The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 5

  I looked back at the glorious stained window held captive between the two small turrets and crowned by the tallest turret, and drew a deep breath of the invigorating salty breeze coming from the bay. My practical spirit soared with wonder at the change in my life. The colors of the late spring’s flowers rivaled those within the stained glass. Bluebells and gladiolas danced behind rows of red, gold, purple, and pink flowers, but were just colorful frames for what would soon be the garden’s crowning glory—hundreds of lush green rosebushes laden with a multitude of buds.

  A massive white marble fountain graced the center of the garden in the form of a delicate angel. With her protective wings spread wide, she presided joyfully over the surrounding beauty. I promised myself to return with my sketchbook as soon as I could, hoping that before the roses lost their blooms to the fall, I’d be able to afford paints to put this glory upon paper.

  The breeze from the bay tugged at wisps of my hair, pulling them from my bun, which had been loosened by Benedict Trevelyan’s hand after my fall. I thought it rather unseemly, but I felt too free, too delighted in the morning, to worry with fixing my bun.

  “You lieded to me. There’s no mothers out here.” Robert stamped his foot upon the cobblestone walkway, but there was more disappointment than petulance in his voice.

  Returning my attention to the task before me, I turned to the little boy. Rather than chastise him, I wanted to hug him tight, to ease the pain I heard crying from his heart. I had to wrap my fingers into the folds of my skirt to stop myself. Instinctively, I knew that though he wanted love, he wouldn’t welcome it from a stranger. I smiled at him instead, which set him off balance, for I think he expected to be reprimanded. “Then you must not be able to see anything at all, Master Robert, because there are dozens of mothers all around us. Why, all of these flowers and plants had to have a mommy sometime.” Robert didn’t look impressed.

  Walking over to a wispy web stretching between the leaves of two flowering gladiolas, I pointed to a tiny sac cleverly hidden in one corner. “Do you know what is in there?”

  “No.”Robert scrunched his nose and moved closer to the web. Justin rolled his eyes as if he knew everything there was to know.

  “Master Justin, while I tell Robert about the mother spider and her babies, why don’t you hunt up another example for us to study.”

  Justin blinked, much the same way as his father did when confronted with the unexpected. The endearing reaction brought a warm smile to my lips and set off a distant tinkling of what might be warning bells. Surely I couldn’t be so impractical as to develop a fondness for anything that Benedict Trevelyan did. I quickly turned to Robert to avoid any excuse Justin might offer, and refused to believe that I was escaping from my own thoughts, too.

  When I pointed out the little sac where spider babies hid, Robert beamed with interest.

  “How many babies are in there?”

  “Quite a few, I should think. Some spider mommies can have hundreds.”

  “Really? That many in there?”

  “They are very tiny.”

  His dark eyes grew big. Then he frowned and leaned closer to the web, nearly planting his nose in it. “Where is the mommy spider?”

  Oh, dear. I’d stumbled onto a problem. Once laying eggs, some spiders moved on or died. What if there was no mommy spider? I examined the web closely, too. “We will have to look for her tomorrow. The spider mommy left all the babies wrapped up in a soft blanket, and inside there she left them food, too.”

  “How?” Robert asked.

  “She worked hard to spin this big web, and then she waited. When a fat juicy insect flew into her trap, she didn’t gobble him up for herself. She tied up the bug, put her spider eggs next to it, and made them safe with her own special blanket.”

  “Miss Lovell.”

  I looked up to see Justin waving from near the end of the gardens. He stood beneath the full boughs of a sturdy oak with a smile as big as a plum pie. I assumed that he’d found a bird nest.

  “Let’s go see Master Justin,” I said, lightly touching Robert’s shoulder.

  Justin had found an ant nest. Robert glared at it.“There’s no mommies and babies in there. There’s only mean ants.”

  I remembered how formidable I’d thought ants were when I was little. “Ants have a mommy who has thousands of babies. So, yes, there’s a mommy in the nest, thousands of babies; and all the ants you see running about are working to feed and protect the mommy ant and her babies.”

  Expressing his boredom, Justin picked up a stick and started drawing circles in a patch of dirt nearby.

  Robert studied the anthill for a moment. “Does the mommy ant leave the babies or stay with them?”

  “She stays with them.”

  “That’s nice,” Robert said.

  Justin came over and stabbed the stick into the anthill.

  “There,”he said.“Now the mommy will leave just like ours.”

  I stepped back from the angry, scurrying ants, pulling Robert with me.

  “You killed the mommy,” Robert shouted. Then, slipping from my grasp, he went after Justin with his fists flying.

  Justin yelled, and Robert cried. Any minute they’d both topple into the ants.

  “Hold it,” I shouted, but I might as well have been speaking to a washboard. About that time, I saw Benedict Trevelyan exit the manor. Panic raced up my spine, rendering my bones to water. Please God. I could not have this situation be his first impression of my teaching abilities.

  Driven to desperation, I let out a shrill whistle that would have rivaled cannon fire. I daresay they had never heard a lady whistle before, especially not with such volume. I had definitely gotten their attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Benedict Trevelyan quicken his pace in our direction. I stabbed at my hair, stuffing it any way I could to form some semblance of a proper bun.

  “Master Justin, put down that stick immediately. Being older means having the intelligence to be kind to those around you. After I speak to your father, you and I will discuss this incident. You will be given the opportunity to explain yourself, and that explanation had better be good.

  “Master Robert, dry your tears and straighten your attire to greet your father. The mother ant lives deep in the ground, as do the babies, and they are most likely undisturbed by Master Justin’s thoughtless action. You must realize that growing bigger carries the responsibility to carefully consider your actions even in the face of provocation. Twice today, you have created havoc. The first incident has cost you a full dinner. I would hate to see you pay a second price today.”

  I knew Benedict Trevelyan had to be getting close to us, so I launched into a quick lesson about sound. The diversion would give us all a moment to collect ourselves. Both my new charges carried hurts that would need a great deal of love and understanding to heal, and the task daunted me.

  “Now, sirs. I must hear each of you whistle.” Robert’s attempt was a soundless puff of air. Justin’s had more sound, but nothing to brag about.

  “You both need a lot of work if you’re going to learn how to whistle like a man with salt.”

  “What’s a man with salt?” Robert asked.

  I’d learned the expression from Captain Balder, who’d taught me navigation. He’d use it to describe a good ship hand. I knew that Benedict Trevelyan had to be within hearing distance, and failure loomed over me. I hadn’t been hired to teach the boys how to whistle and to characterize men as salts. “Why, a man who is, well, uh, a man who is—”

  “Worthy?” Benedict Trevelyan inquired from just behind my left shoulder.

  He stopped close enough by my side that I felt his body’s heat and smelled hints of sandalwood and leather flavoring the air. Sensing the force of his direct scrutiny, my heart wrangled with my mind as to which would function properly.

  “Exactly,” I concurred as I thanked my mind for winning and chastised my heart for its fluttering ways. “In order to whistle, you must first understand the dynamics
of sound. When you whistle, sound is created by how much air you push through how little a space. To accomplish this you must align your lips and tongue just right.” I demonstrated another whistle, though not as loud as my last.

  The boys tried again, and were encouraged by the slight improvement in their sound-making capabilities. As they practiced, I turned to Benedict Trevelyan.

  “We were just about to go in for a lesson in mathematics,” I finished lamely. I thought I’d sufficiently braced myself for the strength of his presence, but I found my breath catch in my throat again as I tilted my head up to see him.

  Sunlight gleamed off his dark hair and the rich brown of his coat with a vibrancy that matched his eyes. He neither smiled nor frowned, so I did not know what he thought of our activity. His gaze left mine and studied the boys for a moment.

  In the full light of the sun, the shadow of his beard darkened his face, and I imagined that the feel of his determined jaw would be as interestingly rough as his coat would be luxuriantly soft. Again I dug my fingers into the folds of my skirts, stilling my urge to touch, then belatedly noticed he’d returned his attention to me. He glanced down at my hands wrapped so tightly in my skirt and quirked his brow, but thankfully made no comment upon my odd behavior. I knew I had to be horribly wrinkling my dress.

  “You need to know that the cliffs are forbidden to the children. Near the edge the ground can be unstable, and most any fall would be fatal.”

  “Thank you. I will make sure the children stay safe.” About that moment a gust of wind undid my hasty bun, and my hair blew across my face, blinding me. Before I could reach up, Benedict Trevelyan drew his finger down the side of my face, catching the errant tress in his fingers.

  “Yourself, also,” he said, taking me by surprise. He didn’t release my hair immediately, but slid his thumb across the strands several times, as if relishing the texture of my hair for a moment, before easing the tress behind my ear. I tingled in every place he touched, which made every place forbidden to his touch ache. My curiosity over the mysteries between a man and a woman grew tenfold within a moment’s time. It would seem gloves were going to be very little protection from Benedict Trevelyan’s touch, for I realized my need was as potent as his appeal.

  Perhaps I should have taken offense at his momentary familiarity, but besides my mother and Mr. McGuire, few in this bustling town of ever-increasing strangers had expressed concern for my well-being. Though I held all life sacred, such was not the reality of the West. I had no illusions as to the harshness of life, and his words and gesture touched me inside, easing the loneliness.

  He stepped back from me, shaking his head as if to dispel his thoughts, and I drew a deep breath.

  “Justin and Robert, do not forget your punishments this evening,” he said curtly, then turned and strode purposefully toward the stables.

  The boys’ whistling efforts immediately fell flat, and the yearning for their father’s approval on their faces reminded me of newborn babes crying for help. Benedict Trevelyan had either ignored his sons’ needs or had walked away oblivious to them. I felt the kernel of warmth that his concern for my welfare had instilled turn cold, and I wondered if there weren’t more hazardous things than crumbling cliffs in a child’s life.

  This thought tempered my words as I addressed their earlier skirmish. I took care not to delve into Robert’s hunger for a mother and Justin’s resentment that he didn’t have one just yet. I felt those issues—though the root of their problems—would be best discussed when I knew them better. So, after giving Justin the opportunity to explain, during which he remained sullenly silent, I admonished them lightly on gentlemanly conduct, and we wound our way back through the gardens. The boys ran ahead, breaking into a little game of tag. I slowed my pace to afford them more time to play, glad to see a bit of their natural exuberance coming back to life.

  As I walked, I looked up, seeking another glimpse of the magnificent stained glass. I froze mid-step, and my blood drained in a rush even as fear twisted inside me. Framed in the tallest turret’s window, almost as if she were about to jump, stood a beautiful woman.

  4

  The breeze from the bay ruffled her white gown and black hair in a ghostly sway. I lifted my hand to her, trying to force my voice through the tightness of my throat.“Don’t,” I cautioned her, wanting to stop her from falling or jumping.

  I knew not what she intended. But she did not hear me. I was too far away. Her gaze remained focused upon the horizon, a picture of winsome sadness, of tragedy.

  Glancing over my shoulder to see what absorbed her so thoroughly, I realized that she stared toward the bay beyond the dark cliffs, as if looking for a ship from the sea. When I turned back, the woman had disappeared. Fear gripped me as I rushed past the bushes to see the ground beneath the turret’s window. Bloodred roses, a large neat grouping of them, lay under the window, mocking my imagination. I shuddered, wondering if I had seen the woman at all.

  No, I thought, stiffening my spine as I entered the manor house in search of Justin and Robert. I would not doubt myself. Yet the incident left me shaken and testy. Dobbs stood inside the house, near the doorway, a jackal ready to pounce.“Miss Low—”

  “Lovell, but I am willing to make an allowance for your apparent forgetfulness. You may call me Miss L. That shouldn’t be difficult. It is spelled M… I… S… S… L and pronounced exactly—”

  “Miss Lovell!” Dobbs’s voice cut through the room, and he flinched, apparently mortified at his loss of composure. I seriously doubted he’d forget my name again. I had the satisfaction of seeing his face mottle to a dark purple before he collected himself and spoke through clenched teeth. “Are you or are you not presently in charge of Masters Justin and Robert?”

  “Of course. We are moving from our outside studies to the schoolroom. Do you have a problem, Mr. Dobbs?”

  “No, Miss Lovell. You have a problem. They just ran obnoxiously through the house like—”

  “Children,” I said, preempting whatever colorful analogy he’d been about to utter. “I will speak to them about restraining their enthusiasm for life to outdoor play. But it would behoove you to remember that Masters Justin and Robert are young boys of a tender age and in need of fun and affection.”

  I turned from him, intending to make my way to the schoolroom, praying I’d find Justin and Robert there and not engaging in further mischief. Three steps away, I recalled the woman in the window. I spoke to Dobbs’s back, for he was exiting the room in the opposite direction. “Mr. Dobbs, perhaps you can tell me. I saw a woman in the center turret’s window. She had long black hair and wore a white dressing gown as if she were ill. Who is she?”

  Dobbs’s purple hue blanched white. “Mrs. Trevelyan’s death and her ghost are forbidden subjects to the servants in this household. No one is ever permitted in that turret. It has been sealed off from everyone since her death. I suggest you keep your fancifulness to yourself if you value your job. Good day, Miss Lovell.”

  He couldn’t have dealt me a more shocking blow if he had felled me with his fist. Mrs. Trevelyan, as in the deceased Francesca Trevelyan? Her ghost? Good Lord. She must have jumped from that tower, and the realization cast a shadow over my castle-like image of the manor, that of knights, and ladies, and dragons.

  My practicality shouted that I’d seen a flesh-and-blood woman, not a ghostly apparition or even a figment of my imagination, and the incident plagued me throughout the day. I kept Justin and Robert busy. We studied mathematics and science and reviewed the not-too-distant past events that enabled California to qualify for statehood, and then they each chose a game to teach me how to play. They needed to know that I loved to learn, too. That I was willing to listen to them and thought they had something important to say.

  Benedict Trevelyan didn’t appear again, and I didn’t turn Justin and Robert over to their nurse until they were ready for bed after they’d gotten their bread and water—plus a bowl of gravy for dipping purposes, thanks to the cook
.

  Cook Thomas, I found, was a jovial man who’d spent many years at sea. He had a girth as big as his laugh and a kind nature that reminded me of Captain Balder. I was surprised to learn he’d been Benedict Trevelyan’s cook when Benedict Trevelyan had captained a ship by the name of Freedom. In fact, according to Cook Thomas, a number of Benedict Trevelyan’s crew who’d been injured or too old to find work on another ship worked for him here. This bit of information intrigued me, for it hinted that the master of Trevelyan Hill wasn’t as merciless as he appeared. Yet I could very readily picture him at the helm of a large ship, unbending as he headed into a violent storm with an iron-clad determination that gave no quarter for weaknesses. A determination that was as unsinkable as the Monitor and Merrimack had proved to be during the recent War between the North and the South—an event that hadn’t touched our lives in the West as deeply as the building of the railroad or the discovery of gold.

  Unlike Dobbs and Maria, Cook Thomas didn’t fit with the darkness of the manor house and its master, and the incongruity made me wonder if Benedict Trevelyan was as implacable as he seemed. For the very first thing Cook Thomas did was to ease the severity of Benedict Trevelyan’s punishment by giving the boys gravy to go with their bread. His care of Justin and Robert warmed me and won my heart. The children and I lingered in the kitchen, listening to stories of the perils of the sea, for a long time. I didn’t return Justin and Robert to their nurse’s care until late, leaving myself very little time to prepare for dinner. Entertaining and teaching the children left me as worn as a miner’s breeches, but I didn’t regret my new path in life. I found the day’s work so much more satisfying than a mound of laundry.