The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,43
bedroom, coming down only for meals and the long walks she took for exercise. Elspeth’s face was a constant grim reminder of danger. Kathryn had no desire to arouse any further suspicions, either of witchcraft or madness. But it was hard to resist Poll’s youthful enthusiasm and admiration, so she permitted the girl to work in the room, and often read to her while she sewed, or told her stories.
“What was the name of that female creature who turned people into rocks, now, ma’am?”
“Medusa? She was one of a charming family called Gorgons. There were three sisters, and not pretty like you and your sisters. In fact, the Gorgons had serpents—live serpents—instead of hair. And they were so hideous to look at that anyone unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of them was turned into stone.”
Poll giggled. “Elspeth Cameron must have seen one of them,” she whispered. “Turned her mug to stone. I ha’n’t never seen her smile once since I come.”
“Came,” Kathryn corrected gently. Poll had asked for help “with her talk,” and the educator in Kathryn couldn’t resist the opportunity. She carefully guided the girl’s thoughts away from the subject of Elspeth. “You’ve nearly finished my dress, haven’t you? You’re so quick! And the fichu is very becoming!”
“It’s my lucky Ma thought to get a bit o’ white,” agreed Poll, easily diverted. “If you’ll forgive me, ma’am, for gettin’ personal, you’re much too young and—pretty—for all this black.”
“Flattery will get you anywhere,” teased Kathryn. “Are you bucking for a raise?”
“Bucking? A raise?” Poll was bewildered by the unfamiliar terms.
“Plotting for a bigger salary,” explained Kathryn, smiling.
Poll chuckled incredulously at this humorous idea. “You’re teasing me, ma’am! Ma says it’s way too much I’m getting now. She’s afraid it will spoil me. Of course she takes all of it to put away for my dowry, so it’s little chance I have of being spoilt by any of it!”
Kathryn laughed with her, but the words had touched a real worry of her own. The money in the reticule was almost gone. She would have to have work very soon, or let Poll go. She still had not heard from Bennet, nor, for that matter, anything about events in London or Lord John. Apparently the Bennets, as a family, were not voluminous correspondents. She decided to ask Richard this very evening about the job with the Vicar, and what had happened in London of late—oh, very casually!
They always ate all the meals in the huge, comfortable old farm kitchen. Richard at the head of the table, Elspeth taking Maggie Bennet’s place at the foot, the two unmarried men who helped Richard work the farm on one side, and Kathryn and Poll on the other. Richard had insisted that Kathryn be seated at his right. Elspeth, silent and stern-faced, was up and down serving throughout the meal, scorning offered assistance. That night, while Elspeth was clearing the table, and the young men were leaving the house for their own hut with many a shy glance at pretty Poll, Kathryn spoke to her host. She tried to keep her tone light.
“Richard, it is time I had gainful employment. Have you spoken to the absent-minded Vicar?”
He gave her his slow smile. “That I have, Mistress Radcliffe. When he heard your qualifications, ¼twas all I could do to keep him from storming the farm at once. I advised him he’d have to possess his soul in patience till your arm healed.”
Kathryn, very conscious of Elspeth’s listening ears, said quietly, “I’d like to begin to work as soon as possible. I really need the money. Can you arrange for me to meet with him tomorrow?”
“I’ll drive you over myself, tomorrow afternoon,” promised Richard. “If you’re sure you are well enough.”
*****
Driving along the green lanes behind the sedate old cob, Kathryn felt a sense of relief. It was good to be heading toward work she loved and could do, good to be getting away from Elspeth’s hostile presence. She had an idea.
“Does the Vicar have servants who live in the vicarage?”
“Yes, he has one old fellow, Newton, who cooks and looks after his clothing. The vicarage is large enough to house a half dozen, but Vicar lives plain. Oh, there’s Mrs. Latchet, from Elsinghurst Village. She comes in once a week to clean up.” Richard chuckled. “I don’t envy the poor woman. Vicar absolutely forbids her to touch a single book or paper, and she says there’s no level surface in the whole house that isn’t covered