From that moment on, we became very close.
We took tea in my small sitting room, which was next to the small schoolroom. Katie’s tea included her supper, as her bedtime was six thirty.
“Tomorrow, we start some lessons,” I said.
Katie made a face.
“Must we?”
“Yes. But I promise that all our lessons will be fun.”
“Really, how will you manage that?”
“You will have to wait and see,” I said.
She obediently got ready for bed. Once changed, I took her down to say goodnight to her father, who was in his study writing letters. I stood by the door, but noticed the portrait of his late wife hanging above his desk.
She’d been a very pretty woman, but dark and petite, with enormous, rather sad brown eyes. Coincidentally, for the portrait, she had worn the dress I was now wearing, with a bonnet and a small parasol. Her eyes were gazing dreamily at some feature off in the distance to the left of the artist, and a small smile played around her lips. She seemed very pale, reminding me of a porcelain doll.
The Major hugged Katie, calling her his little poppet. She sat on his knee, hugging him tightly. Then she scampered back upstairs. I followed, watching as she snuggled into her bed.
“Would you like me to tell you a story?” I asked.
“Ooh. Yes please.”
“What would you like the story to be about?”
“I don’t know, how about a witch.”
I told her the story of Snow White and the seven dwarves, sketching some of the Disney characters as I went. She was asleep before I reached half way.
I kissed her on the cheek and tucked her in. Then, taking the candle, I turned to leave. I jumped, for standing in the doorway was the Major.
“You startled me,” I said, crossly.
We left the room and I shut the door, but then he took my arm.
“I am sorry, Jane, I didn’t mean to. But I was so taken with the story, that I wanted you to finish.”
“Then you shall have to listen tomorrow,” I said.
“I shall indeed,” he said, still holding my arm.
I looked at him, then at his hand, so he dropped his arm as if burned.
“Forgive me, I should not have touched you.”
“Why? Have I some dreadful disease?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You never cease to amaze me; you have such a refreshing manner. It is as if you care not one jot for the rules our society embraces.”
“I don’t. Care a jot, I mean.”
“Neither do I, as they are an infernal bore. My sister is so tied up with them that she is smothered.”
“I must thank you, sir, for your kindness to me. You took me in with no references, and I could have been anyone.”
“Jane, I have watched you with my daughter, and you have succeeded in hours where six women have failed over eighteen months. I consider myself a good judge of character, and you are unique.”
“I certainly am, sir. But I hope that your faith in me will be justified.”
“Will you dine with me, this evening?”
“If you would like me to.”
“I would, very much,” he said, and it was his turn to blush.
“Then I shall be honoured, sir.”
“Jane, please call me Roger. I would prefer to be a friend than an employer.”
“If you would like, Roger.”
“Thank you. Can I offer you some wine?”
“That would be nice, thank you,” I said. He took my arm again, and led me back to the drawing room.
The fire was going well, giving off a tremendous heat. I sat on the sofa quite close, as he handed me a glass of red wine. Then with his own glass, he stood with his back to the fire.
“Tell me, Roger, was the Peninsular War hard for you?”
“War is always hard. Conditions were awful at times, despite the enemy being without mercy, there was illness and hardship amongst the lines. I lost four good horses and many friends. My dear wife died before I returned, but then I was wounded. You can understand why I’m no longer flushed with excitement over such matters.”
“Does your wound still pain you?”
He pulled back his shirt, revealing to me the mark on his upper chest close to his right shoulder.
“An inch or two to the left, and it would have hit my heart.”
I stood and looked closely at the wound. It had healed crudely, as I knew that field hospitals in this time were crude in the extreme. I touched the scar, feeling the rough tissue. My mind went back to the wounds I had received, and I recalled the morphine and antibiotics they’d pumped into me. This new body of mine was without blemish, and I never experienced the merest twinge from my knees. This man had probably only had a stiff brandy and a lump of leather upon which to bite down.
He took my hand, holding it for a moment. I looked at him from under my lowered eyelids, finding that I was enjoying this game.
“Your hand is cold,” he said.
“My heart is warm,” I replied, making him smile again. He let go of my hand.
“How did you find Spain?” I asked, changing the subject and sitting down again.
“Interesting, I never managed the language, but I found the people fine and fiery. I brought this back, in the hope that Katie or William would someday learn it,” he said, producing a guitar from a cupboard.
“How wonderful, a guitar!”
“You have seen one before?”
“Certainly, I had an uncle who travelled in Spain, and he brought one back,” I lied.
“Can you play?” he asked.
I didn’t know. In a different life, I had. I had asked for various musical skills to be downloaded into my construct. I hoped that the guitar was one of them.
I took the guitar and tested the strings. It was woefully out of tune, so I spent a few moments tuning it up.
I let my hands become familiar with the frets and strings, playing a couple of chords. It came flooding back; I could remember.
Recalling a Spanish dance piece, I played it, and was astounded that my skills were much enhanced, concluding that my download was successful.
When I finished, Roger was staring at me. Then he clapped his hands.
“Bravo. My word, is there anything you cannot do, Jane?”
“Oh, I am sure if you come to know me well, my inadequacies will become all too apparent,” I said, and started playing a twentieth century rock and roll song.
When I finished, I placed the guitar carefully in the corner of the room, and returned to my seat on the sofa, taking a sip of the wine.
“Would you allow me?” Roger said.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused.
“To come to know you better.”
I looked at him. He smiled, holding my gaze.
“If I am living here, I must assume you shall,” I said, not letting my eyes leave his.
He came and sat next to me, taking my hand once more.
“Jane, I find myself strangely drawn to you. I do not wish to be forward, yet neither do I wish to press my attentions on you if they are distasteful for you. But I find you a fascinating woman, so I would dearly wish to know you better.”
“You hardly know me, sir, or I you. But please be assured that your attentions are in no way distasteful to me,” I said, meaning every word.
He lifted my hand to his lips and I felt him kiss my fingers. Strange and unfamiliar sensations developed deep inside me, not unpleasant, yet faintly disturbing.
“Thank you, you have made me a very happy man,” he said.
The door opened and Groves announced that dinner was served.
We sat at either end of the long dining room table, and Roger carved the roast partridge. Groves brought me the plate, and then retired.
I picked up my plate, the place settings, and walked the length of the table to sit at Roger’s right hand.
“Not one jot!” I said, and he laughed.
We had a lovely meal, as he poured out his soul to me. He had gone to war with hope in his heart and excitement in his soul. However, after several years, he had returned a cynical and changed man. He told me of his triumphs and trials, the good points and bad ones. Then he told me of his anguish when his wife died.