The Poor Governess

by Barbara Cartland

  “Now don’t speak until I have finished telling you my plan. You will stay here, Nanny will look after you, and you will eat and sleep until you feel really well again.”

  Jane opened her lips to protest, but Lara put up her hand to command silence.

  “I will catch the five o’clock train back to London,” she said, “and tell Georgina’s Nanny that when you were here you became ill and I have come to take your place.”

  Jane started.

  “But that is ridiculous! Of course you cannot do – that.”

  “Why not?” Lara asked. “You know as well as I do that, having been taught by your father, I am just as capable of teaching Georgina as you are.”

  “Nobody could teach her,” Jane said. “She is a very stupid child and you are not the sort of person to be a Governess, Lara. You are a real lady just like your mother.”

  Lara laughed.

  “Being a real lady does not make us any money and certainly does not entitle me to go to balls glittering with jewels or to be ‘upstairs’ with the Marquis and Lord Magor.”

  She felt the little shudder that went through Jane at Lord Magor’s name and went on,

  “I think I can deal with him much more effectively than you can. In fact I intend to teach him a lesson which he will never forget.”

  “Oh, Lara, you are not to go near him! You will not speak to him!” Jane pleaded. “I could not allow you to do so.”

  “You are not going to be able to stop me,” Lara insisted, “and, Jane, unlike you I am not afraid of him.”

  Jane gave a sigh that was almost a sob.

  “I suppose that is because you are who you are, but I cannot – help being – frightened. Even to think of him makes me feel – almost sick with – fear.”

  “I know,” Lara said soothingly, “and that is why you could not possibly stand another month of it, so I am going to work out your notice for you.”

  “No, no!” Jane exclaimed.

  Lara went on,

  “What I am going to tell first Georgina and her Nanny and then the Marquis himself is that when you visited me in the country you developed a rash, which the doctor thinks might be measles or chickenpox. Therefore you could not possibly take the risk of passing the infection on to Georgina.”

  Jane looked at her wide-eyed, but she did not say anything and Lara continued,

  “As I am a friend of yours and I was, as it happens, at this very moment looking for a position as a Governess, I agreed out of kindness and, so as to cause no inconvenience to the Marquis, to take your place and teach Georgina until you are well enough to return to your post.”

  Her voice was triumphant as she finished,

  “As they will suffer no inconvenience by the exchange, I cannot believe that anyone, least of all the Marquis, will refuse to employ me.”

  “Do you really – think he will – believe you?” Jane asked.

  “Of course he will,” Lara said. “Why should he question that you, in staying away, were only thinking of what was best for the child?”

  “I cannot let – you do – it,” Jane exclaimed.

  But Lara knew by the tone of her voice that she was weakening.

  “It is what I am going to do,” she asserted, “and neither Nanny nor you are going to stop me.”

  She knew as she spoke that Nanny might be a stumbling block and she said quickly,

  “I am going to the kitchen to talk to Nanny now. Make yourself comfortable, Jane dear, and don’t worry about anything. I promise you, I will cope with the Marquis, Lord Magor, Uncle Tom Cobley and all!”

  She laughed as she spoke.

  Then, without listening to Jane’s cry of protest, she went from the study, closing the door behind her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Driving towards Keyston House in Park Lane, Lara admitted to herself that she felt rather nervous.

  At the same time she kept thinking what an adventure it was and how good her book would be once she had the facts that would be completely authentic not only about the social life in a large house but also about a real life villain.

  She knew it was only because she was so terrified of Lord Magor that reluctantly, still protesting to the very last minute, Jane had allowed her to take her place.

  “They will not want you to look after the child if you have measles,” Lara argued, “and if they refuse and say that she can manage without a Governess, then I will just come back. What do we have to lose, one way or another?”

  This was indisputable and gradually she wore down Jane into agreeing that it was at least worth her having a few days’ rest, even if she could not take any longer.

  Nanny was far more difficult to convince.

  “I never heard such a thing!” she exclaimed. “You going off on your own to stay in a strange house!”

  “I am not going as a visitor,” Lara argued, “and I shall be just as safe and unimportant as Jane has been.”

  Before telling Nanny what she intended to do, she had made Jane promise on her word of honour that she would not mention Lord Magor’s name.

  “You know what Nanny is like,” she said, “and she would have a fit if she knew that you had been approached by him, let alone me!”

  “Yes, I know that,” Jane said miserably, “and that is why, Lara, I should not let you go. After all, I am older than you and should be able to take care of myself.”

  This was one thing that Lara knew she was incapable of doing and she was determined, because she felt that Lord Magor was behaving so abominably, to frighten him as he had frightened Jane.

  She had seen in her imagination exactly what she would do and, while Nanny went on protesting volubly every time Lara appeared or was doing her packing, she went into her father’s bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of his wardrobe.

  In it were various things which had belonged to his father and which he had taken from the family house before it was sold.

  There were some miniatures of Hurley grandparents, sketches done by her mother when she was a girl and what Lara was seeking, a pair of duelling pistols.

  When her father had first brought them back to the Vicarage, he had shown them to her proudly and said that he treasured them because they had first been used by his grandfather in a duel during the reign of George IV.

  “I am afraid that the duel was over a very attractive lady whom my grandfather and another Peer were both courting,” Lara’s father had told her.

  “Who won?” Lara asked.

  “I am glad to say that my grandfather did and he fought another duel with the same pistols in which he was also the victor.”

  “How exciting!” Lara had exclaimed. “He must have been very dashing to be involved in two duels!”

  Her father’s story had naturally made Lara’s imagination begin to invent stories about her great-grandfather and she had persuaded her father to let her fire the pistols her ancestor had used so effectively.

  Because she had no wish to kill anything that lived, she drew a target on a piece of cardboard, pinned it onto one of the trees in the garden and her father showed her how to aim at it.

  When she hit several bullseyes in quick succession he told her that she could now consider herself quite a good shot.

  . “Not that you are likely, my dearest, to be fighting any duels,” he said, “but it is not a bad idea for a woman to know how to defend herself.”

  “Against whom, Papa?” Lara had enquired.

  There was a little hesitation before her father replied,

  “I suppose the right answer is thieves and robbers.”

  Lara had known perceptively that what he was going to say was gentlemen who approached her when she was unwilling to accept their advances.

  ‘Even if Jane had owned a pistol, she would have been too afraid to frighten Lord Magor with it,’ she told herself.

  She was quite certain not only that Jane would be unable to fire a pistol but also that she, being able to hit a bullseye, could certainly hit a man.
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br />   The feeling that they were in her luggage, slipped in amongst her clothes when Nanny was not looking, was reassuring.

  Although, of course, she told herself there was always the chance that while he admired Jane, Lord Magor might not admire her.

  At the same time she would have been very stupid if she had not realised, when she looked at her reflection in the mirror before she left, that she was very pretty.

  The Hurleys had perhaps inherited their looks from her dashing ancestor, the first Lord Hurlington, so that the ladies of the family were beauties and the gentlemen extremely handsome.

  Most of the women who came to the Church in Little Fladbury, Lara often thought, went to admire her father because he looked irresistibly handsome in his surplice.

  They certainly sat rapt and attentive while he preached rather long and dull sermons from the pulpit.

  No one could have said that her mother also had not been lovely and it was from her that Lara had inherited her hair that was redder than gold and seemed in the sunshine or candlelight to halo her face with a fiery glow.

  ‘If I had green eyes,’ she told herself, ‘I would look like a siren or even the villainess in a novel.’

  The latter were always described as having red hair, green eyes and a body that moved like a serpent’s.

  Instead her eyes were grey flecked with gold and because she was staring at her reflection intently, she looked very young and a little scared of what she was about to do.

  ‘I must remember,’ she warned herself, ‘that I am supposed to be at least twenty-three or twenty-four years of age because otherwise I shall be considered much too young to teach anybody.’

  She had written herself out a reference just in case anybody asked for it and signed it with her father’s name.

  Jane, trying to be as helpful as she could, thought it was unlikely as she was only supposed to be teaching Georgina on a temporary basis that they would ask for many details about her life.

  “But I feel very – nervous,” she added, “that, if they make too many enquiries about you, they will find out – who you are.”

  “You know as well as I do that no one has ever heard of this benighted out of the way place,” Lara answered, “nor is the Social world aware of Papa, let alone me.”

  Jane knew that was true and she said,

  “Please, Lara, do be careful! Supposing – just supposing Lord Magor – hurts you? I should never – forgive – myself.”

  “Hurts me? How could he hurt me? You say he tried to kiss you and I admit that sounds horrible, but he is hardly likely to knock me down or beat me.”

  Jane did not answer and Lara had the feeling that she was turning something over in her mind.

  Then she said as if she tried to convince herself,

  “I am sure it will be all right and if he does frighten you – you must just ran away and come home.”

  “I promise you that is what I will do,” Lara answered, “but for Heaven’s sake, don’t say anything like that to Papa or Nanny or they will arrive the next day at The Priory to take me away.”

  “I will be very very careful,” Jane promised, “but I should stop you from doing this – although I know you are only – trying to – help me.”

  “I am being very selfish, as it happens,” Lara said, “because it will give me the background I need for my novel. Oh, Jane, if it is a success, then you can share the proceeds with me, because it will all be due to you that it is authentic.”

  She had packed her manuscripts in her trunk.

  ‘I should have time to write in the evenings,’ she thought, ‘when the child has gone to bed and I will also take notes of everything that happens in the house.’

  She wanted to hear a great deal more about the parties at Keyston Priory from Jane, but she knew it was more important to learn what her duties were supposed to be and what lessons she had been teaching Georgina.

  “The child is really very stupid,” Jane said, “although I cannot think why she should be when the Keyston family have the reputation of being clever Statesmen and have also distinguished themselves as soldiers.”

  “Is there a history of the family?” Lara asked.

  “I expect there is in the library,” Jane answered, “but I never have time to read. By the time I have put Georgina to bed and tidied the schoolroom I am too terrified that Lord Magor will come to see me to be able to – concentrate on – reading a book.”

  Lara could not help feeling that Jane was making matters worse than they need be.

  ‘After all, he is only a man,’ she told herself, ‘and what could Jane mean by saying that he might hurt her?’

  It puzzled her a little, but she had so many other things to think about that she had forgotten about Lord Magor by the time the Hackney carriage reached Keyston House in London.

  As the horse stopped, she knew that this was the test as to whether she could stay or would be sent away.

  She had remembered to ask Jane what was the name of Georgina’s Nanny, knowing how her own nurse disliked strangers addressing her familiarly as ‘Nanny’.

  “Nesbit, Miss Nesbit,” Jane said.

  “Should I ask for her when I arrive or will there be a secretary like the one at The Priory whom I should see first?”

  “Mr. Simpson is at the Priory at the moment because the Marquis is there,” Jane replied. “When he returns to London, Mr. Simpson goes ahead of him to have everything prepared and ready for his arrival.”

  “Then the best thing I can do is to ask for the Nanny,” Lara said decided, “and explain to her what has happened.”

  “I-I hope that is right – I think so – oh, dear – I wish you were not doing this!” Jane stammered.

  “We cannot go all over that again,” Lara answered, “and now I think I hear Jacobs outside with the wheelbarrow and I had better leave.”

  There was no other way she could take her trunk to the station except by ordering Jacobs to push it there in the wheelbarrow.

  Her father had taken Rollo in the trap to go to the neighbouring village.

  Although Lara might have asked one of the farmers for the loan of a wagon, she thought it would be a mistake for anybody except Nanny and Jane to know what she was doing.

  As the Vicarage and the Church were at the far end of the village, nobody saw her set off a few minutes later to walk briskly down the twisting lane which eventually reached the high road which led to the station for Little Fladbury and two other villages.

  It was actually only a halt and, as there was no permanent employee in charge of it, anyone wishing to travel to London or on the down line to other parts of Essex had to manipulate the signal himself.

  Although Lara’s trunk did not contain very much, it was made of heavy leather and Jacobs pushed the wheelbarrow onto the platform with a grunt of relief, pulling a dirty handkerchief from the pocket of his corduroy trousers to mop his forehead as he did so.

  “That be a long step, Miss Lara,” he muttered.

  “I am very grateful to you, Jacobs,” Lara replied, “and will you please work the signal for me?”

  Jacobs did as he was asked.

  Lara had had so much to ask Jane that she had not left home until the last minute. So she had only a very short wait before she could see the smoke from the engine in the distance.

  A few seconds later the train drew noisily in to stop beside the platform.

  The guard climbed out to supervise her trunk being lifted into the van and then he found her a seat in the carriage labelled Ladies Only while the man driving the engine reset the signal.

  Then they were off and Lara leaned out of the window to wave goodbye to Jacobs who was, however, already wheeling his barrow off the platform.

  ‘This is a real adventure!’ Lara told herself.

  She was saying the same thing as the Hackney carriage stopped at Keyston House.

  It looked very impressive with its porticoed front door standing back from Park Lane and with a high wall enclosin
g what Lara guessed was a garden filled with trees at the back of it.

  ‘It must be lovely to be so rich that you can afford to keep up a huge house in the country and another in London,’ she thought.

  The cabby obligingly stepped down to ring the bell and almost immediately it was opened by a footman in a very smart livery of dark blue and yellow with large silver buttons bearing the Marquis’s crest.

  By this time the cabby had lifted her trunk from the front of the carriage and Lara saw the footman staring in surprise at what was obviously an unexpected visitor.

  She walked up the two marble steps to the front door.

  “I wish to see Miss Nesbit,” she began, “who I understand is with Lady Georgina, and please allow my trunk to wait in the hall until I have spoken to her.”

  Although she did not realise it, Lara spoke in quite a composed and authoritative manner and the footman immediately replied respectfully,

  “I’ll tell Miss Nesbit you’re here, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  The footman led the way across the hall and opened the door and Lara was shown into what she thought must be a morning room.

  It was attractively furnished with pictures, that she knew at a glance were very valuable, and French furniture, which she had studied in her books and had always longed actually to see.

  While she waited, she moved around the room looking at the pictures, reading the artists’ names and knowing that the price of just one of them would have kept her and her father in comfort, even luxury, for several years.

  There had been pictures, perhaps not so good and certainly not so valuable, in the family house that had to be sold and Lady Hurlington had often said to Lara,

  “It is very silly to have regrets, but I often wish, dearest, that you had known what it was like to live in a big house, as I did when I was a girl, with lots of servants.”

  She sighed before she added,

  “I would love you to attend huge dinner parties and, of course, dance in ballrooms lit by crystal chandeliers to the sound of a dozen violins.”

  “It must have been very romantic, Mama.”

  “It was,” her mother had replied, “but not so romantic as falling in love with your Papa and living in a small rather shabby Vicarage and being very very happy,”