Whisper Of Darkness Page 10

  With Jake’s departure, she ventured into the library, and was reassured when Anya followed her. But one look at the untidy apartment convinced her that they could not work in such surroundings, and with a little gesture of resignation she said:

  ‘How are you at dusting, Anya? Could we use this morning as a lesson in housekeeping and do something to make this room more cheerful?’

  Not really to her surprise, Anya was quite amenable, but what did surprise her was the girl’s capacity for work when it suited her. Instead of being the hindrance Joanna had half expected, Anya toiled as hard as she did, shifting books off the shelves and dusting them vigorously, fetching and carrying, and showing none of the animosity Joanna had previously experienced.

  It was impossible to make the room elegant, the shabby carpets and furnishings defied such a description, but with a fire burning in the grate, fed by the load of logs Matt provided at their request, and everywhere swept and dusted, it had a homely charm. The old man even found an armful of chrysanthemums from somewhere, and Anya arranged them in a pottery vase, and with Jake’s paintings neatly stacked in one comer and the desk free of all litter, they all felt reasonably pleased with their efforts.

  They had spaghetti bolognaise for lunch. Joanna had bought the spaghetti the day before, and with a savoury sauce she concocted from a tin of meat, a tin of tomatoes, some cheese and onion, and some herbs, it smelled delicious. Matt sniffed the air appreciatively when he came to fetch the milk Joanna had asked for, and on impulse she invited him to join them. They all sat around the newly-scrubbed table in the kitchen, and even Anya chatted away to the old man without any restraint at Joanna’s presence.

  ‘I remember Daddy once taking me to an Italian restaurant,’ she confided, concentrating on curling the spaghetti round her fork. ‘He had spaghetti whatever-it-is, but I had pizza. I wish I’d had this now.’

  ‘It’s amazing what you can do with tins,’ remarked Joanna drily, unable to resist the mild taunt, and Anya actually grinned. Her pointed features had a piquant charm when she relaxed, and Joanna found herself responding.

  ‘You going to cook that chicken I gave you for supper tonight?’ Matt asked, when she got up to clear the table and she turned back to him nodding.

  ‘I though I might make a casserole,’ she said. ‘It’s the sort of meal than can be kept hot for a long time, just in case Mr Sheldon doesn’t get back as soon as he expected.’

  ‘Daddy said you hadn’t to make our meals,’ Anya put in without malice, and Joanna sighed.

  ‘Someone has to,’ she declared reasonably. ‘What would you have had for lunch if I hadn’t prepared it?’

  Anya shrugged. ‘Jam and bread, I s’pose,’ she admitted, rubbing the side of her nose—a definite improvement on sniffing, Joanna felt. ‘I don’t mind what you do. But Daddy said——’

  ‘Yes, I know what your father said,’ Joanna retorted with a sigh, and then realised Matt was speaking again.

  ‘Like I was saying,’ he added, ‘that there chicken I brought you. She’s—well, she’ll be a tough old bird.’ He paused, looked slightly embarrassed, and then went on: ‘It was different when it was Lily Harris I was dealing with. She used to overcook everything. Like as not, she’d have boiled old Gloria. But if you want a bird to roast—well, I reckon I could find you a tender young chicken, sweet as a nut, with a nice bit of flesh on its bones.’

  Joanna laughed; she couldn’t help it. Matt looked so hot under the collar, and it was gratifying to know that he at least had come to accept her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him gently, patting his shoulder as she passed. ‘I’ll cook it nice and slowly, and I know a few tricks for tenderising all kinds of meat and poultry. But thanks for the offer. I appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re not as helpless as you look, are you, Miss Joanna?’ he said admiringly, levering himself up from his chair with difficulty, and she pretended to be put out.

  ‘That’s a backhanded compliment,’ she protested, assuming an air of indignation, but the look they exchanged was one of understanding as he moved away from the table.

  ‘Said you were a pretty lassie, the first time I laid eyes on you,’ he declared, arching his spine with evident reluctance. ‘And a stubborn one too, I’ll warrant.’ He grimaced. ‘Got my muscles fair groaning, you have, with all that digging yesterday. You watch out, young Anya. She’s not the type to give up at the first obstacle, not like those other women.’

  Joanna sighed, wishing he would keep those sort of comments to himself, but apart from pressing her lips a little more thinly together Anya did nothing.

  ‘We’ll see you later, Matt,’ Joanna added, as he let himself out, and breathed an unconscious sigh of relief once she and Anya were alone.

  The fire in the library had spread its warmth throughout the room, and the musty smell Joanna had first noticed had almost gone. In its place was the pervading perfume of the chrysanthemums, and the not unpleasant aroma of woodsmoke.

  She found Anya’s textbooks in the bottom drawer of Jake’s desk. There were history books and geography books, an English grammar and a book of mathematical problems. The corresponding exercise books were with them, and while Anya stretched herself rather moodily in a chair beside the fire, Joanna studied her written work. Most of it was not good. There were too many errors, as well as an abundance of smudges and ink blots which gave the books an untidy appearance. What was surprising was that her spelling was excellent, as too was her attention to detail, and while other subjects merited only the briefest of essays, her English spread generously over pages and pages.

  Unfortunately, someone—the last governess?—had scrawled all over the work, indicating her opinion of Anya’s apparent aptitude for literacy. There were comments like ‘Too long-winded’ and ‘Try to avoid over-dramatising’ and ‘What has this to do with the essay?’, and as Joanna read the pages of smeared handwriting she began to see why those comments had been made. The titles of the essays bore little resemblance to what came after. Anya seemed to use the titles only as ideas to elaborate, and it was obvious that a vivid imagination supplied the rest. What previous governesses had not seemed to notice, or if they had, they had not considered it praiseworthy, was that Anya possessed a remarkable talent for storytelling, and her essays were really wonderful fairy stories, wrapped around with all the folklore she had read and learned about throughout her young life. Joanna sat back amazed at the discovery she had made, and her eyes turned to the girl staring broodingly into the fire.

  ‘What exactly did—the other governesses say about your work, Anya?’ she asked, choosing her words with caution. ‘It’s obvious that you didn’t enjoy history or maths, but why did you say they thought you were backward?’

  Anya regarded her silently for a moment, as if gauging her reactions to what she had just read, and then she shrugged. ‘I’m no good at lessons any more,’ she mumbled, cupping her chin on one hand, and before Joanna could ask what she meant by ‘any more’ she went on: ‘I used to like school once, in London. The teachers there didn’t think I was stupid.’ She paused. ‘But that was a long time ago.’

  Joanna hesitated. ‘But what did these governesses you’ve had say to you? I mean, they must have had some opinion of your work.’

  Anya thought for a minute, then she said: ‘Miss Towers who came first—she was the best. She used to let me write during her lessons, and I liked that. I like writing. But Daddy sacked her because I wasn’t learning anything, and the other two were horrible!’

  Joanna sighed. ‘How were they horrible?’

  Anya frowned. ‘Miss Latimer used to shout. She used to get angry because I couldn’t do her rotten sums, and in the end I put a rat in her bedroom and she left.’

  Joanna hid her reaction to this, and said faintly: ‘And the other?’

  ‘Miss Gering?’ Anya hunched her shoulders. ‘She was German, not a lot older than you are, but very strict. She used to put her hair in a plait and she always wore long skirts an
d flat shoes. She was the worst of all. Daddy made me pay attention to her, and if I didn’t, she used to tell on me.’ Her mouth jutted. ‘Just like you did yesterday.’

  Joanna gasped. ‘I didn’t tell on you!’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘You brought what happened on yourself!’

  ‘You told Daddy I’d taken you down to the stream,’ retorted Anya hotly.

  ‘I did not,’ Joanna objected indignantly. ‘He already knew.’

  Anya stared at her. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘That’s up to you.’ Joanna refused to be browbeaten. ‘Nevertheless, it’s true. One thing I don’t do is lie.’

  Anya’s lashes came to veil her eyes. ‘Why did you ask me about the other governesses?’ she asked. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  Joanna took the olive branch willingly. ‘I was curious, that’s all. I wondered who had scribbled all over your work.’

  ‘Oh, that was Miss Gering,’ said Anya, getting up to take a look. ‘She said I was too fanciful. She told Daddy I still believed in fairies.’

  Joanna gave her a wry look. ‘And do you?’

  Anya seemed to consider her answer. ‘If I said yes, would you think I was backward?’

  ‘No.’ Joanna shook her head. ‘Unlike Miss Gering, I think it’s necessary to keep our dreams as long as we can. So long as we don’t mix up fact with fantasy. Your work——’ she indicated the open book on the desk, ‘your work is imaginative, but I think that’s because you enjoy writing. I liked reading your stories. I’m not saying you shouldn’t pay more attention to your other lessons, these other books show a pretty poor standard, but you’re not backward, only under-educated.’

  Anya straightened her spine and looked down at her doubtfully. ‘What if I said I didn’t mind being under-educated, so long as I could write my stories? Why should I have to learn geography and history? I shan’t need them if I’m going to be a writer.’

  Joanna shrugged. ‘I should have thought, if you were going to be a writer, you’d need all sorts of information.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s all right brushing aside geography and history if you’re going to spend your life writing about elves and fairies. But as you get older, your writing will mature. You might like to write about other lands and other people. That’s where geography comes in. Or about other times——’

  ‘And that’s history,’ said Anya gloomily.

  ‘Yes.’

  The girl shook her head. ‘I’ve never thought of that.’ A faint smile touched her lips. ‘And I don’t think you did, until now.’

  Joanna had to smile in return. ‘You must admit, it is original,’ she agreed, without conceit. ‘So—what do you say? If I persuade your father that what you’re writing is not fanciful rubbish, will you do your best to improve your other work?’

  ‘How do you know I’ll work for you, any better than for Miss Latimer or Miss Gering?’

  ‘Because I’m more like Miss Towers,’ declared Joanna firmly. ‘Except that I will expect you to work, and shall expect you to make progress.’

  Anya giggled. It was the first time she had relaxed so far and Joanna felt almost weak with success. ‘Miss Towers was at least fifty,’ she declared, ‘and she wore thick horn-rimmed spectacles.’

  Joanna shrugged, not at all put out. ‘Well, I can find some spectacles, if I have to,’ she said, with a grimace, and with a little more enthusiasm, Anya pulled a chair to the desk.

  Jake had not returned home by five o’clock and Joanna checked the casserole she had made earlier before making herself and Anya some tea. Anya had finished hers and disappeared about some business of her own when Joanna heard the sound of the Range Rover, and she unconsciously straightened her spine as Jake came into the kitchen where she was sitting. He noticed at once the tray of tea on the table in front of her, but she guessed it was the appetising aroma from the oven that caused the instinctive tightening of his lips. However, he made no immediate comment, merely closed the outer door behind him and strode rather wearily towards the glowing eye of the Aga.

  Joanna watched him warm his hands for a moment, and then she got up from the table. ‘Would you like some tea?’ she offered, and when he turned to look at her over his shoulder: ‘Don’t refuse. There’s plenty left, and you look as though you could do with a cup.’

  Jake turned fully to face her, hands behind his back, parting the tweed hacking jacket, exposing the taut expanse of brown silk straining across his chest. It was the first time she had seen him wearing anything other than the cotton shirts and cords he wore around the farm, and she could not help admiring the way his dark brown suede pants moulded the powerful contours of his thighs. He was all muscle and bone, and Joanna’s reactions to him frightened her a little. This was a contingency she had never expected, believing as her mother had done, that Jake was so much older, but although she knew that he must be nearly forty, he possessed a latent sexuality that defied age or circumstance.

  There was an awful moment when she realised she had been staring, and his grim face mirrored his reactions to her fixation. It was obvious that he had got an entirely wrong impression of her numbed fascination, and in a harsh voice he said:

  ‘What’s the matter? Am I putting you off your tea? If you just leave the things, I can pour myself a cup, and then I suggest you go and pack your belongings.’

  ‘Pack my belongings?’ Joanna’s gaze was unwavering now. ‘Why should I pack my belongings? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not leaving!’

  He came towards the table, long brown fingers beating an erratic tattoo on its surface. ‘I think you should,’ he declared steadily. ‘I think it would be the best thing for all of us. Apart from Anya’s obstructive behaviour, I’ve been unable to find anyone willing to come and work at Ravengarth, and as you pointed out, it’s not suitable for an unmarried man and woman—girl—to share the same house unchaperoned.’

  Joanna’s eyes widened. ‘You said this morning that I was young enough to be your daughter!’ she reminded him.

  ‘That it didn’t matter——’

  ‘I’ve had second thoughts about the matter.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t.’ Joanna was feeling a little desperate now. It was all very well grumbling about the state of the house, and wishing Anya was a more normal little girl, but they were only small grievances. She didn’t want to go, of that she was certain, and she feared the determination in Jake’s face that saw all the wrong things in hers.

  ‘Perhaps I was wrong to imagine anyone could make any headway with Anya,’ he muttered, half to himself. ‘It’s been too long. And after three unsuccessful attempts, I should have realised I was wasting my time——’

  ‘You’re not! That is—I’m not.’ Joanna took an involuntary step towards him, unwittingly bringing her within arm’s length of his dark tormented face. Somehow she had to convince him that she was different, that she was having some success with the child. ‘Mr Sheldon, I think you might reconsider when I tell you——’

  ‘Miss Seton.’ He straightened as she neared him, pushing back his shoulders and making a concerted effort to disguise his weariness. ‘I’m sure you mean well, but there comes a time when even I have to admit defeat. Anya will have to go to boarding school. Somewhere there must be a school that will take her, and any hopes that I might have had for softening the blow will have to be abandoned.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ Joanna put out an unthinking hand and grasped his sleeve, only intent at that moment to relieve his mood of discouragement. She was hardly aware of him as a man as she stretched out her hand, only as a dispirited human being, but the minute her fingers closed on his sleeve and felt the tensing of hard muscle beneath, all detachment fled. The unconscious intimacy of her action had brought her even closer to him, closer than she had been before, and almost savagely he looked down at her, willing her to recoil from the scarred proximity of his flawed features.

  But she didn’t. She looked up at him half wo
nderingly, examining his ravaged face in detail for the first time, and realised with a sense of amazement that she couldn’t imagine him any other way. She had grown accustomed to his harsh appearance, it was as much a part of him as the smooth dark virility of his hair, and those curious amber eyes, and without stopping to ponder the whys and wherefores of what she was doing, she reached up and touched his cheek with a tentative finger. It was what she had wanted to do, she realised, since their first confrontation two days ago in the library, but what she was not prepared for was his violent reaction.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ he snapped, dashing her hand away, and pushing angry fingers into the collar of his shirt as if it was suddenly too tight. ‘I am not a wax dummy, Miss Seton. Just because you’re leaving, don’t imagine that gives you the right to treat me like a museum exhibit. I don’t like being touched at any time, least of all by an inquisitive adolescent with a view to relating her experiences to a morbidly avid audience!’

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ Joanna declared vehemently. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

  ‘Unfortunately, one can’t always do what one wants to do, Miss Seton,’ he retorted, drawing a deep breath, ‘As I say, Anya is my primary concern, and——’

  ‘I know that!’

  ‘—as it’s obvious that despite the similarity in your ages, which I’d thought might be an advantage——’

  ‘I’m twenty years old, Mr Sheldon. Not a child!’

  ‘—you’re having no success——’

  ‘Will you listen to me!’ Joanna almost shouted the words, and his surprise temporarily cut off the depressing trend of his summation. ‘I am making some progress with Anya. I am! We’ve spent the whole day together, and there’s been no discord. None at all!’

  He studied her impatient face for a long moment without saying anything, and her temper was not improved by the awareness of the slow colour that was mounting in her cheeks. Then, as if dismissing any softening of his attitude, he turned aside from her, saying harshly: ‘She’s probably humouring you for some reason of her own,’ and Joanna’s temper exploded into action.