Whisper Of Darkness. Anne Mather
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She wondered for an awful moment whether he had joined the notorious Matt Coulston in his drinking bout, but there was no slurring of Jake Sheldon’s speech when he said harshly: ‘So you’ve decided to get up at last, Miss Seton. When you’ve had your breakfast, perhaps you and I could have a few words.’
Joanna glanced back at the table, and then took a deep breath. ‘As a matter of fact, I wanted to have a few words with you, Mr Sheldon,’ she stated, refusing to be intimidated by his grim countenance. ‘I’m afraid I don’t eat a cooked breakfast. I never have, and what’s more, I prefer coffee in the mornings, not tea.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ His expression had not changed, though she perceived a faint hardening of the curiously cat-like eyes. ‘Well, perhaps you ought to take that up with Mrs Harris. She’s the housekeeper around here, not me.’
‘Is she?’ mumbled Joanna, under her breath, but he had heard her, and the dark brows descended.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
Joanna sighed. The last thing she wanted this early in their association was an argument about his housekeeping arrangements, and bending her head, she moved her shoulders in an offhand gesture.
‘Nothing,’ she said at last. ‘I—er—I’ll speak to Mrs Harris, as you say.’
He seemed loath to leave it, though without her contribution he had no choice, but as he turned away she ventured: ‘When will—er—Antonia be ready to start her lessons, Mr Sheldon? And where would you like me to conduct them?’
His frown was penetrating. A narrow concentration that made her wish she had waited for him to broach the subject. ‘You don’t know?’ he demanded. ‘Mrs Harris didn’t tell you?’
‘Tell me? Tell me what?’
‘Anya ran away yesterday evening. I’ve been out all night looking for her.’
‘No!’ Joanna was horrified. That explained the haggard appearance, the growth of beard on the jawline. ‘And have you found her? Do you know where she is? You should have woken me, I could have helped you.’
‘Really?’ His tone was sardonic. ‘When you’re the reason she ran away?’
Joanna flushed. ‘Have you found her?’
He heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I have a good idea where she is.’
‘Where?’
He hesitated, as if reluctant to discuss it with her, and then he shrugged. ‘There’s a shepherd’s hut, up on the fell. I know she goes there sometimes. It’s about two miles from here, but until the mist lifts we haven’t a hope in hell of finding it.’
‘You knew that—last night?’
‘I guessed, after searching the woods around the house, and enquiring in the village.’
‘Then why didn’t you——’
‘—go searching the fell?’ He shook his head. ‘You don’t know this area very well, do you, Miss Seton? When the mist comes down, and at this time of the year it inevitably does, the fells are treacherous to an inexperienced climber like me. Even the rescue teams can’t turn out in weather like that. They have to wait till the mist clears, till they can see where they’re going.’
Joanna glanced towards the windows. ‘But it’s clear now.’
‘It’s clearing,’ he agreed heavily. ‘As soon as I’ve changed my clothes, I’m going out after her. I only hope to God she got there in time.’
Joanna made a helpless gesture. ‘But—staying out all night!’ She recalled the anxious moments she had had climbing the stairs the night before, the anticipation of childish pranks meant to deter her from staying. And all the while Antonia had not even been in the house. She felt hopelessly inadequate to combat such determination. ‘Wouldn’t she be afraid?’
‘Anya?’ There was pride as well as anxiety in his voice now. ‘She’s not afraid of the dark, if that’s what you mean. And Binzer’s with her, wherever she is. He won’t leave her.’
‘Binzer?’ Joanna paused. ‘That’s a dog?’
‘One of the sheepdogs you saw yesterday,’ Jake agreed, expelling his breath wearily. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me——’
‘May I come with you?’ Joanna’s cheeks burned briefly as she encountered his sardonic gaze. ‘I mean—to find Antonia, of course.’
‘Call her Anya. Everybody does,’ he remarked flatly. ‘It may help you to get through to her, although I doubt it somehow.’
‘And may I? Come with you?’
‘Do you have any strong walking shoes?’
Joanna glanced down at the plain vamps she had worn for comfort. Obviously they were not suitable. ‘I have some desert boots,’ she murmured doubtfully.
‘Desert boots?’ He shook his head. ‘What are they?’
‘They’re suede; ankle boots. They’re quite strong.’
He looked at her for a disturbing moment, making her overwhelmingly aware of his opinion of her. She could almost feel his contempt scraping over her skin, and she realised how similar their situations were. He didn’t really want a young female, with no formal qualifications, teaching his daughter. He would much have preferred one of the educated ladies Mrs Harris had spoken of, whose references were no doubt exemplary. And she had never expected to find herself in this position, being forced to care for a problem child, when what she had really hoped for was some pleasant sinecure with a wealthy family, where she could continue to live the kind of life to which until recently she had been accustomed.
‘Very well,’ he said at last, striding towards the stairs. ‘Be ready in ten minutes. And bring a warm coat.’
The ten minutes gave her little time to eat any breakfast, or to complain about the choice of beverage. Instead, she scraped butter and jam on a slice of toast and carried it up to her room, deciding that now was not the time to cross swords with Mrs Harris.
The unmade bed gave the room an unkempt appearance, and after lacing on her boots she quickly shook the pillows and pulled up the covers. She doubted Mrs Harris would consider bed-making part of her duties, and as she had a couple of minutes to spare she contemplated a hasty appraisal of Anya’s room. Maybe if she could see her belongings, the things she cared about, she would have some idea of how to approach her, and swallowing the last morsel of toast, she left her room. In the hall outside she slid her arms into the sheepskin jacket she was carrying, and made a swift inspection of the doors available to her. Apart from her door, and the door into the bathroom, there were four other doors, and her brow furrowed as she realised she had no way of knowing which was the child’s room.
Biting her lip, she moved along the hall to the landing, and then glanced back. She guessed the two doors at the far side of the landing were more likely to be Jake Sheldon’s doors than any of the others, and on impulse she moved closer to the first of the remaining doors, and put her ear to the panels. The doors were old, however, and very thick, and she doubted she would hear anything through them. But like all old doors, they had keyholes, and squatting down on her haunches she applied her eye to the narrow aperture.
‘You’ve chosen the wrong room, I’m afraid, Miss Seton,’ remarked an ironic voice behind her, and she got to her feet in red-faced consternation to find her employer standing watching her from the head of the stairs. She had obviously been right in assuming one of the farthest doors was his, but she felt horribly embarrassed at being discovered in such a compromising position. ‘If I’d known you were interested, I’d have left the door open,’ continued the mockingly derisive voice, and her lips pursed as she strove for words to erase his contemptuous assumption.
‘I was looking for Anya’s room, as it happens,’ she declared, ignoring the sardonic twist of his mouth. ‘I didn’t know which