A Silent Ocean Away (37 page)

Irked, Paul yanked the stubborn chair, but instead of holding stiffly to the floor, it came up easily, and he stumbled backward, regaining his balance just short of a fall. The twins laughed, but he ignored them as he took his seat.

Charmaine cast cold eyes across the table, stifling the girls’
mirth to an occasional snicker. She wondered what trick had caused the misfortune, her suspicions lying with the newcomer, whose eyes sparkled deviously.

The table fell quiet as the meal was laid before them—though not for long.

“I heard someone playing the piano today,” John mused aloud.

Everyone looked up, save Charmaine, who fixed her gaze on her plate.

“The music was quite good…whoever was playing it.”

Mutinously, her eyes connected with his. “Yes, quite good,” he reiterated casually, his regard steadfast and challenging. “An assortment of lullabies and even an attempted sonata…Very—how shall I say—?
Sweet
.”

Silverware clanked on china and Charmaine cursed the blood that rushed to her cheeks, advertising her disquiet. His jeering gaze refused to release her, and so, she broke away first.

Thus dismissed, John turned his attention to his brother, who seemed oblivious to his calculated comments. Evidently, Paul had not yet recovered from his skirmish with the chair. Well, Paul’s fatal flaw was his temper. John’s was never leaving well enough alone. Even now, he was wondering:
How far need I push the governess before she lashes out and Paul rushes to the rescue?

“Might I ask who was playing that beautiful piece this afternoon?” he continued most politely, a masterful performance of cordiality.

Charmaine knew he was goading her and refused to answer, picking up her fork instead.

“Nobody knows?” he pressed, eyeing Yvette. “Perhaps it was a ghost.”

“I know who it was!” the girl offered eagerly.

Charmaine groaned inwardly.
Why didn’t I just answer the ridiculous question, instead of allowing him to intimidate me?

“Well?” John probed.

“Information costs money,” Yvette informed him curtly. “How much are you willing to pay?”

Charmaine was revolted, but George chortled softly.

“Don’t laugh, George,” John quipped. “I fear your avaricious streak is rubbing off on my sister.”

George’s face dropped, and John turned back to Yvette, who was waiting for a monetary bid. “Now, Yvette, you wouldn’t be expecting a bribe, would you? For if you are, Auntie over there might be interested in that little matter we discussed in the drawing room this morning.”

Agatha leaned forward, suddenly interested in the story that was emerging from the opposite end of the table.

Yvette answered quickly. “Mademoiselle Charmaine was playing.”

Charmaine was livid. Now that the answer was out, she simmered over the methods used to extract it. To think the man would actually coerce an eight-year-old child for his own gain! Unfortunately, his tactics had worked, and his laughing eyes were upon her again. Charmaine gulped back the bile rising in her throat, surprised when a reprieve came from the foot of the table.

“What is this matter concerning Yvette?” Agatha demanded of John.

He raised a hand to wave her off. “You can live without it, Auntie.”

Sputtering momentarily, she quickly regained her aplomb. “You may call me Madame Duvoisin if you wish to address me!”

“Address you?” John shot back. “Rest assured I will never wish to address you anything—
Auntie
—and certainly not with
my
name. No, you will always be ‘Auntie Hagatha’ to me.”

“Well, I never! Your father will hear of this!”

“Fine,” John responded wryly, “why don’t you rush up there
right now and tell him? Then perhaps the rest of us can eat in peace.”

Seething, Agatha glared at him, but dismissed his suggestion. Then, unable to sling an equally debasive remark, she made a great show of ripping her gaze from him and turning her unspent fury upon her plate, forcefully plying her knife and fork into a slice of meat.

“Now,” John sighed, turning back to Charmaine. “Is it true you play the piano, Mademoiselle Ryan?” His eyes rested momentarily on Paul, who shifted irately in his chair. “
Do
you play the piano?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Charmaine answered flatly, looking directly at her tormentor now.

“You play quite well. Few are acquainted with the modern pianoforte and pound on it as if it were a harpsichord. Did you receive lessons from a maestro?”

His belittling sarcasm stymied her.

Rose sensed Charmaine’s distress, aware John was no more interested in finding out where she had learned to play the piano than he was in giving up the alcohol he’d been nursing. It was time to intervene. “John,” she scolded, “eat your dinner before it grows cold.”

To Charmaine’s stunned relief, John leaned back in his chair, glanced at Yvette, who found the reprimand quite delightful, then lifted a fork to eat. Charmaine turned back to her own plate, grateful for Rose’s deliverance.

George studied John, his intimidation of Charmaine unfathomable. He remembered her tears on Saturday and sympathized with her plight. Over the years, he had seen many an unfortunate soul go down in defeat once they were in John’s crosshairs, but those victims had always deserved it. He couldn’t imagine what Charmaine, as sweet as she was, could have done to provoke John’s
wrath. “I saw Gummy Hoffstreicher in town yesterday, John,” he began with a crooked smile and a dose of levity. “He actually asked me how you were doing!”

“And did you tell him I’ve been rather miserable lately?” John replied gruffly. “He should be pleased to hear that.”

“After what you did to him,” George chuckled, “I’d say he would!”

“What did Johnny do?” Yvette asked.

George’s chuckle deepened. “When we were boys,” he reminisced, “perhaps a bit older than you, John, Paul, and I used to go fishing off the main wharf in town. Fatima always packed a large lunch, and we’d be off for the day. Anyway, that’s where Gummy always used to be.”

“Gummy?” Jeannette queried. “Why was he called that?”

“John gave him that name. His real name is Gunther, but we called him Gummy because he was missing a good many of his front teeth.”

The twins lit up, giggling at what Charmaine thought to be cruel. Looking askance at John, she noticed he was listening, but eating as well, his mind far from her. The conversation turned spontaneous, and she relaxed.

“He was always lurking about the harbor,” George was explaining, “scavenging for food and hooks. He wasn’t poor, mind you, just too lazy to bring his own lunch. So, if we didn’t give him something to eat, he would steal the sandwiches out of our lunch sack when we weren’t looking, and then we’d catch him ‘gumming’ down. Every day, we were one sandwich short, until John got angry enough to do something about it.”

Felicia entered the room with a pitcher of water. Charmaine watched from the corner of her eye as the maid arrived at the head of the table. She leaned over to refill John’s glass, her ample bosom straining against the tight uniform, top buttons undone, her
obtrusive pose affording him a generous view.
What a lovely couple they make,
Charmaine mused.
They deserve each other!

“The next day,” George snickered, reliving the delicious revenge, “John cut open some fish and scraped out the guts. Then he poked out their eyes. Finally, he took the sandwiches and spread some eyes and guts on each one.”

Charmaine’s stomach heaved. George, however, was not so squeamish, guffawing with glee, tears brimming in his eyes and running down his gaunt cheeks. “I’ll never forget Gummy’s face when he bit into that sandwich. He spit it out so fast, well, I thought he was going to lose his breakfast, too!” His merriment washed over the table as Paul and John, then the children and Rose, began to laugh.

“And what about the eyes staring up at us from the dock?” Paul added, drawing an even louder howl from George.

“That was the last thing Gummy ever stole, at least from John, anyway!”

Charmaine found the entire tale distasteful, and she turned disbelieving eyes upon Paul, who was chortling even harder than George. Everyone found the tale hilarious, save Agatha and herself.

“I can find no humor in such barbarism!” the mistress declared.

Without thinking, Charmaine looked to John, certain his retort would be swift and sure. However, he caught her eyes upon him and said instead, “You see, Miss Ryan, my aunt and I are really not alike at all.”

“That is precisely what I indicated this morning!” Agatha added.

In response, John raised his glass of brandy. “Here’s to you, Auntie, I believe that is the first and only time we will ever agree!” He took a long draw.

Charmaine gasped when Yvette imitated him. Rose quickly confiscated her glass of water and reprimanded her softly. “That is not befitting a young lady.” But Yvette’s eyes remained fixed on John, wide and wistful with her brother’s wink of approval.

Everyone went back to eating, and the table began to hum with clustered conversations. Paul and George exchanged ideas, but John remained reticent. With him unoccupied, Charmaine’s nerves grew taut. Why had she surrendered Pierre to Rose’s capable hands? Though the child ate his meal passively, seeing to his dish was the type of distraction she needed. Nevertheless, when she smiled at the boy who smiled back at her, she found John’s gaze rested on him as well, and she thought better of having the child sitting next to her.

Thus, she concentrated on eating, forever mindful of her antagonist.
Surely he isn’t constantly watching me!
She looked his way and cursed her stupidity. He instantly sensed her regard. The brow arched, and the amber-brown eyes mocked her. She rose to the challenge. She would not allow him the satisfaction of relentless intimidation. She would not!

As if comprehending her resolution, he addressed her directly. “Miss Ryan, I don’t recall seeing you on Charmantes before I left a few years ago. I realize you would have been younger; however, you don’t speak like an islander. In fact, I detect a Southern accent. I’d like to know how you obtained your position here.”

To Charmaine’s relief, Paul intervened, sparing the details. “Miss Ryan sailed from the States specifically to apply for the position of governess. She possessed all the necessary qualifications and was offered the job.”

John propped his elbows on the table and tapped laced fingers against his lips. “Who decided Miss Ryan ‘possessed all the necessary qualifications?’ You? If so, perhaps those qualifications are not in the
children’s
best interest.”

His meaning was not lost on Charmaine nor Paul. The latter’s jaw twitched menacingly, but his reply was temperate. “Colette conducted the interview. Miss Ryan was her choice.”

Their eyes held in a silent, meaningful exchange.

“A most foolish choice if you ask me,” Agatha interjected, drawing John’s regard. “Miss Ryan has a most questionable past. She is nothing more than a sly opportunist who managed to slither her way into this household by clever pretense, preying on certain members of this family.”

Paul’s mouth flew open to protest, but John beat him to the punch. “Are you describing Miss Ryan or yourself, Auntie?”

Agatha gasped loudly, and he savored her outrage before continuing. “I don’t think Miss Ryan is the consummate schemer you say she is. The refined conniver is never caught.”

Fuming, Agatha fell into a stony silence.

Charmaine, on the other hand, shuddered at the man’s tacit reference to Colette’s letter, amazed at how effortlessly he discredited two people at the same time. Had she not been included in his double-edged remark, she would have appreciated the fact the mistress of the manor had met her match.

“Now, Miss Ryan,” he proceeded, “what prompted you to leave your home and family, even your friends, to apply for a position so far away?”

For a second time, Paul attempted to answer, but John held up a hand. “Miss Ryan has a tongue, has she not? Allow
her
to answer the question, Paul. I fear that when you tell a story, I have to keep digging and digging until I get down to the truth of the matter.”

The ensuing silence sent Charmaine’s mind into a spiraling frenzy. Spontaneously, Paul winked at her, a gesture that drew a callous grunt from John. But it imbued her with valor; she could answer as concisely as he had. “My home was in Richmond,” she
said. “When my mother died, I needed to make a new life for myself. Friends in Richmond—the people I worked for—informed me of the opening for a governess here. They have family on the island.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! When I heard of the position and showed an interest in seeking an interview, they accompanied me.”

The inevitable question followed. “And what of your father?”

Here it comes,
Charmaine thought,
Anne London’s nasty allegations.
She’d been right: John knew all about her past and had bided his time, carefully choosing the moment to defame her, and in front of the children, no less! She thought to flee.
I’ve learned never to turn my back on the enemy.

“My father disappeared one day,” she replied boldly, catching sight of Agatha’s smug smile, “never to return.”

“He just disappeared?” John scoffed. “Never to return? People don’t just disappear, Miss Ryan. There must have been a reason why he deserted you. What type of man does such a thing?”

Rose’s sympathetic eyes rested on the dedicated governess. Charmaine was undeserving of this insensitive inquisition. “John,” she chided, “will you please stop talking and start eating? Your potatoes are getting cold.”

“They’re already cold,” he stated flatly, not backing down as he had before, his eyes unwavering, “and my question has yet to be answered. I find your story hard to believe, Miss Ryan. Did your father really do that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Why?”

Charmaine clenched her jaw. Anger and humiliation collided, their union tantamount only to her loathing of this man. He played the game so well, pretending not to know the answers he probably had memorized, while insinuating she was the liar. “My
father was responsible for my mother’s death,” she hissed. “He disappeared in order to escape punishment for his crime.”