Grudgingly, he accepted her plans after some compromising. Today, they were talking about the French Revolution, which Thomas firmly said he knew all about, yet he quickly sat back to listen to her.
Mr. Balog appeared at the door and interrupted, handing her a note. She hadn't expected a note and wondered if the count was relaying directions for her, but it wasn't from the count. It was from Professor Szousa, inviting her to tea that afternoon.
"Yes, we'll go to the village," Thomas said excitedly, “but be wary, the villagers are all monsters."
"What a thing to say, Thomas."
He got up and jumped around. "They stare and they gnash their teeth, and they have nasty little children."
"Thomas!" Estelle said, shocked. "It is not nice to say such things about people, even those that are different from you. Every person has their beauty and grace."
"You haven't met them," he accused.
Actually, she had and they had been less than cordial. Still, saying such things was not right. But children rarely had such opinions in isolation, which made Estelle wonder if there was animosity between the Drezasse household and the village in their shadow. Again, she half expected there was some kind of feudal relationship between the two groups. "Even still, every person deserves their dignity, even if they are not always cordial in return."
Thomas huffed. "The professor gets on with them. He can speak in their language."
Estelle's eyebrows rose in surprise. They didn't speak the same language? She had naturally assumed they did because they were from the same region. Hungarian was a language in its own right. From her quick study, she'd learned the whole country spoke the same language, but Thomas suggested otherwise.
*
It took some convincing to assure Balog that she could sufficiently manage the driving of a chaise. She had, after all, done most of the driving during her father's later years. Over her dead body would she agree to walking everywhere, particularly if she wanted to visit what was effectively her only acquaintance. Reluctantly, and with Thomas' interpretation, did he agree to let her use it.
Thomas rode beside her on his pony. He was very well seated and had likely spent hours in the saddle on the small horse.
Slightly nervous, she set off, knowing the road down to the village was steep in places, and she felt another shiver up her spine as she crossed the gate bridge where the countess had fallen down the steep ravine. She tried not to think about it, or what the woman must have felt falling such a distance.
Shaking herself, Estelle dismissed the thought, trying to get excited about the idea that she was about to have her first visit. Thomas had assured her he knew where the professor lived.
It took some time, but they reached the village and again anyone they passed either turned their back or stared with hard eyes as they drove past. One even spat as she passed. Granted, the villagers were not friendly.
Turning off a smaller road, Thomas led her to a lovely wooden house with two stories. Verandas ran along the length of both stories, planted with climbing roses. It almost looked like a storybook house, one she would love to live in if she were ever so lucky as to have her own cottage. This was definitely not a typical English cottage, but it was lovely in its exoticness.
The professor walked out of the house without his jacket and welcomed them. Estelle smiled at the grumpy looking cook, who stood at the entrance to the kitchen, while Estelle was led to the parlor. The inside of the cottage was just as lovely, with papered walls and wooden floors. A tiled fireplace stood in the corner of the parlor and it was warm inside. "Welcome," the professor repeated.
"Now, Thomas, why don't you run along and play with some of the village children. I'm sure it has been a while since they've seen you."
Thomas' eyes narrowed for a bit, but he did as he was told, disappearing out the door.
"Please, have some tea," the professor said, showing her to a table with an embroidered tablecloth. Everything in his house was cheery, except the surly cook, who delivered a tray and retreated.
"I adore this cottage," she said.
"It is a gem. This style is common in this region. Very picturesque and reassuringly comfortable for a simple country abode. It is good of you to come all this way."
"No bother at all. It's a delight to get out for a while. The weather has been positively containing."
"The weather is harsh in this area this time of year. It gets worse when the snow comes."
Estelle couldn't readily imagine the whole valley covered in snow. "No doubt, it is stunningly beautiful."
“Natural beauty is in abundance.” He poured tea out of one of the tall teapots they preferred here. It was steaming hot. "I have brewed it a little milder for your taste."
"Thank you," she said, pleasantly surprised.
Taking his own cup, he sat back and relaxed. "It is, of course, a pleasure to have company."
"Absolutely. Tell me, professor, Thomas told me the other day that there was difficulty for him in speaking to the people here in the village. I thought all spoke Hungarian."
"Yes, but the isolated nature of this area means their dialect has not evolved much from what used to be the old Hungarian. Unless you are familiar with it, it is hard to understand."
Estelle thought it odd as Thomas had grown up here. It had to mean he hadn't played so often with the children here. It made her sad to think how lonely he must have been. "The village and the house are perhaps not very close," she suggested.
"The count has little time for the people here," the professor said dismissively. "He is often gone, so it is perhaps not surprising that they do not know each other well. The aristocrats always stick with their own society, I find. I am sure it is very similar where you come from."
"That is true, but neighbors do understand each other."
"People underestimate how important language is—the barrier it provides when communication isn't free."
"I think you are right, professor."
"But you should not concern yourself of such things. The count is depending on you to prepare Thomas for where he needs to go next and I am sure you are doing an admiral job."
"He is a lovely boy to guide. Quite the intrepid explorer."
"That boy lives in his dreams most of the time. But I find that boys who lose their mothers young do tend to grow up a bit wild. I, myself, beseeched the count that the boy needed the guidance of a female's hand before it was too late. I am glad that the count followed my advice."
The purpose for why the count had hired a governess over a teaching master made sense now. "Well, I hope I will have the desired effect."
"I am sure you will. It was such a shame about the countess. Before my time, of course."
Estelle didn't know what to say. The woman’s fate was too horrific for words.
"I understand she was quite a beauty, but they say the count never warmed to her," the professor said pityingly.
"Excuse me?" Estelle said.
"Nothing," the professor said, clapping her lightly on the hand with his fingers. "Tragedies of times gone past."
Estelle didn't understand. What did he mean the count didn't warm to her? Why would he mention that, as if some heavy burden weighed on his shoulders?
"Thomas suffers the most, of course," the professor continued, "but we must all do what we can for him, despite his father's harsh nature."
Harsh was perhaps a good word to describe the count. The little she'd seen of him, he hadn't seemed light and amenable in any way. Estelle could see him being harsh, but there was more that bothered her about what the professor had just said—or eluded to, more like.
There was no way, she could bring up such a delicate topic. If the relationship between the count and countess was poor, perhaps her fall had not been an accident as Thomas had said. A child would never understand melancholy in a parent that could lead to someone ending their existence. But this was all conjecture. Then again, who falls off a bridge naturally, a spiteful voice in her mind
said. A coldness washed through her and for a moment, her tea cup rattled in its saucer before she put it down. The countess must have been a very unhappy woman.
Chapter 8:
* * *
Estelle woke with the uncomfortable feeling that had developed the previous day. There was tragedy in this house and she felt it now like cloying treacle. If what the professor had said was true and it had not been a good marriage between the count and the countess, then Thomas was the one who suffered most from her demise.
She felt such sympathy for him, having lost her own mother. At the time, her father had done the very best he could to comfort her, performing the role of both father and mother. Thomas, on the other hand, had an absent father and seemingly very few friends to distract him. It must have been awful for the boy. No wonder he'd embraced the calling of an explorer—eager to escape the heavy atmosphere of the house.
The professor's other statement reverberated as well, that she had been engaged to provide a feminine guiding hand for the boy. It was a responsibility she felt heavily, particularly now, but she didn't quite know what that entailed. Education was normally her focus, but perhaps she should do more. She just didn't know what. Least of all any of the things mothers provided to their children. Then again, she knew what children missed with absent mothers.
With this new knowledge, she didn’t quite know how to proceed. She had the day's lesson planned, but now questioned what her actual purpose was.
Standing by the window, she looked down on the river below, hoping the scenery might give her some answers, but it was mute. She had to get on with the day.
After dressing, she walked downstairs to the dining hall, where Thomas was already waiting. "How are you today?" she asked, approaching as he sat at the table.
"Fine," he said, looking slightly bored as he ate.
"How about today we continue to talk about the family history?"
"Alright," he said, seeming a little brighter. "But this afternoon, Master Nemes is coming. He is the fencing master."
"Of course," she said, having had no notion of this. There were communication issues in this house, she conceded. Things were not necessarily told to her and she found out as they happened. And a fencing master, that was unusual. Her charges were rarely taught sword skills, it being seen as something very old-fashioned. But things were different here, apparently. Sword skills were still appreciated for some reason she couldn't exactly discern. There was never any call for sword skills these days, since the decline of dueling. Did gentlemen in these parts still duel? How strange and even barbaric if that were true. "Will Master Nemes be staying here long?"
"He usually stays a few days."
"Does your father know fencing as well?"
"Of course. Master Nemes taught him when he was my age."
"I see." Each day, she came across strange customs, the things that were different from what she was used to. In some way, life here was a little more tied to the past compared to the things that had been let go of in England. "Well, then, we shall only have a little time for our lessons today."
"And probably little over the next few days. Master Nemes is only here for a short while."
Estelle wasn't perhaps pleased to hear that, but if that was what the count wanted, she couldn't very well say no.
She only got to spend a couple of hours with Thomas in the schoolroom today, before they were interrupted by Master Nemes' arrival. Excitedly, Thomas ran out of the room. He'd obviously been looking forward to this, and Estelle couldn't begrudge him time with what was obviously one of his favorite teachers.
It left her with precious little to do over the next few days, until Master Nemes was gone again.
The boy and the fencing master were already out of the door by the time she went down to the entrance hall, but she would be introduced at supper if not before. In the meantime, she had to find something to occupy herself. She perused the portraits for a while, then made her way to the library. Where Thomas and his fencing master had gone, she had no idea. There were no sounds she could hear that suggested.
Looking over the library, she saw books in all sorts of languages. A few were in English, but none of the titles particularly called to her. There was a book on the Roman Empire which she might read, but there was no urgency. Slowly, she meandered over to the conservatory, with its soaring glass walls and ceiling. The plants there were unattended as well and had wilted into twisted and shriveled messes. A few ferns were still alive and she filled the watering can she found along the back part and watered whatever plants had still not given up the fight.
Perhaps like the roses, these plants had been unattended since the countess’s death. It was a shame. It was such a beautiful space. The pale sun didn't do much to warm this morning, but perhaps in the afternoon, this would be a warm place to sit and read.
The noise of the door opening behind her startled her. She hadn't expected anyone would be there. Turning, she saw the count standing by one of the many bookshelves, running his forefinger across the spines, before making space to deposit the book in his hand.
Estelle didn't know what to do with herself. She wasn't exactly hidden and would be found skulking if he'd only turn his head. She cleared her throat, and the count's movement stopped before he turned his gaze toward her.
"Miss Winstone," he said in a surprised voice.
She smiled, but it was more of an uncertain grimace. "I am sorry to intrude. I was told no one uses the library."
His gaze held her pinned for a moment before he answered. "Not entirely unused."
"I'm sorry. I am intruding."
"You live here now, so the library is at your disposal."
"The fencing master has arrived, it seems," she said. She didn't want it to appear that she was remiss in her duties, ignoring her charge while gallivanting around the library. Placing the watering can down, she took a step closer. His eyes didn't leave her. It seemed strange to have a conversation with so much space between them.
"So I understand."
He turned to face her now, dressed a little less formally without his jacket. His pants and waist coat were black, a color he seemed to prefer in most things.
"This is a very impressive library," she said once she got within the most stretched speaking limit. "The conservatory is stunning, if perhaps its contents are a little… overlooked."
"I do not have time to nurse plants," he said.
"Of course," she said, twisting her hands together. He made her uncomfortable. There was no denying that; although she wasn't entirely sure why. He made to move away. This was the only time she’d had a chance to speak to him, and since he was rarely here, there might not be many others. "I was wondering if there was perhaps anything specific you wished me to teach Thomas."
Silently, he considered her for a moment. "Is there anything specific you feel he is lacking?"
The question surprised her. "No, he seems a curious little boy. Very proud of his family history. Perhaps a little lonely."
"He will be less so when he goes to school."
But not the father, an unbidden thought snuck into her head. She blushed. Had he truly never warmed to his wife as the professor had asserted? In a desolate place like this, one had to be close to someone, didn't one? Perhaps that was why he spent time away from here. For all she knew, he might have a mistress somewhere. "I just thought… "
"I am sure you are doing a sufficiently adequate job," he said and nodded before leaving.
That hadn't been friendly, but it hadn't been unfriendly either. She watched as he walked out the door without looking back. On some level, that had felt like a stunted conversation, but she wasn't entirely sure that was her fault. She was a little surprised he hadn't wanted to discuss his son's education in more detail, but as the professor asserted, perhaps she wasn't here entirely for the boy's education.
Without really thinking, she walked over to the shelf where he'd stood and looked for the book he'd deposited, as if she could garne
r some understanding through it. But the title wasn't written in any language she knew, so there was no knowledge to gain there.
She just wanted to know she was doing what she was supposed to, hating the idea of being a disappointment. The count, however, didn't seem to want, or was unable, to give her direction. A feminine guiding hand was perhaps outside his field of expertise.
Unable to think of anything else to do, she grabbed the book she'd seen before on the Roman Empire. If nothing else to do, it would have to suffice.
Chapter 9:
* * *
The fencing master was an older man, as Estelle had expected since Thomas had said he'd taught the count as well. He had neat shoulder length gray hair and a wrinkled face. A very lithe body for an aged man and bright, brown eyes. Estelle decided he was likely an interesting character after they were introduced at supper.
He talked most of the evening about people she didn't know, and even his experiences as a youth, which seemed to be from an entirely different era. This was a man who was used to entertaining during suppers. His life likely consisted of traveling between noble houses and entertaining his employer.
To still be doing it at his age, meant he was very good at it, or couldn't afford not to. Estelle empathized, knowing her life might be much the same, unable to ever afford to stop working. The plight of aged governesses had reached public concern of late and a fund had been put together for them, but Estelle hoped she'd never be in a position where she had to accept charity. Saying that, she was officially considered a spinster now, having reached the age of twenty-seven. It was not completely outside the realm of possibility that she marry, but her low position likely excluded anyone of gentle birth. The money she would save from this current position gave her some options for the future, which could in the end perhaps keep her from becoming utterly destitute.
The Governess Page 4
