the water, and soon the sound vanished and became a mere background, and I heard only those sounds I created in my own mind. Sitting very still, a fine mist from the waterfall spraying over my skirt, I let my mind go, attuned to the place, picking up impressions that seemed to fill the air.
I was a bastard. âIllegitimateâ was a more polite way to put it, but Charles Danver had wanted to make his point strongly. Although George Danver had given me his name, I was the daughter of a French trollop and an unidentified military man. I had no reason to believe that my guardian was lying, and yet ⦠and yet that child who had sat on this rock had been a happy child. I sensed that. Rebellious, yes, always getting into scrapes as Johnny had put it, yet happy. There had been much love. I could not remember my mother, but I had a distinct impression of someone bright and lovely and gay. I knew that she had loved me. I could almost hear her voice, crooning. What was it she said? âJane, my little Jane.â No, something else, something similar. The memory refused to come, but it was so near, the thinnest veil obscuring it. I had been loved, and happy.
Something had changed all that.
My mind went blank for a moment, and there was darkness and rumbling sounds and it seemed I could see a cloud of dust and hear a scream. I felt the pain, the fear. I closed it out. Quickly, quickly I mentally ran away from that horror waiting just beyond my conscious memory. I could feel the pulses at my temples begin to throb. I pressed them tightly with my fingertips, willing the headache away, refusing to give in to it.
I saw the pale little girl with long braids who stood in the office of the head mistress. The child wore a dull brown dress and a heavy brown coat and carried a heavy suitcase. She was trembling, awed and frightened. Oh yes, I remembered that first day well enough, and I remembered each day that followed. What had transformed the merry child into the drab sparrow? A tragedy had occurred, true, but children are resilient. Children get over such things after a reasonable period of time. I never did. All gaiety was gone forever. Something had happened, and it had been so terrible that it had completely altered my personality.
The accident? Had I seen it happen? Had I seen something else as well?
I thought about Charles Danver and his reason for sending for me. The name Danver was important, and it would embarrass him if any of his business associates learned he had a niece who had been forced to seek employment. The motive was sound, but was it sound enough to justify bringing me to Danver Hall? He could have made other arrangements for me. Having me in his home was part of some scheme. I was certain of it. There was a reason for my being here, and it wasnât merely to avoid embarrassment. A man like Charles Danver wouldnât have taken such a step unless he had a definite purpose in mind.
What could that purpose be? Was I imagining things? I wasnât given to fancies, nor did I dramatize myself as did so many girls my age. I was cool and logical, and my logic told me that something was wrong.
If only Jamintha were here. I could confide in her. She would listen to me, and she would understand. She would tell me what to do, advise me, share my problems as she had shared them at school.
I sat on the rock for over an hour, lost in thought, staring at the shimmering reflection in the water without seeing it. The waterfall continued to spill over the rock, spray glittering with misty violet and blue and gold facets as it fanned in the air. I stood up, ready to leave now, my mind at ease. I would wait. There was nothing I could do but wait and see what happened. Worrying would not help, nor would fretting about my situation. I must take each day as it came. I resolved to do that.
My skirt was damp from spray, and a few wisps of hair had escaped from their prison to rest lightly on my temples. Moving back
I was a bastard. âIllegitimateâ was a more polite way to put it, but Charles Danver had wanted to make his point strongly. Although George Danver had given me his name, I was the daughter of a French trollop and an unidentified military man. I had no reason to believe that my guardian was lying, and yet ⦠and yet that child who had sat on this rock had been a happy child. I sensed that. Rebellious, yes, always getting into scrapes as Johnny had put it, yet happy. There had been much love. I could not remember my mother, but I had a distinct impression of someone bright and lovely and gay. I knew that she had loved me. I could almost hear her voice, crooning. What was it she said? âJane, my little Jane.â No, something else, something similar. The memory refused to come, but it was so near, the thinnest veil obscuring it. I had been loved, and happy.
Something had changed all that.
My mind went blank for a moment, and there was darkness and rumbling sounds and it seemed I could see a cloud of dust and hear a scream. I felt the pain, the fear. I closed it out. Quickly, quickly I mentally ran away from that horror waiting just beyond my conscious memory. I could feel the pulses at my temples begin to throb. I pressed them tightly with my fingertips, willing the headache away, refusing to give in to it.
I saw the pale little girl with long braids who stood in the office of the head mistress. The child wore a dull brown dress and a heavy brown coat and carried a heavy suitcase. She was trembling, awed and frightened. Oh yes, I remembered that first day well enough, and I remembered each day that followed. What had transformed the merry child into the drab sparrow? A tragedy had occurred, true, but children are resilient. Children get over such things after a reasonable period of time. I never did. All gaiety was gone forever. Something had happened, and it had been so terrible that it had completely altered my personality.
The accident? Had I seen it happen? Had I seen something else as well?
I thought about Charles Danver and his reason for sending for me. The name Danver was important, and it would embarrass him if any of his business associates learned he had a niece who had been forced to seek employment. The motive was sound, but was it sound enough to justify bringing me to Danver Hall? He could have made other arrangements for me. Having me in his home was part of some scheme. I was certain of it. There was a reason for my being here, and it wasnât merely to avoid embarrassment. A man like Charles Danver wouldnât have taken such a step unless he had a definite purpose in mind.
What could that purpose be? Was I imagining things? I wasnât given to fancies, nor did I dramatize myself as did so many girls my age. I was cool and logical, and my logic told me that something was wrong.
If only Jamintha were here. I could confide in her. She would listen to me, and she would understand. She would tell me what to do, advise me, share my problems as she had shared them at school.
I sat on the rock for over an hour, lost in thought, staring at the shimmering reflection in the water without seeing it. The waterfall continued to spill over the rock, spray glittering with misty violet and blue and gold facets as it fanned in the air. I stood up, ready to leave now, my mind at ease. I would wait. There was nothing I could do but wait and see what happened. Worrying would not help, nor would fretting about my situation. I must take each day as it came. I resolved to do that.
My skirt was damp from spray, and a few wisps of hair had escaped from their prison to rest lightly on my temples. Moving back
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