The Tutor (3 page)

Another peek showed me two pale, very round faces poking out from either side

of a wide tree trunk. Whitney and Clive had moved closer. As I played by myself, they crept from the tree to a nearby bush, where they dropped to all fours like small animals.

I threw the ball high in the air and recited the names of the ruling Caesars, as

many as I could before the ball touched ground again. It bounced. I caught it and quoted a poem while dribbling the ball between my feet all the way to the first base.

“Over the mountains of the moon, down in the valley of the shadow. Ride, boldly

ride, the shade replied, if you seek for Eldorado.”

I was out of breath. Would my ranting and ball throwing be sufficient to bring the boys out of hiding? I glanced over to find two small figures in overly large coats, one green, one blue, standing on the sidelines of my imaginary field, staring at me.

I threw the ball toward them. Without hesitation, the slightly taller and even more moon-faced of the two caught it between red-mittened hands.

“Quick, what did the cow jump over?” I demanded.

“The moon,” the boy replied, too shocked not to reply.

“Good. Now bounce the ball, spin around, and catch it, then ask your own

question.” I clapped my hands. “Quick, quick. Hurry. No time to waste.”

The taller brother bounced the ball hard, whirled in a circle, then ran to catch the ball.

“Shout your question,” I reminded him.

“Um, what’s the capital of Portugal?” He threw the ball back at me.

I caught it and answered, “Lisbon,” then bounced it with my head toward the

other twin. “What’s the name of England’s queen?” I kept it easy.

The boy didn’t put up his hands, and the ball bounced off his chest. His twin

caught the ricochet and answered the question. “Queen Victoria. Clive doesn’t talk,” he explained.

“Oh.” That was news no one had bothered to share with me. “But can he catch a

ball?”

Whitney, the talking one, threw the ball to Clive. This time the boy caught it,

stared at it, and gave it a tremendous kick that sent the ball careening into a very tall and thick hedge.

“Strong kick.” I trotted over to retrieve the ball from under the yew, scratching

my hands before I located it. I half expected when I turned around the twins would’ve evaporated like smoke, but they still stood there, staring at me.

A little charge of smug satisfaction ignited in me. I’d caught their attention and held their interest. Maybe I would do all right as a teacher.

“What fleet did Sir Francis Drake demolish?” I called out as I threw the ball to

Whitney again.

“The Spanish Armada.” He shot a look at Clive. Some silent communication

passed between them, and Clive nodded.

“Defeated in 1588,” Whit added as if speaking for his brother.

Eerie little buggers.

Whit threw the ball to his twin, who kicked it high in the air, forcing me to run to catch it.

Whit posed his next question. “Have you ever been to Buckingham Palace?”

It wasn’t schoolroom related, but I answered anyway. “I’ve been past the fence.

They don’t let common folk inside to tour it.”

“What about the Tower?”

I ignored the fact he was breaking my rules by asking more than one question. If

the boys were interested in me, that was a positive sign.

“I took a tour once. It’s a very dismal place.”

“They used to torture people. The two boy princes, Edward and Richard, were

prisoners there.” Whit drew closer, still gazing at me with the nearly transparent blue eyes both boys possessed. “They still haunt the Tower, along with many others.”

“Ghastly and exciting tales to be sure.” I bounced the ball on my knee a couple of times and threw it at Clive, who flanked me on the left. Now
I
felt like an animal being stalked by two rather malevolent little jackals.

“What’s your favorite color?” I demanded of Clive, piercing him with a stare I

hoped would startle an answer out of him. “Is it blue?” I asked, since he was the one who wore a blue coat.

Pale eyes under straight brows and a fringe of wheat-blond hair glared at me. He

threw the ball back—hard—straight at my chest. It stung my hands when I intercepted it.

All right, then. No more questions. I’d let Clive reveal himself in his own time.

He was going to be the trickier one.

For the next ten minutes or so, I engaged the boys in my silly game. They raced

around chasing the ball with intense fervor. Whit spoke for both of them, asking and answering questions that ranged from history to astronomy to folklore. In very short order, I learned he was smart and surprisingly well-read for a young boy who’d not yet had formal schooling. I wondered who had taught him to read.

Just as I was patting myself on the back for how I’d been able to coax them out of their shyness, both boys suddenly froze. Red-faced and puffing, they stared beyond me. I turned to see what had drawn their attention, and my own body went rigid.

A figure straight out of a gothic novel approached us, striding like a nightmare

vision. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black greatcoat and knee-high boots, the man could have easily played the role of a dastardly villain in an operetta. As he drew nearer and I studied the hard planes of his handsome face, I changed my mind. He was definitely the brooding hero of the story, a man mired in personal misery and darkness and just waiting for the heroine to lead him to the light with her love.
Sigh.

That was my flight of fancy as I regarded my new employer. My heart pitter—

pattered, and other parts of my anatomy went hard as I smiled in greeting. “Good day. Sir Richard, I presume?”

Then the man spoke, and I landed on earth with a sharp thud.

“What is going on here? I don’t believe I hired you to run amok with my children.

They should be in the schoolroom this time of day, learning their times tables and Latin.”

Black slashes of eyebrows drew together over deep brown eyes that glittered as

they caught the sunlight. Gorgeous and gloomy, dark and dangerous looking—just the sort of man who featured in my fantasies. A wave of powerful attraction surged through me, and I could hardly collect my wits to form a sentence.

“This being my first day, sir, I thought it would be worthwhile to create a rapport with the boys while learning a little about their level of knowledge. The modern approach is for students to learn organically rather than recite by rote,” I lied. Let him think this was some progressive technique all the best people were using rather than simply me flying by the seat of my pants.

Not wanting Whit and Clive to overhear and think I’d manipulated them, I

lowered my voice a little. “Once trust is built, I’ve found my pupils are much more willing and eager to learn.”

I needn’t have worried about revealing my intentions to the twins. When I glanced

over my shoulder, they’d both evaporated like steam.

The master of the house raked a hot glare over me from head to toe, leaving my

flesh scored and burning.

His lips compressed. “Modern approach. It appears more as if you’ve fallen in

with the savages. From now on, I expect to find my sons learning their lessons in the schoolroom. They’ve had free rein for far too long.”

Another scathing glance flicked over me like a lash. “Take the boys in hand, set

yourself to rights, and come to my study, where we will review my expectations for your employment.”

Sir Richard turned to walk away, and I—governed by too little sense and too well

developed a sense of humor—called after him, “You might consider joining the savages for a while yourself, sir. They’re an entertaining lot.”

He stopped walking, and I caught my breath. I’d gone and done it, got myself

sacked on the very first day. I’d be on a train back to London before the hour was up.

Sir Richard slowly turned to stare at me with those sizzling eyes. I could’ve

crumpled like a cheap suit under the onslaught of his gaze, but forced myself to straighten my spine and smile back at him.

The man blinked. He didn’t say another word, simply faced forward and

continued on toward the house.

I exhaled loudly and shook my head at my own foolishness. Bowing and scraping

simply weren’t my strong suit, and this wouldn’t be the first position I’d lost by letting my tongue wag at its will.

I searched the area for the twins. We’d been playing ball in an open field. They

couldn’t have returned to the gardens without passing their father, and there weren’t that many hiding places. A quick scan revealed a splash of blue squatting behind a stump and a green coat belly down to the earth.

I frowned. Did their father discipline the boys with beatings? I couldn’t imagine

why else they’d have gone to ground at his appearance rather than, at the very least, greeting him politely. It was odd Sir Richard hadn’t seemed surprised by their rude behavior or called them to come to him. What sort of strange family was this?

Not my place to worry about it, I realized. For likely I’d be gone soon.

“Whitney. Clive,” I called. “Come here, please.” I spoke as if I expected to be

obeyed, and damned if it didn’t work. Whitney rose from the grass, and Clive emerged from behind the stump. They trudged slowly toward me through the long grass.

“Seems we’ll need to resume our game indoors, lads. Will you come to the

schoolroom with me?” I tossed the ball from hand to hand.

The brothers exchanged another long silent communication, then looked at me.

Whitney nodded. “All right.”

I felt as if I’d won a small victory as my new charges meekly fell in step with me.

I shot the ball to Clive, who tossed it to Whit, who threw it back to me, and we continued to play together as we marched toward whatever punishment Sir Richard had in store.

I escorted the boys to what had probably been their nursery before conversion to

schoolroom and play area, and bid them good-bye. I might not see them again, but I’d do my best to placate Sir Richard and keep my post.

“Time for me to tidy up a bit and meet with your father,” I said. “While I’m gone, will you do something for me?”

Clive started sidling out the door at the mention of a task. Whit frowned and

scuffed his shoe back and forth on the floor. “What sort of thing?”

I sat on one of the small chairs so I was on eye level with the boys. “Here’s the

thing. I have dreams of becoming a writer. I’ve been penning a novel, and I’d value your feedback on it,” I extemporized, not possessing any such thing, since my tales had gone no further than my brain. “I’d feel more comfortable showing you my work if I could read something of yours in return. Would you both be willing to write a very short story to share with me? A paragraph would do. Whatever you’d like, but preferably something frightening. Those are my favorite types of stories.”

Whit’s eyes lit up. “Could it be about a grave robber and a resurrected corpse?

And the corpse goes after the man and tears him to bits?”

I exaggerated a shiver. “That would be very ghoulish indeed.”

I looked past him at Clive, whose interest was piqued enough to at least make him

pause in the doorway. “Or perhaps a funny story. Maybe about some children who have a new governess they don’t like so they play tricks on her to try to drive her off. Maybe she turns the tables on them because she’s actually a witch.”

Clive gazed at me with an expression that was the spitting image of his father’s—

disdain mingled with disbelief that anyone could be so stupid. Sour-faced Clive made his brother appear positively jovial in comparison, although neither boy had as yet cracked a true smile.

I left them to do whatever they were going to do, sit and write or run outdoors to play some more, and made my way downstairs. I had to ask a maid to point me toward Sir Richard’s study. The girl barely spoke above a whisper as she explained which passages to take, and she looked at me with pitying eyes as if I were going to face Lucifer himself.

I thanked her as she returned to her dusting and tried to follow directions down

one gloomy corridor after another. The house was a crazy maze laid out illogically, easy to get lost in. I spotted a few of the rooms I’d explored the previous night and realized I’d gotten turned around and wandered into the old fortress. There was that chapel again and farther down the hall, a door left partially open.

Curiosity made me peek inside. A spiral staircase led away into darkness. This

must be the massive corner tower, the one in which I thought I saw a light upon my arrival. I’d probably never have an opportunity to explore the intriguing place again after Sir Richard was through with me, so I walked up a few steps. The stone was worn to smoothness and slightly dipped in the center from generations of people winding their way up and down. I imagined guards taking their shift at the top of the tower. Sharp-eyed watchmen ready to sound a warning of approaching danger.

Again I sensed the weight of time and years, heavy and almost palpable, somber

and serious. I stopped three steps up, unable to take another, and that weight became something else, a nearly indescribable feeling of sorrow and negativity that seemed to flow into me from somewhere outside myself. I wanted to weep. Cold seeped into my flesh and bones, and a scent—slightly sweet like flowers but with a note of decay—filled my nose.

A whisper of sound floated through the still air to land on my ears. It was like the sobbing I thought I’d heard last night, but even softer, more of a feeling than an audible noise. Then it was gone.

I listened but heard nothing more in the chilly tower. Shaking off my sluggish

inertia and sensation of anxiety, I retreated down the steps. Time to face something truly frightening—the master of the house.

Leaving the door ajar as I’d found it, I walked down the hall. I’d gone only a few yards when a thud resounded in the corridor behind me. I spun around. The door I’d left open had shut all on its own.