An Improper Companion

by April Kihlstrom

  “Margaret, ma’am,” she half curtsied.

  I was surprised at this deference, for I knew companions are considered scarcely above servants themselves. To hide my confusion I spoke quickly, “Yes, well I am Miss Heather Wade.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She bobbed. “Is that all?”

  “Yes, Margaret. Thank you.”

  She fairly fled the room, hurrying to the servants’ hall to tattle about me, no doubt. Well, a lady always ignores gossip, Mrs. Gilwen had taught us. As I sipped the welcome tea I began to relax. I was finally here! And Mrs. Morgan would not overset me. But I was tired and admit I was relieved I need not face Sir Leslie before morning. By the time Margaret returned to clear away the dishes, I was ready to sleep. When she left the room, I opened my trunk and carefully hung the dresses. I continued to unpack, though tired, for I knew it must be done. When I pulled forth my new nightdress, however, I could not contain my dismay. It was of such fine lawn as to be transparent! I should feel naked wearing it, I thought. No doubt Mademoiselle Suzette had giver, me the only one available. I laid it on the bed. It was pretty, I admitted to myself, if only it were not so sheer. But a pauper has no choice, and I could not say I had been dealt with unkindly.

  Though tired, I also put away the garments I had worn that day. I did not wish the servants to gossip that I was careless with my things. As I moved about the room, blowing out candles, I wondered at the extravagance of a household that would use so many to light one room. Mr. Thornsby had I called Sir Leslie eccentric, but why did his wife not restrain his wastefulness? Were they so beforehand with the world that they need never count cost? Or was Lady Kinwell an invalid, too weak to watch over her household or restrain Sir Leslie’s impulsiveness? It would explain much. Perhaps it was Lady Kinwell, then, to whom I would be a companion. I cannot remember my other thoughts for I fell asleep soon after. But I was conscious of the comfort and size of the bed.

  I woke sometime later. Someone was in my room. Frightened, I tried to call out “Who is it?” but the words were scarcely a whisper. I became aware that the candle beside my bed had been lit and now flickered, doing little to dispel the dark. I clutched at the bed sheets, listening to the sound of heavy breathing nearby. I was conscious of my hair loose about my shoulders, for I had been too weary to plait it. And above all, I was aware of the inadequacy of my nightdress as a cover. Then I saw him—a vague shadow beside the curtains on the far side of my bed. I must have gasped, for he moved forward quickly and pulled the sheets from me. I could not see him clearly and only had time to note that he was tall with dark hair. For in the next moment he lay in the bed beside me, unclothed. And I fought. First to push him away, then to escape from the bed myself. He laughed and I could smell strong fumes on his breath. I fought, truly I did, as well as I was able. But I could not stop him. And in the next few moments my dress was above my waist and he was upon me. More I will not say, save that soon, with a sharp, stabbing pain, I mercifully lost consciousness.

  When I woke again, later, I was alone in the bed. The candle had almost spent itself. The bedclothes were in disarray and a small pool of blood stained the sheet. I began to weep and could not stop myself nor the shudders that swept over me. Soon, like a child, I had cried myself to sleep, though in my shock I wished it were something more permanent.

  I woke for the third time. It was morning. The room, which had so pleased me the night before, now frightened me. I must speak to Sir Leslie, I thought. He must find the man who did this to me and send him away. I must have a lock on my door!

  I dressed feverishly, though remembering to wear the new morning dress. My hair I savagely pulled off my face and forced it into a knot at the top of my head. I would be certain not to entice any man. John. It must have been John. He knew I was here. No, that was foolish. Every servant must have known and had a description of me as soon as Margaret had returned to the servants’ hall after bringing me tea. I began to pace. I had to see Sir Leslie at once. But I confess I was afraid to wander the castle halls alone. Then I remembered the servant’s bell. I strode quickly to it and tugged on the tassled rope. A few minutes later, Margaret knocked at my door. “Come in,” I called nervously.

  She entered and curtsied, staring at me. “Yes, ma’am?” “I wish to speak with Sir Leslie. Immediately,” I snapped.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She bobbed again. “Please come with me.”

  It was too late to change my mind and I followed her. Several times, she glanced over her shoulder at me. I wondered what disturbed her. Was Sir Leslie an ogre? To my surprise, Margaret led me to the dining hall. He sat alone, Sir Leslie, at a long table, with a servant behind his chair to supply his plate. His dark head came up as I entered and he stared at me for a long time out of dark questioning eyes. Finally, nervously I spoke, “Sir Leslie?” He nodded and I gained courage, “I would like to register a complaint, Sir Leslie. Last night—”

  He interrupted me, “Who the devil are you?”

  “The new companion, sir. Mr. Thornsby sent me.”

  His next few words astounded me. “Let down your hair.”

  “I would rather not, sir,” I replied, struggling to retain my composure.

  “Let down your hair,” he repeated.

  Nervously, I complied. He stared at me, almost hungrily it seemed. “Mr. Thornsby gave me a letter of introduction,” I said. “Sir Leslie, I must tell you. Something terrible happened to me last night. I—” I hesitated. He continued to stare and I thrust forward my chin, determined not to be a watering-pot. “I was ravished, sir!”

  “Ravished!” he exclaimed. Then sarcastically, “I suppose next you will tell me you are a virgin.”

  “I was, sir, until last night,” I replied, the tears harder to hold back. “The blood on my sheets will prove that. And I fought, sir. Truly I did.”

  Still he stared at me. “Mr. Thornsby sent you? Jeffries, the letter. It must be on the sideboard,” Sir Leslie snapped.

  The servant bowed, carefully averting his eyes from me. He found the letter and returned to his place. Sir Leslie tore open the cover and read it rapidly, glancing at me from time to time. When he had finished, he swore vehemently. “Jeffries, I shall need my phaeton. I must go to London at once. Have it ready in the hour.”

  “Very good, sir.” Jeffries bowed and retired.

  Hastily, I said, “Sir, about last night. You must do something.”

  He turned to me and spoke deliberately. “You need not worry, Miss”—he glanced at the letter—“Wade. You will be perfectly safe. I was the man who ravished you and I will not be here.”

  My head reeled, and had less been at stake I might have fainted. Instead, I carefully pulled my hair back into its topknot as I said coldly, “I wish to return to London at once, sir.”

  He laughed harshly. “But not with me, surely?”

  “No, not with you,” I agreed. “Nevertheless, I wish to return to London.”

  The sneer left Sir Leslie’s face and he spoke gently. “That is impossible for the moment. With or without me. I am afraid you must wait here until my return. Don’t worry, you will be perfectly safe. Neither I nor anyone else will touch you. But you must stay until I return in a sennight or less.”

  I could not speak, but Sir Leslie must have guessed how I felt, for he added. “I intend to speak to Mr. Thornsby. You may be sure he will send no more virgins to be companions anywhere. At least, no unwilling virgins.”

  The question in his voice was clear. I spoke somehow. “Sir Leslie, I did tell Mr. Thornsby I needed a position, and that I would accept any post as a companion, even if unusual. But had I known—” My voice broke, “How could I know? It was a domestic agency!”

  Sir Leslie stared at me impassively as he rang for a servant. A short time later I heard him say, “Escort Miss Wade to her chamber.”

  Then, numb, I was following someone back to my room. The appalling truth of my position was becoming clear to me. I would escape. I must escape. Oh, my God, what would I do? Suppose I w
ere with child? Did one always become pregnant? I was as ignorant as any young woman of my class on certain facts of life, though curiously knowledgeable on others.

  Then I was back in my room. It was not, however, empty. Margaret stood by the sitting-room table where she had placed a tray. By the bed stood Mrs. Morgan, staring at the sheets. She turned as I entered. “Yer a virgin!” she said accusingly.

  With trembling knees I walked to a chair and sat. “Not anymore,” I said lightly, blinking back tears.

  “But why, child?” she demanded.

  I could contain myself no longer and began to cry, my face in my hands. In the distance, I heard Mrs. Morgan dismiss Margaret. A cup of tea was forced into my hands. I shook my head in denial, but Mrs. Morgan persisted until I sipped the tea. A few sips were all I could manage before thrusting the cup away. Mrs. Morgan waited patiently. After a while, I began to talk, unable to order or halt my words. “Sir Leslie ... he ... last night ... Oh, God! I did not ... understand ... Mr. Thornsby said unusual ... I had to find a position ... no one told me ... everyone said I was too young or wrong for the position, but no one told me...”

  Mrs. Morgan spoke gently, “Yer family...?”

  “I have no family,” I retorted bitterly ... “My parents are dead. I was in a school! They offered me a teaching position without pay. I felt anything would be better. But, oh God! I must get away. Mrs. Morgan, you must help me!”

  I was on the verge of hysteria and Mrs. Morgan sensed this. “Stop shouting,” she commanded. Then with a sigh, “Why don’t ye simply ask Sir Leslie to send ye back to London?”

  “I did. He refused.”

  “My lord!” she exclaimed. “Is he mad? Ye cannot escape then, for he’ll have ye watched. But I promise ye, child, he’ll not touch ye again. I don’t understand, but I swear ye’ll be safe.”

  “But I cannot remain here!” I cried.

  “Child, I’ve promised I’ll protect ye. Perhaps Sir Leslie means to provide for ye and wants ye to stay here until he can,” she said.

  “I don’t want his help,” I retorted. “I’ll not have it!”

  “Now child, do not be a pea-goose. What would ye do? Where would ye go?” she asked reasonably. “And suppose ye are with child because of this? Ye’ll need his help. For the sake of the child.”

  At the thought of a child, I began to weep anew. After a time, Mrs. Morgan left and I wept harder still. But I could not cry forever, and at last. I dried my eyes and cheeks. I could not eat, but the tea calmed me a little. I began to pace about the room. Time passed, I suppose, for Margaret brought me another tray with tea and food. I wanted to refuse it, but my body betrayed me and demanded nourishment. I felt shame that I could wish to eat so soon after ... after ...

  I’d not have believed it, but I felt better for having eaten; well enough to wish to escape my room and see the castle, now that Sir Leslie had left it. From my chamber I had seen him drive away, or I’d not have dared to believe he were truly gone. Perhaps it will seem strange that I could interest myself in such a thing as a castle at such a time. But it was a means of fixing my thoughts on other than what had happened. And I would feel less trapped if I knew my way about. When Margaret returned to remove the tray, Mrs. Morgan entered with her. “Child, are ye feeling any better?” she asked.

  I forced myself to nod. “Yes, Mrs. Morgan. I thought—do you think I might look about the castle?”

  She smiled in reply. “That’s better. I was worried. A look about the castle will do ye good. Ye can come along with me; ye’ll see most of it then.”

  I assented readily and felt a sense of relief as I heard Mrs. Morgan say to Margaret, “The sheets must be changed at once. And bolt the door to Sir Leslie’s chamber.”

  I turned swiftly. “Door? To Sir Leslie’s chamber?”

  “Aye,” she said sadly. “There in the corner. But ’twill be bolted and ye need not fear his intruding. Ye’ll also have a bolt on this door by nightfall. Ye’ll be safe, child.”

  I stared for a moment at the curtain that hid his door. Of course there would be such a door. A way for Sir Leslie to visit his “companion.” Why had it never occurred to me the word might mean such a thing? There was much I did not know. Had he a wife? Who else lived here? How old was he? Ah, that one I could answer. Sir Leslie counted less than thirty summers, I would wager.

  I followed Mrs. Morgan. The chamber next to mine was Sir Leslie’s, of course. He had no wife, Mrs. Morgan explained. He was a rake, but not the sort of man to shame a wife publicly. I see, I thought to myself, Sir Leslie has a sense of propriety. All his affairs would be discreet once he married. Such consolation to a wife! Though perhaps she would be grateful his attention were directed elsewhere.

  There were other chambers in the hall, but all were closed, now. They had once been used by Sir Leslie’s family, and at the far end of the hall was the nursery. But now his parents were dead and his sisters married and elsewhere. The floor above held the guest rooms, and Mrs. Morgan explained that in the old days, with Sir Leslie’s father, the castle had often been full. These chambers were still aired regularly, for guests who might arrive. I timidly asked if I might move to one of these rooms. Mrs. Morgan hesitated. “Ye could, but I’d be grateful if ye waited until Sir Leslie returned. ’Tis an extra set of stairs for the servants to carry water and trays and all. And until he returns, there’s really no need, is there?”

  Though I now hated my chamber, I was reluctant to cause trouble. I also sensed that in Mrs. Morgan’s eyes, my status was uncertain and perhaps could not claim a guest room. Thus, I agreed to remain where I was until Sir Leslie should return.

  The servants’ quarters were at the lowest level of the castle: half belowground. I did not see these, since Mrs. Morgan hinted me away. She wished to give no additional cause for gossip or speculation. Instead, she showed me about the ground floor of the castle. There were several sitting rooms, the largest one long and drafty (as was most of the castle). The furnishings of these rooms varied, reflecting the times over which they had been accumulated. There was also a game room for the men, and near this a large library. This room overshadowed all the others for me, even the huge ballroom with its crystal chandeliers. The library was crowded with books: some on open shelves, some in glass cases, some simply on tables. The room was ideal for reading, with its many large, comfortable chairs. Beside each chair stood a small table to hold fruit or tea or other oddments as one read. A large fireplace would keep the room cosy in winter, for the many bookshelves would prevent any draft. But dominating the room was a desk littered with books and papers. Clearly this belonged to Sir Leslie. I shuddered and wondered if I could be comfortable in a room so ruled by his effects. But I ! determined to try, for if I could not even face this room, how. should I face Sir Leslie? And face him I must, for there had to be a reckoning. Accordingly, I asked Mrs. Morgan if I might spend the rest of the day here.

  “Of course,” she replied, “Sir Leslie’s given orders yer to be allowed wherever ye wish about the castle and grounds so long as we’re certain yer not trying to run away.”

  It was more than I had expected of Sir Leslie, yet I was angry that he had given orders to have me watched. Perhaps he hopes, I thought bitterly, I shall become so afraid and unhappy that I shall kill myself and the problem cease to exist for him. Well, he should not find me so craven. I chose a book and, tucking my feet under me, curled up in a chair.

  Thus began my imprisonment at Sir Leslie’s castle, for that was how I thought of it. I was treated kindly, but nevertheless, I was a prisoner. If I went for a walk, someone must accompany me. And at night my bedchamber door was bolted shut. True, it was I who bolted the door, yet this did not make me less a prisoner. For as long as I felt the need to bolt my doors, I could not call myself free. I spent much of my time in the library and walking about the estate. There was a garden which, had Sir Leslie cared about such things, might have brightened the castle in spring and summer. There were fields, and some distance from th
e castle, a copse of trees beside a stream. But the nearest of dwellings were well away from the castle and it seemed the servants had orders to keep me out of sight of strangers. As the days passed I grew calmer and firmer in my resolve to face Sir Leslie as soon as he might return. And yet, when, on the ninth day, I saw his phaeton approaching, I fled to my chamber and bolted the doors. It was a hen-witted notion, of course, since he must inevitably find me there. Too late I realised my error.

  Chapter 3

  From my chamber, I heard Sir Leslie’s muffled voice shouting orders. Then silence. I waited, my heart pounding, for a summons I dreaded yet was not certain would come. After some time, there was a knock at my door. “Yes,” I called, “who is it?”

  “Margaret, ma’am. Sir Leslie wishes to speak with you in the library.”

  “All—all right. Tell Sir Leslie I shall be down in a moment,” I replied, not at all sure I would be.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am. Sir Leslie said I was to bring you,” she answered, as nervous as I.

  So, the matter was not to be evaded any longer. Taking a deep breath, I unbolted the door to the hallway. “I’m ready,” I said.

  “Your hair, ma’am?” Margaret suggested.

  I stepped back to look at the mirror. She was quite right, my hair was disarrayed. I retightened the knot at the top of my head and pinned the few stray strands of hair. Then I was as ready as I could be and we began the long walk to the library. Margaret opened the library doors and held them for me. Once I was inside, however, they closed behind me and I was alone with Sir Leslie. I advanced with as much dignity as I could muster to his desk. He stared at me for some time before he said, “Please sit down, Miss Wade.”