An Indelicate Situation (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  An indelicate situation

  Lizzie Church

  © Lizzie Church 2012 all rights reserved.

  Cover illustration by John Amy, ebookdesigner.co.uk, based on a painting detail from ‘The New Spinet’ by G Kilburne (1839-1924). With grateful thanks to Ocean Youth Club (http://www.hmspickle.org.uk/) for their kind information about naval sloops.

  Chapter 1

  Maggie was a governess. She had not been born to be a governess. There had been no overarching destiny which demanded that she become a governess. She didn’t even particularly want to be one, although, at least as far as she was concerned, she was putting every effort into doing a good job. But a governess she was, whether she wanted to be or not, and a governess she now expected to remain.

  In her more morose moments – of which, unfortunately, she was currently experiencing quite a few – she could not help but feel a little aggrieved at the twists and turns of fate which had led her, unknowingly, into the little schoolroom on the first floor of a large but miserable townhouse on Weymouth’s busy waterfront when, for the first seventeen years of her life, she had lived in every expectation of owning such a property herself and of employing another friendless female in what had turned out to be an unenviable situation like her own.

  For unenviable it most certainly was. For one thing, the two six-year olds whom she had primarily been employed to teach – at least until their little brother and sisters were old enough to join them in the schoolroom – were two of the most obnoxious young mischief makers that ever she’d had the misfortune to encounter. William, a sadistic little child, took no greater delight than in tormenting every living creature – human or animal – that was unfortunate enough to happen to get in his way, while Augusta was such a saucy little madam that even her own papa was hard put to make a passable show of demonstrating any regard for her whatsoever. For another thing, their mama was scarcely any better. Unimpressed by everybody’s consequence save her own, Mrs Wright had turned out to be one of the more haughty sort of females whose family had recently climbed in social status and was determined both to climb still further and to do everything in its power to prevent anyone else from doing the self same thing. Stylish and blonde, she had obviously appeared quite captivating in her youth – quite captivating enough, certainly, to attract and entrap the suave Mr Wright during her third triumphant Season up in Town. But the years – and several laying-ins – had not been particularly kind to her and the appealing expressions of twenty or one and twenty had unfortunately been subsumed by the somewhat less appealing affectations and excess of chins of a haughty grande dame on the wrong side of thirty. She mouthed every word – ponderously and pedantically – as if all her listeners were far too stupid to understand anything spoken naturally, or at speed. She insisted on being of the first in every change of fashion, as soon as she became aware of it, whether it suited her particular figure or snow white complexion or not. And now that the trim figure of her girlhood had gradually metamorphosed into the more matronly shape of a self-indulgent several-time mama it is sad to report that the thin muslins and high waistlines which were just then at the height of fashion no more suited her than did the turbans and nodding plumes with which she customarily adorned her head.

  But even worse than all of this – even worse than the miserable house, the horrible children and their equally odious mama – Maggie was beset by an even greater evil which, though she was perfectly well aware of it, she was feeling particularly helpless to surmount. This evil had taken the form of the good Mr William Wright, so-called master of the whole infuriating household. Not that Mr Wright was an evil man in himself – or, if he were, she had seen nothing so far to make her suppose that he might be. He was not sadistic, like his eldest son; he was not spoilt and precocious like his eldest daughter; he was not haughty and patronising like his wife. No, he was none of these things. Perhaps it might have been better for her had he been so. No, Mr Wright was not a horrible man. Indeed, he was a perfectly amiable man. In an otherwise miserable household Maggie had instantly discovered that he was a most attractive man – a dangerously attractive man – and that, from the way in which he constantly followed her with his eyes whenever they found themselves in the same room together – which happened far more often than she could reasonably expect it to do - she felt certain that he found her to be an equally attractive young woman.

  She was surprised at – and slightly annoyed with – herself for these singularly unexpected sensations. After all, they were being elicited by a man who was, to put it bluntly, nearer forty than thirty and rather self complacently settled in his ways. She could see that Mr Wright had probably been an extremely handsome individual not too many years ago but by now a certain propensity to over-indulgence – in fine food, fine wines (preferably French, whenever they could be had) and in taking his ample leisure in the company of gentlemen of a similar age and disposition in the most expensive gentlemen’s haunts in Town – had started to reveal itself in his increasing girth, the slight sag to his cheeks and neckline and some tell-tale creases across his face. But his temper was good – remarkably so, Maggie felt, considering the incessant attacks made upon it by his acerbic wife and terrible children – and he at least had the goodness of heart to treat her like a person rather than a somewhat annoying appendage to the younger members of the Wright family. And for someone as alone and friendless as Maggie had been – well, perhaps it was scarcely surprising that she had so quickly, so unresistingly and so totally succumbed to his charms that she was now condemned to spending almost every moment of every day, and even parts of the night as well, in pining for his attention and wishing that he were free.

  Mr Wright’s papa and mama having finally obliged him by departing this world the previous year within a very few days of one another, he had at long last been enabled to inherit a reasonable competence with which to indulge his charming wife and bring up his adorable little children. Indeed, his papa had surprised him, and irritated his wife, very much by living for as long as he had, given that he had almost died at the hands of the French in the great battle of the First of June in 1794 (but which, in its turn, had resulted in such a wealth of prize money for the sailors involved that it had enabled him to retire immediately with his wife and children to a comfortable – though rented – new townhouse overlooking the water on Portsmouth harbourside). But he had gone at last and William had inherited the prize, succumbing unresistingly to his wife’s gentle demands that they buy themselves a property rather than renting all their lives, and standing firm only in his insistence that they do so in Weymouth, in which town he was assured of being able to purchase a very much grander property for his money than at almost any other fashionable resort across the whole of the south of the country. And so, scarcely six weeks after being employed as their governess, Maggie had found herself being moved along with her pupils and employers from all that was familiar to her in North London to everything that was strange and new to her in Weymouth. That had been in mid-March – a particularly desolate time of year for removal to a seaside resort, she had found, and not one guaranteed to present the place at its best. But now that July had arrived, and together with it the sunshine and the visitors once again, she was at least beginning to discover that Weymouth, though certainly unable to match the delights of London at its best, did have a number of advantages all of its own. For one thing, it was much smaller than London, though with all the facilities that one might reasonably expect of a resort town by the sea – including a couple of decent circulating libraries (important for a young lady like her who was particularly partial to a good read – and, more specifically, to a
thrilling read in the form of a sentimental novel or two), a well supported little theatre, elegant assembly rooms, tantalising shops and fragrant coffee rooms – and this, together with the most central position of the house selected by Mrs Wright from the advertisements she had found in the most recent editions of ‘The Gazette and Herald’, enabled her to get to most of the places that she could possibly wish to visit, on foot.

  The fact that Mr Wright had managed to persuade his wife into a move to a town which might not, under normal circumstances, have appeared very highly on her list of preferred destinations may have had less to do with his own powers of negotiation and more to do with the financial situation in which they had soon discovered themselves to be. For despite the comforting size of Mr Wright senior’s bequest to his eldest son, that son and his dear wife had been living beyond their means for several years prior to his demise, not helped at all by an ever-growing family and the demands of maintaining appearances within the circle in which they would ideally like to have moved. Having seen the extent of the kelter requested for vastly inferior properties elsewhere in their preferred locations, and the very decent accommodation to be secured for a fraction of that price in Weymouth, they had undertaken some rapid calculations together and determined that, of all places, Weymouth was most certainly the most attractive place to be. Even better, it soon turned out that by acquiring a large property on a long lease they were able to secure an even more advantageous situation than they had previously expected. The widow of Mrs Wright’s uncle being much on her own, and becoming increasingly less able to cope on her own as the months went by, they had determined on providing a small apartment within their new property for her sole use in return for a (particularly sizeable) contribution to the purchase price and an (equally sizeable) rent. Mrs Staveley, indeed, was not entirely alone in the world although, at least in her niece’s mind if not exactly in her own, she may as well have been. For she had remaining to her one son, by name of Frederick - a somewhat burly, bear-like individual of slow movements and slower mind who had been entered into the navy to become a midshipman at the tender age of fourteen and who had subsequently spent most of his time at sea. Indeed, it had only been very recently, after an apprenticeship of more than twelve years on the water, that this son had finally managed to pass his lieutenant’s examination at the fifth time of trying and was now shortly expected to visit his mama whilst living more in the hope than the expectation of achieving a deputy command position in an unrated sloop or frigate and thereby playing a minor but important role in that great institution known throughout the country as the Royal Navy of His Majesty the King.

  Chapter 2

  Mr Wright may have had other, more tender, reasons for selecting Weymouth as the site of his future home, for his family had originated within the county of Dorset and one of his brothers was already resident with his wife in a small but pretty and reasonably genteel little townhouse on the edge of Weymouth quay. Having a large and growing family of his own, Mr Wright was becoming increasingly convinced of the value of family ties and, in particular, of the value of family ties where the members in question had shown no sign of producing heirs of their own, even after seven long years of marriage. He felt convinced that Mrs John Wright, the sister-in-law in question, and Captain Wright himself - whenever he was at home, which was, to be fair, not very often, as he, too, was a naval man and spent many months each year at sea - would be absolutely delighted at the prospect of acquiring several charming nephews and nieces to add to their current collection. Indeed, he would go so far as to have expressed the utmost confidence that the extent of this delight would be so great as to make them feel no compunction whatsoever in rewarding the said children’s papa and mama with plenty of presents, plenty of company, and plenty of introductions to the cream of Weymouth society with whom, Mrs John being the sister of one of the leading lights herself, he felt convinced they would be perfectly acquainted.

  So, as if to reassure himself, and his lady, of the sagacity of their decision to take up residence in Grosvenor Place at the town end of Weymouth Esplanade, Mr Wright decided to celebrate the King’s birthday and his own - they happened to be on the same date - with an intimate but elegant dinner party for his main family members and their immediate friends. Sadly, and much to his chagrin, although of no consequence whatsoever to his ever-loving wife, these noble intentions were somewhat thwarted for a time by the inconvenient and constant engagements of the guests in question and it was to be some weeks after the actual birthdays before the grand celebration could actually take place.

  Mr Wright had given strict instructions that Maggie should join the party after dinner and leave the children to pester their nursemaid, Susan, for a while. To be sure, Maggie was half pleased to have the opportunity of a little diversion for a change, and, more particularly, to have the somewhat guilty pleasure of watching her employer as he acted host to his family, but she was also a little anxious that her presence might be unwelcome in such august company as she had been led to expect that evening. However, it was Mr Wright who had given the decree and as she had no wish at all to gainsay him the former sensation quickly triumphed over the latter and she determined on obeying his behest to attend. She decided to time her entrance into the drawing room for an hour at which the full party would most likely already be assembled. This, hopefully, would ensure that they were so absorbed by the conversation then ensuing that she could slip in via the door from the music room unnoticed by them all.

  The plan effected, and garbed most soberly in a dove-grey muslin chemise gown and slippers, Maggie took the opportunity provided by the safe haven of a pillar close to the rear door to eye up, and reach her own conclusions about, the dinner guests as they took their coffee together after their meal. She had already met two of them before – Captain and Mrs John Wright, her employer’s brother and sister-in-law - Captain Wright tanned and whiskered, Mrs John pretty with her blonde curls and smiling eyes, though maybe a little plump in her white muslin gown – but she had never met the other two before. These she took to be Mrs John’s brother and sister-in-law, Mr and Mrs Berkeley, who lived in Belvoir House nearby. Maggie had been long enough in Weymouth to know that Belvoir House was reputedly one of the finest mansions in the area and, had she thought of it at all, which, luckily, she had not, she would probably have expected its current residents to be as proud and haughty as Mrs William had proved to be. But as soon as she set eyes upon them she could instantly tell that this was not the case at all. Mr Berkeley appeared to be a smiling, jovial individual with much natural elegance and a most polite manner, but it was his wife who immediately grabbed all Maggie’s attention. She knew that Mrs Berkeley must be nearing thirty, as she was quite of an age with Mrs John, but had she not known this she would easily have taken her to be scarcely out of her teens. Slim, elegant in a white muslin gown and scarf, with a simple bandeau around her head, a single gold bracelet upon her arm, she boasted dark ringlets and dark brows framing a broad, intelligent-looking forehead which was set off by as fine a set of dark eyes as Maggie had ever had the privilege to see. Her nose was straight, her lips rosy and held at that moment in a slight smile which gave her the air of knowing something which she was finding slightly amusing but which she was far too polite to reveal.

  Maggie saw all this in a glance but she could also see a good deal more. Above all their mutual physical attractiveness, and totally dwarfing it into insignificance – above all the elegance and refinement, above all the fine clothes and graceful airs, she could see that Mr and Mrs Berkeley shared something very special that she had never, to her knowledge, ever had the privilege of witnessing before. She could see that they shared a love so intense, so unconscious, that though it was delightful to behold she could not prevent herself from feeling just a tiny tinge of jealousy as well. The way in which they regarded each other across the room – it was as if, even when they were entirely focused on something or somebody else, they were constantly aware of where the other was
and what the other was doing. The way in which Mr Berkeley paid particular attention to his wife – not a fussy, not an ostentatious, not an imperious attention imposing itself arrogantly upon her but a perfectly natural effortless regard for her, as if somehow he knew instantly of her every wish, and as if her every wish were his delight to fulfil - and her attention to him – quiet, respectful, adoring - not adoring like a puppy of its master, not doe-eyed and sickly sweet but, rather, an adoration based on such an absolute understanding of and need to provide for him – all this made Maggie feel that she could not even begin to imagine how they might ever have survived this life apart. She wondered whether, perhaps, they had not long been married, whether perhaps this love of theirs was so intense through its still being fresh and new. Perhaps they had discovered it relatively late in life, and valued it all the more for being totally unexpected. She thought that it must be so. Certainly she had never even considered that so compelling a mutual regard could possibly survive for very long.

  These thoughts were still in her mind when she suddenly became aware that she was being approached by Mrs Berkeley, who had apparently noticed her sitting alone and slightly apart from the others, and determined on remedying the situation at once.

  ‘And you must be the governess - Miss Owens?’ she asked, looking down at her with a shy little smile. She surprised Maggie by speaking with a very slight Dorset lilt. It sounded quite appealing. ‘May I impose upon you for a few minutes? I expect that you know very few of us well enough to feel perfectly at ease here. I understand that the situation you find yourself in is unenviable at the best of times. It seems a pity to make it even worse by leaving you entirely on your own.’

  Maggie wasn’t quite sure whether she ought to stand up and bob Mrs Berkeley a curtsy. She was rather unused to anyone of quality taking anything but a strictly professional interest in her and Mrs Berkeley, she could tell, was definitely ‘quality’. However, Mrs Berkeley appeared to expect nothing of the sort and, Maggie having inclined her head a fraction in response, she sat herself down comfortably next to her and proceeded to accompany her in her cool appraisal of their companions as they played out their roles within the room.