They had fallen into a silence. Eventually he had asked, ‘Does he touch you?’
The question had puzzled her. ‘What do you mean?’ she’d asked him.
Drake had swallowed as he struggled to find the right words. Now, the memory of his discomfort made her smile.
‘In womanly places where only your husband should touch you.’
At the time, she had felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and was eager to reassure him. Now, looking back, she felt pleased that he thought of her as a woman and no longer a child. She felt a glow of joy warm her inside at the thought of Drake. He was a good friend. No, he was more than a friend and, of course, he was right. She must tell her parents about Mr Burrows again. This time she must make them understand, but she needed time to prepare herself as she could not afford to fail again. She would tell them tomorrow and this time they must listen to her.
* * *
Drake knocked on Mr Timmins’ office door and listened for his curt order to enter. When it came, he slipped the cap from his head and went in. The room was smaller than he had expected. It had a single, north-facing window and white lime washed walls, which brought much needed light to the room. Shelves skirted one wall. Glass jars, filled with an assortment of seeds, were neatly arranged on each one and beneath stood a wooden workbench. The room was serviceable and lacked comfort. If it had not been for the unlit fireplace in the corner or the desk scattered with lists, books and ledgers, it would have passed for a storeroom. The Head Gardener looked up from his order book. It was evident that he had disturbed him.
‘What do you want, Vennor?’
‘There’s talk amongst the servants, Mr Timmins.’
Timmins sat back in his chair to study him. ‘What talk?’
‘That someone in Sir Robert’s employment has been seen coming out of a whorehouse in Saltash.’
Timmins expression did not change. ‘One of my staff?’ he asked.
‘No, sir.’
‘Then it is no concern of mine.’ Timmins returned to his desk. ‘Shut the door when you leave.’ Drake did not move, forcing Timmins to glance up. The little patience he had was already wearing thin. ‘Well, boy? Spit it out. You obviously have more to say on the matter.’
‘I’m telling you because you have a special relationship with Sir Robert. He trusts you. He will believe you.’
Just as before, Timmins sat back in his chair to study him. It was true, the Head Gardener’s relationship with Sir Robert was close. It was of many years standing and was built on trust and respect for the gardener’s knowledge and skills. Drake saw Timmins’ chest rise with pride.
‘And why should I bother Sir Robert with such sordid tales?’
‘I believe he would want to know.’
Timmins snorted. ‘There are many men, and gentlemen too, who visit such places. To discuss such matters would be embarrassing.’
‘Something needs to be done.’
Timmins eyes narrowed. ‘Who was it? Who has got you so heated up?’
‘The private tutor to Miss Evelyn, Mr Burrows.’
Drake did not need to explain further. A private tutor held a position of responsibility. Great trust was placed upon them, as the child in their care spent much of the day with them, unchaperoned and under their sole influence. The tutor a family employed reflected on their good name. They must be honourable and their behaviour exemplary. If he was not, Sir Robert’s judgement for employing such a man would be in question. Of course, there was also Miss Evelyn to consider. To be taught by a man who frequents a whorehouse would also tarnish her reputation. Even so, one cannot accuse a man on evidence based on rumours.
‘Who saw him?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I only heard the gossip from some of the bothy lads. They were only retelling indoor gossip.’
‘When does he visit this establishment?’
‘Most weeks. Tonight, if he keeps to his regular routine.’
Timmins chewed his bottom lip as he stared at the floor and mulled over the problem. Drake clenched his teeth as he waited. If Timmins did not help, he would have to take matters into his own hands.
Timmins sniffed, and returned his attention back to his ledger. ‘I’ll not talk to Sir Robert.’
‘But, sir!’
