A maid was already in the bedroom unpacking, when they got to her room, and Beatrice said, "This is Aina. She was recently employed during your absence, to look after Isabella's needs and yours, too, of course, from now on. You have only to ring, and she'll be at your service. Aina, I'm sure you'll make Mrs. Lewin comfortable."
The tiny looking girl stared with an ill-concealed curiosity. She had bold eyes, but she did look friendly, so Clara smiled at her and received a knowing grin in return before she was left alone with Beatrice. Clara wandered over to the dressing table and her eyes fell on the gorgeous and rare pieces of hair brushes gleaming with polished elegance.
"Oh," she cried, "how lovely," and felt surprise that Bennet should have taken thought or time to prepare for her coming.
In the mirror she saw the Beatrice's mouth tighten, and on an impulse she turned and said calmly, "I do hope that we would start on a good foot, Beatrice. You and the Isabella." For an odd reason, she added Isabella to the sentence. Something told her that the poor child was influenced a great deal by Beatrice.
Beatrice did not answer directly, but replied with a faint air of reproof, "You must excuse Isabella tonight, Mrs. Lewin, she was not thoroughly prepared. It would have been better if her father had explained the situation to her himself."
"The situation?"
"The fact that her Nurse will suddenly be called her stepmother within a few weeks of working for them. I'm afraid the child may have been building up the wrong sort of picture of you."
"Oh, I see. Well, I do not think I was prepared, either." Clara gave the only lame sentence that came to her mind. "But Isabella is a lovely girl, don't you think so." She added, desperate to make a change in the way her voice sounded while speaking to Beatrice.
"She's very much like her mother," Beatrice replied colorlessly. "Now, you have your own bathroom, this door here." She pointed. 'The other door leads to Mr. Lewin's room. Dinner is usually at 7:30.
Clara stood in the middle of the room when Beatrice had gone and looked at the door that led to the other room. There was a key in the lock, but the door was not locked.
'So this had been the late Mrs. Lewin's room.' she thought. 'Did he not mind turning it over to a stranger? There must be so many other rooms in the house that one would have thought.... She went into the bathroom and turned on the taps with impatience, staring at her own reflection in the mirror.
No one came to fetch her for dinner, and when she saw the clock in her room indicate that it was time, she started down the staircase, and prayed silently not to feel like a misfit at the table, But Bennet was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs and she thought he watched her descent with a quizzical expression.
"You look great." he said, and took her hand. "We have time for a little wine, do you care to join me?"
Clara nodded and he led her to a small paneled room that he said he preferred to use when he was alone.
He offered her red wine, and she took the glass with a smile, trying so hard not to let him see how terrified she was.
"You do look exceptionally good. I guess the owner of Ellor did great with the choice of clothes." Bennet said.
She looked at him inquiringly, then her wide mouth turned up in an uncertain smile. She had on a simple orange cotton knee length gown.
"Clothes do make a difference, don't they?" she said a little nervously.
"They definitely do." Bennet replied
She could not decide whether he was just trying to be nice or he meant everything he said.
He put down his empty glass. "Shall we go in to dinner?"
She sighed with great relief when she learned that Beatrice never joined him for dinner, but as each course was placed before her and she sought a little desperately for topics of conversation, she began to feel that the presence of a third person might have made the situation easier. He answered each of her questions courteously enough, but he seemed indisposed to make small talk. After a long struggle of trying to keep up with several topics for conversation, she finally fell silent, watching his dark, withdrawn face.
Coffee was brought to the small room where they had drunk wine. She poured it out, conscious that his thoughts were already preoccupied with his work and with the telephone that rang constantly in his study, and she was not surprised when a while later he told her he had an urgent matter to attend to before he went to bed and would say good-night.
"You'll find plenty of books in the room across the hall," he told her, getting to his feet, "but I would suggest you go to bed early today. It's been a long day and you seem quite exhausted."
"Yes," she said. "What time do you have breakfast?"
"I'll be gone before you wake up. I'll tell them to send up a tray to your room."
"I see." Her eyes were on her wedding ring, which she was turning round and round on her thin finger. "Are you going away for long?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Only to take care of work related responsibilities." He replied. She nodded and sipped her coffee.
He looked at her bent head, at the tiny curls of her hair falling down gracefully, and he rubbed his chin with a rueful gesture.
"I haven't been very clever about this, Clara. It's rather worrisome honestly." he said. "You know nothing about me, my way of life, my tastes, even my working hours."
"Yes, indeed." she said sedately. "But you must remember that we've barely been together in the same space. It's actually a gradual process."
He regarded her silently for a moment, thinking what a strange girl she was, one minute, she looked so down and vulnerable, and the next so oddly self-possessed.
"I hope," he said, "that I haven't forced you into taking a step that should have required more thought."
She looked up at him then and her eyes were clear and determined. "No, you haven't." She replied.
"Very well then. Tomorrow, Beatrice or Isabella will show you around. Ask Beatrice anything you need to know. She's been with us for seven years and knows all the ropes. We don't see many people out here, but a Miss Bethany might pay a visit. Take care not to indulge her unless you're comfortable to do so." Bennet said.
"Is she the" entanglement?" asked Clara simply.
"Entanglement?"
"You said you needed a wife for the purpose of social protection."
"There's no entanglement," he said, frowning. "Bethany Maloney was a friend of my late wife and have since been a close friend to the family, that's all."
"I see."
Aware that he had spoken sharply, he touched Clara lightly on the shoulder.
"Well, get a good night's rest and call me for anything you might want. Good night."
"Good night," she answered, and after he had gone she put out the lights and climbed the stairs to bed.