Chapter Eight
Dropping the sweets in the bin, I said, "Mrs Rochester? She's here?"
"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "She's still in London. No, he's here. Ethan. Just arrived out of the blue. No warning, at all. He hasn't even brought Michael with him."
"Michael?"
"Michael Lawson, his chauffeur." She looked me up and down. "Ethan wants to meet you. You'd better tidy yourself up and go and see him. He's in the sitting room with Adele."
I felt a strange thudding in my chest. How had I not realised? He'd gone on about idiots on the road in London, hadn't he? I'd like to think fate wouldn't be so unkind, but past experience had taught me fate had a particularly twisted sense of humour.
I had an awful feeling that Ethan Rochester and I had already met.
Trembling and feeling a bit sick, I hung up my coat, washed my hands, ran a comb through my hair, then entered the sitting room. My worst fears were immediately confirmed. The big, dark-haired man with the flashing eyes, who'd almost mown me down on the moors road, sat in the armchair, Adele perched on his knee.
Bugger. Bang goes the job.
At least I had the advantage of a short forewarning. His eyes widened in surprise and his mouth dropped open when he took me in. Only for a second, though. He quickly pulled himself together and then shook his head. "Well, well. We meet again."
"So we do," I agreed, thinking there was no point in trying to creep round him. I'd already well and truly blotted my copybook, so it was far too late for that.
"So, you're Adele's new nanny."
"I am." I took a deep breath then held out my hand. "Cara Truelove."
He gave me a grumpy look, as if even my name offended him. "Ah, yes. Truelove. Huh." He shook my hand, rather reluctantly, I thought. "And to think, I believed it didn't exist."
It was on the tip of my tongue to assure him that it didn't, but his face told me he wasn't in the mood for jokes, and I was already worried about my job security.
He dropped my hand and looked down at Adele. "And how do you like Miss Truelove, Adele?"
Adele beamed at me. "She's nice," she said shyly. "We bake biscuits, and she does funny voices when she reads to me."
"Does she indeed?"
"And we made potato prints today," Adele continued. "Would you like to see them?"
"Of course I would," he said.
She wriggled down from his lap and ran over to the sideboard, where we'd placed the pictures while tidying the room earlier. "Mrs F said mine can go up on the kitchen wall later," she told him, proudly handing him her painting.
He scanned it carefully, and I saw a look of genuine pleasure in his eyes. "Very good," he told her. "And quite right. It should be on the wall, so everyone can admire it." He glanced up at me. "Take a seat, Miss Truelove."
I swallowed and sank onto the sofa. The whole situation was ultra-embarrassing. Trust me to land myself in it, right from the first meeting. "Call me Cara," I said, hoping to ease some of the tension.
He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "I think it best we keep things on a formal footing, don't you? Miss Truelove and Mr Rochester would be more appropriate in the circumstances."
Crikey, had I annoyed him that much? I was pretty sure that the family had referred to Jodie by her first name, and Mrs F definitely called her boss Ethan. Evidently, I was still in his bad books.
"I'm rich, Cara," Adele informed me with a wide grin. She rattled a piggy bank at me. "There's twenty-five pounds in there."
"Gosh," I said. "That's a lot of pocket money."
"It's not pocket money," she explained. "It's Ethan's fine."
"Fine?" I glanced across at Ethan, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"He says bad words when he gets grumpy," she continued, "so he promised me he would give me fifty pence for every swear word he says. He must have sweared loads of times, mustn't he?"
"Hmm," I said, thinking at least a tenner of that must have come from earlier on the moors.
Like he’d read my thoughts, he pulled a face. "Actually, Adele, I think I owe you a bit more now. I'll have to go to a cash machine later."
"More money!" Adele giggled. "Ethan bought me some sweets," she said, pointing to a bag on the coffee table. "Would you like one, Cara?"
Great minds think alike, I thought ruefully. "No thanks," I said.
"I think Miss Truelove has already had some," Mr Rochester said, giving me a knowing look.
"No, actually," I said. "Those sweets were for Adele."
"Have you bought me some sweets, too?" Adele said, sounding pleased.
I went red. "Well, no. Sorry. There was a bit of a mishap with them."
Mr Rochester smirked. "Got hungry on the way home?"
"Actually," I said, indignantly, "I dropped them in the road when your car nearly hit me."
"When you wandered into my path, you mean," he said. "I didn't notice them fall."
"Well, you wouldn't," I said. "You were probably too busy trying not to kill me."
He stared at me, saying nothing, and my heart thudded again. What on earth was I doing? I'd be sacked at the rate I was going.
"What I mean," I said, thinking I'd better do some damage limitation, "is you were a bit distracted, trying to avoid me when I walked into the middle of the road."
His mouth twitched, as if it wanted to smile but couldn't remember how. "Well saved," he said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He might’ve been a bit bad-tempered, but at least he had the remnants of a sense of humour. "So, how are you settling at Moreland Hall? It must be very different from Oddborough. A bit isolated for you?"
Wow, he had a good memory. Fancy him remembering that I'd worked in Oddborough. "Not at all. I love the Yorkshire moors. I was born here, and lived here until I was seven. After that, I used to visit my granny every few weeks. She lived in Newarth, but she died recently."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thanks. She was pretty old. In her nineties, I think, so it wasn't exactly unexpected. So, you see, I'm very happy to be living and working here. I feel really at home."
"Hmm." He watched me thoughtfully. "Mrs Fairweather speaks highly of you. She says you've fitted in nicely."
"Thanks," I said again. Maybe my job wasn't in jeopardy, after all.
"I don't come up north very often," he admitted, patting Adele on the head, as she climbed down from his knee before wandering over to the sideboard and fetching her colouring book and pencils. "I never liked it here when I was a child—the house, I mean. Far too gloomy and remote. It was completely different back then, and it used to terrify the life out of me."
I couldn't imagine him being terrified of anything, but I smiled politely. "You've done an amazing job with the renovation."
"It was for my mother," he said. "She decided that she was going to make Moreland Hall her permanent home. One of her whims." He rolled his eyes. "It didn't last long. She'd lost interest before the paint even dried."
"It seems a pity," I said. "It's such a lovely house. What a shame it's empty so often."
"Perhaps." He glanced over at Adele, who was absorbed in her colouring, and his expression softened. "I wish I could spend more time here. London has lost its attraction lately, I must admit, whereas this place ..." His voice trailed off, and he seemed almost relieved when a light tap came on the door and Mrs Fairweather popped her head round.
"Sorry to interrupt. Just letting you know that your room's ready."
"Excellent." He stood. "Thanks, Mrs F. I'll go and unpack."
"Thank you so much for the chocolates, Ethan. Very kind of you," she said.
He'd bought her chocolates? Wow, she was honoured! I peered closer at her and noticed a faint flush of pink on her cheeks.
"Er, will Michael be joining us any time soon?" she enquired. "Only, he usually drives you up here. I was quite surprised to see you in your mother's car."
His mother's car! Thank goodness for that. The news instantly sent Mr Rochester up a notch in my estimation.
"Michael's staying on for the time being. He'll be bringing my mother up here, in a week, or so."
"Ah, that's good. It'll be nice to see him again. I mean, it will be nice to see them both again."
"Right, well, if you'll excuse me." He flashed a smile at Adele, who gave him a megawatt smile back, then he nodded at me and headed upstairs.
"What do you think, then?" Mrs Fairweather bustled into the room, her face bright with obvious curiosity. "Was he what you expected?"
"I can honestly say," I said, "he wasn't at all what I expected."
"He needs a haircut," she said disapprovingly. "Looking very unkempt, he is. Still, I'm sure you'll get on with him. He's very kind."
"Is he?"
"Oh, yes. Look how good he is to Adele, for a start. Practically brought her up. And giving up his suite for his mother, like that." She tutted. "You'll find he doesn't much take after her. More like his father. She's a bit of a flibbertigibbet."
"A what?" I said, laughing.
"Flighty piece," she said. "Mind, don't get me wrong. She's not a bad person, and you can't help but like her. Just, well, she's not like him. It takes all sorts, I suppose. Lucky for Adele her brother's more responsible."
"Isn't it?" I said, wondering if she really was that naive. He treated Adele as if she was his daughter. The fact that Adele called him Ethan and not Daddy made no difference. I wondered who her real mother was. Did Mr Rochester have any contact with her? Why had Adele ended up living with him and not her mother?
Adele put down her colouring pencils. "What's for dinner, Mrs F?"
Mrs Fairweather beamed at her. "Your brother's favourite—beef stew and dumplings." She winked at me. "Always loved his comfort food. Not one for fancy cooking, thank goodness. And then there's rice pudding for afters. Is that okay with you, miss?"
Adele nodded. "I like your rice pudding."
"Good job you do," she said. "I'll get back to the kitchen, then, now that's all sorted. You'll be okay with Adele, Cara?"
"Of course." I hesitated, then whispered, "Does Mrs Rochester ever visit? I mean, his wife, not his mother."
She looked distinctly shifty. "Not often. Haven't seen her for a while. Some people find Yorkshire too remote. You know."
"So, she lives in London?" I persisted.
"She, er, travels around," she said. "Right, back to work for me."
As she left the room, I sank back onto the sofa and considered the matter. Clearly, Ethan Rochester's wife wasn't on the scene much, and I couldn't help wondering if Adele had anything to do with that. She couldn't be the little girl's mother, because why would they say Adele was his younger sister, if that was the case? Adele was obviously Rochester's guilty secret, but then, why stay married? His wife could have taken him for millions if she could prove adultery, and Adele was living proof, right there. It was all very odd.
I thought about the fictional Mr Rochester and his ward, Adele. Luckily for him, he'd had no rich wife who could kick up a fuss about her presence. Poor Bertha had had no say in anything he did, being locked away in an attic all those years, unaware of anything that was going on around her. Although, she'd been aware of some things, I supposed, or why else had she prowled the house, scaring Jane and setting fire to her husband's bed?
I shivered. At least my Mr Rochester wasn't keeping that sort of secret from me. I shook my head impatiently. Of course he wasn't! And he wasn't my Mr Rochester, either.
Honestly, Cara, you're the one who's going crazy.
I suspected sugar withdrawal was the culprit.