by Amanda Deed
Afraid to challenge him, else he revert to hostile behaviour, Serena dipped an awkward curtsy. At that moment, however, she remembered her slippers and dressing gown and the inanity of the moment mixed with her unsettled feelings caused her to erupt in nervous giggles.
‘I like to hear you laugh, Miss Bellingham.’ His smooth voice came from the shadows, for he had stepped in front of the candle and she could not make out his face. Was he smiling?
‘Well, this is rather silly, don’t you think? Here, I am in my nightgown, behaving as though I’m at a ball. I should go back to bed if I’m to work tomorrow. But I have enjoyed our tour.’
‘You are quite right. One mustn’t overtire the staff. I shall walk you back to your room.’ He gathered his candle and presented his elbow for her again.
Still giddy, Serena clasped his arm and allowed him to escort her.
Back in the main hallway, they approached a long display table against the wall. Small paintings crowded the surface. Serena drew in a sharp breath. ‘The roses.’
Mr King stopped before the table as she peered at the miniatures in the flickering light. They were captivating, just as Papa had described. The reality of why she was in this house descended on her like a heavy shroud. For a moment, the wonder of the building and its occupants had engrossed her, or rather, the one occupant standing next to her. Yet, he had forced her to leave her family. How did Papa fare tonight? Did they eat at all? She knew Papa would miss her as much as she missed him. ‘You know, he never meant to do you harm, Mr King.’
He stifled a frustrated sigh. ‘Wrong is wrong. He chose to steal. No one steals from me, Miss Bellingham. No one.’
Serena turned to face him, searching his dark eyes for any compassion. ‘Is it worth sending a man to prison, though? Or a girl away from a family that need her, to a life of servitude?’ She tore her eyes away, unable to face the lack of mercy that she expected there. She didn’t even wait for an answer, but pointed to the paintings. ‘Which one was it?’
Mr King did not hesitate. He picked up one of the tiny roses and held it where the light of the candle fell on its facade. Serena took it from his hands. A pink rose with droplets of rain still on the petals, open and waiting for the sunshine, painted by an exceptional hand. Struck by its loveliness, and the pain of what her father’s actions had caused, a tear slipped from Serena’s eye. ‘Papa knew precisely what would please me.’ She kept her back to Mr King and brushed the moisture from her face. He mustn’t see how affected she was by his heartlessness.
‘It is one of the better ones.’
Serena nodded and placed it back on the table, swallowing back her emotions. ‘If it makes any difference, I apologise on his behalf.’
‘An apology doesn’t change the facts. He stole, or tried to steal, what was not his. I may accept your apology, but the consequences remain.’
‘Consequences that I alone must suffer.’ Serena didn’t know if she’d said the words loud enough for him to hear. And she didn’t wait for a response, but hurried to her room.
7
Monday 11th April, 1842
It is three in the morning. I cannot sleep no matter how I try.
I thought my day would be the same as always—the weight, the torpidness, the endless despising, the call of the fig.
But Serena invaded every moment—Saints above, she is beautiful. The picture of sweetness.
I am aware if I spend too much time with her, Serena will discover the truth. That must not happen.
Oh, but she stirs me from this fog of aimlessness.
Might she cure me of this curse?
That damned monk. If I could find him, I would demand that he remove this scourge he laid on me. And if he refused, I would call curses on his head in retribution.
8
Serena had spent three weeks at Aleron House and had settled in well enough to know how the household operated. It took some time to get used to being on her feet so much, and her feet and back ached until her muscles became used to the constant work. At home she’d shared the load with her two sisters and that was only a tiny cottage.
On Mondays, a cart load of women was brought in from the Female Factory in Paramatta to launder, wash windows, clean rugs, polish floors and scrub every inch of the kitchen. These were convict women who were waiting to be sent out on assignment, not those who were imprisoned for serious crimes. They worked hard all day under the supervision of two guards and were driven back to the Factory in the evening.
After seeing how hard they were forced to work, Serena realised her plight was not so bad, and better than Papa’s would have been had he been sent to the penal colony.
Sunday was her day off when she attended a small church service nearby. Then, in the afternoon, she wandered out to a small beach not two hundred yards north. The weather had cooled with the approach of winter, but Serena persisted in her habit of removing her boots and stockings to let her toes revel in the soft sand as she strolled. Serena had inherited her father’s love of the sea. She left her shoes on a rock and sauntered along the shoreline, breathing in the salt-laden air.
Looking back toward the house, she understood Mr King’s thinking in the design. His personal suite of rooms was on the second floor at the far end of the north wing. From there, his view of the beach and the sea beyond was unobstructed. The view from the south wing was lovely too—green hills scattered with trees—but Mr King must prefer the ocean.
Serena had seen little of Mr King, aside from passing him in the hallways on occasion, since that first week. In those moments, naught had transpired but an awkward nodded greeting, although she often felt as though he would have tarried longer had she encouraged him. But she assumed he was very busy with his design work, since Mrs Jones always insisted it was so. A few times at night she awoke to noises and suspected he walked the house again, stirring his creativity. Although she dared not emerge from her bedroom, afraid of both meeting with his disapproval and of another invitation to tour the house at night.
Thankfully, Mr Moncrief had published nothing about Mr King. Perhaps her prayers were answered. With no one to share her experiences, save Mr Xavier—and he said little—Serena wrote letters to her family. In the pages, she outlined the details she had kept under a buttoned lip at Aleron. Thoughts of Mr King, the house, the family-cum-staff, even that strange night-time tour of the mansion. Hopefully her sisters would laugh, and Papa mightn’t miss her too much. She always finished with a few reminders or instructions, such as the special way one needed to pump the tap for the water to flow. She hoped they were faring well in her absence and she loved them dearly, sorry that she was not there to look after them. As yet, their letters had not indicated any terrible struggles—only that they missed her very much.
Serena turned and stared out to sea, allowing the rhythmical crash of the waves to massage her thoughts. Was this where Papa ran aground, changing the course of their lives forever? She let out a wistful sigh. If only she had never mentioned a rose. If only he had never discovered those paintings. She forced the regrets aside and walked on, the light breeze fluttering her skirts against her legs and tugging her hair loose from its binds.
Although it still hurt that she was forced to leave home, and though she worried about her family constantly, life at Aleron House was interesting. She could be almost content. Mr King had decided he might trust her. If that was so, perhaps she might persuade him one day to let her go. To that end, she worked hard and did everything asked of her, never raising a fuss or complaint. Serena made sure that Mr King only heard good reports concerning her.
Turning to walk back to where her shoes waited, Serena saw a figure coming toward her on the sand. From this distance, she couldn’t make out if it was Mr King or Mr Xavier—they both looked so similar. Then again, Mr King never wore the garb of a horseman.
‘Mr Xavier. What brings you here?’ She greeted him with a war
m smile.
‘My uncle told me you were here. He thought I should come and keep you company.’
‘He did?’ Serena could not mask her surprise. ‘I am curious to know who told him I was here.’ Especially considering she had told no one. One of them must have seen her head in this direction.
Mr Xavier shrugged. ‘I know not. He was rather engrossed in his painting. I’m sure he just wanted to be rid of me.’ He gave a self-conscious chuckle.
Serena, however, focussed on one word. ‘Painting?’
‘Yes. He paints. Didn’t you know?’
‘No.’ Astounded was an understatement. How did she miss this important detail? All those roses were his work?
‘I suppose you’ve inspected none of the artwork around the house then.’ Mr Simon smirked at her in a knowing way.
Suddenly, Serena wanted to hurry back to Aleron and study every painting. But it would be rude to leave Mr Xavier so abruptly. Instead she tried to picture the art. After a few moments, she gave up with a suppressed groan. She had not paid enough attention to the wall decor. ‘I confess, I haven’t. It is excessively ignorant of me, isn’t it?’
A shy laugh escaped from his mouth. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m surprised Uncle Ed hasn’t pointed it out to you.’
‘It is a little out of character for him.’ Serena giggled. ‘I wonder why. We haven’t spoken often though. Perhaps he never found the opportunity.’
Mr Simon pressed his mouth into a brief smile. ‘What do you say to a gallery tour when we return to the house?’
‘I should like that very much.’ She gave him a genuine smile of gratitude.
They strode in silence for a time.
‘He says you come here on occasion.’
Serena shot him a sideways glance. Was Mr King keeping track of her every move? Was he that suspicious of her?
Not wanting to express her uncertainties to Mr Xavier, she lifted her shoulders and dropped them again. ‘As often as I can. But the cleaning keeps me rather busy.’
‘I enjoy the sea air myself.’ Mr Xavier glanced at her. ‘If you need an escort, I am happy to be of service. I’m usually with the horses if you ever need to find me.’
Serena looked over at him again and a bashful expression spread on his face. He was uncomfortable making this offer, but why? Was it just his shyness, or was he acting under orders? But then, by the slight tinge to his neck, perhaps there was more to it. Was he attracted to her? Serena’s eyes widened at the thought. Mr Xavier was handsome and provided pleasant company. Maybe she should spend time with him. If something developed ...
She shouldn’t think so far ahead. The last time she let her imagination run in that direction, she had been severely disappointed. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear again. ‘I do like the solitude here, but I confess I prefer to have company. Thank you.’
They arrived at the rock which guarded her boots and Mr Xavier politely turned his back while she slipped her stockings on. Would he think her barefootedness vulgar? She hoped not. It would be a shame to have to change her ways.
‘There. All done.’ She straightened and brushed the sand from her hands.
Mr Xavier offered her his elbow. ‘I think your method of strolling on the beach is better. I might try it myself next time.’
‘Next time it might be too cold.’ Serena wrapped her fingers around his arm.
‘True. Then next time, perhaps we should ride the horses here.’
‘I’m sure that would be enjoyable, except I’ve never ridden a horse. Is it hard?’
There was his gentle laugh again. ‘Not really, but it does take time and practise. I guess we’ll stick to walking in our boots for now.’
‘Boots it is.’ Serena joined him laughing. It was lovely to have found at least one friend at Aleron. If only Mr King trusted her as he said he might, her days would be satisfactory. At least, for now.
As they strolled back to the house, the ever-present questions rolled across Serena’s mind.
‘Do you mind if I ask you something, Mr Xavier?’
‘Not at all.’
‘You and your brother—you do not seem…. I mean to say …You are obviously well educated. Why is it that you are here working as servants?’
Mr Xavier kept his eyes on the ground.
‘Yes, that education came from none other than Uncle Ed. Mother insisted we would learn best from him.’
‘But neither of you are out and about in society like other young men. If Mr King attended Cambridge, then—and correct me if I am wrong—you all come from a wealthy family at least, if not titled. It seems odd that you would live so modestly. Pardon if I am being impertinent.’
There was that bashful smile again.
‘No. You are very astute Miss Bellingham. My grandfather on my mother’s side was a knight.’
‘A knight?’
‘Yes, but he died when I was quite young and soon after that we all came to Australia.’
‘And now you all live rather quiet lives. It seems a shame.’
Mr Xavier shrugged.
‘It’s all right. This is the way Mother likes it. She…she worries about us overmuch.’
Overmuch seemed like an understatement. Why would a mother keep her sons in an inferior way to that which they were born? The circumstances at Aleron House became stranger and stranger.
9
As soon as they entered the house, Mr Xavier headed straight for the hall table that displayed the miniature paintings of roses. Serena could not wait another minute to learn the truth. Picking up the small frame containing the pink rose, she carried it to the window where she could study the detail. Sure enough, there in the corner in tiny black lettering was the signature, E King.
‘You see?’ Mr Xavier smirked.
‘Yes, indeed.’ No wonder the man took offence when Papa tried to steal it. Hadn’t he said it was one of the better ones? Maybe even his favourite work. Serena now understood why it was so valuable to him. She worried her lip with her teeth as she replaced the miniature in pride of place on the table and bent to examine the others. Yes, each one of them bore his signature.
So, Mr King had an infatuation with painting roses.
‘What else has he painted?’
Serena explored the long hallways with Mr Xavier, stopping to take in every piece of art. A few hangings were the work of other artists, but several had Mr King’s signature. Soon enough, she recognised his style before she saw his name, and Mr Xavier laughed at her enthusiasm. Scenery, people, animals and several buildings—all painted with an exceptional hand. There were even a few large pieces depicting rose bushes, or roses in a vase. This artist certainly had an eye for the majestic.
Mr Xavier had said his uncle was painting at present, even now as they wandered the house admiring his gift.
His gift.
Surely this was a most gifted man. Not just intelligent, but also artistic and creative. Serena saw why he weighed his talents so heavily and so seriously. It didn’t excuse his conceited behaviour, but she understood why he felt burdened by his giftedness. How would one focus such a wide variety of talent? It might be hard to find specific purpose when one had so many paths of possibility from which to choose.
‘He has more art in his suite. Shall we go and visit?’ Mr Xavier gestured towards the north wing.
The temptation was strong. Would he be displeased if they disturbed him? Surely, he broke from his work on the Sabbath. Might he protest if they broke his concentration?
‘I thought you said he wanted to be rid of you. Won’t he be vexed by our interruption?’
Mr Xavier waved a dismissive hand in the air. ‘He is harmless.’
Curiosity won out, and though her steps into the north wing hesitated at times, soon Serena stood with Mr Xavier in front of the doors to Mr King’s suite. Sh
e chewed on her lip, while he knocked. What excuse might she give for invading Mr King’s privacy? Very little besides the truth. She drew in a deep breath. Calm down, Serena, Mr Xavier brought you here!
His knock echoed into the hallway behind them and sent her heart rate up a notch. Too late to run away now unless he didn’t answer. She’d hardly seen him since that night-time tour, and that strange moment in the ballroom. The seconds ticked by as they waited. One, two, three …
At twenty-three, when Serena was certain Mr King had either not heard, or ignored the knock, footsteps approached the door and it swung open. There he stood, unshaven, dark silk shirt open at the neck with no cravat in sight, his house coat slung wide at his shoulders—not expecting visitors—and smelling of turpentine. Serena’s eyes locked on the masculine hair visible at his open throat, and her heart skipped a beat. Inappropriate, that was their idea to call on him uninvited. She forced her gaze away and turned to leave, heat rising in her cheeks.
But Mr Xavier had no such qualms.
‘Hello Uncle. I’ve brought Miss Bellingham to see your artwork.’
‘Though we can come another time, when it is more suitable,’ Serena added. Mr King was clearly not prepared to receive guests. ‘Sorry for the intrusion, sir.’
Again, Serena turned to flee.
‘Wait. Don’t go. Please. Just give me a moment.’
He motioned them into his large sitting room and then disappeared into an adjoining room. Serena perched on the edge of a chair, ready to fly, and twisted her hands together. What made her so nervous she could not say, except that he stirred unwanted feelings in her. Before she could settle herself, Mr King returned, this time in appropriate attire, albeit still unshaven.
‘I apologise for my untidy appearance. I have been busy.’ He sat opposite her, also on the edge of a sofa. ‘How was your walk on the beach?’
