Mr. Darbin leaned forward. “What say you to a game of piquet or whist, Miss Iverness?”
Camille shook her head. “I am afraid I will have to pass on that offer, Mr. Darbin. I do not know how to play either.”
“It is simple.” He waved his hand dismissively in the air. “I shall have you playing like an expert in no time. Do say you will.”
Camille shook her head. “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Gilchrist. I am sure he is well acquainted with the rules. I would surely slow the game down.”
Mr. Darbin cut his eyes toward Mr. Gilchrist, who was seated by the fire. “I daresay Miss Gilchrist would prefer Mr. Dowden as a partner, for he is not only her intended, but is far more clever than I. And even if you do not know the game, you are a much prettier partner than Gilchrist and therefore a much more pleasant partner. I am willing to take the chance.”
She could feel the blush rush to her cheeks at the compliment.
“I am not sure, Darbin,” exclaimed Dowden, his expression cool and indifferent. “The game can be quite bothersome for a new player. Perhaps we could play something else.”
“Oh, I do not think so,” chimed in Miss Gilchrist. “Miss Iverness is quite adept. Besides, we cannot let the gentlemen have all the fun. Please, Miss Iverness, say you will play. It will be the perfect diversion on such a rainy night. I shall get the whist tokens.”
Camille smiled in agreement. She knew that whist was a game that the genteel classes played. She had heard it referenced several times but never imagined she would be learning it.
After a quick tutorial, Mr. Darbin dealt each player thirteen cards, and the game began. Over the next few hours, Camille found herself enjoying Mr. Darbin’s amusing company. Even Mr. Dowden cracked a smile from time to time. She began to see another side of Miss Gilchrist, a charming, humorous side that Camille actually enjoyed. For the first time in a very long time, Camille laughed a genuine, unguarded laugh. It felt wonderful. And she and her partner won every hand but one.
Mr. Jonathan Gilchrist had been reading the entire time. Camille couldn’t help looking over to him occasionally, wondering what was wrong. But despite his sulking, it was nice to put the cares of the day aside and enjoy the company—and the attentions—of others.
Mr. Darbin stood and offered his hand to help Camille from her chair. “Miss Iverness, you must be my charm, my lucky pence. Perhaps you will also bring me good fortune as I continue my hunt for the Bevoy.”
At this Camille instantly sobered. It was the first time the stolen ruby had been mentioned all evening.
She hoped the topic would pass on by, the mention of it just an afterthought. But then Mr. Darbin took her by the elbow and escorted her to the sofa. She frowned. It seemed odd that he should pull her away from the others. Alarm pricked her and crept warmly up her neck as he bid her to take a seat and then sat next to her. The disturbing sense that something was about to happen nudged her, sharpening her sense of perception. She did not miss the glance exchanged by Mr. Darbin and Miss Gilchrist. She shifted on the plush cushion and wiped her palms on her gown.
Mr. Darbin’s voice remained low, as if he was taking her into confidence. “I do hope you know you can trust me, Miss Iverness.”
She tilted her head to the side and focused on the coarse fabric of her skirt, not sure how to interpret the strange comment. But before she could respond, he continued. “You have had a very rough go of it lately. And I hope you know that I am here to help you. I can help your father too. But first you must be willing to confide in me. To share what you know.”
Then, suddenly, it all made sense.
The unexpected dinner invitation.
The flattery and attention.
The flirting.
She stared at Mr. Darbin, almost forgetting to breathe.
She cut her eyes over to Miss Gilchrist. Her head was tilted toward Mr. Dowden and she was saying something, but their eyes were fixed on her.
They were baiting her. Trying to get her to tell them something.
For just a few moments, she had forgotten about the dirty curiosity shop on Blinkett Street. The fact that her father knew she had been injured and did not care. That he was probably involved in unsavory business and had not bothered to warn her. But Darbin’s question opened a floodgate, letting in all of the memories.
She never would have considered herself gullible, not with her intuitions sharpened on Blinkett Street. But here she had let her guard down. She had allowed herself to think that these people were different than those she normally encountered, simply because of their fancy dress and elegant speech.
What a fool she had been.
Mr. Darbin must have interpreted her reaction correctly, for lines creased his brow. “I meant no offense.”
Camille rose to her feet and stumbled back from the sofa, staring first at Mr. Darbin and then at Miss Gilchrist. Had she really been so hungry for acceptance that she had actually believed they enjoyed her company?
She didn’t know whether to lash out in anger or to run from the room and never look back. The candlelit parlor, which just moments ago had seemed so welcoming, now seemed dark and tainted.
“Mr. Darbin, you must believe me when I say I know nothing about the ruby. Nothing.” Her voice was firm. Direct. “You seem convinced that I do, that I am keeping from you a secret that, when told, will unlock the information you seek.”
“But surely you must know something,” protested Mr. Darbin, his very words betraying his attempt to hide the fact he sought information. “I cannot believe that you worked at that shop all those years and know nothing of it.”
Camille’s defenses began to rise. Heat flushed her neck. Her cheeks. “I am not a liar, Mr. Darbin. And regardless of how many times you ask me, my answer will not change.”
She looked to Mr. Gilchrist. His expression no longer seemed angry. Instead he leaned forward. Interested. Observant.
Camille whirled to face Miss Gilchrist, ignoring her injured pout. “I thank you for your kind invitation and for a lovely dinner. But I do believe it is time for me to return to Fellsworth School.”
Darbin stepped forward and took her by the arm. “But we were having such a wonderful time. Please forgive me. I will not bring up the Bevoy again. I did not expect the mention of it to upset you so.”
Camille jerked her arm away, biting back the sharp comment that sprang to her mind. She had tried so hard to remain on her best behavior, to conform to this genteel environment by concealing the rough aspects of her personality. But there was nothing genteel about Henry Darbin at the moment—or Miss Gilchrist, for that matter. It was not the mention of the ruby that had upset her, but the tactics they had employed to convince her to speak of it.
“Thank you, but I must return to the school.”
“At least let me escort you to the carriage.”
Mr. Darbin was relentless. All she wanted to do was run from the room. She tried to inch back, but the sofa prevented it.
Then Mr. Gilchrist caught her eye. He was walking toward her.
“No need, Darbin,” he said. “I shall see you to the carriage, Miss Iverness.”
The sudden interjection surprised her. But she swallowed, grateful once again for his assistance.
Mr. Darbin frowned, his brow furrowing as if he had been injured.
She made her hasty farewells and abruptly thanked her host and hostess. Mr. Gilchrist extended his arm. She rested her hand atop his sleeve.
She could feel eyes on her as she departed. The knowledge that they were watching her flamed her cheeks.
Would she never learn? She had thought she was well-acquainted with the world. So experienced. And yet, she had let herself be ambushed, and she had not even seen it coming.
The cooler air rushed her cheeks as Mr. Gilchrist led her in silence through the main hall. She could not get out of Kettering Hall soon enough. Humiliation burned bright, not so much for anything she had or hadn’t said, but because she had thought, even for a moment, that
they had welcomed her as a friend.
Suddenly, Mr. Gilchrist’s cool composure and austere presence made sense. There was no mistaking it—he had known all along what was going to happen. He must think her a fool. A naïve fool.
Neither said a word as they made their way through the hall and out to the main entrance. The tense muscles in her arm twitched as the door swung open. The rain had settled in.
The carriage was only a few steps away. One of the horses pawed impatiently at the ground, as if sensing her desire to be far away, and the driver and footmen prepared for her to enter.
She wanted him to say something as much as she feared it. He had borne witness to the remarkable changes in her life that had occurred since the day they met. It seemed absurd that she could keep any secrets from him. And yet she did.
She did not look at him as she spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Gilchrist.” She started to step down the steps to the drive, but his voice stopped her.
“Miss Iverness.”
She turned to him. But he was looking at her too deeply—as if he could read her thoughts and sense every insecurity.
She needed to put an end to this.
“Let’s not forget who I am, Mr. Gilchrist. I am well aware that tonight’s dinner was a ruse to find out what I know about the ruby. I may be only a shopkeeper’s daughter, but I am not blind to the ways of the world.”
He drew his eyebrows together. “Surely you do not think that I—”
She held up her hand, silencing him. “Please, sir, hear me out. For once and for all, please believe me. I know nothing about a ruby, nothing about a Bevoy. I had never heard of it before your family first spoke of it, and I hope I never hear of it again. And if your kindness to me has been based on the belief that I have a secret answer to help you, then you are sadly mistaken. Do not misconstrue my bluntness for ingratitude, but I must set the record straight.”
Her chest heaved as a result of her explosion of emotion.
“I believe you, Miss Iverness.” His response was calm. “And it is not because of the Bevoy that I care about you and what happens to you.”
Had she heard him correctly? Or was this more of the same tactics, an attempt to trick her into something?
He stepped closer, his musky scent of Sandalwood confusing her senses. “At first I thought you were someone who needed rescuing, I confess it. But the more I am in your company, the more I realize I was wrong. You are strong, Miss Iverness. You do not need our approval, and you owe no explanation for the situation at hand.”
She did not respond, fearing that if she did, words might slip. Words that hinted at insecurity or weakness. She had forced herself to believe for so long that if she were confident enough, she would not feel pain when offended. But it was not true.
“About what happened in there—I am sorry. I should have intervened sooner.”
She could not stop herself from staring at him. After tonight’s events, she realized how she had been tricked by Mr. Darbin and even Miss Gilchrist. She had noticed how standoffish Mr. Gilchrist had been. Did he not approve of his sister and friend’s actions?
She had been hurt by her father, injured by her mother’s rejection, and the fact that Miss Gilchrist and Mr. Darbin had wanted her company only as a means of obtaining information pained her as well. But Mr. Gilchrist seemed to pose the most dangerous threat to her. For he had found a way around the stone walls she had built around the quiet places of her heart. The places that still glimmered with hope and trust.
She wanted to tell him how she felt. If she did, she sensed, he would not turn her away. But old beliefs and defenses die hard.
Her chin was beginning to tremble. She stepped back, distancing herself from him. She climbed into the carriage without a word.
Chapter Thirty-One
After a restless night’s sleep, Camille awoke to someone shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Mrs. Langsby.
Camille rubbed her eyes and looked to the window to assess the hour. The light was still gray. “What time is it?”
“It is early, but Mr. Langsby has asked to speak with you right away.”
Camille sat up and rubbed her hand over her face. “Did he give a reason?”
“No, he just said he wanted to speak with you as soon as possible.”
Memory of the previous night came rushing back. No doubt she had angered the Gilchrists, and she knew how much influence they had over the school. Fear she was going to be dismissed wound its way around her thoughts and squeezed.
Molly flinched and rolled over in the bed as the door closed behind Mrs. Langsby. “What did she want?”
“Mr. Langsby wants to speak with me right away.”
Sleep marks creased the side of Molly’s face, and she brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I wonder why.”
Camille swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I do not know, but I had best not keep him waiting. Will you help me with my stays?”
With Molly’s help, Camille dressed quickly. She ran her brush through her hair.
“Did you have a nice time at Kettering Hall?” Molly asked. “How I should like to be invited there.”
Camille slowed her brushing. The evening, which had started out so pleasantly, had left a sour taste in her mouth. Mr. Darbin had flirted with her, only to press her for knowledge about the ruby. And had Miss Gilchrist ever really been a friend? But in truth, neither of their opinions mattered as much as that of Mr. Gilchrist.
“It was lovely,” Camille lied, not wanting to rehash the night’s events.
“When you return I want to hear all about it—what you ate, what Miss Gilchrist wore, and every single detail. Do you promise?”
Camille smiled at the woman who was quickly becoming a friend. “I promise.”
She made her way down to the superintendent’s study. Through the windows lining the stairs she saw that it was still raining. Yesterday evening’s thunder and lightning had ushered in a storm that had continued to this day and, judging by the thickness of the clouds, would not dissipate any time soon.
Camille tapped on the heavy paneled door of Mr. Langsby’s study. At his greeting, she entered the room.
“Ah, Miss Iverness,” he exclaimed, lowering his quill to its holder.
“Good morning, Mr. Langsby.”
“And how was your visit to Kettering Hall?” He pushed his papers aside and focused his attention on her.
She forced a smile. “The dinner was quite enjoyable. The Gilchrists are gracious hosts.”
“I am not surprised. They are the most generous of people. Please, do sit.”
She sat down, unable to stop her knees from wobbling.
“I had a visit from the younger Mr. Gilchrist earlier this morning, in the predawn hours. As you know, two of our children have become ill with scarlet fever, and now we might have a third. Miss Brathay indicated that you had the fever when you were a child. Since it is unlikely you will get it twice, would you be willing to help care for the children until they are well?”
Camille swallowed. The thought of a child suffering tugged at her. “Of course. I would be happy to be of any service I can.”
He smiled, satisfied with her answer. “Good. If you are certain, I will assign you temporarily to the sickroom. Miss Redburn is up there now. She has been doing nurse duty since the beginning. I am sure she will be relieved to have some assistance.”
“Thank you, sir.” Camille dropped a curtsy and left the superintendent’s study. Following his instructions, she headed for the kitchen and the back stairwell that led up to the sickroom.
Part of her felt relieved at this development. She had not left Kettering Hall on a positive note, but at least her fear of losing her position had not come to fruition. She could not feel completely relieved, however, for now she would likely be in close quarters with Mr. Gilchrist.
She closed her eyes and gave her head a quick shake as if to dislodge yesterday’s memory of him from her mind. He had been so quiet and standoffish fo
r most of the evening. But his parting words echoed in the recesses of her mind: I care about you.
Could he have really meant what he said?
She had not stayed to find out. She had not even responded to him, but instead had left in a flustered hurry. And now she would face him again.
When she arrived in the sickroom, the gray light filtered through the open window. Fresh, cool air laced with moisture puffed through the opening. She sighed with relief to see that Mr. Gilchrist was not present. Three of the beds were occupied by sleeping girls, and Miss Redburn, who had been caring for Jane from the beginning, sat in the corner, sleeping in the chair.
She crept over to Miss Redburn and shook her shoulder to tell her she was relieving her for the time being. At first she did not respond. Camille shook her shoulder again.
It was only when the woman finally woke and shifted that Camille noted the telltale redness on the woman’s brow.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When Jonathan arrived at Fellsworth School in the afternoon, his worse fear had been confirmed: two new cases of scarlet fever. One of newly stricken was a teacher—Miss Redburn, who had been assisting with the sick children from the beginning. Miss Iverness had replaced her. And so far she had proved a dutiful nurse.
She wore her teaching dress of black linen, just as she had last night at Kettering Hall, only today she wore an apron of white mull over her gown. As always, the shiny watch was pinned to her bodice. But instead of a chignon, her hair had been woven into a long braid over her shoulder. Long ebony wisps had pulled loose from the plait, and she looked much more like the woman he had rescued. The long sleeves of her gown were rolled up to her elbows, and the thinner bandage on her forearm shone white against her tawny skin.
Earlier, when the children were awake, she had sat on a chair among them and read them stories. But now two children and Miss Redburn slept, and Miss Iverness was leaning over the third, a girl named Laura, wiping the child’s brow with a cool cloth.
As he worked alongside her during the afternoon, Jonathan tried to keep his thoughts focused on his work, not on the night before. It had been a difficult evening for him. He had wanted to strangle both Darbin and his sister for the manner in which they treated Miss Iverness. Even now, he could not keep from chastising himself for not intervening sooner.
The Curiosity Keeper Page 21
