The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(13)
“She is very articulate on paper. She reads and thinks and observes in words. I am at a loss as to why she won’t say them. Is it grief over her mother’s death or illness?”
“She’d stopped talking nearly a year before my wife died. I found her like this when I came home.”
Caroline frowned, deep in thought. “And could your wife offer no insight?”
“None that she shared with me. With respect, Miss Grey, your task is to teach her. For the rest, we have doctors.”
“But you said it was not a medical problem,” Caroline pointed out. “And as for teaching, I would be failing in my duties if I didn’t at least try to teach her to speak again.”
“In the one week or two which you have allotted to us?” he retorted.
Caroline flushed. “I always work to the best of my ability. Should I have a scale of effort to match the time I spend with my pupils?”
She knew, as the words spilled out, that it was insolence. As his eyebrows flew up, she bit her lip, waiting to be dismissed—from the room at the very least. But again, he surprised her.
“I’ve hurt your feelings. I apologize,” he said curtly. “If you can make her speak, we would both be forever in your debt. I merely doubt the possibility. However, if you are asking for my permission to try, you have it, on condition you say or do nothing to upset her or hurt her.”
“I agree, of course,” Caroline said at once. “Which is why I was asking for some clue as to the circumstances. I don’t wish to say anything to upset her, or subject her to any hurtful influence.”
“If I knew the circumstances, I would tell you. As I said, I was away at the time. Neither my wife nor the servants could elucidate.”
“The servants here were with her at the time?”
He nodded. “Except for Williams. And the cook.”
Of course, Williams, as his valet, would have been with him, wherever he was.
Caroline nodded thoughtfully and rose to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, walking away.
Civilly, he rose with her. On impulse, realizing it must have seemed an abrupt departure, she glanced back over her shoulder. He was watching her, his eyes alight with amusement and something vaguely predatory that reminded her of last night’s encounter at her bedchamber door.
Chapter Four
The following evening, while Mr. Benedict sat with Rosa in her chamber, Caroline took a candle and went to the library. She went partly to find a new book to read, and partly to avoid the strange bated breath with which she seemed to await Mr. Benedict’s departure from his daughter’s room. Shut up in the library, she would not hear his uneven footsteps or imagine his hand raised to knock at her door.
She found the library, a rather dusty room with a large and ancient fireplace, in total darkness. By the light of her own candle, she discovered others and lit them from hers. She carried one with her as she prowled along the book-lined walls, examining titles and occasionally kneeling on the floor with a book to look further.
Overall, it was a motley collection, with nothing about plants that she could discover, so she doubted they were Benedict’s books. It must have belonged to the house’s owners, the tragic Gardyn family whose last heir had vanished as a child. Most people believed she was dead, but without proof, the estate was apparently kept in trust for her by distant family.
Caroline hated to think of dead or frightened children, so she hastily plucked a novel off the shelf to distract herself and went to the window seat to read. Neither the shutters nor the curtains had been drawn, so although it was rather chilly without a fire, she could press her back to the wall and occasionally glance up from her book to the dark, starkly beautiful scenery that surrounded the hall. All that was missing was the sea. At Braithwaite Castle, you could see the water from almost every side.
She allowed herself a moment to think of the Braithwaite girls and miss them. But since sentiment achieved nothing, she concentrated determinedly on Pamela.
Soft, uneven footsteps passed the library and hurried down the stairs. Mr. Benedict, no doubt, going back to his study instead of to his bedchamber. Even here, she was aware of his movements.
Drawing the shawl tighter around her, she read on. Another ten minutes and she would return to her cozy bedchamber.
Without warning, the library door banged shut.
Caroline jumped, dropping the book, which tumbled onto the floor. How had the door banged? She’d closed it when she’d come in. She rose, picked up the book, and hastened to the door. Pulling it open, she gazed onto the dark landing. A light shone under the drawing room door, and she had just taken a step toward it when she glimpsed something from the corner of her eye, something flitting silently past at the foot of the stairs.
Uneasily, she relit her candle and walked downstairs to investigate. But before she was half way down, a strange, unearthly howl filled her ears, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. It didn’t sound like the same crying she’d heard emanating from Miss Benedict’s room. It seemed to come from downstairs, though she supposed Miss Benedict could move around the house if she chose. Unless Betty Smith was right that Javan Benedict locked her in.
This was a truly bizarre household.
The howl came again, more distant. Her curiosity thoroughly aroused—along with a desire to make it stop in case it woke and frightened Rosa—she ran the rest of the way downstairs, following what she thought was the direction of the noise, across the entrance hall to the passage that led to the side door and the study beyond.