came from the doorway of the serving pantry connecting the kitchen and dining room.
Instantly, her wrists were released and Tell was stepping away. "Yes, Mrs. Davison," Andrea murmured in a choked tone.
"If they don't sit down to dinner pretty soon, that chowder isn't going to be fit to eat," the housekeeper replied.
"Thank you," Andrea smiled tightly. "I'll have the others come in right away."
"It can't be none too soon." And the pantry door closed behind the woman.
Andrea glanced hesitantly at the back of Tell's wide shoulders. "I don't think she was listening."
"And even if she was—" he turned his head slightly, letting the arrogant line of his profile be seen over his shoulder "—you'd be able to come up with some story to convince her nothing is wrong, wouldn't you? You have the servants under your thumb as well as John, I suppose."
Andrea spun away. No matter what she said, Tell would not believe her. He was determined to think the worst of her and there seemed to be no way to stop it.
SLEEPINGPILLS WERE a necessity that night. Even then Andrea lay awake for a long time before they took effect and brought that blessed unconsciousness.
The voices in the hall seemed part of a nightmare she was having in which a horde of accusing voices led by Tell were condemning her to a life of agony for not telling him the truth.
She struggled to raise the weighted lids of her eyes, confident that if she could open them, the voices would stop. They didn't. She tried to shut her ears to the sound. Finally the realization that she was hearing actual people penetrated her drugged stupor.
Clumsily, Andrea pulled on her robe and stumbled to the door. Shaking her head to clear her vision, she used the walls of the corridor for support to lead her to the sound. Near the top of the staircase, she saw Tell, his sister and Mrs. Davison. The two women were in housecoats. Tell was wearing a pair of dark slacks with an unbuttoned shirt covering his bare chest, as though he had put it on in a hurry.
"What's wrong?" she asked thickly, trying to push away from the wall and cover the short distance between them. Her legs wouldn't function properly and she had to sway back against the wall for support.
"For God's sake, what's the matter with her?" Tell muttered.
An instant later, Andrea felt his arms sliding around her, taking her weight against him while his hand closed over her chin and raised her face up for his frowning inspection.
"It's those sleeping pills she takes, I expect," Mrs. Davison answered in her usual low voice of disapproval.
"What does she need sleeping pills for?" Nancy asked curiously.
"To sleep. To sleep and not dream," Andrea responded softly, closing her eyes against Tell's nearness. His arm tightened around her for a second.
"Let's get her back to bed." The harshness of his voice made her wince, then she felt him bodily carrying her back to her room. But it was Mrs. Davison's face she saw as the covers were pulled over her arms and chest.
"Why is everybody up? What's happened?" Andrea asked, trying to sit up, only to have the light pressure of the housekeeper's hand push her back.
"It's nothing for you to worry about, dear," Mrs. Davison said gently. "Mrs. Collins had a slight asthma attack, but she's all right now. You go to sleep. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."
Andrea wanted to protest, but she felt herself slipping away. The bedside lamp was switched off and she remembered nothing else until the sun streamed into her window heralding the coming of morning.
As usual, her head throbbed dully as she dressed and made her way down the stairs. Her mind had begun to clear, enabling her to separate the dream of last night from the reality of what had actually transpired. In the downstairs hallway, she met Mrs. Davison on her way up with a tray.
"Everyone is in the breakfast room," the housekeeper said, not slackening her step as she hurried by Andrea.
"Mrs. Collins?" She inquired
Instantly, her wrists were released and Tell was stepping away. "Yes, Mrs. Davison," Andrea murmured in a choked tone.
"If they don't sit down to dinner pretty soon, that chowder isn't going to be fit to eat," the housekeeper replied.
"Thank you," Andrea smiled tightly. "I'll have the others come in right away."
"It can't be none too soon." And the pantry door closed behind the woman.
Andrea glanced hesitantly at the back of Tell's wide shoulders. "I don't think she was listening."
"And even if she was—" he turned his head slightly, letting the arrogant line of his profile be seen over his shoulder "—you'd be able to come up with some story to convince her nothing is wrong, wouldn't you? You have the servants under your thumb as well as John, I suppose."
Andrea spun away. No matter what she said, Tell would not believe her. He was determined to think the worst of her and there seemed to be no way to stop it.
SLEEPINGPILLS WERE a necessity that night. Even then Andrea lay awake for a long time before they took effect and brought that blessed unconsciousness.
The voices in the hall seemed part of a nightmare she was having in which a horde of accusing voices led by Tell were condemning her to a life of agony for not telling him the truth.
She struggled to raise the weighted lids of her eyes, confident that if she could open them, the voices would stop. They didn't. She tried to shut her ears to the sound. Finally the realization that she was hearing actual people penetrated her drugged stupor.
Clumsily, Andrea pulled on her robe and stumbled to the door. Shaking her head to clear her vision, she used the walls of the corridor for support to lead her to the sound. Near the top of the staircase, she saw Tell, his sister and Mrs. Davison. The two women were in housecoats. Tell was wearing a pair of dark slacks with an unbuttoned shirt covering his bare chest, as though he had put it on in a hurry.
"What's wrong?" she asked thickly, trying to push away from the wall and cover the short distance between them. Her legs wouldn't function properly and she had to sway back against the wall for support.
"For God's sake, what's the matter with her?" Tell muttered.
An instant later, Andrea felt his arms sliding around her, taking her weight against him while his hand closed over her chin and raised her face up for his frowning inspection.
"It's those sleeping pills she takes, I expect," Mrs. Davison answered in her usual low voice of disapproval.
"What does she need sleeping pills for?" Nancy asked curiously.
"To sleep. To sleep and not dream," Andrea responded softly, closing her eyes against Tell's nearness. His arm tightened around her for a second.
"Let's get her back to bed." The harshness of his voice made her wince, then she felt him bodily carrying her back to her room. But it was Mrs. Davison's face she saw as the covers were pulled over her arms and chest.
"Why is everybody up? What's happened?" Andrea asked, trying to sit up, only to have the light pressure of the housekeeper's hand push her back.
"It's nothing for you to worry about, dear," Mrs. Davison said gently. "Mrs. Collins had a slight asthma attack, but she's all right now. You go to sleep. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."
Andrea wanted to protest, but she felt herself slipping away. The bedside lamp was switched off and she remembered nothing else until the sun streamed into her window heralding the coming of morning.
As usual, her head throbbed dully as she dressed and made her way down the stairs. Her mind had begun to clear, enabling her to separate the dream of last night from the reality of what had actually transpired. In the downstairs hallway, she met Mrs. Davison on her way up with a tray.
"Everyone is in the breakfast room," the housekeeper said, not slackening her step as she hurried by Andrea.
"Mrs. Collins?" She inquired
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