Her father was waiting for her with a stern expression on his face. Her mother stood behind him and to one side, her hands clasped at her waist, a frown pinching her brow. A sense of foreboding filled Evelyn as she entered the room. Something was wrong and she felt instinctively that Mr Burrows was involved.
‘Do you know why you have been summoned?’ asked her father.
She shook her head, glancing at her mother for a clue. Her mother remained silent.
‘No, Father,’ replied Evelyn.
‘Mr Burrows has left and will not be returning.’
The news was so welcome, Evelyn gasped with delight.
‘You look pleased,’ observed her father.
‘I am!’ Her delight made her forget her well-rehearsed lines. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but I did not like him.’
‘You insolent pup!’ Evelyn looked at him, wide-eyed with shock. ‘Your behaviour has placed us all in an insufferable position, Evelyn. How are we to face society when it becomes known that our daughter caused the resignation of her own tutor?’ Evelyn’s mouth dropped open, her mind dazed from hisonslaught. ‘You have behaved badly, young lady. Very badly indeed! You have been lazy in your studies and shown nothing but contempt for the opportunity I—’
‘No! Whatever you have been told, it is untr—’
‘Selfish child! You have taken advantage of our suffering and made me look like a fool in the process.’
‘I would never do that. Father he was—’
‘This interview is over. Go to your room, Evelyn.’
‘No!’
Her father’s rage was barely concealed. ‘Do not answer me back. If this is an example of your behaviour, I do not blame him for leaving. Now go. I cannot bear to look at you.’
Her father turned away from her. She had been dismissed. The sight of his broad back, impermeable to her pleas, ignited a sudden rage of injustice inside her. She wouldmakehim listen and she would not leave until he had heard her.
Struggling to know where to begin, for her rage went much deeper than mere words could relate, she reached for the nearest object and smashed it on the floor.
Crystal cut glass showered the parquet floor at their feet, to leave a pool of shards glinting in the morning sun. Her parents looked at her in dismay and, for the first time in her life, Evelyn felt she had their attention. They were both looking at her. They saw her. They actuallysawher.
‘I am not to blame for his leaving!’ shouted Evelyn. ‘He was a horrible man and I am glad he is gone. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. You never listen!’
Her father’s face turned red, but the tone of his voice remained calm and razor-sharp. ‘How dare you. Go to your room.’
‘If you really knew me, you would know I am not to blame!’ screamed Evelyn.
‘I said, go to your room.’
She would not be dismissed, but realised shouting would not help her case. She tried to calm herself. Her nostrils flared with the effort.
‘The truth is,’ she said unsteadily, ‘I don’t think you really know me at all.’
Her father shook his head. ‘I’m not listening to this.’ He looked towards the door and shouted for a servant to clear up the mess, but no one dared to come.
Evelyn grew bolder. ‘I was of no importance when Nicholas lived. I am not sure I am now. You don’t know what my hopes and dreams are because you have never asked me.’ She moved towards him, her feet crunching on the scattered glass between them. ‘I want you to know, Father. Ask me.’
‘Leave, before I lose my temper,’ warned her father through gritted teeth.
Evelyn ignored the threat. She wanted to be heard. ‘I hate embroidery, Father. It bores me,’ she said firmly. ‘I dislike learning slow piano pieces. I love to paint . . . but I hate painting landscapes.’
‘Enough!’ He took a step back, warding her off with an outstretched hand.
Evelyn followed him. ‘Did you hear me? I hate painting landscapes.’ She looked to her mother. ‘I like chocolate and rhubarb, Mother, but hate almond and cherry. And when Miss Brown fell asleep, I would sneak out of the nursery to play in the gardens.’ Evelyn turned back to her father. ‘I want an education—’
