It was easily the longest night of his life. He could have been eating
sawdust for all the attention he paid to the meal.
Two of his guests did not seem to notice his mood. Captain Francis Ogilvy and Lieutenant James Rogers devoted themselves to their host's food and drink with the single-minded enthusiasm of soldiers who did not eat half as well in their barracks.
Marston tried to avoid looking at the other end of the table where Major Ashley-Pitt was seated. The major's knowing smiles were intolerable enough but when he began alternating them with pitying looks, the temptation to commit homicide was almost overwhelming.
Finally the evening ended and the guests departed into their bedrooms with many a shouted goodnight and sleepy giggle. Marston waited ten minutes by the clock on his bureau, then headed out the back door.
There was still light in the cookhouse. He paused on the threshold. Sam was moving about the room, putting crockery and pots away on shelves. Looking up, she saw his reflection in the mirror image thrown back by a window.
"Well, Mr. Marston, how was your dinner party?" She pushed a large bottle to the very back of a shelf and turned to face him. "From the noise you were making, you seemed to be enjoying yourselves."
He pulled the door shut behind him and listened for the click that meant it was firmly latched. His course of action was still unclear to him. When the major had made his comment earlier in the evening, the floor heaved under his feet. He had wanted to run to the dining room and choke the truth out of her. He did not like being lied to.
But in the hallway outside he had stopped and leaned against the wall. His emotions were still roiling but he realized his predominant feeling was.hurt. For six weeks he had tried to get to know her, talking to her several times a day, asking questions about her life and her family. They were more than boss and employee; they were becoming friends. He had told her things he would never have told other employees, even Toby who had been with him since the beginning. Why hadn't she trusted him enough to tell him the truth?
During the delay he had managed to get his feelings under control. He could not afford to let his emotions take control. He had to get to the bottom of this mystery.
Now he leaned against the back of a chair in the cookhouse and watched her. She looked tired but her smile was warm and friendly.
"It was fine, thank you. You did an excellent job tonight." Under half- closed lids, he watched her carefully. "I know it wasn't easy on short notice."
"Thank goodness we had more rice than we needed. It's so easy to boil and the men filled up on it so I could cook for you." She threw her cloth into the sink and sat down in the nearest chair. Stretching her arms out on the table, she yawned and rested her head on them.
He moved around the table to her side. Long hair hung down her back, released from the pins that confined it during the day. Her hands were red and rough; three of her fingernails were broken. She raised her head and looked at him. "And what brings you here tonight?"
The hard knot of anger in his chest loosened and fell away as he looked into her eyes. Surely they were too clear to hide deception. All he had to do was get closer to her. Now that he knew she was hiding something he could probe deeper than he had before. There had to be an explanation.
But he would not ask for it tonight. He saw the exhaustion in her posture and felt like a tyrant.
"I came to thank you." He pulled out a chair and sat down. "And to tell you that after breakfast tomorrow you are not to work for three full days. I forbid it."
"You forbid it?" She smiled at his tone.
"Yes." He smiled back. "I'm a very harsh boss so don't think of disobeying."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Her smile faded. "Thank you. I am very tired."
He rose. "I won't keep you up then. Get some sleep." Looking down into her eyes, he felt a strong wave of protectiveness sweep through him. Somehow he would succeed in getting her to trust him and he would take care of her problems for her.
Tomorrow was soon enough.
Two of his guests did not seem to notice his mood. Captain Francis Ogilvy and Lieutenant James Rogers devoted themselves to their host's food and drink with the single-minded enthusiasm of soldiers who did not eat half as well in their barracks.
Marston tried to avoid looking at the other end of the table where Major Ashley-Pitt was seated. The major's knowing smiles were intolerable enough but when he began alternating them with pitying looks, the temptation to commit homicide was almost overwhelming.
Finally the evening ended and the guests departed into their bedrooms with many a shouted goodnight and sleepy giggle. Marston waited ten minutes by the clock on his bureau, then headed out the back door.
There was still light in the cookhouse. He paused on the threshold. Sam was moving about the room, putting crockery and pots away on shelves. Looking up, she saw his reflection in the mirror image thrown back by a window.
"Well, Mr. Marston, how was your dinner party?" She pushed a large bottle to the very back of a shelf and turned to face him. "From the noise you were making, you seemed to be enjoying yourselves."
He pulled the door shut behind him and listened for the click that meant it was firmly latched. His course of action was still unclear to him. When the major had made his comment earlier in the evening, the floor heaved under his feet. He had wanted to run to the dining room and choke the truth out of her. He did not like being lied to.
But in the hallway outside he had stopped and leaned against the wall. His emotions were still roiling but he realized his predominant feeling was.hurt. For six weeks he had tried to get to know her, talking to her several times a day, asking questions about her life and her family. They were more than boss and employee; they were becoming friends. He had told her things he would never have told other employees, even Toby who had been with him since the beginning. Why hadn't she trusted him enough to tell him the truth?
During the delay he had managed to get his feelings under control. He could not afford to let his emotions take control. He had to get to the bottom of this mystery.
Now he leaned against the back of a chair in the cookhouse and watched her. She looked tired but her smile was warm and friendly.
"It was fine, thank you. You did an excellent job tonight." Under half- closed lids, he watched her carefully. "I know it wasn't easy on short notice."
"Thank goodness we had more rice than we needed. It's so easy to boil and the men filled up on it so I could cook for you." She threw her cloth into the sink and sat down in the nearest chair. Stretching her arms out on the table, she yawned and rested her head on them.
He moved around the table to her side. Long hair hung down her back, released from the pins that confined it during the day. Her hands were red and rough; three of her fingernails were broken. She raised her head and looked at him. "And what brings you here tonight?"
The hard knot of anger in his chest loosened and fell away as he looked into her eyes. Surely they were too clear to hide deception. All he had to do was get closer to her. Now that he knew she was hiding something he could probe deeper than he had before. There had to be an explanation.
But he would not ask for it tonight. He saw the exhaustion in her posture and felt like a tyrant.
"I came to thank you." He pulled out a chair and sat down. "And to tell you that after breakfast tomorrow you are not to work for three full days. I forbid it."
"You forbid it?" She smiled at his tone.
"Yes." He smiled back. "I'm a very harsh boss so don't think of disobeying."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Her smile faded. "Thank you. I am very tired."
He rose. "I won't keep you up then. Get some sleep." Looking down into her eyes, he felt a strong wave of protectiveness sweep through him. Somehow he would succeed in getting her to trust him and he would take care of her problems for her.
Tomorrow was soon enough.