A Governess of Great Talents

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  “Formally requested?”

  The butler nodded.

  It was the way the butler was looking at her…or not looking at her, which gave Meredith reason to pause. The poor man looked quite unhappy.

  Meredith picked up a book on Roman history almost idly, her mind whirring frantically. “Requested?”

  Roberts nodded, his gaze still not meeting hers. Meredith had expected him to pull a face, wink, or even say something comforting. Perhaps the master wanted a report on whether French or German would be an appropriate second language.

  But if Meredith was not mistaken, Roberts looked, instead, a little cold. There was a lack of warmth even Miss Clarke would have been proud of.

  “Very well,” Meredith said slowly. “Thank you for relaying the message, Roberts. I will be down as soon as I have finished here.”

  She turned away, expecting him to depart as quickly as he could, so obviously desirous of leaving her presence.

  “No, you must go down now.”

  She swallowed. What was this about? She could not think of anything she had done recently, nor anything Archibald had done, to elicit such treatment. Or was it perhaps—and her heart fluttered at the mere thought—that Alfred wished to see her privately and had concocted this ruse to allay suspicion?

  Roberts coughed and dug something out of his waistcoat pocket. “I have been given this instruction, Miss Hubert, and all I do is follow it to the letter.”

  Meredith took the scrap of paper handed to her. Written in a bold hand were just a few words.

  Bring the governess to the study immediately.

  Meredith turned it over; it was so brief, she assumed she must be missing the second part of the message. But that was all.

  This made no sense! After all, they had experienced together, all they had shared, Alfred could not merely step upstairs and ask her himself to come to the study—or even better, have the conversation, whatever it was, in the schoolroom without all this pomp and circumstance!

  Unless…unless her initial estimation was correct, and he wished to restart their…well, romance was the only word she could think of, though she was not entirely sure if there was a name for what they had shared.

  Those kisses, those words of affection—did Alfred merely wish to resume them, to ignore the concerns she had voiced so clearly?

  She handed the note back to the butler with a wry smile. “Will my day gown suffice, do you think?”

  For the first time since his cough to announce his arrival, Roberts spoke more directly. “Your apparel does not concern me. Now, Miss Hubert. His Grace expects you immediately.”

  And with that, he left and stepped along the corridor, footsteps fading out of hearing.

  Meredith raised an eyebrow. It had been another long day on her feet, attempting to guide Archibald through the joys and pitfalls of declining nouns in Latin. The last thing she wanted was to explain to Alfred again just why they could not—why they should not…

  It was too much to hope, then, that she could enjoy a quiet evening in her bedchamber with nothing but a good book and the privilege of solitude.

  A few weeks ago, she would have wished for nothing more than an evening with Alfred, would have relished it, would have considered it a great honor.

  Now? Her heart was conflicted. She knew he had no serious designs on her. She would remain here as his brother’s governess, but that did not mean she was open to his overtures.

  Meredith stepped down the staircase lightly, then across the hallway and down the corridor, past the ballroom, and around the corner to the study. The door was shut.

  She took a deep breath.

  She straightened her gown and pushed all assumptions from her mind, needing to be calm.

  Fighting the temptation to just walk in and find out what all this nonsense was about, Meredith knocked on the door.

  “Come.”

  Alfred’s voice, even through the door, sounded stern. Meredith entered the study.

  She had never been inside the study before. It was much like Miss Clarke’s in many respects, though much larger. Alfred was seated behind a mahogany desk with brass fittings, the room curving around in an L-shape, bookshelves, and cabinets everywhere, packed with things that caught the eye. An elephant’s tusk, a huge seashell, a—

  “Miss Hubert.” Alfred’s voice was just as cold inside the study as outside it.

  Meredith’s gaze snapped over to him, though she struggled not to continue glancing around the room curiously. There were so many parts of Rochdale Abbey she had not explored.

  “Please be seated.”

  It was not his words that sparked Meredith’s rebellion. She always had a defiant air, but it was the way Alfred spoke without looking at her, gesturing at the chair before him on the opposite side of the desk. It was the complete lack of attention he was giving her, his gaze focused on the paper in his hands.

  Fiery defiance sparked around her heart. “I would rather stand.”

  She was being contrary just for the sake of it, she knew, but she could not help it. She could not bear this stuffiness, this formality. What on earth had he brought her here for?

  “Well, that’s fitting,” he said finally.

  His words did not make sense. Meredith frowned. What was he talking about now?

  “I am sorry, Your Grace, I do not quite understand your meaning,” she said quietly.

  “Like a criminal in the dock,” Alfred said curtly. “You will stand.”

  Meredith’s mouth fell open, utterly bewildered at his words. “Like a criminal in the—what exactly am I accused of?”

  This could not be happening, Meredith thought wildly. This was a joke, a bad jest. Stand like a criminal in the dock?

  She had worried herself thinking he would want to kiss her, and instead, here she was, standing like a fool, about to be accused of something she had not done!

  For she had not done whatever it was. She did not need to know what it was; she had done nothing of ill-repute since stepping into this house. She had left that part of her life behind before she had been welcomed into the Earl of Marnmouth’s home as a governess.

  So it was not a typical crime then, she thought hurriedly, racking her brains. Was it something she had done in the schoolroom, had she taught Archibald something she should not have?

  It appeared, however, that she no longer had to wait to find out.

  Shaking his head, Alfred said quietly, “I cannot believe that I trusted you, Miss Hubert. Did I not welcome you into our home? Did I not give you sufficient bed and board? Were your wages not what you had expected?”

  Meredith swallowed, throat dry, but she could not leave her fractious temper behind. “And I, in turn, cannot believe you are not informing me of the supposed crime I have committed!”

  Her eyes sought his out, but Alfred would not meet her gaze.

  “Your Grace,” she began again, trying to inject a little reverence into her voice. Perhaps she could lighten the mood, make him laugh? “’Tis a strange trial, this one, if that is indeed what it is. Why, I believe criminals are meant to be told what they are accused of!”

  She laughed, but it sounded hollow and strange in the large room. Alfred did not join her in her false merriment. Instead, he shook his head.

  “With each passing word, you further convince me of your guilt,” he said slowly.

  Meredith’s eyes widened. This was going far beyond a joke now. What could he possibly believe she had done? It was quite clear now by the way he refused to look at her, the tightening of his jaw, the way his hands were clasped painfully before him on the desk—he truly believed she had acted wrongly.

  What on earth could he have misunderstood?

  “I cannot incriminate myself for a crime I have not committed,” she said.

  Alfred did laugh at that, though it was bitter. “Oh, so you know what to expect? I should have guessed you had been through a trial before.”

  Meredith’s heart turned cold. “Of course not!
”

  Her employer had gained a completely incorrect view of her—from whom, she was not sure, but it would be a disaster if she was to be formally accused. Why, who would believe her? The word of a governess against a duke—more, against a past and future member of Parliament?

  Taking a step forward, Meredith said, “I am certain this is just a misunderstanding. I would hate for you to have a false impression of me due to a misunderstanding, so if you can just tell me what it is, I can tell you the truth.”

  “Theft,” spat Alfred, anger pronounced across his face. “Theft, Miss Hubert. What do you say to that?”

  Meredith’s heart went cold. No, it was not possible. She had been so careful to hide her ties to the Glasshand Gang. No one would have recognized her, not here in the north. Even Miss Clarke had no idea of her true parentage, of what life her family had chosen. She had been careful to lie just enough.

  No, this was mere coincidence; Meredith was sure of it. All she had to do was keep calm and demonstrate that she had done no such thing.

  “I have done nothing of the sort,” she said. “You may search my rooms if you—”

  “My rooms!” interjected Alfred with a fierce glare. “You are here on my good graces, Miss Hubert, and I cannot believe I was so easily taken in! Madness, utter madness! To think, I was starting to consider…”

  He swallowed, discomfort showing in his face as he shifted in his chair.

  Meredith’s heart was now thumping heavily against her chest like an iron weight. He was starting to consider…what? Had he been about to offer her his hand? Had he finally come to a decision that would make them both so happy?

  “After much consideration, I have decided,” Alfred continued, his eyes transfixed on her own, “to terminate your employment. You may return to the Governess Bureau. I will supply you with a reference of sorts.”

  It had all happened so quickly it was difficult for Meredith to take it in. His last words rang in her ears, echoing and merging with each other, so it was difficult to discern his meaning.

  “After much consideration, I have decided to terminate your employment. You may return to the Governess Bureau. I will supply you with a reference of sorts.”

  Terminate her employment? Theft? It was all wrong. This could not be happening! She would not leave Rochdale, nor return to London—the Governess Bureau would hardly accept her back with the charge of theft on her record, even if it was unproven!

  For it could not be proven. Meredith thought wildly about the books she borrowed from the library—all were still in Rochdale Abbey, or at the very least in the grounds.

  “I am not a thief,” she said quietly.

  Alfred did not look at her. “Forgive me if I do not believe you.”

  “I do not forgive you!” Meredith said, her temper rising. “After all we have—after I let you—why would I lie to you, Alfred? Why would I steal from you—what could I possibly steal from—”

  “That’s Your Grace, I thank you!” Alfred cut in, and Meredith’s words halted.

  Your Grace. He had asked her to call him Rochdale, all those months ago. She had called him Alfred for weeks, knowing her heart was utterly compromised and that she loved him most ardently.

  Now to stand before him, accused of a crime she had not committed but could not prove to the contrary, and have him demand the correct address…

  Meredith swallowed. She was allowing her emotions to get the better of her. It was clear that someone had been telling lies about her, attempting to discredit her not only with her employer, but with the man she loved.

  The question was, who?

  She had few friends in Rochdale, but she had not believed she had many enemies.

  Mrs. Martin? No, she was perhaps not a close acquaintance, but after the support she had given the housekeeper for the ball, she had at least been respectful.

  Roberts? Meredith could not see the butler concocting such a tale. It was not his style; he was simply not flamboyant enough to make up such a thing.

  Miss Wilhelmina Talbot, perhaps? Meredith almost smiled at the thought, even in her misery. No, Miss Talbot would not consider her, a governess, an actual threat. There were much easier ways to get Alfred’s attention than encourage him to dismiss his brother’s governess.

  Meredith sighed. She could not conceive of anyone who would gain by her departure from Rochdale Abbey.

  “I have done nothing wrong,” Meredith said slowly, forcing down her anger and ensuring her words were calm. “Your Grace, I am not even aware of anything missing! What could I have possibly stolen?”

  “There are plenty of things missing, and the disappearances started just as you arrived at this house,” Alfred said sharply. “The valuable family Bible with gold leaf, my father’s old pocket watch, two family miniatures, the list goes on!”

  “I would never steal from you!” she said, outrage at the accusation finally overspilling into her words. “How can you think that of me, Alfred? You know me better than anyone!”

  “Do I?” Alfred shot back. “Who are your parents? Why have you become a governess? Why does no post arrive for you, you have no friends, no correspondents? Your talents are great, but where do they come from?”

  Meredith tried to think, her mind so full of confusion it was difficult to untangle the hurt from her thoughts.

  What did those items have in common? There must be a pattern, a reason that the real thief—whoever they were—had chosen those items. It had been one of the rules of the Glasshand Gang, she thought ruefully. Never leave a pattern, never leave a trace.

  “I welcomed you into my home,” said Alfred softly. “I allowed you free rein with my brother, I even…and this is how you repay me?”

  Meredith could not take in his words.

  “I just want to know where the items are,” he said. “They…much was my father’s. Please, I just want them back.”

  But Meredith was not listening. His father’s pocket watch, the family Bible—miniatures?

  “Who were the miniatures of?”

  Alfred waved a hand. “’Tis no importance, you could not have chosen them because of the people they depict!”

  “Your Grace,” said Meredith, taking a step forward. “Who were the miniatures of?”

  Perhaps it was her governess training, but Alfred swallowed and then said, almost against his own better judgement, “My father and his second wife. The boy’s mother.”

  The boy’s mother. It was all to do with his parents, or at the very least, his father and his two wives.

  What was it Archibald said, as she attempted to make him focus on his geography?

  “I wish my father were still here—or my mother. I miss them, Miss Hubert, and no one ever talks about them.”

  “Have…” She hesitated, but knew she had to ask. “Have you asked Archibald about the missing items?”

  The question was right, but outrage did not adequately cover his expression. “How—how dare you blame my brother!”

  “I am not blaming,” said Meredith hastily, “I was just wondering if—”

  But Alfred had risen from his chair and strode around the desk. “You go too far, Miss Hubert, even for you. Goodbye.”

  He had opened the door into the corridor, and Meredith stared. “This conversation is not over!”

  “It is over when I say it is over,” snapped Alfred.

  Meredith opened her mouth to retort but closed it again. He was not interested in hearing her thoughts, nor the truth. Alfred had made his decision, judged her falsely—and, it appeared, without even knowing her past. Anything which could have grown between them, any love…it was all over.

  She stepped toward the door but was halted by Alfred’s one word.

  “Meredith.”

  Her gaze raked over his face, wishing she could kiss away the pain so obviously transfused through his face.

  “Why did you do it?” he whispered. “We had something, something I believed far more precious than pocket watches.”

/>   Meredith took a deep breath. “We have something, Alfred. We still have it. I have not stolen a thing, though…though I believe you have stolen my heart.”

  Their gazes met for a fraction of a second, and in that moment, Meredith’s heart leapt. There was a desire to believe her there, she knew it—if only she could get him to—

  “I wish I could believe you,” he whispered.

  Meredith smiled wryly. “I wish you could believe me, too. I was falling in love with you—or at least, the man I thought you were. Good luck in the election.”

  Chapter Twenty

  October 6, 1812

  Alfred took a long, deep breath before raising his fist to knock on the door before him.

  The sleepless night he had just spent had been riddled with panic, despair, and even a little doubt. Could he have spoken differently to Meredith—no, Miss Hubert, he must consider her with her full title now. Now any potential bonds between them were broken. Now he had revealed he knew her secret, her crime, and she had given no evidence to the contrary.

  “Your Grace, I am not even aware of anything missing in the house! What could I have possibly stolen?”

  Alfred’s jaw tightened and his stomach gave a horrendous lurch once again. Pain, yes, regret, but something more. He had lost something so precious he had not realized its value before he had seen Miss Hubert, for who she really was. For what she really was.

  She could have cost him the election!

  No, he had been right to dismiss her. It was only a shame she had not been able to leave the house that moment, but he was no cad. He would permit her a few days to collect her things and make arrangements for her return to London.

  The very thought of her leaving, never to be seen again…he hated that. He hated the weakness it revealed in him. So besotted with her, so desperate to please her, to be pleased by her, he had almost been entirely taken in.

  But no longer. Now he had to have another difficult conversation, one he wished could be delegated—he was the head of this household. It was only right Archibald heard the news from him. He would not be like their father, keeping truths close to his chest and never trusting those around him with information. Withdrawn, removed from the life of his family. His sons.