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Authors: Margaret McPhee
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companion.’
‘There is much you do not know about me, Sebastian.’
‘You did not advertise the position in the
Glasgow Herald;
I would have seen it.’ He narrowed his eyes and stared at the cards as if musing what move to make. His attention was seemingly focused entirely upon the fan of cards within his hand.
‘Miss Allardyce came to me recommended by a friend. She is from a good family, the daughter of a knight, no less, albeit in unfortunate circumstances.’
‘Indeed,’ murmured Hunter and played his card.
His mother nodded appreciatively at his choice. She sniffed and regarded her own cards more closely, then filled the silence as he had hoped. ‘She is left alone while her father, a Sir Henry Allardyce, is hospitalised. I offered my assistance when I heard of her situation.’
‘You are too good, Mother, taking in waifs and strays.’
‘Do not be sharp, Sebastian. It does not suit you.’ He gave a small smile of amusement. She played a card.
Hunter eyed it. ‘Your card skills have improved.’
His mother tried not to show it, but he could tell she was pleased with the compliment.
‘Did she offer a letter of recommendation, a character?’
‘Of course not. I told you, she is a gentleman’s daughter with no previous experience of such a position.’ His mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are very interested in Miss Allardyce all of a sudden. Do not think to start with any of your rakish nonsense. I will not stand for it. She is my companion.’
‘Miss Allardyce is not my type,’ he said coolly. ‘As well you know.’
Her cheeks coloured faintly at his reference to the light-skirts in whom he had previously taken such interest. ‘There is no need for vulgarity.’
‘I apologise if I have offended you.’ He inclined his head. ‘My concern is with you, Mother, and if that warrants an interest in those you take into your employ, particularly in positions of such confidence, then I make no apology for that. What do you really know of the girl? Of her trustworthiness and her background?’
‘Oh, do not speak of concern for me, for I know full well that you have none,’ she snapped. The disdain was back in her eyes, their momentary truce broken. ‘And as for Miss Allardyce, or any of my staff, I will not be dictated to, nor will I have my choice vetted by you. To put it bluntly, Sebastian, it is none of your business.’
‘On the contrary, I owe it to my father—’
‘Do not dare speak his name! You have no right, no damned right at all!’ And she threw the cards down on the table and swept from the room.
Phoebe spent the next hour trying to pacify her employer in the lady’s rooms.
‘Come, cease your pacing, Mrs Hunter. You will make yourself ill.’ Already the older woman’s face was pale and pinched. She ignored Phoebe and continued her movement about the room.
‘How dare he?’ she mumbled to herself.
‘Mr Hunter has upset you,’ Phoebe said with concern.
‘My son’s very existence upsets me,’ muttered Mrs Hunter in a harsh voice. ‘I rue the day he was born.’
Phoebe masked her shock before it showed. ‘I amsure you do not mean that, ma’am. Let me ring for some tea. It will make you feel better.’
‘I do not want yet another cup of tea, Phoebe,’ she snapped. ‘And, yes, when it comes to Sebastian, I mean every word that I say.’ She stopped by the window, leaning her hands upon the sill to stare out of the front of the house across the moor. ‘I hate my son,’ she said more quietly in a tone like ice. ‘It is an admission that no mother should make, but it is the truth.’ She glanced round at Phoebe. ‘I have shocked you, have I not?’
‘A little,’ admitted Phoebe.
She turned to face her fully. ‘If you knew what he has done, you would understand.’
Phoebe felt her blood run cold at the words.
Tell me,
she wanted to say.
Mrs Hunter looked at Phoebe for a moment as if she had heard the silent plea, then the anger drained away. In its
‘There is much you do not know about me, Sebastian.’
‘You did not advertise the position in the
Glasgow Herald;
I would have seen it.’ He narrowed his eyes and stared at the cards as if musing what move to make. His attention was seemingly focused entirely upon the fan of cards within his hand.
‘Miss Allardyce came to me recommended by a friend. She is from a good family, the daughter of a knight, no less, albeit in unfortunate circumstances.’
‘Indeed,’ murmured Hunter and played his card.
His mother nodded appreciatively at his choice. She sniffed and regarded her own cards more closely, then filled the silence as he had hoped. ‘She is left alone while her father, a Sir Henry Allardyce, is hospitalised. I offered my assistance when I heard of her situation.’
‘You are too good, Mother, taking in waifs and strays.’
‘Do not be sharp, Sebastian. It does not suit you.’ He gave a small smile of amusement. She played a card.
Hunter eyed it. ‘Your card skills have improved.’
His mother tried not to show it, but he could tell she was pleased with the compliment.
‘Did she offer a letter of recommendation, a character?’
‘Of course not. I told you, she is a gentleman’s daughter with no previous experience of such a position.’ His mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are very interested in Miss Allardyce all of a sudden. Do not think to start with any of your rakish nonsense. I will not stand for it. She is my companion.’
‘Miss Allardyce is not my type,’ he said coolly. ‘As well you know.’
Her cheeks coloured faintly at his reference to the light-skirts in whom he had previously taken such interest. ‘There is no need for vulgarity.’
‘I apologise if I have offended you.’ He inclined his head. ‘My concern is with you, Mother, and if that warrants an interest in those you take into your employ, particularly in positions of such confidence, then I make no apology for that. What do you really know of the girl? Of her trustworthiness and her background?’
‘Oh, do not speak of concern for me, for I know full well that you have none,’ she snapped. The disdain was back in her eyes, their momentary truce broken. ‘And as for Miss Allardyce, or any of my staff, I will not be dictated to, nor will I have my choice vetted by you. To put it bluntly, Sebastian, it is none of your business.’
‘On the contrary, I owe it to my father—’
‘Do not dare speak his name! You have no right, no damned right at all!’ And she threw the cards down on the table and swept from the room.
Phoebe spent the next hour trying to pacify her employer in the lady’s rooms.
‘Come, cease your pacing, Mrs Hunter. You will make yourself ill.’ Already the older woman’s face was pale and pinched. She ignored Phoebe and continued her movement about the room.
‘How dare he?’ she mumbled to herself.
‘Mr Hunter has upset you,’ Phoebe said with concern.
‘My son’s very existence upsets me,’ muttered Mrs Hunter in a harsh voice. ‘I rue the day he was born.’
Phoebe masked her shock before it showed. ‘I amsure you do not mean that, ma’am. Let me ring for some tea. It will make you feel better.’
‘I do not want yet another cup of tea, Phoebe,’ she snapped. ‘And, yes, when it comes to Sebastian, I mean every word that I say.’ She stopped by the window, leaning her hands upon the sill to stare out of the front of the house across the moor. ‘I hate my son,’ she said more quietly in a tone like ice. ‘It is an admission that no mother should make, but it is the truth.’ She glanced round at Phoebe. ‘I have shocked you, have I not?’
‘A little,’ admitted Phoebe.
She turned to face her fully. ‘If you knew what he has done, you would understand.’
Phoebe felt her blood run cold at the words.
Tell me,
she wanted to say.
Mrs Hunter looked at Phoebe for a moment as if she had heard the silent plea, then the anger drained away. In its
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