A Very Unusual Governess

by Sylvia Andrew

  The next day was a miserable one for Octavia. Edward Barraclough set off early for London, and Mrs Barraclough made excuse after excuse to keep the girls from her. Lessons were suspended, and to keep her occupied she was given set after set of laundry sheets and bills to check. When she offered to take the girls for their usual walk in the afternoon, Mrs Barraclough smiled coldly and said the weather was not at all suitable—she wished to keep them at her side. A fire was lit in the large salon, and the girls and their aunt spent the afternoon there, while Octavia sat alone in the small parlour. It was no consolation to her when the door to the salon was opened and she heard Pip’s voice raised in protest. It was followed by an angry order from Mrs Barraclough, the sound of a scuffle, and then the door was slammed shut again. Octavia’s heart ached for her charges, but she felt completely helpless. She was also very puzzled. She could tell that Mrs Barraclough had not liked her, but the woman was treating her as if she had the plague! What had gone wrong?

  She and Pip had supper in the schoolroom. This was no hardship, but afterwards she spent most of the night lying awake, and got up feeling unrefreshed.

  The day was no better than the one before. Mrs Barraclough announced at breakfast that she was taking her nieces to Guildford.

  ‘Good!’ said Pip. ‘We can take Miss Petrie with us. I want her to meet my dancing teacher.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Mrs Barraclough. ‘We shall be visiting friends afterwards, and I hardly think they would be interested in meeting your governess, Philippa.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Be silent!’ Mrs Barraclough turned to Octavia. ‘I do wish you had managed to teach Philippa how to behave in company, Miss Petrie. She has always been a difficult child, but she seems to have got worse under your regime. We shall have to see what can be done before she becomes quite ungovernable. I have a good mind to leave her behind today!’

  ‘Oh, would you? Please, Aunt Julia!’ Pip’s eyes were shining and she clasped her hands in supplication. ‘Miss Petrie and I could have a day to ourselves, and you and Lisette could visit Mrs Allardyce in peace. Please say you will!’

  This was not the response Mrs Barraclough had expected or desired. After a surprised pause she said, ‘I prefer to keep an eye on you myself, Philippa. Finish your breakfast and get ready.’

  Octavia followed Pip up to her room. ‘Pip dearest, you must try to be good today. Your Aunt Julia is strict, but I’m sure she has your best interests at heart. Show her that I have managed to teach you something.’

  ‘She doesn’t like you. She wants to hurt you.’

  ‘Pip!’ Octavia sat down on the bed and held Pip before her. ‘If I’m honest with you, will you be grown up enough to understand and not repeat what I say?’ Pip nodded. ‘You will? Good! I think your aunt disapproves of me, I’m not sure why. There’s not much I can do about it. But that’s not important. What is important is that she cares about you. She wants you to be a success, and she’s right. You have to live with her after I’ve gone, remember, and you’ll be much happier if you do your best to understand her point of view. Will you try? It would cheer me up no end if I heard when you all come back this evening that your aunt is pleased with you.’ She gave Pip a kiss and pushed her away. ‘Now, be off with you! Don’t trip over your toes at the dancing lesson!’

  Pip ran to the door, then came back to throw her arms round Octavia and hug her. ‘Oh, Miss Petrie, I do love you! And I will try!’

  ‘That’s good!’ said Octavia, and watched as Pip raced along the landing. ‘Slowly, Pip! Slowly!’ she called, smiling.

  The sounds of departure died and Octavia was alone in the house. Even the servants seemed to be hiding. They were probably in the kitchen at the back. It was warm there, and the day was cold. It would soon be winter.

  She wandered about the house like a lost spirit, until she found herself, she was not quite sure how, at the foot of the stairs leading to the room at the top of the tower. The room would be locked of course, it always was. She might just have a look…She slowly mounted the narrow stairs and found she had been right—the door was shut. And locked? She gave it a gentle push, and to her surprise it slowly opened. She went in.

  A faint fragrance hung in the air, not sweet but herby, dry, intriguing. The chair she had seen being carried up was in front of the fireplace. There was even a fire in the hearth. It was almost out, but there was still a faint glow at its heart. Had it been lit by the servants who had brought the chair upstairs? Had Mrs Dutton ordered them to light it in order to air the room? It had lasted a long time, if that were so. It didn’t matter. Whoever had lit it, she was grateful to them. They had probably left the door unlocked, too.

  Octavia coaxed the fire into life again, and added one or two pieces of wood from the basket at the side. Then she wandered over to a table full of knick-knacks, and saw that there was a small framed drawing of herself among them. The picture of another little girl held pride of place. She read the writing below. Theophania Carstairs, born 1770, died 1778. So this had been Aunt Carstairs’s daughter, her only child. Had she left Wychford to Octavia because she reminded the old lady of the daughter she had lost all those years before? A breath of air, like a sigh, wafted through the room. Octavia looked round. The windows looked firmly shut, but the room was high up. It wouldn’t be surprising if there was a draught…

  She sat down in the chair. So much sadness. With a heavy heart she thought once again about Julia Barraclough and what her arrival meant to Lisette and Pip. Pip was a very special sort of child, but Julia Barraclough was just the sort of person to rouse the worst in her: critical, overbearing, lacking in perception and full of ideas on discipline. Pip would have a hard time before she learned how to live with her aunt. And what would happen to all that lovely spontaneity while she did? Then there was Lisette…Lisette would never rouse her aunt’s disapproval, she was always too anxious to avoid conflict, ready to believe the best of everyone. But the freshness, the charm of her gentle spirit, would be lost under Julia Barraclough’s dominating personality. Lisette might well become a meek nonentity, even forced into Julia Barraclough’s idea of a ‘good’ match. Harry just might save her if he was given the chance, but there was nothing Octavia could do about that at the moment. There wasn’t much she could do at all.

  She looked down in surprise when a tear fell on to her lap. She never cried! Octavia Petrie was famous for it—she never cried, not even when she was quite badly hurt. But the tears did not seem to know this piece of family lore. They came faster and faster, and were soon followed by a sob, and then another. Confused and ashamed, Octavia struggled to find her handkerchief. It wasn’t there! It was a little scrap of a thing, it probably wouldn’t have been much good anyway, but its loss was the last straw. Octavia hid her face in her hands, lay back in the chair and gave way to a storm of tears. It didn’t matter that her hands were dusty, that her face would have streaks of dirt on it. Who was there to see?

  She calmed down eventually, in some strange way feeling better…the scent of herbs in the room was even stronger…She closed her eyes. The image of a dark man floated in front of her. He was smiling that special smile of his, one eyebrow faintly raised, the glint in his eyes inviting her to share his amusement…Then he was serious again, telling her he loved her, that all would be well…Octavia felt happy again—and very sleepy.

  Edward came back from London to find the house deserted. When one of the servants told him that the family had gone to Guildford for the day, he was quite annoyed, more with himself than anyone else. He should have ignored the strange urge to return that had attacked him in the middle of the morning. There had been no need to hurry back after all!

  He wandered restlessly through the house, not quite sure what he was doing. There was an air of expectancy about the place that he could not understand. Eventually he came to the schoolroom. There was nothing of interest there. The schoolbooks were carefully stacked away, the papers on the desk in a neat pile. He turned them over. Lau
ndry lists? Household bills? All noted and recorded in Octavia’s handwriting. Edward dropped them back on the desk. What a spiteful woman Julia was! Octavia had offended her in some mysterious way, and she had taken her revenge by giving the governess a clerk’s work to do!

  How was Octavia being treated today? A visit to the Allardyces would give Julia numerous opportunities to humiliate her—Lavinia Allardyce was almost as great a snob as Julia! Edward stared into space. What the devil was he to do? It wasn’t only Octavia who would suffer under Julia. Pip and Lisette would, too, especially when Octavia left. She had done so much for them. Pip was once again the merry little soul he had known in the old days, and the sad look in Lisette’s eyes, which had so disturbed him, had almost vanished. For this he was sure he had Octavia to thank. As for himself…Edward swore violently. It seemed he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Octavia Petrie! He knew very well why he had come back early from London. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. The truth was he couldn’t keep away from Wychford for long while he knew Octavia Petrie was there. And now he had come back to find she was out for the day—what a waste of time!

  A window banged shut, startling him out of his reverie. The house was empty, as far as he knew. Did they have an intruder? Edward came out of the schoolroom and looked around, but the house was silent about him. Something told him that it had come from the direction of the tower. High up. He went along the landing to the foot of the narrow staircase that led up to the top and listened. Nothing. All the same…Edward took out his bunch of keys and selected the one that fitted the door upstairs. Then he quietly mounted the stairs.

  He found he didn’t need his key. The door was slightly open, and through it he could see the light of a fire.

  Chapter Eleven

  Edward pushed the door further, and bunched his keys inside his fist. If there was an intruder he knew how to deal with him. He went softly in. The fire was glowing, but the room was empty. He stood at the door and the strong, sharp fragrance in the air brought back a vivid picture of Mrs Carstairs as she had been when he first visited her in this very room. She had been lying in that chair over by the fire, and he had hesitated, standing at the door like this. Her black eyes had twinkled at him.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ she had said. ‘You needn’t expect me to stand up for you. It’s enough of an effort to get up here at all!’ She was thin, but not yet wasted by illness, and her spirit was very much alive. ‘Come over here! I want to have a look at you.’

  He had advanced into the room. She had nodded. ‘Yes. I thought you’d do. I was just thinking up someone like you. I’m pleased to see you again, Mr Barraclough. You’re just what I need!’ He hadn’t quite known how to reply to this, and she had continued, ‘You’re not fair, of course, but that doesn’t matter. I prefer dark men, myself. Do you still wish to rent Wychford when the rest of your family come over to England?’

  Her conversation had always been somewhat odd, but never dull. He had enjoyed it. He had visited her several times after that, but each time she had seemed weaker, until she could no longer get up to the room in the tower, even with the help of the servants. That was when the chair had been taken down to her bedchamber. It had been brought back up here again just the other day.

  Edward came further into the room. Then he saw that it wasn’t empty after all. Octavia Petrie was lying back fast asleep in the chair. She was so tiny that she had been out of sight from the door. Why hadn’t she woken up when the window had banged? He came nearer…She was in much the same position she had been in that night in Pip’s bedroom. Then she had been in a nightgown and thin wrapper; today she was fully dressed in a plain blue stuff gown, buttoned to the throat. But the sight was as touchingly seductive now as it had been then. He knelt down beside her and saw the streaks of dried tears on her face. His heart melted and he put a gentle hand against her cheek. ‘Octavia!’ he whispered.

  Her eyes opened, and widened as she saw him. Then she smiled and shook her head. ‘I know you’re not really here,’ she said dreamily. ‘It’s just my imagination. You’re in London. But it’s nice to have your ghost to keep me company.’

  Some bird outside—a rook or gull, perhaps—gave a cackle of laughter, but they didn’t hear it.

  ‘I’m here, all right,’ said Edward. ‘In the flesh. No ghost could possibly feel the way I do at this moment.’ He bent forward and kissed her.

  She was still half-asleep, but, after a brief hesitation, her lips softened and melted under his. He held her face in both hands and kissed her again, more demandingly, and this time fire ran along his veins as he felt her immediate, and passionate, response. He covered her cheeks, her eyes, the tip of her nose, her chin, with kisses, and, slowly undoing the buttons of her dress with trembling fingers, he kissed her throat, her shoulders, the shadow between her breasts…It wasn’t enough. He lifted her bodily out of the chair and held her there in his arms. She felt so light, as if a breath of wind would blow her away, and he was suddenly afraid that he might hurt her, or frighten her with the intensity of his feelings. With great reluctance he gently set her down away from him.

  For a moment she stared at him in shock and then smiled when she saw what was in his eyes. Lifting her arms, she wound them round his neck and fiercely pulled him back to her, holding her mouth to his. Not one of Louise’s expert blandishments had ever made him feel half such a man, so electrically alive, so startlingly aware of every nerve in his body. Never before had he felt such a desperate need to keep himself in control, as he knew he must. Never before had it been so difficult. His arms tightened round her and he pressed her to him, her yielding softness sending desire rocketing through his blood. Heaven forgive him, he must stop this, he must! It would soon be too late.

  ‘Octavia,’ he said, his throat dry.

  ‘Don’t talk,’ she murmured, her lips still pressed to his. ‘Talking will spoil it. Kiss me again, Edward! Please kiss me again!’

  It was no use! He had to respond. Still locked in a kiss, they sank back in front of the leaping fire, lost to the world. He thrust her dress away from her shoulders, kissing the satin skin of her bared breasts….

  A breath of air from one of the windows passed through the room, and Octavia shivered in the cool draught. It was the slightest of movements, but it was enough to bring Edward to his senses.

  ‘I…I mustn’t!’ he said with a groan. ‘God help me, I mustn’t! You don’t know what you’re doing, Octavia. How difficult you’re making it for me! This is where it must stop.’ He unwound her arms from his neck, and drew her dress up over her shoulders again. Then he got up and pulled her to her feet, almost angrily. She stared at him, dazed. Then her face changed—it was as if she woke up. A look of shocked horror came into her eyes and she bent her head with a sob. Turning away from him, she began to fasten her dress.

  ‘Octavia—’ he said.

  She shook her head, still not looking at him.

  ‘Octavia!’ he said again.

  She put her hands to her ears in an effort to shut him out. ‘Don’t! Don’t say anything!’ she said hoarsely. ‘It happened again! I don’t know what came over me, I don’t have such feelings! Oh, God, I’m so ashamed! What must you think of me? How could I have let you…begged you to kiss me like that? Allowed you to…to…touch me…Such wanton behaviour…Don’t look at me like that! I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!’

  She whirled away from him and ran out of the door and down the stairs as if she was being pursued by demons. He heard the door of her room slam.

  Edward looked around him. It all looked so innocent. Not at all like a scene for seduction. And yet it had taken all the strength he had not to seduce Octavia Petrie, here in this very room, even though he was fully aware that it would be wrong. He felt exhausted, battered by a maelstrom of conflicting emotions…

  It was some time before he felt ready to leave Mrs Carstairs’s room, and even then he still wasn’t able to think rationally about what had just happened. Before
checking the fire and locking the room, he went round all the windows, examining them for loose catches, or gaps in their frames. There was nothing. The banging window must be somewhere else. He would get one of the handymen to take a look round the rest of the rooms. But…in that case, where had that sobering breath of air come from? Edward shook his head. Whatever its origin, they both had reason to be grateful to it.

  It was no surprise when Miss Petrie sent a message to say that she had a bad head and would stay in her room for the rest of the day. Julia, of course, congratulated herself on winning the battle of attendance at dinner.

  ‘These people are all the same, Edward,’ she said. ‘Give them a little leeway and they will waste no time in taking advantage of you. But they soon knuckle under if you are firm with them. Miss Petrie has had the day to consider her position, and has now realised that she cannot win. I dare say she will not come down to dinner again. Mrs Allardyce had some similar experiences to recount. Governesses always tend to think themselves a cut above the other servants. Did you know that Lavinia Allardyce is distantly related to the Ledburys?’ She hesitated and threw a glance at her nieces. ‘Lisette, since Miss Petrie tells us she has the headache and cannot, it seems, perform her duties, I should like you to take Philippa upstairs and see her to bed. She is tired after her day out, and I wish to talk to your uncle. You needn’t bother to come downstairs again yourself.’

  Edward roused himself. ‘Not unless you wish to, Lisette. I should like to hear how your dancing lesson went.’