The Wayward Governess. Joanna Fulford
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dark curls.
‘What are you drawing?’
‘It’s just a sketch that I wanted to finish.’
‘May I see it?’
‘If you like, but I wouldn’t want to excite your anticipation.’
She rose and handed him the book, watching as he leafed through it, wishing she were not so aware of his nearness, wishing she could divine the thoughts behind that impassive expression.
‘You are too modest, Miss Davenport. These landscapes are very fine. You have a real eye for line and form.’
‘You are kind, sir.’
‘I speak as I find.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Who taught you to draw?’
‘My mother, mostly. She was a talented artist. And Miss Greystoke taught me a great deal.’
‘Miss Greystoke?’
Claire was silent for a moment, conscious of having given away more than she had intended. Then she upbraided herself silently. It was a trivial detail and could make no possible difference.
‘Yes. She was once my governess.’
‘I see.’
Marcus was intrigued, for suddenly another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. However, he had not missed her earlier hesitation either. Why should she wish to hide the fact? Unwilling to antagonise her, but not wishing for the conversation to finish just yet, he continued to leaf casually through the book.
‘These are all local views, are they not?’
‘That’s right. The countryside hereabouts is an artist’s dream. It’s so wild and beautiful.’
‘And dangerous,’ he replied.
Claire’s cheeks grew hot as the recollections of their first encounter returned with force. It angered her that he should allude to it again for he must know it was painful in every way. However, it seemed she was wide of the mark for Eden gestured to the newspaper lying on the occasional table beside him.
‘Another mill has been attacked by a mob and another loom destroyed, and all in the space of a fortnight.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Recovering her composure, she followed his gaze to the paper. ‘Men fear for their livelihoods. So many have been laid off and those who are still in work have seen their wages cut.’
‘Does that excuse murder?’
‘No, of course not, but it does explain why people are so angry. It is well nigh impossible to feed a family on eight shillings a week.’
‘You say that with some authority.’
‘I have been with Miss Greystoke to visit several families in the town. She and her brother do what they can to help, but…’ The hazel eyes met and held his. ‘It is no pleasant thing to see children starving.’
‘No, it is not.’
‘You must have seen much poverty in India.’
‘Yes.’
‘Ironic, is it not, that it should exist in England too, a country we think more civilised in every way?’
There could be no mistaking the earnest tone or the sincerity in her face and he was surprised by both. In his experience young ladies of good family were usually preoccupied with balls and pretty dresses, not the problems of the poor. Would she prove to be one of those worthy but tiresome females eternally devoted to good causes?
‘True,’ he replied, ‘but the war with France has been much to blame. Until trade can be resumed at its normal levels the situation is unlikely to change.’
‘And in the meantime the mill owners lay off more men. The introduction of the steam looms only exacerbates the situation.’
‘Progress cannot be resisted for ever. The wreckers will be brought to a strict accounting eventually.’
She heard the harsh note in his voice and met it with a sympathetic look. After his recent experience it was not surprising that he should be angry.
‘Have you any idea who was responsible for shooting you?’ she asked.
‘No, but I do intend to find out.’
‘You will put yourself in great danger.’
‘So I apprehend.’
‘I wish you would not.’
‘Why?’
Again the grey gaze met hers and it was she who looked away first.
‘Because I would not see you killed. There has been enough bloodshed of late.’
‘I am grateful for your concern, but if bloodshed is to be prevented in future the men responsible must be brought to justice. I mean to see that they are.’
The tone, though quiet, was implacable, and for a moment there was an expression in the grey eyes that sent a shiver along her spine. Then it was gone.
‘But these are disagreeable subjects,’ he said. ‘Let us speak of other things.’
‘Such as?’
‘Tell me about yourself.’
‘It would hardly make for interesting conversation.’
‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘I find myself curious.’
Her heart missed a beat. ‘About what?’
‘About why a young lady like yourself should bury herself in a place like this.’
‘I am not buried here.’
‘No?’
Ignoring the provocative tone, she lifted her chin.
‘Certainly not. I have good friends and am kept busy enough.’
‘And what do you do for your own amusement? When you are not about your good works?’
‘I sketch, Mr Eden.’
‘Touché!’
Claire’s cheeks flushed a little, not least because she suspected he was the one in control of this situation. It was too dangerous to let it continue so, before he could question her further, she seized the initiative.
‘And what of you, sir?’
In spite of himself he was amused. ‘What of me?’
‘Doctor Greystoke said that you and he are old friends. From your days in India.’
‘That’s right.’
He was glad George had told a partial truth even if he could not divulge his friend’s real name. It made things easier. Anyway, he didn’t want to lie to her.
‘He said you were based in the same barracks at Mandrapore.’
‘Did he also tell you he saved my life?’
The hazel eyes widened. ‘No, he did not.’ She paused. ‘Won’t you tell me how?’
‘My men and I were ambushed by bandits and there was a fierce fight. Many of the force were killed and the rest of us left for dead. Fortunately, another contingent of soldiers happened along and took the survivors to the company barracks at Mandrapore. George Greystoke was the doctor in residence. It was thanks to his efforts that I pulled through. While I was convalescing we played a lot of chess and the friendship developed from there.’
‘He said only that you and he met as a result of his work.’
‘True enough, but also far too modest. Typical of George.’
She smiled. ‘Yes, I believe it is. He is a good and kind man in every way. You must have been glad to see him again after so many years.’