by Amanda Deed
Serena nodded.
‘Governor Gipps commissioned him to design a grand theatre for the city. The governor wants it to be a lasting and outstanding landmark for Sydney.’
Impressive. Serena raised her eyebrows. Mr King’s work sounded important. No wonder he had been so moody and short with her earlier if he’d been dragged away from his enterprise. ‘I’ll be sure not to disturb him then.’
Not that she had any wish to meet that cantankerous man so soon again, anyway. To wander the grounds and explore the house would overwhelm her enough without another confusing encounter with Mr King.
4
After spending some time exploring the suite she’d been settled in, Serena headed for the front door. It was dark when she’d arrived last night and she wondered what Aleron House looked like from the outside. Was it as grand as the interior suggested? Serena paused outside her rooms, looking in both directions. It was hard to get one’s bearings in a home of this size.
Finally, she found familiar furnishings in the hallways and located the entrance, then followed the pathway a hundred or so yards to the front gate. The lonely crunch of stone beneath her feet stood out in contrast against the silent grounds. The fresh country air might have been invigorating if she wasn’t so vexed by the owner of this place. She turned to gaze at her new prison.
Aleron House rose in a formidable stance before her, as fearsome as its master. Although, it more resembled a castle than a house. It presented a gothic impression with turrets, parapets, arched windows and gables. If it hadn’t been her gaol she might have considered it an enchanting piece of architecture, something from her childhood dreams. And if the sky had been less threatening with its dark clouds, the sandstone walls might even be inviting. No doubt Mr King had designed and built it himself.
Serena leaned up against the closed gates. This would be her dwelling for the foreseeable future and she worried that her time here would be taxing. Although, if she were honest with herself, she feared more for her family than herself. Her sisters seemed barely capable of dressing themselves, let alone looking after the house and cooking. And with Papa heading to sea again, she pictured them lost and alone in their small cottage. If only she could go back and check on them.
She tried to drive thoughts of home from her mind, berating herself. How many times had she wished for a break from the constant routine of her life? How often had she pined for the days when she had almost married and been mistress of a grand house? If Mama hadn’t died ...
Every time she thought of escaping her life, guilt nagged at her. How could she dream of such things when her family needed her? Since Mama died, and they lost their wealth, they had leaned on Serena for support. Papa needed her to be the mother of the house, and her sisters needed someone in whom to confide. But now they would have to get along without her. Julianne must be the one to manage the household. Serena drew a deep breath. Julianne would cope. She had to cope.
With a sigh, Serena continued her tour of Aleron House. The grounds were magnificent, designed with pretty flower beds, dotted here and there with larger trees. It would be a rainbow of colour come spring. In the middle of these gardens stood an imposing fig tree, which drew the eye from every angle—a magnificent centrepiece. Where the formal gardens ended, pastureland spread into the distance, bordered by a forest of eucalypts.
The vista from her tiny house in the city was nothing in comparison. Of course, a short walk from home, Serena could gaze out over the ocean and watch the ships glide into Port Jackson. But in every other direction stood buildings of stone and wood, separated only by roads. The beauty of Aleron’s vista made her soul ache. Hadn’t she always dreamed of living on such an estate again? And here she was, but it did not belong to her or her family. Did God mean to tease her?
Even the air was different. Gone was the tinge of the sewers on the breeze, or the fishy aroma from the port. Here, only fresh, flower-laden air met her senses. And the earthy scent of horses.
The stables stood off to her right. Mr King no doubt had several fine animals in his possession. She hastened her steps in that direction, eager to see them, and almost collided with Mr King standing beneath the fig tree.
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Do you always run about like a hoyden?’ A deep frown marked his brow.
‘Hoyden?’ She obviously repulsed him. Indignation quickly replaced any civility Serena might have used.
‘First I find you prostate on my drawing room floor and now you are careening about my garden in a careless fashion. What other description is there but hoyden?’
Serena glared at him. This was the outside of enough.
‘Shall we discuss your own behaviour? You left me alone in that drawing room all night. No offer of refreshments, no bed, no warmth. What manner of host are you?’
Mr King averted his eyes, but not before Serena caught a flash of emotion in them. Was that regret? But then he stared at her again, his eyes narrowed.
‘I am not your host. I am the one to whom you owe a debt. It would serve you well to remember that.’ With those harsh words, he swivelled on his heel and strode toward the house.
Serena watched him walk away, hands clenched at her sides. ‘No, you are not my host,’ she mumbled, ‘but it appears I am your hostage.’
She leaned up against the broad trunk of the fig, trying to calm her anger. Was he always going to be this callous and rude? How would she endure?
With a heavy sigh, she pushed away from the tree. She must put it out of her mind. The scent of horse manure drifted on the air, reminding her she’d been on her way to visit the stables. Trying to forget Mr King, she headed that way again. As she entered the dim hold, Serena paused, allowing her eyes to adjust.
‘Good day, miss. May I help you?’ A young man stepped out of the shadows and greeted her with a hesitant smile. Serena recalled seeing him briefly on their arrival last night.
‘Oh, hello. I came to visit the horses,’ Serena stammered.
‘And you are?’
‘Miss Bellingham’s my name. I’m here to work, like you. But, not with the horses, of course.’ She giggled, suddenly nervous. ‘I didn’t catch your name though.’
‘Xavier Jones. I’m in charge of the stables.’
Mrs Jones’s son, of course. The groomsman must be similar in age to herself if Serena was any judge. Mr Jones sported the same good looks as his uncle, but wore a shy smile. In fact, the similarity between them was unnerving, although the nephew did not have the melancholic air of his uncle. She offered him a brief curtsy. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Jones.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking, what duties were you hired to perform? I didn’t think we were hiring staff.’
Serena let out a mirthless chuckle. Did no one want her here, except Mr King, whose own acceptance seemed thin? ‘I’ll be working in the laundry and doing odd cleaning around the house, starting tomorrow. For now, Mrs Jones suggested I explore my new surroundings.’
Mr Jones shuffled his feet, looking awkward and then gestured toward the door. ‘I am due to bring the horses in from the paddocks. You can join me if it pleases you.’
Serena glanced at her boots—the only pair she owned these days. ‘Is it very muddy?’
The shy grin spread on Mr Jones’s face again. ‘It shouldn’t be too bad. The rain has dried since yesterday.’
‘Very well then. I shall enjoy a tour of the selection.’
Moments later, with two halters looped over his shoulder, Mr Jones led her from the stables. They passed through a gate in the fence which bordered the manicured gardens, and then the ground became more uneven as they entered the paddocks. Serena had to watch her every step, lest she land in a rabbit burrow and twist her ankle.
‘The horses are in the lower paddock. Can you manage?’
‘I think so.’ Serena giggled. ‘I have climbed over the rocks in t
he bay many times, you know.’
‘Right.’ Mr Jones studied her for a moment.
‘My father is a merchant, so I am often at the port,’ she offered by way of explanation.
‘Ah.’ Mr Jones’s eyebrows rose.
They walked in silence for a moment and Serena worried her lip. Questions burned in her chest. She sent a furtive glance his way. He seemed friendly enough. Why not try? ‘I wonder, Mr Jones, if you would care to tell me more of your uncle?’
Mr Jones lurched as his foot met with a deep furrow. Had she been too presumptuous and startled him? His brows had drawn together.
‘What is it you wish to know?’
Everything. As Serena saw more of Mr King’s estate, she became intrigued about the mind that created such magnificence. Could a constantly brooding mind create such beauty? She opened her mouth to ask about his mind for architectural design, but Mr Jones spoke again.
‘Or, should I ask, what have you heard?’
Serena glanced sideways at him. Was that a suspicious gaze he cast upon her? Strange, such a veil of secrecy hung about the place. She tried to offer a disarming smile. ‘I’ve only read snippets of information about him in the newspapers. Not much. I had expected him to be older, I suppose.’
Mr Jones pressed his lips into a thin line. ‘Uncle Eddie was a child prodigy. Brilliant. He entered Cambridge at a young age. Studied everything he could find to learn, but he always came back to creating and building. He designed his first building—a church—at sixteen and within a few years became the rage of London in architecture.’
‘Because of his young age, do you think?’
He gave a slow nod. ‘In part, but his work is quite remarkable.’ Mr Jones gestured behind them to the house. ‘You cannot deny it.’
Serena paused and turned toward the mansion, admiring its silhouette against the sky. No, she couldn’t deny it. ‘If London demanded his talents so much, though, why leave and come to Australia?’
Mr Jones expression clouded. ‘I was only nine when we left, so much of it is hazy in my memory. But with respect to my uncle and my mother, that is their story to tell. I do know my uncle can be impulsive when he chooses.’
‘Do you imply he came to Sydney Cove on a whim?’ Serena couldn’t believe a person would travel so far without careful planning or forethought.
The young horseman turned an open face to her. ‘It is not for me to say, Miss Bellingham. Perhaps you might ask him yourself if you have the opportunity.’
She intended to ask another question when a dapple-grey mare shook her silver mane in front of them, diverting Serena’s attention. She admired the mare’s beautiful coat with a soft moan. ‘Oh, she’s lovely.’
Mr Jones grinned. ‘She’s one of my favourites. Her name’s Misty. The other dappled grey over yonder is Storm and together they pull Uncle’s carriage.’
Mr Jones gestured toward Storm, thundering toward them with a loud whinny. ‘Does Storm live up to his—or her—name?’
Mr Jones released a soft laugh. ‘Yes. She looks like a storm cloud and behaves like one, too. But Misty keeps her in check when they’re in the harness.’
‘Misty’s the docile one then, is she?’ Serena laughed, ducking for cover behind Mr Jones as Storm skidded to a stop in front of him.
The groomsman gave a soft laugh as he pulled a carrot from his pocket and fed it to the eager horse. ‘As you can tell, Storm certainly isn’t.’ He stroked the big mare’s nose with affection. ‘She can smell a carrot a mile away.’ He turned and gave Serena a lopsided grin. ‘Or else, she knows I bring one for her every day.’
Serena giggled at the horse’s antics, then stepped closer to stroke its nose. The short hair of Storm’s face was soft beneath her fingers. The mare nickered and sniffed at her hand, its warm breath leaving moisture on her fingers. Mr Jones fastened the halters to the two mares and Serena fell into step beside him once again as they headed back toward the house.
As she neared the stables, Serena noticed another young man pushing a wheelbarrow through the gardens. ‘Is that your brother?’ She pointed in his direction.
‘It is.’ Mr Jones nodded, then placed two fingers between his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle. ‘Simon!’ Turning back to Serena, he added, ‘I must introduce you.’
Mr Simon set down his wheelbarrow and strode toward them. Unlike Mr King and Mr Xavier Jones, he had sandy brown hair. However, he did wear his uncle’s perpetual frown. If Serena thought Mr Xavier regarded her with suspicion at first, it was worse with Mr Simon. He did not remove his serious brown eyes from her as he approached.
‘This is Miss Serena Bellingham, Simon. She’s here to work for Uncle. Miss Bellingham, my brother Simon Jones.’
Mr Simon stared at her a moment longer before his gaze swerved to his brother. ‘No one informed me we were hiring a new maid.’
Mr Xavier cleared his throat, embarrassed by his brother’s rudeness. ‘Apparently Uncle Ed hired her.’
‘Yes, he did.’ Serena forced a smile. She needed to settle the awkwardness between them and bobbed a friendly curtsy. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Jones.’
Mr Simon eyed her with a gaze Serena could only call hostile. He stood stiff and cold, giving her only a curt nod. ‘If you’re to stay here, you need to know one thing. We don’t care for busy bodies.’
Serena tried to hide her sharp intake of breath. Another family member who enjoyed making accusations without the right information. Swallowing her affront, she pressed her lips into a faint smile. ‘I’m not here to interfere, I can assure you. I already know to leave Mr King in peace while he is working.’
Mr Simon’s eyes bored right into her soul through narrow slits, as though he searched for any deception in her words. He spoke through lips curled into a sneer. ‘Well, make sure you do. And no matter what you think you hear or see, it is not what it seems.’
Serena lay awake that night, an endless stream of questions running through her mind. Not even the potent smell of the rosemary could help her relax, and she’d pressed it to her nose several times.
When she first arrived, fear had gripped her—a fear brought on by the story her father had told her. Since then, she had experienced a wide array of emotions, it left her confused more than anything. Irritation, indignation, awe, wistfulness, bemusement—all had taken their turn as she surveyed her surroundings. It was like a cruel joke—the most beautiful house she’d ever seen, occupied by the most unfriendly people she’d ever met.
For all appearances they were well-born, but living as servants to Mr King. Why should they choose to do that? Why indeed, had they come to Australia in the first place? Had they run away? It made no sense to Serena.
No matter what you think you hear or see, it is not what it seems.
Mr Simon’s words played over her mind. A shiver of fear rippled up her spine, despite the warm blankets, and Serena sank further into the pillows, pulling the cover up to her chin. Only a sliver of moonlight cut through the darkness where the drapes did not meet, giving the bedroom an eerie glow. She had experienced such an array of emotions today, and now she was back where she’d begun.
Fear.
She shouldn’t let her mind run. Soon she would hear things that didn’t exist. Her whole body stiffened at that moment. Yes, there it was now. The slow tread of footsteps along the long stone corridor, closer and closer.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
With every muscle taut, Serena held her breath. Who was out there? She knew she was the only staff member who wasn’t family or friend of Mr King, so, she was alone in this wing of the gothic mansion.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
No matter what you think you hear or see, it is not what it appears. Mr Simon Jones’s words repeated in her mind yet again.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
The steps were right outside her door now and Serena sat
bolt upright, hugging the quilt to her chest as though it could save her life. She stared through the shadows at the dark outline of the door. There, in the gap beneath the door, a light shone. The footsteps ceased. Whoever it was stood outside her room. Serena’s heart rattled as though even it wanted to escape. Why would they stop here?
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
The yellow stream of light faded with the footsteps and Serena released her pent-up breath. She had expected the person to enter her room, but they had not. She slumped back onto the pillows, thankful.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
The unknown person remained in the hallway, continuing their aimless journey. In that instant, Serena knew if she didn’t look for herself, she would lie awake imagining each person in the house and what their motives might be. She threw back the covers and slipped her feet into her slippers, the cold night air wrapping its chilly fingers around her bare ankles and throat. Without pausing in her step, she grabbed her dressing gown and swung it around her shoulders, flinging open the door while still threading one arm into the sleeve.
Serena leaned into the dark hallway. Sure enough, a figure silhouetted by the candlelight walked back toward the central part of the house. The long shadows were frightening enough without imagining them to be anything else. Serena swallowed hard, pushing her fears aside. ‘Excuse me!’
5
The figure halted in its steps, then slowly turned. The small flame sent distorted shadows over the person’s face.
‘Yes.’
The last of Serena’s fear fled with the anchoring sound of a human voice. Pulling the front of her gown closed, she approached the person. ‘I’m sorry. I heard you walking out here and, well, I was having trouble sleeping, so I thought I’d come and see who it was.’ It was close enough to the truth to suffice.
