Nell (2 page)

The foliage all around was denser than ever, every tree heavy in spring leaf and thick with underbrush. A scent of damp and moss was in the air, and the muggy feel of a threatening storm. Nell repressed an inward shudder. Was it the chill of evening that sent ice racing down her veins?

She could see a turn ahead on to a narrow track, and felt no surprise when the gig slowed to a walk to take it. The way was deep with ruts with a steep rise ahead. Nell felt for the cob as it trudged gamely upward, encouraged by a blandishment or two from the dour groom.
But as they breasted the rise, Nell’s thought for the horse disappeared as she caught her first sight of Castle Jarrow.

The track was a deep cleft within the encroaching forest, leading directly to a monstrous shadow, standing four-square against the world. Lowering above the gig, it looked like a child’s fairytale nightmare, a gross battlemented monstrosity, towering into the sky. The pit of Nell’s stomach had vanished, and she found herself wishing with all her heart that she had not come.

In this light, the carriage was a slow-moving speck upon the road below. From the battlements, the view was both spectacular and all encompassing. In ancient times when the forest had not been permitted to encroach upon the hill itself, the most cunning of invaders could not have made an unseen approach.

Watching the advancing gig with a sensation of weary cynicism, the present Lord Jarrow at length identified two figures within. She had not yet turned tail, then. If his tolerance of Toly Beresford had been as it was in the early days, he might have laid a wager with his brother-in-law upon how long it would take. Not that he could find it in himself to blame either of the previous women from escaping as fast as they could. Would that he might do the same! Only this one was little more than a girl.

Had his need not been so desperate, he would never have offered her the post. Only Miss Faraday came highly recommended. He had written to the Paddington Charitable Seminary for Indigent Young Ladies upon the advice of Lady Guineaford, for whose neighbourly kindness he must ever be thankful. She had continued to visit until she had left for town for the season, notwithstanding the unfortunate circumstances and the inevitable scandalmongering. Lady Guineaford’s own bevy of
daughters had been educated to advantage by one of the women trained under the formidable matron who had replied to him from the Seminary. But although she had allegedly offered him her best pupil, Jarrow had balked at the girl’s age. It was only after both of the older females he had engaged through an agency had refused to remain at Castle Jarrow upon any terms that he had once more written to Mrs Duxford. By good fortune, Miss Faraday had been still available, and Jarrow had decided—much against his better judgement!—to try her. And here she was. Utterly inexperienced, and but two and twenty years of age.

Jarrow sank back, and his jaundiced glance swung to the back parapet where the pale gleam of the overcast sky yet cast shadows from the battlements on to the rooftops below. The girl was bound to hate the place. What female would not? And if by some miracle she did stay, how could he reconcile it with his conscience to condemn another young creature to an indefinite incarceration within these walls? The familiar ache of distress started up again.

If only Julietta’s condition had not forced him to it! Had he been wrong to bring her here? But what else could he have done? They could not have continued in London, full in the humiliating glare of the public eye. Whether the
ton
looked in contempt or compassion, Jarrow knew he could not have endured it. For good or ill, he had brought Julietta home. And ill had prevailed.

Sighing, he turned from the parapet and made his way around the roof walkway to the study his father had fashioned long years ago out of the top of one of the back turrets. Jarrow had caused it to be refurbished, along with the other, which had been his own schoolroom for a time before he had been sent away and must now serve Hen
rietta—if he could find a governess who would remain long enough to begin upon the child’s education! God send it would serve the purpose. The sorry example of Julietta left doubt—and pain—at his heart.

For several moments Nell was unable either to speak or move, only one thought revolving in her mind. She must have taken leave of her senses!

Yet, as they drew closer to the castle, dropping down into a slight valley before coming up again upon its other side, she began to see that the mammoth sight had been an illusion. A trick of the light, perhaps, throwing shadows that doubled the place in size. Her breath calmed as the building came into better focus.

Sitting on the brow of a hill, surrounded on all sides by the vastness of the forest, Castle Jarrow was nothing short of a medieval fortress. Nell recognised the style. Simple but intimidating, built of massive stone, a round tower at each of the four corners, with a central entrance to this side that must once have held a formidable gate or drawbridge. The roof was solid with battlements, which, together with its commanding position, must have ensured security for the Jarrows of ancient times. It was not these days the sort of accommodation one expected the gentry to inhabit. And Nell had laughed at Kitty’s prognostications of spectres and dungeons!

The gig rattled up to the entrance and carried on through the unbarred opening without a check, its wheels clanging on cobbled stone as if to signal Nell’s arrival. Thankfully, the courtyard within had been laid with gravel, and the gig rattled more quietly and came to a halt at a pair of arched doors on the opposite side.

Nell did not immediately alight, her interest caught by the huge stone edifice that surrounded her. The darkening
skies above did nothing to lessen the feeling of being dwarfed, and Nell could scarcely blame her predecessors, who, it was said, had turned tail and run at first sight of the place. There was not a light to be seen at any window, and no one came out to greet her. It was as if the castle was untenanted. But that could not be. Indeed, an aroma of cooking emanated from one side of the building, and, as Nell roused herself to descend from the gig, the massive wooden doors were pulled open by an unseen hand.

If Nell had been as fanciful as Kitty, she might have supposed a ghost had been responsible. But as her feet touched the ground and she turned again, she discovered someone standing in the aperture. The butler, if she was to judge by his clothing of formal black, and the neatness of his neckcloth.

Her unease began to dissipate. She must not let her imagination run away with her, for there was normality here. Above all, she must try to give a good impression. After all, her future here depended upon her acquitting herself well, not to mention upholding the reputation of the Paddington Seminary. Putting back the hood of her cloak, she moved forward with a smile.

‘I am Miss Faraday. How do you do?’

Detling, who was retrieving her portmanteaux from the gig, volunteered his usual scrap of information. ‘Keston that be.’

The butler ignored him. He stepped to one side. ‘Pray enter, Miss Faraday. Detling will see to your luggage.’

Nell stepped into a cavernous hall that evidently ran the length of one side of the castle. Ahead of her was a wooden stairway, clearly of much later date than the building itself. It rose in a single flight to a landing halfway up, and turned back on itself to reach the floor
above. Beneath her feet was solid wood, upon which a regular pattern of light spattered shadows from several high windows. The shaft in which Nell was standing shortened, and disappeared altogether as the butler shut the main doors. They closed with a thud and left her in relative darkness, reawakening her earlier misgivings.

She was requested to wait, and dismay crept over her as she listened to the echo of the butler’s footsteps treading away down the hall. A door opened and shut. Nell was alone.

Silence engulfed her. Try as she might to quieten her rising apprehension, the uneven rhythm of her heartbeat prevailed.

This was absurd! She was allowing herself to be overwhelmed by nothing more than imagination. Nell walked purposefully to the stairway and back again. At least she was creating noise! If only her own footsteps did not sound the more eerie for the echoes she made in the empty space. For all she could see in the dim light, the hall appeared to be devoid of furnishings. And that was indeed odd. Should there not have been at least a chair or two? One might look for a pew, a suit of armour or some other manifestation of bygone days.

The scroop of a door opening caused her to jump. There was an abrupt access of light at one end of the hall. Behind it, a silhouette caused Nell to gasp. The highwayman!

Then it vanished and the door shut, leaving her again in darkness that enveloped the more for the contrast. Had it indeed been that masked and black-garbed figure she had seen? It had certainly born a remarkable resemblance to the man on the horse—if she was to trust her eyes in that brief moment of light. Dared she trust any of her senses in this disordered frame of mind?

Before she could decide whether the apparition had indeed been reality, she was thankful to see the butler returning, bearing a lighted candelabrum. The hall immediately appeared darker again and Nell was glad of his escort up the stairs. They entered one of two rooms at the top, where she found herself in a neat parlour. Keston set down the candelabrum on a table to one side, and once again left her, saying that he would inform the master of her arrival.

Alone for the second time, Nell crossed to the window, looking out into the courtyard below. At this height, the fading day still afforded sufficient light to see that the gig had been moved to one side, the horse already taken from between the shafts. There was nobody about. The castle might as well have been deserted. For several minutes her gaze roved the unresponsive walls, searching for any sign of life. The inside windows were all casements, except for those in the slight curve formed by the corner towers between the walls. But for that, and the silhouette of the battlements upon the rooftop, one might not know it was a castle at all.

Time lagged by. No one came, and Nell felt the stirrings of exasperation. She hardly knew now what she had expected, for the reality overshadowed all her previous imaginings. It would seem that she had come to a place of loneliness and silence. Unless it was the thick walls that made it so. What price the life of the little girl she had come to teach, growing up in this relic of the Middle Ages?

Although she was obliged to admit, turning from the window to look about the parlour, that here at least the pervasive sense of ancient days did not hold sway. The light from the candelabrum cast shadows across chairs set neatly against the walls. They looked to be aged and
sturdy specimens, but of a style more recent, with cushioned seats the colour of dull gold. An oriental carpet warmed the floor, and near where she stood at the window was the table where the butler had placed the candles. It was of walnut, set between two chairs more delicate in shape than the rest. A marbled fireplace at one end led up to panelled walls inset with damask hangings whose gold matched the upholstery. A portrait of a woman hung above the mantel, drawing Nell’s eye. Putting off her gloves, she dropped them on the table and, picking up the candelabrum, crossed the room.

Depicted within the gilded frame was a woman of exceptional beauty, of full red lips and dark eyes, lush curls of black falling
en négligé
from an alabaster brow. About her white neck lay an intricate collar worked in gold with a gleam of green jewels.

It was puzzling, for the style of the portrait looked to be modern, while the necklace appeared of much older origin. Was it an heirloom?

‘Miss Faraday?’

Nell jumped violently, almost dropping the candelabrum. She turned quickly, righting the candles before they could drip upon the carpet below her feet. In the doorway stood a gentleman in black.

A vision of the highwayman flashed across her mind and was as swiftly banished. As the man moved into the room, his features lit by the single candle he held, it was to be seen that his attire was rather for home wear than riding. He wore a suit of unrelieved black, and as Nell noted the black of his neck-cloth she recalled that he was in mourning.

She moved to the table and laid down the candelabrum. Turning, she dropped a curtsy. ‘How do you do, Lord Jarrow?’

Unmoving, Jarrow stared at the slender figure of the girl. Above the dark cloak that concealed her shape rose a halo of fair hair, mellowed perhaps by the candlelight into the colour of warm honey. Within it the light from the table fell upon features distinctly pleasing, if a trifle strong, and a smile that radiated warmth. Even as he felt himself responding to it, Jarrow noted with dismay the youthful bloom on the girl’s cheek. It was worse than he had expected! Her age was bad enough. Why must the creature be so personable into the bargain?

Forgetting that he had not answered her, Jarrow moved into the room. As he crossed to the table, she shifted to one side and he received an impression of unusual height. He laid his candlestick down and turned to find himself being regarded by a pair of frowning eyes of an odd colour, which he could not immediately determine. Distracted, he extended a hand.

‘Forgive my abstraction, ma’am.’

Her fingers were chill, and she withdrew them quickly. The frown did not leave her face, and there was little warmth in her voice, which had a mellow timbre.

‘You looked, sir, rather critical than abstracted.’

Her frankness did her no discredit. ‘I think surprised would better describe it. You are not what I expected.’

Nell felt herself bristling. Her self-possession had faltered as he had stared at her in that rude way. It was not the sort of look that flattered. She had read disappointment in it and felt an immediate rise of annoyance. She gave him back look for look.

‘I made no secret of my age, sir, if that is what troubles you.’

A faint smile relaxed his features. ‘It does trouble me, but that was not what I meant.’ He must have spied the spark in her eye for he held up a hand. ‘My concern at
your youth is more on your own account than mine, I assure you, Miss Faraday. This is scarcely the sort of place one would wish upon a young girl.’