The Governess

by Camille Oster

  "Oh," Estelle said with surprise, suddenly feeling less festive. "Do all your rituals have such dark origins?" There seemed to be a darkness woven through much of Hungarian traditions and history from what she'd observed.

  "With our history, we have a habit of hoping for the best and expecting the worst. Superstition holds strong sway in these parts, particularly in isolated areas. The cities are different, of course. Budapest is as cosmopolitan as any other in Europe."

  "I did not get a chance to see it. Perhaps on my return journey," she said, but drifted off. Perhaps it was rude to discuss the things she was looking forward to when leaving here. It sounded ungrateful. Again, that fear that she had put a foot wrong reasserted itself.

  It had stopped snowing and the land looked bright. It was late in the day though, and darkness would fall soon. A festival of bonfires was perhaps more suited to dark, she surmised.

  The village loomed in the distance and seeing it now, Estelle had second thoughts, remembering how unwelcoming the villagers were. Perhaps a festival made them a little more cheery, she hoped.

  The snow had been cleared from the main street in the village and people were milling around and talking, dressed in heavy furs. Furs were not hard to come by in this region. The pelt across her knees were certainly keeping her warm.

  The count jumped down and came around to help her descend. At times, he had wonderful manners, his grip steadying her. She couldn't stop her heart from jumping slightly at the touch, but refused to give any indication that his touch affected her.

  People weren't exactly sneering at them, but they weren't necessarily welcoming either—merely tolerant. Every relationship had to start somewhere, she supposed.

  “Welcome to the village,” he said. He said the name, but she couldn’t repeat it if she tried. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she had visited a few times, including on her very first day when she had wandered aimlessly through it. “It is as old as the castle.”

  “It is certainly picturesque.”

  They walked along with her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Again, she tried to avoid reading into notions that this would be what it would be like to walk with a husband—although her husband would be English and they would not be walking through a festival lamenting the victory of the dark over light.

  But for the moment, the count seemed as if he wanted to show the village to her. He looked relaxed and comfortable, and very handsome. Estelle looked away and blushed. The snow crunched beneath their feet. It had already grown dark, but the lights around the village did give it a festive atmosphere. The villagers still seemed morose, but how could they be anything but considering the circumstances. Darkness had cast a long shadow across this village this year.

  “Despite some of the difficulties we’ve had, I hope you are enjoying your time with us.”

  “Of course,” she said. She liked this, when they were cordial and respectful. It was very nice. She was also touched that he was concerned about her wellbeing. “I get on very well with Thomas,” she said, but her eyebrows drew together.

  “But?” he asked, apparently sensing her hesitancy.

  This probably wasn’t her place to say, and she could very well be stepping over the mark—yet again, but she was going to anyway. “He misses you dearly, probably more than you understand. There is company he craves that I cannot provide him.”

  “You think I am neglecting my son?” he said with surprise. He stopped walking and Estelle took a nervous breath.

  “No, of course not, but he so very much wants your company, and time is running out in that regard.”

  The count’s eyes were on her, searching hers for meaning, and she hoped she conveyed this with concern more than judgement.

  “I understand there is great press for your time, but… ”

  “There is more call on my time than I can give.”

  Disappointment flared in her for Thomas’ sake.

  “I will think upon what you have said,” he said. Estelle felt relief. It had been an issue that had worried her for some time now. Thomas wanted his father and he was rarely around. Even when he was, he cloistered himself in his study. The last few days, with the count at home and actually participating in suppers, Thomas had loved it, thrived even.

  The count started speaking to someone in Hungarian. His voice sounded different in the harsher tones of his native language. It was by no means an unpleasant language, but she couldn't understand a single word, feeling alien at that moment.

  Thomas had gone off somewhere, and Estelle took to wandering down the street. The villagers were clearly in a festive mood, talking and eating. A group was gathered around where two streets intersected and a log was burning in the center.

  "It is to keep the darkness away," Professor Szousa said, appearing next to her, dressed in a thick coat. His nose was pink from the cold. "This is my first Kracun festival as well, so we have that in common. See the fire over there?" he said, pointing in the distance where a large bonfire was blazing. "That is next to the graveyard. It is burned to keep the spirits of the departed warm. It is the night when the world between the living and the dead is said to be at their closest."

  "A little like All Hallow's Eve?"

  "I am glad to see you well. I have been worried about you," he said, looking around widely as he spoke, as if to see if anyone was paying attention.

  "I suppose it is a time of worry," she conceded.

  He turned to her. "Miss Winstone, I urge you to leave here. Leave this place; leave Hungary," he said in soft, whispered tones with concern shining through his eyes.

  She didn't know what to say for a moment. "No, I am, of course, safe where I am."

  "Are you?"

  "Assuredly."

  "Or perhaps you are in the worst place to be."

  "I'm not sure I understand what you're implying, Professor."

  "Please consider my words, Miss Winstone. Is it not curious how he seems to leave just as these disappearances are happening? Can that simply be a coincidence?" He led her away from the intersection and the burning log. "I am highly worried, and I think you are the one most at risk."

  Estelle didn't know what to say. For a moment, confusion reigned inside her. Thoughts whirled around her head, along with the professor's accusations.

  "I know this is improper to say. I have no proof," he continued. "But the circumstances are too telling. I think you must get away, particularly if the threat is in the very place you live. It is not a risk worth running." His tones where hushed, but she couldn't deny the seriousness in his voice.

  "I'm sure you are over imagining things," was all she could manage.

  "Please consider what I've said. Just leave. It might be the decision that saves your life. I understand that he might be charming as the devil himself, but consider how the people in this village view him. They have lived here and known him throughout their lives, and not a single one of them trusts him. Don't let him fool you into thinking you can."

  He stopped abruptly and stiffened, his attention away from her. Following his gaze, Estelle watched the count approach. "Professor. It is a curious night, is it not?" the count said.

  "At a time like this, people are especially eager to chase the dark away." The professor's voice sounded strained.

  "I suppose you are right," the count said. "Where has Thomas gotten to? Have you seen him?"

  Estelle looked around for the boy, her mind and heart a turmoil. Could what the professor was insinuating possibly be true? The count wasn't like that. Surely she would have seen some sign of it if he was a monster. Could a monster so effectively hide itself behind a handsome face?

  "We shouldn't stay long," the count said. "The horses are eager to return to the stable and we have been lucky with the weather holding. Things can turn very quickly around here."

  "Of course," Estelle said with a smile she wasn't sure formed properly. Was she about to go off with a man who stole and harmed women? No, the professor must be fan
ciful, she told herself and straightened herself. "Perhaps we should call for Thomas."

  "I'll go see if I can find him," the count said.

  "Consider my words," the professor warned again and walked away.

  Estelle didn't quite know what to do with herself. She felt utterly unnerved. The professor had sent a flurry of fears and worries loose in her. He had to be wrong. The count wasn't around when these disappearances were occurring, but then the accusation was that he wouldn't be. No, it couldn't be.

  She saw him appear again, walking toward her with Thomas by his side. He was smiling and looked peaceful. That could not be the smile of a monster, could it?

  Chapter 24:

  * * *

  The count stayed in the castle the next few days—not that he had a choice as the snow kept everyone inside. The professor's words still bounded around her head, but each passing day, they seemed more ludicrous and farfetched.

  She and Thomas kept to their usual routine, except Thomas had to find activities within the castle to entertain himself, or at times he would spend time with his father. It pleased Estelle that they had some time with just the two of them.

  They spent suppers together and Thomas generally spoke more than anyone, relaying the tales from his adventures. He was such a lovely boy, Estelle thought as she watched him excitedly recount the bear hunt some of the men had gone on, the powerful beast running and fighting off dogs. While Thomas found it exciting, Estelle felt slightly queasy with the retelling, feeling immensely sorry for the bear.

  "You will miss the freedom you have here," the count said after Thomas had finished. "At school, you will have little of it."

  "Do I have to go?" Thomas asked, almost whining.

  "Yes, I'm afraid so. It is time for you to start your higher education and finding your way amongst your peers."

  Thomas looked disappointed. Estelle could tell he was worried about this upcoming change in his life. Herself, she'd gone to the village school and had spent each night at home. Her schooling had not been the shock that it was likely to be for Thomas, who was even leaving the country.

  "The Alps are absolutely beautiful, I hear," she said. "And I understand they have some of the best orchestras in Europe."

  Thomas looked unimpressed.

  "Let's retire to the salon," the count suggested, and they rose.

  It felt congenial, them being like this. That notion of family and belonging tugged again at the edge of her consciousness. It was only for a short time, she reminded herself, but the idea of a husband and a family was now firmly rooted in her mind. Essentially, at twenty-seven she was too old for the marriage market, and too poor to make her way through society, so if she were to marry, she would have to set her eyes lower—a farmer perhaps.

  "Cards," Thomas said excitedly as they reached the salon. Estelle had expected them to play chess again and she would read, but Thomas wanted to play cards. The count looked at her to see if she would agree and she flushed at the attention. She hated that she did that, but she couldn't help it.

  "I suppose a few hands would wile the evening away."

  "If we can keep you from your book," the count teased. There was almost a mischievous look in his eye. "It must be a fascinating one, because you pay us no notice at all."

  That was far from true. She watched them quite a bit when they didn't think she was watching, or rather when the count didn't think she was watching.

  The card table was small and square and Estelle took her seat, Thomas beside her and the count opposite. "What shall we play?" the count asked.

  "Black king," Thomas suggested.

  "Black king it is."

  The count shuffled the cards and it appeared they were playing something similar to Old Maid, a game children could play well. A few hands were dealt.

  "So you are making plans for when you leave us?" the count asked and Estelle felt herself blush again. She knew she shouldn't have said that.

  She cleared her throat. "I have perhaps considered taking a few days on the way home to do some exploration. I am not sure I will be able to see some of these cities and sights again."

  "Such as?"

  "Venice."

  "Venice is beautiful."

  "You have been?"

  "Yes, several times. My family has some apartments there."

  "Oh?"

  "A great aunt married a Venetian prince. Over time, one of their properties returned to the family. You are, of course, welcome to stay there," he said.

  "That is very generous of you."

  "We could go together," Thomas suggested. "We could show you Venice."

  Thomas' suggestion was inappropriate, but he didn't see that and she was touched by how considerate he was. "I'm sure the count will be too busy for such things."

  "Perhaps," the count said. "But then we must enjoy your company while you remain with us, before you seek your way back to more familiar places."

  Looking up, the count's dark eyes were on her and she felt herself flush again, but unable to look away.

  "Or we could all simply stay," Thomas suggested.

  Estelle recognized that he must be scared about the change looming ahead of him. "I think you will enjoy your school tremendously," she said. "All those boys to get to know."

  "Perhaps it is the sorrow of the things we leave behind," the count said, but his attention was firmly on her, and she didn't understand the meaning of his words. What was he saying? Was he referring to his own experience with being sent away, or something else? His statement felt poignant.

  He looked away. "And then there will be girls." Thomas snorted and the count smiled. "Perhaps we should have Miss Winstone teach you to dance while we still have her."

  "I am never going to dance," Thomas stated firmly.

  "The certainty of childhood. Believe me, there will be some lovely girl in your future you will wish you had learned to dance for."

  The expression on Thomas' face was disbelieving, even a little disgusted. He shook his head.

  "I am sure Miss Winstone is an excellent dancer. I do recall you mentioning there were a few balls you attended."

  "Do you remember everything I say?" she asked before she could check herself.

  They stared at each other for a moment. "I do pay attention."

  Perhaps because he'd been watching for her less than honorable intentions, Estelle told herself and broke the eye contact.

  "If she is such an excellent dancer, then you should dance with her," Thomas stated. That was borderline rude and Estelle was about to tell him off.

  "Perhaps I should. Care to dance, Miss Winstone?"

  With utter surprise, she opened and closed her mouth. For someone so eager for her to behave properly and absolutely not in a manner that encourages any intimacy between them, his actions were saying the exact oppose.

  His open palm lay on the table, asking for her hand.

  "I'm not sure—" she started.

  "Come now, Miss Winstone. A twirl might break the monotony of the evening."

  "I hadn't realized it was monotonous." Was their company boring him?

  "Give the music box a wind, Thomas," the count said and stood, taking her hand. He led her away from the card table and swung her around to face him, his palm warm and firm to hers as he lay his other hand on the small of her back. Heat radiated through the material of her dress and into her body, warming all of her.

  The tinkling noises of the music box started as he led her with a step backward. Estelle didn't know where to place her eyes, could only follow his lead, but he apparently had no problem blatantly watching her.

  He was a good dancer, moving her fluidly around the space, while she struggled not to be so physically aware of him. "I thought you didn't like balls."

  "I don't necessarily. You are eager to leave us," he said, changing the subject sharply.

  "Simply planning ahead. My time here is, after all, coming to an end when Thomas leaves. I'm not sure I would go so far as to say eager. It's
not that I am unhappy here, as such. Just making plans for the inevitable."

  "I think my son is smitten with you."

  What? Smitten? No. "We just get on well. We are friends."

  "I think he is trying to push us together."

  Now she was astounded. "I think more he is frightened of the change ahead for him." Estelle turned to look for him, but he wasn't there. He wasn't in the room.

  "He has retired for the night, it seems," the count said. They stopped dancing, but he didn't remove his hand from her back. "I think he is perhaps suggesting you stay," the count continued softly.

  With an open mouth, Estelle was stumped. "I am not sure you are reading his intentions correctly."

  "Or perhaps he sees, in his child's mind, a solution for keeping two people he likes together."

  The boy had mentioned at one point that he was concerned about his father being alone. She was not the solution, however. Surely he understood that. Now she was mortified with embarrassment. "Complicated things are sometimes simple in a child's mind."

  "What complication?" the count asked.

  Before she could answer, he reached for her, drawing her into a kiss. Warm softness spilled through her mind, unexpected and compelling. But for the fact that she was, she couldn't believe she was kissing him. Soft lips toyed with hers. The taste of him suffused her conscious thought, tempting and beckoning. It felt so right, but it was so very wrong.

  The kiss broke and her lips felt swollen, pulsing with want and even shock. His eyes looked glassy and roamed down to her aching lips as if reconsidering their parting.

  Stepping back, she cleared her throat, drawing her arms up to her chest. If she didn't watch herself, she was in threat of seeking that kiss again. The urge flared through her mind. "Uhm," she said, but didn't know how to continue. "I might retire," she stated, unable to think of anything else to say. She had to get away, because what he was offering was much too tempting, and everything he'd said to her so far had stated that he didn't want this. Unfortunately, he looked more than willing right now, and so utterly beautiful she just wanted to watch him, let her gaze sink into those dark pools of his eyes and forget everything else.