by JayneFresina
"Why not?" He grinned. "I daresay I'd learn better that way. Every pupil needs incentive. That's the word for it, ain't it?"
"Is it?"
"My mind works best when my body's happy, healthy and well cared for," he assured her with mock solemnity, attentive to his 'h's on this occasion, she noted wryly. "Parts of me get restless and overheated when they don't get proper exercise and then I can't concentrate on books and the like."
"Isn't that interesting? I understand cold baths and brisk, early morning sprints are extremely beneficial for the agitated body."
"Not quite what I had in mind," he grumbled.
"And an over-indulgence in cigars and brandy will have an adverse effect on a man's health."
His gaze hardened and cooled.
"So if we must start with a healthy body, I recommend you give up smoking and drinking to excess— to give up anything you do to excess." She thought of all those women who hung around him, according to Mrs. Palgrave. No doubt he enjoyed the attention. But while she was there he certainly would not. "Submerge your overheated parts in an ice bath, and then your mind should be perfectly conducive to learning."
"I ought to know what's good for my body, woman. It's earned me all this, ain't it?"
"But you're retired now. I'm sure you've acquired bad habits. Gone to seed, as they say."
Oh, now his scowl really darkened. While considering her expression, and then her entire body from head to toe and back again, he raised a hand to his chin and slowly stroked those thick, intimidating fingers over emerging stubble.
Eventually he said, "Tryin' to make me send you packin', eh?"
Perhaps that was true and she did want to be dismissed. It was all too bizarre: the scream of a child that didn't exist; the breaking glass that remained intact; the writing of an unseen hand; the music so eerily familiar. And then Lucretzia's warnings.
Could she leave, if she wanted to? Would he let her go?
Quite suddenly he stepped back, folded his arms and propped one shoulder against the wall, "Go on then. Go without me, if you want to leave."
But he looked sad, glum. Almost bereft.
"I'm sure I'll manage without you," he added in a quiet voice. "Have done up till now, ain't I? It seems you ain't the one, after all."
"I'm only going out for a walk."
"If you leave you might not come back."
The light around her grew brighter for a moment and then began to singe around the edges. She smelled burning, heard sparks hitting metal. It seemed as if the distance between them lengthened. Eyes down, shoulders hunched, he reached up with a weary, resigned gesture and drew those thick fingers through his hair. Ever remembered how those fingers had felt around her wrist.
No, she couldn't leave; there was far too much she needed to know about him. She couldn't let this man become one of those mysteries that would never be solved. There were too many of those in her life already.
And he needed her.
"Who is Max Connolly?" she asked abruptly. "What offer has he made to you that Signora Brunetti thinks you should accept?" The light returned, chasing away the darker frame that had begun to converge upon her like spilled ink.
He looked up, refolding his arms. "Is it your place to ask that, Greene?"
"No, but since I cannot read your mind, I must ask."
"Good thing you can't read my mind."
"And vice versa."
His eyes glittered wickedly, reflecting the crystal beads of the chandelier high above. "But see, it is possible for you to entertain me, Greene, even with your corset and petticoats still on."
"You sound surprised that any woman can amuse you while remaining fully clothed. But I am glad if that woman is me." She meant it too, because she liked it when the sadness left him. Then his eyes were no longer those black, bottomless wells full of painful secrets. When he laughed he was much less intimidating.
"Really?" He looked puzzled, unsure. "You're glad?"'
"Yes." She sighed. "I do not dislike you, Mr. Hart. I'm just not going to become your playfellow, as Signora Brunetti so pleasantly calls it, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends."
For a long moment he merely stared at her.
Finally he unfolded his arms.
"Well, do you want to go outside, Greene, or not?" He put out his hand, palm up, as if it mattered little to him and was all her decision to make. "I am at your disposal for now, so you may as well make the most of it. Who knows how long you'll have my attention?" As if he was her plaything. Temporarily, of course.
* * * *
It was something of a relief to find that there was still a world outside that house. Ever had begun to doubt. It seemed such a long time already since she stepped out of the Hansom cab that morning. She could barely remember what the steps felt like under her feet.
But there they were. There too was a lit street lamp, its amber glow shimmering over the wet, cobbled surface of the road down which she had been bounced and bruised earlier in the grey daylight.
It was all as it should be, nothing sinister. Her imagination had been allowed to run away with itself again.
Mr. Hart gave her his arm and she took it, being a little wary of the slippery street. More nervous about the possibility of a twisted ankle than she was about holding onto him, she gripped his sleeve with both gloved hands. Her breath plumed before her mouth as she slyly looked up at her escort.
What would her mother think of this man? Astrid Greene approved of very few men and had raised her daughter to be equally fastidious. Men usually made messes and this one, a champion prize-fighter, probably made more than most. Did it for a living. But it was her job now to turn him into a tidier gentleman. Her mother would approve of that.
"Mr. Hart, when shall we begin work? We have a great deal to do and you were very particular about the time and day of my arrival. It will be difficult to begin while you are distracted with guests." Very good— keep the conversation on business. Don't let him see how his closeness affects you.
"We can start now, if you like," he replied. "I'm sure you've plenty to tell me I'm doin' wrong already."
Her smile hidden by the upturned collar of her new coat, she said, "Well not dismissing a lady with go on then, get out might be a good place to begin."
"What should I say then?"
Ever glanced up at him. Was he teasing? How could he not know? "You should stand, bow smartly and say good morning, or good evening to her." She paused. "Surely you've seen how other gentlemen act in the presence of a lady?"
"Don't generally pay attention to what other men do. Unless it's in the ring." He looked down at her. "Now you're thinkin' you should have run off this mornin' and not taken the post."
"Not at all." She smiled wryly. "I enjoy a challenge."
They walked on for a while in silence. No other soul braved the esplanade that evening and with good reason. A brisk wind carried sand and salty air across their faces. Only the most foolish would be out on such a night.
And she was feeling rather foolish now, after working herself up into such an unladylike and ridiculous state of panic.
"What did you mean, Mr. Hart, when you said that if I left I wouldn't come back?"
"Just a feeling I had." His face was momentarily in shadow, but she heard the sadness in his voice, made even more deeply moving by the croakiness that sometimes overcame it. "I didn't think you liked me much. Thought you might take orf."
"Well, I can promise you that I shan't leave until my task here is done. I take my work very seriously."
"Even so, I couldn't let you walk out alone, could I? Anything could happen."
"Such as?"
"You might be stolen away from me."
"By whom?"
He tightened his arm, pulling her closer to his body. "Some other feller who thinks I'm not worthy of your talents. Someone who says they could offer you more. O' course," he sniffed, "they couldn't really. Nobody could give you more than I can. But they'd promise you all sorts and
you, being young, might believe 'em."
"I may seem young, Mr. Hart, but I can look after myself."
"Why should you though? I'm here. No one else will ever take care of you the way I can."
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'm not the sort of woman who can't survive without a man."
"I didn't say you were. I said, I'm here so you don't need to. Besides, I felt the urge to stretch my legs too. Should do this more often. Never go out for a stroll."
"No. Mrs. Palgrave says you're always in too great a hurry to get somewhere." As he was tonight too, pulling her along at a pace that made the cobbles slip away under her feet and her fingers cling to his sleeve with even greater dependency. If this was his idea of a "stroll" she would hate to be taken on a march.
"And look," he said, lifting his foot to show her, "I'm wearing my boots, Miss. Like you said."
Again she was amused by his impression of an overgrown man-child. Few men could get away with it, but he could. "What was wrong with them this morning?"
"Didn't feel like me yet. Damned uncomfortable."
"I suppose they have to be worn in a little. In a day or so you'll swear they are the best boots you ever had." But that, of course, required patience, which he seemed to have in scant supply.
"So even if you don't like me yet, you might wear me in soon."
"I might." Ever burrowed deeper into the lovely coat her mother had bought her. The tall, fur-trimmed collar stood up against the wind and gave much needed shelter. But her coat was not all that saved her from the harsh winter wind. The man at her side gave her shelter too, taking the brunt of the cold that blew inland off the sea.
Then as if it had just that moment been decided, he said, "My guests are leaving in the morning. So you'll have me all to yerself then. They won't return until the new year."
"Your guests will not stay for Christmas?" she asked breathlessly. A nasty, peevish part of her was relieved they were leaving, especially Signora Brunetti. Not that she had any reason or right to dislike the lady. Except for that knowing look in her eyes. The feeling that she was in on the secret to a riddle that Ever could not decipher.
"No," he replied. "It'll be just you and me for Christmas. We'll get to know each other."
Hastily she reminded him, "And the rest of the staff will be here. Mrs. Palgrave and so on."
"And so on." He paused. "But I shall want you to myself."
Did he have to load his words in such a manner? Is that just the way he spoke or was it deliberately meant to discombobulate? Suddenly the air felt warmer. It was so sudden she could imagine somebody turning a lever to control the temperature.
"So, Greene, this demon you came to vanquish..." She heard the smirk in his voice. Didn't have to look up at his face.
"Mr. Hart, I have no inkling of what your guest thought she read in my hand. I am not superstitious. I merely let her study my hand because I did not want to be rude to your guests."
"No need to be so defensive." They walked through the halo of another gas lamp, and passed an empty wooden bench. "A demon can be anything," he said. "A bad memory. A bad habit. A weakness. Or perhaps you think you have none of those." He sounded amused.
"No. I'm sure I do. All of them." But the most obvious demon, of course, was Pumpymuckles and she was not about to mention that to her employer. "You believe in palmistry then?"
"Why not? I'm always receptive to ideas. New and ancient. To my guests you said not everything has an answer, that some things will always be a mystery."
"Yes. That's true." They were nearing the pier now, the lights along its length, snaking a warmer glow out to sea. Her pulse quickened. "There is one mystery in particular that plagues me."
"Hmm?"
"Why did you have the image of a seahorse printed in your advertisement, Mr. Hart?"
He looked down, a vertical line deepening between his brows. "I've always liked them, I suppose. Don't know why. Did you know they can look forward and backward at the same time?"
"Yes, I do. I have always been fascinated by seahorses too. That's what drew me to your advertisement in the paper."
His brow was smooth again, except for those few horizontal marks which, worn in by an active, lively expression over the years, would never leave. "Then we have something in common after all."
"So it would seem."
What harm could there be in a man who liked seahorses? Her arm relaxed where he held it against his body.
"See the end of the pier?" He pointed with his right hand. "They closed in the bandstand this year, made a fancy theatre pavilion out of it. All the way out at sea like that. Funny how folk like to be near the sea or out on it."
"Perhaps it's the regular rhythm of the tide that brings us a sense of comfort. Like a heartbeat. Like being in the womb."
"You like the sea too then?"
"I've only been to the seaside once, but yes, I think I do." Despite the bleak weather that morning when she arrived, she had felt as if she was coming to safe port rather than leaving behind everything she knew.
"Never been on a boat?"
"No. I cannot swim."
"Can't swim?" He sounded incredulous.
"It isn't something I ever thought I'd need to do," she replied. "I don't plan to go sailing."
Mr. Hart came to an abrupt halt under another lamp beside the iron railings. "You ought to learn, just for pleasure and safety, even if you never need it."
She laughed dourly. "Be rolled into the water in one of those strange wooden contraptions to preserve my modesty, you mean? And then spend a half hour splashing about in ungainly fashion, hoping nobody recognizes me. I can think of other, more productive, things I'd rather do with my time."
He was looking away from her again now, staring out at the end of the pier. A darkness had come over his face. Over his entire aspect.
"First time I came here, I was a lad of sixteen. Never saw the sea before. Conned my way onto a train from London. Pretended I was a boy carryin' luggage for a rich gent and his lady in the first class carriage. Blimey! When I looked out and saw all the poppies in the fields on the way 'ere, I thought it were blood. Never seen so many flowers growin' wild. Then came the sea. Never seen nothin' like that neither. I mean, I knew the Thames well enough, but that crowded, filthy river can't compare to this." He gestured with his free arm, the other still holding her to his side. "I always knew, after that, I wanted to live here one day. So I could look out on the sea when I woke up every mornin'. My mother used to say that a love of the sea was in our blood." Finally he looked down at her again, his expression suddenly troubled. "July 13th, 1887, was the day I first came here and saw the sea. First day I floated in the North sea and washed the London dirt orf. I'll never forget it."
Her throat was suddenly dry and narrow.
"That would 'ave been before you were born, I reckon."
"Would it?" she managed tightly.
He clarified, "I'll be five and thirty in February."
"Then you are only ten years my senior."
Which meant that she was six when he came there for the first time. And she was six when her parents brought her to Cromer. On a warm July day.
It was a coincidence that could not be overlooked. Had their paths crossed before? She'd had the strangest of feelings the moment she saw him.
His eyes narrowed. "What's amiss? Your face has gone all peaky."
"Look! A fog blows in off the water."
"That ain't the reason why you look like somebody just dropped a hammer on your foot."
So she said, "I am merely surprised that you are only thirty-four. You look older."
"Don't hold back on the insults, do you, Princess?"
"Well, you insisted upon knowing what I was thinking. And I warned you I would not be a woman who gazes up at you with dewy eyes and exists merely to flatter your ego."
He shook his head. "Just my luck. The first woman who really interests me and she can't stand the sight o' this ol' face."
"I di
dn't say that. Your face has its own...peculiar...allure."
A slow grin moved his lips and seemed to make the street lamp glow brighter. He kept fishing for her assurances and she kept letting him hook her in, Ever realized, chagrinned.
"But I came here to be your governess," she added hastily. "Nothing more than that, remember?"
"For now. I reckon you're wearing me in already. I'm growin' on you." The grin widened. "Like lichen."
She shook her head, swallowing a chuckle. "I'm not here for anything else other than your education, Mr. Hart. I wish you would assure Signora Brunetti of that too. She seems anxious about my presence."
"We'll she's no cause to be. It's time she stopped meddling in my business."
Ever worked her chilled lips together and then replied, "Perhaps she feels she has some right to do so."
His eyes narrowed. "Aha! That's what you're gettin' at, is it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I call them all my cousins, you know, Greene. In my eyes those folk back there in my drawing room are my family. My true family brought together by choice. So cousin is a term I use for my good friends. And just in case you were wondering— not that you'd admit you were, o' course— Lucretzia is not my lover. Not anymore."
"But she was."
"She was. We were young. We outgrew each other."
"She still cares for you."
"Indeed. We still care about each other, and I hope we always will, but not in that way."
Hmm. Signora Brunetti's thoughts suggested she still yearned for his attention in every way. The woman was angered when he turned his back to her; surely not many men would do that, so it must hurt her when they did. "She is very beautiful."
"And extremely mercenary."
"Oh."
"And currently the mistress of Lord Bethnall."
"Ah."
"And his illegitimate son. A fact neither of them know."
"I...oh."
"Although she really has her sights set on the legitimate son and heir."
She looked away for a moment, hiding her face from him and pretending to find great interest in the houses along the esplanade.
"You're shocked," he said.
