Katherine had nothing to do except sip the tea which shortly appeared, and decide what she thought of Mr Ryker. He was certainly fashionably dressed in the town manner of pantaloons and hessians, rather than a country gentleman’s usual breeches and top boots. His coat and waistcoat were expensive, his neckcloth snowy white, his shirt points jauntily high and the fobs at his waist gleaming silver. He had dispensed with the smart beaver hat, gloves and cane with which he had arrived, but he was very much the gentleman, in appearance at any event.
His attire reminded her a little of some of the young men at Branton, those with a large allowance and not much sense of style. She could not help comparing Mr Ryker with the gentlemen of her recent acquaintance, and it was here that he was found to be lacking. The Atherton men dressed with a certain casual disregard for their appearance, as if they had simply pulled something from the wardrobe without much thought. And yet they were always elegant in a way that Mr Ryker could not match.
It was the details, she decided. Mr Ryker’s coat was in the height of fashion, but it did not mould itself to his form in the way that Mr Kent Atherton’s did. The neckcloth was intricately tied, but it was still slightly awry. And the waistcoat… it was too brash, she decided. A true gentleman, one brought up to the state from birth, exhibited an effortless style that undoubtedly arose from a combination of patronising the very best tailors and boot makers, and employing a highly skilled valet.
She even knew what it was, for she had heard Aveline and Aunt Cathcart discussing it once — town bronze, it was called, that combination of innate style and perfect manners that the upper classes had. Whereas Mr Ryker was a provincial man aping the aristocracy. Now that she thought about it, the Cathcart men were a little the same — the coats that did not quite fit as snugly as they should, the waistcoats that were slightly the wrong shade for the coat, and the styles that called attention to deficiencies of the body instead of enhancing advantages.
There was another difference, too, which she only gradually began to appreciate. Mr Ryker said very little to his aunt, and nothing at all to Katherine, but his eyes turned to her very often. Not for long, merely flicking his gaze momentarily in her direction, and then back to his aunt, but it gave Katherine a strange unsettled feeling. That was something she had never once felt with Kent or any of the Athertons, or with the Cathcart sons. She had encountered it sometimes at Branton, for not everyone she had met there was a gentlemen, or had the manners of one, and of course one experienced it all the time on the street, and public places like the post office, or the inns she had passed through on the journey to Birchall. A man — for it was always a man — would look at a woman in a certain way, not quite insolent, but verging on it, and that was just how Mr Ryker looked at her now. Assessing her, perhaps, in a way she did not want to be assessed.
Now she was uncomfortably aware that the boxes bumping up the stairs were to be deposited in the only free bedroom, the one next to hers on the second floor, and she was not at all sure she wanted Mr William Ryker, with his assessing eyes, so close to her.
When she went to her room to dress for dinner, there were male voices rumbling in the room next door. Whispering in case she might be overheard, she said to Daisy, “What is being said of Mr Ryker below stairs?”
Daisy was behind her, unbuttoning her gown, but her hands stilled momentarily. “Not much, miss.”
“He makes me uncomfortable.”
“Oh yes, miss! That’s what Etta said, that he makes her uncomfortable, but Sukey just told her not to be silly, it was just being in a house with no men and not being used to it, that’s all.”
“But Iamused to being in a house with men, and none of the Cathcart men ever made me uncomfortable the way Mr Ryker does. Is there a lock on the bedroom door, Daisy?”
“A lock but no key, miss, I’ve looked and Etta’s looked and we can’t find one.”
“In that case, I should like you to sleep in here at night, Daisy. You can share with me, for the bed is plenty big enough. I am probably making something of nothing, but your company will help me sleep soundly.”
Dinner gave Katherine an opportunity to practise her conversational skills, for Mrs Ryker’s tongue was fully engaged by the meal, at least until she had eaten her fill. Katherine knew little of Mr Ryker except that he was Mrs Ryker’s heir and lived at York, but, mindful of Kent’s advice to ask about families, she began there.
“Do you have brothers and sisters, Mr Ryker?”
“None at all,” he said cheerfully. “Nor mother or father, either. Aunt Audrey is my only surviving relation in the whole word.”
“Oh dear. How sad for you,” Katherine said, not quite sure how to progress without a single family member to enquire upon. “And… and are you married?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No, certainly not! Whatever gave you that idea?”
That set Katherine blushing furiously. “No, indeed… I had no… not the least… I beg your pardon, sir.”
He chuckled then. “Ah, you are teasing me, I suppose. I am sure my aunt has told you that I am in the very process of planning to marry.”
“Then you are betrothed! My felicitations, sir.”
He laughed more heartily. “Very witty! No, I am not betrothed, Miss Parish, as you are aware. But my plans for matrimony are well advanced. I already have a pleasant house in my eye in York. At present, I only have lodgings, but I shall want my bride to have her own establishment, naturally. A very pretty little house, not over large, but well positioned on one of the best streets, and within easy reach of all the amenities of the city. On the ground floor…”
Katherine let him talk on, puzzled by his assumption that she must know he was not betrothed. Perhaps he thought that Mrs Ryker had told her all about him, but on the contrary, she had barely mentioned him. After dinner, Mrs Ryker resumed her command of the conversation, Katherine retreated thankfully to the instrument and was able to retire to bed at an early hour, where she discovered sleep to be elusive despite Daisy’s presence. Katherine was so unused to another person in her room that even Daisy’s gentle snores were enough to keep her awake.
For some days, Mrs Ryker arranged daily entertainments and unusually good dinners for her nephew, so that Katherine scarcely had a moment to herself and was rarely in bed before midnight. It was not until Sunday that there was finally a quiet day to catch up with her letter-writing, read a sermon or two and retire to bed early enough to ensure a reasonable night’s sleep.
Once again, however, Daisy’s soft snores kept sleep at bay. Thus Katherine found herself awake when she heard a door opening on the landing, together with a sound rather like the clink of glass on glass. Mr Ryker fetching himself a late-night brandy, perhaps?
But to her horror, the next sound was her own door opening, and through the gap in the bed curtains she saw flickering candle-light making the shadows dance and jump. The door closed again, but the light remained. Katherine held her breath, for surely this was a mistake? Mr Ryker had gone downstairs, perhaps, and on his return had opened the wrong door. In which case he would soon realise his error and creep out again.
There was the chink of glass again nearby. The little table, perhaps. Whatever he carried had been set down there. Silence. Surely now he must be looking around and seeing that this was not his own room.
The curtain was wrenched back and Mr Ryker’s face loomed over her, not six inches from her own.
Katherine screamed.
“Hush, hush!” he said, flapping his hands at her. “No noise, or you will wake everyone.”
