in his ward’s life in exactly the same way her own father had meddled in hers; an interference which had cost Helen the love of the man she had dearly hoped to marry. Why was everyone so willing to accept such high-handed treatment?
‘Do you agree with what he is asking you to do?’ she asked stiffly.
Mrs Guarding picked up her teacup and raised it to her lips. ‘It is not for me to agree or disagree, Helen. Mr Brandon’s ward is my pupil; therefore, I have no choice but to act in accordance with his instructions. He has made me aware of certain facts and I must now do whatever I can to ensure that Miss Gresham and Mr Wymington do not meet.’
‘But what if he is wrong about the gentleman?’ Helen felt compelled to ask. ‘What if Mr Wymington is a perfectly amiable man who loves Miss Gresham and who has the best of intentions at heart?’
‘That possibility certainly exists, but it is not up to you or me to make it known to Mr Brandon. He has paid his ward’s tuition in full and has also made a most generous donation of books. I am in no position to challenge him about what he does and does not feel is right for his ward.’
‘But he is interfering in a young girl’s life!’
‘A young girl who is legally in his care,’ the headmistress reminded her. ‘As such, one who must be expected to abide by his decisions. I do hope I have your co-operation in this, Helen. I cannot have individual members of my staff acting of their own volition in matters such as these.’
Helen bit back the words she longed to speak and vented her frustration in a sigh. She knew there was only one answer she could give. Whatever her own feelings in the matter, they could have no place here. For the good of the school, she had to comply with Mrs Guarding’s wishes. But not for the first time in her life, the rules by which she was forced to live sat ill upon her conscience. ‘Yes, of course you have my co-operation.’
Mrs Guarding looked considerably relieved. ‘Thank you. I know you have strong feelings in the matter, my dear, but we really have no choice. If we do not do as Mr Brandon asks, he will simply remove his ward and demand a refund of the tuition he has already paid. And then we shall be in forfeit of both his good opinion and his funding.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Helen murmured reluctantly. ‘But it does not make me any the happier for knowing.’
‘We must do the best we can.’ Mrs Guarding smiled. ‘Thank you too for telling me the truth about the manner of your first introduction to Mr Brandon.’
‘Why would I not?’
‘Because it is not always easy to tell people about things we are ashamed of, especially if they happened in our distant past. And it takes even more courage to admit them to me.’
Somewhat reluctantly, Helen began to smile. ‘I had no idea what Mr Brandon might have told you. In the event he told you what he remembered seeing all those years ago, I thought it would be in both of our interests to tell you what really happened.’
‘And that is why we need say no more about it.’ Mrs Guarding raised the teacup to her lips again. ‘As far as I am concerned, the matter is closed.’
Chapter Four
Perhaps because of what Mrs Guarding told her about Gillian Gresham, Helen found herself taking a keener interest in the girl than usual.
That she was resentful at having been forced to come to Guarding’s was obvious. The girl attended classes but remained stubbornly uncommunicative throughout. Even when she was compelled to answer a question, she did so grudgingly and more often than not, with the very minimum of conversation required. Most of the teachers soon began to express frustration at dealing with the child, and as the end of Gillian’s first week approached, Helen was more inclined to believe that Oliver Brandon had done his half sister a disservice by forcing her to come to Guarding’s, rather than a good turn.
Of course, Helen knew better than most what it was like to have other people make decisions for one, especially in matters of the heart. She knew the hurt that resulted from being told that the man you loved was totally unsuitable—whether he was, in fact, or not—and she knew that because of the resentment Gillian was feeling towards Oliver, everyone else would be made to suffer too. For that reason alone, Helen knew she had to try to get closer to her. It wasn’t Gillian’s fault she was here. Like most women, she had very little say about what she could and could not do with her life.
‘Miss Gresham, you have a very nice grasp of colour and balance in your paintings,’ Helen complimented her one afternoon. ‘Your use of different shadings in the greenery of the new and old leaves is very good.’
Gillian shrugged. ‘I like to paint. And I paint what I see.’
‘So do all the other young ladies, but they do not have as good an eye as you when it comes to colour.’
Gillian looked up at her, and for a moment her face brightened in a smile. It was a fleeting gesture, there and then gone, but it was enough to make Helen marvel at the change it wrought in the girl’s appearance. Goodness, it was like the sun coming out after a summer storm. It also made her more determined than ever to break through the barrier of silence and to find out what was really going on in Gillian’s mind.
Happily, the opportunity arose a few days later. Helen had taken a book out to a secluded area of the garden to read. It was one of her favourite places and she often retired there to sit and write letters, or to indulge her love of reading. It was there Gillian came upon her. ‘Good afternoon, Miss de Coverdale,’ she said politely.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Gresham.’
‘I hope I am not disturbing you, but Mrs Guarding told me I should come outside and take some fresh air.’ Gillian flounced down on the seat next to her. ‘She said I was looking peaky. Do you think I am?
Helen pretended to do a study of the girl’s face. ‘I think perhaps you are a trifle pale, but I would not say peaky.’
‘That was what I thought too. I do not think anyone has ever called me peaked before.’ Gillian sighed again, and then glanced at the book Helen was reading. ‘Are you sure I am not disturbing you?’
‘Not at all. I was just about to stop for a while anyway.’ Helen closed the book and set it aside. ‘Othello is a diverting tale, but I confess I do not like it as well as some of Mr Shakespeare’s other works.’
Gillian’s eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, but how can you not! It is so very romantic. Indeed, Mr Wymington quotes to me from it frequently.’
The mention of the notorious Mr Wymington’s name did not escape Helen’s notice, but she decided to ignore it for the moment. Better not to express too much curiosity this early in the game. ‘Well, you have been here over a week now, Miss Gresham. What do you think of Guarding’s?’
Gillian shrugged and some of the gaiety left her eyes. ‘It is not as dreadful as I thought it would be. The teachers are all very nice, and so are the girls, but some of them are frightfully intelligent. Annabelle James is brilliant at maths, and Mary Putford knows how to speak French, Italian and Greek fluently.’
Helen arched one dark brow in surprise. ‘Miss Putford is fluent in Greek? Dear me, perhaps I should ask her if she would be willing to take classes once a week.’
Gillian
