“Miss Winterton, welcome to Charlsby.” He took her gloved hand and held it in both of his, while his eyes took in her black pelisse. “You are in mourning, just as I am. You have my sincere sympathy, for I know how much you must be suffering, and how difficult you must find it to leave your home and make a new life for yourself far away. It is my great wish that you will be happy here, as happy as I have been for many years, and will not feel the loss of your familiar surroundings to be unbearable. Whatever I may do for your comfort, you must ask and if it be in my power I shall provide it.” His voice was warm and mellow, and she recognised the sincerity in his words.
“You are all kindness, Lord Brackenwood.” She made her curtsy, but he was still holding her hand, gazing now at her face.
“The kindness is all on your side, I assure you, for I had not the least idea what to do for the best for my three ragamuffins. I hope they will not give you too much trouble.”
Ragamuffins? Trouble? She was aware of a tremor of unease. “I am sure we shall get along charmingly,” she said, with more confidence than she felt.
Lord Brackenwood then turned to Robin, and after that there were refreshments to be ordered and awaited. There was a small grouping of chairs at the far side of the room, with tables conveniently to hand. The earl shifted piled-up books to clear space for the tea and cake when it arrived, and the three of them talked industriously of the state of the roads and the weather and the quality of inns for some minutes.
He was not a handsome man, Annabelle decided, after some consideration. His face was pleasant enough, and his features were regular but undistinguished. His hair was an indeterminate shade of brown, like his eyes. Even his age was undistinguished, for he was neither young nor old. Somewhere between thirty and forty, she guessed. Again, she felt he could easily pass as a farmer or one of the better types of artisan. An artist, of some kind, perhaps, for he had long, delicate fingers, perfect for holding a brush. But his voice was gentle and well-modulated, and his manners were excellent.
For half an hour, they sat and chatted and ate and drank, like any gentry paying a duty call on a neighbour. And then Robin rose and said that he must take his leave, and the earl rang the bell to order the carriage brought round. And so they came to the moment of final separation. One by one, her family had left her, and now her last contact with her old life was leaving her and she would be quite alone. Friendless, homeless and penniless. But she smiled and shook Robin’s hand and thanked him for his services in bringing her to Charlsby.
And then he was gone. She was alone.
3: The Governess
Annabelle stood uncertainly in the hall as the butler closed the door. Outside, the sounds of the carriage rattling down the drive dwindled into silence.
“Come, let me show you to your rooms,” Lord Brackenwood said.
“Oh, but one of the servants—”
“Nonsense, pray allow me to be useful for a change. Besides, no one knows Charlsby as well as I do. Plessey has not been here above five years, and even Mrs Hale, the housekeeper, barely ten.”
“Mrs Dawkins has been here longer than your lordship,” Plessey said.
The earl turned to him, a smile lighting his features. “Ah yes, the cook! She was born here, as I was. And several of the outdoor staff also. Now, Miss Winterton, this is the music room in here, where Charlsby’s ghost is reputed to appear, but only when the violin is played. My brother Duncan used to play, but he had to give it up, for the sake of the housemaids’ nerves. Well, he said he gave it up on account of not wishing to raise the ghost, at any rate. Just beyond it is the dining room. We dine at six, winter and summer alike. My brother once put a basket of frogs under the table when guests were expected, but they all escaped too soon, and made their way all over the house. It took us a week to find them all. Through here is the morning room, my mother’s domain. She keeps to her bedchamber just now, but you will meet her very soon. This is the Italian room, where my grandmother liked to receive callers. A funny thing happened here in my father’s day…”
He had a story about every room, but almost all of them involved his father or his older brother, Duncan, who had been something of a scapegrace, it seemed, although the earl spoke of him with affection.
When they started up the stairs and the earl fell silent momentarily, Annabelle said, “When may I meet my pupils?”
“Oh… did I not mention it? They are away just now. We all went to my sister Mary for Christmas, and it seemed best to let the girls stay on with their cousins. This house is dreary for them without their mama. But I have written to tell them of your coming, and they will return as soon as Mary can arrange it. This floor is all bedrooms for the family and guests. If we go up again, I will show you the nursery and schoolroom, and your own apartment.”
Her apartment consisted of a large sitting room with a fine view over the deer park, and a small bedroom. Two maids were engaged in unpacking her boxes, while another attended to the fires. There was also a spiral service stair behind a door, but the earl assured her it was never used now.
“I daresay the architect thought it a charming conceit, spiral stairs, but the chamber maids thought it less than charming, especially with buckets of coal to be carried.”
“Oh, this is delightful!” she cried, looking around at the stylish furnishings, not at all the mismatched castoffs she had expected. “What pleasing rooms. I shall be most comfortable here.”
He smiled again, and she was struck by how much younger and handsomer he looked. His habitual expression was serious, with a little frown above the eyes, but perhaps that was merely the weight of sorrow pressing down on him. Once he had grieved enough for his wife, he might be a different man altogether.
He indicated one of the maids. “Milly here will be your personal maid, since you brought none with you. I trust she will give you satisfaction.”
Milly dipped a curtsy, with a mischievous grin that made Annabelle warm to her immediately.
“Thank you! You are all goodness, Lord Brackenwood,” Annabelle said, with heartfelt sincerity, for she had not expected such solicitude for her comfort.
“I hope you will be happy here,” he said. “This is your home now, and I wish you to treat it as such.”
It was the second time he had expressed a desire for the governess to be happy, a wish that was surely unlikely to be fulfilled. How could anyone truly be happy who had lost home and family and a place in society, and become a paid employee? But she curtsied and said only, “Thank you. You are too kind.”
With a few more words he was gone, and Annabelle was left with the maids, and the housekeeper, who arrived a few minutes later to ensure that all was as it should be. Her manner was perfectly correct, but there was neither the deference due to a guest, nor the welcoming smile that she might have afforded to a new servant. Annabelle would have to accustom herself to such coldness. She was neither family nor servant, and had no friends in this house.
An hour later, she was summoned to the dowager countess. It was not a request. ‘Her ladyship the Countess of Brackenwood will see Miss Winterton now in the morning room.’
She checked her appearance in the glass, glad she had changed her travelling gown for something a little more stylish, but not too stylish. She was only the governess, after all, and must not draw attention to herself.
Lady Brackenwood was as unlike her son as it was possible to be. Where he was unremarkable in every way, the countess was a striking woman in all senses. She sat, ramrod straight, on a gilded chair more like a throne than anything else. Even her gown of gold satin, trimmed with a vast amount of lace, made her look like a queen. From the still-blonde hair elaborately curled down to her embroidered slippers, she would draw every eye to her. She must have been above sixty, but her face was almost unlined and her beauty shone, pale and ethereal, like the moon. As Annabelle made her curtsy, she imagined the countess in her youth, turning every head in the room. How she must have been courted! The fifth earl must have bee
n quite a man to have caught her.
And then she spoke. “You’re the new governess, then.” Her voice was harsh, almost croaking, and was the accent Welsh? And she was not from the top drawer, either. “Well, come closer, girl. Hmm. How old are you?”
“Three and twenty, Lady Brackenwood.”
“Quite on the shelf.” She sniffed disparagingly. “So your father left you penniless, then. Remiss of him. Your brother-in-law brought you, I understand? Seems an odd thing to let his wife’s sister go for a governess, in that way. Why didn’t he take you in himself?”
Annabelle bristled at such rudeness, but answered with composure. “There are four of us to provide for, and few men are generous enough or rich enough to fill their house with spinsters.”
“What is his income?” the countess said in her strange, hoarse way.
Annabelle tried not to look startled at such an impertinent question. “I could not say.”
“Come, come, you must have some idea. His father is a baron, is he not? There must be gossip about his income.”
Annabelle enjoyed listening to gossip as much as the next person, but it offended all her sensibilities to repeat such things. But clearly the countess would not be satisfied until she had a number, so Annabelle plucked one at random. “It may be that Lord Westerlea’s income exceeds three thousand pounds per year.”
“A good sum,” she said, nodding to herself. “Your other sisters have found employment, I take it? For they needn’t come looking here. One destitute girl is quite enough.”
“They are all settled, Lady Brackenwood.”
“Good, good. But you mustn’t call me Lady Brackenwood in that familiar way. Address me as ‘my lady’.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady.”
“That’s better. You’re a servant in this house, here to work, just the same as the scullery maid, so don’t go putting on airs.”
“No, my lady.”
“Hmpf. You will take your meals in your room. You will keep the girls quiet at all times — I can’t abide squealing children. I had enough of that with my own, and my nerves won’t stand for it now. And one more thing, Miss Winterton. You will not, under any circumstances, set your sights on marrying my son. He must marry again, naturally, but it will not be the likes of you. Is that clearly understood?”
“Perfectly clear, my lady.” Stung, she lifted her chin a little higher. “You need have no fears on that score. I have no intention of marrying.”
The countess gave a bark of laughter. “Ha! Fine words, my girl, but I know your type. Ambitious as they come, I’ve no doubt.”
“I am not in the least ambitious,” Annabelle said proudly. “After two seasons in London, I could have married any number of earls, so yours is quite safe from me. I lost my heart a long time ago, and no title or wealth or property can tempt me now.” She could have bitten her tongue in vexation for allowing herself to be provoked so, but she could not unsay the words.
“Hmm.” The countess eyed her speculatively. Then, with an abrupt wave of one hand, she said, “Go now.”
With a deep curtsy, Annabelle silently withdrew. She hoped her demeanour was calm, but inwardly she seethed. How dared she speak so! After her son’s kindness, Lady Brackenwood’s ill manners jarred painfully. So this was to be the way she was treated. Well, it was no more than she had expected, although expressed with brutal frankness. She withdrew to her rooms with what dignity she could muster, where Milly brought her tea and cakes and all the servants’ hall gossip and made her laugh.
“Do you like working here, Milly?”
“Oh, yes, Miss! Well, her ladyship’s a bit of a dragon, but nothing like as bad as—” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I suppose, but nobody liked her. The countess, I mean. When she died so sudden, like, the joke in the servants’ hall was that his lordship had finally had enough of her and poisoned her.”
“Good heavens!”
“Oh, he never would, Miss! Such a lovely man. Everyone likes him. But it was awful sudden. Just went to bed one night, and Lily found her stone cold the next morning. Dreadful day that was. Was your father like that, Miss? Sudden, like?”
“Not as quick as that, no. He had not been well for a long time, then he took a chill and was dead three days later. It felt sudden, but it was not unexpected.” In fact, it was a wonder he had lasted so long, when he drank so much and ate so little, and spent his days, and quite a few nights too, huddled over the fire in his book room. Poor Papa! Her eyes filled with tears.
“Ah, there now, I’ve brought it all back,” Milly said. “You have a good weep, Miss, you’ll feel much better, so my ma always says. Have you finished with the tea things? I’ll take them back downstairs then.”
~~~~~
The first knock on the door barely registered. She had eaten her supper from the tray Milly had brought up from the kitchen, and had settled down with a glass of rather good claret and a book. No matter how dismal her mood, a book could transport her to a place where she could forget every humiliation. She was so engrossed that it took her a while to drag herself back from the dramatic tale she was reading.
The second knock was a little louder.
“Enter!” The door opened, but she did not look up from her book. “The tray is on the table over there. I have quite finished with it.”
“I shall be sure to send someone to collect it,” came the amused tones of the earl.
With a squeak, Annabelle jumped to her feet, sending the book crashing to the floor. “My lord, I beg your pardon!” He wore full evening dress, but somehow he still looked nothing like her idea of an earl. He was not dowdy, precisely, but his attire owed nothing to fashion. She curtsied hastily. “I had no idea—”
“How should you, indeed?” The smile faded, and his face settled into its customary seriousness. “But are you quite well, Miss Winterton? Your travels have overset you, perhaps?”
“No, my lord,” she said, puzzled. “I am quite well.”
“You did not come down to dinner so I thought—”
“Oh! Oh, I see. Lady Brackenwood expects me to eat in my room.”
“Ah.” He nodded thoughtfully. “And I expect you to eat with the family, Miss Winterton. After all, the chaplain sits at my table, and my secretary, so why not the governess too? We are not so grand as to render such an arrangement ineligible.”
Annabelle thought quickly. It was a tricky problem, but surely honesty was best. “My lord, I do not wish to be caught up in a battle between you and your mother. Perhaps it would be better if I keep to this arrangement, which is quite the custom for those in my position.”
“I am master in my own house, I hope,” he said mildly. “I shall explain it to my mother. From tomorrow you will dine with us.”
She curtsied again. “As you wish, my lord.”
He frowned. “This ‘my lord’ business… that is my mother, too, I daresay. Well, I do not like it. You are a gentleman’s daughter, Miss Winterton, and you may address me by title, as all my acquaintances do. Although…” The smile broke out again, and his eyes glinted with humour. “…perhaps best to address her as ‘my lady’.”
She could not help giving an answering smile. “I shall do so. Thank you, Lord Brackenwood.”
He bent down to pick up her fallen book, and smoothed its pages before looking at the cover. “Ah, ‘Belinda’. A most enjoyable tale, although I believe I preferred ‘Castle Rackrent’. Miss Edgeworth is a most talented author.”
“Yes, indeed! I had intended to finish reading her work on education, but I became distracted.”
He laughed. “Who can blame you? Certainly not I, although there are a great many interesting ideas in ‘A Practical Education’. I look forward to discussing them with you when you have read it. Good night, Miss Winterton. I apologise for disturbing your solitude, and it is a relief that you are not, as I had feared, unwell.”
He bowed, she curtsied and he quit the room, leaving her rather unsettle
d. The earl was all that was good and kind, but it remained to be seen how much mastery he had over his mother.
~~~~~
‘Dear Annabelle I have arrived safely Margaret’
~~~~~
Annabelle slept surprisingly well, and was up and about well before Milly arrived, bearing her breakfast tray.
“Oh, am I banished to my room to eat again?” she said, with a laugh, trying not to be disappointed.
“Everyone has a breakfast tray, Miss,” Milly said. “Even his lordship. He goes out for a long walk every morning first thing, then he breakfasts in his room and dresses properly. Like a gen’leman, I mean. For his walk he just throws on clothes anyhow.”
Annabelle smiled, for that was exactly what she had thought of his appearance the day before. Clearly, that was just how he liked to look.
She spent the morning examining the schoolroom. It was a forbidding place, a big, empty room with three small desks in a row, and a larger desk facing them. There were a few books on a long shelf, but the Bible and Psalter were the only ones that looked well-used. There was a blackboard, a box of slates and chalks, and pens and ink, but not much else. No drawing materials, no instrument, no globes, although perhaps they had all been put away, behind the locked door in the corner.
Annabelle thought of her own education at home in the morning room, the five of them sitting around the big work table with Mama and Miss Perring, and later just Mama. Rosamund would be practising on the harp in one corner, and Margaret the pianoforte in another. Fanny was always sewing, and Lucy — well, Lucy never stopped talking, but she talked just as fluently in Italian, when required, so that was all right. And Annabelle herself had her books… there were books everywhere. No — she stopped herself. The books were gone now, and Woodside was empty. She had brought some with her, as many as she could fit into her boxes, but Robin had packed up everything else and taken it away to be stored in the cellars at Westerlea Park. “Just until you get settled,” he had said, but when would that ever be?
The Governess Page 3
