The preacher smiled a sympathetic smile while beside him his scowling wife’s expression indicated she did not agree with her husband, even if she’d been silenced by him.
For Clifford Harker’s part, the preacher’s comment was no less painful than his wife’s had been. What kind of God, after all, rips an infant boy and then his mother from the bosom of their family, leaving love ones behind to grieve? He’d thought to ask this of the preacher on several occasions but knew such questions would be perceived as a lack of faith in God’s divine strategy for his life – a life he would willingly forfeit to escape the pain, did he not have other children depending on him.
“I am pleased that you have help now with the boys.” The reverend was still smiling his sympathetic smile. “But I am concerned that she may not be a Christian. Some of those country folk, you know, are not. You must bring her to the church, and soon, for the benefit of her soul.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course.” Clifford nodded.
“Then I shall see you there Sunday? With the boys and their new governess?”
Clifford said that he would and quickly excused himself to hand Barnaby Rose the list of items needed for his household. Eventually, when he was sure that Elspeth could handle herself, he would allow her to come do these menial tasks. But first he would have to make sure she was above repute and as much as he disdained the piety of the Habershams, he would see that his little governess attended services with him the next Sunday.
***
When Clifford Harker arrived home he found the boys in the parlor with Elspeth. It was a chilly day and she’d built a fire in the fireplace. The three of them sat in a chair before the blaze, looking at one of the books from the nursery. Unable to read, Elspeth was telling them the story as she translated them from the pictures. Neither boy seemed to mind.
Clifford stood there, undetected for some time, before speaking up.
“You can’t read.”
Elspeth looked up, startled.
“No,” she said. “Nor write. We weren’t taught.”
“That will be remedied,” he said. “I expect you to help me with the boys’ lessons when they are ready to learn. Tutors are in short supply here. So you must learn to both read and write.”
Elspeth looked down at the boys and handed the book to Harry. “Harry,” she said. “Will you and your brother return this to the shelf in your room and set up that adorable little set of wooden farm animals? I just thought of the most delightful game we can play with them.”
The boys clambered down from the chair and has he passed his father Harry looked at him apprehensively, as if wondering whether he’d be in trouble for sitting so cozily with Elspeth. His father looked back at him, his face unreadable.
When the boys were gone, Clifford Harker turned his attention to his servant. “You don’t want to learn?”
“No, I do,” she replied. “I do very much. I just worry that if I progress too slowly it will displease you. How can I learn to read and write well enough with enough speed to teach Harry, who is nearing school age?”
Clifford Harker gave a small smile. “I don’t think you have any cause for concern. An adult of reasonable intelligence can learn to read and write fairly quickly,” he replied. “And I have determined that you are…” He paused. “I’ve determined that you are above reasonable intelligence.”
It was the first compliment he had given her and Elspeth stood there, stunned. It was true that she listened to everything, to everyone and despite her illiteracy possessed a good imagination and a vocabulary to rival many learned people. But the idea of taking formal instruction under this man terrified her. But she knew better than to resist him.
“Very well,” she said quietly.
“There’s another matter we need to discuss.” He turned and shut the door of the parlor and then turned back to Elspeth.
“My household attends church services every Sunday - my entire household. Since you are now part of that household you will be expected to attend.”
Elspeth swallowed nervously as her mind flashed back to her encounter with Mrs. Habersham. She could not image hers and dozens of other pairs of prying, judgemental eyes assessing her every move.
“Sir,” she said. “Could I not just stay here and tend to the children? I am nervous among strangers…”
“You’re not Christian, are you?”
She looked at the floor. “There are no churches where I came from. The people deal with their gods in their own way in their homes.”
“So you haven’t even been baptized?”
She shook her head. Elspeth knew what baptism was, knew something of what the people of the Christian faith believed and was not opposed to it. But she was not eager to be forced to accept something completely that she didn’t fully understand.
“You will also study with Rev. Habersham as well,” he continued, to prepare you for baptism.
“But I am not sure if that is what I even want!” Elspeth said.
“It does not matter.” Clifford Harker’s tone grew cold. “I am master of this house and as my servant you must do as I say. That is one of the rules of the Bible. Consider this your first lesson.”
And he walked from the room, leaving Elspeth alone with her frustrations.
***
The boys were arguing about spiders. Colin had insisted he’d seen one in the rose bush outside the window, and Harry was insisting it was the wrong time of the year for them to be out.
Elspeth distracted them from their quarrel by asking if they’d like to help her tidy up the garden and the boys – always keen to be out of doors – forgot their squabble and ran for their coats.
She was glad to see them cooperate. Sunday was just two days away and she did not relish the thought of attending church services with the family. Her family in Ireland were not church-going folk, not because they rejected Christianity but because the rural area they lived in had difficulty keeping priests. Occasionally they had gone to Mass, but it felt foreign to rural folk who still believed in the power of myth and nature and who blamed fairies and spirits for ill or good fortune.
But back home no one judged anyone else because everyone knew everyone else and regardless of spiritual beliefs helped one another in times of need. This place seemed so different. Elspeth knew when she entered Clifford Harker’s church, she’d be instantly scrutinized by people who had already formed assumptions about her based on Mrs. Habersham’s gossip. Would he be ashamed of her? Would her Irish temper flare at hurtful comments or snide remarks?
And if she refused to go? Elspeth shuddered a bit as she remembered the stern punishments she’d been subjected to so far. Obedience – full obedience – was required, and she’d gotten the message.
“Elspeth?”
She turned to see Harry standing beside her and felt guilty for being so lost in her own thoughts.
“Yes, lad,” she said. “What is it?”
“You didn’t say anything to papa, did you? About our trip to the churchyard?”
She smiled and shook her head, reaching up to push a lock of hair from his forehead as she did. “No, lad. I did not.”
He looked down.
“Something’s bothering you,” she said.
He nodded.
“What?”
“We aren’t supposed to lie.” He looked up at her. “Papa says it all the time. Lying is a sin and to lie is to betray someone’s trust.”
She took his hands. “Have you lied to someone?”
The child scrunched up his face, as if thinking. “I don’t think so. Papa hasn’t asked me if I’ve gone to the churchyard to see mama, but is going and not telling him the same thing?”
The question gave Elspeth pause. She did not want to encourage the child to hide things from his father, but at the same time she believed Clifford Harker was wrong to forbid his sons from going to the churchyard to visit the graves of their mother and brother.
“If he asks, you should not lie, Harry,” she said.
“But if he does not ask then you are doing nothing wrong.”
“But he told us not to go,” he said.
Elspeth bit her lip. “But your father put me in your charge and I said you could.”
He shook his head. “No you didn’t,” he argued. “I ran ahead of you and Colin. I didn’t ask your permission.”
Elspeth could see the child was conflicted by what he was done and her heart went out to him. He tried so hard to please his father, and she could relate.
“No, you didn’t. But Colin told me that you weren’t supposed to go and even after I found you there I let you stay and visit. You remember that, don’t you?”
He nodded and sniffed.
“So the fault is not yours, Harry. It is mine. And as I told you before if this is found out then I shall take full responsibility because I see no fault in your visiting your mother.” She reached out and put her hands on his arms, squeezing him till he looked into her eyes.
“However,” she said. “If you do something you know in your heart is willful and wrong I will not take responsibility in your stead. You know that, right?”
He nodded.
“Good,” she said. “Because while we are often taught that goodness and strength come from somewhere else, they come from here.” She tapped his small chest. “From within. Within each of us is a little voice that tells us when we are right and when we are wrong.”
“Is it God?”
She smiled. “Some believe it is and some believe it isn’t. It is not for me to tell you what I believe, but only to encourage you to listen for the voice and heed is warnings. Do not lie to yourself or pretend not to hear it, for that will only lead you into misery.”
“Thank you, Elspeth,” he said, and moved as if to hug her. But almost as quickly he stopped and pulled away. She let him.
“You’re welcome, Harry,” she said quietly. “You’re always welcome.”
***
Sunday morning brought with it the first frost. Elspeth as up early, standing at the kitchen window with a cup of tea as she watched the morning sun glint off the crystal covering left on the dormant rosebushes outside. She and the boys had been working in the garden as often as weather would allow, clearing away dried, dead weeds in preparation for spring.
She’d also been making small, slow changes inside. When the boys were napping Elspeth would scrub the windows to let in more light. The drapes were left open more, now, and she made autumnal arrangements from wheat, berries and dried lotus pods to put on the table in the front hall. She worried that the homey touches would be criticized by the Master. But they had not been. At first she thought it was perhaps because he did not notice. But one day she caught him looking at one of her arrangements and inspecting the window and knew he had indeed taken note of what she’d done. His silent appraisal was – in her mind – permission to do more.
Elspeth closed her eyes and fantasized that the boys and their father would come downstairs, and he would announce that she did not have to go to church after all. And she’d enjoy the solitude to take a walk and collect some pussy willows or other interesting plants to adorn the dining room table. Perhaps she’d cook a roast or a goose while they were gone. But the sound of Harker stirring upstairs ended her daydream and brought her back to her sobering reality.
A few moments later, he appeared in the kitchen.
“The boys are still abed?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, moving to put a pot on the stove. “I was about to make some breakfast for them.”
“Make it a substantial one,” he said. “I’ll not have them squirming midway through the service. Breakfast needs to last until after the service. We’ll be taking lunch there afterwards. Do you have any of that bread left of a kind you made yesterday?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Then wrap it up to bring.” He stood there looking at her for a moment. “What are you going to wear?”
She’d already thought about this. She had one good dress, a green linen frock that her mother made for her. It was decent, with a little brown collar and brown trim.
“I’ll wear my best,” she said.
“Bring it to me for inspection,” he said.
She faltered. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.” His tone brooked no disobedience. Elspeth made for the stairs, her face burning with humiliation. She as an adult. She could dress herself. And besides, what should it matter to God what she wore?
She fetched the dress from the trunk and returned. Holding her breath, she presented the dress to him. He took it and held it up by the collar before handing it back.
“It won’t do,” he said.
“It’s my best dress,” she said, trying to keep the hurt from her voice.
“Perhaps when in the company of your family, but you’re in the company of my family now Elspeth. As I said, it won’t do.”
She stood holding the dress, looking down at it. She could feel her Irish temper awaken and uncoil itself like a little cat that had been curled up and waiting, waiting.
“I don’t have another,” she said. “It will have to do.”
He looked at her with annoyance. “My wife left plenty of dresses behind. I will pick one of those.”
“No.” The word was out before she could stop it, and more followed before she could check them. “You tell me not to try and replace your wife, sir, and then you try and dress me in her things? That will not do.”
Her eyes flashed with determination and Clifford Harker looked at her in disbelief.
“Tell me, Elspeth,” he said. “Do you enjoy being lashed?”
She shook her head. “You know I do not?”
“I’m beginning to wonder,” he replied, taking a step towards her. “Why else would you defy me?”
“I defy you when you ask me to do something that is unfair,” she said, trying not to show her fear as he began to roll up his sleeves.
When he said nothing, she continued. “What should your good Christian friends care how I dress? Am I not going to commune with their God after all? Or are they so shallow that they put material adornment before faith?”
She didn’t pull away when he took hold of her. She knew it would do no good.
“Is this how you intend to greet the congregation this morn, Elspeth? With arrogance and disdain? Will you lord your heathen demeanor over them, as if it were a badge of honor?”
He was squeezing her arm now, his voice and eyes full of angry mockery. She returned his glare.
“I will only do as you ask,” she said evenly, although her heart was pounding wildly. “I will remember my place, and not try to pretend to be something other than what I am.”
Their eyes remained locked for a moment more, until the sound of small footfalls could be heard coming down the stairs. Both looked away before looking back at one another.
“Very well,” he said. “But remember, Elspeth. While you may be clever, it won’t always save you from correction. Do you understand?”
She nodded, but a smirk played on the corner of her mouth.
“Well you should,” he said. “Well you should.”
He released her arm then, and she stepped away. The boys were running towards the kitchen now.
“One more thing,” he said before they entered. “You will wear a dress that I pick for you, whether you like it or not.”
And then the boys were in the room, and it was too late for her to react to having been defeated – again - by her Master’s will.
Chapter Six
As Clifford opened his late wife’s wardrobe, he found himself regretting his latest attempt to demonstrate his authority to Elspeth. He’s expected her to balk when he told her he’d pick something for her to wear, but had not counted on the flood of emotions he’d feel when he actually had to do it.
It had been many months since he’d opened Caroline’s wardrobe, and when he did the subtle scent that clung to her clothing hit him like a hammer. For a moment, he tried to hold his breath as he
sought to untwist his heart from the pain of memories that rushed back at him like a flood unleashed by a smell.
He finally exhaled painfully, the colors of her clothing swimming before him in a haze of tears he rapidly blinked back. But the knot in his throat remained as he gazed at each dress, unable to stop himself from associating them from the moments he’d last seen her wear them. There was the pale linen frock she’d worn on their last picnic together. The blue silk gown she’d been wearing the first time they’d met; after three sons she could still fit into it, and he’d find her trying it on from time to time in front of the looking glass, spinning happily as she asked, “Do you remember how we danced?” There was the light blue frock she wore for everyday tasks; how many times had he seen her sitting on the floor amid the skirt’s sea of pale fabric, the boys sitting on it like a blanket. Her wedding dress was there, too. After their third son she’d commented that their next child would have to be a daughter so there would be someone to wear it, all the time unaware that she was holding her own son, that both of them would depart the world sooner than anyone thought.
Clifford felt a sense of panic. How could he don a simple serving girl in any of these beautiful memories? His eyes wandered to the empty space and he remembered now the day he’d had to pick the last dress she would ever wear. He’d picked the yellow one, although he knew the women who prepared Caroline’s body would disapprove. But once, when the weather was stormy, she’d come downstairs wearing it and commented that the dress always made her feel sunny. And he wanted to give her that, even if she wasn’t entirely sure that her spirit was truly around to appreciate the gesture.
For Clifford tried to adhere to the teachings of church that told him the soul was immortal, that the godly ones would continue to live on in the bosom of Christ, forever watching over their loved ones. But try as he might, he could never feel Caroline. If she were there, reaching out to him, the curtain of his own grief was too thick for his beloved wife to reach through.
Looking away, he pulled forth the light blue dress, deciding if it were good enough for Caroline’s every day wear then it would be sufficient for a governess to wear to church.
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