Margaret nodded, her eyes huge in her pale face.
“Mama’s only brother, Uncle Arthur, writes that he has twelve children now, poor man, so his house is quite full up. However, his sister-in-law is unwell and in need of someone to chaperon her two step-daughters about. He suggests that Lucy might be acceptable — a respectable young widow and so forth.”
“Oh, yes!” Lucy said. “I should love to, although… I am in mourning. Would it be quite seemly? To attend balls?”
“Your mourning period for your husband has passed,” Rosamund said. “For Papa, there is no reason not to go about after the first month or so. You will not dance, of course, but you may certainly act as chaperon. Do you not agree, Robin? I have seen widows even in deep mourning at entertainments in London, although nothing of a frivolous nature.”
“Oh, certainly,” Robin said. “For a husband, it could not be thought of, but while mourning for your father it is not necessary to keep secluded.”
Lucy smiled happily. “Then I should be very glad to do it.”
“Excellent,” Annabelle. “So that leaves Fanny and me.”
“As it happens, I might have some possibilities for you,” Robin said, with just a hint of smugness. “Aunt Mary wrote to her friend Lady Harriet Hay, do you remember her? Lord Carrbridge’s sister. Lady Harriet supports a charitable endeavour for women with no family to support them. They make fashionable gowns for ladies of lesser means, those not handy enough with a needle to make their own. She employs a number of women as seamstresses, and would like someone of a more elevated background to talk to the customers.”
“It sounds charming, from Lady Harriet’s description,” Rosamund added. “The mamas bring their daughters to buy something special for an important ball, or to be married in.”
“Oh, how romantic!” Fanny breathed.
“And you are so nimble with a needle, too,” Rosamund said. “It would suit you admirably.”
“Well, then,” Annabelle said, with a sudden tremor. “It remains only for me to seek a post as a governess.” After all the discussion and wondering and hoping and fearing, finally her family would be split asunder.
“Are you quite determined on such a course, sister?” Rosamund said. “I cannot bear to think of you in such a position. Governesses are hated by everyone — their employers, their charges, the servants. It will be miserable for you.”
Annabelle was so tempted to answer with the stark truth. I am miserable everywhere, so it hardly matters. Instead, she said firmly, “My mind is made up, and I am well suited for the role, you must admit.”
“Indeed, but… Well, no matter,” Robin said. “If it does not answer, you may return to us and we will find room for you. For any of you, if you find your posts uncongenial. But if you are set on this, Annabelle, then there is a possibility. I asked Lady Carrbridge if she could help. Do you remember her? You will have met her in town.”
“I remember her,” Annabelle said. “I doubt she remembers me.”
“She meets a great many people, it is true. Here, read her letter.”
He passed across a sheet of paper covered in neat script. After the usual salutations, Annabelle read, ‘There is an old friend of Lord Carrbridge’s who might be in need of a governess. His wife died last year, leaving him with three young daughters to raise. The poor man is distraught and hardly knows what he is about, so he has not yet thought what he should do for them. Lord C has written to enquire of him if he would like a recommendation for a governess, but we have not yet heard from him. I will let you know if we hear word from him. In the meantime, do tell me a little more about your sister, so that I may know how best to describe her accomplishments. Constance Carrbridge.’
“This came just today,” Robin said, holding out another sheet.
‘So happy to tell you that Allan would be delighted to offer Miss W a post as governess. It had been on his mind that he should do something about the matter, but had not the least idea how to go about it. If she is all that you say, I am sure she will do very well there. His mother is in residence, so there will be not the least impropriety. He lives at Charslby, near Kenford in Cheshire, and is a very pleasant, amiable man. All the Skeltons are charming. I know his sisters quite well, and they are delightful. I am sure Miss W will be very happy there. Constance Carrbridge.’
Happy. Annabelle could not imagine being happy ever again, but she was content to be unhappy at Charlsby. Robin wrote to accept Mr Skelton’s offer, and to Charlsby she was to go to begin her life as a governess.
2: Charlsby
‘Westerlea Park, Frickham, Brinshire. 15th January 18—. My dear Annabelle, Lucy, Margaret and Fanny, I cannot begin to tell you how grieved I am that you are all to quit the county entirely. Such a loss to us all! Your society will be sorely missed. I do believe you are right to refuse my nephew Robin’s offers of assistance, for it would be galling indeed to remain at the scene of so many happy times, and yet in sadly reduced circumstances. In a new place, and amongst new friends, you may all find the happiness which presently eludes you, and renders your future so bleak. Such is my very earnest wish. Yours in great affection, Mary Dalton.’
~~~~~
Robin undertook to escort all the sisters to their destinations. Annabelle protested, but he said simply, “You must have a man to escort you, sister, and it will be a useful reminder to your new employer that you are not unprotected in the world.”
Lucy and Margaret left first, both bound for Shropshire, although in such different locations that there was no expectation of meeting there. Then Fanny and Annabelle were be taken northwards. But two days before they were due to leave, Lady Harriet herself arrived on her way home from Brighton, and whisked Fanny away to Yorkshire.
For two painful days and nights, Annabelle was alone in Woodside. The farewell calls from their acquaintances had been paid before Lucy, Margaret and Fanny had left, so there was no company to lighten the hours. Her tears had all been shed as she had watched her sisters driving away to the uncertainty and hardships of life as paid employees or poor relations. She spent the days walking slowly from room to room, gazing about her with eyes newly awakened to the pleasures of her home, fixing it all in her mind.
But at night in her room, listening to the familiar creaks and sighs of the house for the last time, Annabelle had never felt so alone. Once they had been a large, happy family, like thousands of others all over England. A contented Mama and Papa, a healthy son and heir, and five lively daughters to fill every corner of the old house with childish squeals and running feet and simple reels played with more enthusiasm than skill on the pianoforte. But Mama had died and then Jeremy, Rosamund had married and now Papa was dead too, and the remaining Miss Wintertons were scattered to the winds of capricious fortune. The house was all but silent, the bedrooms hollow and echoing without their familiar occupants. There was no one left to creep into bed with her and giggle over the new curate’s lisp or Mr Claremont’s flirting. And perhaps she would never see any of them again. It was a thought too appalling for tears. And beyond these sorrows, there was another, more personal, that would never leave her. So she curled up in her bed and tried very hard to sleep.
~~~~~
Robin was good company on the drive, pointing out features of interest and, when she lapsed into silence, talking more or less to himself. His valet, Brast, was not good company in the least, shivering and sniffling in martyred misery, while wrapped in a voluminous rug. However, Robin could not contemplate a night away from home without him, so his presence had to be borne, somehow.
They made good time, and were able to reach Kelford well before dark.
“This is excellent,” Robin said. “We shall be able to make a leisurely breakfast and arrive at Charlsby before noon, and I shall be halfway home again before dark.”
Having no maid, Annabelle called upon the services of one of the inn servants to help her dress for dinner. She was a well-rounded woman of middle years, who stroked the silk of the gown la
id out ready on the bed, and then the fine cambric of the chemise with a sigh of pleasure.
“You going far, ma’am?” she said as she laced Annabelle’s stays with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary.
Annabelle would not normally reward the curiosity of an inn servant, but it occurred to her that they were so close to Charlsby now that the woman might know something of it.
“I am bound for Charlsby,” she said. “I believe it is not far from here.”
“Oh no, ma’am, not above ten miles or so. Less across the common. You stayin’ there?”
That was too impertinent a question, so Annabelle said only, “My plans are not settled. Do you see much of the family here? I imagine this is the nearest town.”
“Aye, but they don’t come here much. The young ladies used to come to the assemblies sometimes, but they’ve married and gone away now.”
“So it is just Mr Skelton and his mother who live there now?”
The lacing stopped abruptly. “Mr Skelton, ma’am?”
“The gentleman who owns Charlsby. His name is Skelton, is it not?”
“Oh, I see… the family is called Skelton, ’tis true, but he’s Lord Brackenwood. He’s an earl.”
“An earl.” The lacing resumed, and Annabelle began to laugh. “I did not realise that my employer is a peer of the realm.”
The lacing came to another halt. “Employer?”
Annabelle sighed. “I am to be governess at Charlsby.”
“Oh, those poor motherless girls,” the woman said with a sentimental sigh. “I pity them, truly I do. I daresay they will be sad, pale little things, weeping for their mother all day long. A governess, eh — that’ll be the very thing to cheer them up. Why, you’ll be just like a mother to the poor chicks.”
Annabelle smiled a little at this optimistic vision. If she could in time instil a little Italian into her charges, teach them an instrument and ensure they could curtsy without falling over, she would be satisfied. But perhaps they were too young for Italian? Perhaps they were only just learning their letters and numbers? She was shocked at how little she knew of her new role, how little curiosity she had felt. When her employment had been merely a nebulous, far-distant abstraction, it had not seemed very important to enquire into the details. The death of her father and the subsequent revelations had absorbed all her thoughts, and nothing else had seemed to matter very much. But her new life was now a mere ten miles away, and it was become a matter of some urgency to know exactly what faced her.
She waited patiently until Robin had made himself ready for the evening, dinner had been served and he had consumed his first glass of claret before she broached the subject.
“How is it, brother, that I was not aware that the gentleman who has engaged my services is an earl?” she said, in a teasing tone of voice. “I thought him a mere Mr Skelton of Charlsby, but the maid who attended me disabused me of such a notion. Imagine my surprise to discover I shall be entering the household of the Earl of Brackenwood. I am not sunk quite as low in the world as I had supposed, for the governess to an earl’s daughters is a little out of the common way, I fancy.”
Robin laughed. “Did you not know? I am sure it was mentioned… Rosamund knew, and we talked of it very freely between ourselves. But everything has been arranged in a scramble, and perhaps I forgot to mention it. You do not really care about such things, I wager.”
“Not in the least, except that it will be a larger household than I had expected. A widower, his three daughters and his mother — that is what I anticipated, and servants to match, but an earl will have a much more imposing establishment.”
“Oh, but he lives very quiet, apparently. He never goes to London or gads about, as some of these great men do. The house… well, I imagine it is quite large, and there will be a decent number of servants, but that is all to the good. You may have a servant of your own, you know. That is not uncommon in these great houses. But perhaps it may be no bigger than Westerlea Park.”
Annabelle sipped her wine thoughtfully. “Do you know anything of him? Lord Brackenwood, I mean.”
Robin shrugged. “Only what is to be found in Debrett’s. He was the younger of two boys, but his brother died a few years ago, and the father not long after, so he inherited relatively young. He married a Miss Eloise Waterbury, who provided him with three daughters and died October last. I imagine he will be looking about him for a new countess.” He hesitated, gazing into the depths of his wine glass as if it fascinated him. “He sounds as if he would make someone a good husband.”
He spoke casually, but Annabelle was not fooled. “Someone who is looking for a husband, perhaps,” she said. “Which I am not, Robin.”
“Ah, Annabelle! You are too young to wear the willow for ever. Is it not time to live again, and open your heart to the possibility of love once more?”
“My heart is open to it, but it is difficult when one has once seen a man who encompasses everything that is good and amiable and generous. I must always hold him as my ideal, and no man has yet equalled him.”
“He was not sufficiently amiable and generous as to marry you,” Robin said acidly. “But this is past history, and perhaps in new surroundings with new faces about you, the gentleman may be left in the past where he belongs.”
Her heart was too full to speak more on the subject. She had long since come to terms with her disappointment, but it still grieved her to hear the man she had once loved so dearly disparaged in any way.
“Tell me of the earl’s daughters,” she said, quickly turning the conversation. “Do you know their ages?”
“Debrett’s informed me that the eldest is ten years of age, and there are twins of eight. Let me see… Dorothea… um, Florence and I forget the third.”
“Excellent,” she said. “I shall not then need to teach them their letters. That is good, for I have not the least idea how it may be done. I do not remember a time when I could not read, and spent most of my time in the schoolroom with my nose in a book, inattentive to what was being taught to the others. But if they are older — well, they can read what they need to learn in books, just as I did.”
He laughed at that. “You may find a little more exertion is required than that, my dear Annabelle. Not all children absorb their lessons so readily.”
“How else might they learn?” she said airily. “No one can pour knowledge and wisdom into ears unwilling to hear it. If they be receptive to learning, then they will read, and if not, there is nothing to be done for them.”
“Nevertheless, you are being paid to teach them, whether they be willing or no. At the least, you must instil discipline into them, and turn them into ladies.”
“Oh, stitchery, drawing and performance on the instrument.” She shrugged. “There will be time enough for such work. They are very young yet.”
“Annabelle—” He heaved a sigh, then reached for the bottle. “More claret, sister?”
“Thank you, Robin.”
~~~~~
Charlsby was not quite as imposing as Annabelle had feared, in fact it was not much larger than Westerlea Park, and lacking the grandiose embellishments so frequently employed on great houses. There was no many-pillared portico, no domed roof fringed with statuary, no great sweep of steps to the entrance and no wings almost as large as the main house. It was a neat, elegant building with a pleasing symmetry, built of cool grey stone. The gardens were not imposing either, being laid out with simplicity after the fashionable manner designed to imitate nature. There were gently rolling hills, small streams and winding paths, with arbours and follies dotted here and there. Glimpses of water suggested a lake behind the house. Beyond the ha-ha, deer grazed placidly.
“How pleasant a vista to gaze upon,” Robin said, and Annabelle could not but agree.
The butler and a footman emerged from the house as soon as the carriage arrived at the front door, followed at once by two grooms to help with the luggage and lead the coachman to the stables. Leaving Brast sniffling in the
carriage, Annabelle and Robin followed the butler into the house. The entrance hall was a dark, echoing place, as cool as the ice house at the Park. Perhaps in summer there would be light filtering from high windows, but in January a pair of lamps on each wall did nothing to brighten it. Annabelle shivered.
“His lordship is expecting you,” the butler said. “He is in the library.”
That was better! A house with a library could not be a dismal place, for there would always be the means of escape conveniently to hand. One might open a book and find oneself in sun-drenched Sicily or the green slopes of Switzerland and forget entirely the dismal grey of an English winter.
The library was at the back of the house, and it was not at first sight an impressive room. It had the usual accoutrements of such rooms in the provision of shelves and ladders and, naturally, books, but the room was disappointingly small. Her father’s book room was larger. However, there were tables scattered about, and every one was full to overflowing with books, and even more promisingly, book-shaped parcels yet to be unwrapped. Annabelle smiled.
There was no sign of the earl, just a line of dogs snoozing in front of the fire, but as they entered, the butler coughed and a face peered around the side of a huge wing chair in front of the fire.
“Mr Dalton and Miss Winterton, my lord,” the butler announced.
The Governess (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 1) Page 2
