Читать книгу The Guardian's Dilemma - Gail Whitiker, Gail Whitiker - Страница 10

Perhaps because of what Mrs Guarding told her about Gillian Gresham, Helen found herself taking a keener interest in the girl than usual.

That she was resentful at having been forced to come to Guarding’s was obvious. The girl attended classes but remained stubbornly uncommunicative throughout. Even when she was compelled to answer a question, she did so grudgingly and more often than not, with the very minimum of conversation required. Most of the teachers soon began to express frustration at dealing with the child, and as the end of Gillian’s first week approached, Helen was more inclined to believe that Oliver Brandon had done his half sister a disservice by forcing her to come to Guarding’s, rather than a good turn.

Of course, Helen knew better than most what it was like to have other people make decisions for one, especially in matters of the heart. She knew the hurt that resulted from being told that the man you loved was totally unsuitable—whether he was, in fact, or not—and she knew that because of the resentment Gillian was feeling towards Oliver, everyone else would be made to suffer too. For that reason alone, Helen knew she had to try to get closer to her. It wasn’t Gillian’s fault she was here. Like most women, she had very little say about what she could and could not do with her life.

‘Miss Gresham, you have a very nice grasp of colour and balance in your paintings,’ Helen complimented her one afternoon. ‘Your use of different shadings in the greenery of the new and old leaves is very good.’

Gillian shrugged. ‘I like to paint. And I paint what I see.’

‘So do all the other young ladies, but they do not have as good an eye as you when it comes to colour.’

Gillian looked up at her, and for a moment her face brightened in a smile. It was a fleeting gesture, there and then gone, but it was enough to make Helen marvel at the change it wrought in the girl’s appearance. Goodness, it was like the sun coming out after a summer storm. It also made her more determined than ever to break through the barrier of silence and to find out what was really going on in Gillian’s mind.

Happily, the opportunity arose a few days later. Helen had taken a book out to a secluded area of the garden to read. It was one of her favourite places and she often retired there to sit and write letters, or to indulge her love of reading. It was there Gillian came upon her. ‘Good afternoon, Miss de Coverdale,’ she said politely.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Gresham.’

‘I hope I am not disturbing you, but Mrs Guarding told me I should come outside and take some fresh air.’ Gillian flounced down on the seat next to her. ‘She said I was looking peaky. Do you think I am?

Helen pretended to do a study of the girl’s face. ‘I think perhaps you are a trifle pale, but I would not say peaky.’

‘That was what I thought too. I do not think anyone has ever called me peaked before.’ Gillian sighed again, and then glanced at the book Helen was reading. ‘Are you sure I am not disturbing you?’

‘Not at all. I was just about to stop for a while anyway.’ Helen closed the book and set it aside. ‘Othello is a diverting tale, but I confess I do not like it as well as some of Mr Shakespeare’s other works.’

Gillian’s eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, but how can you not! It is so very romantic. Indeed, Mr Wymington quotes to me from it frequently.’

The mention of the notorious Mr Wymington’s name did not escape Helen’s notice, but she decided to ignore it for the moment. Better not to express too much curiosity this early in the game. ‘Well, you have been here over a week now, Miss Gresham. What do you think of Guarding’s?’

Gillian shrugged and some of the gaiety left her eyes. ‘It is not as dreadful as I thought it would be. The teachers are all very nice, and so are the girls, but some of them are frightfully intelligent. Annabelle James is brilliant at maths, and Mary Putford knows how to speak French, Italian and Greek fluently.’

Helen arched one dark brow in surprise. ‘Miss Putford is fluent in Greek? Dear me, perhaps I should ask her if she would be willing to take classes once a week.’

Gillian shrugged again. ‘I expect she would. She confided to me that she would very much like to be a teacher one day.’

Helen glanced at the girl in surprise. Mary Putford was a pleasant girl and one generally acknowledged by all as being exceedingly bright, but to the best of Helen’s knowledge she seldom mixed with the other girls. How interesting to discover that in the short time Gillian had been here, she had somehow managed to get close enough to Mary to know that she both spoke Greek and that she was interested in teaching it.

Clearly there was more to Gillian Gresham than met the eye.

‘So, does that mean you are not entirely sorry to be here with us rather than back home in Hertfordshire?’ Helen enquired with a smile.

‘Not entirely, though I would never tell Oliver that.’ Gillian watched a small green caterpillar inch its way through the grass at her feet. ‘I want him to suffer terrible feelings of guilt for having left me here. I intend to make sure he knows that if I waste away to nothing, it will all have been his fault.’

Helen was careful not to smile, though she was very much tempted to. ‘I hardly think he will believe that, Miss Gresham.’

‘Nor do I, but it pleases me to think he might. I would certainly not tell him that I do not miss stuffy old Shefferton Hall at all.’ Gillian sighed. ‘The only problem is that I do miss my dear Mr Wymington.’

Thinking it might sound strange if she did not enquire about a gentleman who had now been mentioned twice in conversation, Helen said, ‘And who is Mr Wymington?’

Once again, the change in Gillian’s appearance was remarkable. She clasped her hands together in front of her and her smile grew positively radiant. ‘He is the most kind and considerate gentleman I have ever known. He is a lieutenant in the militia, and surely the most handsome man in the entire regiment!’

‘Is he indeed? And is there an arrangement between the two of you?’

The girl’s animation vanished like a candle being extinguished. ‘I only wish there were. Oliver does not care for Mr Wymington. That is why he sent me here. He does not wish me to see him ever again.’

Helen had to exercise a certain amount of care as regards what she said next. She knew it would be wrong to encourage Gillian to go against the wishes of her guardian, but she did want to hear Gillian’s side of the story. After all, it was entirely possible that Oliver Brandon’s reasons for wishing to separate the two were entirely groundless. ‘Why doesn’t your guardian like Mr Wymington?’

‘Because he thinks he is only after my money. I’m an heiress, you see, Miss de Coverdale. When I turn one-and-twenty, I shall inherit a great deal of money.’

‘And is Mr Wymington in possession of a good income himself?’

‘No. At least, none that he has ever mentioned to me.’

Which probably meant he wasn’t, Helen reflected silently. Lower-ranking officers did not earn a great deal of money, and half-pay officers even less. ‘Then it is entirely possible your guardian is right,’ Helen replied, willing for the moment to give Mr Brandon the benefit of the doubt. ‘It is not unheard of for young gentlemen who are in, shall we say…restricted financial circumstances to be attracted to wealthy young women,’ she pointed out. ‘Especially when they are as pretty as you.’

The young woman’s face brightened again. ‘Do you really think I am pretty?’

‘Of course, but I am sure Mr Wymington has told you that.’

The blush in the girl’s cheeks deepened. ‘Miss de Coverdale, may I ask you a question?’

‘You may.’

‘It is rather personal.’

‘I shan’t answer it if it is too personal.’

‘Well, it is just that…why would someone as beautiful as you not be married?’

Helen blinked her surprise. ‘Good Lord. Whatever made you ask such a thing?’

‘Because you are not like the other teachers here. Oh, they are all very pleasant, to be sure, but none of them are anywhere near as lovely as you. And I know that gentlemen are attracted to pretty ladies. So I simply wondered why you were not married.’

‘Perhaps no one has ever asked me,’ Helen said in as light-hearted a tone as she could manage.