“I beg your pardon?” That was certainly something she’d never been called before.
“No, I think I should beg yours. What a difficult life you must lead. Miss Cole, if I’m not being impertinent. I mean, I am being impertinent, but it makes me angry.”
“What does?”
“You. Here you are, an intelligent girl, obviously well-brought up, forced to slave for strangers. Governess to two great girls, those silly Garnets.”
“You know them? That is, really, there’s no need to feel sorry for me. I...” This was hideously uncomfortable. If only Thorpe knew the truth, he’d not waste either his sympathy or a moment before telling her to leave. “Besides, I don’t think of it as slavery. I receive a perfectly adequate salary, as you ought to know.” Oh, goodness. Paulina had never told her what her remuneration was supposed to be.
“A mere thirty pounds a year. What is that? I think I should give you a rise.”
“Oh, no! After all, I pay nothing for my food and lodging. Mr. Everard, please believe me, I’m perfectly content with my lot.”
“But a young woman like you shouldn’t have to say please and thank you for every crumb thrown in your way. It’s obvious you hardly know what to do with a compliment. I think you should have a husband of your own.”
At that, Lillian half rose from her seat. “Mr. Everard, I would remind you that I have only arrived in your house today. I hardly think a conversation about my future is proper at this early juncture. I’m grateful for your concern, but—”
“But,” he said, “you’ll thank me not to interfere. Sit down again, Miss Cole. I shall not embarrass you further.” He lifted his shoulders and smiled. “I do interfere, I know. If I were a woman, they’d call me a bothersome old busybody, and I suppose they’d be right. But I can’t bear to see anyone unhappy. I know too much about it.” The last words were almost inaudible.
The gamekeeper’s boy sat up, his face alert. “The dad’s here, Gina. Time to go.”
The door to the library opened. “Jack Price to see you, sir,” Becksnaff said.
“Send him in.” Thorpe stood up and walked toward the door. “Jack, have you come to find your wandering chicks?”
“Just to send ‘em home, sir. The missus’s awaiting.” The big man in the moleskin coat stopped short at the sight of his children. “Fine as five pence. What happen to them other clothes?”
“Well,” Thorpe said, passing his hand through his hair, “there was a bit of an accident. They can go as they are; I’ll send someone over tomorrow with the others.”
“All ri’. You better get along, then, younglings. Say thank ‘ee to Miss Everard.”
Addy inclined her head to her friends’ thanks like the lady of the manor accepting prayers from her minions. She seemed to have forgotten completely that, five minutes before, they’d been playing together, though not as equals. Addy had been much the underling.
The two children ran off, yelping as their father feigned swipes at them. “An’ don’t be dawdlin’ on the way!”
Thorpe said, “Where are you off to this evening, Price?”
“Well, sir, I wasn’t goin’ to say nothin’, seein’ what yer views is, but I’ve got a poacher t’ take down to the magistrate.”
“Oh, no. Who?”
“That there Tom Maxwell, as was born to be hanged.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but what’s the good of my catchin’ these fellers if yer only goin’ t’ let ‘em go again?”
“Nevertheless, it’s my rabbit. Was it a rabbit?”
“No, sir. Fish.”
“Well, then, it’s my fish. If I choose not to prosecute, no harm’s done.”
“ ‘Cept you’ll have every ruffian with wire or snare here inside the week.”
“Then you’ve never to fear you’ll lose your position, eh, Jack? Where is the rascal?”
“Tied to one o’ them horse holders out front.” The big gamekeeper rolled his eyes heavenward as he turned to follow Thorpe out of the room.
Thorpe was kind. Kind to children, kind to poachers, kind even to frogs. Had he not gently suggested that Frank let his bagged catch go upon emerging from the lake? Lillian knew that she would be foolish beyond belief to misinterpret his attentions to her. He simply listed governesses among those people deserving his kindness.
Looking up, she met Addy’s eyes. The girl’s lower lip was slung forward, perhaps insubordinately, perhaps thoughtfully. Lillian had not spent enough time about small children to be certain, young Sir Lewis Pritchard not withstanding. Feeling as though she were being observed by a stray dog, Lillian spoke in a low and soothing tone. “What time do you usually retire, Addy?”
“Whenever I want.”
“Oh.” There didn’t seem to be an answer to such a statement that would not sound critical of the girl’s upbringing. Lillian rose to her feet. “What a lot of books your father has,” she said, wandering over to the shelves.
The firelight flickered over the spines of the tall volumes on the shelves. They were not covered by matching morocco leather with golden crests; rather, they seemed to have been bought over a long period of time by many hands. There was an entire section devoted to the science of the air, and another to everything known about water. She recognized titles from her school days, mysterious tales of murder and love, as well as sermons. Lillian chuckled as she ran her fingers over the complete works of Judge Fielding, bawdy tales with which she should properly have had no acquaintance.
“Do you . ..” Lillian almost jumped, having forgotten, for the moment, that Addy was still in the room. The words had petered out at once, anyway, as soon as Lillian looked around.
She turned her attention once more to the books. “Do I what, dear?” she asked.
“Do you know any new stories?”
“Stories?”
“I’ve heard all of Great’s. Papa’s too. The servants don’t know any, ’cept for Becksnaff, but he only talks about the war. He was a soldier.”
“Well, I know a few,” Lillian said. This was the longest conversation yet she’d had with the child, and it felt very queer, knowing if she turned, the fountain would dry up, so to speak. “I learned a few stories while I lived in India.”
“India?” Disbelief filled the girl’s voice. “Don’t be silly.”
“It’s very rude to call someone a liar, Addy. I lived in India for a long time. Did you know, this coat I have on came from there.”
“You look silly in it.”
“Be that as it may, the silk came from there. Probably the cinnamon in your cake came from there too.”
“From your house?”
“My house?” Lillian was so surprised she turned around. Addy had come to stand within three or four feet of her, the closest she’d come yet. Even in the lake, she’d been careful to stay at a distance.
“My grandmamma and grandpapa live in Lympie Hall, and I live in the castle. The castle’s the biggest house in the whole world, bigger than your old India.” Lillian hadn’t known a six-year-old girl could sneer.
Lillian knelt down on the carpet, the blue skirts of the banyan spreading out on the red carpet like a pool of clear water. “Addy, India isn’t my house. It’s a country, far away, filled with strange people and wonderful things. Like silk, spices, and... and tigers. I lived there. While I was there, I learned many stories I promise to tell you.” Though Addy still looked suspicious, Lillian knew she was interested. “What time do you go to bed?” she asked again.
“Eight o’clock.”
‘Then, when it is your bedtime, I’ll come and tell you a story about India. If you like it, I’ll tell you another tomorrow.”
“I won’t like it.”
“That’s for you to decide.”
The front door closed and Addy whirled away, running off in search of her father. As she stood, Lillian could hear the child chattering away about the things Miss Cole had just told her. Suddenly, Lillian realized she’d placed herself in an
other difficult position. How could she explain to Thorpe about India when the letter of recommendation had said nothing about it? Lying was so much more complex than telling the truth. She’d best invent something, and quickly!
It wasn’t Thorpe who walked in, but Lady Genevieve. “Miss Cole, I realize you are new to our household, but what are you about leaving my great-granddaughter awake so late? It has gone past seven o’clock.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Genevieve. Addy, if you hurry, I shall tell you that story. Isn’t it a good thing you’ve already had your bath?” The little girl and Lillian exchanged a look. Lillian tried to put across in a single glance that she wasn’t going to tell Lady Genevieve Addy had lied about her bedtime, provided there were no more such “mistakes” that evening.
Addy said, “Good night, Great,” and put up her arms to kiss Lady Genevieve’s cheek. For a moment, the two Everard females clung to each other. Then, the girl said, “Come along, Miss Cole,” in a tone not unlike her father’s, unconsciously imperious but without cruelty.
“Don’t trouble Miss Cole tonight, Addy,” Lady Genevieve said. At the little girl’s frown, the older lady repeated, “Not tonight. She is tired from her exertions and has been traveling all day.” Turning to Lillian, she said, “I have ordered you a light supper in your room, Miss Cole. If you will escort Addy to the nursery, Burrows will put her to bed.”
“Of course. Never mind, Addy. I’ll tell you a story tomorrow night and we’ll start lessons in the morning.”
Addy did not wait for this assurance to be completed but turned about and walked away considerably ahead of Lillian.
As they passed through the foyer and up the stairs, Lillian could hear Jack Price complaining about something, and the quick, kind answers of Thorpe Everard. She felt a pang, swiftly smothered, as she reminded herself never to read anything into Thorpe’s attentions save kindness. And she’d really have to give up thinking of him as Thorpe!
Chapter Four
When Lillian awoke the next morning she discovered some trouble in recalling where she was and even more in remembering who. A pale pink glow coming through the gently stirring curtains told her it was still very early. It would be so easy to fall again into a light slumber. Lillian yawned. Really, she had nothing to do. A few more hours of rest would suit her down to the ground.
Someone knocked on the door. Carrying breakfast, no doubt. Blinking and stretching, Lillian sat up to allow the tray to fit across her knees. When the door opened, a curious odor wafted in, compounded of chalk, old damp paper, and cheese. Instantly, she knew it for what it was. That concentrated essence of classroom always met her when returning to school after a holiday.
She was Lillian Cole, governess, and she’d be lucky to get any breakfast at all. Certainly, it would not be laid across her knees accompanied by flowers. Though uncertain as yet whether she was to eat with the servants, the family, or her pupil, she knew she would not be pampered in the manner Lillian Canfield had grown accustomed to.
“It’s me, miss.” The maid came in, carrying the poplin dress. “I done my best. It didn’t do no good.”
The frill of lace about the bodice had gone from white to a murky tan. The sleeves must have been made of cloth from a different dye lot, for their color had run and marked the bodice. Though the fabric had once been a pretty shade of pale blue, the muddy water had changed it to a mixed and spotty gray.
“I would say that the only thing to do is to have it dyed black,” Lillian said, resigning herself. And, she thought, to make a vow never to go bathing with my clothing on. This conjured up an image of herself bathing with no clothing on at all. Reprehensible, perhaps, but what brought the blush to her cheeks was that Thorpe apparently insisted on joining her, wearing no more than she herself. Somehow, the thought took her back to the disquieting dreams she’d been so reluctant to leave.
The maid peered at her closely. “A good black dress is ever so useful, my mam says. I was a mite surprised you didn’t have one before this. Don’t governesses always wear ‘em?”
Come to think of it, her own governess had worn quite a bit of black, but then her relations always seemed to be dying. At least, she’d often asked leave to visit their funerals.
“I suppose we do. The color doesn’t matter me, though, I think. Well, I shall have to make my muslin do again. I wish I’d brought more things. How soon is it possible to have this dress dyed?”
“I dunno,” she said. “I can ask Mrs, Becksnaff. Not till washing day and that’s nigh a week off. We just done it Monday.”
“I see. Thank you.” When dressed—the maid helping her while explaining it wasn’t her regular job—Lillian asked about breakfast.
“I dunno,” the maid said again. It seemed to be her stock answer. “You might as well have a bite with me. ‘Course, I had some bread and cheese afore I first begun my work, but I could do with another taste of something.”
When asked, the white-aproned cook gave an unfeminine sniff and whacked a hunk off a loaf of bread with what seemed to Lillian to be unnecessary vigor. “Here,” she said, pushing it at her. “Butter and jam’s on the table.”
“Thank you; it smells delicious.” For a moment, the cook showed her strong teeth in what might have been a smile. Encouraged, Lillian asked, “Have you worked here a long time?”
“Fifteen years. Started as slavey. Nobody leaves the castle once they start.”
The maid asked, “Do you want porter or stout with that?”
“Tea, please,” Lillian said without thinking.
“Tea? I ain’t got the key to the tea, miss. Couldn’t expect me to. Would you fancy some ale, instead?”
Alcohol as the first drink of the day did not appeal to Lillian. Neither, however, did she care to hurt the maid’s feelings. After all, she’d answered Lillian’s question about breakfast with breakfast.
“Actually, this bread is so very good, I don’t believe I need anything to wash it down with. Thank you, though, very much. Has Miss Addy had her breakfast yet?”
“Her? Love you, miss, hours ago. She don’t wait for nobody that one. A proper young limb, she is. Hardly like a girl at all, if you ask me. More like one of them nasty boys at the house I worked at afore I come here. I don’t envy you your job, then, not a whit.”
The cook broke into their conversation to say, “Are you goin’ to sit there all the morning, Burrows? Them rooms don’t dust themselves and Mrs. Becksnaff said—”
“All righ’, then. I got to get on with me work, miss.”
“I understand. And I’d better find Miss Addy. We start lessons today.”
Burrows goggled at her a moment and then went away, shaking her head. This lack of confidence in her abilities did not deter Lillian from her purpose. Laying awake for nearly fifteen minutes last night, she’d planned how to interest Addy in the rudiments of reading. Now, all she required was a pupil.
Passing the butler on her way up from the kitchen, Lillian said to him, “Excuse me, Mr. Becksnaff. Do you know where Miss Addy might be?”
“No, I do not. It’s not my place to go looking after her.” And the portly man all but elbowed her aside in the narrow passageway as he continued on.
Though Lillian raised her eyebrows at his reaction, she realized she’d most likely transgressed one of the rules of order below stairs. She would have followed him to apologize had she not then heard the sound of childish laughter. Hurrying through the green baize door at the end of the passage, she emerged into the dining room.
Though the laughter had stopped, she could hear Lady Genevieve speaking in the gentle, almost singing voice she used only for Addy. “Yes, very well, run and put on your bonnet and cloak. Don’t dawdle; the horses must not be kept standing. There is a wind.”
“Yes, Great, I’ll hurry!”
Lillian entered the hall just in time to see a tiny pair of feet, brushed by ankle-length frilled pantelettes, trip lightly up the staircase in the main hall. Lady Genevieve watched Addy run, an indulgent s
mile taking years from her face. Lillian could see the charming young woman she must have been. The illusion was added to by the modish carnage robe and wide-brimmed hat Lady Genevieve wore.
“Good morning. Lady Genevieve,” Lillian said. “Was that Addy who just went upstairs?”
As soon as she spoke, she saw the older woman’s back stiffen. Turning, Lady Genevieve held out her hand and said coldly, “Might I trouble you. Miss Cole, to fasten my glove?”
“Certainly.” Lillian slipped the loop over the smooth pearl button. “There you are.”
“I’m obliged to you.”
“If it was Addy,” Lillian pursued, “I have been looking for her. We ought to start our lessons today.”
“I’m afraid that is out of the question. I have long promised Addy a trip into Danbury.” The light blue eyes nicked over Lillian’s muslin dress. “It is the only town near the castle that has shops of any quality.”
“That must be most exciting for Addy.” Yet the conversation she’d overheard had seemed more like an indulgent great-grandparent giving in to the pleading of a beloved child, than the fulfillment of a long-held promise. “However, perhaps it would be better to delay this trip. A routine should be established from the first, or so . ..”
The older woman almost smiled. “How middle-aged you sound, Miss Cole. Surely, if I am of the opinion that this trip will be beneficial to the child, you will not argue with me.”
“I have no wish to argue with you, Lady Genevieve.”
Lady Genevieve might not have heard this capitulation, for she gave no sign of being pleased by it. “As you will have no duties here with Addy gone, perhaps it will not discommode you to look after her on the trip.” Once again. Lady Genevieve regarded the muslin dress, and Lillian could have sworn a faint shudder rippled through the older woman’s frame. “You yourself may find something suitable.”
Meaning, Lillian supposed, that what she had on was not suitable. Well, she thought with an inward laugh, no one could fault Lady Genevieve’s taste. Lillian’s clothing had been “borrowed” from Paulina’s own groom’s wife, castoffs of her former mistress. They were half a dozen years out of the style and hardly fit with exactitude. She wished she had a mind above clothes, but the thought of continuing to wear these dresses pained her.
A Lady in Disguise Page 5
