by Tanya Allan
“It were my ma’s,” he said, nodding at the hairbrush.
There was a small mirror, so I looked at my reflection. I smiled, for even with this crude clothing and no make up, I thought I looked very attractive. It was also very nice to be warm and dry.
“You is very bootiful, Miss!” he said, identifying me as belonging to a class requiring some title.
“Thank you, Oliver, that is very gallant of you to say so,” I said, smiling at the lad. He went beet red and smiled shyly.
“Well, I have to go. Now, I suggest you say nothing about this to your father, so it will remain our secret. I promise that I will come back to return the clothes with some money for your trouble. What say you that we keep this a secret? I don’t want anyone hearing that I have been this way, as the bad men may try to find me again?”
He nodded and frowned.
“What is the matter?” I asked.
“Wot’s your name?”
“My name is Jane,” I said, recalling my researched name.
“A real lady?”
“There is nothing false about me,” I said, and smiled. He grinned. “And no telling your mates that you saw me naked.”
He went red again, but his grin broadened.
I held out my hand, which he shook sombrely.
“It’s a deal, then, not a word?” I asked.
“Mum’s the word,” he said. He passed me a long hooded cloak, which was just the ticket. I slung in over my shoulders, pulling the hood over my head. The skirts came to within a few inches of the ground.
I kissed him on the cheek and left him staring after me.
The shoes were a little tight, but they were much better than being bare foot. I walked a good eleven miles before I reached the town of Abingdon. It is a good-sized market town, nestling on the river Thames in the Vale of the White Horse just to the north of the Berkshire Downs.
I smiled at that word – Downs. Only the English could describe a range of hills as ‘Downs’. I accept that ‘Ups’ would be silly, but why not call them hills, or bumps, or at least something more accurate?
I received a few curious glances, but no more than any other stranger would receive. I knew that without money, I was unlikely to make any headway. My task, as daft as it may seem, was to remain alert to any untoward influences and incidents that would indicate a construct present who was attempting to interfere with the stream of history.
As I entered the town centre, I saw a sign on the notice board of the parish hall.
“Governess wanted for daughter of local military gentleman. Must be of good family, and must have French and knowledge of sewing, poetry and prose.
Apply at The Manor, Drayton Road.”
I asked a passer-by where Drayton Road was, and he gave me directions. Tired and hungry, I arrived at the Manor, Drayton Road. It was a large rambling house, with lots of character. Wisteria clung to the south-facing frontage and, despite being late autumn, the garden was well cared for, and obviously had a good deal of charm.
I went to the front door and rang the bell. An elderly man answered the door. He was dressed in sombre, dark clothing, so I assumed him the butler.
“Yus?” he asked.
“My name is Jane Chauncey and I have come about the advertisement for the Governess,” I said.
He looked me up and down, opening the door wide enough for me to enter. I walked into the large wood-panelled hall. Portraits of ancestors stared at me disapprovingly.
“Come in, Miss Chauncey, is it? I am Mr Groves, the Butler. The Major had almost given up. Young Katie is quite a handful.”
“How old is young Katie?”
“Eight.”
“Does her Mama not take her in hand?”
“It was tragic, Miss, her mama died giving birth to young master William, Katie’s brother, some eighteen months ago. A series of young ladies have tried to deal with her, but I am afraid they have all found her too much.”
“Then, here come the Marines,” I said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Nothing.”
He showed me into a library.
“Wait here, Miss, and I will inform the Major you are here.”
I was still wearing my cape and with the hood up. I looked around the library, surprised to see some quite famous works on the shelves. I took a volume down and leafed through it. I did not hear the door open.
“You have read the classics?” said a deep bass voice. I turned and saw a very tall man of around thirty, dressed in riding breeches, boots and a white shirt. He was broad in the shoulder and had short fair hair. It was longer at the back, where he tied it off with a short length of black leather. I was aware that wigs were sometimes fashionable in these times, but he obviously was not a paragon of fashion. He had a square jaw and was actually very good looking. His manner was similar to many officers and senior NCOs that I had come across. He was used to command and being obeyed. I wondered how his daughter had managed to twist him around her finger.
“Some, sir, but to be honest, I was not overly enamoured to them. I enjoyed the Iliad and the Odyssey, however,” I said, holding up the latter, which was in my hand.
To my surprise he laughed.
“Ah, I share your experience. I found the others a touch insipid for my taste.”
I smiled, feeling awkward standing there under his gaze.
“I am Roger De Lambert. You are?”
“Jane Chauncey, sir. I find myself on quite hard times, so am in the embarrassing position of seeking employment in order to help my position in life.”
“Ah, another younger daughter of a poor man?”
“My father died at Trafalgar, sir, leaving Mama with three daughters and no money. My sisters, useless things, sought favourable marriages, so I left, seeking my fortune and a life on my own.”
“You father?”
“Charles Chauncey, of Taunton, Devon. He was a Commander in the Royal Navy,” I said.
These facts the agency gleaned from records, and indeed the late Commander actually had three daughters. Since his death at Trafalgar in 1805, the elder two girls sought husbands, and went their separate ways, but each finding tragic ends. Jemma died giving birth to twins, and Emily went with her husband to India, dying of typhus after drinking dirty water. This left Mrs Prudence Chauncey with her youngest daughter Jane. Prudence took to her bed, and never recovered,; she dwindled away and died in her sleep.
Jane, was forced to leave the old house and to seek her fortune, and was never heard of again. The Agency discovered her body in the 1950’s during the excavation of an old well. Documentation was in a purse on the body. She had fallen, or jumped to her death. The Agency had procured all the information, and managed to prevent the spread of the knowledge of her identity. They also discovered that there were records of someone of that name having lived a good deal longer, so there was a mystery. By assuming her identity, I was bringing her back to life, but they wouldn’t tell me her history, for security reasons, they said.
“I’m a Major of Dragoons; I was wounded at Salamanca, where a damn musket ball damn near killed me. So I’m recuperating at the moment on half-pay, but sure to be called back to the colours should Boney try to rally France.”
“I am sure he will, at that,” I said.
“Oh, how so?”
“Sir, France is broken, while many generals still owe secret allegiance to Napoleon. Come the day, I believe that they will rally to his flag, after all, the French are patriotic and Napoleon helped them feel proud to be French.”
“That is remarkably astute, Miss Jane, as it happens, I agree with your assessment. Indeed, I am counting on it, if I am to regain my rank and pay.”
“Then, sir, you will not have long to wait. I have studied history, so believe me, Napoleon is not finished yet.”
“Have you ever taught?”
“No, but I have broken a wild horse.”
He laughed again.
“Please. Miss Chauncey, you may remove your cl
oak.”
I pulled my hood down and he gasped.
“My word. You are a handsome woman. May I know how old you are?”
“I am three and twenty, sir. But I am more than capable at looking after myself.” I smiled, partly because it came naturally to me, and partly at my pre-programmed voice, syntax and accent. It was so weird, as my mind was the same as Ed Ryan, US Marine, but somewhere between formulating what I wanted to say and actually saying it, something made me sound so different.
“I do not doubt it. It is rare to find a woman of a good height. I rarely have the privilege of finding a woman on a par with myself.”
“I hope, sir, you will not be disappointed with me,” I said, returning his stare.
He laughed.
“I like a woman who stands up for herself. I have little time with these simpering violets who seem to spend most of the time with the vapours. Have you any luggage?”
“Alack, no sir. I am as you see me, without a bean. I fully intend to spend what little remuneration I earn on my wardrobe.”
“Hmm, that may take some little time, on what I can afford to pay you. Tell me, how would you deal with a strong willed girl?”
“Is she spoiled?”
“How so?”
“Has her father and grandparents given her everything she ever wanted?”
He smiled. “Perhaps.”
“Then sir, I would un-spoil her.”
“How, pray, would you do that?”
“I would teach her discipline, and how that self is not the centre of the universe.”
“Go on.”
“I would teach her that people are important, not things. I would teach her how to give of herself, and the rewards that this can bring. I would teach her to give, in every way, so that she would receive, in love, for who she is, and not for what she stands.”
“How?”
“By example and through love.”
“Would you beat her?”
“Do you beat your horse?”
“No, only a fool beats a horse.”
“Then you ask a foolish question. For only a fool beats a child.”
He burst out laughing.
“Faith, Jane, I like you. You are neither afraid, nor foolish. The job is yours, but sadly, I cannot afford a huge stipend, perhaps three shillings a week. I will feed you, and pay your expenses and, of course, you shall have rooms here in the Manor. You may have Sundays off.”
“Thank you, sir. That will be more than sufficient.”
He stared at me for a moment.
“You really have just those old clothes?”
“Yes sir, and these are borrowed.”
“Then, you must come to the attic with me. I had all Marjory’s clothes placed there after she died. I hoped perhaps that Katie would like them when she was old enough, but I fear that fashions will be much altered by that time. I would be pleased to have you select whatever you can use. I fear, however, that you may be slightly, ah, um, larger than Marjorie.”
“Sir, I am adept with a needle, I am sure I can alter what I need.”
Roger turned and rang a bell.
Groves appeared.
“Sir?”
“Miss Chauncey will be joining the household. As the daughter of a naval officer, she is not to be considered part of below stairs, but will eat upstairs either with my daughter, or with me. You will please have the bed made in the green room, next to the nursery, and she will be commencing duties as governess immediately.”
“Yes sir. Will she be taking luncheon with you today, sir, or alone?”
“I will have luncheon with my daughter and her new governess.”
“Certainly sir,” Groves said, and slipped quietly away.
“Where is Katie now?” I asked.
“My sister, her Aunt Maud, has taken her shopping. Maud is a pain, but does help when I need. Her husband is a dreadful bore. He is something to do with the law, Coroner, that’s it, he is the local Coroner. He has a legal practice here, and is also the clerk to the Justices. Thus, my dear sister believes herself to be someone of importance in the community. Unfortunately, she is the only person who does.”
He chuckled, so I smiled.
“Do you have many staff?” I asked.
“There is Groves and his wife, who does most of the cooking; my valet, Symes; the maid Abigail, and the nurse. My son, William is but a babe, so is in the nursery at present. Oh, and then there is Grant and his son, they tend the garden.”
“Will my duties be to teach him in time?”
“Perhaps. I have in mind to send him away to school eventually.”
I followed him up the wood panelled staircase. It was a nice house, clean and well laid out. More functional than decorative, yet I could see a woman’s touch had been absent for some time. He showed me my room, where the maid was making the bed. She had already set a fire in the small fireplace, so the warmth was beginning to spread to the room. She curtseyed when we entered.
“Abigail, this is Miss Chauncey, the new governess.”
“Miss,” the girl all but whispered, lowering her eyes.
Then we went to a pleasant nursery, where young William sat on a rocking horse, while a rotund woman was singing a song as he rocked.
“This is Nurse Riggs. Nurse, this is Miss Jane Chauncey, she is to be Katie’s governess.”
We nodded and smiled to each other. She had a very nice smile. Young William saw his father and shouted “Dada.”
Roger’s face melted into a big smile, as he went and ruffled his son’s hair. The man was a devoted father, and I could see he loved his son deeply. We spent a few moments there, while he played with his son. Finally, he let the nurse take his son from him, turned and left the room, so I followed.
He went up a folding ladder into a spacious, but very dark attic. He lit a candle in a lantern, illuminating the space, allowing me to see that there were numerous chests, which he lugged under the skylight.
“I tell you what, why don’t we take them all to your room, that way you can pick and choose at your leisure?”
I agreed, took hold of the first chest, lifted it off the floor and carried it down the ladder. I returned to the attic to see him staring at me.
“My God, woman, that was no mean weight!”
I suddenly realised that I had carried the trunk without any thought as to its weight. My enhanced strength meant it was nothing to me and yet, with hindsight, I appreciated that even as Ed Ryan, I might have struggled slightly.
“Sir, it was a trifle. I have been lifting weights like that, as there has been no male in our household for many years. And my sisters were useless ninnies for the most part.”
I was careful, however, to be slightly less butch with the other two chests, but Roger kept looking at me strangely.
He left me alone in my new bedroom, as I took stock of my surroundings.
The room was south facing, over a lovely large garden, with mature shrubs and trees. I had two windows and a fireplace, in which the coal fire was giving off some reasonable heat now.
A large canopied bed was against one wall, with a wardrobe and chest of drawers against another. There was a small writing desk in the corner, with a delicately built chair next to it. A porcelain basin was in its wooden stand, with a jug nearby. I assumed that running hot water was a thing of the future, but the fire had warmed the air nicely. The dressing table with a mirror was against the last wall, with a stool tucked into the recess. A nursing chair was in the window, and altogether it was a very pleasant room.
I went through some of the clothes, and Roger was right. His late wife was quite a bit smaller than I was. I found a few dresses that needed some alteration to fit me. The fashions had not moved on too much in the few years since these were last worn, so I struggled into a yellow striped dress, with a lacy bodice.
I spent some time on my hair, and then found a small make-up box amongst the chests. I reddened my lips slightly, using a little dark pencil to my eye lines. T
here was a tub of something blue, so I dabbed a little on each eyelid and looked at the result. I had absolutely no idea about how women were supposed to look, even had I been a twentieth century female, I should have been equally new to this game. My brain told me that painted females were most likely prostitutes, so only modicum of makeup was permitted. Indeed, my knowledge of these times was limited, but I was aware that the fashionable males would often be more powdered and pampered than their female counterparts.
It was a wonderful adventure, so I found it difficult not to smile inanely all the time. My heart soared with the thrill of expressing myself as I had so longed to for all those years. The agency was right. I would accept conditions about which my twentieth century female contemporaries would have complained bitterly.
I smiled at my reflection, catching a twinkle in my eyes. Not at all bad, I smiled some more and blew myself a kiss.
I spent some time checking through the clothes, selecting a dozen dresses that would alter without much problem. One of my pre-programmed skills was needlework and dressmaking, and I was staggered at how easy it was. I quickly unpicked the seams, noting that sensible dressmakers had used sufficient material to allow for alterations. Such was the quality of the garments, that they were probably expected to last a good few years, so allowances were made for their owners to add or lose weight during that period.
It took me most of the morning to alter the clothes, but in the end I had sufficient of a wardrobe to keep me going for a while. I heard some commotion downstairs. Guessing that Maud and my charge had returned, I left my room and went down the stairs to meet them.
They were in the drawing room, a room I had yet to enter, but I simply followed the noise.
Katie was in a very pretty white dress with roses thereon. Her dark hair was quite long, falling in ringlets across her shoulders. She was a startling pretty girl. Maud, however, was about thirty, and was dressed in a dark red dress, looking rather austere. She too had dark hair, curled into ringlets that looked faintly silly on a woman of her age and general demeanour. She had a permanent expression of disapproval, focussed on her mouth that turned down, making her look miserable.
“Ah, Jane. Maud, this is Jane Chauncey. Katie, say hello to your new governess. Jane, this is my sister Maud and my daughter Katie.”
