The Black Diamond by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Victorian Romantic Suspense/Gothic
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1981-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

On Friday, we continued with our usual lessons. It was a welcome breathing space, but the day seemed long and tedious, with no expectation of a visitor at our nursery door. As evening drew to a close and still Mr. Palin had not returned, I was more disappointed than the son, who asked only, “Where is Papa?” as I tucked him into his bed.

“He is not home yet, Bobby. He’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Bingie,” he said, reaching out his hands to pull my head down for a goodnight kiss, which had been instituted as part of the evening ritual a few days earlier. The poor child craved human affection. I think he often crawled onto my knee for a story as an excuse to feel warm arms around him. Knowing how dear this luxury had been to myself in my childhood, I could not deny him it.

“Can three play this game?” a voice asked from the doorway. Turning in surprise, I saw Mr. Palin framed there in the opening, the light from the hall and the darkness of the bedroom turning him into a black silhouette.

“It’s Papa!” Bobby shouted, scrambling out from under the blankets.

“You’ll make Miss Bingie angry with me, undoing her work in this way,” he said, but he was not hesitant to take the boy into his arms for a hug.

“Good evening, Mr. Palin. I’ll leave you two to say goodnight,” I said, and turned to leave the room. I was happy for the darkness, which hid my joy at his arrival.

As I walked past, his hand reached out in the shadows and held my arm. “Don’t rush off on me, Bingie. I want to speak to you too. Will you come to my study in, say, ten minutes?”

“Yes, certainly,” I replied in my most businesslike tone.

I went to my room to wait, my mind alive with conjectures as to what he wanted to say. It would be some business connected with his son, or perhaps he got my spectacles repaired. It was foolish to sit with my heart racing at so ordinary a meeting. Glancing across the room to my mirror, I noticed my fingers were caressing the spot on my arm where he had touched me. There is nothing so foolish, so ridiculous, as a spinster with a girlish crush on her married employer. I would not let myself become an object of such scorn. I assured myself there was nothing wrong in tidying my hair before going for the visit. It was only natural to want to appear neat and tidy. So why was I pulling that curl out in front of my ear? It looked tidier tucked up behind, but not nearly so attractive. Why was I wondering whether he would serve wine again, to make it seem a social occasion? Why was I on thorns for ten minutes to be up, so I could go to him?

While these thoughts were still flitting through my head, there was a tap at my door.

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