An Indelicate Situation (The Weymouth Trilogy)

by Lizzie Church

  ‘I always find it most illuminating to observe the interactions in a room,’ remarked Mrs Berkeley, quietly. ‘One can learn so much by seeing who sits where, who talks to whom and whom they are looking at whilst they do so. And you, like me, have the advantage of observing it with a stranger’s impartial eye. I wonder whether you are noticing the same sort of things as I am, Miss Owens? You have not long worked in the household, I understand?’

  ‘No, not very long – a few months only, ma’am. The first governess did not last many weeks, apparently, and it took several months before Mr and Mrs Wright were able to employ a new one.’

  Mrs Berkeley eyed her narrowly for a moment.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I see. The youngsters are certainly a handful, that’s for sure, and I cannot imagine that their parents offer you a great deal of support.’

  Maggie was taken aback. It appeared that Mrs Berkeley had ascertained her disagreeable position in the household immediately.

  ‘You will not yet have children of your own I expect?’

  Mrs Berkeley smiled.

  ‘We do indeed – three of them, at present, and another expected in the autumn. They are lively enough, I hope – their papa makes sure of that – although they are quite able to behave appropriately when required to do so – well, for most of the time at any rate,’ with another smile. ‘Our little daughter, Kate, is much of an age with Perry – she will be five in March. Then there is Rob, who is three, and our darling Andy, who is just eighteen months old. They bring us so much joy. Their papa is forever playing with them.’

  Maggie was somewhat taken aback that her confidence in the recency of Mr and Mrs Berkeley’s marriage should be so entirely misplaced. A daughter aged four! Why, so they must have been married these five years or more. She could hardly believe it. She followed Mrs Berkeley’s eyes to where Mr Berkeley was talking and laughing with his brother-in-law as they stood together by the fireplace. He was looking elegant and refined in his evening attire, the white cuffs of his shirt showing immaculately from beneath the sleeves of his tailcoat as he leaned casually against the mantel, but there was an air of natural exuberance about him which was most appealing. She could imagine him enjoying his children. He reminded her of a child himself.

  ‘You are a fortunate lady, ma’am,’ she found herself saying. Then, colouring: ‘Oh, pardon me – I’m sorry – that must have sounded so impertinent.’

  Maggie was not quite sure what had led her to say this. There was something about Mrs Berkeley that made her instantly want to say whatever was in her head.

  ‘Oh no, not at all,’ returned her companion, smiling. ‘I know how fortunate I am, believe me. I thank the lord every day of my life for all the blessings he has given us. You wouldn’t believe just how different things could so easily have been.’

  Maggie immediately felt that she would like to have known about Mrs Berkeley’s background and why her words had sounded quite so heartfelt. But she was equally aware that most ladies in Mrs Berkeley’s position would have cut her dead for having the impertinence to make so personal a comment so early in their acquaintance – and she a governess, too. So she coloured again and said nothing.

  ‘And how do you like Weymouth?’ went on Mrs Berkeley. ‘It is not a place that you have visited before?’

  ‘No, it is entirely new to me. I am still finding my way around. Not that I have had much chance to do so – the children keep me very busy, you understand - I have full charge of the twins throughout the day - though I am beginning to know the beach quite well. Will is particularly fond of the Punch and Judy, whilst Augusta will spend hours digging castles in the sand.’

  Maggie could detect the faintest of shadows crossing Mrs Berkeley’s face as she told her this - just a glimmer - which disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.

  ‘Well, perhaps we shall meet up on the beach some time. Our three have a whale of a time digging and building upon it. They must take after their papa. My husband was a landscape engineer before he inherited Belvoir House, you know. My first child, Bob, had hopes of following him into the profession but unfortunately it was not ordained to be.’

  ‘I hope that your three can stand up for themselves then, ma’am. I regret that Will, in particular, can become quite bestial at times if he does not get his way, while Augusta will happily make up the wildest stories in order to get exactly what she wants. They get up to all sorts of mischief, some of which, to be fair, can be quite entertaining in a sinister sort of way. Their welcome to me took the form of a particularly smelly and decomposing toad brought in by the cat, which they deposited within my bed, and I have had several repulsive gifts from them along similar lines since then. They are not great ones for making friends. Prettily-behaved children tend not to last too long with them, I’m afraid. I should hate for yours to find themselves in the firing line if they are not well able to stand up for themselves.’

  Mrs Berkeley smiled a little wryly and nodded her head.

  ‘Thank you for the warning, Miss Owens,’ she said. ‘I shall make sure that they are not left alone with them, should ever they get the chance. You must manage them well enough, however. I cannot imagine that Mrs William would entrust them to anyone in whom she does not have the utmost confidence.’

  ‘Well, it’s most kind of you to say so, ma’am, although I must say that I’m not perfectly convinced. My background has not really qualified me for handling two .... err.... lively six year olds. I regret that my attempts to instil the rudiments of the English language into a most reluctant little boy have hitherto been in vain, although Augusta is a little more advanced than Will. I do like children, however, so I daresay that must help, and until I was sixteen I had a governess of my own. She was extremely good. I try to model myself upon her.’

  ‘And what happened when you were sixteen?’

  ‘Papa decided that I should go to school for a couple of years – he thought that it would be good for me to make some acquaintance there and although I had gained a number of accomplishments he felt that I was somewhat shy and awkward in company. I daresay he was correct. He hoped that if I mixed a little more with ladies of my own age I might develop some further social skills. Unfortunately, a year later, he went bankrupt and was thrown into the debtors’ prison in London. He was a banker, you see, and one of his partners turned out to be corrupt. It broke his heart, as you might imagine. He only lived there for a few weeks and then he died. I like to think that he died of a broken heart, although that may not be strictly true. I was fortunate, I suppose, as the school was just then looking for an assistant teacher for the younger girls and offered me the post. So rather than completing my own studies I ended up teaching the children there instead. It came very hard at the time, I must admit, though I suppose I should be grateful for the work.’

  Mrs Berkeley turned her deep brown eyes on her in ready sympathy.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, I can see how awful that must have been for you. To lose your papa so suddenly, and to have your own dreams shattered at the same time. I’m so sorry. It must have been dreadful. And what of your mama, Miss Owens? How did she cope with all the upset?’

  ‘Luckily my mother had died several years earlier. She was not put through the torment that my father had to endure. He felt the loss of his livelihood most deeply, as you might imagine – his lovely house, his status – but at least it was a comfort to him, I think, to know that my mother had not been put through all that turmoil and shame as well as he.’

  ‘And so you have had to shift for yourself. You have probably done as well as you could have expected, under the circumstances, even if your career is not quite what you might have chosen. But what led you to leave the teaching work and apply for your current position with a family instead?’

  ‘I am quite a quiet individual, ma’am. I found classroom work most wearisome – trying to deal with so many girls all at the same time – it was most difficult. I was hoping, I think, to be able to have – well, perhaps more of
an effect upon my pupils – to gain more of a sense of achievement through seeing them grow and develop. But it did not quite work out that way. They learned very little, I fear, for rather than actually teaching them, for most of the time I found that I was merely attempting to manage their behaviour. So I thought that I should leave the classroom and work more individually with my pupils – help them to gain in confidence and understanding, enable them to learn. Well, that was the intention at any rate,’ with a wry smile. ‘But now that I am here I am not perfectly convinced that I made the right decision. There doesn’t appear to be anything much to choose between the two types of employment after all.’

  Maggie had been feeling quite comfortable since the arrival of Mrs Berkeley at her side, the more so as the object which generally made her feel most uncomfortable, albeit in an oddly exciting and desirable sort of a way, had not yet appeared in the drawing room. However, just as her conversation with Mrs Berkeley lapsed into companionable silence for a moment, the perpetrator of this discomfort suddenly appeared in the doorway and immediately made her blush. The blush intensified most annoyingly as she watched him stride into the room and look around it. His eyes found hers in a moment and she was rewarded by a very slight smile as he headed towards the coffee and helped himself to his cup.

  ‘Mr William Wright bears a strong resemblance to his brother, do you not think, Miss Owens?’ suggested Mrs Berkeley, following his progress across the room in much the same way as Maggie had done albeit, most probably, with sensations which were very different from her own. ‘Their hair is of quite the same hue, I should say, and their mannerisms – the way in which they present themselves – I should have known that they were brothers even had they not been introduced to me as such.’

  Maggie looked across at Captain Wright. She could see the point about the mannerisms. Both he and William were bluff, hearty individuals with easy manners and a ready laugh, with a tendency to crinkle their eyes immediately before they spoke. Both looked smart and elegant in their evening attire – Mr William in a black tailcoat and black Florentine breeches, Captain Wright in a dark blue cutaway coat with light cream breeches and waistcoat. And despite Captain Wright being more than eight years William’s junior she felt that they looked very much of an age. Of course, Captain Wright had already spent many years at sea. The hard life of a sailor, the responsibility, exposure to the weather – all these things had taken their toll and whilst still a relatively young man, and not at all bad looking, Maggie could not help but consider that, overall, Mr William was much the more attractive of the two.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her comparisons over. ‘There is certainly a similarity between them. It is the same with your husband and his sister, if I may say so, ma’am. I consider them to look very much alike. And yet Will and Augusta are quite different from their brother Perry, and Amelia is different again. The twins, I think, take after their mother and Perry takes after his papa. I am not yet sure about little Georgia. It is perhaps too early to say whom she most closely favours – she is only fifteen months old after all. It is strange how some children take after one or other of their parents and yet others bear no resemblance to either of them at all.’

  ‘Our three are all quite different, too. Kate, I think, has something of my look about her while Andy most certainly favours his papa – blond and sturdy and full of fun. He is an absolute joy. And then there is Rob. Little Rob is perhaps more of a mixture. He is quite a serious child, quite staid, very set in his ways, though with a lively older sister and little brother he is definitely having to learn how to look to himself! I suppose it’s all to the good. Being a younger son Andy will need to find himself a profession at some stage, and a confident child like him will at least have the advantage of being happy to find himself a sponsor if ever he needs to do so. It is the same with Philip - a young relative of Mr Berkeley, for whom we have taken some responsibility since the death of his mama a couple of years ago. He is a mischievous, outgoing young man who has recently found himself a position as midshipman on a magnificent man of war. I quite admire him his enterprise. He deserves his little success.’

  Maggie realised that she had only been half listening to what Mrs Berkeley was telling her about the children. She had resumed her perusal of Mr Wright as he acquired his coffee and decided where to sit. He had finally selected a seat next to his brother’s wife, from where he could quite easily survey the whole of the rest of the room and, in particular, allow his gaze to fall upon her – Maggie – almost as often as she might wish. His gaze was upon her now. Most annoyingly, she could feel another blush progressing unmercifully across her face. The instigator of the blush was probably too far distant to notice it although she was acutely aware that Mrs Berkeley was not.

  It was fortunate, therefore, that the lady who was then approaching them from the extremely well padded Sheraton sofa that she had just that moment vacated was totally unaware of the reason for Maggie’s blush. As it was, Mr Wright’s good lady was already annoyed enough that Maggie appeared to be retaining Mrs Berkeley’s kind attentions entirely to herself rather than merely sitting in a corner of the room, observing, as would more normally have been expected of a young lady in her subordinate position in the household. She shot her a barbed glance. At least the wretched girl had the decency to blush under Mrs Berkeley’s attention. Ignoring Maggie altogether as being totally unworthy of any further consideration, she adopted a gracious if somewhat insincere little smile which she instantly directed towards her chief lady guest instead.

  ‘My dear Mrs Berkeley,’ she enunciated carefully, with plenty of stress on the ‘dear’. ‘My dear Mrs Berkeley. Whatever has possessed you to hide yourself away so far from the rest of us at this end of the room? Please, do me the honour of joining me over here instead. I should particularly value your opinion on a new outfit for darling little Augusta that I have just seen illustrated in this month’s ‘Ackerman’s’ magazine. It is quite delightful, I can assure you – very short and with the daintiest little rosebuds embroidered along the hem. I was wondering whether you would consider it quite suitable for a sweet little girl of six.’

  Maggie could see that Mrs Berkeley would much rather retain the seat she had already selected for herself but that, equally, having been on the receiving end of so particular a request, she had no more choice in the matter than did Maggie herself. So with no more than a quiet ‘Perhaps you will excuse me, then, Miss Owens?’ Mrs Berkeley submitted to the inevitable with a good deal of grace, relinquished her seat in favour of a standing position next to Mrs William at the mahogany drafting table by the wall (recently acquired at great expense from Gillows’ of London’s finest range), and concentrated her attention on the illustrated magazine that was thrust unceremoniously under her slender nose instead.

  Finding herself in solitude once again Maggie was well placed to watch the interactions that were then taking place at the other end of the drawing room. Mr Berkeley was still talking primarily with his brother-in-law, whom she understood had recently succeeded in gaining his promotion to Commander and was now at home awaiting his first ship. William had moved across to join them. Old Mrs Staveley was sitting with Mrs John, whom she had just now employed in holding a skein of wool between her hands in order that she could wind it more readily into a ball. Mrs Staveley was dressed, as she always was, in a neat jet black silk gown and a neat, snow white lace cap. It seemed that she was having some difficulty in retaining her hold on the ball – she did suffer from arthritis, after all - and just as Maggie was watching her she managed to drop it from her fingers and see it swiftly unravel itself as it made its bid for freedom under the chair that Maggie herself was sitting on.

  ‘Would you like me to do some winding for you, Mrs Staveley?’ she asked, retrieving the offending wool deftly from beneath her skirt.

  Mrs Staveley turned her bright eyes upon her for a second, and nodded. Maggie rose and went to kneel on the floor in front of Mrs John, who still held the skein in her hands.

/>   ‘Such a mistake to have made, you know, Miss Owens,’ whispered the old lady, bending towards her from the comfort of her chair next to them. ‘I had thought it a good idea. It suited us all at the time, you know. But now I can see that it was not a good idea. I rue the day, Miss Owens, I really do rue the day.’

  Maggie, deciding that this was a somewhat singular remark to make about a simple decision to wind some wool at a family party, thought that it might be politic to ignore what Mrs Staveley had just whispered to her. So she pretended that she hadn’t heard her, cast a vague but reassuring smile in her direction, and set to work on the winding with a good deal of vigour. And, indeed, she found that it was not at all difficult to ignore the old lady, for no sooner had she positioned herself on the floor in front of Mrs John than she became instantly aware that Mr Wright had removed himself once again from his selected situation, traversed the whole length of the drawing room, sought a low stool from the music room behind her, and was personally arranging it so that she could continue her labours in more comfort. Catching his eye for just a second she smiled her thanks, perched herself upon it, and basked for the rest of the evening in the approbation that his little act of kindness appeared, to her, to demonstrate.

  Chapter 3

  It was about a week after the party that Maggie found herself sitting on the beach with Will and Augusta, parasol raised defiantly against the patchy sunshine. She would much rather not have been sitting there on the beach, and in particular would much rather not have been sitting there on the beach with the terrible twins, who required watching every moment of the day in case a new opportunity for terrorism should happen their way and tempt them into further misdemeanour. Despite this vigilance, however, she had not immediately spotted that Will was currently in the process of destroying another child’s sandcastle and hitting him on the head with his spade whilst his sister Augusta was taking the opportunity provided by this distraction to steal the unfortunate victim’s liquorice from his pocket. His handiwork destroyed, his head battered and his liquorice stolen, what could the poor child do but to run bawling and screaming to his mama, who had somewhat rashly allowed her own concentration to lapse for a moment in the face of a most engaging conversation with an acquaintance of hers on the steps which led up from the sandy beach and on to the roadway above it.