Tainted by Temptation (14 page)

“Forever,”
stressed Iris.

“So do go with Nellie and get dressed. After breakfast, we can start our lessons. If you show much improvement, perhaps he will take you with him next time.”

“No, he won’t! He hates me.” Iris shoved away and ran from the room. “He wants me dead!” The door to her room slammed with a resounding bang.

Velvet sighed. “Is she always so full of drama this early in the morning?”

Nellie stared at a point past Velvet.

“He didn’t want her to live,” she said flatly.

“What?” whispered Velvet.

“Her casket is down in the cellar. He’d already ordered it.”

Velvet’s ears reverberated as if she were hearing everything through a long tunnel. “I think there is a difference between expecting her to not live like her siblings and
wanting
her to die.”

Nellie’s eyes moved slowly through the room. A shudder rolled down Velvet’s spine. She needed to shut the window, but she didn’t dare allow Nellie to see her terror.

“No, he wanted her to die. Just like he wanted his wife to die and he wanted Myra to die.”

Velvet’s throat closed. “Who was Myra?” she asked.

“She’s the reason none of the staff will sleep here anymore.” Nellie turned slowly and lumbered across the schoolroom floor, her footsteps like punctuation marks to a sentence she’d delivered with no more passion than she’d relay the state of the weather. Why would no one talk of Myra Gowan? Why had Lucian cut off the conversation when asked about her?

“Nellie, how did she—”

“I will speak no more of her.”

The days passed in a tedium of lessons. Iris resisted, Velvet persisted, until the girl’s head was spent every morning bent over her slate, painstakingly constructing each letter of the alphabet.

“That is a
d
, not a
b
,” said Velvet, leaning over the schoolwork.

Iris slammed the slate down on the table and crossed her arms. “I don’t know the difference.”

“A small
d
’s hump faces the beginning of the sentence, or the left, and a
b
’s hump faces the end of the sentence or the right. Show me your right hand.”

Iris rolled her eyes.

“If you can show me your right hand, we will finish with the alphabet for the day. We’ll work on deportment instead.”

Her face scrunched tight, Iris held out her left hand and quickly withdrew it and stuck out her right hand.

Velvet sighed. “Is it hard for you to tell the difference? You know, you do write with your right hand.”

“Is that why it is called the right hand?”

“They’re different words that sound the same. We could tie a ribbon around your right wrist until you can remember which is which.”

“I could wear one of Mama’s bracelets,” said Iris.

“I think that would be a perfect solution,” said Velvet, standing.

“We’ll have to go get one.” Iris shot to the door. “Come on.”

Velvet followed Iris down the stairs and past Lucian’s bedroom. Iris looked furtively around and then opened the next door and darted inside. Waving her hand frantically, she said, “Hurry.”

Velvet balked. “Are you supposed to go in there?”

“I come here all the time.” Iris’s eyes darted wildly about. “It is just Mama’s sitting room.”

Relenting, Velvet entered the room. With an airy lightness, gold brocade covered the chairs and a settee. The walls were creamy, and tiny pink rosebuds on the pillows added a splash of color. Green piping married the room to Lucian’s, without the dark masculinity of his room.

Iris clicked the door shut. Drawn by the portrait of Lucian, a woman, and a baby above the pale marble fireplace, Velvet crossed the floor. The carpet was so plush it was like walking on peat moss. Unlike the rest of the house, there were no signs of wear in the furniture.

“That’s my mama and me,” said Iris.

Velvet took in the artist’s rendition of the family. Lucian was well-captured but seemed disconnected from the golden-haired woman seated in front of him. His unscarred face was stoic, stony even, although not without life. Shifting her scrutiny to the woman, Velvet recoiled. Iris’s mother was portrayed with a coy smile and a come-hither look in her eyes in an almost unflattering way. She had been beautiful, not in the cold way the undersecretary’s wife was, but in a way that was almost too warm, too . . . knowing.

The baby in her lap seemed almost an afterthought. As family portraits went, it was more like three individuals posed together, but without any affinity for each other.

Velvet frowned. She was seeing things that weren’t there. She was predisposed to dislike any woman who had held Lucian’s affection. She shook off her prejudices. After all, it was just a portrait. Emotions weren’t frozen for all posterity in an artist’s brushstrokes.

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” said Iris.

“You’re prettier,” said Velvet sharply. Iris was still fresh and innocent in a way her mother hadn’t appeared to be. “Why isn’t it hung in the gallery with the rest of the family portraits?”

Iris shrugged. “Papa said I may take it to my married home if I want to. He said I shall have my mama’s things when I am older.”

As if no longer interested, Iris ducked into an inner sanctum. Separated by a large archway was the bedroom. Iris opened a wooden case on a bedside table. Inside was a tangle of gold, silver, and beaded necklaces. Rings and ear bobs were mingled without regard for whether they appeared to be made of pot metal or gold.

Iris pawed through the mess. “Miss Grimes stole a bunch of Mama’s rings and broaches. But the joke was on her because Papa keeps all the precious bits and pieces locked up in his office.”

Bangles and beads clinked on the bureau top as Iris fished out wads of the jewelry.

Velvet’s fingers itched to untangle and sort, but after hearing that her predecessor had stolen some of the items, she backed away. Perhaps Lucian withheld Miss Grimes’s wages too. Iris wouldn’t know how a shilling or two fetched from a trinket could turn into a meal or fuel for a fire.

“I like this.” From the very bottom, Iris pulled out a silver charm bracelet with love tokens and lockets. “Which wrist?”

Velvet lifted Iris’s right hand and pulled the thick chain around her forearm. She would of course pick the jingliest one possible. One of the coins was etched
R & L
, another bore,
To my love, Lil, yours always, R.H.
Iris triggered the catch of a round locket. “Look, it’s an eye. Why would anyone paint just an eye?”

It was common practice to have only a small portion of a lover painted so as to conceal the identity. Velvet winced. A man’s blue eye with a sandy brown eyebrow gazed up at her. That certainly wasn’t her husband’s eye. A frisson of unease passed through her.

“It would be very hard to paint the whole face in such a small picture.” She closed the locket. “This might have been a very personal treasure of your mother’s. Perhaps you should choose another.”

“I want this one.” Iris’s expression was mulish.

To be fair, the girl had been trying hard to please with her schoolwork, which seemed extraordinarily difficult for her. Velvet wished she’d insisted on a ribbon. She fastened the clasp. “What will your papa say?”

Flipping her hand back and forth, Iris skipped across the room, making the charms rattle.

Perhaps the eye was of her uncle. Her mother had been fair-haired. “What do you know of your mother’s family?”

Iris stopped cold. “My grandmama and grandpapa used to visit before Mama died.” She folded her arms behind her back. “After Mama was buried, they had a terrible row, and Papa made them leave.”

The girl backed away then, her pleasure at the bracelet gone. A tear dribbled out of her rapidly filling eyes. She ducked away.

“Iris,” muttered Velvet. “What’s wrong?”

She wrapped the girl in her arms. Her slender shoulders shook. Her quiet sobs were like the ones in the middle of the night and reminded Velvet of the way she had grieved for her brother, afraid to make a sound for fear of her father hearing.

“Th-They didn’t say good-bye,” choked out Iris.

Velvet backed onto the bed and held Iris as she wished she’d been held when she suffered the greatest loss in her life. She stroked the child’s narrow back. “There there. Everything will be all right.”

But would it?

I
ris skipped ahead on the lane to the village. Velvet hoped the child could continue friendships with the village girls. She needed the opportunity to just giggle and be silly with another girl her own age. Her life was filled with adults.

Since it was her day off, Velvet could linger a while after the church service. Iris had worked hard at her lessons all week, she deserved to have a little fun.

Iris waited for her to catch up. “Who decided how letters would look?”

“I don’t know. I suppose some ancient Roman.” Velvet considered. “Or perhaps an ancient Phoenician.” Her steps were steady. Unlike when she first arrived, she wasn’t all out of breath, even though they’d been walking long enough that the house was out of sight behind them.

“They just look like a jumble of lines and curves without any sense, and they always jump around on the page.”

Velvet’s step faltered. The letters
jumped
on the page for Iris. Perhaps she should ask Lucian to get his daughter’s eyes checked, but there was no need to alarm Iris. “The letters the ancient Egyptians used were more like little pictures.”

“That would be better.” Iris reached out for her hand.

Feeling honored, Velvet took the girl’s hand. “No, because they have many, many more symbols you would have to learn and draw. Our alphabet, which captures sounds instead of trying to make a picture for each word, is better.”

Iris scrunched her face. “Am I stupider than your other students?”

Velvet drew to a complete stop. A raw pain settled under her breastbone. “No, of course not. You must not think such a thing.”

Iris twisted her foot in the dirt. Velvet had to work harder at hiding her impatience at Iris’s failure to learn to read and write. After all, if she couldn’t see well, then the fault was not with Iris.

“The other governesses said I was dimwitted.”

Velvet knelt down and gripped her by the shoulders. “No, sweetheart. I have never had another student ask who designed our alphabet. That is the kind of question only a person with a curious mind just bursting to learn would ask. We should try to find out the answer.” Good Lord, what had Iris’s other governesses said to her?

Iris looked back along the track. “I am only good at deportment. I bet all your other students knew their letters at my age.”

“Iris, it is true that you are behind in schoolwork, but not all lessons come easy for everyone. You
will
learn.” She vowed to make sure Iris succeeded. “And somewhere there is a girl who tries and tries to walk gracefully and cannot manage to keep a book on her head, or a boy who cannot recite a poem to save his life. Everyone has unique skills, including you.”

Iris twisted out of her grasp. “In the spring, the grass is covered with heather. It’s very pretty.”

“I shall look forward to seeing it.” Sighing, Velvet rose to her feet. She had to undo the damage of the past, but she knew to pile on compliments about Iris’s intelligence would only make the girl think it was coming on too thick to be true.

A few more yards and the little houses of the village came into view. One of the girls stood by the church.

Iris waved, but the girl ducked behind a woman and turned her back toward the path.

Frowning, Velvet wondered if the girl hadn’t seen Iris. She put a hand on Iris’s shoulder.

It only got worse. During the service, Iris looked over the back of the bench at the girl she’d made friends with. Only the other girls all looked at anything but her.

In a low murmur, Velvet urged Iris to face forward. The vicar droned on and on. What was wrong with these people? Even if Iris’s father had killed her mother, why would they take it out on a small girl? Iris folded her arms across her chest. Velvet grew hot and her ears began to buzz.

After it was over, all the villagers seemed in a great hurry to get outside. By the time Velvet and Iris made it to the stoop, all of the families with children were scurrying away.

Determined to get to the bottom of the distinctly unchristian behavior, Velvet strode toward the vicar. Iris hitched her step beside her. Velvet tried to slow her steps to a more ladylike glide.

“Mr. Thackery, would you be so good as to explain why all the girls have been pulled away?”

He looked at her chest, which infuriated her. Her breathing grew rapid.

Slowly, he said, “I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am.”

Velvet realized the futility of pointing out that he was a poor shepherd to his flock. She softened her voice. “Then perhaps you would explain why one of your parishioners thought I would be interested in Myra Gowan’s grave.”

Mr. Thackery shook his head. “She was a poor misfortunate soul. May she rest in peace.” He turned away.

Velvet said sternly, “Sir.” She hadn’t been a governess for a dozen years without learning how to compel answers with a firm tone.

He stopped and glared. “She was a servant at the Pendar household.”

Iris ducked behind Velvet’s skirts.

“And?” prompted Velvet.

“I shouldn’t like to speak ill of the dead.” He opened his eyes wide and bobbed his head toward Iris.

Iris tugged on Velvet’s arm, but she wasn’t done yet.

“Why should she be of importance to me?”

“She was a fallen woman.”

“I see.” An icy coldness dripped through Velvet. Could she never be thought honorable? She would have thought that in Cornwall, at least, her reputation would have been too far distant.

“Can we go home now?” asked Iris.

Velvet closed her eyes. Nothing would be gained by staying in a place where she was judged and condemned.

“Have a good day.” The vicar returned to his church, then shut the door.

“
May
we go home,” corrected Velvet. “And yes, I believe we should.”

They hadn’t gone far when Velvet spied the broken fingers of Iris’s old doll sticking out of a rubbish heap. She moved to the other side of Iris, hoping to block the child’s view, but it was too late.

“I’m never coming back here!”

“Iris.” Velvet bit her lip. Letting the locals chase them away from church wasn’t the answer, but were the villagers so ignorant as to throw away an expensive doll just because it had come from the Pendar household?

Iris yanked free and ran.

What kind of a topsy-turvy world was it, where going to church made one feel like an outcast?

During the second week of Lucian’s absence, his carriage and a wagon filled with servants hired from Plymouth rattled up the drive with the news that there would be guests returning with Lucian in two days. The house was to be made ready.

Their normal quiet was interrupted by a flurry of activity. Rooms were aired, carpets beaten, and fresh linens placed on the beds in the unused rooms.

Iris could hardly sit still for lessons.

The schoolroom door opened and Nellie leaned in. “Miss Campbell, there’s a courier come with a letter for you.”

Velvet frowned. Why would a letter be specially sent for her?

“You have to go down. He says he must put it in your hand.” Nellie frowned.

Iris popped out of her seat and shot out of the door. More sedately, Velvet followed down the stairs, with Nellie lumbering behind.

“How did you get here?” Iris’s childish voice bubbled up from below.

“Rode me ’orse,” answered an unfamiliar male voice.

Mrs. Bigsby stood stiffly at the foot of the stairs. A man with mud-spattered trousers and a long wool coat stood with his cap in his hand. As Velvet descended, he displayed a gap-toothed grin.

“You must be Miss Campbell.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope. “Gov said give it only to the one with red ’air, ’e did.”

The cockney accent of the courier gave Velvet pause. Who would have sent her a letter from London? She hesitated to take it from his outstretched hand. The last letter from London hadn’t been good.

“You could have give it to me. I would have seen she got it,” grumbled Mrs. Bigsby.

“Right,” said the courier. “Can I ’ave a spot to eat ’fore I ’ead back?”

“Nellie, show him to the kitchen,” Mrs. Bigsby instructed. She flashed a glare in Velvet’s direction, spun on her heel and then opened the library door. The smell of lemon oil drifted out.

Velvet peeked down at the address. Lucian’s jagged scrawl jumped out at her. Had he thought better of allowing her to keep her position? The back of her throat went dry.

She turned toward the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to open it? Is it from Papa?” Iris circled around Velvet in an excited skip. “Mrs. Bigsby got a letter too, but it made her cross.”

“Let us return upstairs,” Velvet answered. She wanted to delay the moment, but her heart fluttered in anticipation.

They passed rooms with doors and windows open wide and fires burning in the grates. Servants passed laden with draperies to be beaten. Almost unable to stop herself, Velvet slipped a finger under the seal.

“How can you stand to wait?” asked Iris on an exaggerated sigh. “Papa never writes when he is gone.”

That didn’t ease Velvet’s worries. “Well, perhaps he would if you could read his letters.”

“No, he will not. He did not write to Mama either. She never knew when he was coming back.” Iris skipped ahead, her charm bracelet jingling as she bounced. “But she got a picture card from her friend.”

The letter was almost burning in Velvet’s hand. Feeling faint, she folded back the flap, then pulled out the single folded sheet.

My Dear Miss Campbell
,

I wish to apologize to you for my reaction to your former employer’s letter. I treated you harshly when I had no right. Forgive me.

I have invited several guests—or rather the idea of hosting a house party was thrust upon me after a chance remark, and I could not refuse. I beg you to undertake overseeing the kitchen and menus for the two weeks the guests will stay. There are accounts at the shops in Trerice. Have Bigsby purchase anything needed to feed a dozen or more guests and their retainers. Spare no expense.

I have informed Mrs. Bigsby of this arrangement. She will have enough to see to with the additional help. I was fortunate enough to persuade the owner of an inn in Plymouth to close down for a fortnight and allow me to hire his staff.

Velvet, I have thought of you often. I miss being near you. I beg you will not think ill of me regardless of any tales you hear.

Yours truly
,

Lucian Pendar

With a shaking hand Velvet refolded the letter. Her heart pounded as if he were here, touching her. He tied her in knots.

“Did he ask about me?” Iris asked eagerly.

Velvet started. Just when she was prepared to adore him, she hated him for the pain his casual disregard of Iris did to the child. She was his daughter, not an afterthought.

“He didn’t say anything about me.” Iris looked at the floor.

“Oh, sweetheart, the letter is just instructions for me to help prepare for the guests. See, it is only one sheet.” Velvet waved the page. For perhaps the only time, she was glad Iris did not read.

“What does it say?” asked Iris.

“He says we must help Cook with the menus.” Velvet put the letter back in the envelope and tucked it into the pages of
Jane Eyre.
“Come along, you must learn to run a household staff for when you have your own home.”

“That’s all he wants, me to grow up and marry so he never has to see me again,” wailed Iris.

“Iris, stop being so dramatic.”

“No, it’s true. He only wants to be around you.”

“Most fathers don’t spend much time with their children, but he spends at least an hour with you every evening when he is home.” But the time was treated as if it were his duty, not as time he looked forward to spending with his daughter, and Iris knew it. Velvet winced. “He brings you gifts when he goes away.”

“The girls in the village hate me. He hates me. Mama is the only one who loved me, and he killed her.”

“Iris!” Icy claws clamped down on Velvet’s spine. How could a girl who adored her father think such a thing? Who had tormented her with such suppositions?

“It’s true. I heard it. She was yelling at him about he never made her happy, and he never let her go to London. She made him bleed, and he told her, ‘Get out of my sight or I’m going to kill you.’ Then I heard a thump, and I never heard Mama again.”

Velvet nearly choked, her throat was so tight. A chill slithered down her spine. Was there any truth in the allegations? “Iris, you must never say such a thing or even think it.”

But Iris ran to her bedroom and slammed the door.

“It was a nasty row,” intoned Nellie from the schoolroom doorway.

Velvet spun around. How long had Nellie been standing there? “What happened to Iris’s mother?”

Nellie shrugged. “Fell off the cliff. Shouldn’t have been out in the storm. But then, it don’t do to cross the master.”

Nellie’s reply didn’t comfort Velvet at all.

Two days hence, in late afternoon, the arrivals began trickling. Struggling to contain her building excitement, Iris bounced in her seat.

“Papa will call me down to meet his guests, won’t he?”

“I don’t know,” said Miss Campbell.

Iris popped to her feet. “I’m going to change to my best dress so I’ll be ready.”

“Iris, we are not done with lessons for the day.”

A knock on the schoolroom door prompted Miss Campbell to turn. Meg peeked around the door. “Begging your pardon, miss. You are needed in the kitchen posthaste.”

“You may change,” Miss Campbell said before leaving, “but you must return here and practice your letters.”