Different Tides (8 page)

In anticipation of the event Mrs Mason had already spread the table with a spotless white cloth and her best blue-and-white china. Before too long the table was laden down with freshly baked scones, and there was clotted cream and strawberry jam to spoon on to them. Steam curled from the spout of a brown earthenware pot and there was milk for the children.

Edward and Iris tucked into the scones and soon wore creamy moustaches and expressions of bliss. They tried not to appear too eager or impatient as they waited for the adults to finish, but they exchanged looks and now and again forgot they were supposed to sit still, and jiggled about. In the back room one pup yelped.

Edward’s gaze went to the door when others joined in. Mrs Mason smiled. ‘It sounds like they’re waking up. Would you like another cup of tea, Mr Fleet? A surprise is always better for the waiting.’

‘I think not, Mrs Mason. We’d best get on before the children burst out of their skins.’

The woman filled a bowl with warm water and picked up a clean cloth. ‘We’ll wash those hands and faces before you see the pups lest you get dog hairs stuck to them. I’ve put two aside that I thought might suit. They’re the smallest of the litter and just the thing for young children … But that’s not to say that they’re not strong and lively.’

Edward reached for Clementine’s hand and clung to it with a sticky tightness. He wasn’t ready to trust strangers. ‘I’ll wash their hands, Mrs Mason,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could fetch the pups in.’

The dogs were plump little creatures, with pointed ears and soulful faces. The brown one had white socks and a matching patch on its back. It immediately pounced on Iris, full of energy.

‘It looks as though that one’s chosen you,’ Zachariah said.

Iris began to giggle as she fought a losing battle with her pup trying to lick her face. She tickled its belly.

The second one was black and wiry-haired, and one of his ears flopped. ‘He has long legs so I do reckon he’s going to be a gangly dog that can run like the wind.’

The pup gave growling yaps when Edward picked him up, but it was all for show because its thin tail wagged furiously.

Clementine exchanged a smile with Zachariah at the sound of laughter coming from the children.

‘My dog smiles so I’m going to call him Happy,’ Iris said. ‘What will you call yours, Edward?’

Still absorbed with his puppy, Edward gazed at it, his head to one side, his expression contemplative. It was a look he’d adopted from Zachariah. The boy was going to miss his uncle when he returned to London.

‘Well?’ Iris said.

‘Shush, Iris. I’m thinking.’

‘You spoke,’ she said.

He gazed round him, gave a secretive little grin and lowered his voice. ‘Of course I did … how else can I call my dog to heel? I’m going to teach him to bite Jonas.’

Iris gasped. ‘You’re not to say that name in case the orphanage comes to take us away … remember?’

Fear came into Edward’s eyes. ‘I forgot. I’ll call him Wolf because he looks fierce.’ He placed the dog on the floor a few inches from his feet and crouched, his hands held out. ‘Here, Wolf … come.’

The pup wobbled along for a few steps and flopped on to Edward’s feet. ‘See, it’s easy. They can’t hear me from where they are.’

‘Who can’t hear you?’ Zachariah asked him. ‘Who is Jonas?’

Edward’s voice was a murmur as he answered, ‘Nobody.’

Iris said, ‘How did you make Wolf do that?’

Edward gave a modest shrug.

Determined not to be outdone, Iris copied him. ‘Come to me, Happy.’

Happy rolled over on his back and waved his legs in the air.

When Zachariah exchanged a smile with her, Clementine realized how clever he’d been by finding a practical method to trick Edward out of his state of solitude. First the mind-reading trick, then a gift that demanded he use his voice … and all done so casually. She wondered if Zachariah had noticed the exchange about the name. Of course he had; he didn’t miss much.

‘I should congratulate you for helping Edward to find his voice,’ she said, when he escorted her to the carriage. ‘Was it planned?’

‘The dog was. The mind-reading … well, let’s call it a gift.’

She laughed.

‘You don’t believe me?’ He placed a hand on her forehead and gazed into her eyes. ‘Think of something.’

She tried to but could only think how blue and guarded his eyes were and wondered why the wry twist to his mouth was just one-sided. Her breath seemed to leave her body as her glance was suddenly absorbed into his, as if a window had opened and invisible forces had pulled her through it. Her mouth tingled and she wished he’d kiss her, though she knew he wouldn’t. She wondered desperately what it would feel like if he did.

Panic filled her and she felt angry – at herself and at him. She was a servant, nothing more, but he made her feel as though she was his equal. She would be glad when he went back to London.

‘Hmmm … perhaps not,’ he said with a chuckle, as if he really had read her mind, and had found her lacking in everything he desired in a woman.

Twisting away from him she ignored his hand and scrambled into the carriage unaided.

The season slipped quietly into autumn and the landscape covered itself in a cosy patchwork quilt of warm colours.

Seated astride his grey, Zachariah gazed at Martingale House. He’d already stayed longer than he’d intended to and it was time he left. There were business matters to take care of in London. He wanted to take stock and sell off some of his more risky investments.

Cotton prices in America had plunged, and the wheat harvest had been poor. He also had investments in overseas railways. Luckily most of his wealth was in gold or property, rather than paper. He liked to get things settled in a timely manner lest an opportunity to profit from it was lost.

Unlike Gabe, who had gambled for the pleasure of the risks involved. Zachariah knew when to apply caution, when to stop and wait until markets improved. He suspected there would be a recession in America before too long and that would have an effect on his own fortune. The upside of that was the property market would contain some bargains.

There was a sense of reluctance inside him to leave. He’d not expected to discover such a strong sense of duty in being responsible for two orphaned children. He admitted it had been a painful trait to recognize in himself. Edward in particular had formed an attachment to him. Odd when the child hardly knew him. Zachariah had offered him very little encouragement. Iris was a sweet child, outgoing and dainty.

He could see only a passing resemblance between the children and their parents – or had that been a defence? That bothered him somewhat. They hadn’t seemed to recognize Gabe and Alice in the painting. Then there was the name that had slipped out. Jonas. ‘
I’ll teach him to bite Jonas
,’ Edward had said, evading Zachariah’s question. Also their manners were slightly rough, though they were improving.

He shook himself, willing himself not to look for faults. Clementine was smoothing the rough edges from them. Circumstances made children change to suit their environment, so they wouldn’t make themselves noticeable by being different.

He’d expected the impossible, two fully trained children complete with impeccable manners – children that wouldn’t cause him a moment of trouble. They would be trotted out in their Sunday best every time he visited so he could smile his benevolent-uncle smile on them and bask in their adoration. What he’d got was a pair of underfed strays who were strangers to him, both of whom were bewildered and afraid to trust anyone.

Iris was fairly confident, though tended to look to her older brother in times of stress. Even at her young age she displayed some of the outgoing feminine charm that he hoped would stay with her. That, she’d inherited from her mother, except the girl had an intelligence that needed nurturing, so she didn’t grow up empty-headed. Clementine’s influence would ensure that Iris would contribute an informed opinion to a conversation in the years to come.

Edward was scared of his own shadow. Over the past year or so he’d been so badly treated by someone, probably the Sheridan couple, that he’d become frightened of his own voice. The boy had nightmares, and he looked nervously around him when he spoke, and avoided the dark corners. There was caution in him where Zachariah would have expected to see his father’s brashness.

Of one thing Zachariah was certain: Gabe would not have allowed his children to travel with a couple who would treat them badly, since he’d doted on the boy.

It was by luck rather than design that Zachariah had found the key to unlock Edward’s tongue. When Clementine had congratulated him over using the dog he’d accepted the praise as his due.

He spoke her name softly, tasting it on his tongue and allowing it to drift away on the soft breeze. ‘Clementine …’

He smiled. She was no respecter of his feelings or his position in life, and although she made him uncomfortable at times, there was nothing false about her. He liked her; perhaps liked her too much – in fact he was acquiring a strong affection for her, which was an unexpected and not altogether pleasing development.

The week before had been a case in point. He’d gone up to the nursery on a whim when Polly had been eating her evening meal. Iris had been already asleep. Edward was leaning against Clementine’s shoulder as she sang him a lullaby, her fingers gently caressing his scalp.

Zachariah had backed away without being noticed when she’d lowered the boy to the pillow and kissed his cheek. Warmth, longing and envy had churned inside him for something he’d never experienced.

He remembered those same beds, occupied by two boys. He remembered the goodnight kisses … but not for him. His shyness had been interpreted as sullenness, and he’d become brash to attract the attention he coveted. All Zachariah had wanted was to be as loved as his older brother – a brother he’d worshipped.

His immaturity had not allowed him to see the shallowness of his sibling hero, or the manipulation Gabe employed – not until later. His father had been a braggart, and had barely noticed him. His mother had called him a graceless lout. His father had barely been cold in his grave when Zachariah had been sent away from home. It had been the ultimate betrayal.

His mind snapped back to the present. His mother would never have held him in comfort against her like Clementine held Edward. He knew then that he’d made the right choice by employing her, relative or not, though it had been instinct at the time.

He headed up the incline towards the house. There was a task he must undertake before he left. He must inspect the contents of Gabe and Alice’s trunks, and store anything of value in a secure place for the children to have when they were older.

He handed his horse over to the stable hand, then went in to see Stephen. ‘We’ll be leaving for London in a week. Evan can take the stage a day or so earlier. I’ll leave Ben here with the carriage and the grey for the use of Miss Morris and the children. We’ll saddle up the carriage horses.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He went up to the master bedroom. It was clean and tidy. The cupboards were empty and impersonal. It was a splendid room with woven red and gold hangings and a painted ceiling. The bed could have accommodated six people and the room had a view over the fields. He’d never been able to bring himself to move in there.

When he opened the trunks his nostrils were assailed by a musty stale smell. There was a jumble of clothing, mostly dirty. He recognized one of Alice’s gowns, almost rags now. She’d been such a clean and dainty woman. It had been too bad of Gabe to bring her down this low with his excesses. There was a gold-set brooch pinned to the bodice in the shape of a posy of flowers, and fashioned from red stones with pearl centres and enamelled leaves.

He removed it and set it on the dressing table. That would be kept for Iris to wear when she was a little older, along with any other feminine trinkets. He must remember to look in every pocket for valuables, but if Gabe had been impoverished he would have gambled away anything of value, or sold them. The smaller trunk contained some books, letters and writing implements.

He felt furtive going through his brother’s belongings, and rather grubby. These trunks contained the sum of his brother’s life. They contained very little of value to bequeath to the family he’d begotten. In fact, they reeked of failure.

He sensed someone was watching him, and the long mirror offered him a reflection of Edward peering around the door. Zachariah smiled and said, ‘Come in and join me, Edward. Is anyone looking after Iris?’

He nodded. ‘Polly is. Wolf wandered off and Miss Clemmie and I went to look for him. She went down to the kitchen to see if he was there. She said the cook feeds him too many scraps and he’ll get fat and won’t be able to chase the rabbits away from the vegetable garden.’

‘She’s right.’

‘I heard a noise and thought …’

‘That I was your father?’ Zachariah smiled at him. ‘It’s all right for you to think that, and to talk about him. Sometimes I wish I were him.’

Edward opened his mouth then shut it again when Zachariah patted the bed. ‘Some of his personal things are in this small trunk. Climb up on the bed. You can sort it out if you like. Put aside anything you want to keep for yourself and for Iris when you grow up, but not clothing because it’s dirty and old and I’m going to burn it.’

Edward scrambled on to the feather mattress. ‘Papa was going to buy our mother a new gown when he got some money. He said it would be made of silk and he’d build us a big house with a ballroom, and the governor would dance with her and she’d look so pretty that he’d be the proudest man in the world.’

Zachariah’s throat constricted and he pulled the boy to his side in a quick hug. He was well aware of Gabe’s love for his wife, and for that alone he envied him. Gabe’s superficial charm and his hopes and dreams would have amounted to nothing though, and in the end he would have disillusioned his son. ‘Your mother was a lovely lady.’

‘Iris climbed on a chair and scribbled whiskers on their picture, then she fell off the chair and bumped her head. Polly is trying to wash the scribble off.’