Unhinged Read online

  But the sleep never lasts long enough to bring true rest. Too soon I was gazing at the relentless fig again. Why did I never cut it down? Now it torments me day and night.

  I admire its mighty limbs. Would those branches hold my weight? I daresay they might.

  The fig tree’s long arms beckon in the moonlight. It is an embrace I must consider.

  3

  Serena woke on a sofa in a strange room. She struggled to shake the heaviness of sleep, knowing her body still needed more, but the reality of where she sat forced her to keep her eyes open. He left me here all night?

  She raked back through her memories of the previous evening. The heartless man had remained sullen for the drive home, aside from a warning. ‘If you attempt to run away,’ he’d said, a sneer curling his lips, ‘I will return and take your father to the authorities.’ He’d barely given her the time to pack a few small belongings into a bag, and bid her sisters a quick, tearful, farewell.

  Her sisters.

  Who would care for Julianne and Rachel? Papa would soon be gone again, sailing on his next voyage. Until now, the girls had not shown any success when left to fend for themselves. How would they manage? Perhaps it was time they grew up, after all.

  How would Papa get on? He relied on her to keep things in order at home—so much so, he had denied her marriage to an eligible suitor some two years earlier. The only thing she’d ever wanted—her own home and family. She shut the memory down even as it surfaced, bringing fresh pain.

  Serena stood and paced the intricately woven carpet. They had arrived last night in darkness that shrouded her surroundings, but now she gazed about her at the high ceilings and ornate wood panelling. Heavy velvet drapes hung beside pointed windows, and elaborate artworks decorated the walls. Saints above, it was just as she’d imagined Pemberley, or even Rosings Park to be when she’d read Miss Austen’s novels. One could not deny Mr King’s excellent taste in decor.

  This image of a gentleman versed in the arts belied his rude and callous behaviour. Serena gritted her teeth. Heavens, he’d left her in this room with a curt ‘wait here’ and never returned. She’d waited and waited. The fire in the grate had long since died out, leaving her shivering with cold. Thankfully it was not yet the dead of winter.

  Serena went to the window to better see the property. All she’d managed to discern last night was that they’d driven away from the city. Manicured lawns spread before her, dotted at precise intervals with trees and shrubs, or carefully placed flower gardens, and even the occasional statue. There was order and symmetry everywhere she looked—it spoke of fastidious design. Was Mr King a man who commanded detail in every area?

  Serena scanned her memory for everything she’d heard of Mr King. As far as she knew, he’d been in the colony for at least ten years—from England, or was it France? There was talk that he was a genius, his brilliance recognised from childhood, but people also called him eccentric. The newspapers often reported on his strange ways, his flamboyant appearances at social gatherings, and then his practical disappearance for months on end. Well, however society labelled him, Serena decided he was naught but a churlish, rude ogre. Her days within these walls might well become a severe trial.

  Serena became aware of footsteps in the hallway. It was not the heavy tread of a man, but the quick, light tap of a woman’s shoe.

  As the door creaked open, Serena held her breath, her fingers gripping the folds of her skirt.

  A lean woman entered, and Serena was surprised not to be greeted. The woman was obviously unaware of Serena standing there and moved to collect something from a card table in the corner. Serena studied the face and guessed her to be in her late thirties. She had a pleasant face. Serena discreetly cleared her throat causing the woman to jump. She swivelled to face her.

  ‘Who are you? And how did you get in here?’

  Clearly, the lady had not been informed of her presence, and seemed rather alarmed. Serena gulped back her nerves and tried to breathe normally, belatedly offering a small curtsey. ‘I’m here to work for Mr King. He brought me here last night.’

  The lady’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion, but then her eyes narrowed. She measured Serena with suspicion. ‘New help? Last night? What a bizarre tale.’

  ‘Though bizarre, I agree, it is true. My name is Serena Bellingham.’

  The woman scanned her from nose to toe once again. ‘Well, Miss Bellingham, I really don’t know why Edward hired you. We have no need for more staff. Wait here while I go and speak with him.’

  With that she swept out of the room. Abrupt and curt as Mr King, and leaving her with more questions than answers. But what was Serena’s occupation to be? Why had Mr King agreed she come and work for him when he had no use of her? Surely the housekeeper knew the staffing needs of the house, assuming that’s whom she’d just met? But then, the woman’s bearing and attitude spoke of good breeding. A family member, perhaps. Either way, the lady had been resolute.

  So, how might Serena occupy herself in a house requiring no additional workers? Sit and stare at the paintings on the walls? She bit on her lip as her thoughts led her to a frightening possibility. Surely not! Serena scanned her memory for any snippet of information she’d heard of Edward King.

  Oh my. Saints in heaven. She recalled reading rumours he’d been seen on various women’s arms in the past several years. Was she to be his new plaything? Was he of such a high opinion of himself that he believed she’d agree to such a thing? Never. Not in a thousand years of hot Australian Christmases. How dare he? Indignation coursed through her.

  No, Serena. Once again, she had let her imagination run away with her. Mr King had shown no signs of interest in her, quite the opposite, in fact. And as soon as the woman returned, they would correct any uncertainty. If he did have no use for her, perhaps she would soon be on her way home, back to her sisters who certainly did need her.

  Jerking to her feet, she explored the large ornate room, looking for housekeeping that might remain undone. Serena dragged a finger across the smooth top of an oak table and then inspected it in the light from the arched window. No dust. In fact, her finger had left a smudge against the perfectly polished surface.

  She checked lamps and candles, but the wicks were trimmed, oil topped up, ready for the next use. Several items of silver shone in the morning light, a sign of recent polishing. She moved to the hearth where there was little overspill of ash in the grate and a fresh supply of logs filled the wood box, their earthy fragrance pervading the room. Even the fire utensils were cleaned.

  Serena sighed. Nothing appeared undone. Not in this room at any rate. Spotless and neat in every detail. Did every room hold such perfection in this house? She glanced at the door through which the lady had departed. Still closed.

  Since there was no one to see her, Serena knelt on the floor, spreading her skirt around her. She lifted the edge of the large rug that covered the stone floor, checking for dust beneath it. Not a crumb. Determined to succeed in her search, Serena crawled over to the luxurious sofa and bent to peer beneath it. Aha. Yes. A small raised shadow against the pile of the rug. She stretched her hand as far as possible, but had to lay flat and half submerge her head beneath the couch before she reached the item.

  ‘Find anything interesting?’

  Serena jumped with fright, banging her head on the wooden frame of the sofa. With rapid heat rising in her face, and wincing at the pain on the back of her head, she scrambled to her feet. ‘I’m so sorry, I was ...’

  Her words vanished as her eyes settled on the man in front of her. Why had she thought Mr King was an older man? In the morning light, the gentleman before her seemed less than thirty. And handsome, in the manner of handsomeness that set her heart fluttering and made her face even hotter. Well, if it weren’t for that perpetual scowl anyway. And why should she even notice—he’d abandoned her in the drawing room all night?

/>   He stood there, a little dishevelled, unshaven by the shadow on his chin, but otherwise attired to exquisite perfection. Mr King stared at her with his hands thrust in pockets. Was he still angry? Or did he laugh at her behind his stony face? She couldn’t tell.

  Serena dropped her gaze and remembered the object in her hand. ‘I found this.’ She held out a key.

  ‘You may leave it on the card table there,’ he gestured with a jerk of his chin.

  The clink of the brass key on the wooden surface echoed through the spacious room.

  ‘The true daughter of a thief, I see.’

  Serena’s outrage increased that Mr King would judge her so. He’d never even asked her name, let alone learnt anything about her.

  ‘I am Serena Bellingham. And my father is no thief.’ One mistake. He’d made one mistake. Must the label of thief remain forever?

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  Serena frowned. ‘I don’t understand. You brought me here.’

  ‘I brought the daughter of a thief. If your father is not a thief, then you are not the person who took his place.’

  Her mind whirled in confusion. ‘Should I leave then?’

  Mr King scowled at her. ‘What is the matter with you? Have you no wits about you? Your father stole my food and attempted to steal a painting. That makes him a thief.’

  ‘He made a mistake.’ Serena ground out her words in exasperation. ‘One he regrets terribly.’

  ‘Good. So you admit to your father’s crime. That is a beginning.’

  ‘I admit no such thing. He is not a criminal.’

  ‘No?’ Mr King pulled his hands from his pockets and clasped them behind his back. He then walked the length of the room. ‘I think he is. And his activities have rubbed off on you. You have not been in my house a day, Miss Bellingham, and you have already snooped where you have no business to snoop. What did you intend with that key? Find my safe and run away with my gold? Hmm?’

  ‘What? No.’ What excuse should she give for searching under the sofa? She couldn’t admit the truth. ‘I don’t even know what that key might unlock. I merely found it and wished to return it to its rightful owner.’

  Mr King approached her then. Too close. So close she caught the scent of lavender and cinnamon and what was that—tobacco? So close she could have measured the length of his unshaven beard—not even a quarter of an inch. Serena caught her breath at his penetrating gaze. ‘I wish I believed you, Miss Bellingham. Time will tell.’ He stepped back from her. ‘One thing your father spoke true.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Serena’s voice wobbled with uncertainty.

  ‘He told me you were fair. I cannot argue it.’ His lips curved a fraction at the corners.

  Was that a smile? She didn’t know how to respond.

  ‘Judith will show you to your room and explain everything.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘But what am I to do?’ Serena said to a closed door.

  This time, Serena did not dare move an iota as she waited for Judith to enter, whoever she might be. The shame of discovery in a prostrate position, with her head underneath a sofa, was enough for one day. But the audacity of that man to accuse her of criminal intent was beyond endurance, and the longer she waited, the angrier she became.

  Angry, and a little fascinated if she admitted it. His words at once confounded her and irritated her, and that dark, brooding face attracted her. He was both alarming and alluring.

  Five minutes passed before the door re-opened, and the woman she’d met earlier stepped inside. Serena clenched her fists in her lap as she realised this must be Judith.

  ‘Come this way please, Miss Bellingham.’

  Serena stood to her feet and collected her bag. At last the waiting was over.

  Exiting the drawing room, they walked along a massive hallway, steps echoing through the spacious corridor. Within minutes, Serena realised why she’d spent so much time counting the candlesticks and paintings in the drawing room. The house extended forever in each direction, huge wings stretching out from the centre of the mansion. The ornate detail in the arched roof above her inspired wonder, as did the artworks that hung at intervals along the passage.

  ‘I shall settle you at the end of this wing, where we house the staff—when we have any. There are one or two guest rooms this way, but family and friends usually have rooms in the opposite wing. You will find this comfortable though, I think.’ Judith turned to her with a knowing twist to her lips.

  Was this Judith staff or family, then? It was hard to know.

  Moments later, she opened the door to what seemed to Serena an entire house. At least, it was as large as her home in the city. A suite? Was she to occupy her own suite? Overwhelmed, she gazed around the luxurious rooms, not knowing what to do. ‘Do all staff have similar accommodations?’

  ‘If we had any staff, yes.’ Judith went to the huge four-poster bed and fluffed the pillows. ‘Small rooms do not exist in Aleron. We don’t house staff here these days, and we manage well without them.’

  ‘Aleron?’

  ‘The name of the house, child. Aleron House.’

  ‘And you are not staff, then, Judith?’

  ‘Not precisely. I do function somewhat as the housekeeper though, yes, and you may call me Mrs Jones.’

  ‘Oh.’ Strange. A well-born woman acting as a servant. Serena could only speculate what reasons might be behind that arrangement. She moved toward the bed and was greeted with the heady fragrance of fresh rosemary, a pouch of which had been left on the quilt. She adored the smell of rosemary and pressed the pouch to her nose. Her mouth filled with the longing for roasted lamb, seasoned with the delicious herb, something she had not tasted in several years.

  Still clutching her bag, Serena remembered Mr King’s behaviour in the drawing room and cleared her throat. ‘Mr King—he accused me of attempted thievery.’

  Mrs Jones straightened and eyed her, one brow lifting higher than the other. ‘He did?’

  ‘Yes, he thought I intended to find his safe and steal his gold.’

  Mrs Jones watched her but said nothing.

  Would Serena seem presumptuous speaking of the master of the house in such a way? She worried her lip between her teeth. She needed to know.

  ‘I am wondering, Mrs Jones, if that is his normal manner?’

  ‘Manner?’

  Serena swallowed. ‘Yes. Um. Gruff and scowling.’

  The woman stared at her for a moment longer. Then her lips twisted in amusement again as she straightened an already perfect bedcover. ‘Yes, indeed. The most cantankerous person I know. You’d best keep your distance. But in this case, I am afraid my brother was playing a charade.’

  ‘I beg pardon?’

  With a curt sigh, Mrs Jones faced Serena again. ‘There is neither safe nor gold. I suspect Mr King was baiting you.’

  ‘Baiting me? Why?’

  Mrs Jones approached her and took the leather bag from Serena’s grasp, stopping to look her in the eye. ‘If I could answer that question, we would both be wiser now, wouldn’t we?’

  She winked then, shocking Serena even further. She had first considered Mrs Jones to be stiff and serious, but now she had to rethink that impression. Maybe she’d discovered a friend and confidant to help her survive this time of trial. Surely Providence was at work. But then ... ‘Wait. Did you say Mr King was your brother?’

  ‘Yes. Lucky me.’ Mrs Jones grinned at her droll words this time. ‘My husband and I brought him out to Australia with us after ...’ The smile vanished and Mrs Jones busied herself placing Serena’s bag on the bed and opening it. ‘After we learned what a wonderful country Australia is.’

  Serena did not wish to pry but the hesitation proved Mrs Jones’ answer unconvincing.

  ‘It works for us to live here. I, as I’ve explained, work as the housekeeper, and my husband
, Robert, acts as the butler and Eddie’s personal valet.’ She glanced up briefly, her face pinched as though she suffered, and then removed Serena’s unmentionables and placed them in drawers. ‘The groundsman and groomsman are our sons and the cook is a dear family friend. As you see, we are a close-knit group here. Apart from us, we bring in a team of maids once a week to go through the whole house and clean whatever we have missed along the way. We’ve closed many rooms and covered the furnishings with dust sheets, leaving little to do. The house works efficiently that way.’

  Strange, but if that worked for them, who was Serena to argue? ‘And what am I expected to do?’

  Mrs Jones pressed the drawer shut. ‘What skills do you have? I am not sure my brother thought it through when he agreed to hire you. He can be somewhat spontaneous.’

  ‘Agreed?’ Serena shook her head. ‘No, he forced my hand.’

  Mrs Jones stared at her, blinking. ‘You must have misunderstood. Why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘He ...’ Serena almost blurted out everything, but bit on her lip instead. If Mrs Jones didn’t know of Papa’s attempt at thievery, Serena didn’t need to advertise it. ‘I know not why, but here I am.’

  ‘And your skills?’

  ‘I can cook and clean.’ Though that seemed redundant now she understood how Aleron operated. She shrugged. ‘I have experience in nursing my sickly mother, God rest her soul, and in caring for my sisters.’

  Mrs Jones pressed her lips into a grim line. ‘I suppose you can help with the laundry. It’s too much for the maids to complete in one day. But that won’t fill all your time, so it will be your duty to go from room to room and make sure everything is tidy and in place. In the meantime, I will speak with my brother.’

  Oh dear. Laundry was her least favourite of household chores, but if that’s what she had to do to atone for her father’s mistake, then so be it. The rest should be easy enough. Serena let out a long breath. ‘Very well. When shall I start?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. Take the day to acquaint yourself with your new surroundings and meet the rest of us. Just stay away from Mr King’s suite at the end of the north wing. He tolerates no interruptions when he is working.’