by M C Beaton
“Miss … whatever your name is,” Lady Pemberton commanded, “come here. I wish to ask you a few questions.”
Jean obediently rose and crossed the room to stand in front of Lady Pemberton, who demanded, “What are your qualifications?”
The viscount’s voice was suddenly cold. “Are you intent on employing my governess?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Lady Pemberton said. “But I feel you gentlemen are not quite up to the mark when it comes to the employment of female servants. For example, her dress is quite unsuitable, and with hair that color she should be made to wear a cap.”
“As I said before, I have much to do,” the viscount said, “and must beg you to excuse me. Miss Morrison, take the Misses Courtney to the schoolroom, if you please.”
Jean was conscious of the glacial atmosphere as she shepherded the twins from the room.
“Old cat,” Amanda said loudly and viciously while she was still within hearing range of the guests.
“Silence!” Jean ordered. “I will talk to both of you upstairs.”
In the schoolroom she told them to take their places and then began. “I will tell you this privately—Lady Pemberton is a rude and overbearing woman. You will meet many such when you go into society, but you must learn how to deal with them. Lady Pemberton has two marriageable daughters and Lord Hunterdon must be regarded as a great catch. Had she been a clever woman, she would have included both of you in the invitation. On the other hand, there is no reason why she should, for you have both not yet been presented. You should not have made any comment at all, Amanda, but simply waited in silence. Had you not, then I have no doubt that Lord Hunterdon would have assumed you were both included in the invitation and he would have taken you along. If you are displeased with someone, polite silence can be an effective weapon. Now, there will be more callers and more parents, not just interested in Lord Hunterdon, but in the pair of you, perhaps with a view to securing you for their sons when you come of age. I have no doubt Lord Hunterdon has arranged or will arrange generous dowries for both of you. So in the future, when in doubt as to what to say, sit modestly quiet.”
Two pairs of small black eyes surveyed her. “What would you ha’ done,” Clarissa asked, “if Hunterdon hadn’t stepped in to shut her up?”
“As a governess and paid servant, I would have had to endure any questioning.”
“And what was that Ann creature about?” Amanda asked. “Grimacing and staring.”
“She was adopting Attitudes,” Jean said, repressing a smile.
“What’s an Attitude?”
“Well, it is a bit of play-acting designed to show some lady’s charms to the best advantage. For example, if a lady were on a balcony, she could grasp the edge and throw her head back. That would be Juliet after the departure of Romeo. This Attitude would be chosen if the lady had a long and white neck which she wished to show to advantage. It also shows the … er … shoulders in a flattering light.”
“Load o’ rubbish,” Amanda grumbled.
“It can be impressive if done with grace, and grace of movement is what you both lack. Firstly, if you do not sit up straight, I shall need to strap both of you into backboards. A lady’s back should never touch the back of the seat. We will start by walking around the room with books on our head. Remember, when walking, you should never look at your feet, nor should you look behind you when you sit down. A footman will always be there to place the chair correctly for you.”
While the twins began to pace up and down, occasionally tripping over their feet and giggling and colliding with each other, Jean thought of that visit. Lady Pemberton had been correct about one thing. She, Jean, was not wearing suitable dress for a governess.
So at dinner that evening she changed into her old gray gown. The viscount was usually silent during dinner, but he followed them through to the library afterward and Jean saw, with delight, that a new consignment of novels had arrived by the carrier.
Jean picked up the top book. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, a slim book, not like the other huge volumes of romance.
She settled down comfortably under the lamp and began to read. For once the viscount found himself listening to the words and becoming as engrossed in the tale as the rest.
She read on while the light faded outside and a scent of roses crept in through the open windows. At last she reluctantly closed the book, saying she would continue on the morrow, but sympathizing for once with the girls’ cries for more.
“A moment,” the viscount said as she was leaving the room. “Go ahead, Amanda and Clarissa. Miss Morrison will be with you shortly.”
Jean waited in some trepidation, wondering whether Lady Pemberton had encouraged him to get rid of her.
“I could not help noticing you were wearing one of your old gowns,” he said.
“Lady Pemberton was effective in reminding me of the unsuitability of my dress,” Jean said, but with a little spurt of gladness that he had actually had enough interest to notice what she was wearing.
“But you work for me, not Lady Pemberton, and there is no reason for you to be badly gowned. I think in the future it would be better to describe you as the girls’ companion. That will perhaps protect you from further impertinence.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
He looked up at her curiously as she stood before him. “You have a hard job,” he said. “Amanda and Clarissa are remarkably unlovable.”
“Oh, no, my lord. All they lack is grace and manners.”
“As you will. But if I were you, I would remember at all times that they tried to kill you.”
“A girlish prank!”
“I prefer still to think of it as a murderous attempt. Take care, Miss Morrison.”
Jean went slowly up the stairs. Poor Amanda and Clarissa, poor orphans, she thought. They have only me to love them, and I must do my best.
She sat down at the writing desk in her room and wrote a courteous letter to her aunt in Edinburgh, happy now to be able to describe her position as that of companion rather than governess. Her duty done, she went quietly to the twins’ bedchamber. Both were lying with their eyes closed, their un-braided hair tumbled over the pillows.
Poor things, thought Jean again, and she gently stooped over each girl and kissed her forehead.
Then she went outside and sat down on a chair a little way along the passage. If they woke up and tried to go out, she would catch them.
Inside the bedchamber Amanda nudged Clarissa. “Are you awake?”
“’Course I’m awake,” Clarissa grumbled. “Did she slobber over you as well?”
“Yes. Nearly made me puke. Well, let’s get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”
As soon as they were dressed and ready, Amanda cautiously opened the door and then drew back sharply. “What’s amiss?” Clarissa demanded.
“She’s sitting out there—on guard.”
“What! The Scotch bitch?”
“The same.”
“Damn! How did the bloody whore find out we went out at night, and why didn’t she say anything?”
“Trying to trap us.”
“Wait a bit,” Clarissa said, “if she knew what we really were up to, there would be hell to pay. She wouldn’t keep a hanging matter to herself, now, would she?”
Amanda scowled horribly in concentration. “Betty said she was down on the beach this afternoon. Did we bury that chocolate box or didn’t we?”
“Did, right in the cave.”
“I know,” Amanda said, her face clearing. “She’s a bit soppy, ain’t she? We walk along and ask her sweetly what she’s a-doin’ of. Don’t she trust us and so forth.”
Jean was nearly asleep when she heard them approach. “Now, girls, what is this?” she demanded.
“I couldn’t sleep, miss,” Amanda said seriously, “and I planned to go down to the kitchens for some bread and butter. I put my head around the door and there you was. So I woke Clarissa and we came to find out.”
Jean looked at
their serious faces, lit from underneath by the flame of the candle on the floor beside her chair. How odd, thought Jean inconsequently, that faces lit by candlelight from underneath always look sinister. She decided to tell the truth. “I assumed,” she said finally, “that the boxes of sweetmeats I found in your room were left over from a supply ordered for you by your father, for St. Giles does not sell anything so expensive. Was it you who left the empty box in the cave?”
“Yes,” Amanda said. “But we buried it.”
“The tide had uncovered it. But how did you get it and when did you go to the cave?”
“There was a box in our room you missed,” Amanda said. “We went to the cave the morning of the day you were due to return.”
Surely the tides would have disintegrated the box by now, thought Jean. But she did so want to believe them.
“You must not eat chocolates again,” she said gently. “Your skin is lovely when you do not and your figures were becoming quite distinguished. Now we will all go to bed and say no more about it.”
Amanda leaned down and kissed Jean on the cheek. “Thank you for believing us,” she said. And then Clarissa, too, kissed Jean.
Jean blinked back tears, and she stood up and gave them both a hug. “Now, off to bed with you,” she said. She returned to her own room and for a while could not sleep because she was so elated, so happy, over those tender little signs of growing trust and affection.
Next morning the viscount stood in the hall, looking down in amusement at Jean as she proudly told him of how the twins had actually kissed her. “And they are not normally given to demonstrations of affection,” she said.
“No,” he agreed with a smile. “So that should put you on your guard. And they were simply on their way to the kitchens. In their night rail?”
“They were fully dressed, but it is a long way to the kitchens.”
“Before you came, Amanda and Clarissa used to wander around the house in their undress until the afternoon. It seems to me that they have more chocolates hidden outside the castle and planned to go out. They are quite cunning. They calculated you would be disarmed by a show of affection, and so you were. Poor Miss Morrison. So eager for kisses?”
Jean colored angrily. “I was merely pleased to think I was doing my job well, my lord. Now I must return to the schoolroom.”
He watched her mount the stairs and wondered ruefully what had prompted him to make a flirtatious remark to a governess.
The twins, noticing Jean’s steely eyes and the way she went briskly about the morning’s lessons, came to the uneasy conclusion that they might not have fooled her at all.
And that night, when they cautiously opened the door of their room and saw her sitting on guard as she had done the night before, became convinced of it.
“Now what are we to do?” Clarissa asked. “I’m getting mortal sick o’ this governess. How do we frighten her away? Can’t ill treat her or he’ll step in.”
Amanda sat and scowled as she always did when she thought hard. At last she said, “Do you ‘member you asked her if she believed in ghosts? And she look half ashamed but said she did? And we’ve got a ghost.”
“Oh, you mean the gray lady the servants talk about. But no one’s ever seen her.”
“They’re going to now,” Amanda said with a grin. “Here’s my plan….”
In order to continue the slimming process, Jean took the twins out walking the following afternoon. Amanda began to talk about the ghost of the gray lady.
“And where does she walk?” Jean asked.
“The long gallery, above the hall,” Clarissa said.
“And what is the story of the gray lady?”
“Well,” Amanda said eagerly, “it was when Trelawney Castle really was a castle, in the last century. Her name was Mary Courtney and she was a great heiress. She fell in love with one of the grooms and tried to run off with him. But one of his friends betrayed them to Mr. Jasper Courtney, who was the master then. She was sent home while they took that there groom up to the cliffs and threw him over into the sea. She went mad after that and did nothing else but pace up and down the gallery.”
“But how could she pace up and down the gallery if it wasn’t this house but the old castle?” Jean asked sharply.
“The hall and gallery are to the same plan as the great hall and gallery in the old castle,” Amanda said quickly, and Clarissa threw her sister a look of admiration.
“These old stories are fascinating,” Jean said, “but they are only stories. I mean, has anyone seen her?”
“I have,” Amanda said in a low voice.
Jean tried to keep her voice light, although she experienced a superstitious Highland shiver of dread. “And what did she look like? Did she give you good eee?”
“I couldn’t see her face,” Amanda said, she and Clarissa having already decided on the costume. “She’s veiled all in gray and she do moan dreadful.”
“She does moan dreadfully,” Jean corrected her automatically. She gave another little shiver. Gusts of wind were blowing storm clouds in from the sea.
That evening she said good night to the girls, but when she returned to her room to find a book to keep her awake while she guarded the corridor, the twins slipped out and hastened to the long gallery.
Amanda quickly took out her disguise from the bottom drawer of a china cabinet. The sky outside had cleared, and great shafts of moonlight were striking down through the windows and onto the long gallery. The twins had discovered piles of gray gauze in a trunk in the attics, an old-fashioned gown and high-heeled shoes to increase Amanda’s height.
“Now what?” Clarissa demanded, stifling a nervous giggle.
“As planned. You know where to hide and keep the door open for me. Now I got to moan, loud enough so as to bring her but not loud enough so as to wake anyone else. Here goes!”
Jean was reading a romance. It was full of ghosts and horrors. And then she realized that the faint ghostly moaning she thought was her imagination was actually coming from somewhere in the house. She rose slowly, her book falling to the floor, and went to the head of the staircase, holding her candle, the flame of which wavered in the draft, sending weird shadows flying up around the walls.
“Who’s there?” she called softly.
Again, that unearthly moaning.
Alarmed, and putting all thoughts of ghosts firmly from her mind, Jean thought that some servant might be in pain and walked down the stairs.
Then she realized the moans were coming from the long gallery and remembered the gray lady.
With a trembling hand she opened the door to the long gallery. There, standing in a shaft of moonlight, was the gray lady. Then she appeared to drift forward into the black shadows at the end of the gallery and disappear.
Jean opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She turned away and stumbled up the stairs, making little whimpering sounds of fright. Her steps instinctively took her to the viscount’s bedchamber.
She staggered in and then ran to the bed and drew back the curtains. The viscount started up in alarm. “What the deuce …!” he began.
And Jean Morrison threw herself straight into his arms.
Chapter Five
“OH, M-MY L-LORD,” Jean babbled. “The ghost!”
He hugged her, and the sensations that evoked were singularly pleasant, and so he hugged her closer. “Calmly now,” he said. “What ghost?”
“In the long gallery,” Jean whispered. “The ghost of the gray lady.”
Jean was not wearing any stays. Her body was soft and yielding under his comforting hands which were stroking her back and were now itching to move around to her front. “And what did she look like?” he murmured against her hair, beginning to enjoy himself immensely and wondering whether a comforting kiss would be in order.
But Jean recovered enough to be aware that she was in, or rather on, the viscount’s bed and that he was holding her very closely. She extricated herself and stood a little way away fr
om the bed in a shaft of moonlight that showed the viscount clearly the rise and fall of her excellent bosom. “I should not have burst in on you in this hurly-burly way,” Jean said shakily. “But I am monstrous frightened.”
He sighed a little and swung his legs down from the bed. “Hand me my dressing gown, Miss Morrison. It is there, behind you, on the chair. Light the lamp and we will go and lay your ghost.”
Jean fumbled with the tinderbox, striking weak, ineffectual sparks from it while the viscount donned his dressing gown, took the tinderbox from her shaking fingers, and lit the lamp.
He picked it up and said, “Lead the way.”
Given courage by his calm manner, Jean walked before him to the long gallery. It was empty. The shafts of moonlight still struck down. She stood in the doorway as he carefully walked the length of it, holding the lamp high and searching about.
“Nothing,” he said cheerfully. “And why are you dressed?”
“I was sitting on the landing, on guard,” Jean said, “in case the twins tried to go out. And then I heard the moaning.”
“And it could not be either of those wretched girls, playing a trick? Did you look in on them before you sat guard?”
“N-no.”
“There you are.”
“But the ghost was taller than either of them and it just disappeared into thin air.”
“Come with me.” He led the way up to the twins’ bedroom. Jean unlocked the door. The maid had earlier locked it after having put the girls to bed and had given Jean the key. Both were lying asleep.
Jean and the viscount retreated quietly.
“It was the buttered crab at dinner,” the viscount said sympathetically. He walked to the landing. “And here is your book. Tut-tut, Miss Morrison. Such horrors are enough to make anyone see ghosts. Off to bed with you. But should you hear any moaning again, come to me first.”
“I wish he wouldn’t interfere!” Amanda said crossly when she heard all was silent outside again. “But she was frit enough. We’ll give her another haunting tomorrow night.”
“She’ll lock us in,” Clarissa pointed out.
“So? We have a duplicate key.”
