a few moments alone, Lucy became prey to uncertainty. She thought over her previous visit, wondering if she had perhaps mistaken the day.
No, she had been sitting on this very chair, facing Mrs Killinghurst across the desk, exactly two weeks ago. Lucy had been encouraged by the lady’s businesslike air, and once she had explained her circumstances and answered a number of searching questions, the lady had risen and disappeared through a door at the back of the room. Some personal inner sanctum, thought Lucy, for she had glimpsed the carved and gilded edge of a picture frame. This had surprised her a little, for the walls of the office and the reception room were singularly bare of ornament, and Lucy had been puzzling over this when Mrs Killinghurst had returned, saying that, yes, she did think there was a suitable position for Lucy.
‘It is rather an unusual position but perfectly respectable, I assure you, and the remuneration is extremely generous, considering that it is only a temporary position. You will only be required for a short period—part of May and the whole of June. However, I need to ascertain from my client—that is—you will need to come back. Shall we say two weeks from today, at eleven o’clock?’
Lucy had agreed immediately. Another two weeks in her uncle’s house would be a trial, but she would manage, somehow. The date and time of the next meeting had been repeated and confirmed, Lucy remembered, with Mrs Killinghurst promising that she would then be in a position to explain the post in detail. Lucy had thanked her and prepared to leave, but now she recalled that at that point the proprietress had shown a diffidence that had not been apparent throughout the rest of their meeting.
‘Good day to you, Miss Halbrook and—my dear, should you find another post in the meantime I hope you will feel free to take it. A little note to me explaining the situation will suffice...’
Lucy had looked at her in surprise.
‘I assure you, Mrs Killinghurst, I am more than content to wait two weeks, unless perhaps you think there is some doubt about my suitability for the post you have in mind?’
‘Oh, no, no, I think you are eminently suitable.’ Thinking back, Lucy remembered the slightly anxious timbre of the lady’s voice, as if she regretted the circumstance. She had looked a little uncomfortable as she continued, ‘Of course, this post is by no means guaranteed, and if something else should come up I would be failing you if I did not advise you to accept it.’
‘But you do not have anything else to offer me?’
‘Well, no, not at present.’
Lucy had thought it an odd way to go about business, suggesting that she should look elsewhere for employment, but she guessed it was some sort of a test of her loyalty, and she had been quick to reassure Mrs Killinghurst that she would return in two weeks’ time at the agreed hour.
‘And here I am,’ she announced to the empty room. ‘Ready and waiting to know my fate.’
The rattle of the doorknob made her jump, and she wondered if someone had been listening, for at that moment the door to the inner sanctum opened, and Mrs Killinghurst came in, smiling and apologising for keeping Lucy waiting. She went to her desk and in her haste left the door slightly ajar.
‘Now then, Miss Halbrook, where were we?’ She sat down, pulling a sheaf of papers towards her. ‘Ah, yes. The character references I have received for you are excellent. As I mentioned when we last met, this is an unusual post. My client is looking for an accomplished young lady of gentle birth to spend some time at his house in the north.’
A movement from Lucy caused the lady to pause.
‘Excuse me, ma’am, but your client is a married gentleman, I assume?’
Mrs Killinghurst shook her head.
‘He is a widower, but quite respectable,’ she added quickly, a little too hastily perhaps.
Lucy felt her heart sinking. She decided she must speak frankly.
‘Mrs Killinghurst, is—is there anything, ah, questionable about this particular post?’
‘Oh, no, no, nothing like that! My client assures me that a chaperone will be provided, and you will be treated with the utmost respect during your stay. You are to live at the house, as his guest. And the remuneration is extremely generous.’
She mentioned a sum that made Lucy’s eyebrows fly up.
‘But I do not understand. Your, ah, client wishes to pay me to be a guest in his house?’
‘Yes.’
‘But, why?’
Mrs Killinghurst began to straighten the papers on her desk.
‘I believe he wishes you to be there as his hostess.’
Lucy’s disappointment was searing. For the past two weeks she had been looking forward to this meeting, speculating about the ‘lucrative post’ that Mrs Killinghurst had in mind. A governess, perhaps, or companion to some elderly and infirm lady, or even a gentleman. The temporary nature of the post had indicated that perhaps she was being engaged to make someone’s last months on this earth as comfortable as possible. Now she realised that her daydreams and speculation had been wildly inaccurate and naive. An unmarried man—even a widower—would not hire a hostess for any respectable purpose. Thoughts of Uncle Edgeworth and his wandering hands came to her mind.
She rose, saying coldly, ‘I am very sorry, Mrs Killinghurst, but this is not the kind of employment I envisaged. If you had only told me a little more about this post two weeks ago we might have saved ourselves a great deal of inconvenience.’
She had already turned to leave when she was halted by the sound of a deep, male voice behind her.
‘Perhaps, Mrs Killinghurst, you would allow me to explain to the young lady?’
Lucy whipped around. Standing in the doorway to the inner sanctum was the man she had seen below.
His solid form had filled the alleyway, but here in this small office he looked even more imposing. Mrs Killinghurst rose from her seat, but she barely reached his shoulder and only emphasised the man’s size. He had removed his hat to display his black hair, cut ruthlessly short, and his impassive countenance did nothing to dispel Lucy’s first impression of a stern, unyielding character.
She was aware of the latent power of the man. It was apparent in every line of his body, from the rough-hewn countenance, through those broad shoulders to his feet, planted firmly, slightly apart, as if he was ready to take on the world.
Ready to pounce on her. This man was dangerous, she was convinced of it, but some tiny, treacherous part of her found that danger very attractive.
Alarmed by her own reaction Lucy stepped back, one hand behind her feeling for the door handle.
‘I really do not think there is any need—’
‘Oh, but there is,’ he said. ‘You’ve waited two weeks to learn about this position; it would be a pity if you were to leave now without knowing just what it entailed, don’t you think?’ He spoke quietly, but with a natural authority that brooked no argument and when he invited her to return to her seat, Lucy found herself complying.
He indicated to Mrs Killinghurst that she should sit down
