by M. C. Beaton
The viscount did not particularly notice the change because he simply liked to relax in the evenings and listen to Jean’s soft Scottish voice, no matter what she read, but the twins were restless and bored and resentful. Jean began to wonder if they were ill, for they began to appear in the schoolroom in the mornings heavy-eyed and listless. They were also becoming unhealthily fat again. She doubted if they would ever possess elegant figures even when they lost their puppy fat, but by carefully monitoring what they ate, she had experienced the pleasure of noticing that their skin was clear and that they were less lumpy in shape than when she had first taken up her post. But now they were spotty, their hair was dull, and their new gowns were having to be let out.
She sent for a physician, who prescribed Dr. James’s powders after diagnosing a temporary disorder of the spleen. The next afternoon Amanda and Clarissa, who had been barely attending to their studies in the morning, begged leave to be allowed to take a nap. Left to her own devices, Jean went out for a walk. In the distance she saw the tall figure of the viscount, supervising the work of a team of gardeners and laborers who were landscaping the gardens. She walked a little nearer, hoping the viscount would call to her and perhaps discuss his plans for the gardens with her, but he was too absorbed in his work and so she turned away and walked around the back of the house and down through what used to be terraced gardens and were now a riot of weeds, to the beach.
The day was still and overcast. Large glassy waves curved onto the beach and fanned out slowly over the sands. The weather was close and humid and there did not seem to be a breath of air. Jean felt sad and listless. On such a day when she had time on her hands, she became acutely aware of her situation, that she was only a governess, a paid servant. All she had to comfort her was a wicked little dream at the back of her mind that her aunt in Edinburgh, who was extremely rich, would die and leave her all her money so that she, Jean Morrison, would become a lady of independent means, a lady with a dowry, a marriageable lady.
She walked beyond the point on the beach where she had previously veered off to follow the twins to the tarn. There were large jagged rocks at the end with only a strip of beach in front of them. The tide was out, so it would not normally be possible to walk past this outcrop. A sea gull screamed harshly, and suddenly, as the shadow of the rocks fell over her and to her right, another sea gull seemed to answer. She looked up and about, but could see no birds in the still, gray landscape where the only moving thing was the slow rise and fall of the ocean. She walked around the outcrop and found a stretch of cliffs and a series of caves. Looking nervously back, for she did not want to be cut off by the sea should the tide come in, she went into the first of the caves to explore. It was large and empty with a smooth, sandy floor. Festoons of green and wetly glittering seaweed hung down from the rocky walls. A splash of color near the cave entrance caught her eye, and she stooped down to examine it. There were several sweetmeat wrappings fluttering to and fro in the breeze that had suddenly risen outside. Out of the damp sand protruded the edge of a box. Jean dug with her fingers until she had pulled a wet and soggy cardboard box lid from the sand. She sat back on her heels and looked thoughtfully on her find. It looked as if someone had eaten the chocolates or sweetmeats and then buried the evidence, but the tide had washed the sand away and some of the exposed wrappings that were now fluttering and scurrying like mice over the cave floor had been dried after the tide had receded. It might be the twins. And yet, if they were not under her supervision, Betty, the maid, kept a close eye on them. But it would explain their increased weight and spotty faces if they had been creeping out from the castle to buy sweetmeats. She frowned down at the box and wrappers. She picked up one of the wrappers. It had a few slight traces of chocolate in the wrinkles of the twisted paper. Only the most expensive of confectionery was boxed, and the confectioners in St. Giles did not sell such delicacies, only things such as toffees or fudge, licorice laces and candied nuts. Only a small proportion of the population of the British Isles had tasted chocolate sweets, although more were familiar with the breakfast drink. When an English general had escaped from the Jacobites in Scotland and his carriage seized, it was found to contain boxes of little rolls of chocolate. But the Highlanders thought it must be medicine and so sold the loot, claiming it to be a wonderful salve for wounds. So if the Courtney girls had indeed been eating such chocolate, where did it come from and when did they eat it?
At night, thought Jean suddenly. That explains the tiredness and heavy eyes. They would deny it only if she accused them of it. She must return to the castle and take a nap herself, and so be prepared to spend the night watching the door of their bedchamber.
The sound of waves outside the cave sounded closer. She hurried out.
The tide had turned, and long, smooth waves were already sweeping up to the base of the outcrop, driven by a stiffening breeze. She removed her shoes and stockings, carried her bonnet over her arm by the ribbons, kilted up her skirts, and ran.
When she gained the smooth crescent of beach below the castle, she slowed her steps and finally stopped, looking with pleasure out to sea. The sky above was clearing rapidly to a deep intense blue, and the breeze was whipping and chopping at the surface of the water, making it dance with a myriad of lights.
She sat down in the sand and stretched her wet feet out to dry.
The library windows overlooked the beach. The viscount stood looking down at the small figure far below on the beach which he knew was Jean Morrison by the splash of fiery red that was her hair.
He felt hot and sticky and gritty, for he had helped in some of the work. He had half a mind to go and join her, but at that moment Dredwort entered and announced he had callers and with a little sigh the viscount said he would change and then join them in the Green Saloon, which was next to the library and had just been painted and refurbished.
Jean, returning slowly from the beach a half hour later and planning to have that nap, was met by a footman who told her that Lord Hunterdon had callers and that she and the Misses Courtney were to present themselves in the Green Saloon.
She went quickly up to the twins’ bedchamber. They were having their hair braided by Betty and had already been changed into clean gowns. Jean went to her own room and washed and changed into one of her new gowns, brushed and arranged her curly red hair in one of the new Roman styles, and then, satisfied with her appearance, went to collect the twins.
A maid had told Jean that the callers were Lord and Lady Pemberton who had estates on the other side of St. Giles. Jean, entering the Green Saloon with the girls in front of her, realized at last her new position in the social pecking order. Her gown of India muslin, high-waisted, white with little gold corn ears embroidered all over it, she suddenly knew was too fashionable for a governess, as Lady Pemberton raised her quizzing glass and gave Jean a long, slow stare of disapproval. While the twins were introduced, Jean went quietly to a chair in the corner by the window and sat down demurely although her heart was racing. For Lady Pemberton had brought her daughters with her, pretty daughters, marriageable daughters. One, the elder, Letitia, aged nineteen, had dark brown glossy curls, a little pouting mouth, and a curvaceous figure. Her sister, Ann, aged eighteen, had chestnut hair, a thinner figure, and an air of glacial superiority. Lady Pemberton was a small, fussy woman, overdressed, overjeweled, overberibboned. Lord Pemberton was tall and thin and angular with a long, sad face and weak, watery gray eyes.
Letitia was flirting with the viscount, telling him that the whole county was dying to meet him, while sister Ann adopted an Attitude, one arm outstretched and the other to her brow. Jean wondered acidly what it was supposed to represent.
“Of course, we were not on calling terms with Mr. Courtney,” Lady Pemberton said, “and when he married a servant, well, enough said on that subject. We are gratified to have such an elegant member of the ton among us, Lord Hunterdon, and we are called to ask you to dine with us next week. A turtle dinner.”
“Good,”
Amanda said, finding her voice. “We like turtle.”
Lady Pemberton favored her with a wintry smile. “You are still too young, my child, to be out. Perhaps another time.”
“Ain’t you asking us?” Clarissa demanded.
“You really must get that governess of yours to correct your grammar.” Lady Pemberton gave a brittle laugh. “Now, Lord Hunterdon, I am sure you will favor us with your presence. We have a further incentive. We have a house guest. None other than your cousin, Mr. Devenham.”
“Mr. Devenham is really quite charming,” Letitia murmured, fluttering her eyelashes at the viscount while Ann changed to another Attitude, supporting her chin on the backs of her hands and staring nobly into space.
“How very kind of you to ask me,” the viscount said, “but could I possibly visit you at some later date? You will see from the upheaval in the grounds and in the house that I am in the midst of improvements.”
“Come, come, Hunterdon,” Lord Pemberton said. “We’re talking about dinner. Can’t carry on with work in the evening.”
“Oh, but I do,” the viscount said ruefully. “I work from dawn to dusk, I assure you. But I shall call on you quite soon.”
Lady Pemberton gave him a baffled look and then her eyes swung around to where Jean was sitting. Was that overfashionably dressed governess with the ridiculous color hair the reason for the viscount’s reluctance to accept invitations? It was well known he had already invited a Cyprian to his home, although he had quickly got rid of her.
“Miss … whatever your name is,” Lady Pemberton commanded, “come here. I wish to ask you a few questions.”
Jean obediently rose and crossed the room to stand in front of Lady Pemberton, who demanded, “What are your qualifications?”
The viscount’s voice was suddenly cold. “Are you intent on employing my governess?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Lady Pemberton said. “But I feel you gentlemen are not quite up to the mark when it comes to the employment of female servants. For example, her dress is quite unsuitable, and with hair that color she should be made to wear a cap.”
“As I said before, I have much to do,” the viscount said, “and must beg you to excuse me. Miss Morrison, take the Misses Courtney to the schoolroom, if you please.”
Jean was conscious of the glacial atmosphere as she shepherded the twins from the room.
“Old cat,” Amanda said loudly and viciously while she was still within hearing range of the guests.
“Silence!” Jean ordered. “I will talk to both of you upstairs.”
In the schoolroom she told them to take their places and then began. “I will tell you this privately—Lady Pemberton is a rude and overbearing woman. You will meet many such when you go into society, but you must learn how to deal with them. Lady Pemberton has two marriageable daughters and Lord Hunterdon must be regarded as a great catch. Had she been a clever woman, she would have included both of you in the invitation. On the other hand, there is no reason why she should, for you have both not yet been presented. You should not have made any comment at all, Amanda, but simply waited in silence. Had you not, then I have no doubt that Lord Hunterdon would have assumed you were both included in the invitation and he would have taken you along. If you are displeased with someone, polite silence can be an effective weapon. Now, there will be more callers and more parents, not just interested in Lord Hunterdon, but in the pair of you, perhaps with a view to securing you for their sons when you come of age. I have no doubt Lord Hunterdon has arranged or will arrange generous dowries for both of you. So in the future, when in doubt as to what to say, sit modestly quiet.”
Two pairs of small black eyes surveyed her. “What would you ha’ done,” Clarissa asked, “if Hunterdon hadn’t stepped in to shut her up?”
“As a governess and paid servant, I would have had to endure any questioning.”
“And what was that Ann creature about?” Amanda asked. “Grimacing and staring.”
“She was adopting Attitudes,” Jean said, repressing a smile.
“What’s an Attitude?”
“Well, it is a bit of play-acting designed to show some lady’s charms to the best advantage. For example, if a lady were on a balcony, she could grasp the edge and throw her head back. That would be Juliet after the departure of Romeo. This Attitude would be chosen if the lady had a long and white neck which she wished to show to advantage. It also shows the … er … shoulders in a flattering light.”
“Load o’ rubbish,” Amanda grumbled.
“It can be impressive if done with grace, and grace of movement is what you both lack. Firstly, if you do not sit up straight, I shall need to strap both of you into backboards. A lady’s back should never touch the back of the seat. We will start by walking around the room with books on our head. Remember, when walking, you should never look at your feet, nor should you look behind you when you sit down. A footman will always be there to place the chair correctly for you.”
While the twins began to pace up and down, occasionally tripping over their feet and giggling and colliding with each other, Jean thought of that visit. Lady Pemberton had been correct about one thing. She, Jean, was not wearing suitable dress for a governess.
So at dinner that evening she changed into her old gray gown. The viscount was usually silent during dinner, but he followed them through to the library afterward and Jean saw, with delight, that a new consignment of novels had arrived by the carrier.
Jean picked up the top book. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, a slim book, not like the other huge volumes of romance.
She settled down comfortably under the lamp and began to read. For once the viscount found himself listening to the words and becoming as engrossed in the tale as the rest.
She read on while the light faded outside and a scent of roses crept in through the open windows. At last she reluctantly closed the book, saying she would continue on the morrow, but sympathizing for once with the girls’ cries for more.
“A moment,” the viscount said as she was leaving the room. “Go ahead, Amanda and Clarissa. Miss Morrison will be with you shortly.”
Jean waited in some trepidation, wondering whether Lady Pemberton had encouraged him to get rid of her.
“I could not help noticing you were wearing one of your old gowns,” he said.
“Lady Pemberton was effective in reminding me of the unsuitability of my dress,” Jean said, but with a little spurt of gladness that he had actually had enough interest to notice what she was wearing.
“But you work for me, not Lady Pemberton, and there is no reason for you to be badly gowned. I think in the future it would be better to describe you as the girls’ companion. That will perhaps protect you from further impertinence.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
He looked up at her curiously as she stood before him. “You have a hard job,” he said. “Amanda and Clarissa are remarkably unlovable.”
“Oh, no, my lord. All they lack is grace and manners.”
“As you will. But if I were you, I would remember at all times that they tried to kill you.”
“A girlish prank!”
“I prefer still to think of it as a murderous attempt. Take care, Miss Morrison.”
Jean went slowly up the stairs. Poor Amanda and Clarissa, poor orphans, she thought. They have only me to love them, and I must do my best.
She sat down at the writing desk in her room and wrote a courteous letter to her aunt in Edinburgh, happy now to be able to describe her position as that of companion rather than governess. Her duty done, she went quietly to the twins’ bedchamber. Both were lying with their eyes closed, their un-braided hair tumbled over the pillows.
Poor things, thought Jean again, and she gently stooped over each girl and kissed her forehead.
Then she went outside and sat down on a chair a little way along the passage. If they woke up and tried to go out, she would catch them.
Inside the bedchamber Amanda nudged
Clarissa. “Are you awake?”
“’Course I’m awake,” Clarissa grumbled. “Did she slobber over you as well?”
“Yes. Nearly made me puke. Well, let’s get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”
As soon as they were dressed and ready, Amanda cautiously opened the door and then drew back sharply. “What’s amiss?” Clarissa demanded.
“She’s sitting out there—on guard.”
“What! The Scotch bitch?”
“The same.”
“Damn! How did the bloody whore find out we went out at night, and why didn’t she say anything?”
“Trying to trap us.”
“Wait a bit,” Clarissa said, “if she knew what we really were up to, there would be hell to pay. She wouldn’t keep a hanging matter to herself, now, would she?”
Amanda scowled horribly in concentration. “Betty said she was down on the beach this afternoon. Did we bury that chocolate box or didn’t we?”
“Did, right in the cave.”
“I know,” Amanda said, her face clearing. “She’s a bit soppy, ain’t she? We walk along and ask her sweetly what she’s a-doin’ of. Don’t she trust us and so forth.”
Jean was nearly asleep when she heard them approach. “Now, girls, what is this?” she demanded.
“I couldn’t sleep, miss,” Amanda said seriously, “and I planned to go down to the kitchens for some bread and butter. I put my head around the door and there you was. So I woke Clarissa and we came to find out.”
Jean looked at their serious faces, lit from underneath by the flame of the candle on the floor beside her chair. How odd, thought Jean inconsequently, that faces lit by candlelight from underneath always look sinister. She decided to tell the truth. “I assumed,” she said finally, “that the boxes of sweetmeats I found in your room were left over from a supply ordered for you by your father, for St. Giles does not sell anything so expensive. Was it you who left the empty box in the cave?”
“Yes,” Amanda said. “But we buried it.”
