by M C Beaton
“Miss Trumble did not seem anxious to move, so the children are to be taken there every day. A comfortable arrangement. In fact, it was one of the Beverley girls, Rachel, who brought their plight to my attention.”
“You became quickly on calling terms with the Beverleys.”
“It was by accident. I found Miss Rachel rowing my children about the lake.”
“At Mannerling?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But she was not there by invitation?”
“No, but Mannerling is her former home, so I could not really chastise her for trespass.”
“I have something I must tell you,” said Lady Evans. “The daughter of friends of mine, Prudence Makepeace, was here on a visit. I had hoped to make a match of it for her with Lord Burfield, but he was tricked and ensnared by Abigail Beverley in a most degrading way.”
“You fascinate me. Go on.”
“Abigail is the twin of Rachel. Rachel was to marry Harry Devers, son of the previous owners of Mannerling. She took fright, and on the day of the wedding Abigail, who looks much like her, took her twin’s place. But on her wedding night she took fright as well—or so she says—and ran away from him and was found in Lord Burfield’s bed. The scandal! Of course he had to marry her after that, which was more than any of those penurious, grasping Beverleys deserves. Miss Trumble is all that is excellent, but I want you to be on your guard against the Beverleys. They have but one aim in life—to reclaim Mannerling, and they do not care how low they stoop to do it.”
“They are all too young for me,” said Charles mildly.
“They are serpents all, and your years will not protect you from their wiles.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the general. “Perhaps it would be better to make other arrangements for Beth and Mark.”
Charles Blackwood sat silent, his thin black brows drawn down. Then he said, “If this Miss Trumble is such a precious pearl, such a lady, such an estimable governess, then what is she doing with this wicked family of Beverleys?”
“She is fallen on hard times, obviously, and must earn her bread somewhere.”
“But with a powerful patroness such as yourself, she could surely find a better position.”
“More tea, General?” Lady Evans refilled his cup. “Ah well, truth to tell, she does seem unfortunately attached to them. Perhaps she feels if she abandoned them they might end up on the streets.”
Charles’s face darkened. “I feel you go too far, Lady Evans. From what I have seen of the Beverley sisters, they appear high-spirited but I would not describe them as sluts.”
“Let us talk about something else,” said Lady Evans. “The subject depresses me. So how goes the world, General?”
The general talked about mutual friends and after a while he and his son rose to take their leave.
“So what did you think of all that, my boy?” demanded the general as their carriage rolled out through the gates of Hursley Park.
“About the Beverley girls? I do not know. But it is very simple to clear up the matter. I will ask Miss Trumble.”
“What! The governess? Remember your position, Charles.”
“You will come with me as well. Miss Trumble is not in the common way.”
When they approached Brookfield House, they could hear sounds of laughter from the garden. As they drew nearer, they saw the Beverley sisters and Mark and Beth playing a noisy game of blindman’s buff in the garden. Little Beth had a scarf over her eyes and was tottering this way and that, trying to catch one of them.
Charles felt a stab of conscience. He realized he could not remember the last time he had heard his children laugh. He dismounted from the carriage and scooped Beth up into his arms. He removed the blindfold and she cried, “Papa!” and threw her chubby arms about his neck.
“Enjoying your studies?” he asked, seeing Miss Trumble rise from a chair at the corner of the lawn and walk towards them.
“Oh, Papa, we are having such larks,” said Beth.
He set her down on her feet. “Then run along and have more larks. I wish to talk to Miss Trumble. A word with you in private, if you please, Miss Trumble.”
She curtsied and led the way back into the house. When they were in the parlour, Charles introduced his father.
The general surveyed this governess curiously. Although he judged her to be as old as he was himself, she carried herself with a sort of youthful grace. The brown curls under her lace cap did not show any signs of grey and her eyes in her lined face were large and sparkling.
“We have been on a call to Lady Evans,” began Charles, after they were seated.
“How does Lady Evans go on?”
“Very well, Miss Trumble, and desirous of a call from you.”
“It would hardly be fitting,” said Miss Trumble equably, “for a woman in my position to call on Lady Evans.”
“Lady Evans appeared to think very highly of you.”
She bowed her head.
“Warned us against those Beverley girls,” put in the general bluntly.
“Oh, dear. Lady Evans has reason. She was desirous to make a marriage between a young lady, a Prudence Makepeace, and Lord Burfield, but Lord Burfield married Abigail Beverley.”
“This is awkward,” said Charles. “But Lady Evans did alarm us by telling us about how that proposal was brought about.”
“Did she also tell you that Lord Burfield was and is deeply in love with Abigail? No, I thought not. Sirs, you must have heard the scandal. Prudence Makepeace had to flee the country after conspiring with Harry Devers to abduct Abigail on the day of her wedding to Lord Burfield.”
“We must have been abroad at the time,” said Charles.
“You were also not told,” went on Miss Trumble, “that burning ambition to reclaim Mannerling was at the root of the Beverleys’ schemes. They no longer harbour such ambitions. But do you blame them?”
“Well, yes,” said the general, amazed. “Very unwomanly.”
“Exactly. Had they been men, you would have found their ambition laudable. Think on it, gentlemen. How many men do you know in society who have married heiresses to save their estates and not one breath of scandal sticks to their name? You must not be anxious. There will be nothing in their behaviour to alarm you. I promise you that. If, on the other hand, you do not trust me, then you must take your children away.”
A burst of happy laughter sounded from the garden.
“No,” said Charles slowly. “I am too old for any of the Beverleys in any case. Is Lady Beverley not at home?”
“My mistress is indisposed. Lady Beverley is often indisposed.”
“I was going to invite the Beverleys to Mannerling, but if Lady Beverley is unwell…”
A gleam of mischief shone in the governess’s eyes. “Should you issue such an invitation, then it would go a long way to restoring her ladyship to health.”
Charles smiled. “Shall we say tomorrow? You could all come to Mannerling in the carriage with the children.”
“I am sure they will accept. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I shall go to see if Lady Beverley considers herself fit.”
“Fine lady, that,” said the general when the door closed behind Miss Trumble.
“Very fine,” agreed his son. “Too fine to be a governess. Miss Trumble has the air of a duchess.”
“And what must we think of the girls now?”
“Harmless. Only dangerous if my heart was in danger, and you alone know that is hardly ever to be the case again.”
“Poor Sarah,” said the general. Sarah was the late Mrs. Blackwood. “She seemed such a merry little thing.”
“Too merry to confine her attentions to her husband,” said Charles harshly.
“Well, well, I always did have a soft spot for little Sarah. And she is dead now. Water under the bridge.”
Charles reflected that “water under the bridge” was too trite a phrase to describe his fury and heartache when he found his wife had been unfaithful to him
with the first footman.
“Shh,” he admonished. “I hear our governess returning.” Both men stood up.
Miss Trumble entered and said demurely that Lady Beverley thanked them for their invitation and would be pleased to attend.
“Restored to health, hey?” demanded the general with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, yes, your kind invitation was very beneficial.”
“I say,” said the general as they moved to the door, “come as well.”
Miss Trumble curtsied with grace. “You are too kind.”
“There now,” said the general in high good humour, “got to keep my grandchildren in line, what?”
Miss Trumble smiled and led the way out to the garden.
Charles paused for a moment on the threshold. Rachel was throwing a ball to Mark. Her fair hair gleamed in the sunlight. It had escaped from its pins and was tumbling about her shoulders. Her face was pink and her large blue eyes shone with laughter. He felt a tug at his heart and then gave a rueful smile. He hoped he was not going to start lusting after young girls at his age!
The next day Miss Trumble found herself left to school and entertain the Blackwood children on her own. The Beverley sisters were preparing for their visit to Mannerling. It saddened her that they should betray so much hectic excitement. Would that wretched house which appeared to have a malignant life of its own ever let them go?
Now that Mark and Beth were at ease with her after their first day of drawing and games, she began formal lessons, enjoying the quick intelligence they showed.
“You have done very well,” she said at last. “Now I will read you a story.”
“Not one with ghosts in it,” said Mark.
“No ghosts. You are not afraid of ghosts, are you, Mark?”
His expressive little face turned a trifle pale, and he nodded.
“Come here and sit by me. You have seen a ghost?”
Again that little nod.
“At Mannerling?”
His small hand slid into hers for comfort. He gulped and nodded again.
“And what did this ghost look like?” Miss Trumble never jeered at the fears of children.
“Foxy,” whispered Mark. “Sandy hair and green eyes.”
Miss Trumble felt cold. Judd had looked like that. “There is a picture of a man in the Long Gallery who looks like that.”
“He was in my room,” said Mark in a low voice.
Miss Trumble’s gaze sharpened. “Do you mean he was clear, like a real person?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Have you told your father of this?”
“No, miss, I have not been in the way of talking to him.”
“I think we both should say something. Now, I will read you a story about pirates.”
His face brightened and he went to sit beside his sister again. As Miss Trumble read the words of the story, her mind raced. She remembered her own fear when that chandelier on which Judd had hanged himself had started to revolve slowly, just as if there were a body hanging from it, and there had been no wind that day. And yet a real-life ghost that this little boy had been able to see and to describe! She could not believe it.
She finished reading, promising to read more the following day, and sent the children out to play in the garden. Then she went in search of Barry Wort.
“Such excitement,” said Barry, tossing a bunch of weeds into a wheelbarrow. “You would think they had Mannerling back again, the way they are going on.”
“I am beginning to regret not moving to Mannerling to look after those children.”
“You, miss? You would never desert us!”
“It is tempting. Let me tell you. The boy, Mark, swears he has seen the ghost of Judd.”
“Could it be, miss, because the boy was frightened and unhappy with that governess? Children do be very fanciful.”
“No, Barry, I do not think it is fancy in this case. If he had talked of a spectral figure or anything that sounded like a Gothic romance, I would have put it down to imagination. But he saw a real figure. Do you think perhaps that someone is playing a nasty trick on him?”
“With your permission, miss, and that of Mr. Blackwood, I would suggest that maybe I spend a few nights with the boy, on guard, so to speak.”
Miss Trumble smiled. “What would I do without you?” Barry coloured with pleasure. “You are always so sensible. I will discuss the matter with Mr. Blackwood.”
Two carriages from Mannerling arrived. Miss Trumble and the children went in the smaller one and Lady Beverley and her daughters in the larger. Lady Beverley was showing no signs of illness and was dressed in a modish gown of blue silk with darker-blue velvet stripes and a bonnet embellished with dyed ostrich plumes. Rachel noticed that her mother had adopted the haughty, grand manner she had shown when she was mistress of Mannerling and wondered uneasily if Lady Beverley considered Charles Blackwood as a possible husband for one of her daughters.
Rachel was wearing a blue muslin gown which matched the colour of her eyes. It was high-waisted and puff-sleeved and had three deep flounces at the hem. But she considered that Belinda with her black curls and pink gown looked prettier and wondered whether Belinda really meant to set her cap at Charles Blackwood and in the same moment persuaded herself she did not care.
Soon they arrived at the tall iron gates of Mannerling. The lodge-keeper sprang to open them. He was a new face to the Beverleys. Lady Beverley insisted on telling the carriage to stop while she lowered the glass and quizzed the lodge-keeper in a high autocratic voice as to whether he was happy in his new employ. Rachel’s heart sank. She privately hoped this would turn out to be the first of many visits, but if Lady Beverley started ordering around the Mannerling servants and criticizing any changes to the house, as she had done in the past, then Rachel feared this might prove to be their first and last visit.
She felt a tug at her heart as the great house came into view, its graceful wings springing out, as they had always done, from the central block of warm stone.
Then down from the carriage and into the hall, where the great chandelier glittered above their heads, and up the double staircase behind the stiff back of a correct butler.
“Remember your place, Miss Trumble,” hissed Lady Beverley, “and sit in a corner of the room.”
Miss Trumble smiled vaguely but made no reply.
The general and his son rose at their entrance. Rachel was struck afresh by how handsome Charles looked with his black hair and odd green eyes. His legs were superb. She suddenly blushed as if he could read her naughty thoughts.
Miss Trumble curtsied and moved to a chair by the window.
“Miss Trumble,” cried the general. “‘Pon rep, you must not hide yourself. Come and sit by me.” He patted the cushion on the sofa beside him.
Lady Beverley’s pale eyes shone with an unlovely light but she refrained from saying anything.
“So what do you think of the place, hey?” the general asked Miss Trumble. “Many changes since your day?”
Lady Beverley found her voice. “Miss Trumble was never at Mannerling,” she said. “She came to us after The Fall.” By this she somehow implied that Miss Trumble was part of the Beverleys’ loss of fortune and face.
“The Fall?” asked the general curiously.
“We were once one of the most powerful families in the land,” said Lady Beverley. “My poor husband incurred debts and so we were driven from Mannerling, from our rightful home.” She took a wisp of handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
There followed an awkward silence. Then Belinda said brightly and loudly, “I see the pianoforte there and Lizzie has come along in her studies. Do play us something, Lizzie.”
Lizzie rose obediently, having been schooled by Miss Trumble that when asked to play, she should do so without forcing anyone to persuade her.
Soon Lizzie’s fingers were rippling expertly over the keys. When she had finished playing a brisk rondo, the general begged her to play the tune of a popular ballad. Mis
s Trumble’s end of the sofa where she was seated was next to Charles Blackwood’s armchair. She leaned forward and said gently, “I would like a word with you in private, sir.”
“Gladly. Come with me.” They both rose and, under the curious eyes of the others, left the room together. He led her into the small drawing-room, used by the Beverley sisters on rainy days when Mannerling had been their home.
“Now what is this all about?” he asked.
“I am worried about Mark.”
“What’s amiss? Is he slow to learn?”
“Not at all. He has a quick intelligence.”
“Then what can it be?”
“He has seen a ghost—a ghost at Mannerling.”
“I hope I have not been mistaken in you, Miss Trumble,” said Charles gravely. “All children usually have such fancies, and they should not be encouraged in indulging them.”
“I am not in the way of indulging children’s fancies,” said Miss Trumble so sharply and with such an air of hauteur that Charles immediately felt like a naughty child himself.
“Forgive me. Explain.”
“Mark has given me a graphic description of Mr. Judd, one of the previous owners who hanged himself. He claims to have seen him. Had I really believed he had seen a ghost, or rather, had I thought that the boy thought he had really seen a ghost, I would have done all in my power to reassure him and to talk him out of his fancies. The thing that troubles me is that I have an uneasy feeling that Mark may have seen a real person.”
He looked at her in amazement and then said, “But why? Why would anyone try to frighten a child? We have no enemies.”
“I really do not know. I may be wrong. But to make sure, our odd man, Barry Wort, has offered to guard the boy’s room. He is a strong and honest man. He is not of the Mannerling staff. With your permission, I will smuggle him up the back stairs this evening. I told him to call.”
“Very well.” He looked at her doubtfully. “And how long is this experiment to go on?”
“A few nights, that is all.”
“I will have a truckle-bed set up in Mark’s room.”
“Not by your servants,” said Miss Trumble quickly.
