Miss,” she said in a soothing tone, “you’re tired, I expect, and you’re letting your imagination run away with you. What you want is a good night’s sleep.”
“But, I—”
“If you need anything, all you’ve got to do is pull that cord there,” she said, effectively silencing any further questions I might have. “Good night, Miss. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
With that she left, but not before pausing in the doorway to say again, “I’m that glad you’re here, Miss.”
I was left alone in my room. The fire crackled on the grate and the wind rattled the shutters in reply. I went to the window and looked out, but I could see little. Apparently we were right on the headland, as the earth seemed simply to drop away a hundred yards of so from the house. Although the grounds in front were beautifully landscaped, here it appeared that the darkness lay upon a barren hillside except for one old, gnarled tree that stood at the cliff’s very edge, its branches twisted into a grotesque parody of beseeching.
For all my worries, Mrs. Duffy was right. I was tired, and having thrown the bolt on my door, a perhaps unnecessary gesture that nonetheless gave me a greater peace of mind, I was soon in my bed and, grateful for the warming pan, asleep in no more than a few minutes.
* * * * * * *
I do not know how long I slept before I was awakened. The fire had burned down to a few glowing coals and the room was cold. Outside, the wind still rattled the shutters and thrust one icy draft across the floor of my room.
For a moment, I lay still muffled in sleep, trying to recall first where I was and then why I had awakened. Then I heard it again—a distant sound of sobbing.
I thought at once of my new pupil, Elizabeth. Was she crying in her bed, perhaps even because I was here? Some girls did so resent education, I knew. Perhaps to her I represented a loss of freedom, or a loss of the time she might otherwise spend with her father or her aunt, although I could not imagine Eleanor Tremayne truly comfortable in the presence of a child.
Hardly thinking, I slipped from my room and went to the door. I could hear the crying more clearly here. Yes, it was a girl’s voice, and not far away, I thought. I slid back the bolt and opened the door, stepping into the hallway. A distant candle or a lamp burned around a corner, giving the faintest of glows to the hall, which was empty.
I went back for my dressing gown, slipping quickly into it, and came into the hall again. I turned in the direction of the crying, and gave a little startled cry as someone moved just a few feet from me.
“Mr. Tremayne,” I breathed, so relieved to find it was only him that I forgot to be embarrassed at being found in the dark hall, in my dressing gown. “You startled me.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.” He came closer, those hard eyes staring down at me. “Is something wrong, Miss Kirkpatrick?”
“It was that sobbing,” I said. “It woke me and I came to see what was wrong.”
For a long moment he continued to stare at me. I cannot say that his face was expressionless. Indeed, it seemed full of expression, but of what I could not read.
“What sobbing?” he asked finally.
“Why, the sound of crying....” I stopped. Except for our whispering voices, the house lay still about us. “But, it...I heard it. You must have heard it too.” I felt as if that icy draft of air were moving up my spine.
“I heard nothing but your door open. I came to see what was wrong.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I could not think of a reply, nor could I meet his unwavering gaze. I looked down, suddenly conscious of my dishabille, of the lateness of the hour, and of how foolish I must look.
“This is an oddly constructed house, Miss Kirkpatrick,” he said, speaking as one might speak to a child. “And the wind comes straight in from the sea. Sometimes it makes strange noises. You’ll get used to them.”
“No doubt I will,” I said, backing into my room. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“It was no bother,” he said, not moving. “Good night. Are you comfortable in this room?”
“Very, thank you.”
“You met my sister?”
“Yes, she was most gracious.”
“Well, then, good night.”
“Good night,” I said and closed the door. I wondered if he listened and heard as I slid the bolt into place. I did not hear him walk away, although I remained leaning against the door for some minutes, ears straining.
At length I went back to the welcome warmth of my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, but I did not fall asleep so quickly this time. I lay for a long while, listening to the sounds of the wind.
It did not sob again, and eventually I fell asleep.
* * * * * * *
I woke to a morning that lay shining and splendid over the green hills and the distant sea below us. The wind had become a gentle breeze, the rain had vanished, and with it had vanished my fears and apprehensions.
Soon after I had awakened and unbolted my door, a thin, nervous young woman in a maid’s outfit came in with a tray on which rested a pot of tea and some bread.
“If you please, Miss,” she said, making an awkward little curtsey, “Miss Duffy thought you might enjoy some tea in your room this morning, and the master says when you’re up and about could he see you in the library?”
“Thank you, I’ll be down shortly, but you mustn’t treat me like a guest. I’m an employee too, and I hope we can be friends. My name is Mary.”
“Thank you, Miss,” she said, but with no great warmth. “I’m Daisy. I’m here days, during the week, you understand.”
“Yes, Mrs. Duffy said no one stayed nights. For a while I was getting afraid...you know, imagining all sorts of foolish things.” I gave a little laugh to show how I now regarded this, but Daisy did not laugh or even smile. She only gave me a curious sideways glance and looked away.
“If you’ll excuse me, Miss, I’ve got plenty to do,” she said, and she was gone before I could say anything more, scurrying away as if afraid of me, which led me to conclude that Daisy was probably afraid of everything and so I need not mind what she thought about things. Still, some of the sparkle had gone out of the morning.
After a moment or two of uncertainty, I found the library and Mr. Tremayne waiting there, looking out the window, hands folded behind his back. He was dressed rather more elegantly than before, although his clothes were still somewhat old-fashioned and just a bit threadbare.
He heard me come in and turned to regard me. There was nothing friendly about his look. I thought of a fierce bear I had seen once in a traveling show. Indeed, he scowled so fiercely that I could not but think I had done something wrong, and wondered if he were angry that I had left my room during the night.
I was about to speak, to offer an apology, when at last he addressed
