Page 15 of Jane Deyre
Her eyes stay riveted on my minimal belongings. “And what is this board you’re holding?”
“Um, er... it’s my vision board. It goes everywhere I go.” And I’ve moved around a lot. From one foster home to another. It’s been the only constant in my life.
I’m glad she doesn’t ask to see it. With the photos of her on the board and a house that looks identical to Thornhill, she might think I’m a stalker. Or a nutter.
“If it’s okay by you, I’d like to hang it in my room.”
She smiles. “Of course. I’ll have Ward hang it.”
At the mention of his name, goosebumps pop along my arms. Edwina notices them.
“Are you chilly, my dear? I can have my housekeeper fetch you a shawl. I have dozens.”
“Um, er... I’m fine.”
“By the way, my godson is very handy. He’s very good at hammering and screwing things in.”
Hammering and screwing things in?The double entendre of her words makes me want to jump out of my skin. Or at least my clothes. I mentally reprimand myself.Stop it, Jane! Get this man out of your head! He’s the father of your new charge. Totally off-limits!
And though he’s also a bit of an asshole, I can’t stop thinking about how he came to my rescue. He saved my life. Seemed to care about me. Apprehension threads through me. Will he tell Edwina about my encounter with John Reed? My unsavory background? He insinuated he wouldn’t, but I can’t be sure.
Before my mind plays back the harrowing incident, another woman joins us. A plump, elderly woman with a helmet of silver-white tight curls and wearing a maid’s uniform. A plain knee-length black dress with a starched white apron and sensible rubber-soled shoes on her feet. The kind you might find at an orthopedic shoe store. Carrying a feather duster that’s laced with cobwebs, she shuffles toward us.
On closer inspection, she looks to be in her seventies. Perhaps overworked, she may be younger. Her face is lined and her eyes sunken. She looks pale as a ghostoras if she’s just seen one.
Edwina introduces us. “Jane Deyre, this is Grace Poole, my longtime housekeeper. She’s been in my employ for over forty years. She worked for my family before she worked for me.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say. Should I shake her hand?
Her lips quivering, the timid woman simply nods. She clutches her one piece of jewelry—a simple gold crucifix that hangs from her neck—and says not a word.
Edwina steps in. “Jane, I should tell you... Grace is mute, but in no way does that affect her duties or her abilities to comprehend or communicate.”
What she’s just communicated to me is fear. What is she afraid of?
Edwina picks up a meowing Pilote, and while stroking him, keeps her gaze on Grace. “Grace, dear, I hope you’ve aired out the guesthouse, scrubbed it down, and laundered the bedding. And given it a good vacuuming.”
Grace nods wordlessly.
“Excellent. It’ll be nice to have some life in that house again.” Edwina kisses her feline fur baby. “Right, Pilote?”
The cat lets out a strange, high-pitched meow. I can’t tell if he approves or disapproves. If I were a betting person, I’d go for the latter. You have to trust an animal’s instincts.
Mrs. Rochester: “Grace, would you be kind enough to help Jane with her bags?”
Before she can reach down for it, I haul up my duffle. Though it’s not too heavy, I don’t want this frightened-for-whatever-reason woman to strain herself. “Maybe, Grace, you can help me with my guitar.”
Edwina breaks into a smile. “You play, my dear?”
“Yes.” I just hope I didn’t break the instrument when I smashed it over John Reed’s head. Fingers crossed the worn hardshell case protected it.
Edwina’s smile widens, revealing her still Hollywood-white teeth. “That’s wonderful! How delightful it will be to have music back in the halls of Thornhill!”
Setting her feather duster on the console, Grace bends down and picks up the guitar. She holds the case horizontally by its handle. While it’s a little bulky, I’m relieved it’s not too heavy for her. I thank her.
“Any questions, Jane, before you settle in?” asks Edwina.
I meet her gaze. “Just one... Does the guesthouse have Wi-Fi?”