The Observations of a Curious Governess

by Viveka Portman

  ‘Please, Lord Stanton, I feel it most inappropriate to be without chaperonage in a gentleman’s presence.’ I spoke the word gentleman with careful deliberation.

  ‘I shall not molest you, Miss Swan,’ he interrupted and winked wickedly. ‘Unless, of course, you insist.’

  I gasped. ‘I do not!’ I stood up, ready to gather my skirts and leave.

  ‘Please, Miss Swan, sit down, I meant no offense. I have, I confess, a very low sense of humour and at times it causes strife, especially with the gentler sex.’

  I chewed upon my lip. What could he possibly wish to say to me? Unable to refuse His Lordship’s request, I sat.

  ‘I have been told that you happened to witness something this afternoon, in the Blue Room?’

  My mind flew back to that most wicked of scenes, my head verily roared with the sound of flesh slapping flesh and guttural, bestial moans.

  ‘I…’

  ‘Say naught, Miss Swan – your expression betrays you.’

  I brought my fan up to cover my face once more.

  ‘I can say nothing in defence of what you have witnessed.’ The dastardly gentleman smiled at this, ‘For I am a weak man, when it comes to matters such as those.’

  I said nothing, but my face burned in shame. What a discussion, with a man of the peerage no less!

  ‘I merely wish for your agreement in one matter.’

  ‘You do?’ My voice was as small and as high as church mouse’s.

  ‘Indeed, it is my wish that you do not speak of this to my wife. She is a delicate woman and does not need the distress.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed most hastily.

  He looked about the room and gulped at some wine. I noted he’d partaken mayhap too much. ‘Your sage words on temptation, however, have been noted.’

  I presumed this was some type of apology for his wickedness. As well he should apologise. His act had led me to touch myself in a manner most unfitting a spinster.

  ‘Might I then offer more words?’ I asked.

  He raised an eyebrow, and I noticed that despite his lack of discretion and wickedness of character there really was something rather amiable about him.

  ‘You may,’ he inclined his head.

  ‘In my teaching today, I came across another Bible passage pertinent to yourself and… that wet nurse.’

  ‘Nancy,’ he corrected, the corner of his lips tugging with a smile.

  ‘Yes… Nancy. It is said in Matthew 5:30 that:

  “If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body, than for your whole body to go into Hell.”

  There was a deafening silence, before Lord Stanton let out an abrupt roar of laughter. ‘Are you suggesting I cut off my cock?’ he laughed, spilling his wine in his mirth.

  Good Lord in Heaven – I have never heard such words. Mortification burned my face; my fan fell from my limp, shocked hand.

  He chortled even further. Still, I couldn’t force my mouth to move and make coherent speech.

  ‘Miss Swan, I jest! Please, do not look so shocked.’

  I shook my head and stood swiftly. ‘Lord Stanton, you will have to excuse me.’

  The man snorted and quaffed more wine. ‘Goodness, abandoned by two wenches in one eve… how shameful.’

  I couldn’t stand it any longer. I fled.

  ****

  Late this evening, as I retired in my rooms, I wrote my letter of resignation. I cannot continue to work in this house of depravity. Though they may be gentry and very finely appointed, Lord Stanton is a rake, there can be is no mistake about it.

  I began to recall the looks of ill-suppressed surprise when I announced my employ at Stanton House, whilst I lived in London. No one had ever said anything to rouse my suspicion, but in hindsight I should have paid heed to those peculiar and shocked expressions that were bestowed upon me. Mayhap all of London knew of Lord Stanton’s nature – except I, the naïve and foolish young woman who’d never deigned to listen to gossip. From now on I shall listen to gossip – in an attempt to protect myself from further humiliation and embarrassment.

  My hand was trembling when, as I finished penning my lengthy and scathing correspondence, there was a sharp rap on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked, before opening the latch. If that scoundrel dared to enter my rooms, he’d get a piece of my mind, no mistake about it.

  Thus, I was flooded by relief when a soft and feminine voice replied, ‘Tis only Jenny, Miss Swan.’

  I sighed and opened the door to allow the maid entrance. I knew must have come to help me disrobe and hang my dress. I was therefore most surprised when Jenny stretched out her hand and proffered an envelope. ‘Milord said to give you this,’ she said.

  I frowned. ‘What is it?’ I asked, accepting it most gingerly.

  ‘Don’t know,’ she replied, ‘Milord’s valet, Mr Tranby, gave it me and said to give it to you. May I unlace your gown?’

  I nodded, and offered her my back. As she began working on the gown, I opened the envelope. A calling card with His Lordship’s name gilded upon it slipped out. I stared at it, quite astonished. Written in a fine hand were the words My Apologies. I swallowed, momentarily unable grasp the importance of the card. I turned the envelope and card in my hand and was surprised further when a newly minted gold guinea rolled into my hand.

  I had never held so much. My heart fluttered. His Majesty’s side profile glimmered in the dim light of the room and I ran my thumb over its cold surface. A gold guinea; a fine supplement to my sisters’ dowries.

  ‘Miss Swan?’ I could hear Jenny calling my name, but it took a moment for me to reply. I closed my hand about the guinea, so that she could not see, and turned towards her. She’d finished unlacing me.

  ‘If you’ll let me hang that…’ She gestured to the gown that had begun to slip from my shoulders.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ I shrugged my shoulders and allowed the gown to fall.

  ‘Shall I un-pin your hair?’ she asked and startled me, for I had fallen deep into thought once more. The envelope and card fell from my other hand as she reached to touch my hair. Several ebony curls had escaped my cap. I flinched and tightened the other hand about the gold guinea, which seemed to be burning a hole in my palm.

  ‘No, thank you. I can manage well enough. Goodnight, Jenny.’

  A moment or so later Jenny had gone, and I stared once more at the guinea, completely unsure what to do with it. Perhaps I should return it – after all, was not Lord Stanton buying my silence, rather than my forgiveness?

  Yet it was a gold guinea, a guinea my family so desperately needed. I sank onto my bed, staring at the coin for some time.

  I should be a great fool indeed to leave, if this were the sort of recompense Lord Stanton offered for merely witnessing his lax and vile morals. Yet what did my acceptance of this coin say for mine own morals? Or were my morals of little consequence in this circumstance? Was not my family’s financial stability and improvement of greater import than my idealism?

  This position, which I had hoped to bring me independence and joy, has turned into something much more sinister. The guinea, for all its beauty and worth, was a bribe and a powerful one at that. What should I do? I have always striven to be a respectable woman, of high moral fortitude. So how could I possibly accept it?

  My head hurt, as arguments formed and dissolved in my mind one after the other. I thought of my sisters, dear girls who deserved an existence better than the one they’d been born to. This guinea could well help them on their way. And yet, still the notion of accepting the bribe sat ill with me.

  What is a lady to do in a circumstance such as this?

  Though it was difficult, and no doubt my immortal soul shall suffer the heat of brimstone for it, I decided not to hand in my notice. Thus with a heavy heart, I threw the scathing letter of resignation into the fire. I turned as the room flared with its brightness and slipped the guinea into the drawer of my de
sk. I shall take the coin home when I return to my family at Christmas, along with the other monies I shall have saved. Surely the good Lord will forgive my acceptance of the guinea if it serves my sisters well?

  For many hours into the night, I have sat and diarised this most troublesome day, hoping that at length I may find peace. It has not happened, alas, and as my brain has wearied of vexing moral issues I find those most disturbing thoughts of all have returned – the shameful ones that cause strange stirrings betwixt my legs.

  I shall not succumb. Indeed not. Instead, shall take heed of the words of Mrs Chapone, and find once more that the cornerstone of virtue is religion. So I shall take to my bed now, and pray to the good Lord to deliver me and offer me the strength to deny my wicked desires.

  ****

  Friday, 11th June 1813

  I slept scarcely a wink last evening. My body was verily savaged by that newly awakened hunger and the guilt of accepting the guinea. I prayed that some palsy may strike my mind and erase the shocking scene from my memory so that it may subdue my body and mind too. Alas, as I tried for slumber, my compassion for Lady Stanton’s situation increased. What would it be like to live beside such a man? I could not help but wonder. And what of Lord Stanton and Nancy’s depravities, how oft did they happen? How had such a circumstance ever eventuated?

  Still, this day, with the night behind me, I am appalled to say that the most slight reminder of those deeds still sends a sharp paroxysm of longing straight to my womb. I cannot express cogently how terribly wicked I feel. I am a mature woman of one and twenty, and yet cannot understand how so quickly my body wishes to betray me. To be sure, previously I had never had time nor inclination to consider the peculiar machinations that drive women to sin against themselves and throw themselves into the beds of men – but now, it is with shame and guilt I confess that I do.

  I fear there is no passage in the letters of Mrs Hester Chapone that may offer me any consolation, and yet, I shall try. I have written this day to my father, requesting that he send my volume of Chapone’s Letters post-haste so that I may renew my study of her words and seek one.

  With this thought, and my letter in hand, I breakfasted alone. Neither Milady nor His Lordship break their fast during the earlier hours of the morning, and I was most grateful. The children’s lessons commence at promptly 10am in the library, but as I take my repast early, it gave me an hour or so to take a constitutional walk about the grounds. I believe that taking a constitutional is beneficial to all ladies to keep their forms fine and skin aglow – I had also hoped to ease my body of all its unwanted tensions.

  The morning was brisk but pleasant. I dressed in a morning gown thicker than my others to ward away a chill, and wrapped a shawl about my shoulders. My attire was not that of the fashionable, but I prefer comfort over fashion, and therefore left my prettier gowns in the cupboard.

  On my stroll, I took time and care to observe the flowerbeds, which impressed me with their bounty and colour. It was as I took particular note of the blooming sweetbriar with its admirable riot of pink flowers that I heard a voice behind me.

  ‘Miss Swan?’ The voice was gentle and masculine – and completely out of its place in the gardens of Stanton. That sweet and kind voice was one I had heard on many an occasion in the sitting room of our terrace in London. It was one I had heard accompany my piano-forte as I played a melody; it was one I’d long wished I could have heard words of admiration spring from. It was, to my great surprise, Mr Jonathan Reeves.

  I turned to face the speaker, but the sun obscured his face. I raised a hand to pull down my bonnet and shade my vision. ‘Mr Reeves?’ I asked, feeling an uncomfortable blush blossom upon my face. I wished for my fan then, so that I may cool that burn, but in my confused state, I had forgotten it.

  ‘Quite, Miss Swan. It is a pleasure.’ Mr Reeves moved somewhat to the left and bestowed a gracious bow upon me, which I reciprocated with a bob. ‘I had hoped, but not expected, to see you here,’ he offered.

  I stole a glance at him then, through a modestly lowered gaze. ‘I too had no expectation of seeing you here. Yet I find myself very pleased to have done so. What brings you to Stanton?’

  With my gaze free from the sun, I felt my heart skip a beat. Good Lord in Heaven, Mr Reeves cut a fine figure. I stole another glance. His hair was curling and dark, escaping as it had a habit of doing from beneath his hat. He smiled down at me with such benevolence that I felt my heart quicken once more.

  ‘I come to offer Lord Stanton assistance with his tenancies. My father often does this, but he has taken ill of late. I believe Lord Stanton is looking at enclosure and wishes me to speak with his tenants,’ he replied, and offered me an arm.

  ‘Enclosure?’ I repeated.

  ‘Indeed, His Lordship is looking at enclosing some of the common land abouts, and requires someone to discuss matters with those affected.’ He looked about the gardens a moment before returning his gaze to me. ‘Would you walk with me a moment? It has been an abominably long time since I have had the honour.’

  Unable to suppress a frown, I asked, ‘Are you certain you have time for a stroll? Does not Lord Stanton require you?’

  I am certain I saw Mr Reeves stiffen a moment. ‘It is true that I am here at Lord Stanton’s behest, but I am familiar with His Lordship’s habits and know he shall not rise until later. I see no harm in taking a turn about these lovely grounds with a lady who does the honour of accompanying me.’

  I could not subdue my own smile then, and I took his arm without further preamble. It has always been like this, you see, such an easy companionability betwixt Mr Reeves and I. It is little wonder I once held dreams of romance between us. Yet these notions were for naught and I tried to cast them aside and merely enjoy the companionability of the moment.

  We turned down the hedgeway into a maze; I’d taken the children here only yesterday to offer them a break from their lessons. The maze was beautifully manicured, not so high that an adult could get lost but more than ample for children of tender years.

  ‘How do you fare as governess, Miss Swan?’ Mr Reeves asked after a moment of walking. ‘I do confess to missing you in London. It seems your family’s terrace is quite empty in your absence.’

  I could feel the warmth of his arm beneath mine, and verily my body seemed to burn with that accursed desire yesterday’s scene had ignited within me. For a moment, I could not answer. The consequence of this was that Mr Reeves took pause to observe me.

  ‘You have visited my family? Mr Reeves, I have not been gone at all that long.’

  ‘Well, it seems a long time,’ he replied, looking away. My cheeks glowed.

  ‘Miss Swan? How do you fare here?’ There was a note of tender concern in his voice, and, absurdly, it made me want to giggle.

  ‘I am well, though it is still all rather new and peculiar. Such a brief acquaintance with Stanton leaves me in a poor position to judge it. It will take time to become accustomed to the rhythm and movement of the household and its staff, but they are all terribly kind and have been most helpful towards me.’

  I had not spoken a lie, had I? No, the staff at Stanton were thus far exemplary in their treatment of me. Yet my mind hurried back to Lord Stanton and Nancy, and those peculiar whisperings of Lady Stanton.

  ‘The Lord and Ladyship, they treat you kindly?’ he pressed the question.

  I could not stem the burning blush that ran up my throat to my cheeks, and looked away. ‘Lady Stanton is most amiable,’ I replied, mayhap too evasively. I am and ever will be most unwilling to lie, even about the libertine manners and language of His Lordship. Thus I thought avoiding mention of him and his treatment of me perhaps preferable. I could feel Mr Reeves’ eyes upon me though I didn’t reciprocate the gaze.

  ‘And…’ he drew my arm tighter to him. ‘Lord Stanton? He also … treats you kindly?’

  My heart danced a savage tattoo. How could I possibly respond? Lord Stanton had treated me kindly, had he not? Except for his vile la
nguage in my presence, of course. I looked up into concerned eyes, dark brown under a deep furrowed brow.

  I said nothing.

  ‘Miss Swan,’ he urged, ‘I am not ignorant of Lord Stanton’s reputation. But I wish to ascertain the state of yours, since you dwell beneath his roof. Has he treated you with due respect?’

  I wished to ask why he cared so much about my reputation, yet such questioning would be impudent and embarrassing, and in all truthfulness, I knew why regardless. His admiration for me is mirrored by my admiration for him – as it has always been. If indeed he has heard of Lord Stanton’s reputation, then it would be natural to have such concerns.

  Still, his concern gave me pause; what must London be saying about me if Mr Reeves felt justified in asking about my virtue? The thought made me want to giggle and cry all at the same time. Thus I spoke the only words I could - words that would not cause embarrassment or shame on either our behalves. ‘I am truly grateful for your concern, but all is quite well, I assure you. Dear Mr Reeves, you need not concern yourself with such matters.’

  I could see well enough that Mr Reeves had doubts as to my answer, but he politely declined to voice them. So we strode together a time. Mr Reeves leant and picked a primrose flower. As he leant down I found myself absurdly admiring the shape of his buttocks, clad as they were in well-tailored breeches. That throb commenced between my legs again. Had Mr Reeves done the things Lord Stanton did with Nancy? Had he danced that primal dance with someone? I desperately wished to know.

  ‘There,’ he said, and handed me the delicate flower. The yellow matches your gown very well.’

  I stared at the flower, such a simple, beautiful gift, and my stomach tightened. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and tucked it behind my ear. The flower was a gift I did not hesitate to accept; a far cry from my restless night of reflection over Stanton’s wicked gold guinea.

  ‘It becomes you very well,’ he commented, offering me his arm once more so that we may continue our walk.