The Governess (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  “That, my lord, remains to be seen,” Willerton-Forbes said unsmilingly.

  ~~~~~

  ‘Holly Lodge, 15th July 18— My dear Annabelle, Here we are back in Brinshire at last, a little later than expected, but the garden is so green and refreshing after London that it quite lifts the spirits. Travelling is such a chore with the children, but it would be so dreadful to leave them behind when we are away for months. Your last letter made me think that you are growing very fond of the pupils in your charge. They sound a lively trio! We had thought we might be able to travel north to see you over the summer before I am confined, but Robin’s father is no better and although he makes no complaint when we are in town, we do not like to leave him again just yet. Robin has a number of books that he feels you will enjoy, which we had hoped to bestow on you with our own hands, but we will not make you wait. I shall pack them up and send them to you by the mail. I have— Mrs Greeves has just brought in all the mail awaiting us. Four letters from you, dear Annabelle! Of course you expected us to be home long since. I shall read them at once, and write more when I have learnt all your news. ~ Annabelle! Such shocking developments! I am quite alarmed for you, living in a house where there might be a murderer hiding. Surely there must be some mistake? Please write at once to assure me that you are well and that it is all some dreadful misunderstanding. Send word at any time if you wish Robin to come and take you away from there. We shall squeeze you in with us somehow. Yours in dread, Rosamund. P S Have you had any word from Margaret? I have heard nothing at all since Aunt Letty died. It is most concerning. Do let me know if you have any news of her.’

  ~~~~~

  Annabelle was rather stunned after her talk with the earl. He wanted to marry her! It was not mere drunken ramblings or idle flirtation, but a serious offer. Or it would be, in time. How strange it was to know that the offer would be made, and not to have to wonder about it! She had time to get her thoughts in order, and decide how to answer, for this time her response was not immediately clear. With her three previous offers, the only question was how to frame her refusal in the kindest way possible. And there was the offer never made, from Charles, and there again she had known exactly what she wanted. But this time…

  How she wished her sisters were there! She missed their whispered bedtime conversations, the candle burning down to nothing. They would go over everything that had happened that day, and needless to say the subject of most interest concerned their gentleman acquaintances. The sisters would discuss every aspect of their admirers, and speculate endlessly on whether this one or that one would come up to scratch, and how much they wished it. How many hours had they wasted drawing delightful pictures of the future Mrs Charles Keeling? How happy she would be, they told her. How many pretty children she would have, and fine carriages, and splendid gowns. Annabelle had blushed and smiled and let them conjecture all they liked, for those dreams were hers, too. It was all nonsense, of course, for Charles had never offered, and had besides not enough money for half the dazzling images the sisters conjured up.

  This time, though… She shivered. To be a countess, entitled to wear the coronet and ermine! How grand she would be. There was a fine estate and no shortage of money. She would never have to earn her bread again, never have the humiliation of seeing pity in people’s eyes. She would be somebody, and that was almost temptation enough.

  Then there was the earl. He was not a splendid figure of a man, someone to turn heads as he walked in the room, but he was good and kind and generous, he had no bad habits and would make her an excellent husband. She was not in love with him and her heart refused to turn somersaults when he walked into the room, but she was always pleased to see him. He was a friend, and perhaps that was as good a foundation for marriage as any.

  There was one other aspect that gave her a thrill of pleasure. She would be rich enough to offer some help to her sisters. One, perhaps, might come to live at Charlsby as her companion and friend. The others could be helped in innumerable little ways — a length of fabric sent or a jewelled comb, a pound of tea or little gifts of money slipped under the seal of a letter.

  And as she followed this line of thought, she realised the truth — that she would marry the earl because she must. There would never be another offer so good as this one, she would be comfortably situated for life and she would be in a position to help her sisters. No, she would not refuse the offer when it came. Even so, she decided to say nothing to her sisters yet. There was no point in getting their hopes up until the offer was made.

  If it was made… perhaps he would think better of it? But no, he was too honourable a man to renege on a promise given. He had told her that he would offer for her, and so he would do it, once the small matter of murder was cleared up. Assuming he was not hanged for it. But that was impossible… surely? She tried to set such thoughts resolutely out of her mind, but whenever she thought of the earl, there was a niggle of worry in the far corner of her mind. Such a gentle, unassuming man, but perhaps he was a murderer? And with that possibility unable to be extinguished, how could she marry him? It was a nightmare of a situation to find herself in.

  ~~~~~

  The first evening after her talk with the earl she felt a little awkward. However, he neither said nor did anything to distinguish her in any way, and so she gradually became more comfortable. Even so, when she looked at him, often his eyes were on her before he turned his gaze away.

  The following day, the seamstress was at the house to fit the girls for their new gowns, so Annabelle stole away into the gardens with a book to find a quiet spot to read. It was the hottest hour of the day, and the cool woods being some distance away across the park, she chose to settle herself in the Grecian Temple, where the view of the lake was refreshing to the eye and the dense shrubbery all about provided both privacy and soothing shades of green to balance the bright eye of the sun.

  The temple was pleasantly shaded. She cast aside her bonnet and gloves, and sat, feet up, on the marble bench that lined the interior. Near the entrance, a trio of pillars provided a support for her back and screened her from anyone who should happen to pass by. She opened her book and settled down to read. She had no fear of being disturbed for she was not visible from the house, and the gardeners had gone inside for their dinner. For a while, the only intrusion was from the occasional bee buzzing past on its own important business, and the heat was such that before long she found her eyes closing.

  She woke to the sound of voices very close.

  “Of course he won’t marry the trollop! Her ladyship’s seen to that.”

  The voice was that of Denby, the dowager countess’s lady’s maid. It was the day for her sister to visit from the neighbouring estate where she, too, was a lady’s maid. Normally Annabelle would have made her presence known, but she was still only half awake, not entirely sure if Denby’s words were real or part of some strange dream.

  A deep-throated chuckle. “Quite right! As if his lordship could be allowed to breed with that little baggage.”

  Annabelle froze. Could they be talking about her?

  “Well… not that her ladyship’s from the top drawer, exactly, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  Another chuckle. They were very close now, almost level with the temple and not moderating their voices at all. “But what can anyone do to prevent it? These men, they do get these strange fancies… Wait, is there anyone in here?”

  Annabelle froze, as the two stopped and peered into the gloom of the temple. The two pillars mostly hid her from their view, but if they looked closely they would see her bonnet on the seat… It was still not too late to declare her presence…

  “No, no one’s there.” They started to move on. “So what can she do? I don’t see how she can stop him if he sets his mind to it.”

  “Oh, but he’s so particular, his lordship. He’d never marry anyone… you know… impure. So if he gets ideas, she’s going to tell him that that Keeling fellow had her. Dr Wilcox will back her up, he’ll
say she went to him for help afterwards.”

  “Wilcox? He’ll do that, will he?”

  They were almost beyond the temple now, their voices fading. Annabelle strained to catch their words.

  “Aye, he’ll do whatever she wants. She knows all about what he was up to with—”

  They were gone, too distant for her to catch even the echo of their words, leaving Annabelle a curious mixture of emotions. She was furious that the dowager countess would stoop to blackening her reputation to keep her away from Allan, but also terrified that she would succeed. He would believe it, of course he would. Charles had been in the house, the entire company knew their history and must guess at her feelings for him. Why, he had even intimated to George that he wanted her as his mistress. No story the countess invented could be more plausible. So that was the end of her pleasant little dream of a happy future. Allan would never offer for her now.

  18: The Lady's Maid

  Allan had been tied up for hours with Mr Cross, dealing with paperwork that had accumulated while he was in London and which he had been putting off ever since. Cross was well enough as a secretary, but he never used his initiative. He simply opened the mail and arranged it in presumed order of importance, and then left it for Allan to deal with. Much of it was tenant business, which could easily be passed directly to Mr Pratchett, but no, Allan himself had to read every letter and note, and decide what was to be done about it. It was very tedious.

  Now that he was released, the library was far too stuffy to while away the afternoon hours in. Even the dogs had disappeared from their usual place on the hearthrug. The glorious summer weather drew him out of doors. He collected a book and his spectacles, and headed down the lawn to the lake, mirror smooth in the stifling heat. He walked dutifully around the upper lake — no running or dawdling, he thought with a smile — and then into the cooler environs of the lower lake, its giant shrubs towering above his head. Their blooms were all but finished now, but here and there a few stray blossoms lingered with the faintest hint of fragrance, and the air hummed with bees. Some bushes had grown so mighty that their roots protruded into the path, so he stepped onto the stretch of lawn that edged the other side of the path and walked as silently as a cat.

  So it was that he came to the Grecian Temple just as a lady in grey shot out of it and barrelled into him, sending his book flying into the air. Another book flew skywards, and, with an exclamation of dismay, the lady in grey jumped after it. She was not quick enough to prevent it from sailing into a bush.

  “Oh no!” she cried, trying to rescue it and finding her arms would not stretch high enough.

  Allan laughed, admiring the fine view of Annabelle’s form as she reached upwards.

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon!” she said, turning round. “How rude of me to— Oh! It is you.” And, to his great delight, she blushed. “I am so sorry, Lord Brackenwood. Are you injured?”

  “Not in the least,” he said, still laughing, as he retrieved her book, and then his own. “Only my pride, to find that I am rated in lesser need of preservation than a book.”

  She bit her lip, but her smile was warm. “I am so sorry. I did not hear you coming, you see.”

  “That was my fault. In avoiding the rhododendron roots, I was walking on the grass. But you were running… is there something amiss?”

  The smile died away. “Oh… but I cannot tell you, for it is something I overheard and it was wrong of me, but it was so shocking that I could not move or speak a word, and then they were gone…”

  Her expression was filled with such distress that he could not help himself from taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, making her blush even more. How delightfully she blushed! “If it troubles you, then it is best shared, is it not? Surely we are good enough friends that you can trust me with any secret?”

  “Oh, yes, of course! But… it concerns your mother and I should not—”

  He laughed again. “Then I must definitely hear it. What now has she been up to? She has taken you in dislike, I fear, but I would not for the world have you troubled by anything she says or does. You need not regard her. Come, let us go into the temple and you may tell me all about it.”

  And so, by degrees, he persuaded her back into the temple she had left so precipitately only moments before, and settled her on the marble seat, and then collected her bonnet and gloves, which she had been holding as she fled and had been scattered about. Only then did she recover some of her composure and tell him of her favoured reading spot, hidden by the pillars, and the shocking words she had overheard from Denby’s lips.

  “And none of it is true!” she cried fretfully. “I have never… I would never… you must believe me! The very idea is abominable. As if I would ever do such a thing!”

  “Naturally you would not,” he said calmly. “No one who knows you could believe such a thing for an instant.”

  “But if Lady Brackenwood says so… and Dr Wilcox supports her…”

  “Annabelle, when we have guests in the house, at night there is always a footman stationed on the landing on the bedroom floor. It is more convenient for anyone who needs anything in the night than ringing the bell and waiting half an hour for the scullery maid in the basement to hear the bell and rouse someone. It also serves to discourage any nocturnal wanderings. I can prove that Mr Keeling never left his room at night, and that no one entered it. Your reputation is quite safe.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes were wide. “I had no idea.”

  He smiled at her, seeing her hunched shoulders relax a little, and a tremulous smile play about her mouth. She was so adorable when she was worried, with the little frown between her eyebrows and her lips slightly apart. Ah, her lips! And they were barely an arm’s length away from him. If only he dared to cross that divide… but more than thirty years of gentlemanly restraint held him in check. He still held her hand, however, lying warm in his own, and he was determined not to relinquish it.

  “It does not surprise me that Mother would play such tricks,” he said, his smile vanishing abruptly. “But this is infamous! You are a guest in this house, and I will not have any slur cast upon you. And Wilcox, too. Why would he support such lies?”

  “The dowager knows something to his detriment,” Annabelle said. “He has been up to something with… something. Or someone, perhaps. So Denby said. I did not hear what it might be, for she moved away then.”

  “Hmm. Interesting. I have not heard anything scurrilous about Dr Wilcox. There are whispers about a woman, but that is always so with a single man. Still, if there is any secret to be uncovered, Mother will find it out. She and Eloise were two of a kind in that regard. They both had their maids digging around for every little rumour. That is how Eloise found… well, whatever it was she discovered about poor Mr Penicuik, something so mortifying that he wished to leave Charlsby. I had the greatest difficulty dissuading him. If there were any secret in Wilcox’s life, one or other of them would have ferreted it out. Still, whatever Wilcox may have done, he cannot harm you, so it does not matter much.”

  But her face was serious, and for the first time she would not look him in the eye.

  “Annabelle? What now are you thinking?”

  She hesitated, withdrawing her hand from his grasp. “I have been thinking of what Mr Willerton-Forbes has said — that everyone is under suspicion. If Mr Wilcox has done something dreadful that would ruin him if it were found out, what might he do to keep such information secret? Might he kill someone?”

  “You think he killed Eloise because she found out something about him and threatened to expose him?”

  “I do not think it, no, but it is a possibility. Or else your mama forced him to do it, as she is forcing him to say bad things about me. He has access to the same type of medicine that killed her, after all.”

  “The fox-glove is a common plant, anyone might have made up that mixture, and it is widely prescribed. Why, Wilcox prescribes it for Mother.” He stopped, considering the implications of that. “So she
might have interfered with Eloise’s medicine herself.” He sighed. “Really, the more one considers, the more one begins to look at everyone with suspicious eyes. Anyone might have given Eloise that medicine. Except that it is her handwriting on the label. That I do not understand.”

  “That is easy to explain,” Annabelle said. “I dare say that someone gave Lady Brackenwood a receipt for a sleeping draught and she made up the mixture herself, or perhaps her maid did it for her. Then she wrote the label herself. Later, when someone wished to poison her, the sleeping draught was thrown away and replaced with a potent fox-glove mixture.”

  “Or she made the poison herself so that she might take her own life,” Allan said.

  “But then, why mislabel the bottle?” Annabelle said. “Indeed, why label the bottle at all?”

  Allan laughed suddenly. “You are so logical, Annabelle. Yes, suicide does not seem plausible. But all this does not help to narrow the field of possibilities. It seems to me that there are only three people who could not have murdered Eloise — you, me and Marisa.”

  “And to everyone else, it is only me and Mrs Pargeter,” Annabelle said quietly, her eyes fixed on his with sudden intensity.