Read Online Hannah: Daughters of the Sea #1 by Kathryn Lasky - Free Book Online Page A

later this afternoon.”
    “Yes, I know. I came to look at this room as a possible place to pose the girls.”
    She kept her back squarely to him and continued to sweep the nonexistent dust. “I think I heard Mr. Marston say that the portrait was to be painted in the drawing room in front of the vases.”
    “Ah, yes, I know. The precious vases!” There was something in his tone that suggested perhaps a faint contempt for the two vases. Hannah could feel his eyes studying her. “And you—what do you think of the vases?”
    Something froze in Hannah. Slowly she turned about. “You don’t think they’re pretty?” Hannah asked.
    “Oh, yes, the vases are very pretty,” he replied. “But I wonder about trying to contain something as wild as the sea on the surface of a vase made of clay.”
    Before Hannah could stop herself, she replied, “Yes, it’s like trying to cram a full-rigged ship into a bottle. I saw one once in a store window.”
    The painter tipped his head again and regarded her with renewed curiosity. “Precisely. Some things can’t be contained.”
    But that of course was precisely what Stannish Wheeler did, thought Hannah. He was a portrait painter. He put life on canvas, or at least tried to.
    “Nonetheless,” he continued, an odd, tight smile playing across his face. “I’ll wager that you think the vases are beautiful and are most especially drawn to that tail breaking through the crest of the wave.”
    Hannah felt her blood run cold. He reached out to touch her arm, but she turned away. “I am sorry if I have offended you in some way. Please, forgive me.”
    Hannah fought against touching the pouch beneath her dress. It had become somewhat of a nervous habit. But the painter must not see her do this—if he saw one touch, he would know too much about her. Already it was as if he had intuited that she had crept down the stairs to where those vases stood sentry, two mystical guards of some unknown world.
    In Mrs. Claremont’s Guide for Domestic Service one of the most important admonishments was to never enter into conversation with guests of the house, except if needed to serve. Hannah pressed her mouth shut. Mr. Wheeler did not need to know what she thought of the vases. Any explanation of her thoughts was outside the job requirements.
    “Ah, Mr. Wheeler!” Mr. Marston said, entering the room. “Well, you have had a look. But I seriously doubt the Hawleys will agree to a change of venue. You know, the vases and all.”
    The painter pulled his gaze away from Hannah. “Yes, I understand, Marston, but tell me one thing. If indeed the Hawleys have carried the vases back and forth across the Atlantic numerous times—”
    “Sixteen times to be precise,” Mr. Marston cut in.
    “Yes, and also take them to their summer home in Maine, why would they not move them from one room to another?”
    “That is really not for me to say, Mr. Wheeler.” The silence was broken only by Hannah arranging the kindling in the fireplace.
    “Yes, I understand,” Mr. Wheeler said. And then she heard them both turn and walk from the room.
    I am like glass to him, like water , Hannah thought to herself, alone now in the music room, heart racing. He sees through me, but how?

8 THE RIVER
    S TANNISH W HITMAN W HEELER’S composure disintegrated as soon as he reached the bottom of Beacon Hill. He stopped and leaned against a lamppost, closing his eyes. “It simply cannot be. It cannot be!” he murmured, then shook his head as if to banish the wild thoughts that were swirling in his brain. As he stepped out to cross Charles Street, he was nearly run over by a hansom.
    “Watch where you’re going, idiot!” the driver yelled as he swerved the horse to avoid him. “Wanna get yourself killed?”
    “Maybe!” Wheeler muttered.
    He continued across Charles Street and entered a neighborhood known as lower Beacon Hill, wherethe hill flattened into a small nest of streets bordering the Charles River. He turned onto