by JayneFresina
"Yes, I did."
"Then that's what you must do. Help me." When she looked up he was smiling. "Who knows? Perhaps you'll learn something from me too. Perhaps we'll help each other. Ain't that what this .... is all about?"
Ever managed the stiff shadow of a smile in return. She didn't want to look too keen, but she was pleased that he meant to keep her. That her adventure was not prematurely over.
"Thing is, Miss Greene, I don't just want a governess."
"Oh?"
"If I'm going to do this proper like, be respectable, I need a trouble and strife too."
"A what?"
"Trouble 'n' strife...wife."
Ah, he planned to go courting once she had filed down some of his rougher, cockney edges. She thought she understood.
Until he added, "Wasn't sure you'd be right for it, until I met you." He grinned broadly. "But I reckon you'll do."
Chapter Six
Again a strong wave tugged the sand out from under her feet. Her lips parted— or she thought they did— but no sound emerged.
"You'll help fend off the unwanted attention at dinner parties, and gents won't be so afraid to invite me along if there's a formal woman in tow. Might cut down on the trouble I get meself into. As long as we get along and don't kill each other, that's the arrangement. Alright with you, is it, Princess?"
She wanted very badly to sit down, but knew that would put her at a disadvantage. "Is what alright with me?" she demanded.
"That we get wed. You and me." He then misread her expression of horror. "I'll still pay your wages. You won't lose out in the pockets, so don't look so peevish."
"No, Mr. Hart, it most certainly is not alright with me."
There was a pause. He scowled, knuckles resting on his desk as he leaned toward her. "Why the devil not?"
"Because— "
"I want a wife, and you'll do. I told you I know what I want as soon as I see it."
"Yes, Mrs. Palgrave warned me of your impulsive nature. But this is not how you go about getting a wife."
"It ain't?" He pushed back and stood upright, hands on his hips.
"No, it is not. As you well know, I'm sure."
"You don't like the look of me? Is that it?" Now he had the gall to appear wounded. Flabbergasted even, when surely that was her right.
She would have laughed, if this day had not turned out so peculiar. "It's not that at all."
"Then what? You're just what I wanted— proper, educated and respectable. Can stand up for 'erself. Takes no nonsense. Fills out a frock. You'll be well taken care of."
"But that is not—"
"In bed and out of it."
Her face felt hot. "Mr. Hart, we don't know each other. One does not simply order a wife. It is unreasonable of you to assume that a respectable woman who came here to be your governess would also agree to marry you."
"Sounds reasonable to me. I'm rich and you ain't. Who else is going to look after you so well as I can?"
"If I ever felt the need to marry it wouldn't be to my employer, or to any man just because he is wealthy."
"Ain't that how they do it in romantic novels? Palgrave was going on about it the other day, when she caught one o' the maids ogling a bloody book."
She put her hands to her face briefly, hoping to cool her cheeks, but her palms were just as warm as the rest of her. "No, Mr. Hart, that is not how we do it in real life. In novels perhaps, yes, but not in life. Not in the world of good, honest, mundane folk who don't happen to be rich and famous. Or infamous."
"Well, I don't know anything about romance," he grumbled, pacing around his desk and stubbing his naked toes on the corner.
"So it would seem. Might I suggest you don't take your romance advice from novels in future?"
He stopped hopping on one foot and looked at her. Was he angry? She couldn't tell. He picked up his glass, found it empty, and put it down again. "We'll talk about this later," he muttered, rummaging through a pile of papers and spilling several to the floor. "When you've had a chance to think about it."
"Mr. Hart, I can assure you—"
Dropping the rest of the papers, he put both hands over his ears. "Don't say nothin' you'll regret. Let it fester in your noggin' a while."
"But I—"
"Otherwise," he shouted with his eyes closed, "if you get me angry enough I might send you packin' and then we'll both lose out."
She snapped her lips shut, partly because he was quite terrifying when he roared at her, but also because she did want to keep her post. The governess part of it, at least. She ought to be outraged and appalled at his assumptions, but there was something about his fumbling agitated manner now that prevented it. She was even a little amused.
There was an unruly child in the house after all and she was looking at him.
Suddenly he spun around and strode over to the covered statue in the corner. "But I interrupted you earlier, didn't I?" he exclaimed, his mood changing again. "Come on then, you might as tell me what you think of it. Palgrave gave her opinion, but she's old-fashioned. Time to hear what the younger generation thinks and I know you'll be honest."
Before she could speak he had gripped the velvet cover and, with a grand flourish, tore it from the figure in the corner of the room.
"Voila, as the French say. The great masterpiece that caused Palgrave a fit of hysterics and sent her runnin' for the salts. What do you think of it, Miss Greene?"
It was not the sort of sculpture she'd expected at all. The form was made of thick wire and cables, knotted, stretched and flexed to make the bones. Over that, red clay had been modeled to shape muscle and sinew in an exaggerated version of the man himself— or what lay under his skin. It was posed on one knee, head bent and arms raised, as if he waited to lift the world on his bulky shoulders.
"Mr. Gabriel Hart As He Were While Livin'," he announced proudly. "That's what they mean to call it. Years after my ol' tick tocker winds down, medical students will be able to look at this and see what a bloody miracle of nature's engineering I were." He burst out laughing so heartily that it seemed to shake the floor under her feet. It spun around her bones and lifted her like the wild force of a hurricane.
Ever now understood what had disturbed the housekeeper so much. It went deeper than nudity. It was like looking at a body skinned, the muscles crudely defined.
"Palgrave says it put her off her supper," he added as his laughter dried up. "What about you, Miss Greene?"
"It's...certainly... interesting," she conceded cautiously.
"Ain't very pretty, eh? Not like a nice, cozy vase of flowers."
"No, it's not. It's..." she struggled for a suitable word, "macabre. I thought you didn't want to be exhibited like an Egyptian mummy?"
"I don't want to be a corpse wrapped in a bundle o' rags. Take the rags off and it all falls apart as soon as the air hits it, don't it? A heap of ash. Nothin' left. But this will last forever. Even when I'm gone. This," he gestured at the sculpture, "this is truth. It's about what's inside— a man stripped bare. This shows how our parts work altogether. The human body is a wonderful, complex machine." Suddenly he reached for her right hand and tugged it free of the left. Then, while her heartbeat shuddered in her throat, he ran his firm finger along her palm, tracing the lines. "Inside you...all those parts, big and small, working to keep you breathin', movin', laughin' and cryin'. All your parts have a job to do, Miss Greene, even the tiniest. O' course, not everybody uses all their parts. Some go to waste, which is a rotten shame."
She retrieved her hand and tried to inhale a deep breath. "Mrs. Palgrave is concerned about her maids having to clean it, I believe."
"Well, she needn't worry. Mountains out o' molehills, as usual. 'Mr. Gabriel Hart, As He Were While Livin', is off to the university soon enough. There, one day, this lucky feller will be fondled even more times than he were while livin'." He laughed again, splashing more brandy into the glass on his desk.
She did her best to ignore his last comment. "Mrs. Palg
rave seemed to think you were going to keep it here."
He looked askance. "Why the devil would I want it 'ere? I ain't vain."
But he was— more than a little. She'd seen the way his eyes gleamed and his chest puffed out when he first revealed to her the strange creation. The man could hardly be blamed for taking pride, of course. It was quite magnificent. In an awful way.
Ever looked at it again. It was less gruesome when she peered through narrowed eyes, for then the ridges between the clay "muscles" and "tendons" were not so pronounced. She supposed it did have a kind of beauty, once one got over the fright of it. A savage, raw beauty.
"Don't get too fond of it now." He chuckled huskily. "They are takin' it away soon. Besides, I told you, it ain't a patch on the genuine article."
"So much for not being vain," she muttered.
"Oy!" He leaned back, arms out as if she'd shot him, brandy splashing up the side of his glass. "You ain't supposed to talk to me like that."
She was amused. "Mr. Hart, a wife would most certainly talk to you like that. And worse. Yet you imagine you want one."
His eyes turned smoky again. "See, you're thinkin' on it now, aren't you? Let me know when you plan on taking me up on my offer and making an 'onest feller of me."
"I have only known you for half an hour, Mr. Hart, and already I can see that I'll have enough to manage, as your governess, simply turning you into a proper gentleman. Some other woman will have to provide any other service you require."
"I see you've got reservations about this marriage lark. Tell me what they are and I'll set your mind at rest."
"Reservations?" she exclaimed. "The fact that you refer to the institution of marriage as a lark is one place to start. Not only that, Mr. Hart, but only a few minutes ago you were ready to enjoy indoor entertainment with a woman about whom you knew nothing, a woman you thought had entered this house through surreptitious means to steal the silver and sneak a glimpse of your... almightiness."
He grinned.
"Do you really consider yourself ready for the commitment of marriage? To anybody?"
"Ain't entering the priesthood, am I? It's only marriage."
"Precisely." She shook her head. "That's why I can only agree to the post as your governess."
"You mean, I have to put up with that saucy tongue of yours, even with no reward at the end of the day?"
"I daresay we will both have much to put up with. You are accustomed to flattery and idolatry, which has made you terribly conceited, but I am not easily impressed so you won't get any of that from me. An education, Mr. Hart, will be your reward at the end of it."
"You're really pushin' your luck, Greene." From his expression he didn't know whether to laugh or scowl.
"And I must learn to hold my sharp tongue, because as much as you claim to like a woman with spirit, I don't believe you would really be comfortable with one who can take you for a few rounds."
It seemed she had left him speechless. Why? Why could she not simply be quiet and obedient, say the right thing? Her mother would like to know that too.
This outside world and being "normal" was turning out to be much more difficult than she'd expected.
But there was nothing ordinary about this man.
Eventually, having eyed her warily for several moments, he spoke again. "Palgrave probably read you her rules already, eh? Settled you in, did she?"
"Yes. She's been most helpful and welcoming." She paused. "Despite the fact that you forgot to tell her about me."
"I didn't forget. I chose not to tell her until today." His grin returned. "Like to take folk by surprise. And now I only have to listen to her complain for a brief time. If I told her a fortnight ago, I would have had to put up with her sputterin' for a hell of a lot longer, wouldn't I?"
She frowned. "I suppose there is logic to that. Selfish though it is."
"Thinkin' you've got your work cut out for you, eh, making a proper, polite, honorable gent out of me will give you grey hair and palpitations?" he said, looking down and rearranging that scattered pile of papers again. "You'll be sick of me a month from now."
She stooped, picked up the fallen papers and handed them to him. "I think it's safe to say we both have work ahead of us, Mr. Hart. But since I'll be the task master, the one who cracks the whip, you may be sick of me first."
That snapped his attention fully back to her. He swept her full length with his gaze, took the papers and replied gruffly, "I doubt that, Miss Greene. I doubt that very much. And so do you."
Ever turned away to look at the books in the cabinet again. Anything rather than look into his eyes. While she waited for her nerves to settle, she watched the reflection of his dark shape distorted in the glass doors.
The last thing she had expected was to feel any attraction to her employer. Hopefully this strange little fizzle of excitement whispering, purring and bubbling through her blood, would die down and let her focus on the task for which he truly needed her. She didn't want to let his education down— or herself down by making a mess of her very first post.
"What the devil keeps you, darling!" The door suddenly flew fully open and a stunning lady with sable hair, scarlet lips and both hands on the tightly corseted waist of her riding coat, marched into his study. A slightly sulky downturn to her full mouth spoilt the beauty of her dark, exotic features, as she attacked him at once. "I've been waiting close to an hour!"
"Lucretzia," he exhaled the name on a weary breath and quickly turned to open his curtains. "I must apologize. I was held up."
Completely ignoring Ever's presence, the other woman strode up to his desk, lifted the veil of her riding hat and exclaimed, "Held up?"
"I didn't like my new boots. Or they didn't like me. I came back to change 'em and then this young lady came in and demanded my attention."
The newcomer spun around, only just realizing there was another person in the room.
He coughed. "Lucretzia, this is Miss Greene. Miss Greene, this is Signora Brunetti." While he paused to snip the end of a new cigar and light it, the two women were left looking at each other, probably both wondering the same thing at that moment.
And Ever sensed that he deliberately let them wonder. Enjoying himself.
Damn. If only she could read his blasted mind! Of all the minds in this world why must it be his that could lock its secrets away from her? Not fair! As if he sensed her frustration, she saw his lips twitch in the hint of a smug smile around that fresh cigar.
Unsure whether or not she was expected to curtsey before Signora Brunetti, she was still pondering this dilemma when the other woman swept over to where she stood and demanded, "Miss Greene, is it? And how do you come to be here?"
"I'm the governess, Signora Brunetti. Pleased to meet you."
Two thick, jet black brows lowered over large doe-like eyes that misted with confusion. "Governess?" she repeated, as if she had no familiarity with the word. "Governess?"
Finally Mr. Hart saw fit to explain. "Miss Greene is here to teach me how to be a gentleman. Amongst other things."
The other woman considered this for a moment. Then she leaned back, clapped her hands together and laughed. "This I cannot wait to see!"
Ever maintained a civil countenance and waited patiently.
"Signora Brunetti," he said, leaning both arms on the back of his chair, "is my simensa...my cousin."
She wondered why he bothered lying to her. He was lying, wasn't he? Left to guess, she could only grind her teeth in frustration. Being "normal" was not nearly as much fun as she'd expected either. What if the day came when she could suddenly read nobody's mind? She would be at a loss. Utterly.
"I hope you pay this poor, pale child very well for her trouble. Where did you find her?"
"In the newspaper," he replied, eyes gleamed wickedly as he raised the cigar to his lips and drew upon it.
"I declare myself astonished at the things one can find in the newspaper these days. But I am delighted beyond all measure to meet such a
brave soul, Miss Greene. Do not let him work you too hard."
"Oh, he'll be working harder than I, Signora Brunetti. I'll see to it."
The lady drew back, head on one side, eyes warmly amused. "I like her. She has," she snapped her fingers dramatically over her head, "Gusto!"
"Yes, she's already warned me." He smirked.
Ever kept a solemn face. "Well, if you have no more need of me at present, I'll leave you with your guest, Mr. Hart."
He gave one nod. "Go on then. Get out."
Slightly taken aback, she looked at him, but he had no anger on his face and was already reading something on his desk, as if he barely knew she was still there. Turning slowly she walked to the door, where she paused briefly and looked back.
"I would advise you to put your boots on, Mr. Hart. You're going to need them."
His gaze lifted to meet hers, surprised, wondering, awoken in a new way.
As she closed the door behind her, she heard them both laughing. No doubt she was the subject of their continued humor. She smiled. Let him laugh all he wanted. Miss E. Greene put her all into any task she undertook, as he would soon learn, and this mission was especially important to her.
If, as she and Mrs. Palgrave suspected, he'd hired a young woman with no experience just because he thought she would be easy on him, be charmed and disconcerted into letting him take charge, he was very much mistaken. Ever Greene was no pushover. She was, after all, her mother's daughter.
How ironic, she thought with another smile, that her father's joking prediction had come true. In a way, she had been sent to teach the man in the moon.
Chapter Seven
Excerpt from Case Studies: The Fugue State of Ever Greene
by Dr. Owen Frazer
Astrid Greene (nee Omdahl) was born in Norway, where she spent her childhood and adolescence before immigrating to England with her parents. Although there are few records available from the family's years in Norway, it has been suggested that Mrs. Grethe Omdahl suffered a form of epilepsy— never officially diagnosed. Astrid recalled a difficult youth, one dominated by the secretive management of her mother's undiagnosed illness and the family's unspoken fear of stigma.
