the shouting of her returning warriors Cara tried to pull herself together, her mind still presenting scathing remarks she should have made to Julian. As the children approached she brushed at the leaves and grass on her skirts.
"This is Miss Farraday, our new governess," Belin lisped.
"And this is Pennyfeather," Richard announced.
Cara had been deluged during the day with the exploits of the children's friend. It was suspected that he might have been either a pirate or, at the least, a smuggler. Cara was amused that either occupation held high favor in the children's eyes. Although she wanted to make a good impression for the children's sake, Cara felt less than adequate with warpaint on her face and her wits scattered by Julian's assault.
"The children have been telling me of your many adventures, Pennyfeather." Cara smiled into the gray eyes of a, hopefully, benevolent giant.
Great hamlike hands snatched off the tweed cap perched on a thatch of frizzy hair. The hair was neither brown nor white. It looked as though Pennyfeather's whole head had been spattered with white paint. As the sausage-shaped fingers kneaded the cap, his keen eyes inspected the girl, discerning her agitation. The wild hairs sprouting from his eyebrows lowered over narrowed eyes as he squinted toward the Hall and Julian's departing figure.
"Found your Indians stalkin' a couple squirrels."
The children attempted a shamefaced expression but fell short of the mark. They capered around the big man who was as undisturbed as a cow by buzzing flies. With an economy of words Pennyfeather dispatched them to the stream for some water, giving the distraught girl a chance to collect her scattered poise. Without impatience, he waited in silence until they returned with a dampened cloth.
"Give over," Pennyfeather ordered, holding out an enormous hand.
"Aw, Pennyfeather, only babies get their faces washed," Richard muttered as the wet cloth descended on his face.
"Quit your bleatin', young sir, and let me finish."
In fascination, Cara watched as Pennyfeather scrubbed the paint off each of the children's face. His features screwed up in concentration, he bent to the task in total absorption. Although the children wriggled in his grasp, it was obvious that the huge man's touch was gentle. Without pausing, Pennyfeather turned to Cara, tipped her face upwards and proceeded to wash the paint from her forehead and nose. Although Cara was surprised that he treated her like just one more child, she was content for the moment with her role. Surveying the three shining faces, the old man shoved the red stained cloth into one of the pockets of his jacket, and started off along the path.
Hurrying to keep up with Pennyfeather's rolling gait, Cara was pleased to find that her ragged emotions were once more under control. She refused to think about Julian for the time being. Soon she was caught by the outdoorsman's knowledge of plants and animals as he kept Richard and Belin searching for objects of interest. The silence between the two adults was comfortable with little need of words. From time to time the children squealed for attention and then Cara and the old woodsman would admire each discovery. It amazed her that despite his heaviness, Pennyfeather's enormous boots trod silently on the paths, barely ruffling the leaves.
"You'll have to watch Pennyfeather," Cara suggested to the children. "Then you can move through the woods like shadows."
"Pennyfeather's a poacher," Richard confided in awe. "He's so quiet he can sneak up on the deer and pet them."
Cara glanced sideways to encounter the discomfited grin of her companion. She hoped the boy was exaggerating because she knew that in England the punishments meted out for poaching were still harsh. From Richard's chatter Cara was aware that Julian had gamekeepers always on the alert for trespassers.
As the late afternoon sun began to glow with a reddish hue, the children were rounded up for a return to the Hall.
"This is Miss Farraday, our new governess," Belin lisped.
"And this is Pennyfeather," Richard announced.
Cara had been deluged during the day with the exploits of the children's friend. It was suspected that he might have been either a pirate or, at the least, a smuggler. Cara was amused that either occupation held high favor in the children's eyes. Although she wanted to make a good impression for the children's sake, Cara felt less than adequate with warpaint on her face and her wits scattered by Julian's assault.
"The children have been telling me of your many adventures, Pennyfeather." Cara smiled into the gray eyes of a, hopefully, benevolent giant.
Great hamlike hands snatched off the tweed cap perched on a thatch of frizzy hair. The hair was neither brown nor white. It looked as though Pennyfeather's whole head had been spattered with white paint. As the sausage-shaped fingers kneaded the cap, his keen eyes inspected the girl, discerning her agitation. The wild hairs sprouting from his eyebrows lowered over narrowed eyes as he squinted toward the Hall and Julian's departing figure.
"Found your Indians stalkin' a couple squirrels."
The children attempted a shamefaced expression but fell short of the mark. They capered around the big man who was as undisturbed as a cow by buzzing flies. With an economy of words Pennyfeather dispatched them to the stream for some water, giving the distraught girl a chance to collect her scattered poise. Without impatience, he waited in silence until they returned with a dampened cloth.
"Give over," Pennyfeather ordered, holding out an enormous hand.
"Aw, Pennyfeather, only babies get their faces washed," Richard muttered as the wet cloth descended on his face.
"Quit your bleatin', young sir, and let me finish."
In fascination, Cara watched as Pennyfeather scrubbed the paint off each of the children's face. His features screwed up in concentration, he bent to the task in total absorption. Although the children wriggled in his grasp, it was obvious that the huge man's touch was gentle. Without pausing, Pennyfeather turned to Cara, tipped her face upwards and proceeded to wash the paint from her forehead and nose. Although Cara was surprised that he treated her like just one more child, she was content for the moment with her role. Surveying the three shining faces, the old man shoved the red stained cloth into one of the pockets of his jacket, and started off along the path.
Hurrying to keep up with Pennyfeather's rolling gait, Cara was pleased to find that her ragged emotions were once more under control. She refused to think about Julian for the time being. Soon she was caught by the outdoorsman's knowledge of plants and animals as he kept Richard and Belin searching for objects of interest. The silence between the two adults was comfortable with little need of words. From time to time the children squealed for attention and then Cara and the old woodsman would admire each discovery. It amazed her that despite his heaviness, Pennyfeather's enormous boots trod silently on the paths, barely ruffling the leaves.
"You'll have to watch Pennyfeather," Cara suggested to the children. "Then you can move through the woods like shadows."
"Pennyfeather's a poacher," Richard confided in awe. "He's so quiet he can sneak up on the deer and pet them."
Cara glanced sideways to encounter the discomfited grin of her companion. She hoped the boy was exaggerating because she knew that in England the punishments meted out for poaching were still harsh. From Richard's chatter Cara was aware that Julian had gamekeepers always on the alert for trespassers.
As the late afternoon sun began to glow with a reddish hue, the children were rounded up for a return to the Hall.
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