Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)
‘What did you say to Dominic?’
Maud jumped as sharp fingers pressed into her sleeve. She spun around to find Averill Trevose had come up behind her on the gravel drive. She was dressed in an exquisite sprigged morning gown, shirred in layers of lace and silk over her swaying skirt that Maud regarded with a brief flash of envy, and a bonnet lined in azure silk that captured the colour of her glorious eyes, now narrowed with hostility.
‘Good morning, Miss Trevose.’ Maud managed to keep any incivility from her voice. She had no wish for another encounter with Pendragon Hall’s closest neighbour, but nor did it do to be impolite. At least Rosabel was inside the house having her nap and could not be upset by her again.
‘It certainly is not a good morning.’ Miss Trevose dug her gloved fingers even harder into Maud’s arm.
Maud stepped back, gently brushing off the painful grip, and held herself upright. She would not allow herself to be bullied. ‘Is something the matter?’
Averill stamped her foot, sending small particles of gravel flying towards Maud.
Maud nearly smiled at the woman’s nursery antics.
‘Don’t stand there looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth!’ Averill exclaimed. ‘I know exactly what’s going on! You’ve somehow managed to turn Dominic against me.’
‘Indeed I have not,’ Maud replied indignantly, her good intentions not to answer back falling away. Why, there were no grounds for any such accusation. It was not her fault that Miss Trevose had embellished her relationship with the master of Pendragon Hall.
‘Dominic came to call at Trevose Hall and practically warned me off! I knew immediately you must have had a hand in it. I insist on knowing exactly what you said to him!’
Maud lifted her chin. ‘I told him the truth. From you, I understood that you were affianced. I regret that I spoke out of turn, but I did so in all innocence. It was not I who created the situation.’ She would not have said anything about it, but nothing would have held her back from speaking out on Rosabel’s behalf. She didn’t regret that for a moment.
‘How dare you speak about matters that don’t concern you!’ Averill’s voice became shrill. ‘I knew from the moment you arrived that you would be trouble. You are evidently harbouring ideas above your station.’
‘My ideas are precisely suited to my station,’ Maud retorted, unable to hold back.
‘You must have designs upon Dominic,’ Averill Trevose hissed. ‘That is why you have cast aspersions on me. It’s the oldest trick in the book. But I can see through you and so will Dominic—in time. You governesses are all alike, fawning on the master of Pendragon Hall.’
Maud pursed her lips. It was on the tip of her tongue to remark that it was Miss Trevose who was pursuing Sir Dominic Jago, rather than the governess.
‘I do not have designs upon Sir Dominic.’
‘Don’t lie to me.’ Averill’s blue eyes flashed. She stepped closer. ‘You’ve interfered in my relationship with Dominic, somehow. I’ll have you removed from your post as governess if it’s the last thing I do. Keep your bags packed.’
‘Averill. This is a surprise.’
A deep voice came from the doorway of the Hall. Maud looked up to see Sir Dominic leaned against the doorframe. He wore his riding clothes, one long leg casually draped in front of the other, his boots as polished as black mirrors.
She had avoided him in the few days since he had saved her from her nightmare. She’d had to.
‘Why, Dominic!’ Averill put her bonnet to one side. ‘I didn’t know you were at home.’
He strolled out and stood between them. The morning sun glinted on his dark head. How much of their conversation he had overheard, Maud could not be sure, but it was impossible to imagine he had heard none of it.
Maud pressed her lips together. Sir Dominic had specifically asked her not to be impertinent to Averill Trevose, yet once again, she had been unable to hold her tongue. Impertinence or self-defence? No doubt she was about to find out.
But Sir Dominic did not look her way. Instead, he smiled at Averill. ‘What brings you to Pendragon Hall, Averill? Not that it isn’t pleasant to see you, of course.’
‘Aren’t I always welcome to call?’ Averill cooed; her angry demeanour quite vanished.
‘Of course,’ he said easily. ‘Neighbours are always welcome.’
‘And we are such close neighbours.’ She smiled as sweetly as sunshine on spring flowers. ‘I came to remind you of the party of guests I’m expecting next week. I hope you haven’t forgotten you agreed to help entertain them.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I did?’
‘Dear Dominic.’ She gave a light, musical laugh. ‘How you like to tease me. Of course you did. They are very important guests. They won’t be used to a backwater like Cornwall.’
Dominic’s mouth hardened. ‘If they think Cornwall is a backwater, then they are not important to me.’
Averill laughed again. ‘You and Cornwall.’
Finally, Dominic glanced at Maud. His expression was inscrutable. ‘Did you need me, Miss Wilmot?’
Maud shook her head. ‘I was just collecting some ferns for Rosabel’s botany lesson.’
‘Don’t let us keep you.’ Averill’s voice was a model in politeness.
‘I will see you this evening,’ Dominic said to Maud.
‘This evening?’ Averill asked sharply, looking from one of them to the other.
‘Miss Wilmot is telling Rosabel a fairy story,’ he explained. ‘There are nightly instalments at bedtime.’
‘How sweet!’ Averill’s lips curved. Maud wasn’t certain they formed a smile. ‘I didn’t know you liked stories, Dominic.’
He shrugged. ‘Miss Wilmot has a talent for it.’
‘Somehow I’m not surprised to hear that.’ From under her bonnet, Averill gave Maud a look as sharp as her fingertips had been.
‘How kind you are to encourage your servants, Dominic.’ She did not need to emphasise the word ‘servants’. It blared like a brass horn in Maud’s ears. ‘If I knew you were fond of fairy tales, I would have begun telling them myself.’
He chuckled. ‘I didn’t know that storytelling was one of your talents, Averill.’
‘I have many talents you don’t know of yet,’ she replied, with an arched eyebrow.
Maud couldn’t watch. ‘If you will excuse me, Sir Dominic, it is almost time for Rosabel’s lessons. I must hurry if I am to collect the ferns.’
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
Before Maud turned away, Averill tucked her hand into Dominic’s elbow and flashed her a sweetly pointed smile.
Maud fled into the house.
Averill Trevose was not a woman to be crossed.
Unfortunately, she had managed to do so, yet again.
* * *
Dominic stared down the long driveway, with its lines of oak trees on either side. Averill had gone, leaving a waft of exquisite perfume after her. There was no doubt she was a fashionable woman.
He had called on her and reiterated his view on marriage, without giving away Miss Wilmot’s role in the affair. Averill had brushed it aside with a smile, in her society manner, but he’d seen comprehension quicken in her eyes. From the heated exchange he’d witnessed between the two women through the window of the library, Averill must have realised that his words had some connection to her imprudent comment to Miss Wilmot about becoming the future mistress of Pendragon Hall.
Since the conversation with Miss Wilmot by the fire, his first marriage had been on his mind even more than usual.
He glanced at the clouds hovering in the sky. The day was cast over. He turned and headed to the stables. He’d intended to go for a long ride, but he stopped, hesitated, then veered off instead on to the path that led to the corner of the grounds.
A few raindrops fell. He lifted the collar of his riding coat and shrugged them off as he strode along the path until he reached the old family chapel. The building itself was disused, lacking a roof, little more than a heap of stones that was a home for pigeons, but the ground was still consecrated. Members of the Jago family had been buried there for many years. His parents lay there, in graves next to each other. His mother had not long survived his father, when he had gone.
He opened the wooden gate and made his way to the newest grave, with its carved granite memorial. Beneath it lay Sarah. He had spent many hours sitting there, after she had died.
For some time, Dominic stood in silence, the memories flashing through his mind.
Taking a wild rose from the bramble bush that grew over the gate, he laid it on her grave.
The burden of his guilt and grief would not disappear overnight, if it ever would. Yet some long-held tension had gone from his body.
The rain broke overhead.
He lifted his face to it and let it fall.
* * *
Maud stared out into the driving rain. It was as grey as the night. Dusk had fallen and a long evening stretched ahead.
There would be no moth-hunting tonight.
She paced up and down the schoolroom, restless. She relied upon going out of doors in the evenings, but of course, it wasn’t always possible, especially in such weather.
She picked up her old book of fairy tales. The memory of Sir Dominic picking up the book on the train came back as a physical sensation. His fingers had grazed hers as he returned the volume to her.
How angry she had been with him when she’d first arrived. But she’d begun to see a different side of him. He was a good man, a kind man. One who had so much love and care for his daughter.
And a lot of books in his library.
Maud cast aside the book of fairy tales and tiptoed down the stairs.
The house was quiet. Outside his study door, she stopped and listened. There was no sound.
She knocked, but there was no reply.
Gingerly she turned the brass door handle. ‘Sir Dominic?’
The library was empty, the fire low. She stepped inside and inhaled. There was a scent of woodsmoke and leather, and—books.
Maud tiptoed across the patterned carpet.
The books ran from floor to ceiling, in old, wooden shelves. Most were leather-bound, in rich red, green, blue, brown and wine. In one corner of the room was a ladder, attached to the shelves, so that it was possible to reach the books on the top.
But they weren’t what Maud wanted.
She bypassed the old atlases, tempting as they were. Past the books of natural history, many titles she recognised, that she hadn’t known were there. Past the tomes of history and a shelf of books about railways. She chuckled to herself. She knew to whom they belonged.
There they were, in their blue leather binding. The gilt lettering of the titles glittered.
She reached out her hand. Her fingers caressed the leather as she pulled the one she wanted from the shelf. She flicked the book open, sat down on the armchair by the fireplace and began to read.
‘Good evening.’
Sir Dominic had entered the library, as silent as a cat. He stood by the door.
The book dropped into Maud’s lap.
‘Please, don’t get up.’ He crossed the room. ‘I said you could make use of the books to prepare lessons.’
Maud’s cheeks flamed. ‘I am not reading for the purposes of Rosabel’s education.’
He crooked an eyebrow.
She held up the blue leather-bound volume. ‘I must confess I am reading a fairy tale.’
He stepped closer and read the title aloud. ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’
‘Shakespeare’s fairy tale,’ she said. ‘Titania, Oberon, Puck and Peaseblossom…’
He chuckled. ‘I’m familiar with the play. And you’re quite right, Miss Wilmot. It is a fairy tale.’
‘Perhaps you can revise your prejudices against them,’ Maud could not help saying, then bit her lip.
To her relief, his chuckle became a laugh, denting in his cheek. Instantly, he looked younger.
‘I’m glad you found it.’ He glanced at the fireplace. ‘But the fire has almost gone out. You ought not to sit in the cold.’
He crouched to reignite the flames. The shape of his shoulders beneath his jacket was emphasised in the lamplight. He wore a dark jacket, a loose white shirt with the neck open and a paisley waistcoat carelessly buttoned down to dark brown woollen trousers, his feet clad in well-polished boots.
He stood and dusted off his hands.
‘I should go to my room,’ Maud said, tensing her own fingers around the volume of Shakespeare.
‘Please stay, if you wish.’ He drew a breath and regarded her with unsmiling directness. ‘I am glad to have an opportunity to thank you. I was able to confide in you what I have not been able to confide to anyone else. It is a gift you have, Miss Wilmot. It is a rare woman who can both tell a story and listen to one.’
You are easy to listen to, she wanted to say, but she did not. Instead, she stayed silent. She sensed he had more to share.
He took a poker and prodded the fire. ‘After our conversation, I realised that my feelings must be faced.’
‘You must forgive yourself,’ she said softly. ‘For Rosabel’s sake.’
He clenched his jaw as he laid down the poker. It clattered on the granite hearth.
He turned to her. ‘You’re welcome to remain where you are. I do believe I would be glad of the company tonight.’
His tone, clipped tight as if holding back some emotion, halted her from rising from her chair. She knew that measure. She’d practised it herself, often enough.
‘Very well,’ she said softly.
In silence, he went to his desk. Opening a large folio, he took up a fountain pen, making notations as he ran the pen over the pages.
How hard he worked. Maud peeped over her book. More than once he impatiently pushed back a lock of hair that fell over his forehead, down towards two lines that creased between his eyebrows as he frowned in concentration.
The clock ticked, then chimed.
Maud continued her reading.
* * *
An hour passed, then another.
At the sound of a muttered expletive, she looked up.
‘Forgive me.’ Sir Dominic shook his head. ‘I always think I can improve upon the train schedules. It is something of a puzzle.’
‘You do the train timetables?’ she asked, amazed.
‘It’s not my role specifically,’ he admitted. ‘But the smoother they run, they more cost-effective they are. Currently, every penny counts.’
He glanced at the clock. ‘It’s been a change to have company in the evening.’
‘Not an intrusion, I hope.’
‘Not at all. I invited you.’ He exhaled. ‘I’m a man accustomed to solitude. I was an only child. I suppose it seems unusual that there was not a whole row of brothers and sisters lined up beside me, but my parents were older than most.’
‘Were you lonely?’
‘My childhood was an isolated one,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps that is why I learnt to enjoy my own company. My parents were content with each other. They often sat in this library in the evenings. They were exceptionally close friends as well as husband and wife. Neither of them lived to see me build the railway. They lived quietly at Pendragon Hall, with hardly a quarrel, or none that I ever witnessed. It was what I anticipated in a marriage.’
All Maud’s senses as a governess came alert. ‘Still, it can be hard for a child to be alone.’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose it isn’t something I wanted for Rosabel. But we cannot always have what we want.’
Silent, Maud waited for him to continue. It was a trick she employed with the children she cared for. They would often tell her their troubles, if she gave them the space to do so.
‘When I married Sarah, it was her liveliness that attracted me.’ He laid down the pen. ‘It was the opposite of my own, more retiring nature. But my parents used to sit here, in this library, much as we are doing now. Peaceful evenings spent in companionship. Without even having to speak. That was my expectation of marriage, when it came to it.’ He gave a bleak smile. ‘As I’ve said, you seem to encourage confidences, Miss Wilmot.’
‘It’s a skill of a governess.’
‘Ah. It seems I am in capable hands.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘What of your own childhood? Was it a happy one?’
‘Most happy. Bookish. And quiet, like yours.’ She raised the book she held. ‘I was the more talkative one, until I learnt to read. Then I, too, learnt the joys of quiet evenings.’
He took up his pen and rolled it in his hand. ‘Have you ever given thought to writing your own stories?’
‘They’re not good enough,’ Maud protested.
‘You underestimate yourself,’ he replied. ‘In my opinion they are fit to be published.’
Maud gaped. ‘They’re simply tales I have imagined, to entertain myself and my charges.’
He shifted to meet her gaze. ‘There’s a lot more to your stories than that.’
The clock chimed again. Maud closed her book.
‘You’ve finished reading Shakespeare’s fairy tale?’ he asked with a curve of his lips.
‘I have. It’s an old friend,’ she answered as she returned the book to its companions, aware of his gaze upon her.
‘Your father would have owned many books, I imagine, as a schoolmaster.’
‘Yes.’ She brushed the volumes with her finger. ‘But not as fine a collection as this and most of them belonged to the school in Winchester.’
‘I hope you will not hold back from availing yourself of them again,’ Sir Dominic said lightly. ‘Or of the study in the evenings, if you wish.’
He meant it. She could tell.
Maud couldn’t hide her smile. ‘Thank you. I believe I will.’