and the others you can learn. Entering society does not mean becoming a social butterfly and chatting of nothing—though, I grant you, a great many people do little else. But there are fools in every stratum of society.”
She fell silent for a moment, then waved her hand at the girl sitting so silently at the end of the bed. “You fatigue me, child, with your foolish intractability. I must give this matter further consideration. Leave me now. We will talk of this further.”
Kate rose, feeling a trifle guilty for causing the old lady distress. It was not her fault, she told herself defensively. She had not asked to be brought here. She had the right to make decisions for her own life and she owed Lady Cahill nothing except politeness. So why did she feel that she was in the wrong? Was it wrong to wish to owe nothing to anybody? Was it wrong to want to earn her own money, to refuse dependence on others? No, it wasn’t wrong. . .it just felt wrong when she had to refuse an old lady’s kindness, she reluctantly acknowledged.
She picked up the breakfast tray and left, closing the door softly behind her. A door ahead of her opened and Jack Car-stairs appeared in the hall. Kate halted abruptly. He was between her and the stairs. She could flee to her own room, return to Lady Cahill’s bedchamber or face him out.
Folding his arms, Jack leaned against the wall and awaited her arrival, a sardonic look on his face.
Kate’s chin rose stubbornly. She would not be intimidated by mere brute force! Even if he was over six feet and with shoulders as wide as…well, as wide as any shoulders had a right to be. But she wasn’t nervous of him. Certainly not! She gripped the heavy tray more tightly in her hands, taking obscure comfort in the fact that it was between them, and walked forward, her head high.
A faint glimmer of amusement appeared in Jack’s eyes. She was calling his bluff, was she? After tossing that coffee pot, she had a right to expect that he might want to throttle her. And then she’d slapped him—slapped the master of the house. So foolhardy. He could snap her in two if he chose; she would surely know that. She wasn’t to know he’d never hurt a woman in his life. But did she quail? No, on she came, chin held defiantly high. His amusement deepened. Such a little creature, but with so much spirit.
Even if she didn’t fear violence from him, after that outrageous act of hers in the kitchen, she must surely expect to be dismissed without a character. It was, he knew, a servant’s biggest dread, for it meant they were unlikely ever to gain employment again. She must know that. Her dreadful shabby black clothes, clearly made for another woman and adapted to her thin frame, showed she was well acquainted with poverty. And starvation was obviously a recent experience.
But her precarious position hadn’t stopped her hurling that pot of hot coffee straight at his head. Or over his head, as she claimed. Cricket, indeed! He almost snorted. But why had she thrown it in the first place? Unlikely though it seemed, perhaps this little English kitchen maid did speak Spanish. Jack decided to test the theory. He remained leaning casually against the wall, watching her.
Kate swept past him, apparently indifferently, though her heart was beating rather faster than usual. She reached the steps, and he said in Spanish, “Senorita, there is an enormous black spider caught in your hair. Allow me to remove it for you.”
He waited for her to turn around, to scream, to start tearing at her hair or to continue, ignorant of what he had said.
She simply froze. Jack waited for a moment, puzzled, and then strode towards her. “Senorita?”
She did not move. Jack touched her shoulder. Good God! The girl was shaking like a leaf. He could hear the crockery on the tea tray rattling faintly.
Swiftly he turned her around to face him and was appalled to see naked terror in her eyes. Her face was dead white and the clear smooth forehead
She fell silent for a moment, then waved her hand at the girl sitting so silently at the end of the bed. “You fatigue me, child, with your foolish intractability. I must give this matter further consideration. Leave me now. We will talk of this further.”
Kate rose, feeling a trifle guilty for causing the old lady distress. It was not her fault, she told herself defensively. She had not asked to be brought here. She had the right to make decisions for her own life and she owed Lady Cahill nothing except politeness. So why did she feel that she was in the wrong? Was it wrong to wish to owe nothing to anybody? Was it wrong to want to earn her own money, to refuse dependence on others? No, it wasn’t wrong. . .it just felt wrong when she had to refuse an old lady’s kindness, she reluctantly acknowledged.
She picked up the breakfast tray and left, closing the door softly behind her. A door ahead of her opened and Jack Car-stairs appeared in the hall. Kate halted abruptly. He was between her and the stairs. She could flee to her own room, return to Lady Cahill’s bedchamber or face him out.
Folding his arms, Jack leaned against the wall and awaited her arrival, a sardonic look on his face.
Kate’s chin rose stubbornly. She would not be intimidated by mere brute force! Even if he was over six feet and with shoulders as wide as…well, as wide as any shoulders had a right to be. But she wasn’t nervous of him. Certainly not! She gripped the heavy tray more tightly in her hands, taking obscure comfort in the fact that it was between them, and walked forward, her head high.
A faint glimmer of amusement appeared in Jack’s eyes. She was calling his bluff, was she? After tossing that coffee pot, she had a right to expect that he might want to throttle her. And then she’d slapped him—slapped the master of the house. So foolhardy. He could snap her in two if he chose; she would surely know that. She wasn’t to know he’d never hurt a woman in his life. But did she quail? No, on she came, chin held defiantly high. His amusement deepened. Such a little creature, but with so much spirit.
Even if she didn’t fear violence from him, after that outrageous act of hers in the kitchen, she must surely expect to be dismissed without a character. It was, he knew, a servant’s biggest dread, for it meant they were unlikely ever to gain employment again. She must know that. Her dreadful shabby black clothes, clearly made for another woman and adapted to her thin frame, showed she was well acquainted with poverty. And starvation was obviously a recent experience.
But her precarious position hadn’t stopped her hurling that pot of hot coffee straight at his head. Or over his head, as she claimed. Cricket, indeed! He almost snorted. But why had she thrown it in the first place? Unlikely though it seemed, perhaps this little English kitchen maid did speak Spanish. Jack decided to test the theory. He remained leaning casually against the wall, watching her.
Kate swept past him, apparently indifferently, though her heart was beating rather faster than usual. She reached the steps, and he said in Spanish, “Senorita, there is an enormous black spider caught in your hair. Allow me to remove it for you.”
He waited for her to turn around, to scream, to start tearing at her hair or to continue, ignorant of what he had said.
She simply froze. Jack waited for a moment, puzzled, and then strode towards her. “Senorita?”
She did not move. Jack touched her shoulder. Good God! The girl was shaking like a leaf. He could hear the crockery on the tea tray rattling faintly.
Swiftly he turned her around to face him and was appalled to see naked terror in her eyes. Her face was dead white and the clear smooth forehead
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