Whisper Of Darkness

Joanna gulped. ‘I can get another job, Mr Sheldon.’

‘Can you?’

He pushed back his own chair now and stood up, dark and intimidating in the rapidly fading light. It was obviously later than she had thought, and the prospect of making her way back to the road and possibly having to thumb a lift back to Penrith was a daunting one. But she would not stay here to be insulted, not by a man who in his rough shirt and waistcoat and mud-splattered corded pants looked more like a gipsy than anything else.

‘I suggest, Miss Seton, that you reconsider,’ he said now. ‘Perhaps I was—hard on you, but you have to understand, it’s over two years since I had any—polite conversation. As to your abilities to teach Anya, that’s something we have both to consider. However, I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt, provided you are prepared to do the same.’

It was scarcely an apology. On the contrary, it was more in the nature of a concession, as if he was overlooking her insolence.

‘I really don’t think I can stay here, Mr Sheldon,’ she insisted, glancing round at the shabby chairs, the equally shabby carpet. ‘I—well, I was misinformed. Your sister told my godmother that your daughter needed eighteen months’ preparation for boarding school. Having seen the child for myself, I suggest her estimate was vastly underrated.’

‘The challenge is too much for you, then?’ he remarked scornfully. ‘I had heard you had spirit, the only evident point in your favour. Apparently that was overrated.’

Joanna’s lips compressed, tom by the conflicting desire to prove to this man that he was wrong, and the conviction that she should leave now before any further humiliation was heaped upon her.

As she hesitated, groping for words, there was a tap on the half-open door behind her, and a slovenly-looking woman appeared in the aperture. Jake Sheldon seemed resigned, but not impatient, at the interruption, and arched black brows above those startling tawny eyes.

‘Yes, Mrs Harris?’

‘What time will you be wanting your supper, sir,’ she enquired, casting a look of avid curiosity in Joanna’s direction, so that she was firmly convinced that was the only reason the woman had appeared. ‘Anya’s tucking into hers in the kitchen, right this minute, but I wondered whether you and the—er—young lady——’

‘Anya’s doing what!’

The thunderous tones obviously cowed the cook—housekeeper?—as much as they shocked Joanna. With a muffled oath her would-be employer strode angrily across the room, disappearing out the door without a backward glance. It was left to Joanna to exchange an awkward glance with Mrs Harris, and they both waited in anxious anticipation for what would happen next.

They did not have long to wait. Seconds later, the silence was broken by a scream of indignation, and two pairs of footsteps could be heard approaching from the kitchens, and then receding up the stairs. These sounds were accompanied by more of the choking sobs Anya had emitted earlier, and the low harsh admonishment of Jake Sheldon’s not unattractive tones.

Mrs Harris waited until they were out of earshot, and then said confidentially: ‘A proper tearaway, that young Anya is, and no mistake. What’s she done now? Why was Mr Sheldon so angry, just ‘cos she was having her supper?’

Joanna licked her dry lips. ‘I—I really don’t know,’ she lied, wishing perversely that Jake Sheldon would hurry and come back, and Mrs Harris’s bony arms folded across her flat bosom.

‘You going to stay then?’ she enquired, apparently determined to make the most of her employer’s absence. ‘I shouldn’t, if I was you. No place for a nicely brought up young lady, this isn’t. And if you expect to make any headway with that limb of Satan,’ she dipped her head significantly in the direction of the door, ‘then you can think again. Three ladies there’ve been, real nice ladies, like yourself. Maybe a bit older, but all with proper qualifications, you know. All gone! Every one of them. Wouldn’t put up with that besom for more than a couple of weeks at a time. Drummed out of school, she was. Been to four schools since she and her father came here, but none of them would keep her. Troublemaker, that’s what they said, nothing but trouble——’

‘Really, Mrs—Harris, is it?’ Joanna had to stop her somehow, ‘I don’t think you ought to be telling me all this. I—er—if I decide not to stay, it won’t be because of anything you’ve said.’

‘But you are thinking of it, then?’ Mrs Harris had heard the note of indecision in her voice. ‘Don’t blame you. Living in this Godforsaken place.’

She pronounced God as Gawd, obviously in no way offended by Joanna’s attempt to silence her. She was a garrulous old gossip, and Joanna’s mother wouldn’t have had her in the house for more than five minutes, but apparently Jake Sheldon had no such misgivings.

‘Mrs Harris …’ Joanna was beginning again, when heavy footsteps sounded once more on the stairs. Evidently Mr Sheldon was returning, and her voice trailed away as he strode back into the room.

‘You may leave us, Mrs Harris,’ he said shortly, seemingly irritated to find her still there. ‘You can serve supper in half an hour. Whether Miss Seton chooses to join me or not is immaterial. Lay a place, just in case.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The woman cast another glance in Joanna’s direction, before going out of the room. Her look was speculative, as if she was mentally calculating whether Joanna would tell her employer what she had been saying, but there was no apprehension in her gaze. Obviously she was not afraid of losing her position, and Joanna could only assume that she had good reason for feeling secure.

With the older woman’s departure, Jake Sheldon’s gaze turned to Joanna once again, and there was weariness as well as impatience in his expression now.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘Do I take it you’ve decided to leave? If so, then I’d better run you into Ravensmere in the Rover. I believe there’s a bus to Penrith in half an hour. I doubt you’ll get a train to London tonight, but the Station Hotel will likely find you a room.’

Joanna hesitated. ‘The child—Antonia; where is she?’

‘In bed,’ he declared indifferently. ‘Nursing her pride, I imagine.’

‘You hit her?’ Joanna couldn’t keep the note of unease out of her voice.

‘She had it coming,’ he replied laconically. ‘And if you’re feeling guilty because of it, forget it. Please don’t imagine it places you under any obligation to stay.’

Joanna sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘No?’ He sounded sceptical. ‘I should have thought after what Mrs Harris must have told you, you’d have been standing on the doorstep, your suitcase in your hand.’

‘Mrs Harris never——’ But after a moment, Joanna broke off, realising there was no point in lying to him. ‘That is—I don’t listen to gossip.’

‘Don’t you?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders rather jadedly. ‘You mean you didn’t hear about the other governesses who have tried and failed to discipline my daughter, or the numerous schools I’ve sent Anya to in an effort to improve her education.’

Joanna frowned. ‘Why do you call her Anya? I understood her name was Antonia.’

‘It is.’ He sounded bored with the conversation, but he explained. ‘When she was just learning to talk, she couldn’t say her own name. The consonant was beyond her. She used to call herself An-ia. We—that is, my wife and I—used to call her that, too, and over the years it’s been turned into Anya.’

‘I see.’ It had been a silly question in the circumstances, and Joanna felt rather embarrassed now.

‘Having disposed of that, I suggest you make up your mind what you’re going to do. It’s getting late, and I have work to do.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Joanna almost choked on the apology. What a boor of a man he was! There ought not to be a shred of hesitation in her rejection of his offer, and yet for some reason she was loath to give him that satisfaction. He thought she was frivolous, useless; an ornament, finding the utilitarian world a cold and barren place. She would like the chance to prove to him that this was not so, that she could play just as useful a role in society as anyone else. And to have that chance, she had to ignore all the rudeness and insults he put in her way, and demonstrate her ability to succeed in spite of him.

However, he seemed to have taken her apology as a clear rejection of the position he was offering her. Without another word he had crossed the thinly carpeted floor towards the door, and only her instinctive: ‘Mr Sheldon!’ caused him to pause and look at her.

‘Yes?’

Joanna’s tongue circled her lips once more. ‘I—I’ll stay,’ she said impulsively, and immediately wished that she had not.

‘You will?’ There was a glimmer of relief in the narrowed eyes, but that was all. No great enthusiasm, no words of encouragement or gratitude. Just ‘You will?’ followed by a perfunctory: ‘I’ll get Mrs Harris to show you your room.’

‘No!’ Joanna took an involuntary step forward, and then felt herself colouring, something she had not done in ages. ‘I—that is, couldn’t you just tell me where I’m to sleep? I’m sure I could find my own way. Without—without troubling Mrs Harris.’

‘As you wish.’ He seemed to be mentally washing his hands of the whole affair. It’s the third door on the right at the top of the stairs. If you’ll leave your suitcase, I’ll carry it up later.’

‘I can manage,’ mumbled Joanna unwillingly, biting her tongue against the remark that if she could carry it fully a mile from the bus stop, she could certainly carry it up a few stairs, and he made a dismissive gesture.

‘Very well. But I suggest you leave your unpacking until after supper. Mrs Harris’s meals are best taken hot, and you’ll have plenty of time later to get accustomed to your surroundings.’

Joanna inclined her head. Evidently one did not change for dinner at Ravengarth. She wondered if Jake Sheldon intended to come to the table in the same disreputable gear he was wearing at the moment. It seemed highly likely, and a small voice inside her evinced mild hysteria at her decision to stay. She must be mad, she thought, after Jake Sheldon had left her and she was climbing the stairs. No one should have to pay so heavily just to prove one’s point.

CHAPTER TWO

IT was a curious evening, a slightly unreal evening, and lying in bed later that night, Joanna reviewed its events with a certain amount of incredulity. It had definitely not resembled any first evening she might have anticipated, and the feeling of anticlimax she had experienced had not yet dissipated.

Her bedroom, which she had found no difficulty in locating, was quite a spacious apartment, but its appearance matched the rest of the house. Either Jake Sheldon had no money to spend on refurbishment, or he simply didn’t care about his surroundings. The wallpaper was old, and peeling in places where the furniture had been pushed against the walls, the floor’s only covering was linoleum, which would be icy cold to the feet on winter mornings, and the furniture itself would not have disgraced a junkyard. Joanna had been at first appalled, and then amazed, and finally reluctantly amused to find herself in such a situation.

The view from her windows made up in some part for the rest. Although it was getting dark, it was still possible to glimpse the tumbling beauty of the stream, and beyond, the glimmer of a larger expanse of water. In the distance the shadowy fells brooded, dark and mysterious, casting a sheltering arm around the stillness of the valley.

Taking Jake Sheldon’s advice, Joanna had paused only long enough to wash her face at the handbasin she found in her room and apply some fresh make-up before going downstairs. Her hair, despite her ordeal, was still secure in its knot, and the jersey dress was not unwelcome now as the evening grew cooler. There was an ancient radiator in her room, she noticed, but it was stone cold at present, and she wondered if such an antiquated plumbing system was still operational. If not, it was going to be very cold on winter mornings, with only open fires to provide any heat. However, she refused to consider something so nebulous as the future. Right now, she had the present to live with, and despite her determination it was a daunting task she had set herself.

Downstairs again, she found the dining room by means of trial and error. There was no one about, and she glimpsed a sitting room and a cloakroom before finding a room with a table laid for one. This in itself was puzzling enough, but Mrs Harris, who appeared a few moments later, explained in her usual garrulous way that Mr Sheldon would not be taking supper after all.

‘He’s had to go down to the village after Matt Coulston,’ she confided, setting a plate of thick soup in front of Joanna. ‘Been drinking since opening time, he has, and George Page at the Fox and Hounds can’t handle him.’

Joanna picked up her spoon. She was reluctant to ask questions of the housekeeper, but if she was going to live here she would have to know who everyone was, and with a reluctant sigh she ventured: ‘Mr Coulston works for Mr Sheldon?’

‘‘Course he does.’ Mrs Harris stood back from the table, and nodded her greying head. ‘Sort of shepherd and general handyman he is, when he’s sober.’

‘Isn’t it a little early in the evening for anyone to be—intoxicated?’ Joanna asked doubtfully, but Mrs Harris only laughed, a rather unpleasant gurgling cackle, that split her thin lips and displayed a dearth of teeth in her lower jaw.

‘When Matt goes on one of his binges, time doesn’t have anything to do with it,’ she declared with a sniff. ‘He’ll have been drinking since early this morning, and by now he’ll be roaring drunk. There’s only Mr Sheldon can handle him at times like that, but he’ll get him back to his cottage and lock him in until he sobers up.’

‘I see.’ Joanna took her first mouthful of the soup and managed to hide her distaste as its powdery consistency clung to the roof of her mouth. ‘Well—thank you, Mrs Harris. I—er—I’ll have to eat alone.’

For an awful moment after she’d uttered those words, Joanna wondered if the housekeeper would imagine they were some kind of an invitation, but apparently Mrs Harris had other things on her mind.

‘You’re staying, then?’ she probed, lingering by the door. ‘Or is he just putting you up for the night, until you can get a train back to London?’

Joanna was tempted to say it was none of her business, but that would have been unreasonable. After all, Mrs Harris had to cater for the household, though judging by the state of the place her ministrations were by no means satisfactory.

‘I’m staying,’ she replied now, taking another mouthful of soup after surreptitiously stirring it with her spoon. ‘At least for the present. I hope I may have more success than those ladies had.’

‘Some hopes,’ muttered Mrs Harris dourly, and Joanna looked up.

‘You sound pessimistic, Mrs Harris. Anyone would think you didn’t want me to succeed.’

‘Oh, no. No,’ the housekeeper denied this hastily. ‘O’ course, I hope you’re successful. It’s just that—well, Anya’s not like an ordinary child, if you know what I mean. Been too much with adults, she has——’

‘I think you should leave me to learn about—Anya—for myself,’ replied Joanna firmly, cutting her off. ‘This soup is very nice. What are you going to offer me as an entrée, I wonder?’

Mrs Harris frowned, screwing up her mouth. ‘I don’t know what you mean by no on-tree,’ she declared, sniffing again. ‘But there’s lamb chops to follow, and a piece of my custard.’

Joanna endeavoured to appear enthusiastic, and to her relief Mrs Harris took her dismissal. But as the meal progressed, she began to understand why Jake Sheldon had suggested that Mrs Harris’s meals were best taken hot. Lamb was a greasy dish at any time, and in Mrs Harris’s unskilled hands it had been allowed to swim in its own fat. Left to go cold, it would be revolting, and she wondered whether her employer would be expected to eat it later. The vegetables, boiled carrots and potatoes, had fared a little better, but the gravy, like the soup earlier, was inclined to be floury. The custard tart to finish was not set properly, and as she sat over a cup of instant coffee, which anyone could make, Joanna wondered if the housekeeper would object to being given a few tips. Cooking was one of Joanna’s few accomplishments, and although in the past it had been confined to preparing sauces and desserts for far more elaborate meals, she didn’t think she could do much worse than the unfortunate Mrs Harris.

With supper over, she wandered aimlessly into the sitting room, switching on the standard lamp by the window, and drawing the heavy repp curtains. She discovered a rack of paperback books in an alcove, and a pile of outdated science magazines, and the furnishings were completed by a pair of buttoned horsehair sofas, that gave as liberally as a saddle when one sat upon them, and a black and white television set. Two corner cupboards faced the wide fireplace, but their contents of chipped and dusty porcelain inspired only a fleeting interest. There were no dolls in evidence, no toys at all that she could see, except a couple of jigsaw puzzles, stuffed into the bottom of the bookcase. None of the items present in the room seemed to reflect Jake Sheldon’s personality, and Joanna wondered whether he had bought—or leased?—the property already furnished. That would account for its deplorable lack of taste, she thought, although why she should imagine Jake Sheldon might have any taste was not a proposition she cared to explore.

Picking up one of the paperback books, she attempted to glean some interest in the activities of a well-known private detective, but her ears were constantly alert for any sound of her employer’s return, and the events being described in the book seemed far less improbable than her own situation. She wondered if there was a phone so that she could ring her mother, but the idea of assuring her of her daughter’s well-being seemed totally ludicrous in the present circumstances, and she decided to wait and write when she felt less emotional than she did at present.

She guessed she must have fallen asleep on the sofa, despite its hardness, because when she next looked at the clock on the stone mantelpiece, it was after ten o’clock. She thought some sound must have wakened her, but she was still alone in the room, and inclined to be chilly because of the lowering of her body temperature during her nap.

She got stiffly off the couch and walked to the door into the hall, but there was no one about, and a frown furrowed her brow. She supposed she might as well go to bed as wait here indefinitely for her employer to appear, and with a feeling of flatness she went up the stairs to her room.

It was only as she opened the bedroom door that a sudden thought struck her. She had neither seen nor heard from Antonia all evening, and while her father had declared she was safely in bed, remembering the incident in the woods, Joanna couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. She had read books about naughty children who upset suitcases and squeezed out toothpaste and even put lizards in their governesses’ beds. While she had been lazily snoozing downstairs, Antonia—or Anya—could quite easily have wrought havoc up here.

She pushed open the door tentatively, half prepared to step back if some awful booby trap was waiting for her, but after groping for the switch and turning the light on, she found no apparent signs of mayhem. On the contrary, the room was exactly as she had left it, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door.

She undressed quickly, shivering as she put on the nightgown she had rummaged out of her case. The rest of her belongings could wait until the morning to be unpacked, she decided firmly, and after a speedy trip to the bathroom she climbed eagerly between the sheets.

The mattress was at least interior sprung, but the nap she had had downstairs had left her wide awake now that she wanted to fall asleep. She tossed and turned incessantly, wondering about Antonia, wondering whether she ought to have checked on the child to see if she was all right before going to bed, wondering whether Jake Sheldon would expect her to be waiting up for him whatever time he chose to come back. She finally fell into a fitful slumber that was rudely destroyed by someone drawing back the curtains and shaking her awake.

‘What is it? What time is it?’ she mumbled, not really conscious of her whereabouts as she struggled to push off the bony hand, and Mrs Harris’s face swam before her, maliciously amused in the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows.

‘It’s time you was up, Miss Seton,’ the housekeeper declared, setting down a cup of tea on the bedside table and folding her arms, a favourite position of hers. ‘After eight o’clock, it is, and Mr Sheldon said to tell you we don’t keep town hours here.’

‘After eight o’clock …’ Joanna elbowed herself up on to her pillows, aware that Mrs Harris was studying her with evident interest. It made her self-consciously aware of the brevity of her silk nightgown, and also reminded her that this was the first time the housekeeper had seen her hair loose. Long and honey-brown, streaked with gold in places, it swung soft and becomingly about her shoulders, framing the oval shape of her face and accentuating the creamy paleness of her skin.

‘Yes, nearly quarter past, it is, and if I was you I’d get myself downstairs.’

‘Eight o’clock’s not so late, is it?’ protested Joanna, draping the sheet protectively about her shoulders. Despite the brightness of the day outside it was still chilly, and she needed a few minutes to gather her confused senses.

‘Mr Sheldon had his breakfast at seven o’clock,’ retorted Mrs Harris with evident relish. ‘And I have other things to do than keep meals hanging about for hours.’ She moved towards the door. ‘It’ll be on the table in fifteen minutes. If you’re there, all well and good, if not——’

‘Wait!’ Joanna strove to get into a sitting position. ‘Mrs Harris, I don’t eat breakfast. At least, perhaps toast and coffee sometimes.’ The aroma of frying bacon was unmistakable as the housekeeper opened the door. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stomach fried food in the mornings.’

Mrs Harris pursed her lips. ‘You mean to say my fried eggs, sausages and bacon are going to be wasted?’

Joanna tried to hide her grimace. ‘I’m sorry.’ She was tempted to add, give them to the dogs, but she was glad she decided against it when Mrs Harris continued:

‘I’ll have to tell Mr Sheldon about this,’ she declared, with the inevitable sniff. ‘He can’t afford for good food to go to waste. Like as not, he’ll suggest that I warm it up for your lunch, so don’t imagine you can pick and choose here like you used to in London.’

The door closed behind her, and Joanna’s shoulders sagged. She wondered whether Mrs Harris would believe her if she told her that at home finances had been so tight that the idea of having bacon, eggs and sausages for breakfast would have been an unthinkable extravagance. It was true, she had never eaten a big breakfast, but that was mostly because at boarding school the food had been so appalling, and in Switzerland she had grown accustomed to the continental style of eating.

Still, there was no time now to sit and reflect on the past. Evidently she was expected to start work at nine o’clock, and it would probably take her half the time she had to pull herself together.

The cup of tea helped, despite the fact that it was thick and black, and far too sweet for her taste. But at least it was restoring, and she got out of bed afterwards with a little more enthusiasm.

The lino was icy to her toes, which certainly quickened her actions. Slipping her feet into slippers, she padded over to the washbasin, and after sluicing her face in lukewarm water and cleaning her teeth, she hastily put on the first things that came to hand. The purple corded jeans were blessedly warm, and she found a matching polo-necked sweater that dispelled the gooseflesh from her arms.

Her hair presented more of a problem, but she managed to coil it into a loose-fitting knot, although she was aware that the tendrils which persisted in falling about her ears gave it a far too casual appearance. Nevertheless, it would have to do until later, she decided, after an anxious examination of her watch, and after applying a shiny lipstick she hurriedly descended the stairs.