Some Sort Of Spell

Odious… horrible… detestable, interfering man! she raged, scrubbing the kitchen table with a sudden upsurge of vigour; and if he thought for one moment that she would seriously entertain employing his ex-nanny…

An hour later, feeling rather bemused, Beatrice had the suspicion that the boot was rather on the other foot.

Henrietta, as her visitor firmly informed her she wished to be addressed, appeared to be a martinet of the old school, who, as she told a dazed Beatrice, was very particular about those for whom she worked.

‘Of course, when Master Elliott asked me to consider coming to work for you…’ She paused, but the expression on her face was a revelation to Beatrice. ‘Such a delightful little boy he was! But you have rather a large household here,’ she continued briskly.

‘Yes… but… Well, what we need is a housekeeper rather than a nanny,’ Beatrice told her as gently as she could. Against her will she had found herself drawn to this small upright woman with her plain face and forthright views.

‘Oh yes, I know that, but when I was first a nursery maid they taught us properly, housework included, although I’m only a plain cook. To be honest with you, looking after small children is too much for me these days; I get a touch of rheumatism in the winter and I can’t run after them the way I once could.

‘Three brothers and a sister you’ve got, so Master Elliott said…’

Her decision had nothing to do with Elliott at all, Beatrice told herself defensively later; it was the appeal in those words, the faint wistfulness in the other woman’s smile, and her own imagination as she compared the empty lonely life that had unwittingly been described to her with the hustle and bustle of her own.

It was perhaps just as well that she didn’t see the light in her new employee’s eyes as she walked briskly down the road.

If there was one thing she liked, Henrietta Parker reflected happily as she went home, it was a challenge. That dear boy Elliott had been quite right. She was far too young and active to retire. The Bellaire clan was exactly what she needed.

Totally unaware of what she was unleashing on her family, Beatrice started her preparations for their supper.

Mirry’s dress, washed and ironed, hung upstairs in her room. All the bathrooms had been cleaned and supplied with fresh towels. The discarded clothes she had found in every room but Elliott’s had been washed and put back in their rightful places.

She had noticed that Lucilla’s clothes were still in her room, so presumably she had not yet made up her mind about leaving. If Elliott must meddle in their affairs, why couldn’t he confine his meddling to where it was most needed? Beatrice thought waspishly. In other words, why couldn’t he confine it to his own half-sister?

Mirry was the first to arrive home, lifting an eyebrow when she saw her elder sister’s untidy state.

‘You’re going to have to get your skates on if you’re going to be ready for Elliott.’

Turning away so that Mirry wouldn’t see the slow burn of anger reddening her skin, Beatrice said as calmly as she could, ‘Oh, that’s all off now.’

‘I suppose he only wanted to talk to you about paying you rent or some such thing while he’s living here. On the way to town this morning he asked me how much we pay,’ she added, munching an apple she had picked out of the fruit bowl, her eyebrows lifting expressively. ‘Honestly, as if we pay anything!’

Beatrice refrained from pointing out that although she only had her grant both Benedict and Sebastian were now earning reasonable amounts of money, certainly enough to buy themselves new and definitely sporty-looking cars, and in Benedict’s case a wardrobe full of new clothes.

Was that why Elliott wanted to take her out? Until that moment she had not got round to thinking much about any possible motive, being too incensed over his high-handed announcement of his intention.

That being the case, and knowing that the last thing she wanted to do was to spend an evening with him, she couldn’t understand the small stab of disappointment deep inside her.

She was still in the kitchen preparing vegetables for the evening meal when Elliott came in.

‘Well, Cinders, not ready yet?’ he commented as he walked into the kitchen and put down his briefcase.

As always whenever she was with him Beatrice immediately became aware of a prickly defensiveness coupled with an intense awareness of him.

‘I’m not going out with you, Elliott,’ she told him angrily.

‘Oh yes, you are.’ She could see him looking at her stubborn closed face, and her working clothes.

‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘I’m quite prepared to take you dressed like that. It won’t be quite what the other female guests are wearing, but if you’re not worried about that, then I’m certainly not. You’ll definitely stand out—but then isn’t that what a Bellaire likes?’

Too many thoughts crowded into her brain at once, and she could only stare furiously at him.

‘Temper, temper!’ he chided her gently, tapping her cheek with one long forefinger, and then casually picking up a piece of carrot and chewing it.

Anger exploded inside her, filling her with heat, enveloping her like a dark red mist, the force of it making her tremble.

‘I am not going out with you, Elliott.’

‘Oh yes, you are.’ All at once his easy calmness dropped away, revealing a grim determination powerful enough to alarm her. He placed his hands either side of her on the table, imprisoning her against him, standing so close to her that she could almost feel his body heat. ‘You’re coming out with me tonight, whatever it takes to get you there, and that includes taking you upstairs and physically stripping and re-dressing you myself. I might enjoy that experience, but I doubt that you would. How many men have seen you naked, Beatrice?’ he demanded softly, watching the betraying tremble of her mouth with pitiless eyes.

What was more frightening than his threat was the ease with which her brain conjured up a mental picture of what he had threatened. She trembled, her eyes darkening in a bewilderment that he registered as she sought to suppress the shockingly intimate picture of herself like that in his arms…

‘I…’

‘What’s the matter?’ he goaded softly. ‘Does the thought of being with a man frighten you so much that it renders you speechless? Or is it the fact that it’s never happened at all?’ he probed cruelly.

All at once her control broke. ‘Stop it!’ she moaned frantically, covering her face with her hands. ‘I…’

‘I mean what I’m saying, Beatrice,’ he told her warningly. ‘Either you go upstairs now and get ready to come out with me, or I do it for you.’

She let her hands drop and looked into his eyes and knew that he meant every single word he said.

As he stepped away from her she felt so shaky that she could barely stand up. She had to do what he said; she had no alternative. Her bruised mind had trouble in accepting the awful reality of it.

Somehow she made it to her room. She was standing in front of her wardrobe, surveying its contents in dazed shock, when the door opened.

For a moment she thought it was Elliott come to enforce his threat and she froze, but when she turned round she saw that it was only Mirry, who now stood just inside the door, surveying her with a frowningly critical intensity.

‘Elliott sent me up to help you find something to wear.’

Almost defensively Beatrice was already reaching for her black velvet, but Mirry whipped it from her, frowning horribly.

‘No, not that. It makes you look like a middle-aged spinster, if such a thing still exists.’

‘But it’s all I’ve got.’

‘Mm…’ Still frowning, Mirry said, ‘Hang on, I won’t be a minute.’

She was back in less than five carrying a clear perspex box; inside it was something in brilliant jade-green satin.

‘I filched this from Lucilla’s room. Don’t worry,’ she chided as she saw Beatrice’s worried expression. ‘She won’t even notice it’s gone. It’s one of her mistakes, but it’ll look great on you. Look…’

Beatrice felt her eyes rounding in appalled despair as Mirry shook out the rich fabric.

It was a blouse, only a blouse like none that she would ever dream of wearing. It had a demure collar and three-quarter dolman sleeves, but its sole fastening was two long ties at the front that apparently knotted in a large bow. Beatrice stared at it with horrified and fascinated eyes, wondering how Mirry ever thought she would be able to wear an article like that that quite plainly needed to be worn without a bra.

‘I can’t wear that,’ she said wildly at last. ‘It’s… it’s… It would be indecent!’