The Master's New Governess (HQR Historical)

by Eliza Redgold

  ‘I am sorry, too,’ he said softly. ‘That scene in the woods, Lord Melville’s despicable behaviour, even the distress Miss Trevose caused you—I regret all of that, Miss Wilmot. Most deeply.’

  She stared down at her lap and clasped her fingers together to stop them twisting. He ran his long fingers around the edge of his top hat.

  He laid it down.

  ‘I do not want to distress you any further.’ From the inside pocket of his long coat he took an envelope. Beneath the coat he wore a striped waistcoat and a dark brown silk cravat. It was tied tightly about his neck today. ‘You have been through enough. I know that now. But I wanted to see for myself that you were safe. And I wanted to give you these, too.’

  He laid two white envelopes on the table, where the tea tray had been.

  She unclasped her hands and picked one up, lifted the flap.

  She gasped. It was full of pound notes. ‘What is this?’

  A muscle moved in his jaw. ‘Your wages. Did you think I wouldn’t pay you?’

  Maud tried to keep her hand steady as she held out the envelope. ‘I can’t accept it.’

  ‘Why not?’ he demanded.

  ‘They were not earned...honestly.’

  He raised his eyebrow. ‘How so?’

  ‘You believed I was Martha,’ she whispered, ‘when I am not.’

  His teeth gritted. ‘You more than deserve your wages as governess, Miss Wilmot. Take it. You earned it. It’s not charity.’

  Maud clenched her fist around the envelope, then laid it back on the table. At least now she could offer Martha some payment for her room and board—if the sofa could be considered a room. It would be false pride not to take the money, even if she didn’t want to take it. ‘Thank you.’

  He nodded curtly.

  He touched the other envelope. ‘This is your character reference. In your letter, you said you wanted to leave Pendragon Hall and my employment. I wrote it this morning, on the train.’

  She took it, glanced briefly through the contents. The reference was glowing.

  Her mouth fell open. ‘I can’t believe you would do this for me, after what happened.’

  ‘Your opinion of me is low, it seems.’ He shook his head. ‘Could you not have waited for me to return to the Hall? At least you might have said goodbye to Rosabel. She is most distressed. You must have known your leaving would break her heart.’

  Maud’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It broke my heart to leave her, too. I never wanted to hurt Rosabel. I never wanted to hurt anyone. But I had no choice. I couldn’t gain employment any other way. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, that you had to find out from Lord Melville.’

  ‘Your character was never in question, Miss Wilmot.’

  The tears spilled over now. Gushed down her cheeks.

  ‘But in the woods. What Lord Melville said about me...’ Maud couldn’t go on. Her throat hurt, the words like stones.

  ‘I sent Lord Melville packing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you think I don’t recognise lies?’ he said harshly. ‘Yours certainly never rang true. And when I matched your handwriting to the letter from your sister, I knew for certain. It wasn’t yours.’

  ‘So you always suspected.’

  For a moment his half-smile glimmered. ‘You are a good storyteller, Miss Wilmot, but a poor liar.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me of your suspicions?’ she asked.

  ‘I could ask the same of you.’ He exhaled. ‘We both didn’t trust each other. And yet in a way we both did.’

  The trembling spread over her body. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘There was truth between us,’ he said, low. ‘You know it.’

  Maud looked down at her shaking hands.

  He turned away, gazing through the net curtains into the street. After a moment he swung back. ‘I didn’t want to rush you or confront you. I knew there was something you weren’t telling me, something that troubled you. I asked you to dinner, to give you time to get to know me, to learn to trust me. I wanted you to have that chance. It wasn’t easy, but I was prepared to wait. You taught me that, the way you wait for butterflies. So still. So patient. I wanted you to come to me.’

  ‘But in the woods...’ she faltered. ‘You were angry with me. I am sure of it. I saw it on your face.’

  He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, his expression was unreadable. Chagrin, regret, a flicker of anger still?

  ‘I’d just discovered my suspicions were true. I hadn’t wanted to believe that you had been lying to me, all along.’

  ‘I thought you were going to ask me to leave.’

  ‘That was a fair assumption, I suppose, after the way you had been treated before.’ He breathed in. ‘But as soon as I understood what you had been through... I wanted to tell you that I understood. But you had already gone.’

  ‘I was a coward,’ she whispered. ‘I knew I was damned in your eyes and that it was inevitable that I should leave. I could not face any more humiliation and pain.’

  ‘You are not a coward, Miss Wilmot. You expressed yourself admirably to Melville and Averill that day.’ A little smile flickered, but then fled. ‘But we all have our breaking points. You had reached yours, although I am still not certain why. You ran away. From Pendragon Hall. From me. From Rosabel. There was only one thing that would soothe her.’

  At her look of query, he replied, ‘The Butterfly Fables.’

  Tears smarted her eyes.

  From his pocket he took the folded piece of paper. He held it out to her. ‘This is from Rosabel.’

  She opened the folded page. A cry escaped her lips.

  ‘I suppose you recognise them.’ Dominic pointed to the drawing, where Rosabel had drawn Princess Swallowtail and the White Admiral. She had painstakingly printed a rather shaky message beneath.

  Dear Miss Wilmot

  Come back soon.

  From Rosabel

  Maud made a choking sound. ‘Thank you for bringing this to me. I will treasure it always.’

  She laid it on the table.

  A silence. Although her head was bowed, she felt the force of his gaze upon her.

  She looked up to see him looking down at her with a little frown, his mouth twisted.

  He picked up his top hat. ‘I’ll be catching the train back to Cornwall later today, now that I have delivered these to you.’

  Her heart felt as though it was tearing in two, like paper.

  Dominic stepped closer.

  ‘Come with me.’

  Maud gasped. She could not have heard him correctly. It was impossible. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Come with me,’ Dominic repeated. ‘Come back to Pendragon Hall.’

  ‘You can’t mean that!’

  ‘But I do.’ Dominic exhaled. ‘Rosabel misses you. I—I miss you.’

  She stared at him, incredulous. ‘But you wrote me a character reference.’

  He shrugged. ‘If you want to find new employment, I cannot stop you. But my having written you a character reference does not preclude your return to Cornwall. If you so wish.’

  Her heart began to pound. She shook her head.

  He moved closer. ‘Not all masters of the house are the same. I am not such a man as Lord Melville.’

  ‘I know it...’ she faltered. Her heart had told her so, from the very beginning.

  ‘I realised afterwards how distressed you must have been, seeing him.’ He tightened his mouth. ‘I greatly regret that Lord Melville came upon you by surprise, in my woods. I hoped you had found safety at Pendragon Hall.’

  ‘I did.’ Safety. Solace. And so much more.

  ‘Then will you come back?’ His voice was low now, his gaze piercing.

  ‘As governess?’ />
  He passed a hand over his brow. Then he appeared to come to a decision.

  ‘If that is what you want,’ he said at last.

  All she wanted was to say yes. To travel back to Cornwall with him, on the train. To return to Pendragon Hall, to chase butterflies with Rosabel in the woods again.

  It was impossible. She couldn’t return to Pendragon Hall as a governess, knowing of her love for him. Her days there had been the happiest time of her life, but too much had changed. Seeing Lord Melville again had shaken her too deeply. She would never be able to cast off the shadow of the past.

  Her throat tightened. The words wouldn’t come. Everything she had wanted to say, all the feelings she had kept hidden. But they were locked inside. She had been forced to keep everything inside her for so long now.

  Her chest constricted. She could not settle for anything other than love. But any hope of that was gone for ever.

  Her gaze blurred as she turned away and stared at the snowy-white curtains.

  ‘I can’t come with you,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’

  From behind she heard his sharp intake of breath.

  She bowed her head.

  ‘Then this is goodbye,’ he said at last. The words were husky, low, near unrecognisable.

  She could still not turn back to look at him. Her heart would be in her eyes. He would read everything. All her foolish, helpless love for him. She was just another governess with romantic notions after all and he would see it. She simply could not bear it.

  She stood, unmoving. The mantel clock ticked.

  Her pulse pounded loud and fast in her ears.

  ‘Maud.’

  He had never spoken her first name before. Not her real name.

  The word rang and echoed in the room, in her heart.

  But she could not turn around.

  There was a long silence, then a movement behind her.

  The sitting room door closed.

  Then she heard the sound of his footsteps in the hall—those footsteps that had become so familiar, that tread she knew so well—receding.

  Every sound seemed louder than it ever had before.

  The click of the front door opening, the sound of the wood reverberating against the doorframe as it closed. The echo of his boots on the pavement outside.

  Suddenly galvanised, she flew to the window and flung aside the lace curtain. A flash of brown, his coat swirling as he got into the hansom cab that would take him to the station, away from her for ever.

  The hansom cab drew away. She heard the wheels turning and the horses’ hooves ringing, steel on stone, down the street.

  She remained, like a statue, staring out, the curtain in her hand.

  She had no idea how long she stood there, staring into the empty street. Time had ceased. It had no meaning, any more.

  She would never see Sir Dominic Jago again.

  She let go of the lace curtain, let it fall.

  Finally, she stumbled away from the window.

  On the tea table were the envelopes he had brought. Her wages. Her letter of character reference. The drawing from Rosabel.

  And something else.

  Maud’s brow creased.

  She took another step.

  It could not be.

  On the table lay a black velvet box that she would not again mistake for felt.

  Still she stared. With shaking fingers she fumbled at the tiny brass catch. The first time, it had been difficult to open. This time, it was easier. It clicked and she raised the lid.

  The butterfly hair comb. It gleamed, as if it were alive.

  He had left it for her. She smoothed a finger over the enamel wings.

  She bent her head. Peered closer.

  The night he had shown it to her she had not studied it so closely. The small antennae at the top weren’t made of enamel. She touched them lightly. Now she could see, as she studied it more closely, that the tiny stones were made of rubies, small yet exquisite. And the body of the butterfly was finished in gold. It was not merely a hair comb. It was a hair jewel.

  She lifted it gently from the case, as gently as if it were a living thing. Beneath her fingers it seemed to vibrate with life. Moving over to the small wooden-framed mirror that Martha kept by the sitting room door, she raised her arms and put the jewel into her hair. The mirror was not as large as the one at Pendragon Hall, but the effect was the same. The butterfly seemed to be almost flying, its wings glistening.

  The sitting room door opened. Martha put her head around the corner. Maud saw her sister’s reflection in the mirror, how her mouth fell open as she saw the jewel in Maud’s hair. ‘Maud. Is that...?’

  ‘Princess Swallowtail. Yes.’

  ‘From your fairy tales.’

  Maud choked back a sob. ‘Life isn’t a fairy tale, Martha.’

  ‘But, Maud,’ Martha protested, ‘you always said that there was more truth to life in fairy tales than in anything else.’

  Maud looked back at her own face in the mirror. Life had entered it. The shadows beneath her brows merely emphasised the purpose in her eyes now. Her mouth was slightly parted, as if hungry for air, for life itself.

  She could still love. Feel it. Give it. That power had not been taken from her and never would.

  But she had to be more than just the princess in a fairy tale. She had to be both hero and heroine, as daring and adventurous as Princess Swallowtail, as she had once been herself, as a little girl. She had to fight for herself. Maud spun to face her sister. ‘I must go to the train station. Now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The last wheel echoes away.

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson: Maud (1855)

  ‘Stop! What do you think you are doing?’

  Maud raced along the railway platform.

  ‘Miss!’ the voice bellowed from behind her. ‘Miss, come back! You didn’t buy a ticket!’

  Ignoring the porter, she ran on. She hadn’t taken the time to put on her bonnet. Wisps of her hair escaped, whipping in front of her.

  ‘Stop, I say! What do you think you are doing? You can’t get on that train!’

  Still she ran on. A cloud of steam obscured the platform in front of her. She charged forward, let the steam cover her as she ran, dodging passengers and trolleys as she evaded the porter. He was getting closer; she could hear his puffing breath.

  She had to find him.

  She had to see Dominic, before it was too late.

  When she came to the first-class carriage of the West Cornish train, she slowed to peer up at the windows, gasping.

  A hand touched her sleeve.

  She spun around.

  The porter’s eyes bulged. ‘I saw you, miss! Went right by the ticket master, brazen as brass!’

  ‘I have to catch the train. I mean, I have to catch someone who is on it,’ she panted, craning for a better view. It was about to leave. She knew it. She’d felt every precious second slip by as, in an agony of anxiety, she had rushed from Martha’s to the train station. She’d managed to find a hansom cab, using some of the pound notes from the envelope Dominic had given her. Thank goodness she had accepted it. Even so...

  The porter stood in her way. She tried to dodge around him.

  ‘I must catch that train to Cornwall!’

  ‘You won’t be going anywhere, miss, except to the constable!’

  ‘What seems to be the matter here?’

  A cloud of steam swirled and parted to reveal Dominic.

  He stepped forward. His voice was low, but the authority in it was unmistakable. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  The porter bobbed his head. ‘Of course, Sir Dominic.’ He pointed at Maud. ‘This young woman’s trying to get on one of your trains without a ticket!’

  Dominic looked to her.

  Ev
en in the steam cloud, their powerful connection flared. Soundless as the movement of a butterfly wing, it pulsed between them.

  They both stood motionless as they stared at each other.

  ‘You can leave this matter to me.’ Dominic addressed the porter.

  ‘But she—’ the porter began to protest.

  ‘The train’s soon to depart,’ Dominic broke in. ‘I will take responsibility for this young lady. You can go about your business. I thank you for your diligence.’

  Reluctantly the porter stepped back. ‘Very good, Sir Dominic.’

  With one last look of annoyance at Maud, a look that now contained curiosity, the porter marched away.

  Maud let out a sigh of relief.

  Dominic moved closer, the steam swirling around him. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  ‘I—I had to see you. I wasn’t planning to catch the train. It’s just that there’s something I need to say.’

  He glanced around the platform at the people milling about, carrying the bags and luggage.

  ‘Come inside the carriage for a moment,’ he said.

  He stood aside, so that she could board the first-class carriage, and held out his hand to assist her. His fingers were warm as he held hers. Like her, he wore no gloves. She remembered how the touch of his hand had felt at their very first meeting on a train. She hadn’t known who he was then. She hadn’t known all that would happen between them and all that would tear them apart.

  Nerves, restless as butterflies, swirled in her stomach. She couldn’t let him leave without taking a chance. She knew that now. She’d said it was cowardly to have fled Pendragon Hall. It was. She would be a coward no longer.

  With something between a leap and a stride, evidently well practised, he was up beside her, inside the carriage.

  ‘Excuse me!’ A woman with a large portmanteau huffed past. ‘These corridors are not designed for standing in. The train is about to move!’

  ‘Here.’ With a flick of his wrist Dominic opened the door to one of the first-class compartments. As Maud stepped inside, she inhaled the now-familiar scent of the leather seats. The carriage was mercifully empty.

  He turned to face her. She was so close, she only had to reach out to touch him. ‘What did you come to say?’ he asked, as calmly as if they had all the time in the world.