The Lady and the Lake (4 page)

‘This
is
Abigail
Sinclair,
newly
arrived,
Miss
Hayward,
and
this
is
my
over
-
zealous
granddaughter,
Emily.’
As
she
spoke
I
looked
from
one
to
the
other,
Emily
was
by
now
sat
at
Mrs
Kershaw’s
feet
stroking
a
long-haired white
cat
that
I
had
not
noticed
before.
The
child’s
governess
stood
demurely
by
the
door
looking
down
at
the
floor,
she
seemed
not
to
want
to
meet
my
eye
or
talk
to
me,
maybe
this
would
alter
out
of
the
old
lady’s
domineering
presence.

‘I’m
weary.’
Mrs
Kershaw’s
voice
drifted
across
to
me,
although
weary
her
voice
was
still
harsh
and
hostile.

‘Please,
Miss
Hayward
show
Abigail
to
the
hall
and
take
Emily
for
her
tea.
Goodbye,
pet,
I’ll
see
you
tomorrow.’
As
she
ruffled
her
granddaughter’s
hair
her
voice
was
gentle
each
time
she
addressed
the
child.
‘No
Emily,
you
can’t
take
Charles
with
you,
put
him
down.’

Emily
put
the
purring
cat
back
in
his
bed
at
the
old
lady’s
feet
and
ran
to
take
Miss
Hayward’s
hand.
I
followed
them
out
realising
that
I’d
uttered
only
three
words
since
entering
the
room
and
summed
up
that
the
old
lady
had
an
acid
tongue.

I
was
pleased
to
follow
Miss
Hayward,
as
stepping
back
into
the
corridor
it
was
dark
and
shadowy
once
more.
Emily
skipped
along
quite
unperturbed
at
the
darkness,
the
silent
Miss
Hayward
walked
ahead
of
me
her
back
straight
and
head
held
high.

As
we
reached
the
entrance
hall
once
more
the
front
door
opened
and
a
man
stood
silhouetted
in
the
doorway.
‘Father!
Father!’
Emily
exclaimed,
releasing
the
grip
of
Miss
Hayward’s
hand
she
ran
to
him
and
he
gathered
her
in
his
arms
in
a
strong
embrace,
this
child
was
obviously
well
loved.

As
he
stepped
farther
into
the
hallway
I
could
see
he
was
a
tall
slim
man
of
about
thirty-five
years
of
age,
the
sun
had
bleached
his
already
blond
hair
and
I
could
see
as
he
turned
his
attention
to
me
that
his
eyes
were
a
startling
blue.

‘You
must
be
Miss
Sinclair.’
As
he
spoke
he
gently
removed
his
daughter
from
him.
‘I’m
Antony
Kershaw, welcome
to
my
home,
I
trust
you
will
be
happy
here.’
He
offered
his
hand
to
me
which
I
took
gladly,
this
was
a
genuine
welcome
indeed.
So
the
abominable
Mrs
Kershaw
was
not
the
mistress
here
and
I
smiled.
Almost
reading
my
thoughts
he
continued.

‘Have
you
met
my
mother?’

‘I
have
indeed,
not
a
moment
since,’
I
replied
with
feeling.

‘And
what
did
you
make
of
her?’
he
asked
politely.

‘She
is
somewhat
daunting
and
also
very
rude,’
I
said
honestly.
A
brief
smile
hovered
on
Antony
Kershaw’s
lips.

‘You
sum
her
up
very
well,
Miss
Sinclair,
but
I
assure
you
her
bark
is
worse
than
her
bite,
just
give
her
a
chance.
Since
my
wife,’
here
he
hesitated
momentarily,
‘since
my
wife
died
two
years
ago,
things
have
not
been
easy
for
any
of
us.
The
last
two
companions
employed
for
my
mother
have
left
within
days.
I
trust
this
will
not
be
the
case
with
you.’

His
words
were
a
challenge
and shortly
afterwards
as
I
followed
Mrs
Grafton
up
the
stone
staircase
to
my
room,
my
mind
was
in
a
whirl.
I’d
sensed
hostility
at
every
turn
in
the
brief
time
I’d
been
in
the
house,
except
from
Mr
Kershaw
and
his
child
Emily,
even
the
lovely
Miss
Hayward
had
not
spoken,
but
watched
me
with
a
silent,
unfathomable
manner.

I
wondered
also
why
my
employer
covered
her
face
with
a
veil,
and
did
everyone
in
the
house
apart
from
Emily
and
the
old
lady
wear
grey?
For
Antony
Kershaw
also
wore
it
in
the
form
of
a
country
suit,
and
the
hat
he
had
removed
was
of
grey
felt
with
a
curled
brim.
I
had
quite
taken
to
the
man
and
felt
in
some
way
sorry
for
the
position
he
was
in
with
a
domineering
mother
and
a
young
daughter
to
contend
with.

2

My
room
was
small
and
adequate,
the
polished
wooden
floorboards
were
covered
by
a
small
beige-coloured
rug,
there
was
a
single
wardrobe
in
one
corner
adjacent
to
the
door
with
a
matching
dressing
table
next
to
it.
The
window
opposite
cast
light
onto
the
bevelled
mirror.

Mrs
Grafton
left
me
to
settle
in,
telling
me
that
I
could
either
eat
in
my
room
or
share
the
table
in
the
kitchen
with
the
rest
of
the
household
staff.

Before
arranging
my
sparse
array
of
clothes,
I
was
eager
to
see
the
view
from
the
window.
The
sun
was
still
high
in
the
sky
and
shone
down
on
a
vast
lake,
two
white
swans
glided
across
the
mirrored
water,
four
cygnets
in
their
wake.
I
could
see
a
white
summer
pavilion
on
the
other
side
of
the
water,
and
to
one
side
of
the
lake
was
a beautiful
garden
full
of
brightly-coloured
flowers
intermingling
with
one
another.

The
whole
scene
in
its
entirety
was
beautifully
tranquil
and
so
in
contrast
to
the
front
of
the
house.
Then
on
my
left
out
of
the
corner
of
my
eye
I
could
see
that
the
round
tower
was
adjacent
to
my
room.
I
was
obviously
at
the
top
of
the
house
and
my
window
was
level
with
the
one
that
jutted
out
from
the
tower,
so
close
to
me
I
could
almost
touch
it.

I
shivered
involuntarily
and
went
over
to
the
mirror.

Removing
my
straw
bonnet
I
marvelled
at
the
fact
that
my
thick
dark
blonde
hair
had
not
strayed
out
of
place,
the
pins
which
held
the
back
in
a
twisted
knot
were
still
in
place.

Replacing
my
bonnet
I
decided
to
take
a
closer
look
at
the
beautiful
lake.
A
walk
in
the
fresh
air
would
do
me
good
after
the
long
journey
from
London,
my
unpacking
could
wait.

As
I
stepped
into
the
narrow corridor,
Miss
Hayward
was
about
to
step
into
the
room
next
to
mine,
she
stopped,
one
hand
on
the
door
knob
and
a
tray
balanced
precariously
on
the
other.
Swiftly
I
walked
over
to
her
and
removed
the
tray
from
her
hand.

‘Thank
you,
Miss
Sinclair,’
she
said
quietly.

‘Abbey,
please
call
me
Abbey,’
I
urged
as
I
followed
Miss
Hayward
into
her
room
which
was
a
bit
larger
than
mine.
She’d
made
it
her
own,
pictures
hung
on
the
walls
and
a
small
table
by
her
bed
held
petite
china
ornaments.
The
room
looked
lived
in
and
was
quite
pleasant,
the
bottom
of
the
window
was
open
causing
the
pink
curtains
to
flutter
softly
in
the
warm
summer
breeze.

‘What
a
delightful
room,’
I
said
with
honesty.

‘Thank
you,
and
please
call
me
Alice.’
As
she
replied,
Alice
lay
the
tray
on
the
bed.
‘Please
join
me
as
you
must
be
hungry
after
your
journey.’

So
we
sat
on
the
bed
sharing
Alice’s afternoon
tea
in
almost
a
companionable
silence
while
looking
out
over
the
lake
and
gardens,
the
sun
shining
through
the
window
on
us
both.
Suddenly
all
fanciful
thoughts
of
gloom
and
foreboding
left
me
and
I
felt
quite
relaxed.

‘Why
are
you
here
as
a
companion?’
Alice’s
gentle
voice
cut
into
my
revelry.

I
looked
at
her
for
some
time
before
I
spoke.
‘I
needed
the
post
as
much
for
myself
as
the
wage,’
I
said
quietly,
my
hand
toying
idly
with
the
teaspoon
on
the
tray.

‘And
what
of
your
parents?’
Alice
questioned
further.

‘Both
dead,’
I
said
with
a
firmness
and
finality
which
I
felt.
‘My
mother
died
of
diphtheria
when
I
was
nine,
I
went
to
live
with
various
aunts
and
uncles
as
my
father
was
a
seafaring
man.’

‘Was?’
Alice
reiterated.

‘Yes,
he
died
some
three
months
ago
from
an
illness
of
the
lungs,
and
I’ve
been
looking
to
secure
a
suitable position
since
then,’
I
replied
wistfully.

‘You’ve
not
thought
of
marriage
then?’
Alice
asked
with
interest.

‘No,
unfortunately
not,
no
man
has
totally
appealed
to
me,
a
fair
few
have
had
different
qualities,
but
I
seek
one
with
them
all.’
I
looked
at
Alice
and
laughed.
‘You?’
she
hesitated
for
a
moment
before
replying.