The Mistress of Trevelyan (3 page)

Gratitude flooded my emotions, and I dared not face him. "Perfectly clear, Mr. Trevelyan."

I hurried across the hall, feeling as if I would either laugh or cry at any moment

Dobbs had a haughty look on his face that was drenched in satisfaction. I held on to my composure long enough to speak to him before I sailed out of the doorway. "See you tomorrow morning, Mr. Dobbs. You will be a joy to work with." My voice rang out loudly.

An amused snort echoed from the office I had just left, and Dobbs paled to the point that I thought he would faint. Smiling, I stepped out into the sunshine, wondering if I would too. I felt light-headed, as if I was floating in the air.

My feet carried me across the street to Holloway Park, to the brightly flowered gardens and sharp scents of marigolds, geraniums, and bluebells. I walked beneath the shady oaks, feeling the soft, springy grass and remembering the past. The birds chirped. The children played. And a light breeze, flavored with the salt and the fish of the bay, trifled with the leaves and then teased the wisps of my hair as it danced by, looking for mischief. The tension wrought so tightly with in me for so long eased.

My mother hadn't given me fancy dresses or a pretty face, but she'd given me something even more valuable. She'd given me her love. I had always known that. But today I realized that in that love, she'd given me another precious gift—belief in myself, in my worth as a person.

"Thank you," I cried out to the sun, for I knew she watched from heaven, and the warmth of her spirit wrapped around me.

Yesterday, after placing wildflowers on my mother's two-week-old grave, I'd returned to our small shack to finish that day's laundry. Yet once there, I'd found myself unable to clean the mounds of dirty clothes. The bleakness of my future had stared me in the eye. I would have to wash baskets of clothes to feed myself—just as I had helped my mother do since I was four.

The thought of spending another twenty years the way I had spent the last twenty made me shiver with dread, and all of my practicality deserted me. My soul cried for a new book to lose my sorrows in, and I turned right around and went to Mr. McGuire's Bookstore in town.

I never made it into the store. For as I stood outside trying to blink away my tears, Benedict Trevelyan's employment advertisement had come into focus, as had my destiny. I knew at that moment that I would find a way to teach, and I had.

Tomorrow I would return to Trevelyan Hill, to the mysterious manor that had called to me for so long. Soon I'd be able to explore what lay behind its intriguing facade.

I turned to study its turrets and spires from afar, and my thoughts strayed again to the master of the manor. Was he capable of murder?

I rubbed my wrist, remembering the feel of his lips upon my skin, remembering the tenor of his voice and his disturbing size. Deep inside me heat tingled, making a little ache flutter to life.

I knew that once I passed through the demon-carved portal tomorrow, my life would be forever changed, but there was no going back. My thirst to know more was too strong. I could not deny myself this, no matter what dangers lay ahead. I imagine my yearnings were akin to those that had driven explorers to the sea and pioneers to the West.

But, I thought, as I recalled the feel of Benedict Trevelyan's hand within mine and the touch of his lips, I would definitely buy a pair of gloves. Of that there was no doubt.

As the afternoon sun drew closer to the western horizon, painting the sky a swirl of pinks and yellows, I again found myself in front of McGuire's Bookstore. Walking out to Trevelyan Hill and back into town had left a coating of dust upon me, yet the time I spent at Holloway Park had my spirit feeling renewed, like a flower after a spring rain. Not even the impersonal hustle and bustle of people rushing to the shops, banks, and saloons—something that usually made me feel lonely—could dampen my spirit. My life had changed, and I yearned to tell someone of its wondrous new direction.

I stepped through the door to the tinkling of tiny bells and a squawking "How now, Spirit!" from Puck the Parrot as he announced my arrival.

Mr. McGuire was just as I always found him, perched on a high stool at his desk, engrossed in a book. As always, his desk was a precarious pyramid of novels and papers with only a small corner clear on which to rest the current tome he read. I greeted Puck with a soft coo, brushing his red and green plumes with the back of my hand, then cleared my throat twice before I got Mr. McGuire's attention.

His face broke into a wreath of kind wrinkles when he saw me. "Ah, lass, I'm so glad you've come. I've something for ye." He stood, absently pushing his bifocals in place on his pebble nose and tucking his few wisps of silver hair back atop his shiny head.

"Something to read?" The greediness in my voice should have shamed me, but I fear that when it came to books, I had none.

"I go, I go, look how I go!" Puck, sensing my enthusiasm, answered in kind. The colorful bird quoted Shakespeare, most often the fairy character after which he was named.

Mr. McGuire shook his head as if mystified. "How did you ever guess?"

I smiled at the game we had played before and dutifully replied by rote. "I saw it in my crystal ball?"

"Doubtful."

"A bird whispered it in my ear?"

He moved over to Puck, close to where I stood, and gave the parrot half of a hardened biscuit. After a long moment he spoke. "Possibly."

I blinked in surprise. My mother and I had come when we could to McGuire's Bookstore, using whatever spare monies we had to buy one of the bound treasures from his shelves. And over the years affection had grown between us. Were I able to choose a grandfather, Mr. McGuire, his Scottish burr, and all of his absentminded clutter would be mine. I would never forget the thrill that had gone through my ten-year-old heart the first time he said he had a surprise for me. Always before at this point in our game, when I'd said a bird whispered in my ear, Mr. McGuire would fuss at Puck for giving away secrets. That Mr. McGuire had changed his response now gave me pause. I didn't know what to say next.

Concern deepened his bleary blue eyes. "Your mother's illness and death has sorrowed me greatly. I've lived through losing most of those I hold dear, so I know a good bit of how ye have been feeling. I imagine you've been a mite lonely."

My mother's death had left a huge void in my life, and this dear old man's caring put a comforting arm about me. "You always understand."

He sighed. "Remember me saying a close friend of mine was a professor at the University of Edinburgh? Thomas Stewart Traill, to name him."

I nodded my head.

"He died back in '62 and willed me what he considered his greatest work. He'd had the honor of editing the
Encyclopedia Britannica
and gave a copy of the set to me. I want you to have them."

My soul sang at the possibility of having so much knowledge and learning at my fingertips. I didn't know which had flown open wider, my eyes or my mouth. For Mr. McGuire to give me so great a gift told me that he cared for me as deeply as I secretly cared for him. I could not stop the shower of tears that started to fall.

Looking confused, Mr. McGuire drew his white brows into high arcs above his bifocals. "Now, I meant to cheer ye." He patted my back.

"You have," I cried. "But you give too much. I could not possibly accept something so valuable."

"Humph. That's nothing but nonsense, lass. I'm an old man with none but myself to care for, and I have a mind to see knowledge passed into loving hands before I die."

My breath caught, and I studied his wise features through my tears. I did not see any hint of illness lurking about his age-worn body, but I dabbed at my eyes and looked again. I had to be sure. He appeared as well as ever, and I released my pent breath to argue. "But—"

"I'll not be accepting any buts now. Come and take a wee look at them."

The moment I saw the box of leather-bound wisdom, I knew I was lost. Awe filled me, and tied my tongue as I fingered the gold-leaf lettering upon the spines. These treasures had come straight from Edinburgh, the very birthplace of the first edition of the
Encyclopedia Britannica
.

I could almost feel the information flow into my fingertips and fever my blood. A plan of instruction slowly formed in my mind. I would teach Benedict Trevelyan's boys everything in these revered pages. Little by little I would read the subjects and bring them to the level that a child might understand. Benedict Trevelyan had high expectations. I would be thorough. I turned to Mr. McGuire and impulsively hugged him hard. "I cannot find the words to even begin to thank you."

A blush rose upon his leathered cheeks, and a merry twinkle lit his watery blue eyes. "Ye can thank me by reading them."

"Oh, I will, I will, a thousand times. I will start this very night, and tomorrow I will stun Mr. Trevelyan with the lessons I have in mind for his sons."

The light of happiness in Mr. McGuire's eyes turned to alarm. "What is this you say?"

"How now mad spirit!" Puck ruffled his feathers upon his perch, disturbed from his biscuit eating by his owner's distressed tone.

"Dear me! I completely forgot to tell you. I applied for the position of governess to Mr. Trevelyan's children today, and I start work first thing tomorrow. Can you believe it?"

"Nay, lass. Surely you jest." He shook his head as if I'd given him grave news.

My excitement dimmed. Mr. McGuire didn't believe in me. Did he not think me capable? "No, truly I am now a governess. Do you fear I am unequal to the task?"

"Never. You are smarter than any lass I've ever known. Any lad, too, now that I think about it. It is Benedict Trevelyan himself who worries me. What if he had a hand in the death of his wife?"

I swallowed the twinge of unease that threatened to rise. Had not I had the same question myself?

Was I being too hasty, too desperate to change my life? I thought of the mound of smelly laundry I'd spent twelve hours cleaning the day before.

No, I decided. Employment to teach Benedict Trevelyan's children would in no way place me in any danger. "His wife jumped from the tower and died last year. Rumor has it that she was mad. Do you know more than that?"

Mr. McGuire sighed. "No, only the rumors. But if ye are going to be up on that hill, I'm going to make it my business to find out. Be careful, lass. Be very careful."

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Puck squawked.

Mr. McGuire and I both turned to look at the parrot, who now preened his feathers as if he didn't have a care in the world. It wasn't the first time that I wondered if Puck was more than he seemed.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

I expected the day to dawn bright, to have the warm blessing of sunshine upon the first step of my new life. Instead, heavy layers of thick fog blanketed the morning air.

On my way home from Mr. McGuire's Bookstore the previous evening, I'd spent the money I'd been saving for food and purchased a pair of gray kid gloves to armor myself. I'd also arranged—with some trepidation, for I feared horses—for transportation so that I could bring my books with me. My clothes and personal belongings I could carry in my mother's worn carpetbag. My books were another story—two cartons plus the encyclopedias.

I'd wanted to hire a horse and carriage. In my mind, a carriage would serve as an adequate barrier from the beasts that pulled it, and I would avoid giving Dobbs any reason to elevate his nose higher. Unfortunately, my few coins had only afforded me a rag-tail horse and a dusty cart, in which I now stiffly rode, seated beside a man who looked and smelled as flavorful as plump red peppers. But I hardly spared him a glance; I irrationally kept my eye on the huge horse, expecting it to do something dreadful.

After stopping at the bookstore to pick up the rest of the encyclopedias, for I'd only taken one volume home with me, we made our way to Trevelyan Hill. The manor house stood eerily in the morning mist, like a specter rising from unknown depths. Its three turrets—two smaller on the end of each wing and one larger in the center--lent a castle-like air to the manor, bringing to mind knights, and ladies, and dragons. Fascination and a sense of excitement gripped me, making me push my fear of horses to the back of my mind. My future lay in the dark house before me.

"
Madre de Dios!
" my driver cried, drawing a cross over his chest with his finger as he brought the cart to a halt and stared at Trevelyan Hill.

"We must hurry," I said, urging him on. Not only did I pride myself on always being prompt, but I didn't think the master of Trevelyan Hill tolerated tardiness.

Emitting another curse, the driver spurred the horse onward. We clattered up the drive, covering the remaining distance with commendable purpose. The gray mist about us thickened, then swirled like pirouetting ghosts upon the dewy ground. Its damp air bathed me, filled my lungs, and hung heavily about my shoulders—an undeniable presence that encircled us completely. I was unsure if the clinging tendrils of fog welcomed me or were trying to warn me away.

Either way, it mattered not. I'd set a new course for my life, and I would follow it through. The driver came to an abrupt stop. Relieved that I'd soon be far from the horse, I palmed the small coin I'd saved to tip the driver and waited for him to help me down.

I was a good foot or so taller than the driver, and it felt a bit pretentious to await him like a dainty lady. But I did so anyway, firmly reminding myself that I was embarking upon a new life. Once assisted down, I quickly made my way up the steps to the demon door and knocked.

Dobbs answered immediately; the downcurl of his lips only made the upturn of his nose more prominent.

"Good morning." I gave him a sunny smile designed to chaff his dour nature.

He ignored my greeting. Before I could say more, a noise from the driveway drew my attention. Turning, my instructions for the driver to place my bag and my boxes of books inside died upon my lips. For the driver had dumped my things upon the cobblestones and was loudly beseeching the Lord to deliver him from the devil as he clamored back into the driver's seat.