by JayneFresina
Mrs. Grethe Omdahl's illness had largely been covered up, nobody appearing to know how best to cope with it. Shortly after their arrival in England, Mr. Omdahl abandoned his wife and daughter, leaving Astrid, then sixteen, alone to provide and care for her mother.
Consequently when her own daughter later suffered periods of fugue state during which she recalled nothing and appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep while still awake, Astrid feared a genetic fault in her own blood.
Mrs. Greene also blamed herself for losing sight of her daughter on the day she disappeared from Cromer pier. It was an added sense of guilt she never relinquished.
* * * *
So she had come.
His mother, who used to tell fortunes with tarot cards, told him once that a woman would enter his life and change it completely. She had even told him the date, the time and the place, although the year had eluded her and she knew only that there was a five at the end of it. In his lifetime so far there had been four years with a five at the end. He took his chance that it would be this one. Ten years ago, at the age of twenty-five, he would not have been ready, still wet behind the ears.
Now he was ready for her, whatever she meant to do to him. So, rather than sit around waiting, he'd put the advertisement in the paper. Face her head on. The year was almost over and he didn't want to wait for another ten to pass him by.
Are you the one?
When she arrived, she was younger than he expected, although something in her eyes warned him that her soul was older than her body. His mother had always said that about him too.
As he had watched Miss Greene wander around his study, Gabriel felt the stirring of excitement, the charge of electricity that came so rarely for him these days.
As if he was about to enter the ring.
He measured the danger and the possibilities with a shrewd eye.
This was the woman who came to change his life; whether for the better or the worse he did not know. He must be on his guard.
Oddly enough he had felt himself sucking in his stomach. Not that he needed to. He was still in excellent condition, he thought defiantly. Could still knock a man out in less than six rounds if he wanted to fight again. And he'd only stretch it out to six so that the punters thought they got their money's worth. Gabriel Hart was the consummate showman. That's what made him popular. He fed the audience what they wanted, got them on his side even if they were determined not to like him. In the end they couldn't resist his brazen charm.
Miss Greene, he knew at once, was not his usual audience. She had a demanding aura, expected the best of others and of herself. Miss Greene would make him work for this victory.
Cheeky little madam tried to lay down the law to him. Crack the whip, would she?
She'd soon bleedin' well find out where that got her.
But, as it happened, he was feeling restless, in the mood for a bit of sparring, so he wouldn't take her down right away. He'd dance with her, find out what she was up to, uncover her weaknesses. Then he'd win her over.
How hard could it be?
He was, after all, a member of the Deverell clan, for whom, so it was said, the conquest of women was something of a birthright.
But this one wasn't just any woman and he knew it the minute she stood her ground before him.
"I would advise you to put your boots on, Mr. Hart. You're going to need them."
Where had she been until now? There was a crisp freshness about her, untouched and yet not innocent. Not naive. Well equipped to handle herself.
It was almost as if she had stepped out of a box. Or never existed until she came through his door. The world had not yet had a chance to taint her or leave her jaded.
There was, however, something sinister that troubled him. He'd seen her before somewhere. Instinctively he knew it, and yet he couldn't place her in his memories.
He liked her eyes most of all. To be the one who made those caged birds sing, would be quite some achievement.
But he couldn't set them free; that, he suspected, would be dangerous.
* * * *
"Miss Greene, will you come with me please?"
He appeared in the servants' hall at dinner without warning. Assembled around the long kitchen table, the staff jumped in surprise to see the master of the house standing under the arch. Following the butler's lead, they stumbled to their feet at once, abandoning their food, some caught mid-chew and swallowing hastily behind their fingers.
Mrs. Palgrave had been entertaining them with the story of a monkey that one of Mr. Hart's guests once brought to visit. The adventurous creature had gone up the chimney and come down again covered in soot, which he then spread joyfully about the room while they all chased him up and down. Of course, Mrs. Palgrave had not meant the story to cause so much laughter. She had told it more as a cautionary tale about letting animals into the house and how to get soot off wallpaper without damaging it, but they were all greatly amused— even more so by her countenance as she demonstrated the actions of the naughty beast. The mood at the table was, in fact, quite jolly.
Until they were interrupted by the master of the house.
Ever put down her knife and fork, wiped her lips on a napkin and stood. She wondered what he could want with her at that very moment and why it couldn't wait. Why didn't he simply ring a bell to demand her presence?
Instead he came down after his own dinner, unannounced and unexpected, to cause a scene and make everybody look at her. As if she'd done something wrong.
Considering the smug look on his face, she decided this must be his way of exerting control. As Mrs. Palgrave said, he liked to keep people "on their toes". He probably had not liked the fact that she stood up to him earlier in his study when she reminded him that she would be the tutor and he the student. Now he must feel the need to remind her of who was in charge.
Again, she could not read the man's thoughts, so her own guesswork must suffice.
Without a word she left the table and followed him to the stairs, where he stood aside to let her walk in front. Behind them she heard Mr. Bede advising the others to resume their meal with more decorum, while Mrs. Palgrave had the kindness to suggest that Ever's plate be kept warm for her.
She felt his gaze tickle the back of her neck, her spine, all the way down to her bustle. It was a sensation so intense that she imagined the strands of thread within the fabric, the weft and warp, shifting and whispering with effrontery at the disturbance.
Once they were in the hall, Mr. Hart explained that he needed her assistance. "You must settle an argument for us, Miss Greene."
"Us?"
"My guests." He gestured toward the drawing room.
She looked at him.
"They're all very stubborn," he added, "and nobody will concede defeat unless we have the final ruling from a learned soul like yourself. We have all agreed to abide by your judgment in this matter."
"What matter? Mr. Hart..." She pulled back as he gripped her by the elbow. "I am not the oracle."
"The what?"
"A medium through which you may consult the gods."
"Why would I need to consult the gods when I have a goddess before me?"
She looked at him steadily. "I think you ought to know, Mr. Hart, that I come from a line of strong Viking women who don't take kindly to nonsense."
"And now you work for me." He leaned closer to whisper, "Ain't I lucky?"
At his insistence, therefore, and with his hand under her resistant elbow, she entered the drawing room and found herself, again, the center of attention and scrutiny— this time from the upstairs guests. The chairs which had, earlier that day, been scattered around the room and empty, were now all filled. Some overflowing. No sign of any circus beasts, she thought, with a measure of relief on Mrs. Palgrave's behalf.
Signora Brunetti had draped herself against the fireplace, with her dark hair in loose curls around her shoulders, golden loops in her ears, and her shoulders bared in a brazen evening gown that Astrid Gr
eene, whose own fashion sense could most kindly be referred to as utilitarian, would have described as a "little something expensive and a lot of something cheap". Swinging around as the door opened, she greeted the new arrival with a wide smile.
"Ah, here is the little governess now."
Little? Ever began to take issue with all these folk in her new world calling her dainty, inferring surprise that she could carry a suitcase herself or stand by her own power.
Well, she thought with a sigh, perhaps her aura did lack flare when compared to the others in that room. His guests were all striking in different ways, lushly colorful, self-indulgent in the careless manner with which they sprawled and abused the furniture. A noisy bunch, they yelled over each other's sentences in a variety of languages, decorating their speech with extravagant gestures. The company was an assault on her senses. In that moment she was grateful for her employer's large hand under her arm, for it was oddly comforting, bolstering her confidence.
"This is Miss Greene," he announced in a deep, commanding voice. The noise level abruptly decreased to something more surmountable. "She has kindly agreed to serve penance as my governess and tame me."
A very short fellow leapt up to grasp her hand. "Miss Greene, you must tell us all about yourself. How you came to be here and why you take on such a formidable task."
"We are all agog," said another man with a pointy beard and very prickly eyebrows. Leaning out of a chair he waved her farther into the room, using both arms in an effusive— possibly drunken— gesture. "We must meet the bold lady who dares take on such a venture."
"She cannot have been warned enough about you, Gabe." A slender woman, languidly draped across the couch, laughed softly and fluffed her ringlets over one shoulder. "Poor thing. She cannot know how awful you are."
"Miss Greene is well aware of my shortcomings," her employer assured them as he deserted her to join Signora Brunetti by the fireplace. "She's already threatened me with the crack of a whip."
They all laughed.
"But why, Miss Greene, do you come here? Tell us before we expire with curiosity."
Ever looked around at their amused, curious faces and said, "Quite simply, Mr. Hart wanted a governess and I was in want of a post."
"You truly are a governess?" the little fellow inquired in amazement. "Then this is not one of Gabe's practical jokes? I thought all governesses were formidable, elderly ladies with warts, lorgnettes and shrill voices."
Across the room she caught her employer's eye, just as he rubbed a fingertip across his lips. She knew he tried not to laugh.
"Our beloved miscreant has decided he must be a gentleman," Signora Brunetti explained, watching him slyly. "For now, at least. However long that lasts."
"A gentleman? What on earth for?"
"He's certainly managed well enough until now, being the very opposite."
"I believe I know," said the woman on the couch, kicking off her silk evening slippers and tucking both feet under her body. "It's that Dowager Marchioness— the widow he entertained so much last month at Lord Bethnall's house party. He wants to impress her in London next spring, and I hear she can be...quite demanding."
Another wave of laughter surged and bubbled around the drawing room. Mr. Hart merely shrugged.
"Perhaps his friend the king means to bestow a knighthood upon his worthy shoulders."
Again, Ever sensed that her employer enjoyed the speculation. He was a slippery fellow, as the housekeeper had said— a man who liked to leave a person wondering. His mind, an iron fortress, shut her out deliberately.
His guests all leaned toward him, hanging over the arms of chairs, stretching out like climbing plants seeking sunlight. Astrid Greene would be appalled by the general untidiness. No wonder these people spilled and broke things wherever they went. Slouching was certainly never encouraged at home.
"Mr. Hart said there was a question for which you needed me," she said firmly, annoyance creeping into her tone. Had he called her away from Mrs. Fullerton's steak and kidney pudding just so she could be poked, prodded and mocked by these curious souls? She thought she was done with being studied.
"Of course," said the short fellow, "we wanted to know, Miss Greene, your opinion on dreams."
She stared. Her fingertips felt the texture of her skirt for reassurance. "Dreams?"
"Yes. What do they mean? Why do we have them?"
Carefully she breathed in the aromas around her, identifying each one, just as she did before in this room. Yes, she was still here in the present, awake and functioning. It was not a trick of her mind and she was not asleep, even if the light took on an eerie quality suddenly. Her senses captured odd thoughts that flickered by.
How delicate she is, like a china doll...
So very different to Gabe's usual prey...
There is something more behind her eyes...
I wonder if, at last, he's found The One...
I see Lucretzia ate the last of the marzipan fruits again...
"Perhaps you believe dreams are prophecies of what is to come?" the woman on the couch added. "Or memories of what has been?"
"Or are they merely exercises of the mind while the body rests? The remnants of thoughts left over from the day that preceded sleep? You must settle the argument for us, Miss Greene. What is the answer?"
It was the last subject she'd expected to be quizzed upon. Her least favorite. But they all waited to hear her pearls of wisdom.
"I do not believe that anybody can know the answer for sure," she said softly. "Dreams and their meaning must be different for each of us."
Pumpymuckles coming for her— that's what dreams meant to Ever.
Nights from her childhood when she woke screaming.
She kept a steady countenance, but her body had gone cold again.
Ever could see that her answer was insufficient. They, like Mr. Hart, expected her to know everything. A goddess, he had called her.
Clearing her throat, she added, "In his book, The Interpretation of Dreams, Mr. Sigmund Freud suggests there are several different types of dream. Some are the mind's version of wish fulfillment. Others are the result of our unconscious struggle to resolve conflict during our sleeping hours. But the mind is an extraordinary device and I doubt we shall ever understand everything it does."
"Like Death and Love," said Signora Brunetti, her expressive eyes narrowed as she looked at Ever, "our dreams will always be un bel mistero. A beautiful mystery."
"I suppose so," Ever replied. "We all dream in our own way. Some people's minds might use those hours to work out problems and worries."
"Not mine," her employer chirped merrily. "I sleep like a babe. Nothin' troubles me."
"Because you have no conscience." Signora Brunetti laughed, flicking her fan against his arm.
"What about you, Miss Greene. Of what do you dream?"
This question came from one of the other guests who had not spoken until now. He was extremely tall and thin with startling blue eyes and arms that hung almost to his knees. His surprisingly soft, heavily accented voice brought a silence of anticipation to the drawing room as they all, once again, focused their attention on the governess.
"The same as anybody else, no doubt," she replied. "Nothing extraordinary. I seldom remember my dreams." A lie, of course, but necessary to avoid further uncomfortable questions.
Her employer scowled. "Then you have no definite answer to their meaning?"
"Not all questions can be answered, Mr. Hart. They can be debated and studied, and sometimes there is a consensus of opinion, but there is not always a clear, definitive answer that we know unequivocally to be fact. I'm sorry if you're disappointed. But if every question had an answer, life would be rather dull, would it not?"
Sometimes, being intent on finding an answer was a sure way to misery. Like trying to make everybody happy all at once. For that reason, she'd always felt sympathy for the doctors who studied her, because they fought a losing battle.
In childhood
she had read everything she could get her hands on, wanted to know it all. But then she grew up and was forced to realize that nobody had all the answers. In fact, quite frequently, the ones who understood nothing at all shouted their opinions the loudest, which merely added to the confusion. Everybody pretended to know what they were doing and some were more successful at the performance than others.
The universe, she had long since decided, thrived upon this chaos and encouraged it.
"Mother Nature does not want all her secrets exposed," she added, "for then there would be no challenges left for the human race. People can be insufferable enough. Imagine how they would be if they really knew everything, if they had all the answers?" To soften her speech, she smiled. "God tried to warn them in Eden and look what happened."
Mr. Hart's guests continued to watch her. Signora Brunetti snapped open her fan and used it with a slow, sensual motion, hiding all but her eyes.
"A strange opinion for a governess," remarked the lady on the couch.
"Do not misunderstand me. I am an advocate for education, naturally," Ever replied. "We must all challenge our minds in new and different ways, but some things about life will— and probably should— always remain a mystery. Because the human race can be a danger to itself."
"Miss Greene has an uncommon mind," her employer announced proudly, their gazes reconnecting across the drawing room. "Would you expect me to want anything less in my tutor?"
At least now he complimented her mind rather than her looks, she mused. She saw his "cousin" Lucretzia glance sideways in curiosity at him. But Ever said nothing, hoping she would soon be sent back to the servants' hall and her dinner.
Instead, a long stride carried the very tall, lanky guest smoothly and swiftly across the carpet toward her. He offered his slender hand and bent his great height in a slow bow. "Miss Greene, do come and sit with us. We would like to know more about you."
