The Enigmatic Rake. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ the fireplace, his daughter at his side, and turned to Sarah as she entered.

      ‘Mrs Russell. This is my daughter Celestine.’ She could read little from his cool manner, but was aware of some undercurrent in the room. If she had not known better, she would have suspected a plea for help in that commanding stare.

      The girl made an instant impression on Sarah of being far older than her eight years, a reserved child who perhaps would not readily give affection or confidences. Celestine was, her new governess decided, a child who had grown up much in the company of adults, who had not been encouraged to laugh or play or forget her dignity as Miss Faringdon. How serious she was! With a surprisingly plain and solemn face, her skin was sallow and her eyes so dark as to be almost black. And unblinkingly direct. Her hair, equally dark, was ruthlessly drawn back into a severe braid. She was tall for her age and a little thin, and pale despite country life where she could have run out of doors. And most notably, in Sarah’s quick assessment, was the fact that she did not smile or show any animation, either in her polite greeting to Sarah or her responses to her father.

      Not at first glance an attractive girl, yet Sarah thought that one day she would be lovely in a dramatic fashion. Her perfect oval face had excellent bone structure, promising high cheekbones and a straight nose. Her skin had the translucence of rippling stream water, and her hair shone as dark silk. When released from its braid, it might even curl. Now she faced her father in the library, quietly obedient, with nothing to say for herself. She acknowledged Sarah as instructed, but did not raise her eyes above the hem of the lady’s skirts.

      Lord Faringdon appeared to be somewhat baffled by this small contained person as he attempted to draw her out, in the interest of Mrs Russell getting to know her new pupil. Did you have a pet in Richmond? Do you like to ride? What do you like doing when not at your lessons? Which lessons do you enjoy best? Finally he gave up after a string of monosyllabic and un-informative answers, and addressed his comments instead to Mrs Watton.

      ‘I trust that you will be happy here, Mrs Watton. I owe you much for the care of my daughter. Mrs Russell will be in charge of your comfort here …’ Again it seemed that his quick glance at Sarah held almost a hint of desperation. Celestine remained distant and silent as her father outlined his arrangements for her, standing straight and prim, hands folded before her, in a dark dress, ruched and beribboned in a manner far too old and sophisticated for her slight figure.

      The uncomfortable episode was brought quickly to an end, and Celestine was sent off with Sarah, who readily imagined the sigh of relief behind her. They climbed the staircase side by side.

      ‘I will show you to your room, Celestine. And the room where we shall take most of the lessons.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Sarah opened the door and ushered the child in. ‘Here is your room.’

      It was a pretty room, light and airy, where efforts had been made to furnish it suitably for a young girl with floral patterns in shades of pale green and primrose and with frivolously frilled curtains on the half-tester bed. Celestine walked round, taking her time, to touch the curtains and the soft cushions on the window seat, to run her fingers along the edge of the little inlaid dressing table. To inspect the paintings on the walls.

      ‘Do you like it?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Perhaps not as comfortable as your room in Richmond.’ Sarah had no idea, simply wishing to persuade the girl to talk. ‘It will soon look like home when you have your own possessions unpacked.’

      ‘It is very nice.’

      ‘Tomorrow we shall begin your lessons and see what you can do. But today it is enough for you to settle in. It must all seem very new and strange.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Come then, Celestine. I am sure you are hungry after your journey.’ Sarah was turning to leave when Celestine at last ventured an opinion. But not one expected by Sarah.

      ‘My father does not want me here, you know. He does not like me.’

      Sarah angled her head to watch the girl who still stood before the window, looking out at the vista of sky and clouds, hands clasped behind her back and giving the air of a prisoner in a locked room. Why would the child make such an extravagant claim? She tried to keep her expression and her tone light and calm.

      ‘But why do you say that? Who told you such a thing?’

      ‘He has never wanted me with him before. Neither did my mother.’

      Sarah tried to hide her astonishment, a little unnerved by the cool acceptance of the situation, if it were indeed so, the flat statement of what might very well be true, given Sarah’s knowledge of this troubled household and the child’s solitary upbringing.

      ‘Do you miss your mama?’

      ‘No—not really. She was not often in England. I barely remember her.’

      ‘Did you not live in Paris?’

      ‘When I was a baby. I do not remember. I have visited since then—but not for long.’

      ‘I am sure that your father is very pleased to have you here.’ Sarah tried for a reassurance she did not feel. ‘It was his idea that you should join him, after all. And that I should be here to care for you.’

      ‘Perhaps.’ Celestine made no further reply, as if the truth were clear enough without any clarification from herself.

      ‘Come and have tea.’ Sarah encouraged the girl through a connecting door into the schoolroom and then on to the door into Sarah’s sitting room, where a table was laid for tea. As Sarah opened the door John burst through it from the outer corridor, hair tousled, eyes shining, cheeks pink with effort.

      ‘There are even more horses in the stable now, Mama—but not as fine as Lord Faringdon’s. And a coach—’ He slid to a halt, chest heaving.

      The two children sized each other up.

      ‘This is Celestine who has arrived at last. This is my son, John.’

      ‘Hello.’ John grinned. ‘Why did it take you so long, Cel—Celst …?’ He blushed in some confusion, but was in no way embarrassed. ‘I cannot say it! I do not know anyone called that.’

      Sarah chuckled as she reached to draw her son to a halt at her side. ‘I think he finds your name difficult,’ she explained to the formal young lady.

      ‘It is French.’

      ‘I know. And very elegant. But John is younger than you and has not met French names before.’

      It seemed for a moment as if Celestine might sneer at such childishness, but then said, ‘I have never met a boy your age before. How old are you?’

      ‘Nearly six.’ John eyed her warily.

      ‘I have had my eighth birthday. I shall soon be nine.’ The dark eyes watched, weighing up the boy, coming to a decision. ‘I have another name.’

      ‘And what is that?’ Sarah asked.

      ‘Elizabeth.’

      ‘We could СКАЧАТЬ