The sky was dipped in grey. Not a light, dusty grey. But not a really dark grey either. A storm cloud grey. Only without the storm. Without any movement of the wind. The air didn't smell of rain either. It seemed to her as if someone had sucked away the colour of the sky. Like the stain on a dress that one brushed after soaking and that dissolves into nothing and afterwards one can't even tell where that stain had been. It had been the same with the colours around her for two days. Even the colour of the woods and fields she could see from her place by the window, seemed wiped out.
The gloomy thought that there were no more colours remained stubbornly in her thoughts.
Charlotte turned away from the window and looked at the room she was standing in. Her favourite room in the whole house. It was always warm and comforting, perhaps because she was surrounded by life outside her own. Her father's study was also the library. It was crammed with account books, papers, documents and exciting novels up to the ceiling. Most of them had colourful covers. But on this day they seemed somehow dust-covered, although the place was always clean.
The upholstery of the armchairs in front of the desk was velvet green. Red was the cover of the cushions in the alcove by the window where she often sat. Sometimes unnoticed, when her father was buried deep in the account books. So fused with the rest of the room. A part of it and yet unseen, like the wood panelling on the walls that could no longer be made out behind the many colourful landscape prints.
The smooth wood of the furniture gleamed like the dark fox-coloured fur of the mare who had witnessed her encounter with Mr Parker that fateful evening in the barn. Her confrontation with him, which had surprised and unsettled her like a sudden thunderstorm. A thunderstorm in earthy honey brown, smelling comforting of hay and horse. An unforeseen thunderstorm in which only her lantern produced latent light. The light that was also the greatest danger.
Her shame was dark blue, her anger was red, like her cheeks when she had looked at herself in the mirror after washing her face. Black-tinged anger at this man. The reluctant realisation that he was right was an unclear greenish, like the candle on the shelf she had unconsciously nibbled at.
Still, everything seemed colourless.
Especially the way she felt within.
In her mind she saw repeatedly his gaze, which had not only bored into her eyes, but into her in a disturbing way. As if he wanted to touch something deep inside her. His voice, dark and something she couldn't name, reaching into her, stealing something. Charlotte didn't even know what it was. Nothing was missing. Except that she could see no colours in this grey.
That look... Charlotte wanted to believe that it was stern and evil, like his words, which still scratched painfully at herself, yet there was something hidden there, something that made the strange voice within her ripen that she should apologise to him.
But she would not!
Determinedly, she jutted her chin as if this insolent man were standing in front of her at that moment. This man who had once been a gentleman, who had looked at her so shamelessly and insulted her with terrible words. Had hurt her as no one before him had ever managed to do. Perhaps it was because she had always been considered the smartest until now. Even if she didn't like to think that she even had such a feeling, Charlotte had to admit to herself that this Mr Parker had hurt her vanity.
And that it was this vanity that had driven her to her father's study at this hour instead of to the field with the workers. She wanted to find out what made him grumble at her like that.
Why a man whose closest relatives lived on the estate of a Lord Crowe struggled to live as a farm labourer. Why he was secretive and taciturn, yet taught mathematics to the children. Why he never laughed. Why he treated the female workers like ladies and treated herself so harshly, as if he would have liked to slap her. Or at least liked to shake her like a silly child.
How would his large hands feel on her shoulders?
Shocked by her unseemly thoughts, Charlotte gasped. It seemed so loud to her that she was afraid being discovered by her mother. She was sure that her mother would immediately realise what she had been thinking. Another question arose in Charlotte. Why did she constantly have unseemly thoughts when she thought of him? About Mr Parker, whom she actually wanted to ask about London and the world, whom she was supposed to avoid after their encounter. Whom she intended to loathe.
Why was he constantly on her mind?
Until the encounter at the stable, she had not even heard his voice. Or stood so close to him. Now, it seemed to her absurd, she could think of nothing else, but of that look, worried and angry. His body, taking the warmth with him as he had moved away from her. His hand that he had lifted but not touched her. But Charlotte's still blushed at the memory, as if he had.
His rueful face, as if he was ashamed of his behaviour. She wondered what would have happened if he had rushed after her?
Again a thought flashed through Charlotte's mind that she felt cold and at the same time unbearable heat enveloped her whole head. A thought she was so ashamed of, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shoo it away with a prayer. Her heart was beating as wildly in her chest as it had that evening when she had hurried back home through the darkness. So lost in thought and agitated that she had even shrunk back from her own shadow. Quite a while later, her heart was still hammering so loudly that she feared she would wake her sister as she lay in bed next to her. Charlotte had tossed and turned restlessly and later, instead of being immersed in dreamless peace, she was frighteningly drawn into colourful paintings. All these pictures had taken Mr Parker as their subject.
Dismayed at that tugging inside her for which she could do nothing, that tingling in her lower belly. The bubbling giggle, although she felt like crying at the same time. This behaviour was so uncharacteristic of her, these unfamiliar feelings and twisted thoughts, that she put her ice-cold hands on her burning cheeks to calm herself.
Perhaps she became ill? Because her dress, no her skin suddenly seemed too tight. Or was it the too stuffed room? Why was it so cramped and unnaturally warm here even though there was no fire in the fireplace and the sun was not shining into the room?
Charlotte opened her mouth, wanting to take a deep breath, but instead the air escaped her in a strange choked sound. She went to the window, opened it and, weak as she felt, let herself sink to the floor. In her brown dress, her father wouldn't even notice if he were standing right next to her.
"Parker, you shall see the boss."
Sidney hoisted a sack of potatoes onto the cart and looked questioningly at Carl, for the foreman was standing only three steps away talking to another worker.
"No, to the boss of the farm, Mr Heywood sent for you."
Surprise and a tinge of panic, crept up Sidney's spine. That Mr Heywood had sent for him could only mean one thing: that this girl, this Miss Charlotte whoever she was, had brought the encounter in the barn to his attention. Probably Mr Heywood, a gentleman and employer, was as conscientious as Sidney's own father. Old Mr Parker had also taken time on a certain day each week to listen to the concerns of his servants. Unlike Tom, who seemed to be totally indifferent to the concerns, or even the lives, of his subordinates in particular.
"Right now?"
"He said as soon as you can get out of here."
"Ahh."
Sidney wiped his hands on his trousers and ran a hand over his stubbly chin, not exactly an outfit to be seen in at a nobleman's house, whatever conversation might be taking place there.
"Not enough time to shave, but put on a fresh shirt," Carl said with a grin, "maybe you'll get a promotion." Then he slapped Sidney's arm, picked up the nearest sack and swung it onto the cart.
After Sidney had put on a fresh shirt, his waistcoat, tie and clean jacket, he hurried to the main house. A young girl with dark hair and equally dark eyes, which seemed strangely familiar to him, opened the door and let him in.
"Mr Parker, how nice to see you." Mr Heywood greeted him friendly and Sidney tried not to let his relief show. After a greeting like that, it probably wouldn't come to the extreme, a resignation.
"I'd like to discuss something with you. Please go to my study already, I'll just get something quickly."
Mr Heywood pointed to the slightly open door at the end of the hall and disappeared down a room on the other side. Sidney entered the study. It immediately made him feel at home, reminded him of his father's study for one thing and also a little of his brother's chaotic mess of a room in Trafalgar House. He let his gaze wander over the shelves and wall prints before something caught his eye that immediately quickened his pulse.
She was crouched on the floor in an alcove under the fiery-red cushions covered windowsill. Almost hidden by a beautifully crafted desk. It had that rich golden-brown colour, the way some of her hair strands shine in the sun.
Sidney couldn't help but smile at the way she was sitting there, lost in her notes and oblivious to the fact that someone had entered the room. For one brief moment Sidney allowed himself the sight of her profile, after all he had not seen her since that evening in the stable. That pretty curved forehead with the perfectly shaped brows, the small nose, the pink lips that she had pursed in concentration.
Warmth spread like a fan through his chest. As warm as the brown of her dress. A rare feeling sprouted in him as he allowed the ludicrous thought that surely her cheeks would be warm as well when he would run his finger over them.
But for now, he should probably take the opportunity to apologise for his unseemly behaviour. He had scared her and that was inexcusable, no matter how dangerous her actions were.
Suddenly his heart was beating a little louder.
Whether it was because of her or because of the sound of footsteps behind him, Sidney could not say for sure. The alarmed thought of what would happen if Mr Heywood found an employee in his study rushed through his entire body. Sidney jerked around and positioned himself so that Mr Heywood could not see the maid on the floor behind him. At least he hoped so. Even though Miss Charlotte was none of his business and had endangered them all with her burning lantern, he had this strange urge to protect her. For whatever reason.
"So Mr Parker, why don't you take a seat?" Mr Heywood gestured to one of the comfortable looking armchairs and Sidney managed not even one step, because at the same time a a startled sound came from the alcove and Mr Heywood looked around his guest into the corner.
"Charlotte!" his voice showed only slight displeasure and Sidney opened his mouth to offer anything in her defence, though he knew neither what to say nor why this was a pressing need.
"Oh I... didn't... I didn't know..." she stammered while she stood up and smoothed out her dress. It was a magical feminine gesture, and Sidney realised at that moment how much he missed such delicacy.
Her eyes twitched briefly to Sidney, where it paused for a moment as her eyes locked with his. With a completely misplaced satisfaction, Sidney realised how her cheeks were turning pink and how pretty her eyes were beginning to shine because of it. Her lips were slightly parted in surprise and he wondered how they would feel. Under his.
Befuddled of this thought, he closed his eyes. Irritated at this pleasurable thought, he clenched his jaw and not a second later listened in disbelief to Mr Heywood's words.
"Oh Mr Parker, may I introduce you to Charlotte." Mr Heywood smiled lovingly, "my eldest daughter."
With a jolt Sidney's face shot back to her and under his gaze she blushed even more, but he caught himself quicker than she did.
"Miss Heywood." Sidney bowed his head in greeting and he watched in wonder as a shy smile flitted across her features. An appealing smile it was.
"Mr Parker." She curtsied slightly and strangely, at that moment, it meant as much to him as if she had allowed him to lead her to the dance floor in a warm ballroom.
Only then did he realise the meaning of the words.
She was not some maid or village girl who taught the children something. She was the daughter of the house. He had insulted and frightened the daughter of the house! Suddenly he wasn't so sure he wouldn't lose his work after all. Surely she had told her father about him, his harsh words. At the same time, Sidney wondered what she did in the barn in the dark. Concern and resentment, curiosity and this desire to keep her out of danger mixed into a strange coloured lump in his mind that for a moment he didn't know how to react.
"I would like to discuss something with you, Mr Parker." Mr Heywood now addressed Sidney, pointing to an armchair and waiting until he had sat down. Turning to his daughter he asked, "Could you bring us some tea, Charlie? Mr Parker and I are going to have a somewhat lengthy conversation."
"Of course, Papa."
At the door, Charlotte turned to Sidney once more and seemed to want to tell him something with her eyes. The gaze was intense. Her eyes were beautiful. Big and dark like the strong coffee he had once loved to drink. Those were dangerous eyes. Eyes in which a man could drown.
Puzzled by these unreasonable thoughts, he was about to turn away, but registered her slight shake of the head and the firm look at her father, who spoke again.
"So Mr Parker, it has come to my attention that..."
Sidney's throat went dry, he moistened his lips, opened his mouth to defend himself, but Charlotte closed the door perhaps a little too forcefully at that moment and he remembered his instinct, which told him to listen first.
"You know about importing and exporting among other business things."
Stunned by the turn of the conversation, Sidney nodded silently and tried to shake off all other thoughts.
"I wanted to ask you to look at this offer from this factory," Mr Heywood handed him a stack of papers, "I would be happy if I could explain everything to you and you would agree to help me."
Perplexed, Sidney looked Mr Heywood in the face, not quite knowing if he had heard and understood correctly. Was he really being offered a better job?
"At an appropriate rate of pay, of course," Mr Heywood smiled disarmingly. "I think we can go over it in particular once I've given you all the details."
Sidney was silently reading through the papers in his hand. He was still overwhelmed or even caught off guard with this prospect of a more demanding, mentally challenging work, when Miss Charlotte, no Miss Heywood, came back into the room. He only lifted his eyes from the paper in her direction, but she did not look at him. But that didn't bother him, instead he involuntarily twisted his mouth into a little smile.
She prepared the tea for the two men and he could sense her hesitancy to leave the room as the gentlemen began their conversation. For some unknown reason Sidney was pleased when her father did not send her away. Mr Heywood seemed to have simply accepted her presence and they talked about pound prices, workloads and working methods. After a full hour of exchanging information and intelligent questions on her part, which earned her more than once an appreciative look and nod from Mr Parker, her father suggested they go for a walk to the hazelnut grove.
Behind the Heywood family home, a dusty path, of which the colour reminded Sidney of the cliffs of Sanditon, led up another hill between an avenue of ancient venerable trees. Mr Heywood explained to Sidney that the yield of hazelnuts this year had been so bountiful that instead of three it would probably take them six days to bring in the harvest.
"We cannot process such quantities into oil and liqueur on our own, so I have sought this offer from the factory." Explained Mr Heywood as they climbed up the hill.
Shortly after, they were standing above the densely overgrown hazelnut grove, which consisted of hazelnut trees and bushes. Sidney looked around in amazement, although he had to admit to himself that more than once he was looking at Miss Heywood. She walked ahead of them through this dense forest of greenery and stopped at one of the narrower little trees. When the gentlemen caught up with her, Mr Heywood shook the tree gently and the ripe nuts fell to their feet.
Charlotte laughed out loud as a nut tapped her on the head. Her laughter seemed to push a surge of warmth through Sidney's chest, making it seem far too tight. He felt the urgent need to catch his breath and yet instead could only exhale loudly. His eyes met hers and for a fascinating little moment, he thought they were caught in a landscape painting. Just the two of them. All alone, stopped in the movement and the light feeling.
The sun, already almost forgotten, crept between the trees, bathing everything in an atmospheric greenish-gold glow. Charlotte closed her eyes briefly as the low sun brought tears to her eyes. For a dangerous moment, it seemed to Sidney that Charlotte was closing her eyes for a completely different reason. Suddenly he felt drawn to her beyond measure. But not in an unseemly way, rather in a different, warm, even decent way.
As if of his own accord, he took a step closer to her and now that he was bathing her in his shadow, she looked up at him. For the length of a breeze they just looked at each other until Mr Heywood's voice reminded them both that they were not alone.
"Come along, Mr Parker. Charlotte's questions can wait." Mr Heywood waited with a light laugh and Sidney followed him with a hurried step. Still, he turned to face her once more.
How she stood there behind him on that green hill. Only her dark dress and hair reminded him that she was not a supernatural apparition, but a young woman bathed in light.
Nevertheless, it seemed like a sign to him.