sentences he had dismissed her claims of being physically threatened, and reduced her qualifications to nil.
‘I never expected to have to get a job, Mr Sheldon,’ she declared now, holding up her head in icy disdain. ‘Until my father’s death——’
‘Yes, I know,’ he interrupted unpleasantly, tumbling a pile of canvases on to the floor and taking the seat behind the desk. ‘You were a lady of leisure—I had heard. However, I’m not interested in how you came to be looking for a job, rather the accomplishments you have which make you think you are capable of teaching an eleven-year-old.’ Joanna gazed at him, not quite able to hide her astonishment. Did he really think he could speak to her like that, employee or otherwise? How dared he sit here in this rundown house, making excuses for a child who was little more than a barbarian, so far as Joanna could see, and expect her to be grateful for his indulgence in even listening to her? However dismayed her mother might be, surely she would not expect her daughter to be subjected to such treatment.
Grasping the strap of her handbag, Joanna rose to her feet. ‘I don’t think the accomplishments I possess fit me for this position at all, Mr Sheldon,’ she declared coldly. ‘We have obviously both been under some misapprehension about the other. I expected to have to teach a—a little girl, not an uncontrollable adolescent, and if I was prepared to make allowances for the child, I’m certainly not prepared to make allowances for its father!’
If she expected her remarks to arouse some answering retort from him, she was very much mistaken. And while remorse at the recklessness of such a declaration, influenced as it was by the lateness of the hour and a reluctant awareness of her own unfamiliarity with either the area or its transport services, caused her no small anxiety, Jake Sheldon sat there, gazing up at her, a look of sardonic amusement twisting his hard features.
‘You think I’m an ignorant savage, don’t you?’ he asked at last. ‘You’d like very much to tell me what I can do with my job. But from what I hear, you don’t have a great deal of choice.’
Joanna gulped. ‘I can get another job, Mr Sheldon.’
‘Can you?’
He pushed back his own chair now and stood up, dark and intimidating in the rapidly fading light. It was obviously later than she had thought, and the prospect of making her way back to the road and possibly having to thumb a lift back to Penrith was a daunting one. But she would not stay here to be insulted, not by a man who in his rough shirt and waistcoat and mud-splattered corded pants looked more like a gipsy than anything else.
‘I suggest, Miss Seton, that you reconsider,’ he said now. ‘Perhaps I was—hard on you, but you have to understand, it’s over two years since I had any—polite conversation. As to your abilities to teach Anya, that’s something we have both to consider. However, I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, provided you are prepared to do the same.’
It was scarcely an apology. On the contrary, it was more in the nature of a concession, as if he was overlooking her insolence.
‘I really don’t think I can stay here, Mr Sheldon,’ she insisted, glancing round at the shabby chairs, the equally shabby carpet. ‘I—well, I was misinformed. Your sister told my godmother that your daughter needed eighteen months’ preparation for boarding school. Having seen the child for myself, I suggest her estimate was vastly underrated.’
‘The challenge is too much for you, then?’ he remarked scornfully. ‘I had heard you had spirit, the only evident point in your favour. Apparently that was overrated.’
Joanna’s lips compressed, tom by the conflicting desire to prove to this man that he was wrong, and the conviction that she should leave now before any further humiliation was heaped upon her.
As she hesitated, groping for words, there was a tap on the half-open door behind her, and a slovenly-looking woman appeared in the aperture. Jake Sheldon seemed resigned, but not impatient, at the interruption, and arched black brows above those startling tawny eyes.
‘Yes, Mrs Harris?’
‘What time will you be wanting your supper, sir,’ she enquired, casting a look of avid curiosity in Joanna’s direction, so that she was firmly convinced that was the only reason the woman had appeared. ‘Anya’s tucking into hers in the kitchen, right this minute, but I wondered whether you and the—er—young lady——’
‘Anya’s doing what!’
The thunderous tones obviously cowed the cook—housekeeper?—as much as they shocked Joanna. With a muffled oath her would-be employer strode angrily across the room, disappearing out the door without a backward glance. It was left to Joanna to exchange an awkward glance with Mrs Harris, and they both waited in anxious anticipation for what would happen next.
They did not have long to wait. Seconds later, the silence was broken by a scream of indignation, and two pairs of footsteps could be heard approaching from the kitchens, and then receding up the stairs. These sounds were accompanied by more of the choking sobs Anya had emitted earlier, and the low harsh admonishment of Jake Sheldon’s not unattractive tones.
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p; Mrs Harris waited until they were out of earshot, and then said confidentially: ‘A proper tearaway, that young Anya is, and no mistake. What’s she done now? Why was Mr Sheldon so angry, just ‘cos she was having her supper?’
Joanna licked her dry lips. ‘I—I really don’t know,’ she lied, wishing perversely that Jake Sheldon would hurry and come back, and Mrs Harris’s bony arms folded across her flat bosom.
‘You going to stay then?’ she enquired, apparently determined to make the most of her employer’s absence. ‘I shouldn’t, if I was you. No place for a nicely brought up young lady, this isn’t. And if you expect to make any headway with that limb of Satan,’ she dipped her head significantly in the direction of the door, ‘then you can think again. Three ladies there’ve been, real nice ladies, like yourself. Maybe a bit older, but all with proper qualifications, you know. All gone! Every one of them. Wouldn’t put up with that besom for more than a couple of weeks at a time. Drummed out of school, she was. Been to four schools since she and her father came here, but none of them would keep her. Troublemaker, that’s what they said, nothing but trouble——’
‘Really, Mrs—Harris, is it?’ Joanna had to stop her somehow, ‘I don’t think you ought to be telling me all this. I—er—if I decide not to stay, it won’t be because of anything you’ve said.’
‘But you are thinking of it, then?’ Mrs Harris had heard the note of indecision in her voice. ‘Don’t blame you. Living in this Godforsaken place.’
She pronounced God as Gawd, obviously in no way offended by Joanna’s attempt to silence her. She was a garrulous old gossip, and Joanna’s mother wouldn’t have had her in the house for more than five minutes, but apparently Jake Sheldon had no such misgivings.
‘Mrs Harris …’ Joanna was beginning again, when heavy footsteps sounded once more on the stairs. Evidently Mr Sheldon was returning, and her voice trailed away as he strode back into the room.
‘You may leave us, Mrs Harris,’ he said shortly, seemingly irritated to find her still there. ‘You can serve supper in half an hour. Whether Miss Seton chooses to join me or not is immaterial. Lay a place, just in case.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The woman cast another glance in Joanna’s direction, before going out of the room. Her look was speculative, as if she was mentally calculating whether Joanna would tell her employer what she had been saying, but there was no apprehension in her gaze. Obviously she was not afraid of losing her position, and Joanna could only assume that she had good reason for feeling secure.
With the older woman’s departure, Jake Sheldon’s gaze turned to Joanna once again, and there was weariness as well as impatience in his expression now.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Do I take it you’ve decided to leave? If so, then I’d better run you into Ravensmere in the Rover. I believe there’s a bus to Penrith in half an hour. I doubt you’ll get a train to London tonight, but the Station Hotel will likely find you a room.’
Joanna hesitated. ‘The child—Antonia; where is she?’
‘In bed,’ he declared indifferently. ‘Nursing her pride, I imagine.’
‘You hit her?’ Joanna couldn’t keep the note of unease out of her voice.
‘She had it coming,’ he replied laconically. ‘And if you’re feeling guilty because of it, forget it. Please don’t imagine it places you under any obligation to stay.’
Joanna sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘No?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘I should have thought after what Mrs Harris must have told you, you’d have been standing on the doorstep, your suitcase in your hand.’
‘Mrs Harris never——’ But after a moment, Joanna broke off, realising there was no point in lying to him. ‘That is—I don’t listen to gossip.’
‘Don’t you?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders rather jadedly. ‘You mean you didn’t hear about the other governesses who have tried and failed to discipline my daughter, or the numerous schools I’ve sent Anya to in an effort to improve her education.’
Joanna frowned. ‘Why do you call her Anya? I understood her name was Antonia.’
‘It is.’ He sounded bored with the conversation, but he explained. ‘When she was just learning to talk, she couldn’t say her own name. The consonant was beyond her. She used to call herself An-ia. We—that is, my wife and I—used to call her that, too, and over the years it’s been turned into Anya.’
‘I see.’ It had been a silly question in the circumstances, and Joanna felt rather embarrassed now.
‘Having disposed of that, I suggest you make up your mind what you’re going to do. It’s getting late, and I have work to do.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Joanna almost choked on the apology. What a boor of a man he was! There ought not to be a shred of hesitation in her rejection of his offer, and yet for some reason she was loath to give him that satisfaction. He thought she was frivolous, useless; an ornament, finding the utilitarian world a cold and barren place. She would like the chance to prove to him that this was not so, that she could play just as useful a role in society as anyone else. And to have that chance, she had to ignore all the rudeness and insults he put in her way, and demonstrate her ability to succeed in spite of him.
However, he seemed to have taken her apology as a clear rejection of the position he was offering her. Without another word he had crossed the thinly carpeted floor towards the door, and only her instinctive: ‘Mr Sheldon!’ caused him to pause and look at her.
‘Yes?’
Joanna’s tongue circled her lips once more. ‘I—I’ll stay,’ she said impulsively, and immediately wished that she had not.
‘You will?’ There was a glimmer of relief in the narrowed eyes, but that was all. No great enthusiasm, no words of encouragement or gratitude. Just ‘You will?’ followed by a perfunctory: ‘I’ll get Mrs Harris to show you your room.’
‘No!’ Joanna took an involuntary step forward, and then felt herself colouring, something she had not done in ages. ‘I—that is, couldn’t you just tell me where I’m to sleep? I’m sure I could find my own way. Without—without troubling Mrs Harris.’
‘As you wish.’ He seemed to be mentally washing his hands of the whole affair. It’s the third door on the right at the top of the stairs. If you’ll leave your suitcase, I’ll carry it up later.’
‘I can manage,’ mumbled Joanna unwillingly, biting her tongue against the remark that if she could carry it fully a mile from the bus stop, she could certainly carry it up a few stairs, and he made a dismissive gesture.
‘Very well. But I suggest you leave your unpacking until after supper. Mrs Harris’s meals are best taken hot, and you’ll have plenty of time later to get accustomed to your surroundings.’
Joanna inclined her head. Evidently one did not change for dinner at Ravengarth. She wondered if Jake Sheldon intended to come to the table in the same disreputable gear he was wearing at the moment. It seemed highly likely, and a small voice inside her evinced mild hysteria at her decision to stay. She must be mad, she thought, after Jake Sheldon had left her and she was climbing the stairs. No one should have to pay so heavily just to prove one’s point.
CHAPTER TWO
IT was a curious evening, a slightly unreal evening, and lying in bed later that night, Joanna reviewed its events with a certain amount of incredulity. It had definitely not resembled any first evening she might have anticipated, and the feeling of anticlimax she had experienced had not yet dissipated.
Her bedroom, which she had found no difficulty in locating, was quite a spacious apartment, but its appearance matched the rest of the house. Either Jake Sheldon had no money to spend on refurbishment, or he simply didn’t care about his surroundings. The wallpaper was old, and peeling in places where the furniture had been pushed against the walls, the floor’s only covering was linoleum, which would be icy cold to the feet on winter mornings, and the furniture itself would not have disgraced a junkyard. Joanna had been at first appalled, and then amazed, and finally reluctantly amus
ed to find herself in such a situation.
The view from her windows made up in some part for the rest. Although it was getting dark, it was still possible to glimpse the tumbling beauty of the stream, and beyond, the glimmer of a larger expanse of water. In the distance the shadowy fells brooded, dark and mysterious, casting a sheltering arm around the stillness of the valley.
Taking Jake Sheldon’s advice, Joanna had paused only long enough to wash her face at the handbasin she found in her room and apply some fresh make-up before going downstairs. Her hair, despite her ordeal, was still secure in its knot, and the jersey dress was not unwelcome now as the evening grew cooler. There was an ancient radiator in her room, she noticed, but it was stone cold at present, and she wondered if such an antiquated plumbing system was still operational. If not, it was going to be very cold on winter mornings, with only open fires to provide any heat. However, she refused to consider something so nebulous as the future. Right now, she had the present to live with, and despite her determination it was a daunting task she had set herself.
Downstairs again, she found the dining room by means of trial and error. There was no one about, and she glimpsed a sitting room and a cloakroom before finding a room with a table laid for one. This in itself was puzzling enough, but Mrs Harris, who appeared a few moments later, explained in her usual garrulous way that Mr Sheldon would not be taking supper after all.
‘He’s had to go down to the village after Matt Coulston,’ she confided, setting a plate of thick soup in front of Joanna. ‘Been drinking since opening time, he has, and George Page at the Fox and Hounds can’t handle him.’
Joanna picked up her spoon. She was reluctant to ask questions of the housekeeper, but if she was going to live here she would have to know who everyone was, and with a reluctant sigh she ventured: ‘Mr Coulston works for Mr Sheldon?’