Hearts and Diamonds (9 page)

‘Exactly. It’s all “do this, do that, if you want to get a job” but what jobs? There weren’t any.’ Jason gazed into the bowl of his wineglass. ‘We all gave up, around year eight. Just pissed about in class or stopped going. I still thought I could make it as an artist, though. But I suppose, as the years went by, it dawned on me how I was from the wrong place at the wrong time and didn’t know anyone who could help me. I suppose you could say I got depressed.’

‘Did you see a doctor?’

‘Well, no, because I didn’t
know
I was depressed. I thought you had to be like my mum, sitting indoors day in day out drinking White Lightning and staring at the telly. That was depressed. I mean, I went out, I had friends, I had girlfriends, I had what I would have called good times. But behind it all there was this hopelessness. This feeling that there was nothing else to live for but partying till you threw up in someone’s trashed living room. We pretended it was how we wanted to live, and by the time we worked out that we were pretending, it was too late.’

‘Too late? You’re a young man, Jason.’

‘I don’t feel young.’

‘Well, you are. And you’re luckier than most. You’ve got an amazing talent. Now you have a chance to get away from everything that was holding you back.’

‘Yeah, and I’m going to take it, Jen, so don’t go on at me. But in the meantime, I want to pay my way.’ He stood up and gestured around him at the suite. ‘I mean, look at this. This is way beyond anything I ever thought I’d have in my life. But I don’t feel like I should be here, because I haven’t paid a penny towards it. I should be out there sleeping in the park by rights.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘It’s not daft.’ His eyes shone with righteous anger. ‘It’s time I grew up, Jen. It’s time for me to be a man.’

‘I know you are . . .’

‘Don’t joke. I’m serious. In ten years’ time, my mates’ll still be on the estate, sleeping all morning, sitting outside the off licence all afternoon, smoking weed all night in each other’s houses, playing Call of Duty on ripped off Xboxes. That’s not going to be me, even if the art thing fails.’

‘Of course it isn’t. And the art thing won’t fail.’

‘I owe you, Jen. Big time. And I’m going to pay you back.’

‘I don’t want your—’

‘I’m going to pay you back,’ he repeated, alight with the ferocity of his resolve.

‘OK,’ she said quietly. ‘OK. I believe you. Now will you come and drink your wine?’

It was the right thing to say, she realised. It had been pointless to tell him that he didn’t need to do it, that she was happy with the way things were, that she didn’t begrudge a penny. The point was his resolution, his determination to overcome the wasted years and turn himself into somebody he could live with.

But there was nothing he could do tonight, so she tried to change the subject.

‘I’ve been reading that book I found in the cellar at the Hall,’ she said.

‘Oh yeah?’ His voice was blank, as if the impassioned speech before had drained him of expression.

‘I really think the body is hers,’ she said.

‘Whose?’

‘Frances Manning . . . Fairy Fay. She gets a job as governess at Harville Hall. I think she goes on to marry the lord and he kills her, or she kills herself.’

‘Sounds like a good book.’

‘No, it’s really creepy to read, actually. I’ve only got as far as her getting to Harville Hall and meeting everyone, but I’m dreading what’s going to happen next. I almost don’t want to read on.’

‘What, and you haven’t even got to the good bit yet? Have you got it with you?’

Jenna nodded. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it, really. It’s delicate. That’s another reason I don’t much like reading it. It smells so weird – sort of sour and dusty. It’s a miserable smell for a miserable story. But I wrapped it up in a tablet cover and brought it all the same.’

‘Give us a read. Do you think it’s really the diary of the skeleton we found? Do you think she was murdered?’

Jenna rose to find her suitcase.

‘I don’t know, Jason, and I’m not sure I want to find out.’

‘I do. Go and get it.’

January 17th

I breakfasted alone in my room – comfortable enough, if a little small – and then the young ladies were brought in to meet me. Oh heavens, ridiculous that I should be nervous of a pair of little girls, but I was, very much.

Both of them wore expressions of milk-curdling sourness, such that I was grateful to have already disposed of the little jug of cream for my porridge. All my efforts at friendliness and conversation were met with severe rebuff. Not a word fell from their lips.

The lady who had brought them in was the family’s nurse, Bertha – a lady who had performed faithful service at Harville Hall for many years, and indeed, it was evident, for she was very elderly. She reminded them of the master’s decision that I was to be the last governess before the last resort of boarding school was reached, and this seemed to bring a weary resignation to the fore. Both girls then bade me good day and offered a species of reluctant curtsey.

It was not much, but better than the frozen silence.

Our first morning in the school room was a long and dreary affair. To elicit any response at all from them was the proverbial drawing of blood from a stone. And yet one sensed that, beneath their hostility, two unhappy and lonely girls existed, having only each other for comfort. I have determined to be a friend to them, even if I must crack away at their stubborn carapaces for a month of Sundays.

Saw very little of Lord H, who went out to the mine and then kept himself in his study all evening. It is lonely here and the staff, when I attempt to engage any of them in light discourse, oblige me with such a sullen air that I am quite put off.

Consoled myself in writing long letters to Mama and Mary. How I wish I could bring them here.

‘I’d get out of there if I were her,’ said Jason gloomily.

Jenna shuddered.

‘It’s very odd to think of her, quite alone and adrift, in
my
house. I wonder which was her room? And where did the girls sleep?’

Jason shrugged. ‘Perhaps in the room where we found the graffiti message that time? You know – “Help me”. Maybe that was them.’

‘Maybe it was.’ Jenna’s scalp prickled.

‘Go on then. Turn the page.’

January 19th

Summoned to take tea this afternoon with Lord Harville, a most momentous occasion, for he has been all but invisible since our first meeting on my arrival here.

A miserable and rainy day but we sat in the drawing room that overlooks the garden, watching the raindrops course down each square pane in the French doors. Any glimpse of the garden was quite obliterated, but of course, my attention was focused upon my employer.

He was perfectly polite, if unsmiling, and seemed solicitous of my comfort.

Of course, his primary motive for our meeting was to ask after the girls and establish for himself whether my appointment was a success or failure.

I knew this, but was truthful with him, opining that, while progress was slow, it was at least progress and I intended to be steady and unwavering in my devotion to their education.

He seemed to appreciate this, but said I must inform him immediately should their behaviour decline or become unmanageable.

All this time, his eyes had remained upon his plate of scones, but now the quality of his attention changed and became something quite other. How, I cannot quite explain, but he held my eyes and proceeded to ask me a perfect barrage of questions about my own education, my likes and dislikes, my hopes and fears.

It was most peculiar to be the object of such a man’s apparently sincere interest. What possible reason could he have had for wanting to know anything at all about a person of such little account as myself?

‘I am a man accustomed to giving orders,’ he said to me. ‘But my own daughters are the only people I cannot make obey. Their conduct shames me.’

‘No,’ I said, and I blush at my presumption now in contradicting him. ‘I think they only crave your attention. Your affection. If you were to invite
them
to take tea with you, I am sure you would see a gentler side to them.’

He stared at me, so long and so hard that I fully expected to be dismissed on the spot.

But instead, he said, ‘Perhaps I should. Perhaps I will.’

We finished our tea in near-silence after that, save some desultory remarks about the weather and the newspapers.

Alone now in my room I cannot rest for thinking of him and his strange manner. At first I thought him cold and remote, but now I see how grief has laid its mark upon him and changed what he once must have been. A heart beats inside his stiff breast, of that I am sure. But of what use is such knowledge to me? And why does it affect me so?

‘Struck by the love bug,’ said Jason laconically.

‘Oh dear, do you think so?’

‘Poor kid, didn’t take much, did it? Just a bit of attention was enough. I bet he knew it too.’

‘She seems very easy prey,’ Jenna agreed. ‘I hope he doesn’t take advantage of her.’

‘I bet he does.’

‘And those poor girls . . . bereaved of their mother and ignored by their father. God. I’m so glad I didn’t live in those times. Imagine.’

‘I’d have been in the workhouse,’ said Jason. ‘Or more likely in prison. I think prison was meant to be better. Better food.’

‘Or you’d have gone down the mine,’ said Jenna. ‘Virtually every man in Bledburn did. I’d have probably married some miner and lived in a two-up two-down with a brood of screaming kids.’ She laughed. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse.’

Jason put his hand over hers.

‘What if I was the miner?’

She laid her head on his shoulder. ‘Then it would have been bearable, at least.’

‘You might not have wanted the brood of kids, but getting them in the first place might have been all right.’

She tried to picture it – living in a dark terrace in a cobbled street, washing down her front doorstep in a shawl while children screamed and laughed up and down the pavement. Jason arriving home from the pit, showered but still grimy, with dirt-blackened fingernails. A stew made of cheap scrag end with rough bread and a pot of beer from the corner house. A tin bath in front of the fire.

It sounded cosy in her imagination but she had no doubt it would have been hard, repetitive and possibly soul-destroying, especially if you weren’t one of nature’s matriarchs.

‘Getting the first one, maybe,’ she said. ‘The other times, the bed would probably have been full of babies and toddlers. Not conducive to a romantic atmosphere.’

He chuckled and kissed her head.

‘Good old twenty-first century, eh?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Just as many people living grim lives but at least they can have sex without being watched.’

‘Unless they want to be,’ said Jason after a beat.

She slapped his wrist and a playful struggle ensued, during which the diary slipped off Jenna’s lap and fell in a dusty heap on the floor.

‘Shit,’ she said, sobering. ‘I must be more careful with this. It could crumble to dust if I don’t look after it.’

She found the page they had been looking at.

‘I wonder if Miss Frances Manning will be having any sex any time soon,’ she said.

‘They didn’t go in for it much, did they, the Victorians?’

‘Well, we’re here, so presumably . . .’

‘I thought they were meant to be all weird about it.’

‘I’m willing to bet the Harvilles were weird about everything.’

‘Good point,’ said Jason with a laugh. ‘Go on, then. Let’s read on a bit.’

January 22nd

Such a trying day with the girls that I was obliged to leave the school room and gather myself on the landing before I lost my temper.

They can be charming, but today they have been demons, deliberately obtuse and sly. I want very much to like and befriend them, but they make it so terribly difficult for me.

I called for Bertha to watch over them while I collected myself. It occurred to me that perhaps an aggravating factor had been the dreary weather. It has rained for quite five days together, and not one of us has set foot out of doors in all that time.

The wet weather having finally abated, I decided to take the girls outside for a nature study lesson, in hopes that all our spirits might be lifted by some fresh air.

Alas, the lesson did not run as I intended it to. The girls were quite ungovernable, escaping to the far corners of the garden, where they remained concealed in the woodland for more than an hour.

In despair, after much hunting and calling, I sat myself at the garden table and hid my face in my hands. I entertained serious thoughts of resigning my post and going home to Nottingham, even more so when Lord Harville appeared on the terrace.

I tried to dry my eyes and compose myself as quickly as I could, but it was too late. He had taken the measure of my distress and came swiftly towards me.

‘Miss Manning, whatever is the matter? Where are the children?’

‘A game of hide and seek,’ I said, and may God forgive me for the lie. ‘It has been so rainy lately, and they needed the air.’

‘As do you, by all appearances,’ he said, sitting beside me. ‘You are pale and your eyes
. . .
’

Modesty dictated that I should look away, change the subject to one that did not concern my personal appearance, but I found myself meeting his gaze, which was of such genuine concern that my heart was pierced.

‘Oh, I am quite well, I assure you,’ I told him. ‘A slight cold, perhaps.’

He did not believe me: that much was plain from the sober judgement of his fascinating eyes. I could not determine their colour. They seemed to hold a little of each, the predominant shade varying with the light.

‘Miss Manning,’ he began, but the girls chose that moment to reappear, and, oh! the sight of them was enough to make me cry out in dismay.