Seton’s pointed chin went up a notch. “There will be no need for you to do so, my lord,” he said with dignity. “I’ve given them the benefit of the doubt once, and they abused it. I shan’t give them another. No, it shall be noses to the grindstone for the foreseeable future.” He turned and started for the door. “I’ll have them so occupied with their lessons, they’ll have no chance to play any more tricks on me.”
Given past experience, Jamie wasn’t particularly sanguine about Seton’s chances of success there, but he decided to give the other man the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.
If Amanda had learned nothing else about children during her seven years of teaching them, she’d learned one thing. A child’s ears were often a teacher’s best weapon.
“A promise is a promise,” she said, keeping a firm grip on Colin’s ear with one hand and Owen’s with the other as she propelled them up the stone stairs of the cistern room where she’d found them hiding with a stack of penny dreadfuls and a bag of sweets. “I’ve played Cowboys and Indians. Now it’s time for the two of you to fulfill your part of our bargain.”
“How did you get away?” Colin demanded as she led them into the house and started up the servants’ staircase. “We tied those knots tight.”
“Not tight enough, obviously.”
“Ow, ow,” Colin wailed as she turned on the landing, pulling the boys with her. “You’re hurting me.”
“Me, too,” Owen wailed, taking the cue from his brother. “Me, too.”
Amanda, well aware of just how much force to apply in situations like this, was unimpressed. “Rot,” she pronounced, shoving the green baize door open with her foot. Ignoring their protesting squeals, she led the two boys through the door, across the gallery, and down the corridor.
When she reached the nursery, Lord Kenyon was gone, much to her relief. Letting the boys trick her had been galling enough, but the fact that their father had witnessed just what a mug two ten-year-olds had made of her was downright humiliating, and not, she feared, a good testament to her abilities as a tutor.
Amanda shoved each boy—none too gently—into his seat, adding, “Don’t move, either of you, or by heaven, I’ll have you on your knees scrubbing floors like a pair of scullery maids for the rest of the day.”
“You already made us scullery maids,” Colin muttered, glaring at her and rubbing his ear. “You made us clean Mrs. Richmond’s big copper pots this morning first thing.”
“That was for the slugs. For tying me up, you’ll be polishing silver this evening after high tea.”
A chorus of protest greeted that announcement.
“You can’t do that!”
“After high tea, it’s supposed to be playtime!”
Amanda was unimpressed. “As I told you yesterday, actions have consequences. If you want any playtime in the future, I suggest you stop trying my patience with silly jokes.” She circled her desk to stand behind it, glad to see that in her absence, Samuel had brought up the supplies she’d asked him to gather for her. After unfastening her cuff links and rolling up her shirtsleeves, she cleared off her desk and set to work.
Ignoring the two boys, she placed a heavy, oilskin tarp over the desk to protect its rosewood surface and put a shallow wooden tray on top, then she retrieved a glass beaker from the crate, stuck a bit of modeling clay to the bottom, and affixed it to the center of the tray.
As she worked, she could sense the two boys watching her with resentful eyes, but she continued to pay them no mind. Whistling a tune, she took out a jar of flour and another of water and mixed the contents of both in a bowl to make a smooth paste of flour glue. Once she was satisfied with the consistency of the mixture, she set the bowl aside, pulled a handful of newspapers from the pile on the tray, and began crumpling the sheets into hard balls. These she glued around the beaker, cramming them tightly together as she built them into the cone shape so necessary to her experiment.
It was only when she had completed the next step of cutting her remaining sheets of newspaper into strips that curiosity—Owen’s, at least—overcame resentment. “What are you doing?” he asked as she dunked a strip of newspaper into the glue mixture.
“I’m making a volcano.”
Colin’s sound of disdain interrupted before she could say more. “Out of papier-mâché?” he said. “How boring.”
“Oh, very boring,” she agreed cheerfully. Bending down, she placed her sticky strip of paper along the base of her makeshift mountain, then looked up to meet Colin’s still hostile gaze over the top. “Until it erupts.”
That surprised him, she could tell, though he tried not to show it. Donning an air of disinterest that didn’t fool her for a second, he looked away. Lifting the hinged top of his desk, he extracted his slate and some colored chalks, then he closed his desk again and began to draw.
Owen, however, continued to watch Amanda, and after several minutes of silence, his curiosity won out again. “Can you really make it erupt?” he asked.
“Owen!” his brother hissed, glaring at him. “Stop fraternizing with the enemy!”
Amanda almost smiled at that terribly grown-up turn of phrase, but she managed to suppress it just in time. She didn’t want them to think she was laughing at them, for that might endanger what she hoped would be the start of a truce. Pressing her lips together to hide her smile, she reached for another strip of paper and said nothing.
“I’m not fraternizing,” Owen protested, craning his neck to watch Amanda as she circled to the side of her desk and continued to build her volcano. “I’d just like to know if it’s really going to erupt, that’s all.”
“It can’t!” Colin said decisively.
“Can’t it?” Amanda countered without pausing in her task. “We’ll see.”
“But how?” Owen asked. When she didn’t answer, he stood up and came across to her desk for a closer look, ignoring his brother’s protests. “It’s just a big lump of papier-mâché.”
“At the moment, that’s true,” she agreed. “But by the time I’m finished, it will look very much like Mauna Loa. Do you know where that is?”
He hesitated, then shook his head.
“It’s in a place called the Sandwich Islands.”
“Captain Cook went there,” the boy said unexpectedly.
“He did.” She paused to smooth out an uncooperative strip of paper, then went on, “We’ll paint this, of course, and we’ll add some black rocks, and perhaps some trees—not many, though, because it’s hard for trees to grow around a volcano.”
“Because of the lava,” Owen said, nodding in understanding. “When it cools, it turns into rock, doesn’t it? Can you really make it erupt? The volcano, I mean.”
She laughed. “I can. Would you like to help me?”
“Why should we help you?” Colin cut in before his brother could answer.
“No reason at all since you’ve decided I’m the enemy. But I’m curious about something . . .” Amanda paused, straightening, and looked at Colin over Owen’s head. “Would you mind telling me why? What have I done to earn your animosity?”
The boy looked away without answering, but Amanda persisted in a nonchalant sort of way as she resumed her task. “You don’t want to go to school—at least, that’s what I’ve heard. But if I weren’t here, you’d probably be halfway to Harrow by now. So how am I the enemy?”
Owen turned, looking over his shoulder at his brother as if expecting Colin to offer an explanation, but Colin didn’t speak. Instead, he picked up his chalk and resumed doodling on his slate.
“No explanations to the enemy, is that it?” she said, resuming her task with a shrug. “Very well, if that’s how you want to play it. But I’m not going anywhere, so if you persist in not speaking to me, you’ll find your lessons terribly dull. Still, it’s your choice, I suppose.”
“You’re not the enemy, exactly,” Owen began, but he was cut off at once by his brother.
“Why should we have to explain things to you?”
Colin’s voice was hard, so hard, in fact, that Amanda was startled. She looked up, watching the boy as he shoved aside his slate, tossed down his chalk, and glared back at her. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? And tutors are supposed to be clever, aren’t they? You ought to know why we don’t want you here. Unless . . .” He paused, his deep blue eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re not really very clever, after all.”
Amanda already had a pretty fair idea of what lay behind the boys’ petty rebellions, but she could see no point in voicing her theories out loud, not to the twins anyway. “Guessing would be quite improper,” she said without pausing in her work. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want to explain, and if I were to continue to press you, it would be an invasion of your privacy.”
An expression of what might have been disappointment—or perhaps chagrin—at her lack of curiosity flickered across Colin’s face, but it was gone in an instant, and he looked away.
“Besides,” she went on, resuming her work, “I have a great deal yet to do if I’m to make this volcano erupt before dinner. Would you care to help me, Owen?” she asked, turning her attention to the boy beside her.
He hesitated, staring at the strip of newspaper she held out to him, then he nodded and pulled it from her outstretched fingertips. Ignoring his brother’s obvious disapproval, he brushed glue over the paper, then pressed it against the side of Amanda’s creation and reached for another.
For several minutes, they worked together in silence. Colin made no move to help them, nor did he speak, but whenever she glanced in his direction, Amanda found him watching them, and she found that a hopeful sign, even though every time their eyes met, he looked away.
“There now,” she said at last, standing back to survey the papier-mâché mountain she and Owen had created. “That looks about right, I think. We’ll take it to the kitchen.”
She wiped her hands on a damp rag, then handed the rag to Owen so that he could do the same. She then pulled her suit jacket off the peg by the door, slipped it on, and retrieved the tray containing her creation. “Mrs. Richmond can put this in a warm oven while we’re out so that the glue will dry.”
“We’re going out?” Owen asked, falling in step beside her as she started for the door. “Where?”
“The park.”
“The park?” Owen’s freckled face lit up. “Good-oh! Are we going to fly kites?”
“Not today. We must find rocks and trees to put around our volcano. Best put on coats and hats, boys,” she added, including Colin in this suggestion even though he had made no move to follow. “There’s a sharp wind today.”
Owen paused by the door to grab his mackintosh from its peg. “C’mon, Colin,” he urged as he slid his arms into his coat and reached for his cap. “Why are you just sitting there?”
“I don’t want to go.”
Amanda paused, too, turning to look at the boy over her shoulder. Since it meant a postponement of lessons, she’d hoped he would be as eager as his brother for an outing in the park, but Colin turned his face away from them, his chin high, his profile stiff and proud.
“Don’t be stupid,” Owen chided, jamming his cap down on his head. “If I have to go, you have to go, too.”
“No, I don’t!” Colin looked at Amanda, his round, freckled face twisted, confirming her suspicion that under the wild and rebellious hellion who’d put slugs in her bed and cut the rope off the bellpull, there was a hurt and neglected little boy, and Amanda’s own frustration rose up, frustration toward the parent who’d brought about this sad state of affairs.
“I don’t have to do anything just because he says I do,” Colin went on, jabbing a finger in Amanda’s direction. “I’d rather stay here.”
“But there won’t be anyone to watch you,” Owen pointed out.
“Samuel can watch me.”
“Samuel has his own duties,” Amanda put in before Owen could reply. “But you don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to,” she went on before Colin could argue with her. “You can come down to the kitchens instead.”
At once, he slid out from behind his desk. “I’ll do that,” he told her, a declaration meant to sound as if he’d chosen this course himself, as if it had been his own idea. “It’s lunchtime, and I’d rather have sandwiches and tea than go to the park and look for stupid rocks.”
Amanda opened her eyes wide. “Oh, but you surely don’t think you’ll be having anything to eat, do you?”
“Why not? It’s nearly one o’clock.”
“And because the trick you played on me delayed our lessons today, I’m afraid lunch is now delayed, too.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair. Best get used to it. And if you keep arguing with me,” she added as he opened his mouth again, “you’ll put us so far behind schedule, we’ll have to give lunch a miss altogether.”
“Colin, shut up,” Owen pleaded. “I don’t want to miss lunch.”
Colin ignored that. “But what am I supposed to do while you two are gone?”
“Well, you could make a start on polishing that silver,” she suggested brightly. “Or you could bring paper, pen, and ink, and start on today’s assignment.”
His frown was wary. “What assignment?”
“Our excursion is part of today’s science lesson. If you don’t feel up to participating, that’s all right, but I shan’t allow you to be idle. While your brother and I are studying rocks in the park, you will compose an essay about them. By the time we return,” she added, her brisk voice overriding the child’s groan of dismay, “I expect you to be ready with a full explanation to give your brother of the differences between sedimentary, metamorphic, and igneous rocks.”
“But I don’t know anything about rocks.” His blue eyes narrowed accusingly. “You’ve failed to teach us about them.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry. There’s a book on the subject up here. Rocks of the World and Where to Find Them, I think it’s called. Third shelf,” she added as if to be helpful, nodding to the bookshelves behind him. “Right side, near the end.”
He scowled at her.
She smiled at him.
The clash of wills lasted a full ten seconds, but at last, Colin capitulated and tossed down his chalk.
“Change your mind?” she asked, donning an ingenuous air as he came to join them by the door and began to put on his coat.
“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t think I’m going to sit in the kitchens, all by myself, polishing silver or writing about rocks, do you? Dull as ashes, that.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said gravely and turned away. “Come along, gentlemen,” she called over her shoulder as she started down the corridor with her papier-mâché volcano. “I know Colin doesn’t want to miss lunch, and neither do I, especially since I asked Mrs. Richmond to make jam roly-poly for us.”
Shouts of surprised approval from behind her greeted this news, and Amanda couldn’t help grinning. An endorsement of jam roly-poly at lunch wasn’t much of a victory, she supposed, and it was certainly no guarantee of future success, but since it was the first speck of approval she’d received from these two since her arrival, she’d take it. She’d take it gladly.
Chapter 6
Given that he’d planned to be away two weeks, Jamie had nothing of crucial importance to do in London, but that didn’t mean he could afford to be idle. After freeing Seton and giving strict instructions to Mrs. Richmond and Samuel to keep a more watchful eye on the boys and their tutor this afternoon than they had this morning, he lunched at his club, and upon his return, ensconced himself in his study.
For the next several hours, he caught up on his correspondence, including handwritten notes of apology to those with whom he had intended to meet during his tour of Yorkshire. After putting all his letters in the tray by the front door for Samuel to post that evening, he decided to check on Seton and the boys to see how they were getting on. When he went to the nursery, however, he fou
nd it empty.
He journeyed below stairs, but though he found Mrs. Richmond and Samuel in the kitchens, neither Mr. Seton nor his charges seemed to be anywhere about.
“They went for an outing,” Samuel said in answer to his query on the subject. “They were going across to the park,” he added, shoving a scoop of coal into the scuttle by the stove.
“No, no,” Mrs. Richmond corrected, looking up from the pastry she was rolling out. “They returned ages ago. They had lunch, then polished some of the silver, and then they—”
“Silver?” Jamie and Samuel interrupted in surprised unison.
“Punishment,” the cook said, nodding her head with a grim sort of relish that reminded Jamie of just how close to the breaking point his sons had pushed the staff. “Worked them like kitchen maids for over an hour, Mr. Seton did.”
“Ah.” Samuel gave a nod of understanding and dumped another scoop of coal into the scuttle. “Because of the slop water yesterday, I imagine.”
“Slop water?” Jamie asked, his surprise giving way to dismay. “What slop water?”
“Just a little joke, sir,” Samuel hastened to explain. “No harm done.”
Past experience made Jamie rather inclined to doubt that reassurance, but before he could pursue the matter further, Mrs. Richmond said, “Seton already punished them for the slop water. They had to scrub some of my big copper pots for that, and they did it first thing this morning. No, polishing the silver is because of the other thing.”
“Ah,” Samuel said again with another knowing nod. “The slugs.”
“Slugs?” Jamie knew what that meant even as he spoke. “In Seton’s bed, I suppose? Or in the drawer with his linen? Hell’s bells,” he added in exasperation, “it’s only been twenty-four hours. How could they possibly inflict so much torment on the poor fellow in such a short space of time? Never mind,” he added at once. “It was a stupid question.”
“Now, my lord, don’t be worrying,” Mrs. Richmond said in a placating tone that increased his worry rather than eased it. “Just having a bit of fun, they were. You know how they are.”
Governess Gone Rogue Page 9
