was raised in London and in Devon.”
We came down the slope, around the lake. It was lovely, even in the rain and darkness, and I felt a desire to play in that gazebo on the island.
As we neared the front entrance of the house, I paused. My companion stopped too, giving me a quizzical look.
“Are...are you expected?” I asked. I was a bit embarrassed by what I should do next. If this man were coming here for a visit, I thought he would be irritated if I came in with him and he later learned I was only a servant.
He shrugged and said, “More or less.”
I did not know what to do. Finally, I said, “I am the new governess here.”
“Yes. I know.”
My discomfiture increased, but as it seemed he intended to do nothing to alleviate it, I said, “I shall go in now, then. Thank you for your company and I am sorry about your fall.”
He made a gesture with his hand that said the incident was nothing and gave a slight bow. “I shall be on my way to the stables.”
I gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, you are a servant here, then.”
“No,” he said soberly, “I am Mr. Tremayne.”
I could feel my face burning crimson. In my confusion, I could think of nothing to say. This, then, was my new employer, and I had not only caused him to fall from his horse and spoken familiarly with him, but had insulted him by calling him a servant in his own home.
“Oh,” I cried and, turning from him, ran up the steps and banged on the front door.
CHAPTER THREE
An elderly lady in black with a white apron and a widow’s cap ushered me in at the front door. With her silvery colored hair and her spectacles slipped down on her nose she reminded me a bit of Mrs. White, which was reassuring. She was, I supposed, Mrs. Tremayne, but I could not help noting that she was considerably older than the gentleman I had met outside.
“Yes, yes, come this way, please,” she said when I told her who I was. She led me into a comfortable sitting room, which seemed all ablaze with candles and a fire roaring in the fireplace.
“You must be frozen. What a night for travel. And hungry, too, I’ve no doubt. Here, take off your shawl and stand by the fire. My, you are young. He didn’t say, but then, of course, he wouldn’t.”
She brought her fluid chatter to an abrupt stop and I had the impression she thought she had said more than she should. I was still unnerved by meeting with Mr. Tremayne, and the awkward silence jangled on me.
“I...I met the master,” I said, only to say something.
“Master Tremayne? He’s back then?” she asked quickly.
“Yes, we....” I could hardly say we had strolled through the woods together, though, and now it was my turn to stop in midsentence.
“He’s a lonelyish man,” she said, as if that covered everything. “I’ll tell the mistress you’re here.”
“Oh, then you’re not the mistress?” I blurted out.
“Me? Heavens, no, where did you get that idea? But I suppose I should have introduced myself. We see so few people, and I was that glad to see you. I’m Mrs. Duffy, the housekeeper.”
She gave me a smile that was so warm that truly all my uneasiness vanished and I was glad to be here in this brightly lit room and by the warm fire.
“The mistress,” she said, “is his sister, Miss Eleanor. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d best tell her you’re here.”
She went out, her skirts whispering as she walked. The house was still but for the crackling of the fire. I turned to stare into the flames and thought of the man I had met on the path. How could I ever face him again? But perhaps I would not have to. No doubt I would deal most often with the mistress.
His sister, Mrs. Duffy had said. Was there no wife then? Surely there must have been, as there was a child. Perhaps his wife had died. That would explain why he was, as the housekeeper had put it, lonelyish.
I heard a movement and turned back toward the doorway to the hall, my eyes instinctively going upward, as one’s eyes do, to meet the face of a person of normal height. Mrs. Duffy had not warned me, nor had Mr. Tremayne. There was no reason why they should have, I suppose, and yet in that embarrassing second or two when I had to lower my eyes down to the level of a wheelchair, I could only wish that someone had made some reference to it.
Instinctive too was the shrinking feeling I experienced—pity, repulsion, even curiosity, and mixed with them was an urge to show no emotion at all.
I was aware, however, that I had shown them by the flicker of resentment—too strong a word, perhaps disdain?—that showed in her eyes. It was gone in an instant, and I saw now a crippled woman in a chair but a very strong-minded one who, having paused for whatever effect just within the room, now moved forward by her own efforts. I doubted very much that she would ever want someone to push the chair for her, for she gave that impression.
Mrs. Duffy had paused behind her in the doorway. She gave me a glance, encouraging, I thought, and said, “This is Miss Kirkpatrick, ma’am. I’ll bring the tea.” She disappeared down the hall.
“Sit down, Miss Kirkpatrick, please. I’m Eleanor Tremayne. We’ll have some tea in a moment.”
“How do you do?” I sat in the chair she had indicated. She wheeled herself about so that she was facing me across a tea table. I watched her hands as she turned the chair. They were strong and her wrists were thick and powerful. She did not smile easily but kept her mouth in a thin, straight line. Her hair, a dull brown color, was worn pulled sharply back from her face, giving her a masculine appearance.
For all of that, though, her eyes, while shrewd and appraising, were not unfriendly, and I thought she welcomed a new employee with more grace than might have been necessary.
We exchanged a few desultory remarks about my journey and the weather, plainly making conversation until the tea was brought in. In a moment Mrs. Duffy returned, bearing a silver tray which she placed in front of Miss Tremayne.
I had been wondering if I would meet Mr. Tremayne again. I rather hoped not, as I thought I would be embarrassed to face him so soon after my faux pas. Apparently I was to be spared that awkwardness, as there were only the two cups on the tray.
She poured, all the while asking me polite questions. I was an orphan, was I not? Had I no relatives at all, then? How long had I been at Mrs. White’s? Had I been to this part of the country before?
I answered her questions as openly and as pleasantly as possible. She had, after all, every right to know everything about me, and in fact my correspondence with her brother, which had led to my being hired sight-unseen, had not included a great many questions regarding my background, so that much of what she asked me was, from their point of view, new territory.
As I sipped my tea, I found it increasingly difficult to follow the conversation. I had traveled all day, most of it in a cold rain. The warmth of the fire combined with the warmth of the tea had made me drowsy and I found myself
