by Abigail Agar
But Marina felt sure it wouldn’t.
“I’m going to interview to become a governess for the Duke of Wellington,” she told Madame Claude on this final day, drawing one of her fine scarves around her neck. She blinked twice, trying to hold back the tears that glittered behind her eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll return.”
Madame Claude nodded, her movements rigorous. “It’s appropriate, I suppose, given that you may not marry at this point. And what with your father passing, I know your mother will need help.” She looked down her nose at Marina as if she were towering far above her. “It’s a good and godly thing you’re doing, my dear.”
Marina dressed in a simplistic brown dress and stuffed the remainder of her belongings (just six dresses, a tiny teddy bear her father had given her in her youth, several notebooks and far too many books) into a suitcase, and pinned her hair back. She waited at the front stoop of her mother’s house, knowing her brother would be ten to fifteen minutes late. Regardless of his tardiness, if she wasn’t there when he pulled his carriage up, she would be scolded.
Martin and Marina didn’t speak as they journeyed towards the Duke of Wellington’s grand estate, and for this, Marina was grateful. She’d never been one for small talk, especially with her siblings, who regarded her as less of a person and more of a nuisance. When she’d been younger, she’d been fanciful, quick to laugh and play and scamper around the backyard like an “urchin,” they’d said. And she’d never lost this appearance, in their eyes.
“Oh my dear Marina. What are we going to do with you if the Duke doesn’t accept you?” Martin sighed. He turned his tongue over his browning teeth, assessing Marina with a stern eye. “I can’t imagine that Mother will allow you at her home much longer. We’ll be moving her in with us in the coming years, as is our duty. And you …”
Marina pressed her palms onto her thighs, wishing she could squeeze herself smaller. She was already rather thin, stick-like, uninterested in food. And this, in some respects, had made her unrecognisable and certainly unattractive in many men’s eyes. Once, Martin had reached across the table at a family dinner, squeezed her cheek and marvelled, “It’s like you don’t even exist.”
Marina had felt when she was younger that when she was this age—20 years old—she would know something bigger about the universe. That she would understand her purpose. But as the horses clopped up to the large mansion, the dark and shadowed building with its many wings, its floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected back only the grey surroundings, the forest that lined the edges of the cleared land, she felt entirely too small to ever have any kind of purpose.
She ducked from the carriage, and then snuck her arm through Martin’s, as she was meant to do. They marched together along the walkway, towards the massive wooden door. Marina’s throat felt constricted. Perhaps, during the interview, she wouldn’t even have the energy or the strength to speak. That would be her downfall.
Martin walked Marina to the door—a strained, silent affair, their shoes crunching across the gravel. Once there, a large-bellied woman with thick spectacles opened the door. Her apron extended across her stomach, stained with, perhaps, whatever had been served for lunch. It was red and brown, a stew?
Marina turned her eyes back towards the woman’s face, which was pink and almost bulbous, certainly cruel. Although, Marina had been told by several people that perhaps her judge of character was too immediate. She forced a smile and tried to pretend that she felt it.
“Hello,” Marina said, curtseying slightly. “I’m Marina. Marina Blackwater. I’m here for the interview regarding the—”
The woman interrupted her, cranking the door open wider. “Marina. Marina Blackwater,” she spoke in an almost mocking tone. “I don’t suppose you’re here for the governess position, like about one hundred other women just like you.” She sniffed, drawing her eyes up and down Marina’s torso. “A stick little thing, aren’t you? And not terribly beautiful. Although, I should tell you, the master won’t care a lick what you look like. He’s gone temporarily blind.”
For whatever reason, these words hit Marina squarely in the chest. She felt her lips quiver downward. But she stepped forward, following the woman’s lead into the massive foyer. Her footsteps clacked against the marble, echoing against the far wall.
Somewhere down the yonder hallway, she felt a space open up into what could only be a massive ballroom. With a blink, Marina was cast into a fantasy world—one of grand balls and parties, of women in swirling gowns of blues, reds, greens. She’d never been privy to such a world. She imagined the music churning out from the ballroom—echoing throughout this very foyer …
“My name is Sally. Sally Hodgins. And I’m head of this household,” Sally said, sounding disapproving. She reached a hand to Marina’s shoulder, forcing her to look away from the ballroom and into her eyes. “And you really are a daydreamer, aren’t you?”
Marina felt she’d been punched in the gut. Martin stepped forward, chortling. It seemed he already had a rapport with Sally. “Don’t mind her, Ms Hodgins. She’s just a bit nervous, surely. You know how these girls handle change.”
“Yes, well. All right. If you say so.” Sally righted her posture, maintaining a ferocious glare towards Marina. “You’ll follow me, won’t you? It’s just this way.”
Marina and Martin followed Sally down another long hallway, lined with bricks. Marina’s eyes turned from closed door to closed door. With every step, she hunted for any sign of the children that supposedly roamed this world. Were they playing somewhere, separate from their blind father? How old were they? Could she handle it if they were all under five years old—all of them endlessly needy and lonely, without the love of their mother? Her stomach quaked with fear, wondering if she could truly handle this world.
“The Duke has lived in this house since the years after he was released from the army, after he was injured,” Sally explained as they walked. “He was unable to continue his duty. Something that was truly tragic for him at the time, as he’s nothing if not patriotic. But he returned to Leeds, where he was raised, to maintain his father’s music instrument shop. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. They supply some of the most beautiful instruments to his Majesty, the King.” At this, Sally swung her head around to gaze into Marina’s eyes, hunting for some kind of recognition.
Marina’s eyes were orb-like.
“Well, don’t look so shocked, my dear. You won’t want to look like such an imbecile in front of the Duke’s assistant, Mr Brambles. He’ll be along for the interview, as well. Even if the Duke can’t see you, he’ll hear any hesitation and fear in your voice. Watch for that.”
Finally, Sally pushed open the far door on the right, guiding Marina and Martin into the study. The study was filled with thick cigar smoke. Marina forced herself to press her lips together tight, not allowing a cough to escape. Before her was a thick, antique desk, with two men on the other side. They were seated in massive chairs, with ornate backs, their hands gripping the chair armrests. On the left was a fat and blubbery man, with a handlebar moustache, and these tiny, rodent-like eyes.
And on the right was a regal man, with long, black hair that curled along his shoulders, a thick beard, and large honest eyes that seemed to peer somewhere behind Marina’s shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at him.
She’d never seen photos of the Duke of Wellington before. Had never given power to the fact that he might be this handsome. Knowing his history—as a damaged war hero—her head spun with his romantic story. Now, he’d gone blind; his life had been devastated by the death of his wife. Yet he didn’t look defeated.
“Sir, I introduce to you Marina Blackwater, along with her brother, Mr Martin Blackwater. Both from just outside of Leeds,” Sally Hodgins said, ambling towards the Duke and perching atop a stool beside him. She continued to stare at Marina, her eyes seeming to pierce through her.
“Wonderful to meet you, Sir,” Martin said, sounding so pompous that Marina’s stomach cu
rdled.
“Marina Blackwater,” the rotund man repeated, his tongue slipping over his teeth. “Thank you for coming for the interview. As you can see, our Duke here has met with some improbable difficulties …”
“Please, Jeffrey. Don’t speak for me,” the Duke interrupted.
Marina’s throat grew even more constricted. She drew her arm around her throat, trying to loosen it. Martin pressed his elbow into her back, shoving her into the chair before the desk. She perched at the edge of it, hoping her fear wouldn’t make her fall to the ground.
“Marina Blackwater, welcome to my home,” the Duke said. Still, his eyes remained far away from her, cast towards the door. “As you’ve probably learnt, my wife fell ill and left this world about ten months ago. And a month prior to our meeting today, I found myself ill, as well. The doctor has stated that the blindness will not be forever. However, I lay in wait, wondering when I will be given my sight again.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear of your tragedies, Sir,” Marina said. She blinked several times, conscious that Sally and Mr Brambles were taking note of her every move.
“No use bemoaning them. I’m telling you the back story, so that I might gauge whether or not you’re best-suited for my children,” the Duke continued.
Right. The reason she was there. Marina drew her fingers across her forehead, placing a rogue curl behind her ear.
“My children are aged eleven, nine, seven, and four. They’re terribly wonderful, alive, and occasionally too wild. I’m going to need you to rein them in, if given this task,” the Duke continued. “I love them dearly. I truly do. But at this point of my life, the doctor has declared that if I don’t rest and recuperate, I might never have my sight back. Beyond that, I’m terribly busy with the business.”
Marina shifted, wondering what to say. She yearned to articulate just how much she loved the thought of his musical instruments, how she’d give anything to walk the halls of his business. But she held her tongue back, knowing she couldn’t sound a fool.
“You’re a great deal younger than many of the governesses I’ve hired,” the Duke continued, sounding hesitant. “Most of them have raised children of their own, or at least had positions like this before.”
Marina waited, wondering if this was meant to be her cue to speak—to declare why she could do the job, better than most. But truth be told, she didn’t have that answer. She’d done nothing in her life besides care for her father and mother, uphold the household, daydream, and play her violin. None of those things were particularly in-tune with what he was searching for, she knew.
“But that said, none of those governesses have remained,” he continued, arching his thick black eyebrows. “And now, I come to you. I feel that, in some respects, you’re my last chance. After this, I might be forced to send the children to a boarding school.”
“I still maintain that that is the best option,” Mr Brambles said, grunting and bringing his arms across his chest. He glared down his nose at Marina, looking at her like a mouldy piece of meat.
Marina knew it was time for her to speak. She stuttered into it, hating how youthful she sounded. “Sir—Sir Duke. I understand that this is a terribly hard time for you. But I adore children. I adore teaching them and learning with them. I will uphold all the teachings of your wife, and yourself, and ensure that you will have the time and space to rest. It’s been my duty, at home, to maintain a household of peace. And I will bring that to you.”
Again, Mr Brambles scoffed. But the Duke’s face grew almost lax, his eyebrows falling, and his eyes turning towards the ground. “You sound very young. Very hopeful.” The Duke sighed. He turned his head towards Sally Hodgins, seemingly hunting for an opinion. But as Sally began to pull her body upward, hunting for her response, he spoke. “But I think we have no choice but to try you. Please. Have Ms Hodgins here guide you to your bedroom. You’ll meet the children in the next hour and begin.”
Martin pressed his hands together in a quiet clap. Marina shivered with apprehension. She shot up from her chair, took a few small steps forward, and reached out. She wanted to shake hands, to affirm the agreement. But in response to this “manly” act, Sally Hodgins scoffed.
“Dear, head to the door. I will be with you shortly,” she said.
Marina shuffled back towards the door, gripping the edge of the doorway. Martin shot out the door beside her, grunting. “It isn’t your duty to shake your boss’s hand. You should know better. Where did Mother and Father raise you?”
Martin sped back to the carriage to grab Marina’s suitcase and heaved it up the stairs to meet Sally and Marina. Marina waited alongside the wretched woman, shifting her weight from side to side as Sally began to articulate the rules of the household. “What you need to understand, above everything else, is that the Duke needs his rest. He needs time to busy himself with the musical instrument business. And often, he will be travelling to the palace to make sales. You will need to keep the children out from underfoot. In the midst of our exchanging so many governesses, he’s lost sleep. He’s lost business. It’s been, well. You can imagine.”
“What happened to the other governesses?” Marina asked, sensing she was asking one of those questions you were meant to keep to yourself. But it was already in the air, floating between their heads.
“It’s really none of your business what happened.” Sally sniffed. “But if you must know, they simply couldn’t handle the kind of world we’re trying to build here. The children, they’re intelligent monsters. Suffice it to say, I’ll be surprised if you can handle them yourself. I suppose we’ll see. Most of the other governesses didn’t make it longer than a week or two.”
Martin appeared with the suitcase. He dropped it at Marina’s feet, shook Sally Hodgins’ hand, and then dropped his face forward to give Marina a rotting kiss on the cheek. She inhaled the smell of his decaying teeth and forced herself not to turn up her nose. She couldn't simply react to things. Not anymore.
“Thank you, Martin,” Marina said. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Make sure you write our mother,” Martin said. He turned back towards the staircase, waving his hand. “Ms Hodgins, if you don’t mind, I will see myself out.”
Marina was grateful to see her brother leave—to watch as he ducked down the steps, disappearing from sight. When the door closed behind him, she breathed a sigh of relief. But as she turned back towards Sally Hodgins, towards her pointed nose and distrustful eyes, she knew she’d been cast from one lions’ den to another.
“Follow me, Marina. I’ll lead you to your room. Know that it isn’t the kind of place you’ve read about in your fairytale books. Simple things. A bed. A washbasin. I hope you don’t expect anything more.”
“Absolutely not,” Marina said, feeling her heart dig deeper in her stomach. She tapped along behind the seemingly sombre, almost evil woman, aching with each step to return to her little secret barn haven, her violin against her neck and her bow streaming back and forth. Would she ever be allowed that kind of freedom again? Or was this kind of entrapment the beginning of the rest of her life?
Chapter 5
It had been a chaotic few weeks.
Four weeks before, the Duke had been told he would be blind—temporarily. And unfortunately, the doctor had been unable to tell him just how “temporary” that temporality meant. He’d marvelled at his ability to begin to ease through the world as a blind man. His nose had begun to pick up on the smells of people he’d otherwise not noticed (the fact that Jeffrey Brambles frequently smelled of garlic, for example, or that Sally Hodgins often wore too much cheap perfume—a fact that confused him, given the fact of her age.
Hadn’t she given up on the fact of courting a long time ago? And didn’t she spend almost every waking hour inside his home, far from the eyes or noses of men who might become her suitors?). Beyond that, his feet had grown accustomed to the path around his home, his cane stomping against the dirt to guide him and ensure he didn’t falter.
> Truth be told, Jeffrey had become an even more attentive assistant in the weeks since the illness had truly begun: reading out to him the ledger of expenses, meeting with the Duke throughout each of his interviews (with the governesses, as well as with the potential buyers for the instruments). Without Jeffrey, the Duke would have been completely lost.
