Part 5 (1/2)

and he swung the hand that had been hanging by his side as he spoke, and deposited a dead chicken on the kitchen table. Joanna had never seen anything so repulsive before. The chickens she had cooked had all been plucked and ready for the table, whereas this creature was barely cold, and still covered in its feathery coat.

'Did-did Mrs Harris ask for this, Mr Coulston?' she got out eventually, and he nodded.

'Wanted it for supper this evening,' he declared, pus.h.i.+ng the limp body across to her. 'That's Gloria, that is. One of my best layers, in her time. Getting lazy, she was. Must be getting old, Miss ... er ...

Anyway, she's done for now. Comes to all of us eventually, doesn't it?'

Joanna licked her dry lips. 'I've never plucked a chicken before,' she murmured, half to herself. Then: 'Well- thank you, Mr Coulston.

I-er-I'll do what I can.'

His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and then, almost inconsequently, he said: 'I thought you came here to governess that young rip Anya. I didn't know you was a housekeeper.'

'I'm not.' Joanna sighed, realising he probably deserved an explanation. 'I am here to teach Anya. But until Mr Sheldon gets someone else...'

'I see,' the old man nodded. 'And what's a young la.s.sie like you doing in a place like this? From London, ain't you?

Don't the young fellers down there have any eyes?'

Joanna smiled at that. 'That's a nice compliment, Mr Coulston, but I'm not that keen to get married. Besides, no one asked me.'

'No?' He looked sceptical, and she gave a soft laugh.

'Well, no one I wanted to accept,' she conceded, and he chuckled in response.

'So you're going to try and teach some manners to young Anya?'

'That is my intention.'

He grimaced. 'Well, the best of luck! She's not going to be an easy target. Run wild for too long, she has, with only a couple of helpless old biddies to chase after her.'

Joanna laughed again-she couldn't help it. It didn't seem to matter that he was saying virtually the same thing as Mrs Harris had told her. It was the way he said them that mattered, and she sensed that unlike the housekeeper, he had some affection for the girl.

'And your name's Miss-what?' he asked gruffly. 'Can't go on saying you-know-who all the time, can I?'

'It's Seton, actually,' replied Joanna easily. 'Joanna Seton.

How do you do, Mr Coulston?'

'The name's Matt,' he told her, moving towards the door again. 'No need for all that formal stuff.' He looked down at the chicken and then after a moment picked it up again. 'And I'll pluck old Gloria for you, and clean her out. Seeing as how you got shot of old Mother Harris.'

'But I didn't,' protested Joanna, and found she was speaking to a closed door.

She had decided she would have to walk to the village that afternoon for some bread and flour, and was busily whipping up some eggs for lunch, when Anya came into the room. It was the first time Joanna had seen her with her face clean, and the transformation was quite amazing. With her hair decently cut, and wearing something other than those disreputable jeans, she would look quite attractive, Joanna reflected thoughtfully; the contrast of blue eyes- her mother's?-and dark hair-her father's-could be quite a combination.

Nevertheless, the improvement in her appearance did not make Joanna less wary of her. On the contrary, she was actively prepared for a resumption of hostilities, and Anya's first words did nothing to allay her suspicions.

'Where's Mrs Harris?' she asked, standing just inside the door from the hall. 'This is Mrs Harris's kitchen, not yours. You shouldn't be in here.'

Joanna sighed, and put down the bowl of eggs she had been beating.

'I'm sure your father told you, Mrs Harris has left,' she said carefully. 'Now, do you want an omelette for your lunch, or will you get what you want yourself?'

'So long as you're making them, I'll have an omelette,' the girl declared insolently, moving further into the room and straddling a chair at the table. 'Daddy didn't tell me you were going to be the new housekeeper. Why do we have to have you? I want Mrs Harris.'

Joanna steeled herself not to respond as Anya wanted her to do. She would enjoy telling her father how Miss Seton had abused her while he was away, and while Joanna felt reasonably sure that he was not duped by his daughter's behaviour, nevertheless she knew he would not approve of her resorting to a child's methods of retaliation a second time.

Instead she smiled sweetly and said: 'You really are the most obnoxious child, Antonia. And I like you no more than you like me.

But we're going to get along together, one way or the other, and you might as well get used to the fact.'

'My name's Anya,' snapped the girl angrily, springing to hey feet.

'And I'll never get along with you. The others were bad enough, but you're worse. They never got Daddy to get rid of Mrs Harris, and they never made eyes at him every chance they got!'

Joanna gasped-she couldn't help it. The last thing she had done was make eyes at Jake Sheldon, and for a minute she felt so angry she could have slapped Anya's face.

It took all her self-control to pick up the bowl of eggs again and expunge her frustration on them as she answered: 'I did not ask your father to dismiss Mrs Harris, and as for being interested in him, that's ludicrous! I hardly know him, and besides, he's not my type.'

'Because of his face?'

Anya's question was unexpectedly anxious, and Joanna quickly shook her head. 'Of course not. That has nothing to do with it.'

'Doesn't it?' Anya sounded disbelieving now. 'He says no woman would want to look at a gargoyle every day of her life.'

Joanna sighed, reluctantly stirred by the child's involuntary confidence. 'Your father is far too sensitive about his appearance,'

she said firmly. 'You don't mind looking at him, do you?'

'Me?' Anya sat down again almost unthinkingly. 'Of course not! I love him. And I don't care how he looks.'

'There you are, then.' Joanna lifted a heavy frying pan down from a shelf and put it on the top of the cooker. 'When you love someone, you don't judge them on appearance. You care for them for who they are, what they are, what they mean to you.'

Anya was silent for a few minutes, and Joanna added fat to the pan with a feeling almost of disbelief. Who would have believed that only seconds ago she would have been saying such things to this little termagant, who even now was probably thinking of some new mischief to perform.

The omelettes didn't take long to cook, and she heated the tin of mixed vegetables at the same time. It wasn't really a satisfying meal to give a hungry eleven-year-old, she thought ruefully, but until she could get to the shops and stock up on some essential foods, it would have to do.

Anya tucked into her omelette with gusto, and remembering that she had had nothing since the night before, Joanna wasn't altogether surprised. On impulse she opened a can of sliced peaches to give her for dessert, and watched the whole lot disappear while she enjoyed a decent cup of instant coffee.

When the meal was over, Anya rose from the table at once, but Joanna was not about to let her get away like that. 'You can help me with the dishes,' she said briskly, pus.h.i.+ng back her chair.

'And then you can show me the way to the village.'

Anya's protests at the former request were stifled by her curiosity at the latter. 'Why do you want to know the way to the village?' she exclaimed, looking suspicious. 'You won't be welcome there.

Ravensmere people don't like us. They think we're-peculiar.'

A thought seemed to occur to her at this, and she hunched her shoulders in a menacing pose. 'Perhaps we are.'

'I expect even monsters have to eat sometimes,' responded Joanna matter-of-factly, carrying their dirty dishes to die sink. 'I want to do some shopping, that's all. I doubt if anyone will refuse my money.'