When Martin spoke to Mrs. Morgan later in the day, she told him Captain Davis had been called away for the day. “‘is Honor will meet with ye t’morra morning at ten o’clock,” she assured him. She also said Ned or another servant would summon him at the proper time and escort him to whatever room was chosen for their meeting. Meanwhile, he could start setting up the room adjacent to the library to serve as the schoolroom. Perhaps he would wish to compile a list of supplies he would require, although she felt sure the children’s guardian would want to review his proposed curriculum before the actual lessons began.
Still far from garrulous, the housekeeper seemed very adept at fielding questions without divulging much information. When Martin asked her when and how the children lost their parents, she simply shook her head.
“Very sad business,” she said. “‘Twould be best if the captain explains it. A family tragedy and scandal, poor wee mites. She were flighty, her ladyship. No one asked me, but I always expected things might come to a bad end.”
Little the wiser, Martin let the matter drop and went down to examine the future schoolroom. Finding it almost bare, he began at once to compile the list Mrs. Morgan had suggested. One long table and a couple of adult sized hard chairs would not do for the children. And there were no books, no other supplies. The room was quite stark and altogether uninviting. Ugly curtains of a dark mustardy tan hung limp and bedraggled over the tall windows and an equally unappealing carpet that might once have displayed geometric designs muffled the floor. Even if he might have to take it slowly, he vowed he’d give the room a new and pleasant aspect over time.
* * * *
Next morning, at loose ends since he had not yet received specific orders from his employer, Martin wandered through the manor house and explored the closest part of the grounds. He was sitting in an area perhaps once a rose garden, when Ned found him.
“His Honor be ready to see ye,” the small fellow announced. “I will be takin’ ye.”
They hurried in through a door Martin had not even noticed and followed a route that led through a hall, which seemed to contain the servant’s quarters and ended in an alcove off the kitchen. From there, they twisted around and ended up at a room in which Martin had not yet been, not far from the library and the future schoolroom.
Ned tapped on the door.
“Enter.” The response sounded low, smooth, and commanding.
At Ned’s nod, Martin opened the door and stepped inside. Captain Davis sat behind a massive desk of some dark, exotic-looking wood. He stood as Martin entered and rounded the desk to greet him. “Good day, Mr. FitzHugh. Is everything agreeable to you thus far?”
Martin hesitated, torn as to exactly how he should greet the other man. A handshake did not seem appropriate. He settled on a simple nod of his head, a modest sort of bow. After all, his father and his impecunious uncle were baronets, so he wasn’t literally a commoner. Still, in his new post, he was no longer a true member of the aristocracy, either.
After that he just stood, as straight and resolute as he could. “Yes, sir. Everything is fine. I’ve prepared a list of what is needed to equip the schoolroom and was waiting for your instructions on how to proceed before starting with the children’s schooling.”
Davis waved to a chair at one end of his desk. “Have a seat then and let us dispense with formalities. I know a bit of your background and I do not expect you to kowtow. Were I still in the army, you could well be a subordinate officer in my command. I suggest we proceed in that manner. We are both gentlemen, after all.”
He returned to his seat. Martin waited until the other man sat before he availed himself of the offered chair. The captain dressed in military style, shining high boots over trim breeches in a tan color, a navy blue coat with bright brass buttons over a crisp white shirt, but no waistcoat. Though tall, he did not appear massive or overpowering, although his military bearing commanded respect.
“Sir, I’m concerned about the children, about the tragedy and trauma they’ve apparently suffered. If I knew a bit more about it, I could better determine how to proceed with them, especially the young earl with his muteness.”
The other man hesitated a few seconds. “I know only the basics since I was away when events unfolded. They were in London at the family’s townhouse. I was told their father, my brother, found his wife with another man and in a mad fit of rage killed them both and then took his own life. I must say I found that rather out of character for him. Still, passion can render a wise man foolish, I suppose. Although the children were in the house at the time, I was told they were not witness to any of this.
“When I finally arrived, in order to get them away from that environment and its reminders, I brought them back here from London and dismissed the staff at the town house and other estates. I trust most the old familiar retainers here who’ve served my father and grandfather for generations.”
Martin took a moment to digest this. “How long ago did this all occur, if I may ask?”
“It’s been a bit less than a year. I learned of it about a month after the events as I was in Africa with Baden Powell. I resigned my commission and returned as quickly as I could, since the title now fell to Donovan and their guardianship and overseeing the holdings to me. Of course, I was concerned for the children’s welfare. I suppose it might be appropriate to have a governess for the girls, but the three share such a tight bond in the trauma that I hate to separate them at all right now. Donovan will have to be off to further schooling soon enough. Though not before he has gained some elements of learning and again begun to speak, I trust. I visited a time or two back when he was a tot, and he chattered like a magpie.”
As Davis spoke, Martin studied him. A handsome though rather austere man, he decided, yet he thought he caught sympathy and genuine care in the other man’s eyes when he spoke of the children. He appeared to be unwed and childless himself. Since he needn’t produce an heir, he was perhaps not eager to find a wife, although no doubt he would in time. Although Martin knew little of such things, he believed the captain was a man whom women would find attractive. Certainly he did, a surprising and not altogether welcome awareness.
Outside of a couple of brief, experimental liaisons while he was in school, Martin had lived close to a celibate life. He saw no reason and felt little desire to change that habit now. At the least not by having an affair with his employer! That would be most inappropriate. He recognized he must be circumspect to retain this or any future positions. Any trace of scandal or misbehavior could permanently ruin his chances for decent employment.
“Have you any prior experience with such muteness brought on by shock?”
He snapped his attention back to Davis’s words, realizing he’d allowed his mind to wander too far. “Er, no. I’ve not had any experience with a mute child. The lad seems to be quite bright and quick. He hears and understands all that goes on around him, but he’s fallen into a pattern of allowing his sister to speak for him. Of course, she has her impediment also…”
“Emmaline is perhaps the strongest one, being the eldest. I think, though, that Donovan can be helped, brought back to normal converse in time. I authorize you to try anything and seek any advice or assistance you feel is needed. As the future earl, he must learn how to communicate again.”
Martin nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll do all I can and keep you apprised of progress.” He then handed over the list of supplies he needed and covered briefly the curriculum he envisioned for the first several months.
Captain Davis skimmed the list, a slight frown on his face. “Nothing else for now?”
Did his tone convey disapproval, sarcasm or was it simply a blunt question? Martin could not decide. “No, sir,” he replied with some caution. “If I find something else is needed, may I add to it in time?”
“Of course. I’ll spare nothing when it comes to the children’s needs. Mrs. Morgan can help you in acquiring the tables and chairs, books, slates and such. Even perhaps in making their quarters a bit more lively and pleasant. I realize this old home is rather austere. After all, I spent part of my youth here as well, and although I enjoyed the out-of-doors hereabouts, the house itself always seemed gloomy and grim. I have no notion how to decorate or modernize things as I’ve been off first to school and then the army for the last two decades. Still, there’s no doubt it could be improved. You spent the last several years in London, did you not? Perhaps you will have some ideas, and we can discuss them shortly.”
Martin sensed he was being dismissed. He stood, hesitated a moment. “I’ll endeavor to do my best and any time you wish to be updated, I’m at your disposal.”
Davis also stood. He smiled, which totally changed his appearance from stern to approachable. “I have no doubt your best will be more than adequate, Mr. FitzHugh. I would not have engaged you had I not been well impressed with your background and your responses to my questions. Do you object to my calling you by your first name? In the future, I’ll address you in whatever manner you wish.”
“M-Martin is fine, sir. I admit that ‘Mr. FitzHugh’ makes me pause and look over my shoulder for my late father.” He stopped, suddenly wondering if the admission made him sound too young and unsure for his new responsibilities. At any rate, the captain continued to smile.
“Martin it shall be. And in private, if you wish to call me Dylan, I will not think it amiss.”
It was not until Martin was back in his room that he recalled he had not asked about the mysterious rider who had snatched him out of the coach the night of his arrival. He had a hunch Dylan would know. Wait, no! Not Dylan. He is the captain or even His Honor as the staff said. It was a great deal safer to think of him in such terms. As far as Martin knew, the highest ranked people in his pedigree were mere baronets. And now, for all practical purposes, he was more nearly a commoner. For such as he to moon over an earl’s son, even if a younger one, was futile and sheerest folly.
* * * *
Martin discovered that, although Mrs. Morgan might seem like a meekly self-effacing and countrified person, she knew how to get things done. Her help proved invaluable in obtaining the furniture to outfit the schoolroom and acquiring the needed supplies. All was accomplished much quicker than he would have imagined possible. Within less than a fortnight, everything was in place and lessons began.
Before long, Emmaline expressed a desire to have some watercolor paints and paper to practice her art. He was happy to oblige this unexpected request. Art was an excellent hobby and pastime for young gentlefolk. He made a new order for art supplies to include pencils, pastels and plenty of paper. Although art time was not allowed to infringe on the regular lessons, he made sure all three children had time to be creative.
Most of Emmaline’s work proved to be exceptional. She did beautiful aquarelle studies of flowers and even some accurate renderings of birds and the kittens that inhabited the stable. Even if Charlotte sometimes made a bit of a mess, she clearly enjoyed emulating her big sister in bright colors with stick figures of people and animals. It was Donovan’s efforts that pulled Martin up short.
Surprisingly vivid and realistic, every one of the boy’s pictures showed bodies covered in blood and sprawled in twisted postures reflecting agony and violence. They were all done in dark, somber hues except for the shocking splatters of scarlet. He was not sure what to make of the disturbing images or how to respond to them. Since the boy would not talk, there was no point in asking him about them, which Martin found frustrating.
When he made an oblique reference to Donovan’s art after he complimented Emmaline’s latest efforts, she simply slanted a look at him.
“He used to draw ponies and soldiers,” she said. “That was before…before Mama and Papa departed this vale of tears.”
Oddly, she did not stutter at all when she made that statement. He found her wording odd as well, and that she would say no more on the matter. He resolved to bring it to the captain’s attention the next time they met to discuss the children’s progress. The last ten days or more, Davis had been away. Apparently, he had business in London and elsewhere, which took him off on travels rather often. He might even still have some military duties, having perhaps gone to half-pay status rather than full resignation in his hurry to get home to his nephew and nieces. Martin was not sure how that worked.
* * * *
The next weekend, Mrs. Morgan took the children to visit an aunt on their late mother’s side who lived in a nearby town. The children, she explained, were fond of the cousins and had not been able to see them recently. She felt they should go since they’d been invited to a birthday celebration. A day went to preparing the carriage and packing for the small holiday.
Left to his own devices and still troubled over Donovan’s continuing macabre pictures, Martin set out from the manor house soon after the housekeeper and the children departed. He’d been to the nearest village a time or two, only about a mile away. As yet, he hadn’t been able to explore much of the countryside around. The rugged hills and steep, narrow valleys were quite different than anything he’d experienced before, a bit daunting, though still tempting to hike. He’d always been fond of the outdoors and set off to see a bit of the local area for himself.
Walking alone gave him time for solitary thought. He pondered how best way to bring the matter of Donovan’s paintings to the captain’s notice without giving undue alarm. Perhaps it was just the lad’s way to release some of the anguish and confusion he felt over the loss in such a shocking and sudden manner. Martin found himself wondering how the children had been informed of their parents’ demise and by whom. If the telling had not been handled in a cautious and gentle way, it would no doubt have been terribly traumatic for the young ones.
Deep in troubled conjecture, he neglected to pay enough attention to landmarks and exactly where he was going. By the middle of the afternoon, he had to admit he was hopelessly lost. Every hill looked much like every other one, and the woods seemed to grow denser and darker the farther he went. He thought he had turned back toward the manor house, an hour or more past. Looking around now, nothing seemed familiar. The rough path twisted this way and that, now diving off into a steep gully and then climbing another ridge in hairpin turns. Although the sky had already darkened with clouds, the approach of sunset made the atmosphere duskier and drearier than ever.
He realized he’d neglected to tell anyone of his impulsive plan. It was not likely he’d even be missed until perhaps dinnertime, if then. He’d planned to request a tray in his room and he doubted there’d be much cooking with the captain, the housekeeper, and the children all away. He climbed wearily up the highest hill in sight, hoping from it he might see some sign of which way to get home. As he toiled up the steep and slippery grade, he stumbled and staggered, almost falling as he rounded a rocky outcrop and attained the summit.
Once he reached the crest, he stopped, sinking to sit on a crumbling cairn of stones that graced the highest point. Even if the rough perch would not have been named the best seat in any house, it did afford an expansive view. The hilltop was barren of trees, almost cobbled with stones from pebbles to massive boulders. Off to his right, he could see a faint silvery edge to the horizon hinting the ocean lay in that direction. That should mean he faced to the south. If he had walked mainly north as he intended from Ravensrawn, its turrets should be visible in the landscape spread before him. He felt sure the manor house did not sit in such a deep hollow as to be hidden among the folded hills.
Measuring from the placement of a lighter patch in the clouds, which he took to mark the sun, Martin guessed less than an hour of daylight remained. Down amongst the trees, dusk would come quicker, though. He did not relish stumbling around in the dark and he didn’t have anything with him to use to light his way. He could tumble down into one of the deep, steep-sided gullies and not be found for weeks, unless someone used hounds to locate him. As far as he knew, there were no hunting dogs at Ravensrawn. Perhaps the unfortunate previous occupant of the manor had not hunted. And having just returned from foreign shores, Dylan had had little chance to obtain any, even if he so desired. Were there any other lords in the area who kept a pack?
He sighed. What a foolish thing he had done! He might pay for that folly with a night out in the open at the very least. Once he sat, he realized how tired he felt, as well as how hungry. Although he hated to move, he knew he must. A breeze had sprung up and quickly dried the sweat of his exertion. Within a few minutes, he began to feel a chill.
Just as he dragged himself back to his feet, his eye caught a wisp of smoke. Although he could have been wrong, the slight smudge appeared to be smoke, perhaps two ridges away and just a bit left of due south. If the trace did not come from Ravensrawn, at least it promised some shelter, perhaps food and a degree of comfort. He stepped off down the hill in that direction. He trudged with care, focused on placing each foot securely for the hill was steep and the ground rough under him, inclined to slide away or present a stone that rolled beneath his weight.
Before he reached the crest of the second hill, darkness had begun to settle. It came with such stealth he did not notice the change at first, until he realized how much harder it was to see now. Peering into the narrow valley below, he saw what appeared to be a hut of some kind. Smoke did indeed rise from a crude chimney in one corner. Not stopping to consider that the inhabitant might not be friendly, Martin made his way down to the sheltered stead with as much speed as he dared.