Nell (15 page)

‘Was I?’

There was vagueness to her tone, as if she had lost the thread of the conversation. To tell the truth, Jarrow could not immediately recall it himself. He broke the contact, moving to stare unseeingly from the battlements a little way to one side of her. She was speaking, and he had to concentrate to make sense of her words.

‘I wish you will not encourage me to leave. I cannot but agree that it is the course a sensible woman should pursue. But there is Henrietta. And there is—’

She broke off, and Lord Jarrow’s eyes turned quickly towards her. Heavens, what a slip! She had been about to say
you
. Hastily searching her mind, she grabbed the first substitute that came to her.

‘There is my duty. At the Seminary we were taught the importance of duty so that we would not lightly abandon a promising post.’

‘Promising!’

Nell smiled involuntarily. ‘It is not perhaps the most congenial one, but it has the merit of—shall we say unpredictability?’

‘You may so describe it if you wish, Miss Faraday. I could think of half a dozen more appropriate terms. And none of them remotely flattering.’

He warmed to her laughter. She was the most extraordinary girl. And, no, he could not easily part with her. He held out his hand.

‘Come, let us make a pact.’

She put her fingers into his and he could feel a faint tremor. She was not as much at ease as she would have him suppose. He drew her towards him, and cupped the hand within both his own. Her gaze met his with that frank appraisal that he so much admired.

‘I will engage not to wish you otherwhere, if you will promise a degree of circumspection. Your common sense is admirable, but you are prone to impulse—and that is risky. What do you say?’

‘Impulse?’ Nell snatched her hand away, glad of the excuse. ‘What, pray, could I possibly have done to earn this from you?’

Irritation sounded in his voice. ‘What else was it that sent you stumbling through that doorway? You have been here long enough not to mistake the way.’

Nell had nothing to say in her own defence. How was
she to complain of Mr Beresford’s conduct? She was loath to tell tales, nor would she create trouble between them by doing so. Had they not already quarrelled? She took refuge in umbrage.

‘Is that all your evidence, sir? Since you were not present, you cannot know how it was that I missed my way. But setting that aside, I beg you will enlighten me as to what you consider to be impulsive.’

Jarrow threw his eyes to heaven. ‘Pray come down off your high ropes, Miss Faraday! Perhaps I should have said impetuous rather than impulsive. You do tend to spring into action, do you not? An admirable trait in certain circumstances, but not uniformly happy in its outcomes.’

Resentment showed in her eyes, and he almost regretted having begun upon this. What could he say to mitigate it?

But Nell was before him. ‘You are thinking of my having called you when I found Hetty in the schoolroom that day.’

‘When you thought you found her,’ he corrected gently.

Her eyes flashed. ‘I now see the worth of your compliments, my lord! No doubt I also imagined the playing of the clavichord in Lady Jarrow’s room! Not to mention Hetty’s sleepwalking. Obviously you are at one with Duggan upon that episode!’

‘Miss Faraday—’

‘Pray don’t trouble yourself, sir! It is no more than I should have expected, had I thought the matter through. You are, after all, no mean exponent of the art of subterfuge—if all I have been privileged to hear is true. I should have known better than to imagine you had respect enough for my—’

‘Will you be silent?’

Nell caught herself up with a gasp, her hot temper abruptly arrested. Lord Jarrow’s features were pale with wrath, eyes hard as agates. A hollow opened up inside Nell, and she almost cried aloud. How had she let her tongue run away with her? She backed an involuntary step, clasping her hands tightly together to still their sudden trembling. Her throat ached, and she strove to suppress the rise of tears. She could barely manage a whisper.

‘I beg your pardon! I don’t know what came over me.’

He did not soften, and Nell knew she had offended beyond forgiveness. He spoke at his most clipped, the held-in rage vibrant under every word.

‘If there was one person whom I would have trusted not to be swayed by rumour, it was you. It is evident that we have both been mistaken in each other’s characters.’

Despair gripped Nell as she watched him turn away from her. She wanted to call him back, to throw herself upon his mercy, crying that she had not meant it. And she had not! How could she have said such a thing to him? As well accuse him outright!

He had gone half the distance down the walkway already. If she was to intercept him, it must be immediately. Nell could neither move nor speak. Her heart cried out to him, but an insistent voice within told her it was better this way. She had come perilously close to betraying herself.

Nell was thankful for the necessity to pursue her calling. She had gone blindly back to the schoolroom, her thoughts in turmoil, fighting the welling tears. Her intention had been to go straight on to her bedchamber, there
to indulge in a hearty bout of weeping. But circumstance, in the person of Henrietta, had intervened.

The child was sitting upon her desk, nursing her doll and swinging her legs as she hummed one of the tunes she had been taught. She stopped as Nell checked in the doorway and, jumping off the desk, came skipping up to her governess.

‘I give Duggy the slip and come up myself.’

It had been all Nell could do to thrust down upon the hideous upset and give the child her attention. Long habit reasserted itself swiftly, however, and she was soon behaving as if the world had not been turned on its head. The effort to maintain her calm gave her a headache, but it was salutary in removing the immediate necessity to plunge herself into gloom.

The nurse either knew or did not care that her charge had absented herself, for she did not appear. A circumstance that gave Nell occasion to be glad, for Henrietta proved to be in confiding mood.

‘Miss Fallyday,’ she piped up, interrupting Nell’s reading of one of the child’s favoured fairy tales. Fallyday was the name she had adopted for want of being able to say the correct one. Nell looked up from the book.

‘What is it, Hetty?’

‘D’you know where the treasure is?’

Nell had become used to having non sequiturs thrown at her. She paid it little heed. ‘We are reading a story now, Hetty.’

‘But do you know?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you mean Aladdin’s treasure?’ They had read the Chinese tale only a few days since.

Henrietta gave a scornful snort. ‘Mama’s treasure.’

A faint sense of unease pulled at Nell’s attention. It was the first time the child had mentioned her mother. Yet she looked to be unaffected by it. She was waiting, black eyes impatient, for Nell’s response.

‘What treasure is that?’

‘I telled you, Mama’s treasure. It secret. Mama showed me.’

Excitement sparkled in those expressive orbs, and her plump cheeks glowed. Nell’s unease deepened. With Henrietta, one never knew what might be real and what imagined. She must tread warily—and lightly.

‘She showed you? That was lucky for you. What did the treasure look like?’

‘Gold,’ said the girl without hesitation. ‘Green bits too, glass ones.’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘Like a princess.’

Everything gold was like a princess for Hetty. It sounded as if the child was talking of some jewel that her mother possessed. Likely she had shown it to her. Little girls were notoriously interested in the contents of their mother’s dressing-cases. Nell had like memories from those far-off days when her mother had been alive.

‘Well, that is most interesting, Hetty, but wouldn’t you like me to go on reading the story now? We are just about to get Cinderella to the ball, you know.’

It was plain that Henrietta had lost interest in Cinderella. She scowled. ‘Don’t care.’ Opening her desk, she flung the doll inside and shut it again with a bang. ‘Want to find the treasure.’

‘I don’t think that will be possible, Hetty,’ began Nell firmly.

‘Mama want me to find it.’

How in the world was she to deal with this? She knew so little of the relationship that might have existed be
tween the girl and her mother. From what Mrs Whyte had said, Lady Jarrow had paid her little attention. Nell opted to humour the child. She was in no condition to cope with a tantrum! She rose from the desk.

‘Very well, let us go and look for it. Where is it?’

But Hetty remained seated, her features slumping into gloom. ‘Can’t tell.’

‘Won’t, you mean,’ muttered Nell under her breath.

The child had heard her.
‘Can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘Can’t ’member.’

‘You can’t remember where the treasure is?’

‘No, I telled you!’

Nell sat down again. ‘There is no need to get cross.’

The little girl banged her small fists on the desk. ‘Can’t ’member! Can’t ’member! Mama want me to find it. Mama get cross acos I can’t ’member.’

A riffle of alarm shot through Nell. This was scarcely the product of a balanced mind! The child knew her mother was dead, that much she had ascertained. Now she was speaking as if Lady Jarrow were alive. Nell spoke soothingly.

‘All right, Hetty, never mind. Tell me all about it. Have you looked for the treasure?’

‘I looked and looked and
looked
,’ stated the child dismally. ‘Want to find it so’s I don’t have to drink the nasty milk no more.’

Nell’s mind reeled. What in the world had it to do with milk? Was this a manifestation of the girl’s disordered thoughts? Only something in the manner of her telling rang true. There was logic to it, in Hetty’s mind at least. Nell determined to find it.

‘When do you have to drink the milk?’

‘In the night.’

‘Every night?’

The child shook her head, dark eyes fixed upon Nell’s face in that unnerving stare. She reiterated her complaint.

‘It nasty. Don’t like it.’

Nell reverted to the treasure. ‘Where have you searched for the treasure?’

Hetty glumped, shifting her shoulders and fidgeting. ‘All over.’

‘Where is all over?’

‘All over!’

‘What, all over the castle?’

Henrietta nodded, pushing out her lips in a pout.

‘Don’t want to. Mama make me.’

‘But your mama is not in the castle, Hetty,’ uttered Nell despairingly. ‘How can she make you?’

The chubby cheeks became suffused. ‘Mama is in the castle!’

Nell looked pitifully at the child, and gentled her voice. ‘Dear Hetty, it cannot be your mama. You know that your mama died.’

Hetty let fly. ‘She didn’t, she didn’t! She is in the castle, I telled you. She comed back. She comed back to the castle, and she come in the night.’

N
ell stared at the child, bemused. Henrietta’s insistence was all too convincing. Only it could not be—the girl must be mistaken. Or was this a manifestation of grief? She wanted her mother to be there, and therefore she saw her. There was another possibility.

‘My dear child, are you sure you did not dream it?’

The question was ill judged. Hetty kicked violently at the footrest on her desk.

‘
Nooooo!
I telled you and
telled
you! Mama send me milk and she come in the night and she make me look for the treasure and I look and look and look and
I can’t ’member
!’

The distraught squeal of the final words had Nell up and swiftly around her desk to catch at the small shoulders. ‘Quiet, Hetty! That will do! I believe you. Do you understand me, Hetty? I believe what you say.’

But Henrietta had dissolved into noisy sobs. These were not the shrieks of a temper tantrum. Nell recognised the desperate sound of a child in suppressed terror. Without further ado, she drew her up from the desk and gathered her into a close embrace.

‘There, now, my little one,’ she crooned, rocking
Hetty back and forth in a rhythmic way as she had done often and often with some poor orphaned girl cast adrift in the alien confines of the Paddington Seminary. ‘There, there, my dear. Nell is here. Nell will keep you safe. Never fear, my dear, never fear.’

It was some little time before Henrietta’s gulping sobs settled into quiet. Even then, she caught them on her breath now and then as she lay quiescent in Nell’s arms, her own chubby arms clutching tightly about her governess’s neck.

As she soothed, Nell began to suspect—with strong indignation!—that there was no one in this household who cuddled the little girl. Duggan was abrasive. Her father, with the spectre of his dead wife’s alleged madness in his sight, could evidently hardly bring himself to partake of her company, let alone caress her. And there was no one else. Mrs Whyte was sorry for her, but Nell had yet to see her take time to show it in person—not that the housekeeper had time. With the result that the poor child was left to confront the demons of her mind quite alone.

And, if what she had just been told was to be believed, they were horrid demons for a little girl of six to bear. Guilt swamped Nell. So wrapped up had she been in fighting her growing feelings for Lord Jarrow that she had positively neglected her duty to the child. How the Duck would scold her! Even today she had been blind and deaf to Henrietta’s troubled soul. And all on account of an absurd argument with her employer. An argument, moreover, that she had no right to have engaged in at all. She ought to be thoroughly ashamed!

At least she had the wit to recognise her fault—and the chance to amend it. There was nothing for it. She
must swallow her pride and go to his lordship. This matter must be put before him without loss of time.

And then she realised that Hetty had fallen asleep. The thought of carrying her down that dreadful winding stair did not recommend itself. Better to wait until Duggan returned to fetch her. She made herself as comfortable as she could without disturbing the little girl, and ran over in her mind what the child had told her.

It was fantastic! She refused to believe that Lady Jarrow’s ghost walked. But Hetty evidently thought that she did. The memory slipped into her mind of the music that had lured her to Lady Jarrow’s bedchamber. A chill crept through her. She had supposed it to be a trick. Could there be a more sinister aspect? Were such tricks being perpetrated upon Henrietta herself? But what in the world could Mr Beresford hope to gain? If indeed it was he who played them.

The child had spoken of treasure. Her mama wanted her to search for the treasure. Could it be possible that there really was something of value in the castle? But then why should not Mr Beresford search for it himself? He had access everywhere. No, it was too absurd. There must be some other explanation. That, or the child had been having nightmares and confused them with some random memory. Which was altogether more likely.

By the time the nurse came to fetch Hetty, Nell’s mind had settled. She still thought of approaching Lord Jarrow. But perhaps she need not seek him out just yet. If there was a hope at the back of her mind that his anger might cool if she left it awhile, Nell refused to acknowledge it. She told herself that nothing would be gained by rushing headlong into explanations, which could not be other than awkward to make. What had he called her?
Impulsive and impetuous. Let her not warrant that accusation a second time.

Nell’s appetite was poor. She had known the atmosphere must be strained, but she had not bargained for the dreadful thumping that had attacked her in the chest as she had made her way to the dining-parlour. She had entered to find Lord Jarrow already occupying his place. He had risen at her entrance, but Nell had contrived to avoid his eye as she took her seat.

The absence of Mr Beresford made it worse, for she might have brought herself to converse with him more easily than with her employer—despite the man’s suspect conduct of the previous night. Her brush with Lord Jarrow had superseded the power of that encounter to affect her. Yet the fact that his brother-in-law was not there opened the way for Nell to broach the subject of Hetty.

She was so much dismayed by the errant behaviour of her pulses that she was unable to say anything at all at first. She stirred aimlessly at the steaming soup, at length drawing Lord Jarrow’s attention.

‘You are not eating.’

Nell glanced at him, and found concern in his features. His eyes were more bleak than angry, and her heart twisted. She slipped her spoon into the pottage and hurried into speech, aware that her voice was gruff.

‘I have a great deal on my mind.’

He was silent. Nell stole another look at him, and found him watching her still. Their eyes met, and her heartbeat increased. A faint smile creased his mouth.

‘I would ask, were I not apprehensive of your answer.’

A tiny laugh escaped her. ‘Not more so than I, be sure.’

He frowned, reaching out for his wine glass. ‘Don’t be. You must by now have recognised that my bark is worse than my bite.’

Nell watched him sip at the ruby liquid. ‘I believe you have reason.’

‘You are generous, Miss Faraday.’

‘Only realistic, sir.’

Jarrow drank again, eyeing the pale cast of her countenance. Had he been a coxcomb to suppose her unease was wholly to be set to his account? He waited while Keston removed the soup bowl and replaced it with a platter. His own dismay at the outcome of the encounter had been intense. He had found himself furious at the implication that she had been discussing him with someone. Rationally, he knew it was inevitable—unavoidable in so small a household. Yet his resentment knew no bounds. It did not need much imagination to realise what gossip had been fed to her. Somehow it mattered intensely to discover that Nell Faraday had been capable of coming to the worst conclusion. A little reflection, however, had shown him that he had possibly misjudged her. Miss Faraday had lost her temper, and he had taken her words to heart.

The butler set about laying out the main course. Jarrow set down his glass, leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together.

‘What is troubling you, Miss Faraday?’

The green eyes flicked a look at him, and then turned away again. ‘Henrietta.’

Jarrow’s chest went hollow. ‘What about her?’

‘I believe—I believe she is having nightmares.’

He would have been relieved had it not been for the slight hesitation. Nightmares were almost a normal feature of his daughter’s condition. Miss Faraday was sharp
enough to have realised that much. A child did not wake screaming in the night for no reason. No, there was more to it. He tried for a neutral note, despite his rising apprehension.

‘Of what nature?’

There was a shade of reserve in her voice, but she turned her frank gaze upon him. ‘Of her mother, sir.’

Jarrow felt a sharp stab at his breast. ‘The accident! Hell and the devil, who told her?’

‘No, my lord, it is not the accident. As far as I am aware, she knows nothing of it. Although I had gathered that she was told of her mama’s demise?’

‘That she had died, yes, but of some sickness. I lied, what would you? I could not have told her the truth!’

Under the harsh tone, Nell detected a measure of pain. He was gripping his fingers together so that the knuckles whitened. She hastened to deflect his thoughts.

‘No one could blame you there, sir, but the fact is that Henrietta thinks her mother has come back, that she is in the castle.’

He turned to her, eyes grown haggard, the blue shade beneath pronounced. ‘Then she is indeed losing her wits!’

Nell became irate. ‘Why should you assume so? I have given you but the gist, Lord Jarrow, and already you are jumping to conclusions.’

‘What else am I to think?’ he returned sharply. ‘If she is seeing things—’

‘I did not say so. Nor, if she were, would it necessarily show her to be witless. What if she was being tricked into believing it? Have you thought of that?’

He looked sceptical. ‘An unlikely contingency.’

‘As unlikely as my having been drawn into your late
wife’s room? Or finding Hetty herself on the floor of the schoolroom?’

Arrested, Jarrow stared at her. The spark in her eyes reproached him. He spread his hands. ‘You leave me without a word to say.’ She did not answer, but the flush in her cheeks died down. He picked up the decanter and poured her a measure of wine. ‘I find claret excellent for the restoration of an even temper.’ He was rewarded with a laugh.

‘I do not know how it is, my lord, but you have a knack of inviting my worst side to reveal itself. It is a great deal too bad of you.’

He signed to Keston to begin serving. ‘Console yourself, Miss Faraday. Your temperament is equable compared with my own. But pray let us return to the matter of Hetty’s nightmares.’

Nell allowed the butler to lay several thin scollops of veal upon her plate, and accepted a spoon or two of succulent gravy, which proved to contain a concoction of mushrooms, truffles, sweetbreads and artichoke bottoms, together with forcemeat balls and bacon. A delicious aroma emanated from the dish, and her appetite quickened.

‘What a pity Mr Beresford has chosen to be absent,’ she remarked. ‘I believe Mrs Whyte has excelled herself.’

‘Keston, pray convey both my own and Miss Faraday’s compliments to Mrs Whyte.’

The butler looked gratified as he murmured assent. Nell began upon the food with enjoyment, and it was with a much more natural tone that she resumed the discussion.

‘About Hetty, sir.’

Lord Jarrow nodded as he disposed of a mouthful of
veal. ‘I was going to ask you to give me the substance of these nightmares.’

Nell did not beat about the bush. ‘She believes that her mother wants her to search the castle for what she calls
treasure
. She asked me if I knew where it was. She is frustrated because she says that she has looked and looked and cannot find it.’

She paused, caught by a particularly intent look in the brown eyes. Nell thought that Lord Jarrow looked through her rather than at her. Was he even listening? She partook of another mouthful, but he did not speak.

‘Hetty says that her mama sends her milk and then comes in the night. Apparently she dislikes milk, for the burden of her complaint was that she must find the treasure so that she need not drink it any more.’

For some little while, Lord Jarrow ate in silence, his gaze directed upon Nell, although she would swear that it was involuntary. He was lost in thought. She could not help feeling a little indignant. Had he nothing to say to this history?

‘My lord?’

He blinked quickly. ‘Yes?’

‘Have you any idea what treasure it could be? Henrietta described it as gold, with green glass.’

Lord Jarrow’s dark gaze became arrested again, but this time it was fully concentrated upon Nell’s face. ‘What did you say?’

‘The treasure. Hetty says it is gold, with green glass. I assume she is talking of some jewel? She says her mother showed it to her, but I do not know when that might have been.’

His features darkened, and the taut closed-in expression that Nell had begun to dread came over them. ‘Long
since. And she will never find it, if she looks ’til Domes-day.’

Nell’s heart sank. Must he turn back into that enigmatic and unapproachable creature that pulled so upon her heartstrings? Yet he knew just what Henrietta had meant. Frustration gnawed at her, but she had no chance to express it, or even to enquire further. Mr Beresford, all smiles and apologies for his tardy arrival, bustled into the dining parlour.

Constraint returned, and Nell was left to lend a spurious ear to the newcomer’s high praise coupled with laughing suppositions about the housekeeper’s sudden excellence in the kitchens.

Nell was in a ferment of speculation. Desperately as she wanted to tackle his lordship again, she knew that to do so would inevitably encourage that brooding intensity which so much dismayed her. Yet he had confided in her now and then. If she could catch him in the right frame of mind, she might find him forthcoming. That he knew something of this treasure she could not doubt after last night’s conversation. Whether it would help her to solve the mystery of Henrietta’s nightmares was another matter. But there might be a surer way to put a stop to them, if the alarming suspicion that had flown into her head in the night had any foundation.

The housekeeper, however, was less than sympathetic. ‘If I were to pay any heed to that complaint, Miss Faraday, I’d have abandoned sending up milk for Hetty long ago.’

‘But if she does not like it, Mrs Whyte—’

‘I can’t help that. The master thinks she needs it to build her up, and that’s that.’

Nell tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but
she could not do other than protest. ‘The child is scarcely undernourished!’

The housekeeper tutted. ‘It ain’t that at all. She eats well enough, and she’s still got her baby fat on her. But her sleep is bad, Miss Faraday, and that you’ll not deny.’