Different Tides Read online

  Neither of them heard the knock at the door and they sprang apart when Edward said, ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Miss Clemmie had some dust in her eye. I was kissing it better.’

  ‘Mrs Ogden sent me to tell you that breakfast is ready.’

  ‘Has your eye improved sufficiently, Miss Clemmie?’

  He had tripped himself up and she giggled. ‘I can see perfectly now.’

  When they entered the dining room, Julia said, ‘You look flushed, my dear. I hope you’re not suffering from a fever.’

  The children managed to slip into the seats on either side of Zachariah, who accepted from Mrs Ogden two plates with a small rasher of lean bacon, a coddled egg and fingers of bread fried to a crisp.

  Tucking Iris’s napkin under her chin, he gazed round at them all. ‘Reverend Cuthbert’s sermon must have whipped her into a ferment.’

  John chuckled. ‘That sounds promising. What was the sermon about?’

  ‘I have no idea … Miss Clemmie?’

  Iris said, ‘Miss Clemmie pretended she was praying. But she was really thinking about Edward and me.’

  ‘Aha!’ John said, laughter in his voice. ‘I hope they were good thoughts.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Miss Clemmie tells us we must always think good thoughts.’

  ‘How utterly boring of her,’ Alexandra said with just enough laughter in her voice to render the remark inoffensive.

  Zachariah chuckled. ‘I’m inclined to agree with you, Alexandra, though sometimes I’d like to know what’s going on in her head.’

  So … he was using Alexandra’s first name now. Well, why shouldn’t he? After all, her half-sister was Zachariah’s guest. Not hers. Half-sister? She had tried to find some kinship in their relationship and had failed.

  Alexandra sent him a smile. ‘Nothing devious, I’d imagine. I’m sorry. I was late in rising. I missed going to church with you.’

  ‘I thought the service was quite interesting today, didn’t you, Miss Clemmie?’

  ‘Totally absorbing.’

  ‘What can I get you for breakfast?’

  Zachariah Fleet. Where were these thoughts coming from? Clementine had never been interested in men before, and the jumble of shocking thoughts and physical reactions she experienced when she was in the presence of Zachariah Fleet was bewildering. What’s more she had lost her appetite.

  ‘Just some preserved fruit.’

  Alexandra said, ‘Goodness, is that all? You eat hardly anything.’

  ‘I eat enough to satisfy my appetite. I’ve already had some oatmeal.’

  Alexandra was sitting under the portrait of the late baron and his wife. The colours were brighter after the wash it had received from Mrs Ogden, and the scribble was gone.

  John Beck was looking at it too. Then his gaze lowered to Alexandra and moved up again.

  Clementine gazed at the picture in puzzlement. The resemblance between Alexandra and the woman on the portrait was marked.

  Then Zachariah set the bowl of fruit in front of her and she could feel his breath warm against her scalp. His mouth on hers, so warm and tender, was a vivid and irresistible memory she could barely ignore.

  She hadn’t wanted her life to be complicated by falling in love with Zachariah. He was a man like any other, and with the same appetites. If she allowed him to, he would take her into his bed and use her, then leave, as had the men in her mother’s life. If she stayed she’d be too weak to resist him, her only security being some man’s mistress instead of being paid for by the hour by different men.

  Oh yes, she knew what her mother had been involved in. She’d pretended not to know because she didn’t want her judged by others. And while she’d loved her mother, that didn’t mean she wanted to end up like her.

  Perhaps it was time she moved on, like she had in her previous employment. She couldn’t go back to the workhouse in London, because that would be the first place he’d look for her, if he bothered to look for her at all. She would wait and see what happened with the legacy. Now she’d noticed the resemblance between Alexandra and the woman in the portrait, she was almost certain who would be the beneficiary of the legacy.

  Zachariah must know whose daughter Alexandra was, since his sharp eyes wouldn’t have missed the significance of the resemblance, but did Alexandra know? Probably not, else she’d be even more insufferable than she was already.

  Clementine decided not to think past that at the moment. Zachariah was being cautious. He would do nothing until he was sure of his ground.

  Not for one moment could Clementine imagine that she and Alexandra were related. They were nothing alike. She was curious though, because she’d never known her father and couldn’t picture him.

  When she thought of leaving Zachariah she fell into a dark yawning place where there was no light or softness. And when she thought of leaving the children as well, her heart began to bleed and she was afraid for them.

  His nearness brought the blood to her face again.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not coming down with a fever?’ Julia said.

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Miss Clemmie had dust in her eyes and Uncle Zachariah was ki—’

  Zachariah scraped his chair back along the wooden floor and leapt to his feet. ‘Those dogs are under the table. Come out of there, you scrounging hounds. You know you’re not allowed to be there. Quickly, Edward! Grab Wolf’s collar and we’ll take them out.’

  The pair of them dived under the table, where a kerfuffle of sounds, knocks and mild curses went on. The dogs escaped, scrabbling across the floor and shooting through the door. They nearly knocked Mrs Ogden off her feet when she came in.

  ‘I’ll be blessed,’ she said and shouted after them, ‘Don’t you critters go and annoy Cook now.’

  The scuffling under the table carried on after the dogs had departed.

  Clementine tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it when Julia exchanged a significant look with her.

  Lifting the tablecloth Clementine said, ‘Gentlemen, you can come out now; the dogs have made their escape.’

  Zachariah and Edward took their seats, breathing heavily from the exercise – Edward’s inappropriate conversation now diverted, but not overlooked by those who’d picked up the significance of his slip, for Julia and John were smiling at each other and Alexandra had a frown forked between her brow.

  Fifteen

  The day had been cold and crisp and the dogs stretched out in front of the nursery fire, their eyelids twitching open now and then in case they missed something, or their legs moving as if they were chasing rabbits in their dreams. They were almost fully grown now – at least, Clementine hoped so, but they were still bursting with the energy of their puppyhood.

  As evening fell the frost became a thick white blanket that covered the furrows of ploughed earth. There, the seeds lay dormant, waiting for the warm stirring of spring to wake them.

  The sky was filled with stars and the moon rode high, a glowing orb circled by a halo of light that pushed its rays out into the reaches of a velvety dark sky.

  ‘Is the sky heaven, Miss Clemmie?’

  ‘It looks like it might be, since the stars are so pretty.’

  ‘Mr Bolton said that there’s a rhyme that goes: “A ring around the moon is a sign of rain soon”.’

  Iris sighed as they gazed at it. ‘It looks like fairyland and I don’t want it to rain because then we have to stay indoors.’

  A star shot across the sky and the children cried out with delight.

  ‘Quickly, close your eyes and make a wish.’

  ‘I wished the cook would make one of those apple cakes.’

  Clementine grinned at the girl. That was a wish bound to come true.

  ‘What about you, Edward?’

  ‘I wished I could go up to heaven and say hello to my mama and papa.’

  Not such an easy wish to fulfill. She scrambled for something he’d like to hear. ‘If you remember them in your prayers, the angels wil
l leave your message on a star, and they’ll be happy.’

  ‘I’ve made a book for Uncle Zachariah. It’s a bogafree – the story of my life, and nobody else is allowed to read it so it’s got SECRET written on the cover.’

  She tried not to smile. It would be a short biography. ‘That’s thoughtful of you, Edward. Your uncle will like receiving a gift that you’ve made for him. You can give it to him when he comes up to say goodnight.’

  ‘I’ve arrived,’ Zachariah said from the doorway and her heart leapt so high that it nearly ended up amongst the stars.

  ‘Aren’t you chilly by that window?’

  ‘We were looking at the sky and we saw a shooting star and made a wish. Iris wished for an apple cake and Edward remembered his parents and wished the angels would send them greetings. Come and see how pretty the moon is tonight.’

  ‘It’s always pretty. What did you wish for, Miss Clemmie?’

  ‘I’m contented with everything I already have at the moment. It would be greedy of me to ask for more.’

  He joined them on the window seat, huffed steamy breath on to the cold surface of the window then wrote their names with his fingers. ‘In the morning the windows will be covered in frosty patterns.’

  ‘Will we have frosty names?’

  ‘We might. When I was small there was a telescope on a stand here,’ he said. ‘I’ll look in the attics and see if I can find it.’ He pulled the window hangings across. ‘Say goodnight to the dogs and get into bed now, you two. I’ll read you a story tonight.’

  When Zachariah finished and stooped to kiss them goodnight, Edward said sleepily, ‘Don’t forget to take the book I made you.’

  ‘I won’t … and I’m sure I’ll treasure it. It will have its own special place on the study bookshelf.’

  Which wouldn’t be hard because there were plenty of spaces where books were missing.

  They moved into the other room, leaving a nightlight flickering in a saucer. He picked up Edward’s book, a loose collection of pages tied together with a piece of string, then placed it down again. ‘Are you coming down, Clemmie? Alexandra is going to play the piano and sing for us later.’

  ‘She’s talented … and beautiful.’

  ‘Yes … she has a great deal of grace. Come to the library and read Edward’s bogafree with me first.’

  ‘It’s private. He wrote it for you and it took him a long time. He’s a sensitive child whose feelings are very deep. He’s given you his trust with this, Zachariah. It seems as if the biography is important to him, and I won’t encourage you to break that trust or make fun of his efforts.’

  ‘I admit I have a lot to learn about children but I wouldn’t laugh at him because he’s a tender little soul.’

  ‘A bit like you were, I imagine.’

  Reaching out, he caressed her cheek and she didn’t have the will to take a step backwards.

  ‘How did you get to be so wise, my Clemmie?’

  ‘I’m far from wise and I’m not yours.’ She wished he wouldn’t talk to her as though she was precious to him, and although it was too late to wish for something on the shooting star she did so anyway – she wished that she was precious to him.

  ‘Can you dance?’

  She laughed because the question was unexpected. ‘I’m afraid I have no performance talents. I can’t dance, sing or play a musical instrument. There wasn’t much call for it in the school I was in, or the workhouse.’

  ‘I’ll teach you to dance the waltz.’ He took her by the arms and pulled her closer.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Teaching you to dance. Put your hand at my back and I’ll do the same. Good.’ He picked up her other hand and, holding it, extended their arms. ‘Now you take a series of steps … one two three … one two three. Circle … one two three …’

  Clementine found it easy to dance the waltz and she relaxed and began to enjoy herself. He pulled her fractionally closer and began to hum a tune as they danced in time with it. Suddenly he swung her off her feet and she began to laugh. Her hair came undone and tumbled down her back.

  He pulled her close and gazed down at her in the moonlight coming through the window. Her mouth dried up as he gazed at her.

  He let his arms fall to his side when she backed away. ‘That was fun.’

  ‘It’s about time we had some. As Alexandra pointed out to me, we are much too sober and should entertain each other in the evenings. After observing her at the social, it’s obvious she needs more lively company. I think she finds the country dull.’

  So they were all to perform, like monkeys jumping through hoops for Alexandra’s entertainment. ‘Do you find the country dull?’

  ‘I’m fascinated by the seasons. I don’t think I ever saw a seed of wheat planted and grow out of the earth before. Then it turns from green to gold, when it’s harvested. A miller grinds it into dust and the cook makes a loaf of bread. It’s a living work of art. Something I never gave much thought to before.’

  ‘Zachariah, I’ve got to go and braid my hair if we are to be entertained and entertaining.’

  ‘Allow me to braid it for you.’

  It was much too intimate a task. She could imagine his fingertips, a gentle caress against her scalp, and her hair bunched in his hands. The skin on the nape of her neck exploded. Goose bumps chased around her body – as countless as the stars they’d admired in the sky. A delicious little shiver chased after them. ‘Polly is coming up the stairs; I think it would embarrass her to discover you arranging my hair.’

  He nodded. ‘The new ladies’ maid starts tomorrow, I believe. I hope she suits.’ He picked up Edward’s book and turned away. ‘I’ll see you in the drawing room a little later, Miss Clemmie. Oh, hello Polly, I didn’t hear you coming. Your charges are fast asleep; I think I bored them with my story.’

  ‘I doubt it very much, sir. They look forward to being told stories, and young Edward has a lively imagination of his own.’

  Clementine went down to her own room, where she braided her hair and secured it with a pink ribbon to match the gown. She couldn’t find her best shawl, one fashioned from the softest of cream wool and woven in a lacy pattern.

  Her eyes fell on the Cheeves musical programme and she picked it up. Her gaze ran over the words and the signature. There was nothing odd about it; she must have been imagining it.

  About to place it down again, she noticed some small printing along the bottom and took it closer to the candle flame. Her eyes widened as she wondered if it was a coincidence.

  Downstairs she found the drawing room empty. Her knock at the study door brought a muffled, ‘Come in.’

  When she opened the door both Zachariah and John looked up from the chessboard, then smiled guiltily and rose to their feet.

  ‘Is it that time already?’ Zachariah said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to disturb your game. I just wanted a minute of your time, Zachariah.’

  John said, ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to go, Mr Beck. It’s nothing important. In fact, I’m probably being silly.’ She handed Zachariah the programme. ‘There’s a name on the back that I noticed, and I wondered if it was the same George Sheridan who supervised the children.’

  He gazed at it then murmured, ‘The George Sheridan Charitable Trust. I’ve never heard of such a trust – have you, John? What do you think?’

  ‘That it’s worth checking on. We’ll go and talk to Cheeves tomorrow. Find out where he heard about the Sheridan Trust. There were quite a few people at that concert, and at five pounds a head they would have collected quite a large amount for charity. Cheeves wouldn’t be involved in anything criminal, would he?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d do anything fraudulent since he has too much to lose. And again, as Clemmie said, the name might just be coincidental.’ Zachariah’s gaze came her way. ‘That was well observed, Clemmie. We’ll check it out tomorrow.’

  It had never crossed her min
d that George Sheridan might be a criminal, but the children hadn’t liked him, and she trusted their instincts. ‘Has he done something wrong?’

  ‘Nothing that can be proved.’

  ‘But you’ve just been questioning his honesty.’

  ‘Yes, and I apologize for doing so in front of you. I’d forgotten that you were unaware of some of his dealings.’ He took her hands in his. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d ignore anything you just heard and not mention it to anyone.’

  She nodded.

  There was the sound of Alexandra playing the scales to warm her hands, going faster and faster to summon the audience, and prove her dexterity.

  ‘We must arrange a recital and supper evening especially for her, and invite everyone in the district.’

  ‘As long as it’s just for her,’ she said, feeling a bit put out, though she knew she’d hate to be the centre of attention, and wouldn’t know what to say to anyone.

  Ever astute, Zachariah said, ‘I’ve hurt your feelings, haven’t I? Please believe it’s unintentional. Would you like to host a social evening?’

  Panic rose in her. ‘Good Lord, no! I’d hide under the bed. As for hurting my feelings, it was just a niggle.’

  ‘You’re not ready to carry off the role of a hostess just yet, my little house mouse. That’s no reflection on your ability or a comparison to Alexandra, since you have an abundance of natural grace. It just means you have different skills.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go in?’

  Alexandra was at her shining best in a gown of pale green, and with not a hair out of place. She wore Clementine’s shawl.

  Her hand fluttered over it. ‘I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your shawl. You rarely wear it yourself and I couldn’t find you to ask. It suits this gown so well.’

  Clementine rarely wore it because it wasn’t a shawl that suited everyday wear. She was keeping it for best, though she couldn’t remember wearing it since Mrs Cheeves’ music social. Had Alexandra been through her clothing chest? Yes, she must have done.

  ‘I would be willing to buy it from you … not that I have much.’