looked back, she was poised with one hand still resting on
the newel post while she examined his shattered portrait. Her face
was very white as it caught the curved edge of
lamplight.
"I hope you're not frightened by
ghosts, Mrs. Monday."
"Good heavens, no. I'm on their side.
Who would possibly pass up the chance to get a little spirited
vengeance on those who once plagued them?"
He laughed. "Is that a warning for
me?"
She did not respond to that, too
preoccupied by the painting. "Why have you not restored the
portrait?" she asked, gesturing to where the image of his face
should be.
"It stands there as a reminder never
to marry again."
Having considered this for a moment,
she said, "And no one can say how young you looked then, or remark
upon the silver strands creeping along your temples now. Your
vanity is safe."
"For your information, madam, I grew
into my looks. I was not as handsome then as I am now."
"Well, I'll have to take your word for
that, shan't I? Precisely my point."
Amused, he cleared his throat and
moved on, taking the stairs three at a time in his usual fashion.
Only when he reached the landing and found her still some way
below, negotiating the steps in semi-darkness, did he suppose that
he should have taken a slower pace to provide her with more
light.
But she managed, skirt lifted with one
hand.
He raised his lamp higher and saw that
she wore some wretched old boots indeed. Suddenly he realized she
was looking up at him and must have seen his puzzled glance at her
feet. Her cheeks turned dusky pink, and she hastily dropped the hem
of her skirt.
Clearing his throat, he continued,
"The castle was eventually occupied again and passed down through a
Cornish family, although the last inhabitant before me was accused
of smuggling and deliberately luring ships into the cliffs to claim
whatever bounty they carried. Thus, he met his end on the gallows.
His son never wanted to live here and—"
"You won the place from him in a game
of cards," she interrupted. "Yes, so I read." After a pause she
added, with cutting deliberation, "Considering the gloomy history
of the house, it would seem very few generations failed to keep the
custom of kissing a Jameson."
"Exactly! See what happens when
superstition is scoffed at, Mrs. Monday? And you thought I made it
up." He heard a dismissive huff. "I suppose you believe I won this
island by dishonest methods," he added.
She raised her shoulders in a stiff
shrug and looked bored.
"Cheating, Mrs. Monday, is not
necessary when one has a natural genius for numbers."
"Indeed?"
"A careful calculation of the odds
alone can ensure the house eventually triumphs, every time. One
must merely have the capacity to hold numbers up here." He tapped
knuckles to his forehead.
" Fascinating ."
"But while working for me
you'll learn the whole story of how I earned my fortune. If you decide to stay
and we don't frighten you off."
"I agreed to six months and so for
half a year I shall stay." Her voice was very firm, decisive. "I
never go back on my word. And I never change my mind."
Well, we'll see, he thought. Women, in his experience, were
changeable as the weather.
As True led his new employee down the
passage, he noted dust on the console table and cobwebs on the
paneling. Would have a word with Sims.
He opened the door to the old nanny's
room and saw that a fire had been lit. At least Sims had seen to
that, so he must not have despised the new arrival too severely. It
was a sparsely furnished room though, a bit grim. "Here we are,
Mrs. Monday. There are spare candles in the box on the mantle. I
hope you'll find it comfortable tonight."
She walked into the room, her gaze
quickly assessing the place. "I'm sure I'll manage." Then she
looked at him again. "I daresay it amused you to make a fool of me
just now, sir, pretending to be Jameson." Her head tilted to one
side and a flicker of candlelight caught on the soft luster of her
pearl earbobs, drawing his attention to them
the newel post while she examined his shattered portrait. Her face
was very white as it caught the curved edge of
lamplight.
"I hope you're not frightened by
ghosts, Mrs. Monday."
"Good heavens, no. I'm on their side.
Who would possibly pass up the chance to get a little spirited
vengeance on those who once plagued them?"
He laughed. "Is that a warning for
me?"
She did not respond to that, too
preoccupied by the painting. "Why have you not restored the
portrait?" she asked, gesturing to where the image of his face
should be.
"It stands there as a reminder never
to marry again."
Having considered this for a moment,
she said, "And no one can say how young you looked then, or remark
upon the silver strands creeping along your temples now. Your
vanity is safe."
"For your information, madam, I grew
into my looks. I was not as handsome then as I am now."
"Well, I'll have to take your word for
that, shan't I? Precisely my point."
Amused, he cleared his throat and
moved on, taking the stairs three at a time in his usual fashion.
Only when he reached the landing and found her still some way
below, negotiating the steps in semi-darkness, did he suppose that
he should have taken a slower pace to provide her with more
light.
But she managed, skirt lifted with one
hand.
He raised his lamp higher and saw that
she wore some wretched old boots indeed. Suddenly he realized she
was looking up at him and must have seen his puzzled glance at her
feet. Her cheeks turned dusky pink, and she hastily dropped the hem
of her skirt.
Clearing his throat, he continued,
"The castle was eventually occupied again and passed down through a
Cornish family, although the last inhabitant before me was accused
of smuggling and deliberately luring ships into the cliffs to claim
whatever bounty they carried. Thus, he met his end on the gallows.
His son never wanted to live here and—"
"You won the place from him in a game
of cards," she interrupted. "Yes, so I read." After a pause she
added, with cutting deliberation, "Considering the gloomy history
of the house, it would seem very few generations failed to keep the
custom of kissing a Jameson."
"Exactly! See what happens when
superstition is scoffed at, Mrs. Monday? And you thought I made it
up." He heard a dismissive huff. "I suppose you believe I won this
island by dishonest methods," he added.
She raised her shoulders in a stiff
shrug and looked bored.
"Cheating, Mrs. Monday, is not
necessary when one has a natural genius for numbers."
"Indeed?"
"A careful calculation of the odds
alone can ensure the house eventually triumphs, every time. One
must merely have the capacity to hold numbers up here." He tapped
knuckles to his forehead.
" Fascinating ."
"But while working for me
you'll learn the whole story of how I earned my fortune. If you decide to stay
and we don't frighten you off."
"I agreed to six months and so for
half a year I shall stay." Her voice was very firm, decisive. "I
never go back on my word. And I never change my mind."
Well, we'll see, he thought. Women, in his experience, were
changeable as the weather.
As True led his new employee down the
passage, he noted dust on the console table and cobwebs on the
paneling. Would have a word with Sims.
He opened the door to the old nanny's
room and saw that a fire had been lit. At least Sims had seen to
that, so he must not have despised the new arrival too severely. It
was a sparsely furnished room though, a bit grim. "Here we are,
Mrs. Monday. There are spare candles in the box on the mantle. I
hope you'll find it comfortable tonight."
She walked into the room, her gaze
quickly assessing the place. "I'm sure I'll manage." Then she
looked at him again. "I daresay it amused you to make a fool of me
just now, sir, pretending to be Jameson." Her head tilted to one
side and a flicker of candlelight caught on the soft luster of her
pearl earbobs, drawing his attention to them
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