On Sparrow Hill (8 page)

Rebecca took a seat, wishing she’d thought to put on a robe. She noticed he wore the same clothes he’d been in earlier, and she wistfully wondered why women’s evening wear couldn’t be as comfortable as men’s obviously was. She wouldn’t have had to change at all.

“I’ve read the e-file,” she admitted. “I was so eager to finish I’ll have to read it again more thoroughly, but I just now finished the last word.”

Quentin looked at her squarely, a frown on his handsome face. “I thought you needed a good night’s rest for an early appointment?”

A blush made her divert her gaze. “Yes, I do have an early appointment. I found I couldn’t sleep after all.” She looked at him again. “I intended only to read a few pages, but I feel like I know Cosima, if only through her portrait, and wanted to learn more about her.”

“What do you suppose Dana Walker meant when she referred to the curse that affected Cosima? She said she has a daughter. I wonder if she’s like Cosima’s daughter, Mary. Or Royboy.”

“I wondered the same. I imagine we’ll find out, since Dana will be here before long.” Rebecca looked at the pages, wondering how far he’d read. “I’ll leave you to finish, then.”

She started to rise just as he reached across the table, his palm landing gently on her wrist. The touch stalled everything but her pulse. “You cannot see the kitchen light from either your office or your bedroom suite, Rebecca. You must have come down here for some other reason.”

“I wanted some milk, actually. To help me sleep.”

He hadn’t removed his hand. She told herself to withdraw but found herself still immobile. Outwardly, at least. Inwardly her heart darted from one corner of her chest to the other.

Quentin drew back. He stood, going to a cupboard and extracting a glass. “I made some chamomile tea—although I won’t offer you that since you didn’t want any earlier.” She watched as he went to the large refrigerator and poured milk for her. He glanced at her. “I’m telling myself it was the tea, not the company, that you refused. Would you like it warmed?”

Rebecca shook her head and he handed her the glass, her fingers brushing his as she accepted it. She might have come for warmed milk, but she had no idea what to do with the time it would take to warm. So she took a sip of it cold, knowing without a doubt she would have to bring the glass back to her room if she was to get much milk past her suddenly constricting throat.

“Tell me, Rebecca,” Quentin said as he sat again. His tone was so intimate she had to set aside the glass altogether, freeing untrustworthy hands. She pulled them beneath the table to her lap. “Do you wake in the morning devising ways to avoid me, or are you truly as overworked as it appears? If so, I believe you need an assistant.”

She managed a smile. “No, I’m not overworked at all.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Then it’s the other option.”

That she was avoiding him? Instantly she knew she couldn’t deny it; it was true. Not that she could explain why. Being busy was certainly one reason. Leftover insecurities from a childhood crush was another.

She only hoped he didn’t ask—

“Why?”

She attempted to brush away his question with a perplexed shake of her head, reemploying one hand to take another drink of the milk. Better to trust an unsteady grip to hide trembling lips than to admit the whole truth.

“Rebecca? Are you going to answer my question?”

She put down the milk, touching fingertips to lips, but that tremulous stroke did little to still her nervousness.

This was ridiculous. She’d felt like a child once already today, in Lady Elise’s company.

“No, Quentin, I’ll not answer your question.” She was pleased to hear the firmness behind her voice.

“Then you realize I’m left to draw my own conclusions? That the reason you’ve chosen to avoid me can only be personal? Either you don’t like me, Rebecca . . . or you like me very much. So much that it’s made you uncomfortable around me. For what reason, I cannot guess, since I like you, too. Very much.”

She pushed her chair from the table. This was really too much. “I’m sorry you’ve had to imagine such guesses, Quentin. It’s very late, though, and I think . . .”

He stood just as she did, stepping around the corner of the table and taking one of her hands. He felt warm in comparison to the cool glass. Before she could think or breathe or arm herself with a defense, his mouth descended on hers, and there she stood, kissing him back, letting her arms go round his shoulders and marveling how broad they were, how strong he felt. How close he held her, how wonderful it was. Old dreams were one thing, but reality was altogether finer in every way.

When he lifted his lips from hers, he didn’t let go. Instead he put a hand into the curls of her hair, gently inviting her head to the firmness of his chest. She wondered if his heart thumped as erratically as her own, but with her ear pressed nearby she found his beat was steady, strong like the rest of him.

“I didn’t know how else to stop you from running away,” he whispered.

“Seems to have been effective,” she said, much to her own dismay. She
should
be running. Fast. All the way to employment at the National Trust.

Quentin kissed her again and she let him. Her brain failed her, weak in comparison to the power of this kiss.

But it was foolish.

Lord, help me!

She pulled away, managing a steadying breath. “Quentin.” She’d meant to summon a touch of caution, even rebuke. He was, after all, her employer. She didn’t have to search long to find a list of reasons this shouldn’t be happening. Instead her tone had been more a plea, like a portion of the entreaty left over from her prayer.

He was still too close, and she took a step backward but ran into the table. She placed her hands behind her, gripping the edge of the familiar, marred top as if it were her only alternative to holding him. At the moment it was.

He closed the gap between them, and Rebecca had no place to go, so she raised one hand to his chest, forestalling him. “No.”

He stopped. Though he didn’t step back, he didn’t follow through with what she fully expected would have been another kiss.

His brows lifted. “No?”

“I’m too confused to sort out what just happened. It’s late. We’re both tired, perhaps too tired to behave properly.”

“I agree I might not be behaving properly, but I don’t see any reason to be confused. You were the other half of what I must say was a most enjoyable kiss. What’s to be confused about two consenting adults?”

A laugh came out that sounded a bit higher strung than she wished. “Where shall I start? Shall I remind you that I’m the granddaughter to the valet who served your grandfather? A valet’s granddaughter isn’t exactly a suitable follow-up to Lady Caroline Norleigh.”

He grinned. “That’s hardly a convincing argument, Rebecca. Come now, class differences in today’s day and age?”

“Not to you—but to your mother?”

“She’s bound to wake up in the twenty-first century sooner or later.”

Rebecca’s brain spun inside her head, twirling a dance set off by his words, his kiss, the look in his eye. Still, there was one obstacle she couldn’t ignore. “We’re not just two consenting adults. There’s a third party involved.”

Now his brows fell to a frown. “You—you’re involved with someone else?”

She nodded. “Yes, very much so.”

He looked as though he might say something but held back. Instead, his gaze dropped and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sounds serious.”

“It is.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Do I . . . am I acquainted with him?”

“I thought you were. I thought your father introduced Him to you some time ago.”

When Quentin looked perplexed, Rebecca knew she couldn’t stall any longer. “It’s God, Quentin. I may work for you, but I serve Him.”

“Ah,” he said. “And you believe God wouldn’t want you involved with me?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t you. It’s that we want different things. I want to serve Him, and you . . .”

“. . . don’t? Is that what you think?”

“Do you? I don’t really know, Quentin. I know so little of you except what I’ve learned through your family history.”

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and looked at her again. “You define the rules, Rebecca. I’ll abide by them.”

“Rules for a relationship we shouldn’t risk? Perhaps the best thing would be to forget this ever happened. Safest, you know?”

“Safe, as in boring. As in missed opportunity.”

She shook her head. “No, as in two lives still intact.”

10

* * *

Forgive me, Cosima, but I feel an alarming desire to host a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum, and I fear it is only here, in one of my private letters to you, that I shall find a safe place to reveal such inappropriate behavior. Mr. Truebody is a conundrum. I have learned already that he is difficult to please, having rewritten more than a few perfectly fine reports submitted to his office. Today he was beyond simply difficult; he was impossible. He arrived at Escott Manor to imply I am incompetent, as proven by having involved the constable over the matter of Katie MacFarland’s arrival.

“Escott Manor Hospital for the Mentally Infirm is under my jurisdiction, Miss Hamilton,” said Mr. Truebody. Berrie found his voice especially grating today, its nasal tone harsher than ever. “My jurisdiction alone. Mr. Flegge has no responsibility—or I should say, no
obligation
—to spend his time searching for a family of one who obviously belongs exactly where she was left.”

“It’s true Katie MacFarland was abandoned, Mr. Truebody,” Berrie said, “but evidently not by her entire family. There is a brother—”

“Precisely why you should have brought this to my attention. To go beyond my office is inexcusable.”

“I felt we should lose no time in trying to find Katie’s family, and with you away, the constable seemed the next obvious choice. We’ve also asked Duff Habgood to search for her family as he spreads the word about our school.”

One of Mr. Truebody’s razorlike brows rose, leaving the other aimed downward. “Yes, you mentioned that plan, and I agreed to allow this man one month before he will be expected to return and fulfill the duties for which he’s been hired. I trust you made that clear to him, whether or not he’s succeeded in either of these two missions you’ve bestowed upon him?”

Berrie nodded. “Yes. One month—that was the agreement.”

Mr. Truebody stood. He was a good deal taller than Berrie, narrow in face and shoulder. They were in the smallest sitting room on the main floor. It was meant to be a pleasant room, but at the moment it felt like a closet to which she’d been taken for reprimand.

Mr. Truebody unexpectedly smiled. “You are young and inexperienced, Miss Hamilton, a fact of which I must remind myself. You’ll have learned this lesson from now on?”

Condescension was nearly as difficult to receive as correction. “I have just one question, Mr. Truebody. If we are not to go beyond your office for any of our emergencies, will you be notifying the fire brigade should we have need of such services, or in that special circumstance should I be expected to use my own judgment and call upon them myself?”

For the barest moment she was afraid he’d seen through her veiled cynicism, though she’d tried her best to offer the question innocently.

He patted her shoulder. “I trust you will send two messengers in the event of such a tragedy. One to me, and the other for what help can be had.”

She nodded, then watched him go, although such a suggestion was one she had no intention of following. Spare a hand that could yield a bucket, just to notify Mr. Truebody? The idea was pure folly.

* * *

In the next few weeks, Berrie was grateful to have only limited contact with Mr. Truebody. As students began arriving and inspectors and surveyors came to ensure everything was in order, Mr. Truebody spent whatever time he could spare tied up with them.

Berrie’s days became as carefully planned as those of the students. She firmly believed the body and the mind were closely intertwined, and in that vein, days began by invigorating the bodies so the mind might follow suit. Students, staff, and attendants marched in military order, a talent easily picked up by everyone. Berrie had no doubt their little troop would send a shudder across the shoulder of any true soldier, but when they all managed to head the same direction, she found the sight lovely.

Katie, though an excellent marcher, proved in general as much trouble as help. Her penchant for talking aside, she revealed an interest, however no ability, in cooking. Katie appeared fascinated by the idea of making bread, and yet the moment flour touched her skin, she forgot all intention to bake. Each time Berrie attempted to help Katie with the task, she seemed at first averse to the touch of flour and then consumed by it, until she poured the flour onto her forearms and face. Evidently the texture chafed and delighted her at once, although Berrie couldn’t begin to understand how.

She had taken to locking the flour away, a measure they no doubt would have had to do anyway, sooner or later.

Daisy volunteered to act as morning and evening attendant to the few girls in residence among the fifteen new students, promising to maintain most of her housekeeping tasks as well. To Berrie’s surprise, Daisy invited Katie to the girls’ dormitory, a change Katie accepted after only a single night in the bedroom that was soon needed for staff anyway. Evidently the empty bed plagued her at night. There were no empty mattresses in the girls’ dormitory, since every extra bed had been moved into the boys’ room on the opposite end.

Despite Katie’s contentment, she continued to trouble Berrie. Even as it delighted Berrie that Katie often succeeded in her apprenticeship role, Berrie beseeched the Lord’s guidance for Katie’s brother. Perhaps he was beside himself with worry. She fervently prayed that they might locate him soon and that he could be persuaded to allow Katie to stay. If he were able and willing to fund her tuition, so much the better.

Berrie quickly learned to pray with open eyes, watching the students nearby during their daily chapel times. Such things as keeping her head piously bowed and with a commanded silence all around for prayer proved impossible when surrounded by muttering students in constant need of a watchful eye. After every meal and at the close of chapel time, Berrie asked the Lord to bring Duff home from a successful mission, not only with news of Katie’s family but to have listened to the direction the Lord would take him on his other task.