The Mistress of Trevelyan Read online

  Either I had gotten lost in my astonishment or Dobbs had decided to abandon me in the hall, for the next thing I knew Benedict Trevelyan stood in front of me with a puzzled frown on his face.

  “Miss Lovell, my time is limited. Do you wish to speak with me or not?”

  “Yes, of course. Please forgive me, but I have never before seen anything so magnificent.”

  He spun in a circle, his gaze traveling the room. “I suppose the furnishings are impressive. It is not something to which I give much notice.”

  I shook my head. “No, not the room.” I pointed to the stained glass. “The windows. They are like heaven itself.” Each of the windows depicted a choir of angels singing to a Christ rising through the clouds. As I held out my hand, I realized little spots of color—reds, blues, purples, and greens—danced over my skin, masking its work-worn redness. “Look, they paint you with their beauty.” My hand truly felt beautiful within the colored light.

  “So they do.” His voice dropped deeper, catching my attention.

  I’d forgotten I still held his employment advertisement. He pulled the paper from my fingers. Unable to look him in the eye, I focused on his large hands as he smoothed out the creases. I found myself wondering what strength lay in such powerful hands.

  He stood silent too long. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t let a stolen notice rob me of all that I had to offer. I had to say something on my behalf.“Do you not find the facets of light amazing?” I moved my hand through the colored beams filtering into the hall. “The hues hidden within its waves. Its warmth. Its refractivity. Its beauty. Why, one could spend a lifetime discovering more about its miracles. I have often wondered what it would have been like to be Newton or Huygens. To have made some of the discoveries they did in their scientific studies.”

  “I think you would have found them to be very lonely men, Miss Lovell. The world doesn’t take kindly to new theories. Not until long after the discoverer is dead.”

  I met his gaze then and could not look away. He stared at me intently, his eyes unreadable and as dark as a starless night.

  After an uncomfortable moment, he cleared his throat. “I have a pressing appointment, Miss Lovell, and very little time for musings. Your ten minutes are dwindling.”

  “Of course.” I followed him into his office. Deep wood tones dominated the decor—paneled walls, heavy curtained windows, huge shelves of dark leather-bound books, and a massive mahogany desk.

  The master of Trevelyan Hill didn’t appear to be a lover of light. I found the room as oppressive as a mound of laundry.

  My relief that he said nothing of the notice I’d stolen was minimal. The man radiated tension, and I felt it seeping into me. I clenched my jaw and washed my mind with a good dose of practicality. Nerves would not feed me.

  He sat behind his desk and, with a curt nod of his head, motioned me to a burgundy leather chair facing him. I thankfully perched upon the seat.

  Tossing the advertisement down on the desk amid the neat stacks of paper, he picked up a writing instrument and slid a pad in front of him. “Why don’t we start with the name of your schooling institution?”

  My stomach quivered. I’d planned to cite my mother’s school in England, but now that the moment to lie had arrived, my mouth had gone numb. I bit down on my tongue, hoping to bring feeling back as I sent another prayer toward heaven. I had more to give than the name of an institution, and it was up to me to make him see that. “Sir, if I may. I have several questions first.”

  He blinked.

  Wincing, I pressed on before he could. “If my information is right, your children are young yet?”

  He placed the pen back into the inkwell and with deliberate slowness leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and glared at me. The hard set of his jaw told me I was about to be dismissed.

  Perspiration beaded my lip. Throat dry, I swallowed and clenched my hands in my lap, blessing the inner kernel of determination that bolstered me. I had to stay strong—my future depended on it.

  “Miss Lovell, I do not have time to—”

  “Please,” I said, softly but firmly.

  “They are five and seven,” he finally said after a long pause. Rather than easing, the tension between us increased.

  “They are very young and without a mother. Might I inquire as to your reasons for particularly wanting a male tutor during this time as opposed to a governess?”

  His lips pressed to a grim line, and I bit my bottom lip hard, already hearing my dismissal. My action drew his attention, and he stared at my mouth. The seconds seemed to grow longer as the tension in the room shifted from impatient antagonism to a physical awareness similar to the moment he kissed my hand. The heat of his regard made me much more aware of everything feminine within me, parts of myself I’d never given the least bit of attention.

  I slowly released my lip, then curled my toes, welcoming the pinch of my boots. We both seemed to draw a deep breath at the same time.

  Instead of asking me to leave, he slanted his head to one side and lifted his eyebrow, apparently deciding to humor me. “My boys are high-spirited and unruly. I think they need a firm hand.”

  “A gentle hand can also be firm.”

  “That has not been the case with their nurse.”

  “Because one person does not have a certain skill doesn’t mean another person is equally lacking.”

  “True.” His response was slow, as if dragged from him.

  “Are there more reasons?”

  “Dozens. It has been my experience that women have little patience for science and mathematics. They focus on fashion and parties as opposed to academics.”

  “True of some women,” I conceded. “But not true of all, especially of me.” To prove my point, I motioned to my starkly plain attire.

  “So I see,” he said dryly.

  Though I had invited the criticism, the remark still burned.

  “Miss Lovell, why don’t you tell me in as few words as possible what you can offer my children over and above a tutor.”

  I closed my eyes, determined to state my case.“I hope to teach your children what my many teachers taught me. To love learning. To have a thirst for the next book that will take you to a new land. To have a curiosity and desire to press forward to uncover a new fact or invent a new thing. All the humdrum memorization of lessons can never be as valuable as that.”

  “Well put, but where does discipline fit into all this enthusiasm?”

  “I cannot answer that, for each child is unique. Each child must be studied, encouraged, and if need be, admonished at his own level.” I met his gaze steadily. He seemed to mull over my words. The more I gave voice to the feelings and ideas inside me, the stronger I felt.

  “Tell me, Miss Lovell. Where did you come by this philosophy of education?”

  “I learned what I know from my mother, from the many people of varied knowledge to whom she bartered her services as a laundress so that I would be educated. I learned much the same way as Abraham Lincoln did. Anything I want to know, anywhere I want to go, a book can take me.”

  “And you think this knowledge you have independently acquired would be more beneficial to my children than a man with the accreditation of a learned institution behind him?”

  My heart sank at his incredulous tone. “At this point in your children’s development, I most assuredly can offer them something that no institution can give, no matter how learned. It is called heart, Mr. Trevelyan.”

  He stood.

  I stood, knowing that without credentials I had no hope for employment here. Benedict Trevelyan appeared too rigid to consider my unorthodox education. “I thank you for your time, Mr. Trevelyan, and I wish you luck in your search for a proper tutor.”

  “One more question, Miss Lovell. Your parents? How do they feel about you seeking employment here? I am not completely unaware of the whispers behind my back.”

  “I had a mother only, Mr. Trevelyan. So I am well versed in ignoring whispers. Sh
e cannot give her opinion. She recently passed away. Good day.”

  His voice stopped me at the door. “Be here at eight tomorrow morning, Miss Lovell. I will employ you on a trial basis until you’ve proven yourself capable. If at any time I find you are not being beneficial to my children’s development, I will find another to replace you. Expect me to appear and observe your methods of teaching without warning, for I will be evaluating their progress frequently. Your salary will be in keeping with the current rate for teachers here in San Francisco, payable at the end of each month with Saturdays and half-day Sundays off. Room and board are included with the position, as I think having the teacher available to coordinate my children’s development more important than just a few hours a day. I want them to be as well rounded in their education as money can buy. That goes from music to languages as well. If you are not particularly adept at something, then I expect you to hire someone who is, and to participate in that lesson enough to know my child is learning. I have high expectations, Miss Lovell. Have I made myself clear?”

  Gratitude flooded my emotions, and I dared not face him.“Perfectly clear, Mr. Trevelyan.”

  I hurried across the hall, feeling as if I would either laugh or cry at any moment.

  Dobbs had a haughty look on his face that was drenched in satisfaction. I held on to my composure long enough to speak to him before I sailed out of the doorway. “See you tomorrow morning, Mr. Dobbs. You will be a joy to work with.” My voice rang out loudly.

  An amused snort echoed from the office I had just left, and Dobbs paled to the point that I thought he would faint. Smiling, I stepped out into the sunshine, wondering if I would too. I felt light-headed, as if I was floating in the air.

  My feet carried me across the street to Holloway Park, to the brightly flowered gardens and sharp scents of marigolds, geraniums, and bluebells. I walked beneath the shady oaks, feeling the soft, springy grass and remembering the past. The birds chirped. The children played. And a light breeze, flavored with the salt and the fish of the bay, trifled with the leaves and then teased the wisps of my hair as it danced by, looking for mischief. The tension wrought so tightly with in me for so long eased.

  My mother hadn’t given me fancy dresses or a pretty face, but she’d given me something even more valuable. She’d given me her love. I had always known that. But today I realized that in that love, she’d given me another precious gift—belief in myself, in my worth as a person.

  “Thank you,” I cried out to the sun, for I knew she watched from heaven, and the warmth of her spirit wrapped around me.

  Yesterday, after placing wildflowers on my mother’s two-week-old grave, I’d returned to our small shack to finish that day’s laundry. Yet once there, I’d found myself unable to clean the mounds of dirty clothes. The bleakness of my future had stared me in the eye. I would have to wash baskets of clothes to feed myself—just as I had helped my mother do since I was four.

  The thought of spending another twenty years the way I had spent the last twenty made me shiver with dread, and all of my practicality deserted me. My soul cried for a new book to lose my sorrows in, and I turned right around and went to Mr. McGuire’s Bookstore in town.

  I never made it into the store. For as I stood outside trying to blink away my tears, Benedict Trevelyan’s employment advertisement had come into focus, as had my destiny. I knew at that moment that I would find a way to teach, and I had.

  Tomorrow I would return to Trevelyan Hill, to the mysterious manor that had called to me for so long. Soon I’d be able to explore what lay behind its intriguing facade.

  I turned to study its turrets and spires from afar, and my thoughts strayed again to the master of the manor. Was he capable of murder?

  I rubbed my wrist, remembering the feel of his lips upon my skin, remembering the tenor of his voice and his disturbing size. Deep inside me heat tingled, making a little ache flutter to life.

  I knew that once I passed through the demon-carved portal tomorrow, my life would be forever changed, but there was no going back. My thirst to know more was too strong. I could not deny myself this, no matter what dangers lay ahead. I imagine my yearnings were akin to those that had driven explorers to the sea and pioneers to the West.

  But, I thought, as I recalled the feel of Benedict Trevelyan’s hand within mine and the touch of his lips, I would definitely buy a pair of gloves. Of that there was no doubt.

  As the afternoon sun drew closer to the western horizon, painting the sky a swirl of pinks and yellows, I again found myself in front of McGuire’s Bookstore. Walking out to Trevelyan Hill and back into town had left a coating of dust upon me, yet the time I spent at Holloway Park had my spirit feeling renewed, like a flower after a spring rain. Not even the impersonal hustle and bustle of people rushing to the shops, banks, and saloons—something that usually made me feel lonely—could dampen my spirit. My life had changed, and I yearned to tell someone of its wondrous new direction.

  I stepped through the door to the tinkling of tiny bells and a squawking “How now, Spirit!” from Puck the Parrot as he announced my arrival.

  Mr. McGuire was just as I always found him, perched on a high stool at his desk, engrossed in a book. As always, his desk was a precarious pyramid of novels and papers with only a small corner clear on which to rest the current tome he read. I greeted Puck with a soft coo, brushing his red and green plumes with the back of my hand, then cleared my throat twice before I got Mr. McGuire’s attention.

  His face broke into a wreath of kind wrinkles when he saw me. “Ah, lass, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve something for ye.” He stood, absently pushing his bifocals in place on his pebble nose and tucking his few wisps of silver hair back atop his shiny head.

  “Something to read?” The greediness in my voice should have shamed me, but I fear that when it came to books, I had none.

  “I go, I go, look how I go!” Puck, sensing my enthusiasm, answered in kind. The colorful bird quoted Shakespeare, most often the fairy character after which he was named.

  Mr. McGuire shook his head as if mystified. “How did you ever guess?”

  I smiled at the game we had played before and dutifully replied by rote.“I saw it in my crystal ball?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “A bird whispered it in my ear?”

  He moved over to Puck, close to where I stood, and gave the parrot half of a hardened biscuit. After a long moment he spoke.“Possibly.”

  I blinked in surprise. My mother and I had come when we could to McGuire’s Bookstore, using whatever spare monies we had to buy one of the bound treasures from his shelves. And over the years affection had grown between us. Were I able to choose a grandfather, Mr. McGuire, his Scottish burr, and all of his absentminded clutter would be mine. I would never forget the thrill that had gone through my ten-year-old heart the first time he said he had a surprise for me. Always before at this point in our game, when I’d said a bird whispered in my ear, Mr. McGuire would fuss at Puck for giving away secrets. That Mr. McGuire had changed his response now gave me pause. I didn’t know what to say next.

  Concern deepened his bleary blue eyes. “Your mother’s illness and death has sorrowed me greatly. I’ve lived through losing most of those I hold dear, so I know a good bit of how ye have been feeling. I imagine you’ve been a mite lonely.”

  My mother’s death had left a huge void in my life, and this dear old man’s caring put a comforting arm about me. “You always understand.”

  He sighed. “Remember me saying a close friend of mine was a professor at the University of Edinburgh? Thomas Stewart Traill, to name him.”

  I nodded my head.

  “He died back in ’62 and willed me what he considered his greatest work. He’d had the honor of editing the Encyclopædia Britannica and gave a copy of the set to me. I want you to have them.”

  My soul sang at the possibility of having so much knowledge and learning at my fingertips. I didn’t know which had flown open wider, my eyes or my
mouth. For Mr. McGuire to give me so great a gift told me that he cared for me as deeply as I secretly cared for him. I could not stop the shower of tears that started to fall.

  Looking confused, Mr. McGuire drew his white brows into high arcs above his bifocals.“Now, I meant to cheer ye.” He patted my back.

  “You have,” I cried. “But you give too much. I could not possibly accept something so valuable.”

  “Humph. That’s nothing but nonsense, lass. I’m an old man with none but myself to care for, and I have a mind to see knowledge passed into loving hands before I die.”

  My breath caught, and I studied his wise features through my tears. I did not see any hint of illness lurking about his age-worn body, but I dabbed at my eyes and looked again. I had to be sure. He appeared as well as ever, and I released my pent breath to argue.“But—”

  “I’ll not be accepting any buts now. Come and take a wee look at them.”

  The moment I saw the box of leather-bound wisdom, I knew I was lost. Awe filled me, and tied my tongue as I fingered the gold-leaf lettering upon the spines. These treasures had come straight from Edinburgh, the very birthplace of the first edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica.

  I could almost feel the information flow into my fingertips and fever my blood. A plan of instruction slowly formed in my mind. I would teach Benedict Trevelyan’s boys everything in these revered pages. Little by little I would read the subjects and bring them to the level that a child might understand. Benedict Trevelyan had high expectations. I would be thorough. I turned to Mr. McGuire and impulsively hugged him hard.“I cannot find the words to even begin to thank you.”

  A blush rose upon his leathered cheeks, and a merry twinkle lit his watery blue eyes. “Ye can thank me by reading them.”

  “Oh, I will, I will, a thousand times. I will start this very night, and tomorrow I will stun Mr. Trevelyan with the lessons I have in mind for his sons.”

  The light of happiness in Mr. McGuire’s eyes turned to alarm.“What is this you say?”