Oh, but she stirs me from this fog of aimlessness.
Might she cure me of this curse?
That damned monk. If I could find him, I would demand that he remove this scourge he laid on me. And if he refused, I would call curses on his head in retribution.
8
Serena had spent three weeks at Aleron House and had settled in well enough to know how the household operated. It took some time to get used to being on her feet so much, and her feet and back ached until her muscles became used to the constant work. At home she’d shared the load with her two sisters and that was only a tiny cottage.
On Mondays, a cart load of women was brought in from the Female Factory in Paramatta to launder, wash windows, clean rugs, polish floors and scrub every inch of the kitchen. These were convict women who were waiting to be sent out on assignment, not those who were imprisoned for serious crimes. They worked hard all day under the supervision of two guards and were driven back to the Factory in the evening.
After seeing how hard they were forced to work, Serena realised her plight was not so bad, and better than Papa’s would have been had he been sent to the penal colony.
Sunday was her day off when she attended a small church service nearby. Then, in the afternoon, she wandered out to a small beach not two hundred yards north. The weather had cooled with the approach of winter, but Serena persisted in her habit of removing her boots and stockings to let her toes revel in the soft sand as she strolled. Serena had inherited her father’s love of the sea. She left her shoes on a rock and sauntered along the shoreline, breathing in the salt-laden air.
Looking back toward the house, she understood Mr King’s thinking in the design. His personal suite of rooms was on the second floor at the far end of the north wing. From there, his view of the beach and the sea beyond was unobstructed. The view from the south wing was lovely too—green hills scattered with trees—but Mr King must prefer the ocean.
Serena had seen little of Mr King, aside from passing him in the hallways on occasion, since that first week. In those moments, naught had transpired but an awkward nodded greeting, although she often felt as though he would have tarried longer had she encouraged him. But she assumed he was very busy with his design work, since Mrs Jones always insisted it was so. A few times at night she awoke to noises and suspected he walked the house again, stirring his creativity. Although she dared not emerge from her bedroom, afraid of both meeting with his disapproval and of another invitation to tour the house at night.
Thankfully, Mr Moncrief had published nothing about Mr King. Perhaps her prayers were answered. With no one to share her experiences, save Mr Xavier—and he said little—Serena wrote letters to her family. In the pages, she outlined the details she had kept under a buttoned lip at Aleron. Thoughts of Mr King, the house, the family-cum-staff, even that strange night-time tour of the mansion. Hopefully her sisters would laugh, and Papa mightn’t miss her too much. She always finished with a few reminders or instructions, such as the special way one needed to pump the tap for the water to flow. She hoped they were faring well in her absence and she loved them dearly, sorry that she was not there to look after them. As yet, their letters had not indicated any terrible struggles—only that they missed her very much.
Serena turned and stared out to sea, allowing the rhythmical crash of the waves to massage her thoughts. Was this where Papa ran aground, changing the course of their lives forever? She let out a wistful sigh. If only she had never mentioned a rose. If only he had never discovered those paintings. She forced the regrets aside and walked on, the light breeze fluttering her skirts against her legs and tugging her hair loose from its binds.
Although it still hurt that she was forced to leave home, and though she worried about her family constantly, life at Aleron House was interesting. She could be almost content. Mr King had decided he might trust her. If that was so, perhaps she might persuade him one day to let her go. To that end, she worked hard and did everything asked of her, never raising a fuss or complaint. Serena made sure that Mr King only heard good reports concerning her.
Turning to walk back to where her shoes waited, Serena saw a figure coming toward her on the sand. From this distance, she couldn’t make out if it was Mr King or Mr Xavier—they both looked so similar. Then again, Mr King never wore the garb of a horseman.
‘Mr Xavier. What brings you here?’ She greeted him with a warm smile.
‘My uncle told me you were here. He thought I should come and keep you company.’
‘He did?’ Serena could not mask her surprise. ‘I am curious to know who told him I was here.’ Especially considering she had told no one. One of them must have seen her head in this direction.
Mr Xavier shrugged. ‘I know not. He was rather engrossed in his painting. I’m sure he just wanted to be rid of me.’ He gave a self-conscious chuckle.
Serena, however, focussed on one word. ‘Painting?’
‘Yes. He paints. Didn’t you know?’
‘No.’ Astounded was an understatement. How did she miss this important detail? All those roses were his work?
‘I suppose you’ve inspected none of the artwork around the house then.’ Mr Simon smirked at her in a knowing way.
Suddenly, Serena wanted to hurry back to Aleron and study every painting. But it would be rude to leave Mr Xavier so abruptly. Instead she tried to picture the art. After a few moments, she
