The Master of the Priory Read Online Free Page A

wishing that Miss Martin would raise her veil or take off her disfiguring glasses. Latimer thought herself a good judge of faces, but she found herself baffled here. “Mrs. Sunningdale told her ladyship the gift you had with children was something wonderful,” she concluded, as the car turned in at the entrance gates of the Priory.
    The new governess shivered. “It is quite chilly here after town,” she said as if in apology. “It was very kind of Mrs. Sunningdale to say that. I shall do my best to give satisfaction to Lady Davenant.”
    There was just a suspicion of hauteur in her tone, and Latimer drew back feeling vaguely rebuffed.
    The door of the Priory stood hospitably open. The house itself was one of the oldest in the Midlands. In mediaeval days it had been famed as the home of godly and learned monks. At the time of the Reformation it had been too wealthy to escape the hand of the despoiler, and it and the broad lands pertaining to it had been bestowed by King Henry on one Thomas Davenant, just then the reigning favourite.
    Since then the Davenants had prospered exceedingly. The second George had made the head of the family a baronet, and, though a course of gambling and cock-fighting had weakened the family exchequer, a couple of wealthy marriages in the nineteenth century had restored it to affluence.
    The present owner was a widower with one small daughter, and his widowed mother presided over his establishment.
    It was evident that Miss Elizabeth Martin was being treated with an unusual amount of consideration for a governess. She was escorted to her room by Latimer, who told her that her ladyship would see her when she had rested. A dainty tea was sent up to her, and then a smiling, white-capped maid appeared.
    â€œIf you will give me your keys, miss, I will put your things away,” she said respectfully.
    Miss Martin started violently. “Please don’t trouble,” she said hurriedly. “I would rather you did not. I always prefer to do my own unpacking.”
    The maid withdrew, rather aggrieved; then Elizabeth Martin stood up. She was still wearing the hat and coat in which she had travelled. Now she threw them aside and looked at herself in the pier-glass. She saw a tall, slim figure in an ill-made black gown, a small head well poised on a long slender throat, a quantity of hair that looked oddly dark against the clear, pale skin, that was brushed back sleek and straight and coiled in a hard and uncompromising knot on the nape of her neck. Near the temples a few stray locks seemed rebelling against their bondage, and inclined to curl themselves over her forehead. Damping a brush, she flattened them back. The smoke-coloured glasses hid her eyes; she pushed them further on as if anxious that they should shield her still more.
    But when there was a knock at the door she was sitting prim and straight in her chair by the fireplace. “Her ladyship would like to see you now, ma’am, if you are rested,” said the maid who had appeared before.
    Miss Martin got up at once. “I am quite rested, thank you.”
    She followed the girl down what seemed to her an endless succession of steps and passages until at last the door was opened into a bright, prettily furnished room, and a cheerful voice bade them come in.
    Lady Davenant was sitting in an easy-chair near the open window; a delicate-looking old lady. It was obvious that her headache was no fiction; she looked tired and languid in spite of a pleasant smile and a pair of big, dark eyes.
    â€œI am so glad to see you, Miss Martin,” she said, holding out a slender hand sparkling with jewels, and making the governess seat herself on the settee beside her. “I have heard so much of you from Mrs. Sunningdale that I feel we really are not strangers.”
    Miss Martin sat upright, her hands folded stiffly together on her lap.
    â€œMrs. Sunningdale was very good to me,” she said slowly, with a faint