Beneath the Major's Scars. Sarah Mallory
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in hand. They had rearranged the candelabra to give the best light possible and the dark locks gleamed, thick and glossy around his head, spreading out like ebony across his shoulders. The enormity of what she was about to do made her hesitate.
The major waved his hand.
‘Yes. I may change my mind when I am sober, but for now I want you to cut it.’
Zelah took a deep breath. It was too late to go back now, they had agreed. Besides, argued that wickedly seductive voice in her head, no one need ever know. She picked up the scissors and moved closer until her skirts were brushing his shoulder. It felt strange, uncomfortable, like standing over a sleeping tiger. Thrusting aside such fanciful thoughts, she took a secure grip of the scissors and began. His hair was like silk beneath her fingers. She lifted one dark lock and applied the scissors. They cut through it with a whisper. As she continued her confidence grew, as did the pile of black tresses on the floor.
His hair was naturally curly and she had seen enough pencil drawings of gentlemen with their hair à la Brutus since she had arrived at West Barton to recreate the style from memory—Reginald and Maria might live in a remote area of Exmoor, but they were both avid followers of the ton, receiving a constant stream of periodicals and letters from friends in London advising them of the latest fashions. She cut, combed and coaxed the major’s hair into place. It needed no pomade or grease to make it curl around his collar and his ears. She brushed the tendrils forwards around his face, as she had seen in the fashion plates. Her fingers touched the scar and he flinched. Immediately she drew back.
‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No. Carry on.’
Carefully she finished her work, combing and snipping off a few straggling ends until she was satisfied with the result. It was not strictly necessary, but she could not resist running her fingers though his glossy, thick hair one final time.
‘There.’ She brushed the loose hair from his shoulders. ‘It is finished.’
‘Very well, Delilah, let us see what you have done to me.’
He picked up one of the candelabra and walked over to a mirror.
Zelah held her breath as he regarded his image. In the candlelight the ugly gash down his face was still visible, but it seemed diminished by the new hairstyle. The sleek black locks were brushed forwards to curl about his wide brow, accentuating the strong lines of his face.
‘Well, Miss Pentewan, I congratulate you. Perhaps you should not be looking for a post as a governess, after all. You should offer your services as a coiffeuse.’
Relief made her laugh out loud. She said daringly, ‘You look very handsome, Major.’
He turned away from the mirror and made a noise between a growl and a cough.
‘Aye, well, enough of that. It is time I sent you back to the sick room, madam. You will need to be up betimes.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She cast a conscience-stricken look at the clock. ‘Poor Hannah has been alone with Nicky for hours.’ She held out her hand to him. ‘Goodnight, sir. I hope we shall see you in the morning before we leave?’
Again that clearing of the throat and he would not meet her eyes.
‘Perhaps. Goodnight, Miss Pentewan.’ He took her hand, his grip tightening for a second. ‘And thank you.’
Chapter Three
The following morning Reginald drove over in his travelling chaise, which Maria had filled with feather bolsters and pillows to protect Nicky during the long journey home. Nicky looked around as his father carried him tenderly out of the house.
‘Is Major Coale not here, Papa?’
‘He sends his apologies, Master Nick,’ said Graddon in a fatherly way. ‘He went off early today to the long meadow to oversee the hedgelaying.’
‘But I wanted to say goodbye to him!’
Nicky’s disappointed wail touched a chord in Zelah: she too would have liked to see the major. However, she was heartened by Reginald’s response.
‘Your mama has already penned a note to Major Coale. She has not only given him permission to call at any time, but she has also invited him to dinner. And once we have you home, Nicholas, you may write to him yourself, thanking him for his care of you.’
‘Yes, and I can ask him to call and see me,’ agreed Nicky. He frowned, suddenly unsure. ‘He will come, won’t he? If I ask him ‘specially.’
‘I do not see how he can refuse.’ Reginald grinned at Zelah. ‘But I might have to instruct the staff not to send him round to the kitchens—when I saw him last he looked so ragged one might easily mistake him for a beggar.’
‘I think you might be surprised,’ murmured Zelah, smiling to herself.
The five miles to West Barton were covered with ease and they were greeted with great joy by the household. Maria clasped her stepson and wept copiously, bewailing the fact that she had been unable to visit him, while Nurse promised him all sorts of treats to make up for his ordeal.
‘I only hope being in That Man’s house hasn’t given you nightmares,’ said Nurse, tucking Nicky into his bed. ‘I believe he is truly hideous to look at.’
Anger welled up in Zelah, but she fought it down and said quietly, ‘Nonsense. Major Coale has a scar on his face, nothing more.’
‘Yes, and I don’t care for that,’ exclaimed Nicky. ‘He’s a great gun.’
‘Of course he is, my pet. Now, you need to rest after your long journey.’
Obedient to her unspoken wishes the others left Nicky to Nurse’s care and made their way back downstairs to the morning room.
‘I don’t like to think that he has been making a nuisance of himself.’ Reginald frowned. ‘When Coale told me he has been running free at Rooks Tower—’
‘Major Coale and his people are very happy to see him,’ said Zelah. ‘With everyone here so busy with the new baby, Nicky has been left too much to his own devices.’
Her words were met with a short silence. Then Maria sighed.
‘It is very true. Nurse has been giving all her attention to me and little Reginald and we were only too happy to think that Nicky was amusing himself in the garden.’ Her softly reproachful eyes moved to her husband. ‘And you have been out of the house so much recently …’
‘Trying to gather evidence for the villagers,’ he replied defensively. ‘I could hardly take the boy with me! I never thought—Nicky seemed quite happy.’ He gave Zelah a rueful smile. ‘No wonder he took to you so well, although looking after Nicky was not the reason you came to us. My poor sister, you have been with us for only a few weeks and we have turned you into a nursemaid.’
‘I am pleased to help, you know that, but Nicky needs companions of his own age,’ she said gently. ‘Or at the very least a tutor …’
‘But he is so young!’ Maria clasped her hands together. ‘I suppose I must stop thinking of him as a baby now.’ She brightened. ‘You are looking for a post as a governess, Zelah—perhaps you should start with Nicky. We could pay you—’
‘Dear sister, that is a kind thought, but that is not what I meant. And I could not take a salary off you; I have no wish to be an added drain upon your resources.’
Reginald shook his head.
‘No, it would not do at all. I believe Mr Netherby gives lessons to a few boys in the vicarage. I will make enquiries when I go into Lesserton this afternoon.’
Maria stretched out her hands to him. ‘Oh, must you go, with Nicky just come home …?’
He squeezed her fingers.
‘I’m