He paused. Was that a question? Not knowing, I chose silence, being somewhat intimidated by his gruff manner.
“You have been teaching?”
“Yes. At a girls’ school.”
“At....” He paused again and glanced down at a letter he had picked up and that I saw was mine. “At Mrs. White’s.” I nodded. “My daughter is ten. I believe I told you that.”
“Yes.” I had grown more puzzled than frightened by this hemming and hawing. I saw that he wanted to say something but was not sure how to go about it, and close on the heels of this observation came the realization that his gruff manner was a sign, not of unfriendliness of disapproval, as I had thought, but of a shy reserve. He felt as awkward with me as I did with him, and this realization suddenly put me completely at ease with him.
“Perhaps it would be best if I met your daughter,” I said, trying to help him through what I could now see was a difficult interview.
He looked relieved at having the direction of the conversation taken from his hands, and said, “You may be right. I’ll take you to meet her this morning.”
“Take me to meet her? She isn’t here, then?”
Again I had that feeling of awkwardness, of things that needed to be said but somehow could not be said.
“My daughter does not live at Green Willows, Miss Kirkpatrick,” he said after a pause. “She lives in the village with her grandfather, Commander Whittsett. Unfortunately, his cottage is too small to accommodate you there, which is why you must continue to live at Green Willows. I trust that arrangement will be satisfactory to you?”
“Of course, as you wish. And will I teach her here or—?”
“You will teach her at her grandfather’s cottage. The village is not far if you want to walk each day, or there is a trap. If you’d prefer, I can have someone drive you to and from.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m accustomed to walking. Indeed, I like a walk each day.”
A silence fell. I could not think what I could say to break it. Surely I could not ask the questions in my mind, but I could not help wondering about the living arrangements that kept the daughter in the village and her father and her governess here at Green Willows. It might well be true that her grandfather’s cottage was too small for me to live there, but certainly there was more than enough room for her to live here at Green Willows. And that was the customary thing, was it not?
He offered no answers to these questions, although he must be aware they were on my mind. He said, brusquely, “If you like, we can go now.”
“I’ll get my things.”
“There’s no real hurry, of course. If you’d rather have a day to rest from your travels...?”
“I think the sooner I meet your daughter, the better. And I am quite rested, thank you.”
“You slept well, then?”
Despite myself, I glanced at him and our eyes met. “Yes,” I said, “after...that one difficulty.”
“You will get used to Green Willows,” he said.
To that I said nothing. It was a point on which, just now, I was willing to agree with him, and I left to fetch my things.
* * * * * * *
The village was so near that it hardly justified hitching horse to rig, and I told Mr. Tremayne so. It was our first conversation since I had rejoined him and we had started into town.
“It can’t be more than a fifteen minute walk,” I said.
“About that. Although Mrs. Duffy manages to stretch it to an hour or so, but I suspect she stops along the way to visit with friends.”
“She has local friends, then,” I said rather without thinking. “She seemed a little lonely, I thought.”
“Green Willows can be a lonely place. I have been a little concerned about that in view of your youth. Perhaps it will weigh a bit too heavily upon you.”
“I am not unaccustomed to loneliness.”
He sounded surprised when he said, “I should have thought that at a girls’ school...?”
“One can be lonely and surrounded by people.”
“How true,” he said with such vehemence that I wondered again about the depth of feeling he hid behind his taciturn manner.
CHAPTER FIVE
I stole a sideways glance at him, but I do not think he noticed me in more than a superficial manner, any more than he really noticed the task of driving the rig. His attention was turned elsewhere, inward, and I could only puzzle at what vistas he contemplated there. What passions, what furies, had driven him within himself, hiding behind the rough wall of his seemingly unfriendly personality, just as he hid his physical self within the walls of Green Willows.
He said, quite unexpectedly, “You are a remarkable young woman, Miss Kirkpatrick.”
I was completely flustered by the remark and could have given no answer to it. Fortunately, none was necessary, as we seemed to have arrived at our destination. The road had taken us directly into the village and along its one street, with cottages and shops lining either side. Halfway through the town the road separated, one branch leading down to the sea, where I could see a cluster of boats bobbing on the water’s surface, and the other road leading slightly uphill.
We had taken the uphill road, which now ended at a cottage. Mr. Tremayne stopped before it and, alighting, came around to hand me down.
The cottage was a charming one, with a lovely view of the sea, although I could well believe there was not enough room for me to live there. It was a tiny, white clapboard structure with a thatched roof and blue shutters. I thought a curtain fluttered at one of the windows as I climbed down from the rig, but when I glanced again the curtain was still and I could not say for certain whether or not someone was watching.
He used the knocker rather forcefully, and almost at once, the door was opened by a pretty little girl of about ten, who looked altogether awed by our visit. Her eyes, like miniature delft saucers, went from him to me and back again with an air both of fear and barely repressed excitement.
“Good morning. My grandfather is not here,” she said, stepping back so that we might enter. “He has gone down to the harbor but he shall be back in a few minutes. Would you like me to fetch him?”
“That’s won’t be necessary. We’ll wait in the parlor,” Mr. Tremayne said, leading the way into a diminutive room off the hall. It was blue and white, with dark wooden beams on the ceiling and a great deal of brass everywhere, which gave it a nautical flavor. On the mantle over the fireplace was a large bottle containing a complete model of a ship, and several seafaring prints adorned the walls.
In short, it was a man’s room, but it was bright and sunny and the windows looked down upon the harbor with its brightly colored boats. I hoped we could have our lessons here.
That
