Chapter Six
Warnings
When I was finally released from the sitting room the sun was sneaking onto the horizon. I yawned, utterly drained. As I approached the servant's staircase I felt a hand wrap securely around my arm. I shrieked and turned. Behind me, looking severely harried, was Mrs. Cecilia.
"The man in black wore a wolf's mask you say?" she hissed, looking around.
I nodded, exhausted of talking.
"Goodness! The situation is more dire than I imagined!"
"May I ask how?"
"Don't you remember?" She shook me. "In sheep's clothing they infiltrate, call you mate, lie in wait; these sly wolves who seek to harm and disarm with charm." My blood ran cold.
"I'm sure it was purely coincidental," I said, while freeing myself from her desperate grasp. "The poem says 'seek to harm and disarm with charm'. How is chasing me like a madman along the terrace charming?"
"You're right Berna, you're right. And I suppose sheep's clothing doesn't imply that the wolf is among us, because he could be. You don't know what he looks like, for all we know he could've slipped right back into the house!"
"Why are you so afraid Mrs. Cecilia?" I asked, regretting the question as soon as it left my lips. She turned the color of snow.
"I think it best if you go prepare the nursery for the children," she answered, resuming her authoritarian role. "And as Cyrus returns today from London, you will meet with him in his office around two." She marched away, still maintaining her aura of elegance, composure, and irrefutable beauty. Nonetheless, I saw her lips tremble. Twice.
Though the day may have begun incredibly sour, as it wore on the sun shone brightly and revealed the gloriousness of the outdoors. In the nursery Clyde and Christie gazed longingly out of the windows. I suggested we go outside, but Grace disagreed heartily.
"Bernadette, I do not think that is a good idea," she interjected, her distinctive Russian accent making her words sound harsher. "Last time we did it- it um- the outcome was not very good. Mr. Cyrus prefers that the children challenge their brains inside with books and scholarly things."
"How awful," I ruminated. Poor children, locked up inside all day with no way to release their pent up energy. My brothers would have been driven mad.
"That is what Mr. Blackstone wants."
I chewed my lower lip in thought. "Here's an idea, why don't we go outside and if anything reproach is cast our way, I'll take the blame."
"I don't think-."
"Come Clyde and Christie, put on your shoes," I grinned, and the children rushed forward eagerly. Today I was a flower--I needed sunshine to live. After the awfulness of last night, I needed its rays to bring me from the terrible depths. I desperately needed to forget the crimson water, Mrs. Lance's weak hand grasping mine desperately, and the horrifying rabid wolf mask.
Outdoors the children ran freely, excited to explore the world they'd been denied. Clyde, who I learned was normally acrid, managed to summon a form of pleasantry. Grace admitted being outside was nice, and leant her head into the fresh gusts of wind. Giggling gleefully, Christie gathered flowers. I taught her to make flower crowns.
She planted a dandelion one on my head and dubbed me 'the queen of chocolate'. Clyde snickered.
I struggled not to laugh, but at the seriousness spread on Christie's four-year-old face and her determination to believe I was chocolate, it was hard to hold back.
When the two cousins chanced upon the estate's miniature maze of hedges, they began to play on their own, leaving Grace and I on a rock bench, watching. The breeze that assailed us was calming, and I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them I caught Grace analyzing my face.
"I hope you do not end up regretting this," she said shyly. I knew her concern was sincere.
"I hope I don't either," I wrinkled my nose.
We fell into a fleeting silence.
"Grace, was there a second nanny before me?" I asked suddenly.
"Yes, there was one," she replied.
"What...happened? Why is she gone?"
"They caught her and Mr. Calvin Blackstone in bed together. Mrs. Cecilia was so appalled, she sent her off without giving her a final check," she said, giving a soft shrug. "The nanny, Lucille, was my best friend."
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"No need to be. Lucille knew what she was doing, I warned her. Though, that Mr. Calvin is as irresistible they say. Not only would half the female staff bow at his feet willingly, but ladies of the upper class too."
"My mother calls men like that rakes," I grinned.
"I prefer sleaze ball, as you Americans say," Grace laughed.
"But honestly," I inquired. "That is what Mr. Calvin is like?"
She nodded. "I would warn you to be careful but you don't look like the easily impressed type."
"Really?"
"If you don't mind me saying, you have a detectible iron virgin aura."
I threw my head back and laughed good-naturedly.
The children played on the back lawns for an hour before moving to the front. There, as the clock struck eleven a woman dressed in a smart grey dove suit and a pale pink cloche hat materialized at the end of the Blackstone drive. I watched her intently as she approached, and as I did, recognition bubbled to the surface.
The true nanny, Mrs. Dakota Johnson, was extremely past due, but if my intuition was informing me correctly, today would be a fine day to show. I leapt from my seat on the steps and rushed down the drive, attempting to intercept her before anyone else could.
"Hello Mrs.," I smiled nervously, "Mrs. Dakota Johnson, right?"
"Yes that's me," the woman smiled back. I quickly took stock of her features; peachy skin, snout-like nose, average height, plain brown hair with streaks of gray, and pretty cupids bow lips. I was quite sure the shape of her lips were drawn, however.
"I regret to inform you that your position has been filled," I explained, glancing around. "Recently..."
"Excuse me?"
"The position you came for has been filled, ma'am." I said.
"Why? I don't understand," she blinked. "They just gave my position away, like that? No word to the agency or anything to inform me? I spent the last of my savings trying to get here. How am I to go back?"
My gut clenched and guilt seeped in. "I'm so sorry."
"May I at least speak to the woman of the house to work something out?"
"I, uh," I scratched my arm nervously. This was awful, and until now I hadn't realized the severity of what I'd done. Guilt bashed me like the gales winnowing through the air and I was tempted to simply run down the drive and never return. Then at least Mrs. Johnson would be able to have her rightful job. "You see..."
"The mistress is unavailable at the moment," another voice came. I turned, startled. Grace approached, her manner authoritative and calm. Her muddy russet hair blew in a passing breeze, causing her to carefully brush it behind her ear. "What Mrs. Michaels has told you is true. I'm sorry ma'am, but there is nothing for you here."
"Oh..." the woman's posture sagged. She clutched her small suitcase even tighter. "Good day then." Mrs. Johnson spun and treaded back down the drive. I watched her go as a knot grew in my stomach.
Did I do the right thing? Was the hunt for Sable worth such a high cost?
"The agency made a mistake assigning her here, correct?" Grace asked.
I nodded.
"Strange. The Bridgewater Agency never makes mistakes, ever. That is why Mrs. Cecilia favors them so much," Grace mused. Spinning on her heel, she walked back to the children, a confused frown clouding her expression.
I felt like Jell-O. Nervous, unstable Jell-O.
We went inside at noon so the children could have lunch, and came outside again an hour later. Clyde begged to play in the decorative pool on the front lawn, and Christie joined in. I glanced at the pool and the splendid fountain at its center.
"I don't think-."
"Race you," Clyde laughed, and took off towards the glistening water. Christie followed, chortling elatedly.
"No!" I raced after the two. "I didn't say you could! Clyde get out of the water!"
"Make me!"
"Christie! You'll get your dress wet--Oh! You did!"
"I'm sorry," she slunk towards me as I sloshed into the watery depths in pursuit of Clyde. My long skirt tangled around my ankles, causing me to trip and fall. The cold water enveloped me as tumbled into its deepness ungracefully. Gasping, I floundered to regain my footing.
"Clyde out of the water!" Grace called. "Do not tease."
"Shut up you communist!" Clyde snapped. Grace drew back, wounded.
"Okay that's it!" I hissed, hiking up the skirts of my soaking uniform. "You better get out now you little scamp or you'll be sorry!" I chased him in circles around the fountain, and he laughed while dodging my frantic grabs.
"Oh whatever," he rolled his eyes. "I'm not scared of you. If you lay one black finger on me I'll tell my mother."
"Argh!" I growled, barely maintaining control of my anger. Taking deep breaths, I attempted to remain levelheaded. He's only a nine-year-old, I told myself. He's only a nine-year-old. The sound of a car pulling onto the drive snatched away my focus as I practiced my comical, calming exercise.
Whipping my head in its direction, I felt my heart sink. Oh God, please no.
"Daddy!" Christie squealed.
My hands flew to my hair that had fallen out of its bun. The cap I wore had fallen out of my hair and was floating forlornly in the pool. Scraggly strands of unruly hair reached my shoulders, complimenting the soaking uniform that stuck to me.
"You don't look that bad," Grace lied from the edge of the pool.
I took a deep breath and carefully waded to the edge. I hope this doesn't look as bad as I think, I thought as I stepped out of the water. Grace helped me to the ground.
The car stopped when it reached us. Jack was driving, and I could see him fighting back laughter. The passenger door swung open and out stepped a towering, furious man. At my side, Grace shriveled.
I prayed for the power of invisibility. My heart rate increased as I recalled Mrs. Cecilia's warnings about Mr. Cyrus Blackstone's temper. Though, as the imposing man approached, my heart slammed against my chest for another reason entirely.
Eyes the shade of black tar mixed with the hue of a blue ice cave focused on Grace, then me. The contrast was stark between them and Mr. Cyrus Blackstone's hair, the color of the splash of gold on a Northern parula bird's upper breast woven with strands of hair like fresh, glittering honey. His presence was overwhelming, and I was alarmed that I had to look up to see his face. Usually, men and I were around the same height. Broad was the world I would use to describe his shoulder width. Had he not looked so elite and aristocratic, I would have thought him a lumberjack.
It was a rare occasion when I felt small. Blinking, I daringly gazed at his face. It was narrow and lean, with artfully sculpted, harsh angles--a handsomer replica of his brother's. The jaw was taut and clenched from anger, and Mr. Cyrus's blazing eyes drove the fear of God into me.
"Should I ask for an explanation?" he demanded. "Or will that make me even angrier, Mrs. Petrov?"
"Sir...I um," Grace squeaked. "Perhaps that...would be...beneficial." She wobbled, and I gripped her arm to make sure she didn't faint away.
"Then spit it out! Why are my daughter and nephew outdoors, playing in the pool no less? And why is this woman," he gestured furiously at me, "Terrorizing them?"
My eyes enlarged.
The normally composed Grace was white with fear and fumbled for a reply, "Well you...see-."
"-I think I should answer that question," I said, preparing to take the full blame.
Mr. Blackstone blinked, and turned his thunderstorm gaze to me. I forced myself to stand straighter, determined not to shrink under the tension. "Who gave you permission to speak? I have yet to ask you anything," he answered. "Grace!"
"Uh...I-." Now she changed from white to green.
"-It was my idea to take the children outdoors; we weren't playing in the pool, I was trying to get them out of it, actually, which may explain why it looked like I was terrorizing them," I rushed. "I apologize sir, I realize it is against your rules but today was so beautiful, and I thought the children would benefit from fresh air. I was sure you would understand."
He paused, as if trying to stay back a storm. The mesmerizing eyes darkened to a heated indigo blue that reminded me of Christie's eyes. A shiver dashed down my spine, and I glanced away demurely just like a scolded child would. I felt like an idiot and kicked myself for not heeding Grace's warning.
If only.
"I'm assuming you are the new nanny, yes?" he finally said.
"Yes sir," I whispered.
"And on your second day of work you already know the children well enough to disregard me?"
"No sir."
"Then you are a fairy godmother who happens to know the wants and needs of the children more than I do?"
"No sir."
"Ah I see," he stroked his chin. "You are just a simple, foolish, stupid young nanny who rebels against the will of her employers because she thinks she knows best. Not only does she follow her own imbecilic ideas, she encourages the children to join her. Isn't this true?"
"No sir," my pride prevented me from taking an easier route, "I didn-."
"-Oh yes it is true, don't deny it. And a warning, if you wish to keep your job you will do as I instruct and ignore your own half-witted ideas. Your job, by the way, is scarcely hanging on by a thread."
I bit down on the inside of my cheek; the only indignant reaction one can have when being called a cretin by an employer.
The situation spiraled downwards further when Clyde slunk up to his uncle's side. "Uncle Cyrus, did Mrs. Bernadette tell you that she said we could play in the pool? It was wonderful fun!"
I saw red.
Chuckling humorlessly, Mr. Blackstone's attention returned to me, "No, no she didn't."
What could I do? Tell him his nephew was a liar?
Christie sloshed out of the pool and rushed over to her father, smiling hopefully. I watched Mr. Blackstone visibly flinch at seeing her. He turned to the Jack in the car.
"Take me to the house," he said. Before disappearing into the vehicle, he looked at me. "Be in my office in an hour."
He left, leaving behind a dismayed Christie.
Fifty minutes later I walked down an expansive corridor, following the directions to Mr. Cyrus Blackstone's office given to me by a passing servant. Smoothing down my hair and uniform, I hoped I was more presentable than I'd been before.
Not that I cared for Mr. Blackstone's opinion of my exterior, I just did not want to give him more occasion to judge me. Though he was unduly more striking than his brother, Mr. Clarence, I sensed in him a callousness that made him unappealing. It alarmed me, if I were being truthful. I sensed the same aspect of character in Matthew on our first meeting.
As I trekked down the hall I glimpsed a figure perusing inside an open room. Their movements were hectic, and as they rifled through items they took no care for those that fell to the floor.
"Are you searching for something?" I peeked in. "I can help you find it."
The individual jumped and rushed to the door. I noted that it was an older man with a shock of chestnut hair. A few strands were greying.
"You shouldn't be on this floor," he growled, slamming the door in my face.
Two minutes later I chanced upon Mr. Blackstone's office. Like all rooms in this home, it was massive. A beautiful mahogany desk near the windows caught my eye, and behind it sat the man himself.
He greeted me with a grunt and gestured to a chair before the desk. I sat down in it, gazing wide-eyed about the room. On the far side of the space was what seemed to be a library; there were so many shelves teeming with books. I wondered what it would be like to have the time to read all of them.
"I called you in here because I like to have a personal interview with each hired staff member. In my experience, it helps prevent discord," he said.
I nodded, letting my hands glide over the polished wood of my chair. "It seems like we've already had one," I chuckled, referring to the incident outdoors.
Mr. Blackstone didn't share my humor. Throughout the interview he treated me like a naive adolescent, even though I shared my age- twenty-two. He, himself, couldn't be more than thirty. I left the office afterwards biting my lip in order to mask my rising irritation broiling beneath the surface. Not only was he condescending, but dismissive as well.
On my way back to the nursery I passed the room the chestnut-haired man bided in. This time, the door was ajar, and the room within was fully ransacked. Someone was speaking in a hushed tone and the sound of flipping paper reached my ears. Unable to sate my curiosity, I peered in.
Standing at a telephone mounted on a desk was the same man. He sounded distraught, and I strained to hear why.
"Yes, she's dead. I know but I can't seem to find it. I've checked her room, her office, and I can't remember where else. Mhm. No, I don't know who killed her, though I wish I'd gotten the chance. Yes...mhm...mhm. I'll try, but I doubt it'll work. Cecilia...no... She is? Hold her off; tell her anything. I've got to find it or else the deals off. Yeah, alright...yeah, good bye, Charlie." He hung up and started for the door.
Eyes widening, I backed away and fled down the hall. I stopped when I turned a corner, and daringly peeked down the previous corridor. Thankfully, the man was heading in the opposite direction.
When he vanished I crept back to the room and found it still open. Cautiously, I stepped inside and into a vast mess. There were documents, letters, and personal items scattered everywhere. I kneeled down in the mass and inspected the letters near me.
My heart stopped as I picked up one with a more than familiar name.
Sable.
Author's Note:
Here's a new update!! Hope you guys liked it XD
Sonny Mae