by Dilly Court
It had been raining and the damp earth had the rich smell of Christmas pudding. Her feet crunched on the piles of wet leaves that had been torn from the trees by a storm the previous night as Eloise crossed the yard to the governor's house. She was still upset by Joss's tantrum and shaking inwardly as she waited to be admitted. If Caine opened the door she was afraid she might disgrace herself by bursting into tears, but it was Jessie who let her into the house. 'Miss Maria's got her coat on already, miss. She's waiting for you in the parlour.'
Clutching her reticule with the letter to her mother tucked away inside it, Eloise went to fetch Maria and they set off for the main post office in Holborn. Maria wanted to stop at a sweet shop on the way back, and she spent a long time choosing what she would buy with the two pence her father had given her. Eloise stood by patiently waiting for the all-important decisions to be made. Was it going to be Indian toffee or peppermint creams? Sticky boiled sweets or a penny bar of chocolate? Sugary fondants or liquorice sticks? When Maria had eventually made her choice, the rain had started again in earnest, and by the time they reached the governor's house they were both soaked to the skin. Jessie took Maria up to her room straight away to change into dry clothes but Eloise was left shivering in the hallway. Her teeth were chattering and she was chilled to the marrow, but her only change of clothes was in the hospital laundry. She made her way to the kitchen intending to ask Mrs Dean for a cup of tea, or some hot chocolate, but when she saw the state Eloise was in Mrs Dean threw up her hands in horror. 'You'll need more than a cup of tea, my duck. You must get out of them wet things before you catch your death of cold. Come with me.'
Eloise followed her up the back stairs to the main part of the house and on again up two more flights to an attic room at the very top of the building. At first she thought it was Cook's own room, but on entering she discovered that it was a small room under the eaves where unused items were stored or simply abandoned. Mrs Dean went to a large steamer trunk and lifted the lid. She pulled out one garment after another, each one carefully wrapped in tissue paper. 'These belonged to Miss Rosamund,' she explained, holding up a pink silk afternoon gown. She shook her head, laying it down carefully. 'That's too fussy.' She took out another and shook out the folds.
Eloise held her breath. The style might be six years out of date, but the dove-grey silk was as good as new. 'I can't wear that, Mrs Dean. Please put it away.'
'Don't talk soft, girl. Do you want to die of lung fever?' Mrs Dean thrust the gown into her hands. 'Put it on and I'll take your wet things and dry them by the kitchen range. No one will see you in it, and the master won't be back until late this evening. He's gone off somewhere on business.'
Minutes later, Eloise made her way slowly downstairs to the drawing room where she could hear Eloise playing the pianoforte. On the first floor landing, she caught sight of her reflection in a long mirror and she gasped in surprise. The silk fell in shimmering folds to the floor and the fit was so perfect that it might have been made for her. The elegant gown emphasised her tiny waist and the gentle swell of her breasts was revealed by an embarrassingly low décolletage, totally unsuitable for afternoon wear, and certainly not the sort of gown to be worn by a servant. She tossed her head, and her damp hair fell loosely about her shoulders in a dark mantle. She felt once again like the old Eloise, the pretty, carefree girl who had captured the heart of a dashing seafarer. She smiled as she negotiated the last flight of stairs and she burst into the drawing room executing a twirl for Maria, but she stopped short at the sight of Barton Caine, who was standing by the piano staring at her with a look of astonishment on his face which rapidly turned to one of anger. 'What in heaven's name do you think you're playing at?' He strode across the floor to seize her by the shoulders and his fingers pressed into her soft flesh. 'Is this some sick joke, Ellen?'
Chapter Twenty
Maria crashed her hands down on the piano keys. 'Stop it, Papa. You mustn't be cross with Ellen.'
'Be quiet, Maria,' Caine snapped. 'This is between Miss Monk and me. Go to your room.'
'Don't shout at her,' Eloise said in a low voice. 'This has nothing to do with Maria. It was my mistake.' Biting back tears of humiliation, she turned to go but Caine sidestepped her, barring her exit.
'You can't just walk away this time. I want an explanation. Why are you wearing my wife's gown?'
Maria slammed down the lid of the pianoforte. 'You're not being fair, Papa. We got caught in the rain and Jessie made me change my clothes too.'
There was no escape and Eloise raised her eyes to his face. The cold look she received chilled her to the marrow but it also made her angry. 'I am sorry if I've offended you, sir. It was not intentional. I thought you would not return home until late this evening.'
'I had to come back to collect some papers, but that does not give you leave to masquerade in a dead woman's clothes.' Caine's voice was controlled but Eloise could see a pulse throbbing at his temple, and white lines were etched from his aquiline nose to the corners of his mouth.
She drew herself up to her full height. 'Don't use that tone of voice with me, Mr Caine. I didn't set out to masquerade, as you crudely put it. Mrs Dean took my clothes to the kitchen to dry, and there was nothing else for me to wear.'
'You could have gone back to the hospital to change,' Caine said stiffly.
'My only change of clothes is in the laundry, sir.'
'Nevertheless, you should not have taken Maria out on a day like this. It was foolish in the extreme.'
Maria tugged on his hand. 'We had to go out to post a letter to Ellen's mama and papa in Africa. They live there, you know.'
Caine stared down at his daughter and frowned. 'Go and ask Mrs Dean if Ellen's clothes are dry enough to wear.'
'Oh, Papa, I want to stay and make sure you don't bully poor Ellen.'
A wry smile curved his lips and Caine lifted Maria bodily out of the door. 'I am not a bully, Maria, and you have too much to say for yourself. Now do as I say, and you may ask Mrs Dean to give you a cup of milk and some cake.'
'Oh, all right.' Maria tossed her curls and stomped off towards the back stairs.
Caine closed the door. He stared thoughtfully at Eloise and she glared back at him. 'I have said I am sorry. It was a silly thing to do and I apologise for any hurt I have caused.'
'You told me that you had no family. How many other lies have you told me, Ellen Monk?'
'I have no family in England that is true. My father is a missionary in Africa.'
'So why didn't you tell me that in the first place?'
'Would it have made any difference?'
'Do you always answer a question with a question?'
Eloise shook her head. 'Not always. May I go now, sir?'
'No, not yet.' Caine walked slowly to a side table and reached for the brandy decanter. 'You look chilled to the bone.'
Eloise watched as he poured brandy into a glass and controlled her temper with difficulty. 'If that is for me, I don't want it.'
'You may not, but I do.' Caine poured a measure for himself and tossed it down in one gulp. 'Don't look at me like that, Ellen.'
'Like what, sir?'
'Questions, questions and never any answers.' He made a vague gesture towards a wingback chair by the hearth. 'Come and sit by the fire. My mother used to tell me that cold feet would lead to a chill or worse.'
It seemed useless to argue with him in this mood and Eloise went to sit by the fire. The full skirts of the borrowed gown billowed out around her like the petals of a flower. It had been so good to have pure silk next to her skin, and to feel like a pretty young woman again, but now it was all spoilt and she wished wholeheartedly that she had refused Mrs Dean's well intentioned offer of help. She could think of nothing to say that would not make matters worse and the silence between them was as taut as the rope in a tug of war. She could not look at him, but she sensed that he was staring at her and when she could stand it no longer, she raised her eyes to his face. 'I am truly sorry that
I have upset you by wearing your wife's gown. I can see that you must have loved her very much.'
'Loved her? You have no idea what my marriage was like.' Caine laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. 'Yes, I did love her in the beginning. At least, it's true to say that I was infatuated with her and blinded by her beauty.'
The bitter tone in his voice shocked Eloise to the core and she stared at him in disbelief. 'I don't understand you, sir.'
'No, I don't suppose you do. Everyone thought we were the ideal couple, living the perfect life together. Rosamund was a consummate actress and she played her part well.'
'I don't think you should be telling me these things. Perhaps I should go,' Eloise murmured, rising to her feet.
'No, please stay.' Caine laid his hand on her shoulder and immediately snatched it away as if the touch of her flesh had burnt his fingers. 'I want you to stay, Ellen. I can't go on like this, and I must set things straight between us.'
'If it's about the gown, sir . . .'
'It's not about the bloody gown. I couldn't care less if you tear it into tatters and throw it on the fire. As a matter of fact I had no idea that Rosamund's clothes were still here. I gave orders for them to be disposed of shortly after her death, which really was a tragedy. Don't misunderstand me, I am truly sorry that she died giving birth to another man's child, but when I discovered how she had deceived me, our life together was over almost before it had begun.'
It was a shocking admission and Eloise felt her knees give way beneath her. She sank back onto the chair. 'Are you sure you want to tell me this, sir?'
Caine ran his fingers through his dark hair and a lock fell across his forehead, making him suddenly seem young and vulnerable. Eloise had to crush the impulse to throw her arms around him and hold him to her, comforting him in his anguish as she might comfort Joss. She sat quite still, clenching her hands in her lap as she witnessed his pain.
'I've revealed too much of my past to stop now. Bear with me, Ellen. I don't find it easy to talk about my disastrous marriage.'
'Then please don't, sir. Maybe it is better left where it belongs, in the past.'
'No, I have gone too far and I want you to know the truth.' Caine paced the floor, clasping his hands behind his back and staring down at the polished floorboards. 'I was just twenty-two when I met Rosamund Swan at a charity ball in the City. She was seventeen and the prettiest girl I had ever encountered, although until then my knowledge of women was limited to my mother and sisters. My father, coincidentally, was a country parson and poor as the proverbial church mouse. I was sent away to be educated at a church boarding school at the age of eight. Then I went on to theological college in Salisbury, destined, so I thought, to follow in my father's footsteps and enter the church. Meeting Rosamund changed everything. I was dazzled by her wit and charm and I couldn't understand why she chose me out of her many suitors, or why her father, who was a wealthy man, favoured the suit of a penniless young graduate who was about to take holy orders. In fact he encouraged me to vie for his daughter's hand, and he offered me a position in his counting house at a very generous salary, which would enable us to marry straight away. I was young and green and did not see through the subterfuge. It was only on our honeymoon in Paris that I discovered my bride was pregnant by another man.' He paused, facing Eloise with a wry twist of his lips. 'Unwittingly I had made an honest woman of her. The father of her unborn child turned out to be a married man with whom she had been having an affair for several months. He was not her first lover and Mr Swan, who was apparently already in trouble financially, was eager to see his only daughter respectably married. Shortly after the wedding he was declared bankrupt and fled the country. I was then jobless and penniless, but a friend of my father's put me forward as assistant to the then governor of the Foundling Hospital, and I was glad to accept. When he retired, I was promoted to my present position. The rest you know.'
Eloise unclenched her hands and small crescent-shaped cuts on her palms oozed tiny spots of blood where she had dug her fingernails into her flesh as she listened to Caine's tortured admission of his unhappy past. She stared mutely at the wounds but she had felt no pain and she felt none now. The agony was in her heart, which was wrung with pity for the man she realised she had come to love with a passion that was both wonderful and alarming. This was not supposed to happen. She thought she had hardened her heart to all men, but somehow Barton Caine, whom she had thought to be cold, austere and arrogant, had changed her world forever. She met his eyes and immediately lowered her own, unable to bear the anguish she saw in their troubled blue depths.
'You have nothing to say,' Caine said bitterly. 'I can't say I blame you. It is a shocking tale and you must think poorly of me for my part in it.'
'No!' Eloise exclaimed vehemently. 'I have never thought badly of you, sir. I could not.'
'I don't deserve your good opinion, Ellen. I've been hard on you, I know, but my unfairness was born of frustration. You have not been honest with me, and I hate lies. I cannot abide deception of any sort.'
This made Eloise look up at him and she raised her chin with a defiant toss of her head. 'I had good reason for not telling the truth. You, it seems, acted out of pride.'
'You're right, of course. You saw through me from the start and I knew it,' Caine said slowly, fixing her with a penetrating gaze that seemed to bore into her soul. 'You must be aware that I have a deep regard for you, Ellen. When I first saw you in Miss Marchant's office, looking so young and vulnerable, so pale and frightened, I knew that you were not what you claimed to be. I have tried to help you, and yet you have fought me all the way, preventing me from getting to know the real Ellen Monk, if that really is your name.'
Eloise hesitated. She was still trying to digest the truth about his marriage to Rosamund. She longed to tell him everything, but she was not certain how far she could trust him. Caine had been destined for the church, just like her father. If he knew to what depths she had sunk during the past agonising months he would not think so highly of her now. If he knew how she had suffered at the hands of Ephraim Hubble and that she had been on the brink of selling her body in order to support her children, and then had abandoned them on the steps of his own institution, his good opinion of her would be lost forever. Her deception was so great that he might never be able to forgive her. The intensity of his gaze seemed to strip her of everything except the need to admit the truth, or at least part of it. She licked her dry lips. 'My name is Eloise Cribb. My father is the Reverend Jacob Monkham, and as I've already told you, he is a missionary serving in Africa. I am a widow; that part is true also.'
'And what are you running away from, Eloise?'
'When my parents left for Africa I was sent to my late husband's family in Yorkshire. It was not what I wanted and I was miserable there, so I returned to London, hoping to find gainful employment, but it was not as easy as I had thought it would be. You saw me at my lowest ebb, and I am very grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to care for Maria.'
'Grateful?' Caine almost spat the word, and he knelt before her, taking her hands in his. 'I don't want gratitude, Eloise. Can't you understand that I have fallen in love with you? I have battled against it, but I cannot help my feelings.'
It would have been so easy to bridge the infinitesimal gap between them and to slide her arms around his neck so that their lips met in a kiss, and Eloise almost gave way to temptation. Every sinew in her body, every emotion screamed out at her to give him what he desired, but a small voice in her head warned her that this man had suffered much in the past at the hands of a deceitful woman. She wanted to tell him about Joss and Beth, but somehow she could not bring herself to trust him quite that far. Her children were her whole life. He had already been burdened with a daughter who was not his own flesh and blood, and he might look at her with quite different eyes if she admitted her deception. She laid her finger gently on his lips. 'Please don't, sir. You do not know me, really you do not.'
Caine re
coiled as if she had slapped his face, and he rose to his feet. ' I'm sorry, Ellen. I mean, Eloise. I should not have spoken so soon after revealing the sordid details of my personal life. It was tactless and clumsy of me. Please forget what I just said.'
Eloise stood up, brushing the creases out of the borrowed gown with shaking hands. 'Please, Mr Caine . . .'
A flicker of amusement made his eyes twinkle and his lips twisted into a rueful smile. 'I think we have crossed the bridge of formality, Eloise. At least in private I think you could call me Barton. It would make me feel less like a middle aged roue and more like a valued friend.'
His smile was infectious and Eloise found herself responding even if her heart was aching. 'It might be better if you found someone else to look after Maria.'
'No, don't say that. You have established a rapport with her which no one else has been able to do. She is fond of you, and the poor child has had little enough affection in her short life. I try, I do try, Eloise, but every time I look at her I catch a glimpse of Rosamund and I relive that past betrayal. I do my best to conceal my feelings from Maria, and I get round it by spoiling her. I know I am not a good father, but I am genuinely fond of her. I care deeply for her and I do my best.'
'I know you do, Barton,' Eloise said softly. 'And she loves you, I know she does.'
'But you do not – love me?'
Eloise hardened her heart. It would be so easy to tell him that she returned his love tenfold, but she dreaded seeing the hurt and disappointment in his eyes when he learned the truth about her. She knew that she ought to walk away now, but she could not leave him. If she stayed it would be a mixture of heaven and hell, but she would rather be miserable with him than without him. She chose her words carefully. 'My husband is not long dead. My heart is not given easily.'
