The Mistress of Trevelyan (7 page)

This thought tempered my words as I addressed their earlier skirmish. I took care not to delve into Robert's hunger for a mother and Justin's resentment that he didn't have one just yet. I felt those issues—though the root of their problems—would be best discussed when I knew them better. So, after giving Justin the opportunity to explain, during which he remained sullenly silent, I admonished them lightly on gentlemanly conduct, and we wound our way back through the gardens. The boys ran ahead, breaking into a little game of tag. I slowed my pace to afford them more time to play, glad to see a bit of their natural exuberance coming back to life.

As I walked, I looked up, seeking another glimpse of the magnificent stained glass. I froze mid-step, and my blood drained in a rush even as fear twisted inside me. Framed in the tallest turret's window, almost as if she were about to jump, stood a beautiful woman.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

The breeze from the bay ruffled her white gown and black hair in a ghostly sway. I lifted my hand to her, trying to force my voice through the tightness of my throat. "Don't," I cautioned her, wanting to stop her from falling or jumping.

I knew not what she intended. But she did not hear me. I was too far away. Her gaze remained focused upon the horizon, a picture of winsome sadness, of tragedy.

Glancing over my shoulder to see what absorbed her so thoroughly, I realized that she stared toward the bay beyond the dark cliffs, as if looking for a ship from the sea. When I turned back, the woman had disappeared. Fear gripped me as I rushed past the bushes to see the ground beneath the turret's window. Bloodred roses, a large neat grouping of them, lay under the window, mocking my imagination. I shuddered, wondering if I had seen the woman at all.

No, I thought, stiffening my spine as I entered the manor house in search of Justin and Robert. I would not doubt myself. Yet the incident left me shaken and testy. Dobbs stood inside the house, near the doorway, a jackal ready to pounce. "Miss Low—"

"Lovell, but I am willing to make an allowance for your apparent forgetfulness. You may call me Miss L. That shouldn't be difficult. It is spelled M...I...S...S...L and pronounced exactly—"

"Miss Lovell!" Dobbs's voice cut through the room, and he flinched, apparently mortified at his loss of composure. I seriously doubted he'd forget my name again. I had the satisfaction of seeing his face mottle to a dark purple before he collected himself and spoke through clenched teeth. "Are you or are you not presently in charge of Masters Justin and Robert?"

"Of course. We are moving from our outside studies to the schoolroom. Do you have a problem, Mr. Dobbs?"

"No, Miss Lovell. You have a problem. They just ran obnoxiously through the house like—"

"Children," I said, preempting whatever colorful analogy he'd been about to utter. "I will speak to them about restraining their enthusiasm for life to outdoor play. But it would behoove you to remember that Masters Justin and Robert are young boys of a tender age and in need of fun and affection."

I turned from him, intending to make my way to the schoolroom, praying I'd find Justin and Robert there and not engaging in further mischief. Three steps away, I recalled the woman in the window. I spoke to Dobbs's back, for he was exiting the room in the opposite direction. "Mr. Dobbs, perhaps you can tell me. I saw a woman in the center turret's window. She had long black hair and wore a white dressing gown as if she were ill. Who is she?"

Dobbs's purple hue blanched white. "Mrs. Trevelyan's death and her ghost are forbidden subjects to the servants in this household. No one is ever permitted in that turret. It has been sealed off from everyone since her death. I suggest you keep your fancifulness to yourself if you value your job. Good day, Miss Lovell."

He couldn't have dealt me a more shocking blow if he had felled me with his fist. Mrs. Trevelyan, as in the deceased Francesca Trevelyan? Her ghost? Good Lord. She must have jumped from that tower, and the realization cast a shadow over my castle-like image of the manor, that of knights, and ladies, and dragons.

My practicality shouted that I'd seen a flesh-and-blood woman, not a ghostly apparition or even a figment of my imagination, and the incident plagued me throughout the day. I kept Justin and Robert busy. We studied mathematics and science and reviewed the not-too-distant past events that enabled California to qualify for statehood, and then they each chose a game to teach me how to play. They needed to know that I loved to learn, too. That I was willing to listen to them and thought they had something important to say.

Benedict Trevelyan didn't appear again, and I didn't turn Justin and Robert over to their nurse until they were ready for bed after they'd gotten their bread and water—plus a bowl of gravy for dipping purposes, thanks to the cook.

Cook Thomas, I found, was a jovial man who'd spent many years at sea. He had a girth as big as his laugh and a kind nature that reminded me of Captain Balder. I was surprised to learn he'd been Benedict Trevelyan's cook when Benedict Trevelyan had captained a ship by the name of
Freedom
. In fact, according to Cook Thomas, a number of Benedict Trevelyan's crew who'd been injured or too old to find work on another ship worked for him here. This bit of information intrigued me, for it hinted that the master of Trevelyan Hill wasn't as merciless as he appeared. Yet I could very readily picture him at the helm of a large ship, unbending as he headed into a violent storm with an ironclad determination that gave no quarter for weaknesses. A determination that was as unsinkable as the
Monitor
and
Merrimack
had proved to be during the recent War between the North and the South—an event that hadn't touched our lives in the West as deeply as the building of the railroad or the discovery of gold.

Unlike Dobbs and Maria, Cook Thomas didn't fit with the darkness of the manor house and its master, and the incongruity made me wonder if Benedict Trevelyan was as implacable as he seemed. For the very first thing Cook Thomas did was to ease the severity of Benedict Trevelyan's punishment by giving the boys gravy to go with their bread. His care of Justin and Robert warmed me and won my heart. The children and I lingered in the kitchen, listening to stories of the perils of the sea, for a long time. I didn't return Justin and Robert to their nurse's care until late, leaving myself very little time to prepare for dinner. Entertaining and teaching the children left me as worn as a miner's breeches, but I didn't regret my new path in life. I found the day's work so much more satisfying than a mound of laundry.

Several times during the day, I considered declining Benedict Trevelyan's request to join the family for dinner. It wasn't my place to be a guest at their table, and I was uncomfortable with the completely impractical idea. I also worried it would only give the wrong impression of what I considered my station in life, but I had yet to meet the other members of the household, and my curiosity would give me no peace. Indeed, I fear my curiosity was greater than my sense of practicality—a surprising fact for me to realize. But that was the truth of it. I wanted to see all of the Trevelyans that I knew lived within the manor's dark walls—Benedict Trevelyan's mother, his sister, and his sister-in-law, the late Mrs. Trevelyan's sister. I wanted to know which of the women had been in the turret window this morning. For despite the fact that Dobbs claimed the turret was sealed off, I knew I'd seen someone in it. And I refused to believe in ghosts.

As I stepped into my new room, I immediately detected the scent of roses. It lingered gently in the air as if a bouquet of blooms lay nearby, or a lady with means enough to indulge her senses in such heavenly things had just passed through. Except for the rare occasions when I ventured to Holloway Park and collected the petals of wildflowers for a sachet, I'd known only the acridity of lye soap and the freshness of warm sunshine. The rose scent stopped me in my tracks.

A shiver ran through me as my mind leapt back to this morning. The woman in the turret window, the blood-red roses below, and Dobbs's intimation that I'd seen a ghost...

No. Ghosts, if they existed at all, were transparent apparitions bent on instilling fear in the hearts of those unfortunate enough to encounter them. Ghosts did not stand like a flesh-and-blood woman. And ghosts most certainly did not gad about smelling like roses. Besides, I was entirely too practical to believe in such nonsense.

Thus, having garnered my courage, I shut the door and searched my room thoroughly. I felt vindicated when I discovered a few of my belongings disturbed from the place where I had left them on the desk. And I breathed a sigh of relief to find my mother's silver comb, her journals, and her gun all safe in the carpetbag on the top shelf of the armoire. Not that I feared having my things stolen; I just didn't want to ever lose the few mementoes of her. The ewer for the washbasin had been filled and fresh towels placed for my use.

I wrote the incident off as merely a maid's curiosity and ignored the remaining doubt that asked if a maid would smell of roses. Quickly making use of the refreshing water and, to my joy, a small bar of lavender soap, I changed into my brown cotton dress and twisted my hair into a reserved bun. As I did, I remembered Benedict Trevelyan brushing his thumb over its silken texture and threading his fingers through it as he examined me for injury. I found myself studying my reflection in the washstand's beveled mirror, worrying if the Trevelyans—especially Benedict Trevelyan— would find my appearance acceptable.

"For heaven's sakes." I chastised myself for such foolishness and marched to the door. Surely I wasn't a woman given to concerns of that nature.

But before I could force myself to leave, I dashed back to my hat upon the dresser, filched the lace from its brim, and tucked the delicate scrap about the neck of my gown. As I left the room, I blamed exposure to the morning sun for the color fanning my cheeks.

I hurried downstairs, thoroughly convincing myself that my interest in my appearance rested solely upon the fact that I now held a new position in life. It had nothing to do with the look in Benedict Trevelyan's eyes this morning. That was only the wild imaginings of a spinster. In the entryway, I turned a blind eye to the stained glass windows, lest they should tempt me to linger, and I followed the sounds of voices until I discerned the words being spoken. Then I froze, too mortified even to breathe.

"Really, Benedict, this penchant you have of catering to the unfortunate has gone too far this time," a woman said, her voice nasal and cold. "A homely washerwoman is in charge of educating my grandsons? A woman no better than a beggar off the streets? Surely Maria must be mistaken."

"Am I to take it that you'd find a beautiful washerwoman acceptable then, Mother?"

"Botheration. Do not start twisting my words around. What is the truth of the situation?"

"You heard correctly, though I would hardly consider Maria an intelligent source of information," he said, and my stomach cramped and roiled. I knew my station in life, but to hear it put so bluntly was disturbing.
No better than a beggar off the streets.

I almost missed the rest of what Benedict said, but his deep voice reached through my embarrassment. "The supposed washerwoman is not only cognizant that Newton made scientific studies of the characteristics of light as well as the gravity of an apple, she also seems to be gifted at capturing and holding my sons' attention. And I daresay the woman has a great deal more practical sense than to chase Robert around the kitchen with a broom. So all in all, until I see otherwise, my sons are better off under the tutelage of an intelligent and well-versed washerwoman than under the care of a blundering nurse. Miss Lovell is nowhere near a beggar off the streets. I consider the subject closed."

"He's such a tyrant, don't you agree?" a male voice whispered right next to my ear. I jumped with fright, nearly knocking the man over as my shoulder clipped his jaw.

I'd been caught eavesdropping again. Mortified, I swung around to see a pair of bloodshot blue eyes blinking at me as Stephen Trevelyan rubbed his chin and worked his jaw. He didn't seem to be the least put off about the accident. In fact, he was grinning and looking at me, quite frankly, with interest

Shocked, I patted my chest. "My word, you gave me a fright, Mr. Trevelyan."

"So sorry. You must be the new governess, Miss Lovell. I am
Stephen
Trevelyan. With Ben at the head of the family, there's only room for one Mr. Trevelyan. So please call me Stephen. May I call you Ann?" He held out his hand, and after hesitating a moment, I shook it, trying to stifle my smile. The man was outrageously familiar, especially in light of his status and mine, yet I liked him.

"I suppose," I replied, a bit disconcerted. He did not release my hand, and what I noticed most about his touch is that it did not carry the penetrating impact Benedict Trevelyan's did.

"From the blistering old Ben gave me earlier, it seems that I owe you an apology. And now that I have met you, I feel sorely vexed at myself for falling into your arms and not remembering a jot of it."

"I see you two have met," Benedict Trevelyan said. He stared at us from the doorway.

Heat flushed my cheeks, and I pulled my hand from Stephen Trevelyan's. "Yes, just now. Here in the corridor.'' Though Benedict Trevelyan didn't say anything, the disapproval in the grim set of his lips practically shouted at me. I took another step away from his brother. My feet moved even before my mind registered the implications of such a movement I had nothing to feel guilty about, but my actions indicated otherwise.

"Are Katherine and Constance down yet?" Stephen Trevelyan asked, his voice several degrees colder than when he'd spoken to me.

"No, but Mother is. She's eager to see you."

"Duty calls, Miss Ann. And please remember to call me Stephen. After all, I hear we became quite close this morning." Winking at me, Stephen Trevelyan moved past and entered the room.