Arian (8 page)

She hastily pushed the thought aside; loving was not for her, she’d had her fill of men, enough to last her a lifetime.

Later, as the staff sat at supper in the huge warmth of the kitchen, Arian had time to study the new steward, the man with whom she would be working. Somehow his appearance gave her a sense of apprehension.

Gerald Simples was certainly handsome; he was swarthy in the way that Romanies were swarthy and his moustache, thick and dark, gave him a predatory appearance that was slightly unnerving.

‘You’ll be sure to know me next time.’ His voice was a surprise – it was cultured and had a slight accent that Arian could not define.

‘Sorry, was I staring?’ Arian said quickly. ‘There’s rude of me, it’s just that you reminded me of someone, someone I didn’t much like.’ The last thing she wanted was to encourage the man to think she was interested in him. Indeed, she was almost repelled by the raw edge of masculinity about him.

‘That’s fine by me,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m not here to be liked, I think we shall work very well together, don’t you?’

Arian lifted a fork to her lips to save her the necessity of replying. She hardly tasted the food, wishing herself away from the strange presence of the man.

As soon as she could, she returned to her room, a larger one than she had previously occupied with Bella as befitted her new status in the house. As she sank onto the bed, stretching her feet to the fire, she tried to force away the dark thoughts that hovered painfully on the edges of her mind.

But that night, the dream came again. She was being beaten and her body violated, invaded by the man she had come to hate, the man who had died but lived on in her nightmares, and as she came sharply awake, she acknowledged to herself at last the reason for her dislike of Gerald Simples. It was because he bore a startling resemblance to Price Davies.

Arian sat in the newly appointed office that looked over the lawns at the back of Stormhill Manor. The smell of freshly sharpened pencils was finer than that of any scent and Arian breathed a sigh of contentment as she turned away from the sight of the large lawns and sturdy trees to study the figures before her.

She had found, in the last few weeks, several discrepancies; small, it was true, but enough to prevent the books from balancing.

Mrs Richards’s pique had manifested itself in a deliberate attack on Arian’s morals. She had made it her business to learn more of Arian’s past and never missed an opportunity to make a sly dig about what she called her unconventional life-style. Her attitude succeeded only in bringing to the fore painful memories that Arian would have preferred to forget, for no-one took the slightest notice of Mrs Richards’s spiteful gossip.

With the new steward, though, it was more difficult to be off-hand. He made her feel distinctly uneasy whenever she was alone in the office with him.

And yet, he had a fine mind, there was no questioning that. Columns which it took Arian several minutes to total on paper were done in seconds in Mr Simples’s head. To be fair, he was quite ready to teach her a few tricks of the accounting trade but still Arian’s instinct was to mistrust him.

‘Now let’s decipher these accounts of last month,’ she said out loud, ‘see what a nonsense our good Mrs Richards has made of
them
.’

Arian smiled, amused to realize that she was adopting Mr Simples’s speech mannerisms, copying his clearly enunciated words. ‘
Duw
, I’ll be getting above myself if I don’t take care.’ She gave voice to her thoughts, her tone wry.

‘Talking to yourself, Miss Smale?’ Gerald Simples had come quietly into the room and stood looking down at her, his dark eyebrows raised. She sat up straighter, brushing back a tendril of hair.

‘Just thinking out loud,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t expect you back yet.’

‘If you had, you would have reserved your gems of wisdom for me, I suppose?’ He peered down at the book. ‘There,’ he pointed, ‘a mistake of two shillings,
that
is an extravagance even for Mrs Richards. I think we’d better go over the books for the last six-month period.’

Arian sighed. There seemed little point in that; the mistakes had been made and however correct the books were, the money would never be recouped.

‘Later,’ Mr Simples said, ‘I want you to go to his lordship and inform him of the money his housekeeper has lost him to date. I make it almost an entire guinea.’

Arian looked up at him. ‘Is that really necessary?’ she asked. ‘It will only get Mrs Richards into trouble.’

‘I’m here to do a job, Miss Smale. So are you. We will do it properly or not at all.’

He settled himself at his desk, his back towards her and Arian watched him covertly, trying to decide what it was about him that made her think of Price Davies. It wasn’t physical likeness, not exactly, although there
were
similarities in appearance. No, it was some look in the eye, some air of contained power as though Simples could suddenly turn into a dangerous animal.

He glanced back over his shoulder as though aware of her scrutiny. ‘Any problems, Miss Smale?’ he asked and she shook her head without replying.

It was not often that they were together in the office for any length of time. Mr Simples had other duties that fortunately kept him busy – but when they were, Arian was unable to concentrate on her work, she kept feeling his eyes boring into her although he was in fact acting as though she wasn’t there.

She took a deep breath. Her task was to prove that she could handle the household accounts alone, the sooner the better, then she would scarcely ever be alone with the steward.

The work on the books was not difficult; now that she had charge of the outgoings there was an easy method of assessing the month’s expenditure. So long as every detail of any purchases was noted in the book, it was normally only a few hours’ work to balance the figures at the end of the month. But now that Mr Simples had started delving into the back accounts, goodness knows how long it would take her to sort them out.

She dropped her pencil and became aware that she was being watched.

‘Day-dreaming, Miss Smale?’ Mr Simples rose and came to stand over her, leaning forward to check the figures on the open page. Arian resisted the urge to move away from him, not wishing to offend. But, as though he sensed her withdrawal, he straightened.

‘You don’t much like me, do you, Miss Smale?’ he said abruptly and she looked up at him in surprise. It was the first time he had said anything remotely personal.

‘I’ve never given it any thought,’ she said quickly, and his half smile told her he knew that she lied. ‘I certainly respect your acumen,’ she said. ‘You are sharp with figures and I envy you that.’

‘Well thank you, compliments no less, but I still feel that you do not like me. Why?’

Arian shrugged. ‘You remind me of someone I’d rather forget.’ She looked up at him. ‘Unfair of me, I’ll agree, but it’s something I can’t help.’

‘Well then, I must prove to you that I am not like that other man. It
has
to be a lover, doesn’t it?’

Arian turned away. ‘There’s no point in talking about it, Mr Simples. It’s my business and anyway, it’s all in the past.’

He walked away then, so light on his feet that she scarcely heard him leave the room. She shivered and chewed the end of her pencil. Why did he have the ability to make her feel threatened?

She rose and closed the book with a snap. She had done enough today. She would get out of the room, away from the feeling of being trapped. This was not the way she wanted to live her life – she wanted action, the chance to make a success of a business which would take her away from servitude to any man.

She hurried down the curving staircase and stood for a moment in the hall which was redolent with the smell of beeswax. The door to the library stood open and on an impulse, Arian moved towards the huge bookcase that lined one of the walls.

She looked up at the books and selected one at random. It was difficult to read, the language being involved and ancient.

‘A bit ambitious of you.’ The leather chair facing the fire swung round and Calvin Temple was observing her, his eyes sharp. ‘It’s a translation from the French. Are you particularly interested in philosophy, Miss Smale?’

She flushed. ‘There is no need to be patronising, sir,’ she said quickly. ‘My father did edit a newspaper so I’m not without some reading skills, or had you forgotten?’

‘Ah yes, Robert Smale, of the
Cambrian
, I
had
forgotten. I apologize.’ He rose and took the book from her hands and reaching up, selected another volume.

‘I think this will interest you much more,’ he said. ‘It contains short biographies of the local businessmen. Some of them are leather barons, a subject I know interests you. Perhaps you should seek out one who is eligible for marriage, join him in business, as it were.’

‘I don’t much like the implication,’ Arian said, anger growing inside her. ‘I am many things but I am
not
a harlot who sells herself for a price, any price.
I
will make my own way in this life and without marrying a man to do it.’

Calvin’s eyebrows were raised. ‘How is Eddie Carpenter getting along?’ he asked. ‘Is he qualified yet? I haven’t had a letter from him in some time.’

Arian felt her colour rise ‘I
was
Eddie’s mistress, if that’s what you’d like to call it. That was not for gain and it was my choice. It’s no-one’s business but my own.’

‘The things I have heard about you and the cobbler Price Davies are not true then?’ he asked calmly.

‘I don’t know what you have heard.’ Arian felt her face grow hot. She had teased Price Davies with her charms just to learn his skills and in the end she had suffered for it. ‘I would prefer it if you did not speak about that part of my life, it is very painful to me.’

‘I suppose being betrayed is always painful,’ Calvin said and he sounded angry, ‘but some of us do not ask for it.’

‘I didn’t ask for what happened to me,’ Arian said, the blood pounding in her ears. ‘I was held prisoner and raped by the cobbler you talk about. Does that satisfy your curiosity, sir?’

Calvin seemed taken aback by her outburst. He opened his mouth to say something but Arian went on speaking.

‘It was not pretty and I’m not proud of it but it doesn’t make me a whore so if you have given me a job with the idea that you can amuse yourself with me between the sheets then you can forget it.’

‘I’ve told you before, I am not interested,’ Calvin said his voice suddenly lacking emotion. ‘I will not be taken in by a pretty face ever again.’

He moved away from her and the book felt heavy in her hands. Arian felt her anger fade. Calvin had suffered a blow to his pride; he knew what betrayal meant and he was only a man, for all his wealth, a man with feelings which went as deep as her own.

‘I don’t know what garbled tales you have heard about me,’ she said more softly, ‘and it would do no good to explain my life to you. I accept that you are not interested so can we just take each other on face value?’

Her voice trembled and Calvin turned to her at once, his hand outstretched. What he might have said faded on his lips as Arian saw his glance move from her to someone in the hallway.

‘Yes, Mr Simples,’ he said, ‘what can I do for you?’ He was in charge again, Lord Temple, who owned a fine house and a great fortune and was master of his own fate.

Arian bobbed a curtsy and putting the book on the table left the library, passing Simples in the hallway without looking at him.

‘If I may have a word, your lordship,’ she heard him saying, and then she was climbing the stairs to her own room, her cheeks still flushed, her hands clasped together to stop them from trembling.

She sat near the warmth of the fire and tried to examine her feelings. For a moment there, she had felt a kindred spirit with Calvin Temple. He had reached out as though in friendship and she would have valued as a friend a man who was not interested in taking anything from her. A man who, like her, had been hurt. But Gerald Simples had ruined the moment. She was right about him, he was an omen for ill in the new life she was seeking to make for herself.

Gerald Simples stood before Lord Temple and marshalled his thoughts. He had heard only part of the conversation between Arian and his lordship but when she had cried rape, it was undoubtedly the truth. He’d heard about Davies’s escapades of course, but had chosen to stay right away from any activity involving Price. Now he had met Arian, wanted her for himself, he felt only anger when he imagined them together. But Price was dead, and Gerald was alive and he knew well enough that to be locked in a room alone with Arian was enough to tempt any man to madness. She had an aloofness about her, a touch-me-not attitude that would fool any man into believing her chaste.

Price Davies had been a hothead, and Simples should know. He was his cousin. Recklessness ran in the family; hadn’t Simples’s own father caused a scandal with a high-society woman? The resulting child, Gerald, was brought up with careless affection by his aunt, Price Davies’s mother.

Father had married well, a French woman of high quality. He had found it easy to fool all and sundry with the gift of his silver tongue so that others believed he came of good, monied stock.

Gerald had been brought to France some time later and had found himself reaping the benefits of his stepmother’s wealth. He’d had a fine education, and an elegant life-style with no need to lift a finger to work.

When he was sixteen, his stepmother had died and his happy, secure life-style had been snatched away from him. Gerald had disgraced himself by a liaison with some little wench from the lower orders and had been ordered to leave France forthwith.

Gerald, on his return to British shores, had found employment easily enough. Using his stepmother’s name, he had worked for a time in a bank in Cardiff. Occasionally, he visited Swansea, gleaning information about the rich of the area.

Lord Temple was helping himself to a drink, obviously not yet ready to talk to his steward and Gerald’s mind drifted to the past once more.